A Second After Revelation by *LindaMarieAnson
This woman here has gone insane. It’s Loki again. Whatever. I do what I want. *evil laugh*
PROJECT GODDESS ENTRY RULES!
So who wants to draw me a picture of Loki trying to seduce a rock and be my favorite person ever?
Wahaha, oh god. OH GOD.
ARISTO OMMG LMFAOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Loki: *to the rock* Come around here often?
Tony: *spots Loki from a distance, immediately records and uploads it to Youtube before laughing out loud*
Loki: (after all is said and done)
A cool hand slides down the firm, unyielding face of the stone. Fingers brush against the softness of moss and the rough scratch of lichen. Rainwater slicks the surface, trailing down the sides of the stone to melt into the damp grass that tickles bare skin.
“Our children shall have the strength of the Earth within them,” Loki purrs, pressing his lithe body down against the stone’s hard planes. His warm tongue flicks out, a flash of red against gray as he licks at the trickling rain water. Almost imperceptibly the stone shudders, or perhaps it’s Loki himself, shaking with anticipation. He slips down the cool, wet surface of the stone until he can feel a part of it pressing against him, slick and perfectly shaped. He bites his lip, his hot entrance ready for the cold and rigid projection to enter him.
“Ah!” His thighs clench around the boulder as his weight carries him down relentlessly. He rocks back up, feeling the stone withdraw, and waits until he’s ready once more. This time the cold, hard length fills him and he moans in rapture. His forehead presses against the stone, long black hair soaked and trailing over his pale face. Soon he plants his hands on the rock’s slick surface and moves again, impaling himself over and over.
Loki’s hot breath warms the stone beneath his cheek, heating to it a semblance of life as his breathing grows ragged. His hands press against the wet stone, seeking purchase, but he slips, sending the stone deeper. He throws back his head, neck arching as he cries out, trembling as his thighs take control, shoving himself back onto the wet stone, deeper and deeper until finally he can take no more. He peaks with a strangled whimper, his release hitting the stone and mixing with the rain as he sags down, trying to catch his breath and free himself. The stone slips out of him at last, though he can barely move, his legs shaking and tired. He settles down on a smooth patch of rock.
“I think I shall call our children Golems,” he says softly, laying his head down, and sleeping. The rain continues to fall, pattering against his pale body and the stone.
So that’s a thing that just happened. Yep. Porn.
So this is silly, but I couldn’t resist. :)
just one hug, to kill the sorrow by *Farbenfrei