Surprise Celebration || (Scott & Loki)
Scott’s smile grew, the initial pang of worry that his uninvited presence might not be met with approval fading now in the face of Loki’s sudden embrace — and then he felt the fool, for worrying at all, but whatever might have been of his widening smile was lost, crushed beneath the press of Loki’s lips against his and the author groaned, conscious thought wiped away because, ohyes, he’d been missed. He could taste it.
When at last he had a chance to steal a breath that wasn’t squandered and lost between hungry kisses it actually took the form of a shakily indrawn laugh, his eyes aglitter as he grinned at the stunned god. “I am here, yes. Did you think I would pass up the opportunity?” He brushed his fingertips along the line of Loki’s jaw, the pad of his thumb dragging an endlessly fond caress over the curve of the trickster’s cheek, his expression faintly mischevious as he flicks a glance upward and arches a brow. “You might not choose to celebrate your birthday, darling, but I am not above making use of it as an excuse to come see you anyway.” He teased Loki’s chin with the trio of roses. “Obviously.”
Loki had questions, inquiries which burned within him, but it was barely an effort to brush them aside--place them on the back burner until the initial shock had waned appropriately. And if he was still stunned three days from that moment, so be it; Loki would not ponder Scott's presence nor would he pry on how, exactly, he'd managed to reach the Realm Eternal.
He met every touch with unhinged delight not unlike a drug addict who had, at long last, been given a fix. The caress over the arch of his cheekbone, the way the writer's breath skipped over his lips and face with each and every expiration, and even the brushing of the roses against his chin. "Had I been given the option, I would have come to Midgard and celebrated with you already--thrice," The god's expression was wolfish for a flash-in-the-pan moment. "But Scott," He has to resist the urge to wince; resist the urge to concern himself with his beloved's eventual departure. "Excuses are never necessary. I prefer you to all others," Loki's forehead met Scott's and rested there. "You know this."
