Send me a ❦ for a reaction to your muse playing with mine’s hair.
His mind felt crowded and lonely at the same time, like there were dozens of different forms of himself all congregating within the confines of his skull. Yet no matter how he focused on every representation of himself, each new facade seemed completely different and unrelated to the one prior.
Exhausted by this, he’d shut his eyes and steepled his fingers against his searing temples in an effort to turn the volume down on the white noise in his head. What he’d not expected were the warm fingers which fanned over his scalp, the calluses a pleasant abrasion against the sensitive skin, and when his shoulders lowered Loki heard but decidedly ignored the way Dean chuckled, “Bingo.”
Send me ۞ for my muse’s reaction to accidentally falling on top of yours and kissing them.
For quite some time, those bowed legs of Dean’s had been a point of humor for the god. Longer still, Loki had derisively snickered at the man’s abrasiveness; his rough, tough attitude; his distinct lack of tolerance for nonsense. But, as Loki was quick to surmise, alcohol managed to loosen the hunter up quite substantially and, just as soon as this knowledge came to light, Loki was not slow to take advantage.
Not that he had anything particular in mind, of course. The act of roofying victims was below the god. If he wanted Dean Winchester incapacitated, a mere flick of his wrist could register the feared hunter temporarily paralyzed from the neck down. No, Loki had no grand scheme as he upped the alcohol content within Dean’s tumbler of whisky time and time again. He only wished to loosen him up a bit and then sit back and observe. This was purely academic, the demigod assured himself with ease…
…well, until Dean was staggering—one foot free of its boot as the other was caught and causing him some difficulty—and Loki was shoehorned into a collision course with the man.
He was denser than he looked, Dean Winchester; compact and strong and it should’ve come as no surprise that the two were sent to the floor the moment they collided. Loki, hot under the collar and pale with rage, managed to raise a knee between the hunter’s thighs. Dean had every intention of responding in kind but, as the wind was knocked out of him, his elbows buckled and he fell further into the trickster and puffed agonized breaths into the immortal’s ear. This, of course, spurred the god to try to work his way free that much more quickly (as he realized he wasn’t pleased [or was entirely too pleased] with the way his heart was racing or the way Dean’s hot skin felt on top of him) which prompted Dean to grab him, grip the slope of his neck and shoulder each with one hand and still him because the locomotion was too much for his intoxicated mind in that moment.
Seething with blood simmering in all the right and wrong ways, Loki showed his teeth. “Unhand me, cretin,” He shook himself and tried to loosen the hold Dean hand on him, but failed. Even drunk, the hunter was skilled; practiced; enticing. “Lest you want to lose your hands.”
“Aw,” Chided the green-eyed Kansan from above, canting his head to one side in a pridefully teasing manner. “Here I thought we were having so much fun.”
“I don’t make a habit of lying with farm animals.” Loki riposted coldly to which Dean was immediately chuckling.
“Your mythology indicates otherwi-…”
“Get off.”
The series of events which followed that demand could be described as crudely literal interpretation or simply brazen flirting with Death. Did it not register inside Dean’s mind that while he was descending toward the god and firmly fitting his lips against Loki’s that, at any moment, a knife could be buried in his neck? Had he diluted himself into think Loki wouldn’t kill him with barely the bat of an eye?
Perhaps.
But dammit all, that unearthly cool skin was simply too capable of coaxing Dean’s careening thoughts to a calm trickle and Helheim would freeze over if Loki even considered denying the sick want that was branching through him in response to the warm pressure administered by the man.
Dean certainly breathed hellfire. Loki could practically feel the heat of the pit licking at his heels there where he lay, but he couldn’t deny the thrill of it all. Dean was dangerous; Dean was lethal; but Dean was also there, ripe for the picking and Loki wouldn’t see the opportunity go to waste. He could the gasoline to stoke the flames to a fully fledged inferno.
He could have the infamous killer and, in a moment’s notice, he intended to.
url: Troll | Dreadful | Poor | Average | Exceeds Expectations | Outstanding | WHO DID U KILL?icon: Troll | Dreadful | Poor | Average | Exceeds Expectations | Outstanding | theme: Troll | Dreadful | Poor | Average | Exceeds Expectations | Outstanding | posts: Troll | Dreadful | Poor | Average | Exceeds Expectations | Outstanding | Overall: Troll | Dreadful | Poor | Average | Exceeds Expectations | Outstanding | Following: No, but I love you! | I am now | Yes | AlwaysComments: omg why are you in my ask box you ball of perfection? wHY
