Loki Smut Oneshots (lokisgoodgirl)

Third Date

"Try this," Loki commanded quietly.

All you could feel was each heavy breath as you tried not to wilt beneath his stare. He was a panther, toying with its meal.

Operatic melodies rose and fell all around, bouncing between terracotta arches from an ageing record player in the corner. It was beautiful, whatever it was. Perfect, even. Loki grinned, as the aria began to build.
"E lucevan le stelle," he murmured knowingly, tilting his head. "Now...try this."

The gleam of his eyes swam in the candlelight, chin dipped. He had scooped a not unsubstantial blob of his desert to a fingertip and was holding it aloft. You licked your bottom lip, staring at him almost as intensely as he was staring at you. It looked delicious. Stiff and pale and decadent. Not unlike its principal devourer for the evening.

You leant forward, pushing against the checked tablecloth as Loki gracefully extended his hand, the long finger poised. His gaze tracked from your eyes to your lips. Red, and parted. Without breaking your stare, you felt his finger come to rest on your tongue. He had really outdone himself tonight.

The private restaurant, the ambiance, the green suit that wore him like ripples on a midnight sea. Conversation had been sparkling, as usual. But now, you suspected the time for conversation was over. His hair was smoothed back at the temples, drawing attention to sharp lines on his face that sank deeper with each glimmer of flame. Candlewax had begun to drip on the tablecloth, spreading in spite of itself. You knew how it felt.

Your lips sucked against his finger, deep to the second knuckle. Panacotta like you had never tasted swished at your cheeks. Rich, thick, and entirely delicious. It found its way across the spread of your tongue, sliding with a swallow down your throat. Your eyes fluttered shut as a muffled moan of pleasure grew and released. Loki's finger curled, rubbing the roof of your mouth ever so gently.

If his elusive cock wasn't hard as hard as marble right now, you'd eat your hat. "I think you got it all, darling" he purred. You opened your eyes, met with the sight of a man bristling with arousal. It coursed across his skin like electricity as you sucked backwards, shallow breaths making his shirt buttons strain. The blue of his irises had been consumed by darkness. The tip of his finger rested on your bottom lip.
 "Delicious," you smiled. Loki shivered, readjusting himself.
"What say we get out of here?" he growled, retracting his finger reluctantly from your lip.
"I'll call the car around." He lifted the hand with one glistening finger in the air, ready to summon the solitary maître d' hiding somewhere in the back. Seeing his resplendent profile was the final straw. That proud brow, that haughty raise of his chin, those cheekbones. Enough was enough.

"Wait-" you gasped quietly.

Loki's head swivelled. His brow twitched, interest piqued and momentarily sobered from his lust. A close-lipped smile began to flirt against your cheeks. You pressed your lips together, raising your eyebrows as a finger traced down your cleavage. The god's eyes followed it. "Really?" Loki hummed with no attempt to contain his amusement.
"Bad girl, aren't you?" There was a loud scrape as he pushed his chair backwards against the tile. The table's edge obscured your view, but you could tell his hips had widened. His thighs, spread.

"I'm game if you are," he smirked with a devilish click of his tongue. One hand rested on the crease of his hip, fingertips digging into supple muscle. The other was hidden, but from the movement of one shoulder you suspected he was rubbing his thigh. Eager. Straining against the onslaught of erotic mischief about to be unleashed. Your stomach was fizzing as your mind dangled on the precipice of consequence.

"What about the staff?" you postured coyly.
Loki chuckled. "Don't worry about them," he said, "do not forget whom it is you are about to fuck." You bit your lip, feeling heat rise in your face.
"Oh, I'm sorry..." Loki started, feigning concern. How he managed to sound seductive and sanctimonious would never fail to amaze. And arouse. He shrugged off his suit jacket, whipping his arms out with practised grace. The cotton sleeves of a crisp fitted shirt clung to the muscles. The subtle bulges cut in deep valleys against the cotton. "Am I being presumptuous in my assumption that you wish to immediately sink yourself onto my cock within this very restaurant?"