Loki was speaking to him. "And I promise you, brother, you will beg me for mercy at last, before this day is out," he was saying, but the words scarce conveyed meaning, for even as Loki spoke he thrust forward, and pleasure blazed through all Thor's body. A gasp escaped Thor's lips. He had never — oh. He had never known such a — the nearest he could think was the ferocious heart of battle, when the strokes came hot, but that had not this intensity, this — Loki thrust again, and the breath burst from Thor's lungs again, impossible to restrain.
Loki laughed again, a note of triumph in his voice, but Thor hardly noticed. He could scarce think of anything but the sweet blazing sensation in his belly. His cock was hardening, swiftly, as it did in battle — that same splendid urgency, but this time all turning inward, focused upon his own body. Loki thrust again, and again, and then halted; Thor could not stifle a whimper.
"Really?" Loki said, and his own voice was a little unsteady, "if I'd only known how easily such a little agony as this would break you, I would have done it a long time ago."
Thor did not listen to him: all that mattered was that Loki had stopped. Thor struggled against the chains that secured his wrists, the full length of his arms, his shoulders. He couldn't gain enough leverage to thrust back. But then Loki shoved his legs up further and began to thrust into him still deeper, and Thor no longer had to. He lay back and moaned as the strokes hammered home.
Loki stopped above Thor, panting. He was glad he'd steeled himself to this form of torment. He was endlessly glad. It had broken Thor in almost moments.
He was glad. He was. They weren't brothers; how better a way to demonstrate it than to imprint that lesson into Thor's flesh, how better to teach Thor finally not to dare to love him, never to look at him again with that unbearable disappointment in his eyes. Loki shut his eyes. In a moment, he'd set to work on Thor again. Each stroke would plant real hate in him; each stroke would live in Thor's memory for all the long ages to come: humiliation and pain and —
"Loki," Thor said, scarcely audible. Loki opened his eyes. Thor was staring blindly straight above.
"Yes, brother?" Loki said, keeping his voice cool and mocking and steady. He would not waver, he would not. "Is there something you wanted to ask me for?" And when Thor asked him for mercy, asked him to stop, Loki would refuse his pleas — Loki would continue, and teach him —
"Harder," Thor said.
Loki paused. "What?" he said.
"Harder," Thor said, more urgently.
Loki stared at him, then looked down. Thor's cock was full and hard and wet, lying stiffly on his belly. "What?" Loki said, louder, with sudden rising indignation.
Loki would have pulled out at once, but he abruptly discovered he couldn't: Thor's legs were wrapped around his back, one slung over his shoulder, heavy and warm and golden-furred, holding him tight.
"Loki!" Thor said, and writhed against him.
Loki was suddenly, dreadfully aware that Thor was sweetly tight about him; that Thor beneath him was shining and agleam with sweat and flushed in eager passion, his lips parted and wet.
Loki snarled in rage. Thor! Only Thor could possibly — Thor gave another whine, twisting his hips pleadingly, and Loki began to thrust again, seething as Thor cried out again in pleasure, over and over. Loki pounded wildly into him, savagely angry. Even this. Thor could ruin even this, could take even this from him, could —
"Oh," Thor groaned. "Loki, please. Touch me. Please, put your hand on me — "
"I hate you," Loki said, doing so.