Title: With A Whimper, Chapter Three
Fandom(s): Thor, Avengers, Supernatural
Rating: R…maybe NC17? I don’t know how these things work ^^;
Summary: ”I want to propose a mutually beneficial…arrangement.” Gabriel and Loki make a deal, to save them both from uncertain future.
Warnings: the beginning of sex, yay! also, my fudging various history, mythology, and canon to attempt and make this oddness work ^^; there’s a whole bunch of ideas in my head that I’ve not been able to make come through. I should do a headcanon post some day. But not today.
The archangel meets his own desire with bewilderment. The mechanics of the process he knows well enough, he’s been to earth numerous times, bringer of holy declarations or righteous judgement, and he’s seen how the humans, how his Father’s “children”, delight in rutting like beasts. Gabriel has even watched them with mild interest, wondering at the ecstasy on their faces that sometimes seemed to be desperation or rage or any number of human emotions the angel had no term for. Even if he’d gotten it into his head to lay with a mortal, as some of his brothers or sisters had, it was a grievous sin and could result in the horror of the nephilim.
Now, his Father is vanished and his Word unheard, brother broke faith with brother, and there is war in Heaven. With Michael and Lucifer sundered, the Host’s attention divided, there remained none with the authority to truly command Gabriel. Here, in this cover of mortal flesh made hallowed, there is blood rushing beneath his skin and trillions of nerve endings reacting to every slightest pressure, every tiny shift in the air, the brush of lips or touch of finger nails, translating these things into sensation and reactive emotion. He never grew tired of the pleasant surprises of wearing a human vessel, but this intimacy is a new level of fleshly realization. Even this experience, of laying with knowledge of a heathen idol, is made holy.
“You’ve never known the pleasures of flesh,” Loki makes it a statement, not a question and his lips curl in a lascivious smirk, all wickedness and suggestion, utterly shameless. Lucifer could have learned a thing or two from this one and it thrills some part of Gabriel to know this is his, this moment, these actions, the headiness of disobedience tempered by the knowledge he is doing it to avoid betraying either of his brothers, both beloved of him equally. But he also is aware he’s delighting in the perverse nature in which he will accomplish his purpose.
“I think you’ll find I’m a quick study,” the angelic voice is nectar, purring as he leans down over the expanse of pale chest, noting the taintless skin, human in shape but so far from mortal. His own vessel is frozen in time, will never age nor tarnish so long as he holds it, but it was human once and retains the blemishes of years lived. Loki’s will never know decay, though it’s temporarily smeared with blood and bruises, and Gabriel spreads his hands reverently over the trickster’s ribs, feeling the strong bones beneath his palms, the warmth of blood and thump of a quickening heart.
“You’ll know I hardly boast when I say you’ll find no better tutor,” Loki declares, his grip tightening on Gabriel’s hips, black nails digging crescents, and the angel twists into the feeling, heat rubbing against the leather pants the other wears, unlaced and torn, yet somehow still on, the only vestment left to Loki. The archangel’s own garments were destroyed in his earlier exit from his vessel.
The leather gives in his hands, laces snapping, tearing the opening large when he pulls roughly, eager now and determined. Laying a hand against the bulge of Loki’s erection, he palms it, lightly, teasingly, feigning timidness perhaps, but he’s seen more than enough in his travels to know exactly what he’s doing and he’s fooling neither of them. Loki wriggles beneath him, smears of blood drying on his face, on his lips, green eyes bright with intent. Gabriel thinks of deep forests that swallow light and sound or clinging ivy, beautiful but choking life. He plunges forward, catching the dark haired god’s lips in a messy open mouthed kiss.
Loki makes a noise, something pleasurable between a hum and a moan, it vibrates against Gabriel’s lips and he thinks how Loki tastes surprisingly sweet. Knowing the god’s history and his true lineage, he was expecting bitter or cold, vinegar and ice on his tongue, but the trickster’s mouth is warmth, the taste of mead and lemon rinds. Gabriel’s teeth clash lightly against Loki’s, their tongues intertwining, while the pagan trails a hand through the angel’s hair, cupping his head and pulling them closer.
Soft lips move down, grazing over Gabriel’s jaw before pressing kisses to his throat, which quickly turn into bites of sharp teeth and the angel can feel the skin bruising as Loki sucks and nips. The archangel tilts his head to allow better access, letting his fingers stroke down Loki’s side, fingers dipping into the depressions between his ribs, thinking how fragile the other seems while knowing it’s not so, not in the least.
“So this is what heaven tastes like then,” the trickster’s voice trickles into Gabriel’s ear, breath hot and close. He turns to see a flash of red against Loki’s white teeth, his own blood vivid on the other’s tongue, “Delectable.”
“I truly doubt that’s what heaven tastes like,” Gabriel’s tone is throaty, amused, and he stretches himself along Loki, bodies flush and hot against each other. The holy messenger can sense the trickster’s power pressing against his own, immense power, sinuous and feral, his own answering, whispering against each other through the thin membrane of their flesh.
Loki hisses appreciatively when Gabriel mouths his earlobe before kissing along the sharp line of Loki’s jaw, finally nuzzling into the crook of his neck, catching the heathen god’s scent, loving the smell of warm flesh, of wild thyme and juniper, with the furtive hint of brisk winter’s day.
The Liesmith sits up suddenly, arms wrapping possessive and tight around Gabriel’s waist, settling the angel firmly into his lap in a way that brings the pulsing heat of their erections together. Gabriel groans, golden eyes glassy and dazed, and Loki rolls those bony hips shamelessly, letting out a wanton moan of his own and lavishing kisses along the archangel’s shoulders, hands weaving into the long feathers gathered where Gabriel’s wings meet his spine.
Then Loki’s mouth is moving down, kissing and sucking until he reaches pert nipples, and his tongue darts out flicking at one of the hard nubs, twirling around deftly while his lips lift in a smirk and his eyes roll up to catch Gabriel’s. Then his hand is dropping between them, grasping both of their cocks at once, expertly wrapping his long fingers and pulling in quick tugs.
Gabriel arches into Loki’s mouth, his heated touch. The angel’s back bows, ribs straining against flesh, and he lets out a keening sound of desperation, three sets of wings flaring up and out, and Loki marvels at the way the sun catches the aurous feathers, liquid gold, ever-changing with the angel’s grace pulsing through them. The pagan god raises his head, nipping Gabriel’s lips and murmurs a promise against them.
“I’m going to fuck you so hard, you’ll forget this lingering yearning for Heaven. I’m going to make you scream my name, Gabriel.” The angel’s eyes widen with surprise, he hadn’t realized Loki already knew of him.
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