Steve touches himself.
It had become a ritual of sorts, Loki had noticed.
Steve would return to his room, take a short and efficient shower, sketch something in his art-books, shed his clothing – folding it neatly and putting it into his hamper – and lastly getting under his covers.
Loki wasn't sure how it began. All he knew was that one day, he had decided to 'pop in' on the dear Captain, only to end up getting much more than he ever bargained for. The same thing happened when he returned the next day, and the day after. And soon, it became Loki's own little shared ritual with the unsuspecting American hero. Loki would stand in the shadows and watch, as Steve Rogers put on a show for him.
It would start out with some awkward shifting, Steve trying to find the perfect spot for what he was about to do. The man was nothing, if not sensible.
Then the Captain's legs would fall to the sides underneath the covers, bending slightly at the knee, his hands would move slowly up and down strong tights, caressing the sensitive skin surrounding his pelvis.
He would always be timid at first. His face flushing with shame, as he slowly inched closer to place he wanted his hands to be the most. As Steve's hand finally reached it's destination, Loki would have to shift himself, to reveale some of the pressure which couldn't be dealt with until the god returned home.
Then the hand would start moving. Up and down in long, lazy strokes. The Captain took his time, building up the pleasure, getting used to the sensation as his free hand continued to touch everything but the pelvic area.
By then his body heat would become too high, and with some unflattering kicks that made him look more human and more imperfect than anyone Loki had ever seen like that, Steve would kick off the sheets, baring his body to the cool air of his room.
As he got further along, the American got more daring. His movements sped up as the other hand went to his sack, gently fondling it between long and rough fingers.
Loki had felt those fingers on himself more than once, grasping his arms during a fight, grazing his cheek whenever the Captain was able to land a punch on him. He could, with some stretch of his imagination, almost feel them grazing himself in the same way that the Captain used them, but the thought always caused Loki to feel much more uncomfortable in his trousers, so he usually saved those images for when he returned to his lair.
It never took long. The Midgardian knew how to make his body react, his movements were trained and efficient, easily guiding himself towards his orgasm.
The hand not stroking his length - now with a fast, almost wild pace – would move behind his sack, searching for that one spot behind it, the one that made up for the true pleasure spot, that Loki would be more than happy to show the man some day. For Loki was certain that it was a place that Steve had not yet allowed himself to venture, nor would he without someones guidance.
A few fast moments and some rather harsh tugs later, the Captain would throw back his head. His toes would curl into the bed beneath him, his mouth open in a perfect o, as he would almost silently let out a word, that almost made Loki cough himself to death the first time he heard it.
The moments after were awkward. Steve Rogers would lie in bed for a moment, collecting his thoughts and calming his breath. Then he would rise, and return to the bathroom to wash of his shame, his mouth would be in a frown and his face beat-red as he walked through the room and into the build-in bathroom.
While he was in there, Loki would sneak away. Resisting the urge to go join the soldier in the bath – neither of them were ready for that – returning instead to his cold and empty lair, spending the night dealing with himself.
The next night he would return, and perhaps some day, he would stay.