nahloki-blog - Tumblr blog

[nahloki-blog]

your feelings towards alec leaving?

lol my flights are already booked i'm chasing that motherfucker

[nahloki-blog]

"You're the devil!" Loki grinned as he leant forward to shove the boy and it seems almost comical -- he's got a ring through one nipple and a piercing needle shoved through the other. "You're telling me that you don't have a fetish for dudes with pierced nipples, then?" he cocks a thick, pierced brow and offers Carter a dazzling, devilish smirk that just screams hey, I've got some bad intentions. It's become trademark -- wherever Loki goes, his shitty ideas and his lopsided smirk accompany him. This is definitely one of the better ideas. He notes the way Carter seems to slip through intense periods of awkward shifting then comfortable impression -- it makes him wonder what exactly makes the kid so fucking nervous. Maybe it's the fact that he;s still prancing about shirtless, jeans far too tight and -- yeah, a shirt sounds like a good idea. He turns away for a minute, slowly removes the needle and replaces it with the other ring, wipes any remaining blood then tugs his shirt back over his pale chest. The metal rings stick out against the tight fabric, it's got a grin lighting up his lips. "Fuck, look!" He glances down, poking the little protruding structures.

"Mm, yeah -- but even then, I'm not exactly someone who looks good shirtless." He shakes his head, starting to clean up the area. It's simple -- drop the needle back into the water, tidy everything up. When he's done, he turns to Carter and jerks his head towards the kitchen, eyebrow perpetually cocked. "Y'want a drink?" He doesn't mean coffee -- instead, he reaches for the vodka, cocking a brow as he unscrews the cap and takes a short swig, wincing as it burns a pathway down his throat. "Fuck," he mutters as he shakes his head, gaze still centered around the blonde. From the packet on the counter, he wraps nimble fingers round one thin cigarette. He allows his gaze to drift to Carter's own hands -- they seem nimble, swift -- maybe he jerks off a lot, maybe he plays guitar. Fuck that, Loki knows he plays. He digs round for a lighter before bringing it to the end of his cigarette, watching it leap up in amber. "You want one?" He knows he's offered a drink and a cigarette but he's got too much of both. 

▲ hypothetically speaking;; ★ carter + loki ▲

"It’s fucking cold?" Carter mocked with a raised eyebrow, the smirk on his face growing. "Is that why you’re whimpering like a fuckin’ dumbass?" He inquired, and his question was something that he did not need an answer to, nor something that should be taken seriously, and he hoped that Loki wouldn’t take offence, but in his current state, Carter figured it would be more likely for the kid to burst into giggles and never stop. Carter’s lips slip from a smirk to what looks like an impressed smile, and he moves once again to lean against the wall. "I honestly don’t understand why you don’t get this shit done professionally, kid-" He starters, noting his usage of the word kid, but not bothering to correct for it seems to be more a habitual saying now. “For all you know, you could stab yourself right through the heart and I’d have to clean your shit up. I’ll look like a fucking serial killer who has a fetish for dudes with pierced nipples.” He sauntered over his words, not talking about anything in particular, neither nothing at all — Just saying shit in an attempt to make conversation rather than stand by the wall and watch awkwardly, shifting positions every time Loki has the tendency to look over at him.

"Should probably clean that up." He nods to the blood falls down Loki’s chest - Although there’s barely anything there, he still feels as if he’s invading the privacy of Loki and how his body works, along with the ability of how much blood it can produce. Carter shrugged, his mouth falling into a small frown as he grabbed at his crotch in a boyish manner to fix how tightly his jeans seemed to be fitting around his dick, and he looked back up at Loki. "S’pose it’s good. You probably pull it off better than anyone else in this shithole." Carter mused, before pushing himself up from against the wall — This seemed to be some sort of ritual, with the amount of times he’s done it in the past (What, five? Less? More?) five minutes. "If we were back in fuckin’ Greece, this would be so much better. You could go round with a shirt off for everyone to see, rather than keep it fuckin’ hidden under a jacket."  

