Flash of Thought

Title: One Reason Why
Pairing: Loki/Tim
Rating: PG13
Snippet: They rock against each other, slow and teasing. Waiting to see which one will give in first.

-

“Tell me, what do you think you could gain- brother? He is not like us. You are…not of the right mind. To what end are you seeking this child out?”

Loki looks into Thor’s eyes, sneers. “Perhaps- brother, I am simply doing it because of you.”

Thor looks baffled, his bright eyes widening in confusion. “I do not know why would attempt to strike at me through this boy. Seeing as I do not know this child at all. What game are you playing, Loki?”

No game, just life.

-

“What do think you’re doing? Why didn’t you call for help?” Dick shakes Tim by the arm.

“I didn’t want to be a bother.” Tim whispers through immobile lips.

Dick stares at him, incredulous, eyes wide in shock. “A bother? A bother? Do you even hear yourself when you talk?”

No, do you?

-

Tim traces the lines of Loki’s form, blue. Red eyes and green. Robin. He softly swallows, suppressing the shivers that threaten to shake the stillness, the peace of the room. Loki watches him with his Robin eyes. His long, slender hand reaches out and begins to trace Tim’s scars.

Loki’s lines are beautiful- Tim’s aren’t. Yet another difference between them, marking how one is clearly superior than the other. Tim wonders why Loki is here. This time. Why they did this- again.

It’s only going to make it so much harder when they-

“Our brothers are fools.” Loki whispers, voice low like cracking ice. Tim’s eyes flicker up from where he’s tracing lines to Loki’s angular face. Waiting for more of an explanation for that particular truth out of the lie-weaver’s mouth. “Such.” Loki drags the pads of his fingertips down Tim’s side, over his hip, curling over his side to brush the small of his back. “Fools.”

Tim withdraws, hand held close to himself as the Jotun pulls him close. It’s so cold. (Nothing new there.) Tim lets his eyes close for only a moment. He presses his hands to Loki’s chest, hands tracing the lines he knows to be there.

Like his. But planned, part of some sort of grand image. Tim’s are the result of someone else’s grand vision. How quaint. Loki rolls on top of him, lips softly pressing against his. Coaxing.

Tim doesn’t need coaxing.

He’s always been open to whoever wanted him-

(But no one has ever really wanted him before Loki.)

Tim resists the urge to close his eyes, nails digging into Jotun skin he takes in the image of Loki above him. Their lips press, liquid ice tongue pressing against the seam of his lips, urging him to open. Tim lets his eyes fall closed just as Loki’s start to slide open.

Cold. So cold. Tim thinks that they could be making fog, steam, like this.

Loki brings a whole new meaning to steamy. Tim rolls his hips upwards- get on with it.

Nails scrape against his bones. Giving me orders, are you? it’s only painful for a moment, before the numbness sets in.

That can be applied to everything, Tim finds. Especially with Loki. More so, with Loki, in the physical sense than the emotional. Tim can feel his eyelashes as he closes his eyes, squeezes them shut against the words that want to tumble from his mouth. The words that Loki always manages to bring just below the surface of his scars. Like old, bad, blood.

Words like love and need and perfect. Like trust and safety.

Loki’s tongue is truly silver, slick and moving. Just. Just. Perhaps the reason why Loki is so good with words is because he keeps stealing Tim’s…like this. Stealing them right out of his lungs and mouth. Taking them up on his silver tongue, lapping it up like water out of a pool. All he leaves Tim with is the soft sighs, the moans. Like Tim is some back-alley whore or concubine or worse.

Wife.

They rock against each other, slow and teasing. Waiting to see which one will give in first.

Tim may be going up against a god, an immortal- but he’s Tim. He’s never stopped waiting.

He’ll never lose. Tim opens his eyes, sees blue through his lashes.

And the slightest sliver of red.

-

Loki watches the human trace the lines of his Jotun form, unafraid. Simply there. Everything locked up deep and tight, somewhere just as cold and frigid inside as Loki is outside. The human watches him with Jotun eyes. Blue and black. He reaches out and traces the lines on the mortal form.

Timothy’s lines are beautiful, Loki’s are not. Another mark in difference proving just how much better one of them is than the other. Loki wonders why he keeps coming back here. Keeps doing this.

