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[annarr]

asgardian texting | anachronistic midgardian texting | timeywimey texting | au multiverse shenanigans | overflows +

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[annarr]

[the air feels cool and prickling as bucky shifts upright. it will be worth the temporary absence to be pressed properly together. in a small way, it's worth it to have a moment of dazedly watching the man strip, shedding fabric to unveil the fascinating reality beneath--flesh and metal, muscled and soft, smooth and scarred.

beautiful, loki's mind seems to whisper to itself. beautiful in so many ways to the standards of society (and he's fairly certain bucky would more than meet many of the aesthetic conceits of asgard as well as midgard), but so much more beautiful for the fractures.

they survive. they endure. here, now, they'll do all of that together.

the words that bubble through the soft pants and moans are garbled--and, perhaps, too ancient for the allspeak to translate properly. loki's spine arches, trembling fingers pawing at the man's legs for purchase to drag bucky down again.]

[counterstep]

( even if he wanted to tease out more of that desperation, he's far too lost in appreciation to do anything other then lean back in, more than eager to please and sate. his body already misses the lock of loki's legs pulling against him urgently.

there's no need to speak either, if their mouths are occupied. all the better anyway, as bucky has grown fond of the gradual bruising of his lips while tasting loki over and over and over and over—

what a conundrum, to also want so much more physically and be satisfied with the simple glide and mesh of lips, tongue, and teeth. )

[annarr]

[that's better. it's like coming up for air to press lips hungrily together again, even if it's also a bit like drowning. here, at least, his fingers can find purchase and cling to bucky's shoulders, blunt nails digging half-moons into the man's flesh.

his teeth are probably too sharp. the buck of his hips is probably too wild. there will be scratches rent into bucky's back and bruises mottling his own.

more would be good. just this for ages would be good. they're good. that's all loki's mind has space for in the moment, which is... well, one of the many blessings of having what they have.]

[counterstep]

( there's a growing appreciation for these things, rather than a simple minded whisk of desire driving his intentions. to have the consistent wish to hold and touch and kiss and bite answered and to savor every sensation as wordless vows of endearment exchange between them. he could really sink into the feeling and revel in the attention alone, now, each little bit a reminder of his value and worth and everything more something valuable to explore together.

even hungry, this is more than he'd already ever thought to have, and so it is enough. this is enough. loki is enough. and loki deserves the world.

the warmth of his hand slips down loki's chest to find the rim of clothing still in place—interference for how much more satisfying the buck of loki's hips against his would be. there is minor challenge, in loosening the trousers blindly, but somehow he manages and is all the more appreciative of slipping his hand under the the remaining undergarment to wrap the heat of loki's length with his palm, squeezing just so. )

[annarr]

[it isn't just the rolling pleasure of being touched this way. it's the intimacy of knowing the pads and callouses of the fingers raking over him, the faint pattern of stubble brushed between rough kisses, the rippled of muscles and edges of scars under his own grasping fingers. it's the dead certainty at every single point of connection that bucky is the one tangled here with him.

that's what's sending shudders through loki. that's what briefly sends the edges of his magic licking like cold flames from his fingertips against the heat of the soldier's skin, harmless but somehow earnest.

also earnest is the laugh rumbling deep in his chest as he purrs into the continued fumble of kisses.] --promises, promises.

[teasing; adoring.]