[nahloki-blog]

outgoing text to: daddy alec

alec: whAT NO

loki: DADDY PLEASE

[nahloki-blog]

outgoing text to: daddy alec

alec: wait wut

loki: cogerme papi

[nahloki-blog]

outgoing text to: daddy alec

loki: im bored and stressed

loki: i have nothing to write songs about

loki: send me nudes

[nahloki-blog]

with the taste of your lips ♡ self-para.

Date: November 16th.

Time: 10:00 PM.

Subject: The thing is, Loki doesn't do pining.

The thing is, Loki doesn't do pining.

Well, okay, maybe he does. He's been pining over Alec for nearly three fucking years -- not to mention Blaze. He supposes that's why he's so desperate for something -- he misses both of them, wants their hands on his translucent skin. He wants to burn up underneath Blaze's withering gaze, wants to coax trembling, unfaithful moans from Alec's lips. God, he is so fucked.

It's nights like these, where frosty moonlight is illuminating his bedridden features, that he turns to those memories -- of warm mouths and come-hither expressions that have him growing just a little bit harder than he intended. He's not sure who he's thinking of right now -- so he just blanks out the face, makes the character in his thoughts formless. He's getting hard over nothing in particular now, it makes it a lot easier. At any rate, it will put his conscience to rest next time he sees Savannah. (He can't exactly look at her without thinking 'oh, hey, sorry about the fact that I fucked the father to your kids and your future husband.')

Eyelids already fluttering, he's got one hand resting on his stomach as he lays completely still. Loki's got wild images playing in his head -- drug-fueled one night stands, alcohol-infused orgies that he hadn't meant to get into. (Just for the record, Las Vegas was a wild ride. That orgy might have been the worst decision of his life -- sex with two American dudes, a Japanese chick and some buffed-up South African bodybuilder had left the poor kid aching.) No, he's not thinking of that orgy when he finally undoes the button on his jeans, slides down his zipper and relishes in the satisfying noise it makes. He's got them shoved down around his thighs now, just enough room to get on with business. He's just thinking of sex in itself -- dirty, rough fucking that leaves salty aftertastes on the redhead's lips. It's his favourite kind of sex, the kind that he doesn't have to worry about.

Blood's pounding as he reaches one hand down to toy with the hem of his boxers, pushing them down his thighs. It's kind of an odd time to do so but he flashes back to the very first time he jerked off, a messy movement followed by an equally disastrous orgasm. He'd moaned so loudly (in the school toilet, well done) that the vice principal had come to check on him. He's still not quite sure how he managed to bullshit himself out of that one. The feeling is still the same -- when flushed skin meets flushed skin, all else fades out, becomes a little fuzzy round the edges.

To give himself credit, his dick's pretty big. He can't quite get his fingers to meet when he slings a hand round his length. He's seen a lot of dicks in his time and admittedly, his is one of the nicer ones. (He's heard that his dick is big more often than not, though -- it's always right before someone sinks their mouth right down around it. That's usually the last thing he remembers.) He's summoning that idea, that feeling of a tight mouth slowly slipping down around his length. No lube is to be seen immediately -- no, he has to roll over (with his dick rubbing far too comfortably against his bedsheets) and fish it out of a drawer. Loki has to fight a snort when he sees the flavour -- cherry. He popped his metaphorical cherry when he was 15, a horny kid with legs that seemed to spread as far as the eye could see. (He supposes not much has changed -- it's just that he only spreads his legs for certain people. Like his best friends, for example.)

The lube is cool against his palm when he lets it drip against his skin. He's got his bottom lip caught between rows of pearly whites, he's dedicated to this now. That feeling only grows when he finally -- finally -- gets one hand round his length. It's slick, and achingly cool -- he nearly moans right there and then. He swallows the sound down, though, and sets to work pumping himself neatly and quickly. Sounds bubble up in the back of his throat, they choke and wrap seductive tendrils round his voice box. It's not enough -- sure, the quick slide of his palm against his dick is fucking fantastic but it's still not what he's used to. He needs to feel full, disgustingly full. He wants to feel used, to be fucked hard and fast. He's so glad no one else lives in his apartment right now -- he's finally given in to the sounds that are building up on his tongue and he sounds fucked-out already. He sounds like a desperate porn star who's waiting for their orgasm, coercing their partner with soft coos and soft eyes. (If he's got the building vision of deep eyes, plush lips and large, soft hands behind his eyelids, sue him.)

