‘you don’t have to be so gentle with me.’ ( intimacy / nsfw )
intimacy / non cringy nsfw prompts.
And hadn’t it been said before, in so many words—and wasn’t truth as much a matter of circumstance then as always...
They were both forged by winter's chill, hardened by the unforgiving cold of their upbringings. But she was no more made of glass—and she'd killed men for making that mistake—than Loki was made of ice, despite the frostbite blue that swum just below the surface of his Aesir form.
Yet it didn't feel wrong the way he appreciated her edges with the same deftness as her curves. He knew as well as she did (but she knew better) the first rule was to always treat a gun as loaded. So the way he lifted her off her feet and set her on the countertop there in the kitchen—which safehouse was this again?—was not only effortless due to his natural strength, but because part of effective lethality is hard-earned respect.
And since the safety can't always be relied upon to keep a weapon from firing, he concurs but does not relent in his careful, clever touches. "I know."
opia: the ambiguous intensity of looking someone in the eye, which can feel simultaneously invasive and vulnerable.
obscure feelings drabble prompt meme
It's a defining and inveterate type of interaction and utility. As old as feasting, dancing, monogamous romance, music, hunting; hell, it's older than farming. And no, it isn't war in the literal sense that we're talking about - none of that macro-level strategy or geopolitical nonsense. No, this is much more precise, but no less nuanced because of it.
Combat.
There's a simplicity to it. The fundamentals of combat transcend time and culture, which creates a connection to something old, something which feels deeply, tragically human — which in and of itself is quite ironic when applied to the two of them: a godling and an ageless assassin.
They're there in the chilled, dimly-lit training room with every intention of tearing the other's body apart with serrated steel or emerald sorcery or — simply, intricately, and no less skilled — their bare hands.
One blow is deflected, another lands; an attack is dodged lending the opportunity to the other to set a trap. It's silent except for the occasional sound of solid contact and the traded breaths between; no whines or winces though; no, there would be no such satisfaction surrendered.
But when Natasha goes high and Loki goes low, their wrists cross and hands twist to catch the other there, and when they match momentum to force the other backward toward a wall or onto the springform floor in order to pin them, it results in a collision in the middle. Their height difference doesn't register, neither feeling at an advantage or disadvantage because of it. But the scant distance in their gaze hums like a tuning fork, the singular clarifying tone intoxicating. It wasn't a reach to wonder if there was not some incantation sewn into moment by a certain sorcerer before her, but Natasha expected more and Loki was not so abject a spellcaster. She deserved his attention and commitment to detail, wholly, just as he desired hers.
And from up close the way they were, he could see the way her pupils widened minutely when he took a slow breath in, the same way he was certain she could feel his steady pulse close to hers. They were tearing barriers down faster than they could build them, counting flecks of green in each other's eyes; noticing what might have otherwise been subtle swallows but in that moment felt like desperate gulps; Natasha's eyes find Loki's but Loki's sights are fixated on her lips, contemplating kissing them — or splitting them.
He's capable of both, but he’s ensnared by the thought of one.
He knew he was not destined for Valhalla; still, he hadn't expected what awaited beyond Death's gray veil. The dim curtain of Midgard rolled away, all turned fleetingly to silver glass, and then there was nothing.
And of all the afterlives in all of the universe, he hardly expected to share his with her.
"I thought you and time had an understanding," The words are cool but the smile with which they are met is warm. "Did it expire?"
"No sooner than yours, apparently."
Slender fingers find the frayed end of the braid laying over her shoulder, fiery red chasing pale blonde down the strands. The smile he offers is small and colored faintly with sadness. "Earth will surely be—" There need not be a pulse behind his sternum for his chest to feel tight. "—lesser now."
He's acutely aware of the hand suddenly seamed to his front, just above that ever-tightening winch within his ribs, though the usual warmth that followed the touch was dishearteningly absent. The air between them was no less charged because of it, however. "Nothing lasts forever."
His hand falls away from the end of the braid and finds the slope of her neck, the pad of his thumb gently counting the rings of her trachea downward one by one. "I was a promised an eternity of this," Searing emerald find burning sage, her gaze touched with an enticed glow when Loki's palm finds her collarbone and he traces the notch between them. "You and I."
Their gaze is livewire, the coursing heat amplified by the space between them which, this whole time, had been narrowing. "And now," An inch lost - and Natasha’s tone has lowered to a hot whisper. "I've all the time in this afterlife," An inch gained - and Loki’s pupils are dilating. "To spend on you."
As the scant distance between them closes it would be a lie to say neither expected the cool kiss of steel (old habits did indeed die hard) in lieu of their lips brushing once, twice. Experimental; forbidden, like in the throes of purgatory he'd managed to find Eden and he feared now she would be snatched from him.
Fingers of heat unfurl the moment Natasha's hands rise to cup Loki's jaw, like she can sense the uncertainty too, and he doesn't comprehend the dismantling rage and woe and misery until the absence creates space for something new to gush in. Loki gave a full-bodied shudder in response and could only hope that, with enough friction, he might be fully immersed by her. Sensation's blank canvas was smattered with color: the feeling of her fingertips against his cheekbones; the taste of her tongue as he'd licked his way to it; her ever-so subtle shiver in response to his own.
Where their heartbeats would have otherwise pounded in their ears there hung only silence; delightful and maddeningly pleasurable as this was, it left some stinging at the edges of Loki's eyes to finally, finally, be there. It was far from the time to let any of the prickling give way to formed tears, and he was still questioning whether this was reality or a horrid fever dream, so he did all he could not to lose himself entirely to the flurry of emotion, tempting though it was.
It still felt as close to surrender he'd been in ages.
No.
This paradise was likely not intended for him but he would have it anyway and she would not to be lost to him; not again.
Curious, the passage of time and how even the most unstoppable forces can be thrown out of momentum like a train running off its tracks. They weren’t the Avengers anymore; it was no longer SHIELD; now, it was us versus them.
And how Loki factored into that was still being decided. He’d appeared as unexpectedly as he always had, a broken leg, several splintered ribs, with blood dripping down his chin. Nothing that was not able to be handled, save for the crazed look in his eye. Everyone had their opinions on how to proceed - Bruce couldn’t help but laugh; Vision and Wanda both deliberately kept wide berths considering the circumstances of Loki’s last visit to Earth; but Steve thought it best to keep Loki under surveillance. “There’s a saying about where to keep enemies,” He’d mentioned.
Loki was assigned a cell but before being escorted away he was given medical attention. Much to his chagrin, as he was perfectly capable of treating himself, Rogers made it clear that if they were going to harbor him he had to abide by their rules. So behave he did, to the best of his ability, but when the medical officer dabbed too roughly at the god’s forehead, he couldn’t help but bare his teeth.
But barely had the thought of exsanguination crossed his mind when the door across the room slid open and Loki’s dark gaze drifted to the figure entering the room.
“Well,” His voice cut through the silence so finely that the medical officer took a step back from him, afraid his words might actually cut him. “Isn’t this a surprise?”
