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    Summary

    Is like a painter, he thinks, tinting galaxies red, white and blue with his kisses. Cold, damp, ice floes that graze the skin of his cheeks; they curse, condemn. A spasm runs down his spine, a gasp that almost escapes him as he moves up his jaw and touches his cheeks, as if by chance. It isn't, with Hugo it never has been, and he wonders if he'll have the impulse (the courage) to finally touch his lips

    Or; Loki crumbles—a little, just a little—under Hugo's hands, under fate

    Language:
    English
    Words:
    801
    Chapters:
    1/1
    Comments:
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