[ It is the simple expressions Steve uses that catch his breath, making Loki pause and stutter. Even now, he looks up, eyes blown wide open, catching the light of stars in green. Sinuously, Loki curls his arms around Steve's neck, fingers brushing over his nape and short hairs. There was something utterly seductive about being at Steve's mercy, letting him dictate what Loki should get. He shivers at the thought. ]
no subject
What sort of star am I?
[ Because Loki always fishes. ]