Fic: Frostbite and Sunstroke
Title: Frostbite and Sunstroke
Summary: Loki has always been cold.
Fandom: Thor
Word Count: 1221
Rating/Contents: NC-17, temperature play
Pairing: Loki/Sif
Policies: Read my archiving, feedback, and warnings policies here.
A/N: Hurrah, my first Kink Bingo square! Here we have temperature play. Because frost giants.
It's always been an odd, incidental thing about Loki, the fact that, while he never gets cold, he always feels cold. His skin is chilly even in the warmest room, but in the bleakest weather he barely even seems to need a coat. Sif's felt it countless times, his skin against hers in a greeting or passing something at a feast, but more often than not, it surprises her, his cold hands on her skin.
Loki's hands are the only thing cold about him, at least as far as Sif can see. She knows other people don't see him like she does, that people never have. People only want to think good of him, and Loki wants to let them, but Loki's far, far from good. He's a fierce and boiling thing, tamped down inside; even the mischief he makes is a ruse, not even related to the way he really is.
Loki's not dumb, so very far from it, and he knows she knows; Sif's not even entirely sure that he's not letting her know, that she'd know if he didn't want her to. Maybe it's because he likes to toy with her, make little jabs, play with her in little ways. Every single time, Sif swears she won't be his plaything, but every time she falls for it, rises to it, lets her brash nature get the best of her. Every time, Loki wins, makes it look like she's overreacting and he's just an innocent.
It doesn't change until he starts to really touch her, until the feel of those cold fingers becomes something more than incidental. As they walk, he brushes her hand as if by accident; she doesn't pull away, pretending not to notice, and he's bold enough to do it again. She rolls her eyes and shakes her head, but he doesn't stop. Far from it, he takes it as an invitation, as a challenge.
He's braver, even more calculated, catching her when she least expects it, when there are other people to see. He walks past her, sweeping his fingers ever so lightly over the back of her neck, and she shivers. She purses her lips, glaring at him as he passes, and he only smirks in return, looking back over his shoulder.
He does it until she can take it no longer, until she can do nothing but return his volleys. Her hand finds the small of his back as they pass through a doorway, leading him on; he gives her a look, curious and appraising. She smiles, courteous except for a raised eyebrow. She knows her motives are just as transparent as his, that this is not a game of children, a game played for fun, a game played for nothing.
The heat between them builds to the point where it's undeniable, until it spills out like lava, thick and inexorable. She's the one to do it, trapping him against a wall in a little-used hallway of the palace. His lips are cold against hers, and somehow she knew they would be. His mouth is barely even warm, and it makes her think of mountains, of frostbite, of people lost to winter storms.
"I know a place," Loki says, close enough that the chill of his breath brushes her ear.
She stands back, holding out a hand, and he leads her on, down into the depths of the palace, to a room where the sunlight falls in stripes across an old bed. She doesn't know how many women Loki's brought down here, how many fell for his clever words, but she doesn't care in the least. She's here now, and she's going to get exactly what she wants.
His clothing is tedious, slow to remove, but she wants all of him, brought down before her. It's too long before they're naked, before she pulls him in and crushes their lips together. His entire body is pressed against her now, the chill of him all the way down the length of her. All her skin is covered in goosebumps, only worsening as his hands roam her. He cups her breast, and she pushes into it, moaning low when he rolls her hard nipple between his fingers.
When she's had enough, she pushes him away, sharply enough that he falls across the bed; there's no surprise on his face, just a smug smirk that she wants to wipe right off his face. She straddles his hips, leaning down and kissing him hard. She sits up, taking hold of his cock and sinking slowly down onto it.
He's cold all the way inside of her, deep inside. She whimpers, pushing down against him harder, and he groans, wrapping his cold fingers around her hips. To say she's never felt anything like it before doesn't paint an accurate picture, because she never knew something like it could be felt. She feels so much more wet, the cold making her notice it; the rest of her body is so warm, but the cold is spreading out from the place where they meet, sucking the heat from her.
She rocks against him, trying to feel it, understand it, catalogue it, but it might be outside her ken, why it feels so good, why she wants so much more. She slowly starts to ride him, moving up and down at her own pace. He thrusts up into her almost lazily, matching her but doing no more.
It's good, but it could never be enough, certainly not for a tryst like this one. She moves faster and faster, needing more from him. Her whole body feels cold now, everything but her hands; they warm her as she slides them over her body, one up to palm her breast and the other down to rub her clit. She moans as she does it, just right, just enough, just exactly what she wants.
She looks down at Loki, and if she were anyone else, she'd be shocked. The mask has dropped now; he looks almost angry in his desperation, greedy and dark. It's how he should look all the time, so everyone knows, so everyone can be warned.
Sif likes it, the look on his face; she doesn't want to think about why.
Her orgasm is a rush of heat; Loki's hips give a jerk, like that's a little bit much to stand, but he keeps going. She doesn't stop her fingers, still stroking her clit, simply because there's no reason to stop, and if she's lucky she can have it again. That would be a small step towards an adequate payoff for all this frustration. Loki's getting closer now, pushing into her deeper, harder, and she comes again, groaning; that really does end him this time, makes him swear and clutch at her, holding her tight against him.
As soon as she can, she untangles herself from him, standing and reaching for her clothing. She's freezing now, and she dresses quickly, resisting the urge to rub her arms to get rid of the chill. Loki stands, reaching for her, giving her one hard kiss before letting her go. He doesn't pretend like he's going to follow her and she doesn't pretend like she's going to stay. They've gotten what they needed; the game is done.
Sif already knows it will start again.
This entry was automagically crossposted from http://sabinetzin.dreamwidth.org/418422.html.
comments over there.
