Loki X Reader || Girl With The Gold Earring

29 | Insomnia Freckled

Y/N let her lips linger at Loki's neck, too long for it to be an accident, the pressure a little too much to be casual.

She hoped he wouldn't mind. She didn't think he'd mind---he likes kissing; at least, he seems to enjoy their kisses before painting. And if he has ever needed a kiss---someone to cradle his face, to caress and pamper him---it is now.

Loki tensed up as though electrified.

Y/N had felt it where she's still holding his shoulder---to support herself as she leans down---that knot of muscle hardening below her palm. She couldn't see his eyes, but she knew they had snapped open.

Besides that, he did not move.

He continued to not move as Y/N dragged her lips a fraction to the left. She'd parted them this time, enough for him to feel the soft scrape of her teeth. His skin is sweet and cool against the wet heat of her tongue.

This did get a sound out of him; a soft, broken groan.

It grated against Y/N's core low and delicious.

She'd pulled noises like that from him before, but not like this.

Encouraged, she continued. She'd had to sweep Loki's hair to one side to get to him, and it feathered against the curve of her cheek as she followed the muscle leading down into his pine-green shirt. He hasn't yet put on that scent he keeps on his dresser; that sharp, familiar tang days old and faded. Instead, he smells of the bath he'd taken; of pepper and lavender and rosewater.

Carefully, Y/N hunted out Loki's individual nerves, caressing them with loving precision. She could feel his heartbeat in a few places, quick and soft against her lips like summer rain landing on her face.

When she reached a patch of skin just below his ear, his head tilted to grant her exploring mouth more room.

She smiled against him.

He likes it.

Y/N's other hand is still in his hair, and she pushed it deeper, the thick black strands pouring into the gaps between her fingers like a night-cloaked ocean filling a bay.

Even that got a soft sound, something between a gasp and a catching of breath. Loki eased himself back to rest against Y/N's front, the sweet, foreign pressure of his weight pushing her into the plump armrest of the divan.

Smiling, Y/N slipped an arm under his and looped it about his middle. He loosened, letting her support him, her arm over his stomach rising and falling with his contented sigh.

Y/N needed only to turn her own head slightly, now, to mouth at his neck, and Loki accepted it hungrily.

His skin is fascinatingly pale. Part of Y/N has always wondered whether he has blood at all, or if he's just full of meltwater and sleet. She decided to test it, and gave his tissue-paper-white neck a suck.

Another moan ran through him.

When she pulled away, the place she'd sucked was flushed a tender, raspberry pink.

...

"What are you doing?" Loki eventually muttered unevenly. His voice was uncharacteristically breathy, his usually whetted tone dulled like a blunt blade.

Several minutes had passed, the prince now melted limply into Y/N's embrace, the pale column of his throat rosy and somewhat kiss-bruised.

Before answering, Y/N mouthed at the lobe of his ear. Apparently, it is a sensitive spot, because a weak groan pushed up from his chest. His hands gripped the knees of his trousers, balling the light linen tightly in his pale fists.