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Nobody dusted the lintel of the closet door. Yellow light climbed over your toes. From three inches away, your eyes couldn’t pick out the wood grain of the maple door. Your fingertips were getting dusty on the lintel. Someone’s suede coat was pressed into your bare leg. An hundred coats were stuffed into a closet built for forty.
Of a heavy winter jacket, the unzipped metal teeth rested cold on your breasts. It was the only thing you wore. The hem teased the crease of your ass crack. You resisted the urge to pull it down, keeping your hands where Loki put them. You were sure that it didn’t hide your cleft. You were sure that Loki was enjoying your discomfort.
The space between your legs felt empty and exposed. Your thighs tensed with the shy desire to close your legs. To reach the top of the door frame required wearing invisible five inch heels.
The darkness stood behind you. His shadows slid up you, chill tongues that raised goosebumps. Fingers ghosted like air over the tips of your aching hard nipples. Loki stepped close. His proximity made you glad of the coat. Your exhale misted in front of your face.
A single digit slid between the folds of your labia. It wasn’t cold like chilled skin. It was cold like a block of ice on your most intimate parts. A hand clasped simultaneously over your mouth, silencing your shriek.
The lintel had a tiny divot into which your pinkie fit. You ran your fingertip over the little wooden valley again and again. Between your legs, Loki pressed within, by millimetres. The flesh he touched was icy numb. The depths he did not reach were burning. It would be a slow count to an hundred before his finger was fully seated.
By the second knuckle, you were shamelessly toeing in and arching your spine, offering your cunt more eagerly to his hand. A tight knot clenched in your abdomen.
Loki curled his finger and flicked over the back wall of your vagina, in rapid fluttering motions. Your knees almost gave way. You sobbed from the depth of your chest. Loki granted no mercy and resisted all your efforts to fuck yourself on him.
His other hand left your mouth and, with two fingers, spread your pussy lips. It was icy everywhere, both inside and without, except the exact point of your clitoris. That, Loki left entirely untouched. He held you still and exposed so long that you stated to shift self-consciously. That closet door was locked, really, right?
He pulled entirely out, let you feel the weight of disappointment, then shoved two fingers to the hilt. Loki set a rapid in and out, twisting and scissoring with each thrust. It shook your ass. You struggled to stay on your feet, balanced by your toes and fingertips.
You moaned desperately and grasped the unplaned oak floor with sockless toes as hard as you could. The heat in your forearms, the tension in your chest, signaled your coming orgasm. You arched into it, welcomed it, sobbed for it.
Loki withdrew all contact, left you hovering in space.
Your forehead hit the door with an audible bang and you couldn’t stop a frustrated whine. Your juices dripped wet and cold down your inner thigh. From this close, you could hear every tiny creak and bend in the crisp frozen leather of Loki’s armour. His coat panels scraped over the floor. The leather drifted, slick and ribbed, down your calves. Loki’s hands followed his knees down.
Heaven was his lips in your innermost valley with an erotic Australian kiss. The first touch of his lying serpent’s tongue was your clitoris. He did not merely lick; he trapped it in the transversus and sucked it downward with the muscles of his tongue. Saliva painted your pussy but it was oddly sticky. Loki vibrated his tongue.
You easily pictured him on his knees, hair back, face tilted up as in prayer. Your cunt was more god to Loki than Odin could ever manage. The thought amused you, even as your body grew more helplessly aroused.
Your calves trembled with the effort of keeping your heels raised. Your latissimus dorsi stretched from straining your arms aloft. Everything else shivered from the Arctic temperatures in the closet. Your orgasm stole up on you unexpectedly, almost at the cusp before you noticed the climb.
Milliseconds from release, with every muscle straining like a sled dog in harness, Loki pulled back and laughed. You whimpered.
He waited until you came down from the edge. Your breath stabilised into steady ragged pants. The words ‘please, please, oh, please’ tumbled over and over in your mouth, bitten off behind your teeth before you broke your commanded silence.
Loki forced his tongue inside with a single thrust down to the base. It was the feeling of being impaled on a flexible dildo straight from the freezer. The closet smelled like sex and snow.
A chill had driven into the marrow of your bones, too frigid for pleasure, even as your body tensed toward orgasm. Loki’s regal blue Jötunn form exuded a lack of heat like shadows were a lack of light. Here in the dark, you were surrounded by both. The floor was frosting under the balls of your feet. You pushed your breasts against the door in a vain attempt to warm them.
Inside your body, Loki curled his tongue. It pulsed lightly as it filled with frigorific blood, expanding, becoming more rigid, pressing outward, a freezing, burning heat on sensitive tissues. Your teeth ached. There were exploding sparks of blue light in the dark before your eyes. You needed to cum like you needed to breath, a wanton desperation that built a scream in your chest which your choked throat could not release.
Your pelvic floor signaled the start of your twice denied orgasm and Loki pulled his tongue out, leaving you gapping and empty.
He deliberately and maliciously ruined it. You could not stop so you spasmed painfully on the nothing where Loki’s tongue had been. Your legs did collapse. Loki surged to his feet and caught you as you fell.
"Cum for me, you beautiful perfect animal," he growled in low resonant tones.
His arm around your stomach was warm; the hand in your hair heated your scalp. The closet was hot and damp like a sauna, filled with moist steam from the melted frost.
Loki yanked the coat off your boneless tired arms and tossed it aside. Pulled you against him, neck to heel, your naked flesh pressed into the now warm leather of Loki’s armour. His chest plate fit into your back like the backrest of a Lamborghini Diablo. Loki cupped his whole hand into the folds of your sex and you came. Prolonging your first orgasm or starting your second, you could not even tell.
"Shadow begets ice," Loki whispered. "Were you cold?"
You nodded. His thumb pressed to your neck.
"Fire begets—"
"—blood." You finish hopefully, fearfully.
Loki replaced thumb with gentle fangs. His hair dipped over your eyes. He smelled of pleasant sandalwood and of sulfur.
"In ancient times, when Odin ruled this Realm, I ripped the hearts from my sacrifices," Loki said playfully, "with my own nails. My blood-lust was truly fearsome. Human sacrifice has gone a bit out of vogue, I notice. Such a shame. I suppose we will simply have to make do, hmmm. Fire begets blood, my pet. Are you hot?"
You were insensate to the sticky river of blood pouring down your skin or the eager sucking or the possessive caressing or the hard prick between your thighs.You simply nodded and tilted your neck to his bite, then floated away blissfully into rapturous narcosis.