[ariel] Eric/Loki - First time after the attack

[thorforgottoshower]

Loki had been trembling. Not to a great degree, but he didn't need to for it to be noticeable to Eric, who'd never seen fear in the man since he'd met him. 'Just lie still', he'd commanded, and while the huntsman might have put up a fight over it another time, that slight shake to him, the way his eyes widened a bit more than usual as he watch him, the way his fingers tensed, curling around muscle when Eric got too close, had him settling down against the mattress, nothing but palms smoothing up the man's thighs, thumbs rubbing small circles over his hips.

It had been slow - much slower than they usually are - and while the picture of Loki, eyes gently shut, lips parted and head tilted to the side exposing the long column of his throat, had been as incredibly arousing as the man always is, Eric couldn't help concern seep in. Tender was something they never were between each other, gentle even less so, but he'd given shallow thrusts up into him and Loki rode his cock, hips bouncing on his lap, and his hands hadn't left his legs, not controlling his movement, just hovering his touch, massaging the muscles, caressing almost soothingly as if to reassure. The attack had been obvious even the day after it happened, the purple bruising now turned a sickly sort of yellow over his throat, but still evident as Loki threw his head back with mounting pleasure, leaking cock bouncing between his legs over Eric's stomach, leaving wet trails of precum down the shaft and against any skin the head touched. He still didn't know any of the details, what had happened, who had done it, but he didn't ask, knowing that had Loki inquired about Eric's attack he would have told the other to fuck off, the both of them far to prideful to admit to anything. But the damage was clear in how his eyes cracked to watch Eric any time he moved under him, wary, mistrusting - scared.

Loki wouldn't comment on it and Eric would deny it if he did, but as climax approached, the slick slapping of skin and erratic, labored breathe rising filling the otherwise quiet room, Eric's hand slipped over his stomach were Loki's fingers splayed over his abs, balancing himself, and twined his fingers in his, their palms coming to meet. A thumb rubbed at the back of Loki's knuckles, skin cool and slender hands bony under his, and Loki's grip fluctuated, small squeezes as his movements became more desperate, more loose, moans and gasps leaving parted lips until tension coiled tight in him broke and he came, seed spilling hot over his cock and leaking against Eric's stomach. Eric would follow shortly after, the twitching muscles of Loki's ass milking him as he buried inside him.

They don't ever cuddle or spend overlong in each others' arms, because neither are very comfortable expressing such sentiment, but when Loki sinks down against his chest, Eric doesn't stop his hand's instinct to smooth a palm up his back, fingers tracing his spine, and the other weaving into his hand, carding the loose strands with fingertips massaging lightly at the scalp. Loki isn't a weak man, rarely ever allowed to be vulnerable, and Eric knows this hurt in him won't last. But there's always been an understanding between them, a mutual use of each other for needs and desires without attachment or complication. Eric supposes comfort, security, reprieve can be part of that deal for needs, and as he turns his head to press lips soft against Loki's temple, it's part of it - supplying what's needed at the moment.

There's still no love between them and no illusion that there ever would be, but there's some level of understanding. Perhaps not companionship, but equal regard towards one another and perhaps empathy in some form; both of them with their own need to be wanted, to have contact and connection, however shallow it may be. And when the comforter is pulled up around the already dosing, now cleaned and relaxed body of Loki, tucked in at his sides, Eric settles next to him, not pulling him to his chest then, but when he wakes the next morning to find him curled against him anyway, he doesn't move to push him away. Instead, he lies there, fingers toying with stray locks of raven hair and eyes watching the daylight slowly progress across the room. In half an hour or so, he'd get up to make the typical ritual of toast and eggs. Come back into the room to rock the other awake, perhaps even snatch the blanket of him if he refused to get up, and it would return to the normal way of things. No mention of the tenderness that had past between them, nor the reason for it's extension.