It’s only going to make it so much harder when one of them-

“Our brothers are fools.” Loki whispers, Timothy lets out a soft exhale. Like water slicing through cracks in ice. The Jotun eyes meet his. Searching, empty but searching. Strange. Beautiful. Strong. Loki wonders why he says this, out loud, does such a- “Such.” Foolish thing. He drags his hand over Timothy’s bony hip, over his side and lets his fingers linger on the soft, unscarred flesh of the small of his back. “Fools.”

Timothy curls back and away from him, but his eyes are still on Loki. Always. It’s never been otherwise, has it? Loki pulls the human close, feels his warmth. The warmth that Loki doesn’t have. Timothy’s eyes slide shut as his hands trace the skin on Loki’s shoulders.

Loki envies Timothy’s scars. Marks of a warrior. Something any Asgardian could look upon with pride, honor. Not like Loki’s marks. The marks of the monster. Marks of the unwanted Prince of two realms. He covers the small, warm human, pressing his own cold flesh to Timothy’s warm expanse. He wonders why he doesn’t return to his assumed form- then. Why the color doesn’t spread from Timothy onto Loki.

He presses their lips together, tongue dragging over soft lips, the thin seam. More. Loki wants more. More.

Wanting.

He can almost feel the smile on Timothy’s lips.

(No one has ever really smiled for Loki except Tim.)

Loki resists the urge to open his eyes, fingers digging into human skin, he imagines the image of Timothy below him. Their lips press, such warmth against Loki’s tongue, teasing him, taunting him. As Loki opens his eyes he sees Timothy’s close.

Hot. So hot. Loki thinks that this is what mortals mean when they reference steam and sex.

Timothy rolls his hips upwards against Loki’s, telling him to get on with it.

Loki lets his nails scrape against the bone, mildly amused, even as he feels warmth and color spreading over his blue skin.

That can be applied to everything, Loki finds. Especially with Timothy. More so, with Timothy, in the emotional sense than the physical. Loki feels the soft fan of Timothy’s breath as their lips momentarily part, so very warm on his face. The warmth that remains ever out of reach, a phantom memory ever since that day. Drawing out feelings that Loki thinks are best forgotten.

Feelings like love and need and hope. Feelings like joy and safety.

Timothy is truly a warrior. Just. Just. Perhaps the reason why Timothy is so good with actions is because he keeps stealing Loki’s. Drawing them right out of Loki’s bones, swallowing and sucking all the strength out with his sinfully warm body. Just robbing Loki of all of his will and resolve. Breaking him down slowly, like some weak-minded mouse or spineless peasant. Or worse.

A heart.

They rock against each other, slow and teasing. Waiting to see which one will give in first.

Timothy may be a very unique mortal- but Loki is a god. He thinks in years, not minutes.

He’ll never lose. Loki lets his eyes slide partly closed, glimpsing human pale-pink through his lashes.

And the slightest sliver of blue.

-

The reason Tim lets this happen, doesn’t say a word-

Is because-

Tim whispers his words, gives them, freely, to Loki. Loki who snatches them up like gold and hoards them away in his memory of frozen halls. Keeps them locked up safe, for Tim. Treasures them and guards them. Tim mumbles his words into Loki’s throat as they lay together. Both of them pale and cold and shuddering against each other.

Loki listens. Hears the words Tim lets out with every sharp exhale. And he understands. He listens to the things that lurk just underneath the surface. Listens to those- takes them straight to heart. The cold winter heart. Takes them into consideration. He hears Tim’s voice.

Perhaps that’s just…one of the reasons why Tim allows this to happen.

-

The reason Loki does this, doesn’t stop-

Is because-

Loki relishes in the feeling of warm skin against his own, touching him, feeling him, near him. Alive and pulsing near him. No fear. No ulterior motive. Simply there for the sake of being there, with Loki. Loki, just Loki. Not trying to change him.

Timothy accepts him. Doesn’t try to make him out as someone he isn’t, doesn’t try to force him back into a mold of who he once was, doesn’t try and make him see where he was wrong. Timothy understands. He knows, clearly, what it is like. To not be. Timothy understands and he welcomes Loki with his warm skin, his warm body, his warm everything.

Perhaps that’s just…one of the reasons why Loki doesn’t stop.

-

Just one, of the reasons why they love each other.

And will never say so.