Collection of One-Shots

》rough to smooth

He constantly complained about the heat, though he never seemed to glisten with perspiration. His complaints at first had been persistent as the weather grew warmer throughout June and July, annoying at times but bearable, but the sweltering heat of August came and he had managed to commandeer the thermostat of the small apartment to a very comfortable and consistent forty-nine degrees. Your teeth chattered, and after the first three arguments you gave up in trying to convince him that it would be comfortable anywhere from seventy to seventy-eight degrees, and you longed for it to be autumn as Loki was easier to deal with in any season but summer.

Today though, today was miserable for the both of you. The entire buildings air conditioning unit had malfunctioned, Loki was sprawled out on the small couch and you on the floor, hating the way the loose t-shirt clung to your sweating midsection, you only wore it to maintain some kind of decency around him, though he opted to remain in nothing but a pair of loose boxers as the temperature climbed well into the upper nineties.

"This is horrible, worse that the fires of Muspelheim," the god lamented, covering his eyes dramatically with his forearm, you groaned and rolled onto your back, looking up at the whitewashed ceiling, stealing glances at the very handsome, and at the moment, very shirtless Loki that laid on your sofa. Hours ticked by and as it seemed the day would never end, you stretched out, walking into the kitchen and made two glasses of lemonade, at least it would be refreshing, though not as refreshing as standing in front of the open refrigerator had felt.

You thrust forward a glass towards Loki, expecting him to take it and guzzle the cool drink down, instead he just laid there, unresponsive. Setting down your own glass you poke his shoulder, and then the side of his head, his hair damp with sweat, his breathing more rapid. "Loki?" Panic manages to seep into your blood and you drop to your knees, pulling his arm away from his face, his lips are dry and cracked to the point of bleeding and he looks paler than normal as dark circles appear to be forming around his eyes. "Loki?"

Quickly you pull an ice cube from a glass and place it on his forehead and instantly it begins to melt, he stirs but does not open his eyes, "That feels heavenly, darling." Loki still remains dazed; you stare blankly at him, moving the melting cube of ice to his chest and at that his eyes flash open and you breathe a sigh of relief.

"Are you sick?" You ask, pulling clumps of hair away from his face, his usually cool skin is burning up. "I do not believe so; my best deduction would be that my heritage is the root of this problem." He sounds less than happy that his Jötunn parentage could be the root of his misery; absentmindedly you run your thumb over his bottom lip, the action clearly catching him by surprise. Before he can speak you rush into your bedroom and pull out the first drawer of the small vanity and grab a tin of vanilla lip balm. Just as fast as you had left you returned, Loki was sitting up in the couch, he was beginning to look like hell, the signs of heat exhaustion setting in, clear evident in the paling color of his lips, you couldn't imagine how miserable he truly felt.

"Be still." He scrunches his nose at your command but complies, he watches avidly as you did your finger into the salve, shakily breathing in your reach over and touch your finger to his bottom lip. The balm glides easily over his thin lips, though you can still see the cracks and feel them beneath the pad of your finger. You try to force the blush away from your cheeks as you think about how they would feel against yours.

"What is this?" Loki questions, holding up the small tin, you explain that it serves to keep lips from chapping and cracking, much like his had done and reassure him that it is not harmful as you used the trusted formula every morning and night. You sip on the glass of lemonade, partially ignoring what the god that sits beside you is doing but as you set down the glass he pulls you over so you are astride his lap, a mischievous smile on his lips.

"Loki," you warn, raising your eyebrow at him. Your first instinct is to pull away as he lifts his finger towards your face but when his thumb settles against your lips you realize that it was coated with the balm. Lost in the moment your eyes flutter shut as the rough pad of his thumb runs over your top lip before tugging down at your bottom lip. "So soft," you hear him murmur but you don't dare open your eyes.

Your eyes do fly open as something replaces his finger, his own lips. His movements are tender for the hard-hearted person he wanted you to believe he was, his back falls the back of the sofa, pulling you closer to him. Loki's rests one hand on your waist, somehow he had managed to slip it past the hem of the large shirt so it sat upon heated skin, and the other sits at the curve of your neck, and at some point you had cradled his face with your own palms. Slowly your eyes open to reveal the most brilliant color of green looking right back at you.

With as much surprise as he had caused you, you lean forward and kiss him again, this time running your hands through his damp hair and down his slick shoulders and chest. You smile as you pull away from his lips and your smile seems dull in comparison to the one that he wears on his lips, the heat between the two of your is stiffling compaired to the air.

"I quite like this 'lip balm' as you called it; perhaps we should use it more often."