The burning in his lower stomach is ridiculous, it's delicious and torturous all at the same time. It's still not enough. Yeah, he might be moaning like some crazed nymphomaniac but he's lacking that significant factor, he's missing that familiar stretch. Naturally, he takes it upon himself to deal with it.

A little more lube is dribbled on his fingers before slowly and surely, he's pushing one into himself, writhing in vague discomfort on sheets that will be beaded by his own sweat. It's a little weird at first -- it always is. The stretch, the slight burn that just has him whining -- it's all familiar and foreign at the same time. When he's got two fingers scissoring -- that's when he starts to come alive. Loki's lurched himself onto his knees now, one arm crooked at a fucking awkward angle underneath himself. His teeth have yet to let go of that lesser lip, rolling it between themselves like a dog with a bone. Slowly, he begins to bounce on his own fingers and the feeling is grotesque but all he can think is fuckfuckfuck. The rise and fall of his chest is laboured, quiet pants dropping from his desperate lips every so often.

His fingers scrape against that one fucking spot and every single moan he's ever choked out is being set free, unlocked and unchained. He can tell he'll come soon. (He hasn't even got a hand round his dick. It's kind of embarrassing.) The pleasure's building up deep within his stomach, it's niggling away at him. He's got himself grinding down on his fingers at a dirty, fast pace now. It's survival now -- he'll keel right over if he doesn't come soon.

When he does, it's fucking blissful. It takes a few more filthy thrusts of his hips before he's sent spiraling into a white-washed world of his own creation. The choked sounds he's uttering out are amalgamations of every curse he's ever muttered, every name he's ever screamed out. He's wriggling on his sheets, causing new disturbances to rumpled cotton. The pale skin of his stomach is splashed with his own come, it's sticky on his flesh. He knows he needs to get up, wipe it off but he's too busy basking in the afterglow, the comedown from a bulletproof high.

It takes him a good five minutes to get himself cleaned up. He's fucking tired, he's still blissed-out and he's still got Alec's name burning on his lips, he's got Blaze's taste tickling his tongue. His body's done but his mind is working overdrive. He wishes it would shut down -- it still ticks away, even when he's thrusting his hips erratically and growling guttural phrases.

Sleep is welcomed as he crawls under the sheets. His dreams are graced by half-naked, tanned visions. Tattoos litter butterscotch skin, scorching hues tell him to 'cogerme, papi' -- if he has a weird, desperate wank at 4:30 in the morning, no one has to know. No one has to know that he comes with a cry of his best friend's name on his lips, either.

[nahloki-blog]

Carter did not know why he decided that persuading (although it didn’t take a lot of effort) Loki into piercing his nipples was a good idea. Either it was going to end in him getting punched in the face for encouraging the idiot, or him being offered a blowjob (and contemplating saying yes, because who would want to turn down a free blowjob?) for having such a great idea when this was all over. He was hoping for the latter, and there was quite the possibility that it wouldn’t turn out too terribly, because with Loki — Who knew what the hell could happen. Carter had been walking around Loki’s apartment, admiring nothing in particular as he watched his friend gathers all the items, and soon enough, he’s leaning against the door of the bathroom with a spark of amusement in his eye, and his lip tilted up into a smirk that wasn’t going to let down for a while. Carter raised an eyebrow as Loki began speaking, head snapping up in his direction to take in his words more effectively than usual - He had barely been listening to anyone speak nowadays, but something about Loki made him want to actually listen - and he shrugged. “Hypothetically speaking,” Carter began, crossing his arms across his chest as he shrugged himself from against the door frame and stood upright. “I don’t think there’s a way to fuck it up that badly. But — Hypothetically speaking — It’s you. So you might fuck it up. Badly.” He grinned, and only have of what he was saying was an actual joke as he moved closer to the boy to inspect all items and antiseptics that were gathered. “Here’s to hoping, yeah.” Carter nodded, before glancing up to meet Loki’s eyes. “Just hurry up, will ya’? I’m kind of ready to get this over with and make endless fun of you, and also to question why the hell you have nipple piercings in your draw.”

