Loki Smut Oneshots (lokisgoodgirl)

Hail Commander (1/2)

The clang of armoured spears vibrated the stone beneath your feet. Once. Twice. Three times.

You drew your gaze away from the twinkling lights of Asgard stretched below the balustrade, turning in a hurried curtsey as the returning commander approached. Nerves twisted in your stomach, though you had no idea why.

It was always thus when Loki returned from war.

He strode majestically through the towering columns, removing his horned helmet as he went. The clanking sound of the guards standing to attention in sequence as he moved past them broke the evening stillness, metal on metal clanging. It made your thighs squeeze together beneath the long skirts covering them.

His leather cape billowed theatrically behind his towering form, the fine silk lining catching the transient flicker of a hundred torches lighting his path. He shook his hair, heavy with the weight of battle fought. And won. It had been weeks since the younger prince had stalked the halls, and tonight he was on the hunt.

Reverently, you lowered your gaze, each purposeful stride of his muscled legs moving in your direction with predatory singularity. His usual flawless fairness was marred with ash and dark stains, visible on the gold of his armour even in the moonlight.

He hasn't even bathed, you thought, a thrill racing in waves through your blood. The slap of his boots against the ground echoed in the silent night, becoming louder before stopping abruptly. You could smell the heat emanating from him; lustful intentions oozing from beneath war-ravaged leathers. The lingering smell of stale copper and sweat crawled up your nostrils.

Loki's cape swirled around his ankles in your line of vision, settling in shredded folds.

"Look at me." he growled, lifting your chin with one curled finger. His thumb danced across your bottom lip, dragging the plump down.

For the first time in weeks, you saw his face; menacingly beautiful under starlight. His eyes were bright, the whites contrasting ethereally against layers of blood and soot smeared across his brow, his cheekbones, his throat.

"My Prince." you greeted huskily. Loki gave a small nod in response. "You have been victorious, then?" you coyed, feeling your heart beat faster as a smile curled at his dry lips. "Could you ever doubt me, precious one?" he murmured, cupping your cheekbone. "I will always arrive victorious to you. Victorious for you."

He flipped the edges of the cape backwards, before pressing you against the stone balustrade in a crushing kiss. His lips tasted like smoke and metal; the sharp tang of old copper springing to life on your searching tongue.

Loki groaned as your fingers caught on the lengths of his hair, dragging through the residue of crusted blood and sweat. His head fell back as you pressed closer to his chest, a mischievous palm rubbing over his stirring manhood.

"My filthy soldier..." you muttered darkly, observing the telling bob of his Adam's apple cast in murky shadow.

The veins in his neck pulsed, thick ropes of muscle standing proud against the cake of grime which coated them. "Filthy Prince, if you please..." he goaded through shallow breaths. "You may be my betrothed, but I am still your superior."

You stifled a giggle, feeling his cock inflate rapidly beneath layers of heavy leather as you grasped shamelessly at his hips, tugging at buckles and straps that hung sluttishly from every angle. Gods, how you had missed him. You gyrated firmly against his centre. Just once.

Loki's shoulders flexed beneath the heavy armour, head tilting with a hard glint to his features. With a stomach dropping pulse, you realised that look would have been the last thing his enemies ever saw.