❥ think you're funny, think you're smart;;

[trompeur]

 [It's pouring outside and LeBlanc is stuck inside of a shitty hut in the middle of a fucking desert until it stops. She had been heading toward Icathia in hopes of seeking out Malzahar, but the weather--oh the fucking weather.]

T'is a desert. Rain shouldn't happen.

[She throws her cloak over a dusty table that creaks even under the cloth's light weight.]

If the Prophet wasn't so entertaining I wouldn't even bother, but...

[LeBlanc sighs. What the Grand General wills must be done.]

Comments

[trompeur]

If I was resisting you, I would be long gone.

[She smiles distantly, not really sure as to what this is leading up to. Leblanc hesitates before leaning up to press her lips against his neck, teeth suddenly digging into his throat. It's hard enough to draw blood, but not hard enough to leave any permanent damage.

Leblanc pulls away, red staining her lips as she smirks. She licks off the blood, a rather odd look in her eyes as she ponders:]

Should I trust you?

[thispoisonousdream]

[Loki has little time to relish in his relief over Leblanc's response before the woman leans in to grasp the flesh of his neck between her teeth. His mouth gapes open silently as he obediently takes the assault; it is a release to feel this type and level of pain. His body only tenses at the wave of arousal that sweeps through him as a result.

The sight of his blood on Leblanc's lips is alarming and beautiful, and he actually regrets her licking it away from her face.]

Perhaps not, depending on who you ask. And they might be right...

[He leans in to lick some of the blood that she happened to miss from below her bottom lip. With his array of abilities, he could heal from such a wound immediately, but he chooses the dull rhythmic pain and the blood trickling slowly down his throat.]

But I trust you. [And that says a lot.]

[trompeur]

[There's something about blood on such pale, flawless skin. It's a beautiful thing, especially where Loki is concerned. The fact that he trusts her--or at least claims to--means more to Leblanc than he'll ever know

She reaches over to brush her fingertips along his jawline, eyeing him with a sneaking sort of suspicion.]

Is the god--Loki--in love with a human?

[thispoisonousdream]

Of course not, m'lady. That would be silly...dangerous even. You're not interested in love, and I am incapable of such an emotion. You wouldn't want me to love you.

[It's spoken in irony, a mocking challenge to the truth of the situation. Yet there is a hint of disappointment in his tone, but he brushes it aside with a...kind smile. He doesn't want to say it; that is dangerous for him. Showing her, however, is much safer. It is up to interpretation that way.

He relinquishes Leblanc from his grip in favour to dislodge the decorative armor and straps from his torso, hands moving in an easy, flowing motion. Their attachments are intricate and he can nagivate out of them in his sleep.

The outerwear falls to the floor, kicking up dust on impact. It is so much more comfortable wearing just a shirt now, in the humid desert heat.]

[trompeur]

You cannot deceive the Deceiver, Loki.

[In other words, she loves you too, you scheming son of a bitch. Leblanc shrugs off the rather minimal amount of clothes she was wearing to begin with. She has some rather ugly scars here and there, many of them are on her back and stomach. She's died so many times, but she always comes back. ]

So, you do have a nice body under all that armor.

[thispoisonousdream]

Did you ever doubt me, a warrior and a god? Tsk tsk.

[Loki sheds the remaining shirt from his upper body and it slides off of his arms and into the void of the floor somewhere. His lips burn to be on Leblanc's again, and as he leans in to press their mouths together, his hands wrap around her ribs, just below her breasts.

Her body is warm and soft, sensations Loki is so desperately starved of. His hands stick to her in the wet air and for a moment, he feels like he is melding with her. He urges her back, to lay upon the table top, wanting to see just how close to melding to her he can get.]

[trompeur]

T'is never doubt, merely strategic cynicism.

[Leblanc smiles mischievously as he pushes her against the table, arms wrapping around him as she returns the kiss. It's been so long since she's felt this way--felt like she's actually wanted for more than just her power.

But the table creaks...]

Oh--

[And then proceeds to break! Leblanc manages to smash her head against the ground when she falls. Her head feels heavy as her vision blurs, blood staining her hair as she reaches up to touch a large gash on the right side of her head.]