"Hypo -- y'know what, fuck you," Loki retorts with a clever flick of a bruised middle finger -- he's been in too many bar fights recently, it's probably not good for whatever's left of his public image. Darting over to the sink, he lets some of the numbing gel drip on his fingers -- he fights a snigger, it reminds him of lube -- then gently applies it, fighting back throaty chuckles. "Just for the record, this fucking -- it's fucking cold," he whimpers. He waits a few minutes, dipping his fingers in to grab the needle that's slowly been sterilizing. He eyes it off warily -- he's about to jam this into his skin. It's pretty thick, it's an actual fucking piercing needle. (He's not a fan of letting other people pierce his skin, so he does it himself. Normal.) As soon as he can pinch his nipple, watch it harden and flick it without feeling anything -- he bites his lip, rolls it between rows of pearly whites and stabs the motherfucker right through.

He expects to feel the tiniest bit of pain -- nothing. Admittedly, there is the tiniest trickle of crimson that pricks down his chest but for the most, it's a painless process. He lets the needle stay in for a few minutes, enough to widen the hole. When he feels ready, he slowly removes and trades it in for the piercing. With a grin, he turns to the blonde and cocks a pierced brow. "Good?" He nods down at the ring that's stuck through his nipple -- even if he does say so himself, it looks good. It's pierced well and it stands out against the nearly translucent skin of his chest. "Dude, it's gonna look so good when I'm wearing a tight shirt." He's bursting with pride right now -- so he takes that pride, bottles it away and repeats the process with his other nipple. Still, no pain resonates through his spindly frame.

▲ hypothetically speaking;; ★ carter + loki ▲

[nahloki-blog]

You're the bullshit queen!

You’re bullshit!

[nahloki-blog]

Yeah, bullshit!

Someone’s tellin’ the truth.

[nahloki-blog]

▲ hypothetically speaking;; ★ carter + loki ▲

Okay, so maybe it's just his mind playing tricks on him but piercing his own nipples sounds -- fuck, it sounds insanely fun. Loki's never been one to go back on an impulse -- and that's why he's sitting shirtless in his bathroom, eyeing off the silver rings that sit beside a steaming mug of water. God knows how he's managed to score nipple rings -- it's not something people typically keep sitting in drawers but he's not exactly thinking about that. He's not focusing on anything but how cold the air feels against his chest, sharp and biting -- and how awesome evrything feels. (He'd be lying if he wasn't a little high. It's brought everything into focus and it's fucking amazing. He's making mental notes; be high more often.

"Hypothetically speaking," he begins when he spots Carter loitering at the door, "this could be either the most amazing thing ever or I'm going to do it fucking wrong." He's got an antiseptic wipe in hand, silently swiping it over his nipples and trying to swallow quiet mewls of holy fuck that's coldwhen he does so. He waves a free hand at the floor, the toilet seat -- it's not the most ideal theatre but he's not going to pierce his nipples in the goddamn living room. He wants to see it. His attention shifts to a small tube of some half-arsed numbing stuff he found lying round the house. "D'ya reckon this'll work?" (Of course it will -- except to his hazed mind, there's a possibility it might not.) "Like I said; hypothetically speaking, this is about to be fucking amazing or fucking awful."

[nahloki-blog]

Someone's feelin' cocky.

Good wonders.

[nahloki-blog]

'M not a wimp, I won't fuckin' cry. C'mon, 'm fuckin' pumped for this.

Now? Yeah — Let’s go fuckin’ now. Don’t cry, though. And don’t regret it later or possibly punch for convincing you that this is a great fuckin’ idea.

[nahloki-blog]

Puberty did fuckin' wonders to you.

Totally, I mean, look at me.

[nahloki-blog]

Fuck yeah, let's do it. Fuck yeah.

Great idea, man. Can I come an’ watch? I’m gonna watch. Let’s do it. Now. Right now — Let’s go.

[nahloki-blog]

My dick's got good taste.

Your dick is funny, it’s like Carter’s mood, always horny.

[nahloki-blog]

Your boobs are kinda funny. They're like pillows.

I used to make jokes about that, now I don’t find it funny anymore.