Thread: pure i m a g i n a t i o n [fics & stuff]

incomplete drabble nonsense size-2 Fear Loki can sense it as the ants scurry about trying to escape his wrath. He can feel it pulsate under his impossibly cold fingers as they wrap around his favourite servant's throat. He can taste it when he claims Brady's pliant lips in a brutal kiss. Fear sustains him in ways his brother will never understand. Scent It's one he has come to know. Brady smells of cleanliness and vices all mixed together in a sweet bundle of limbs. Ofttimes he will bury his nose in that tangle of gold and inhale deeply. He smells youth and hardships. He smells sex and debauchery. And when he dismisses his servant from his side, he can still smell him on his fingers. Brady's scent is unworthy of a God but it's Brady's scent that he remembers long after the human has fallen asleep. Rain Brady hates the rain but it's Loki's reaction to the darkening skies that distracts him from his own displeasure. Brady doesn't know the alien well enough to piece his story together, but the fact alone that Loki's impenetrable mask is slipping away seems significant. There's a longing in his eyes that goes beyond anything Brady has seen before. It's enough to discomfit anyone. And so Brady seats himself beside the god of lies and carefully takes his hand between his own. My lord, he murmurs. For now, it seems like it's enough. When Loki turns to face him, the mask is securely in place and Brady isn't sure if this is his victory. Cold Loki is some kind of walking icicle, Brady has gathered by now. He manipulates this ability well, particularly where vulnerable, tender, naked flesh is concerned. His naked flesh. It's bad enough when Loki's rubbing his frozen fingertips over his nipples but when he goes the extra mile and decides to thaw his cock up his arse, Brady has to say something. Worship It isn't a desire so much as it is his right . He is a God and a God demands his worship. Loki takes no pleasure in easy conquests but the sight of Brady kneeling before him is deeply satisfying. Even a man so proud can bend before the will of a God and he is a God like no other. Mine It isn't that Loki wants to hear him say it, it's that he needs to hear him say it. He has dealt with Brady's flippant tongue before and the dried flecks of blood beneath his fingernails is but a reminder of what he can and will do if Brady should push. He threads his icy fingers through the veritable rat's nest, noting with some hidden scorn how the numerous knots can't diminish the bright glow. There's warmth to be found in each individual strand. Brady looks more Asgardian than he ever will. A hard yank to the human's hair has him yelping and Loki fists the locks tight while his body beats mercilessly against his backside. His breath is frosted with aggression as he growls his demands into the mortal's ears. Whom do you serve? he asks calmly, Who do you belong to, Brady? The hesitation is enough to have Loki seething in silent fury. Another rough yank has his little servant crying out and Loki drives himself deeper than he has ever recalled going before. I asked you a question, Brady, he whispers, carefully tracing the shell of the human's ear with his frozen tongue, To whom do you belong...? He can feel the human break before the first words manage to slip past those delicate lips in a rushed plea. You, he pants weakly, Yours, m'lord. All yours. A slow smile curls over Loki's lips. Mine, he agrees as he wraps his warming fingers around his servant's twitching cock, And no one else's... Feel Loki could have Brady's head for bringing him to such a place. The sight of all the writhing bodies and idiotic looks of pleasure disgust him. He does not belong here with the likes of these kneelers. They should be on their knees in his presence but they continue on as if a God were not among them. The ignorance of these humans is breathtaking. But Loki cannot dwell on these thoughts for very long. Amidst the sea of faces, Brady's is the only one he cannot see. He can feel the human grinding his backside against his clothed groin and for a moment, Loki can only look puzzled. A shapely brow lifts to signify his bemusement as he leans closer to be heard over the thundering beat. What are you doing? He cannot see it, but he knows Brady is smirking that insufferable smirk of his. And of course the human offers the simplest of replies. Dancing. Loki snorts. Dancing in a dance club. But of course. Regret Brady tries not to have any and only results in harbouring several. He knows the moment he throws all caution to the wind and remerges on S.H.I.E.L.D.'s side that Loki will do everything in his power to see that he suffers for it. Though, Brady knows the alien well enough to understand that Loki doesn't buy his act. They both play their parts well enough to survive. It isn't his own regrets that Brady worries about. Game Their entire relationship is one never-ending game. They are master chessman, only Brady is far too intelligent to plan two moves ahead. It isn't about predicting his opponent's move. It's about making the right one and if he's truly as good as the world thinks him to be, then one is all he'll need. Checkmate. size