#talentedliarloki

      he can feel the way that Loki’s body tenses in surprise-- maybe expecting violence. but that’s not Steve’s goal, right now. frustration has gotten the better of him, temptation leading his actions, and right now Steve has absolutely no interest in thinking logically. 

      Loki’s lips part like an invitation, and Steve sweeps his tongue inside to taste him. it earns a low groan from the solider, and he crowds himself in closer at the fingers curling into the hem of his shirt, hands dipping down from Loki’s shoulders to grasp at his hips. he’s admittedly a little swept away in the moment, enjoying the way that it feels to have Loki’s tongue brushing against his own, his cooler body pressed tight against Steve’s warm frame. 

      this has been building for some time, now, and they’re about due for a release, as it were. encouraged by the way the god is responding, Steve starts to sweep his hands across the man’s torso, looking for however the hell he’s supposed to get this damned tunic off.

   ❝ i won’t be a moment. ❞

so to say that he looks forward to these conversations,  however brief they may be,  is an understatement.  95% of the human interaction thor has on any given day is either with worried parents,  kids under ten,  or jerks whose only real accomplishment in life is reaching master prestige.  

thor settles into his seat at the bar ( and it has become his seat ),  smiling at loki until the bartender makes his way over to him. “ surprise me? ”  he asks,  but before loki can respond, he holds his hands up in the air and laughs. “ sorry.  i know i promised we wouldn’t do that anymore.   jack & coke?  or a miller.  i don’t care.  how’s your night been? ” 

“Oh, Gods, I’m terribly sorry, I must have the wrong—” 

Jaskier’s heartfelt apology upon finding a handsome, green eyed phantom in the midst of a bath is ruined by some rather insulting name calling, which leaves him stuttering with reasonable offense.

     “-- How did you find me?” He sighs, shutting the car door to lean back against it instead.

"Mm, so that's what I am," he teased, running a hand through Loki's hair. In all honesty, he was surprised the other had decided to use him as a pillow. He didn't think Loki was that type. But with how they were he was enjoying all of this and didn't want to break the spell. "Well, do go back to sleep then. I don't want to disturb you any more than I already have."

one word meme: randomizer picked dance and i’m still laughing about it

Coronation is barely a thought, a concept on the distant horizon that neither of them can be troubled with. The hall is abuzz with celebration, and it is his day. He’s been showered with gifts, been congratulated on the start of the beard dusting his jaw, but when he sees his brother, blanketed in silks and velvets and garnished in silver the same ways he himself is in gold, Thor can’t look away. 

His eyes are shining with amusement as he holds out a hand, and Thor knows it’s another jest, but he takes Loki’s hand before the punchline sweeps him out of his rreach.

He sees their mother clap once in his periphery, but his attention is on Loki, the darkness of his presentation dulled by the brightness lining his face. Mindful, Thor holds his brother’s hands in a deft grip, not dominating or trapping. And then, he spins them, and they dance. 

It’s quick and short, arms raised and lowered and feet ornate. Loki is, naturally, better at it than he, and by the end his face is red with laughter. Everyone watching is alit with mirth, and applause trails them when they still, chests rising and falling, and eyes shining.

The unfamiliar skyline is something of a comfort, here. There are no expectations being set on his shoulders, though he’d immediately volunteered to help in clean-up of this vast and sparkling city. They hosted his friends at much cost to their own - it’s the least Thor can do. 

Lifting rubble and rock is easy as breathing, and he takes some pleasure in the strain of it, the physicality of pulling broken rock from the ground and bringing it to different piles. Everything is reused here, and so reused the rock and dirt shall be. Sweat coats his brow, and he uses the back of his filthy wrist to wipe the drops that threaten to drip into his eyes. 

He feels hollowed out, somehow, like the cavernous and uneven ground stretching into the trees before him. Soon, he will even out the ground and fill in those crags, but there’s no doing that with his own ailments. There’s no enemy, now, nothing immediate to focus on besides the ground before him, and he finds if he stops, he might never start moving again. So, he stands, rubs a hand over his face, and gets back to work. 

 - only to be greeted by a sight he’s only seen in his head, in dreams and nightmares alike. There’s nothing marring his complexion, and his dress is casual, but the sight of him makes Thor freeze, the unfamiliar feeling of flight singing through his blood, making him take a single staggering step back.

He doesn’t want this madness, he has no room for it.