Chapter Text
Loki held Stephen close as they moved with each other, Stephen underneath him, his name on Loki’s lips. Gods, he would never get tired of this, of the warmth of Stephen’s skin and the way it felt under his palms, his fingertips, his lips, his tongue. He would never not marvel at how perfectly their bodies fit together, chest to chest, hips to hips, every inch of bare, naked skin feeling like some kind of revelation. Loki couldn’t get enough of how Stephen felt, of how it felt to touch him, to be inside him. Such a simple thing that everyone took for granted—but Loki never would.
They kissed as they fucked, Loki’s hand between them, and every time Stephen moaned into his mouth, Loki almost laughed with joy. This was bliss. It was the best thing he could imagine. It was perfect.
The sun streamed through the window when they were done. Loki ran his fingertips over the broad curve of Stephen’s shoulder, then lowered his mouth to kiss it. Left his lips there. Stephen’s legs tangled with his and his arms wrapped around Loki’s midsection, his palms flat on Loki’s back. He liked kissing Loki’s neck. Loki liked when he did it.
“You know, it’s kind of dumb, but I’m nervous,” Stephen said, his fingers stroking the dip of muscle under Loki’s ribcage.
Loki smiled, a tinge of mischief to it. His hand skimmed over Stephen’s biceps, thumbs tracing up the undersides of his upper arms. It made Stephen shiver, the hairs on his arm rising a little, and happiness thrilled through Loki. “Nervous? You? Why?”
“I can see I’m not going to get a lot of sympathy on this one,” Stephen chuckled. Loki flashed him a smile. “I feel like I’m meeting the parents.”
“You’ve met my brother,” Loki pointed out. “You’ve known him longer than you’ve known me.”
“By like, three minutes,” Stephen said.
“You helped him bring me back from the dead.”
“We didn’t have a lot of time for chit chat.”
Loki grinned and kissed Stephen, just because he could. It had been two months and Loki couldn’t get enough of touching Stephen, running his fingers over him, pressing against him, planting little kisses on his forehead or his cheek simply to feel his warmth. They’d missed out on all the little touches you used to let someone know you were interested. They’d missed out on the secret, heady thrill of wondering what it meant, and now, Loki didn’t intend to ever let an opportunity to touch Stephen pass him by.
“You can do no wrong in Thor’s eyes,” Loki finally said. “You brought me back.”
Snuggling into Loki’s chest, Stephen said, “Can’t take credit for that. It was all you.”
That wasn’t true, but Loki didn’t argue. He brushed his lips over Stephen’s forehead and buried his fingers in Stephen’s hair. “You make me happy. And that makes my brother happy.”
Stephen’s arms tightened around Loki and he looked up. Their eyes met. Sunlight caught Stephen’s and Loki lost himself, snagged on the seaglass green turning to blue. The sheets rustled as Stephen rolled and Loki took his weight, Loki hooking a leg over the backs of Stephen’s calves, Stephen pushing one knee into the outside of Loki’s thigh. “You must think I’ll keep making you happy, since you want all three of us to have dinner together,” Stephen said.
Loki ran his fingers through Stephen’s goatee and up over the bottom of his lip. Stephen’s tongue slipped out and captured the bottom of Loki’s finger, drawing it into his mouth so he could suck it. Heat pulsed low in Loki’s belly. “This lack of directness doesn’t really suit you, Stephen. Do you want to keep making me happy?”
Stephen kissed Loki’s fingertip. His hands came up and wrapped around Loki’s, both of them holding tight. Despite the way they trembled, nothing felt as sure and certain as Stephen’s grip. Holding Loki’s eyes, Stephen said, “You want directness?”
Loki’s eyebrows shot up. “I was joking.”
“Yeah, well.” One of Stephen’s hands stayed clasped around Loki’s, and the other ran over his face and into his hair. “Sounded like you were throwing down, and I don’t back down from that kind of challenge.” A smile tugged at his mouth. Loki’s stomach turned over, but he couldn’t stop looking into Stephen’s eyes. “Ask me again,” Stephen said softly.
The sunlight was creeping up their bodies. In its glow, Stephen looked magnificent. His body was…perfect. Not perfect in the way that Loki had always been trained to think of as perfect—the rippling muscles, the defined abs, the broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist. Stephen looked normal. Now that Loki had touched him everywhere, learned his body by feel alone, he knew that Stephen was a little soft around the middle, that he didn’t have the physique of a god. And all Loki wanted to do was stretch out on his perfect, normal body, feel Stephen’s skin against his, Stephen’s scars against his, the scratch of his body hair and his beard.
Stephen was a work of art. A beautiful, wonderful man, the best man that Loki had ever known. Ask me again was a terrifying thing to hear, because it meant Stephen was going to answer his question, asked in jest. Or possibly a split second of neediness, because no one got better overnight, and Loki knew his own flaws.
But he did it anyway. “Do you want to keep making me happy, Stephen?”
There was a look in Stephen’s eyes that made liquid gold and starlight flood Loki’s body—a look of such softness and, paradoxically, fierceness. A look that said everything Loki needed to hear. But Stephen still said it out loud. “Forever,” he said. “Longer, if I can.”
Loki swallowed hard and leaned his forehead against Stephen’s. Their hands were still joined. “You shouldn’t say things like that so early in a relationship, you know.”
Stephen laughed. His lips caught Loki’s. Stephen kissed slowly, taking his time, as though forever wasn’t a metaphor, but an actual measure of time. As though there was no need to rush. The sun would always shine through the window to fall across their bodies. This moment would never end.
“I love you,” Stephen whispered. “So much.”
It was impossible to speak. Loki kissed Stephen harder; buried his fingers in Stephen’s hair; pressed his body against Stephen’s. He had never, ever imagined anyone saying those words to him. And it was Stephen. Stephen. Loki could never want anyone else. In all the great, wide universe, the man he’d fallen in love with had somehow fallen in love with him too. It seemed more impossible than the fact he’d been resurrected.
What could he say? I love you too. You mean everything to me. I’ll spend every second of the rest of my life adoring you.
He held Stephen close, kissed him, touched him, felt the truth of Stephen’s love for him, and he was grateful. He was so very, very grateful for all of this. For everything he thought he could never have, everything that he had now, everything that he could have.
Loki was grateful to be alive.