Summary: Loki has always been cold.
Fandom: Thor
Word Count: 1221
Rating/Contents: NC-17, temperature play
Pairing: Loki/Sif
Policies: Read my archiving, feedback, and warnings policies here.
A/N: Hurrah, my first Kink Bingo square! Here we have temperature play. Because frost giants.
It's always been an odd, incidental thing about Loki, the fact that, while he never gets cold, he always feels cold. His skin is chilly even in the warmest room, but in the bleakest weather he barely even seems to need a coat. Sif's felt it countless times, his skin against hers in a greeting or passing something at a feast, but more often than not, it surprises her, his cold hands on her skin.
Loki's hands are the only thing cold about him, at least as far as Sif can see. She knows other people don't see him like she does, that people never have. People only want to think good of him, and Loki wants to let them, but Loki's far, far from good. He's a fierce and boiling thing, tamped down inside; even the mischief he makes is a ruse, not even related to the way he really is.
Loki's not dumb, so very far from it, and he knows she knows; Sif's not even entirely sure that he's not letting her know, that she'd know if he didn't want her to. Maybe it's because he likes to toy with her, make little jabs, play with her in little ways. Every single time, Sif swears she won't be his plaything, but every time she falls for it, rises to it, lets her brash nature get the best of her. Every time, Loki wins, makes it look like she's overreacting and he's just an innocent.
It doesn't change until he starts to really touch her, until the feel of those cold fingers becomes something more than incidental. As they walk, he brushes her hand as if by accident; she doesn't pull away, pretending not to notice, and he's bold enough to do it again. She rolls her eyes and shakes her head, but he doesn't stop. Far from it, he takes it as an invitation, as a challenge.
He's braver, even more calculated, catching her when she least expects it, when there are other people to see. He walks past her, sweeping his fingers ever so lightly over the back of her neck, and she shivers. She purses her lips, glaring at him as he passes, and he only smirks in return, looking back over his shoulder.
He does it until she can take it no longer, until she can do nothing but return his volleys. Her hand finds the small of his back as they pass through a doorway, leading him on; he gives her a look, curious and appraising. She smiles, courteous except for a raised eyebrow. She knows her motives are just as transparent as his, that this is not a game of children, a game played for fun, a game played for nothing.
The heat between them builds to the point where it's undeniable, until it spills out like lava, thick and inexorable. She's the one to do it, trapping him against a wall in a little-used hallway of the palace. His lips are cold against hers, and somehow she knew they would be. His mouth is barely even warm, and it makes her think of mountains, of frostbite, of people lost to winter storms.
"I know a place," Loki says, close enough that the chill of his breath brushes her ear.
She stands back, holding out a hand, and he leads her on, down into the depths of the palace, to a room where the sunlight falls in stripes across an old bed. She doesn't know how many women Loki's brought down here, how many fell for his clever words, but she doesn't care in the least. She's here now, and she's going to get exactly what she wants.
His clothing is tedious, slow to remove, but she wants all of him, brought down before her. It's too long before they're naked, before she pulls him in and crushes their lips together. His entire body is pressed against her now, the chill of him all the way down the length of her. All her skin is covered in goosebumps, only worsening as his hands roam her. He cups her breast, and she pushes into it, moaning low when he rolls her hard nipple between his fingers.
When she's had enough, she pushes him away, sharply enough that he falls across the bed; there's no surprise on his face, just a smug smirk that she wants to wipe right off his face. She straddles his hips, leaning down and kissing him hard. She sits up, taking hold of his cock and sinking slowly down onto it.
He's cold all the way inside of her, deep inside. She whimpers, pushing down against him harder, and he groans, wrapping his cold fingers around her hips. To say she's never felt anything like it before doesn't paint an accurate picture, because she never knew something like it could be felt. She feels so much more wet, the cold making her notice it; the rest of her body is so warm, but the cold is spreading out from the place where they meet, sucking the heat from her.
She rocks against him, trying to feel it, understand it, catalogue it, but it might be outside her ken, why it feels so good, why she wants so much more. She slowly starts to ride him, moving up and down at her own pace. He thrusts up into her almost lazily, matching her but doing no more.
It's good, but it could never be enough, certainly not for a tryst like this one. She moves faster and faster, needing more from him. Her whole body feels cold now, everything but her hands; they warm her as she slides them over her body, one up to palm her breast and the other down to rub her clit. She moans as she does it, just right, just enough, just exactly what she wants.
She looks down at Loki, and if she were anyone else, she'd be shocked. The mask has dropped now; he looks almost angry in his desperation, greedy and dark. It's how he should look all the time, so everyone knows, so everyone can be warned.
Sif likes it, the look on his face; she doesn't want to think about why.
Her orgasm is a rush of heat; Loki's hips give a jerk, like that's a little bit much to stand, but he keeps going. She doesn't stop her fingers, still stroking her clit, simply because there's no reason to stop, and if she's lucky she can have it again. That would be a small step towards an adequate payoff for all this frustration. Loki's getting closer now, pushing into her deeper, harder, and she comes again, groaning; that really does end him this time, makes him swear and clutch at her, holding her tight against him.
As soon as she can, she untangles herself from him, standing and reaching for her clothing. She's freezing now, and she dresses quickly, resisting the urge to rub her arms to get rid of the chill. Loki stands, reaching for her, giving her one hard kiss before letting her go. He doesn't pretend like he's going to follow her and she doesn't pretend like she's going to stay. They've gotten what they needed; the game is done.
Sif already knows it will start again.
This entry was automagically crossposted from http://sabinetzin.dreamwidth.org/418422.html.
comments over there.