Satisfaction Isn't In My Nature

Loki releases the breath, head falling back against the pillows.

“I hate this,” he mutters. A month ago, almost to the day, his torso was nearly decimated when he jumped on a huge explosive meant to kill the entire team.

Not just the team, you remember. The city.

He’s lucky, they say. But it’s more than that. His magic was strong — it was strong enough — but only just. There isn’t an inch of him that hasn’t been healing these past weeks: no inch un-hurt.

Well, that’s not true…there was an inch that escaped unscathed. Nine, actually.

His powers re-generate the damage with every hour that goes by — but Loki’s never been one for patience. “I feel useless,” he snaps. “What good am I to you like this?” You stroke hair back from his face, and his blue eyes slide to meet yours. “You deserve better, darling,” he says seriously. “You have needs — I insist you take your pleasure elsewhere. Lang, Barton, Rogers, even..."

His gaze drops, and he looks up under a fringe of ebony lashes. "But someone inferior to me, that is all I ask.”

You almost shove his shoulder in reprimand before stopping yourself. He sighs again. “We can’t go on like this: you fellating me with dutiful care, and me unable to reciprocate.”

He glances at you with such weighty desolation that you almost burst out laughing as he says, “I feel like my brother — it’s terrible.”

And that does it. Your vision blurs as you pick up a pillow and bury your face in it: cackling. “What?!” he sniffs, affronted. “I have been incapacitated of my greatest boon.”

You surface from the pillow, tears of laughter smeared down your cheeks. “Greatest boon?!?” He gestures to the hard-on pitching the covers with a wilting sigh.

You trail a finger down his bicep on the side nearest you: the side that’s almost healed, but you don’t think he’s noticed. His skin is pure, pale velvet from his shoulder to his hipbone like a tan-mark.

“It doesn’t look incapacitated to me,” you say, eyeing his crotch, knowing what will happen. But you can’t resist. There’s something undeniably erotic about having him like this: needy, frustrated, a little insecure. A short puff erupts from his nostrils. “You can’t go on top: too painful. I can’t go on top: too painful. On my knees? Reverse —?” You place a gentle kiss on the side of his mouth. “I love you, Loki,” you whisper, feeling the skin shiver beneath your touch. “I don’t want anyone else- sex or no sex. I’d wait forever if it meant you healed, but…I think I know something that might work.” Loki’s face immediately tilts to you and his features flinch with the sudden movement. “But!” you say, pressing a finger to his lips. “You need to do exactly as I say, and if it hurts…we stop. Agreed?” With your finger pressed to his mouth, Loki rolls his eyes, and you smile. “Good.”

A slow, twitching, hope crawls up Loki’s expression as you move your hand and slide down the bedsheets. You lie on your back, lifting your hips and shuffling the shorts down. Loki says nothing, but his erection strains against the covers and his eyes dart from your eyes to your hips as the panties make a slow descent down your thighs. “Gods, I feel like a virgin again,” he murmurs, and his fingernails scrape against the bedsheets. He can’t quite make a fist — not yet — but if he could, he’d be doing that sexy clenching/unclenching thing where the veins in his hand stand out. Arousal slides between your legs and you make a show of drawing a finger through it. It’s a risk, you think as you raise it in front of you and rub the finger against your thumb. But you know every part of Loki, and he needs this. And now, if you’re careful, he can. Your finger, slick with your arousal, hovers close to Loki’s mouth and he opens, letting you dab it on his tongue. A dirty moan rumbles from his chest, and his eyes roll back like he’s tasted heaven. And maybe, for him, he has.

He's begged you over the past few weeks since he woke to let him touch you, to sit on his face; but he's been too delicate for that. Turning him down has been unbearable. He has a tough time controlling himself once the two of you start, and you couldn't live with yourself if you made it worse — but the lightened skin on his side is new. And it's good. “Roll on your side,” you whisper, grazing the finger down his shoulder. You press gently into the meat of his bicep. “See? It’s not bad, right?” His eyes light up. “Shhh,” you soothe, guiding the god to face you. His face contorts, a grunt slipping through his teeth. “Don’t even think about it,” he growls before the words 'maybe we should wait,' can even shape your tongue.

Loki positions himself on his side. His cock is straining against his stomach: flawless and pale against the backdrop of indigo abdominal muscle.

You kiss him a final time before curling against him, facing the wall. His cock slots perfectly between your ass-cheeks. Loki’s breath shakes against your neck: hot, quick. You hope he has his eyes closed; you hope he’s savouring every second of this as much as you are. As much as you relished the swell of his cum inside your gentle mouth over the past week since he’d recovered enough for you to show him how much you love him — this is different.

And fuck, you’ve missed him. You need this, both of you do. “Nothing fancy,” you whisper as you reach between your legs and cup the thick of his girth. Traces of pre-cum web against your fingers.  

“I don’t know what you mean, darling,” Loki croons. But beneath the bravado, his voice wavers.

The tip of his cock slides against your cunt. “We’ll need to be slow. I won’t be used to you after a month.” Loki’s chest shakes against your back with silent laughter. That must hurt, you think, but he presses a kiss into the curve of your neck. “Slow…I can do,” he says, before sucking a tender bite into the skin. Loki edges his hips forward, the crown of his cock nudging at the rim of your slit. You circle your hips, capturing it, pushing back just enough for your body to welcome him with a short pang of delicious pain. There’s an audible slurp as you take him deeper. You’d almost forgotten how good he feels inside you — almost.

“My love,” he croaks into your hair. You slide halfway down his length, and still. Loki pants gently, and you turn your face to his. “I fucking love you, Loki,” you breathe, “more than anything,” and his eyes grow wider. Those peaked brows sharpen as you sink to the base of his cock: ass meeting the flat of his toned stomach. He flinches. “I’m sorry.” You reach back and cup his jaw. Loki nuzzles into the touch. “Don’t be,” he says, tilting his hips back before burying inside you again with a whisper of, "I've missed you." Pleasure spreads beneath your skin like liquid silk. It’s everything: being in his arms; Loki buried in the deepest parts of you as his heart beats between your shoulder-blades. The ridges of his cock tug your neglected walls, an itch only he can scratch, and your fingers tighten against the bedsheets while his pretty gasps of praise caress your ear. The heat of his skin against your spine is electric. Loki’s hand slips over your waist, cupping your breast, brushing your nipple. “Be careful,” you whisper. But Loki’s kisses work down the curve of your shoulder, lingering on the angle of the blade.

His forehead presses against your skin: moist, warm, alive. Tears prick your eyes at the sudden, unwelcome, memory of when you thought you’d lost him forever. “I love you,” you moan again, and again, and again as he sinks in and retracts with each slow chant of the words.   Soon, you cum. And then, he follows. And Loki heals with each breath which makes your chest rise and fall while you slip beneath sleep: safe in his arms.

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