VAIN | Inside the Universe

Chapter Twenty Nine • Father, Son, and the Damned Spirit

Hours spent in dreamless slumber had passed by the time a familiar touch spanned across the better part of my back.

I caught that cool, midnight scent he wears all day long before I was even fully conscious. Cool, crisp, and a bit rough. I've always liked how it couldn't necessarily be considered a breath of fresh air. It was experienced, heavy, like the sky that's seen the day and taken it in for all it was. Somehow, it's always been a comfortable thought that he could wear the night like that - that he could go through so much and come out stronger. It was refreshing - almost scary in a sense that it was - even more so when I realize I had woken up of my own accord and didn't mind meeting the light of the morning.

A soft hum leaves my throat, in response to what I don't know, but it prompted almost instantly the tight, iron vise of his arms that were once draped loosely around me, securing me to Loki's chest and forcing the rest of the breathy remaints of sleep out of me.

Only then when my eyes had gasped themselves open did I realize we had somehow ended up on the floor, atop each other. And in declining my attempt to sit up a moment later with another tightening that left me breathless, it seemed one of us wanted to stay there.

"Let me out, I'm dying!" I puffed, but he only gripped me closer, groaning as if I were nothing but an irrelevant whisper in the distance. Hitting his chest proved to be a just as fruitless. "Wake up!"

"I am awake," he mumbles, taking in a deep breath from my neck and releasing it through a deep, husky drone that did much more to me than it should have. Naturally, and rather devastatingly, my instincts kick in. It was that, or I'm truly afraid I would never leave.

Is death by blue eyed
mischief really so bad?

I nuzzle my head into the nape of his neck, humming soothingly, satisfied, while gently trailing the bridge of my nose the length of his throat. I could feel his lips curl lazily against my skin, to which I took as just the moment to bite down on his neck.

He took in a breath through his teeth as his arms slackened for just a split second, but he couldn't fasten them again quick enough to keep me from slithering from under them. I sit myself upright with a great view of the disheveled god below me - bruises in my favorite places, red trails from where I dragged my nails, and that mark right in the center of his chest that instantly darkened my eyes. He was a sight.

Maybe I really am a sadist of some kind because I truly could not look away from it. There was something so wrong - so depraved - about leaving a print like that on a silken masterpiece like the one under me. It was evidence that I was there and in the presence of something so utterly pleasing.

He's truly like no lover I've had before. That goes without saying. An intense desire lingers in every look we throw each other across even the most crowded of rooms, and when we do gift our skin the feel of the others, I come until my body can't anymore, and he ensures it.

But last night...last night was different. Or more so the same to a degree I never really thought possible. It was carnal, feral, beyond any lust drunk experience before. I lost myself entirely, every move not mine but entirely me. It was a night of pure indulgence, selfishness, and greed, but almost...unorthodox.

How? How was it so fucking good?

We're usually calculating. Impulse is just as artless to our kind as unorganized chaos. For there is no logic in wanting something that contradictory to your own triumph. Yet it seemed my impulsive move to mark him intended the same as my rational mind. They chanted the same mantra over and over again only a second after my teeth let up; Mine, mine, mine.