On His Back OR ~*~Things Loki Convinces Me to Write Instead of What I Am Working On ~*~

He was drunk. Again. On his back for him. Again. On the bar, afterhours in the club. New.

“You realize my boyfriend is going to be pissed at me,” he giggles, swiping brown curls out of his grey eyes. A blazing kiss forces them shut and he whimpers, flopping his hands above his head. The empty bottle of Jack rocks and topples, smashing on the patron side of the bar, but neither man nor deity acknowledges the noise too lost in each other.

“I never thought I would like dreadlocks as much as I love yours,” he whispers tugging on one screaming red rope of hair when the being draped over his body pauses to allow him to drag much needed air into his burning lungs.  The mischievous grin flashes across his pale face before he swoops back in with his talented, thin pink lips.

“Thanks, I think,” he smugly grinds their hips together forcing a gasping cry from his inebriated companion. That is all it takes to prompt a mad writhing to a sweaty, moaning completion, and then the human passes out.  

“Now THAT’s a compliment, my love,” the god whispers happily dropping a kiss on his nose.


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