Thor enjoys drinking. He enjoys it immensely.
He especially enjoys the way that the universe sees fit to constantly invent some new concoction. As if to challenge his constitution anew. Some new variation of fruit, honey, or hops, each more fiendish than the last. Thor has accepted each challenge gladly, without fear.
But he does not always win.
Sometimes, rare times, he has conceded defeat. He has woken feeling like he's been trampled by an army of Frost Giants, mouth tasting like poison, the inside of his head ground to a mincemeat of blood and pain. He does not take these defeats graciously, but he bears them, as he must.
He wakes, and knows instantly that last night the battle was not his.
He remembers nothing, past Volstagg proclaiming loudly that he wanted a giraffe. Thor does not know why he wanted a giraffe, or if they acquired a giraffe, or what they eventually did with it. His mouth does not taste like giraffe. Though he will admit he doesn't know what giraffe tastes like. His mouth does not taste like what he would expect a giraffe to taste like. Horse? Snake? Some bastard mix of both?
The acceptable thing would be to rise from the bed, and endure his suffering. Yes, that is what he should do.
He remains where he is, staring at the ceiling, and wondering why so much of Asgard is gold, like the colour of gilded vomit - and that is an unpleasant direction for his mind to wander into, so he makes it stop.
It takes Thor that long to realise he's not alone in his bed. Half the sheets are twisted, and tangled, around the body next to him. He can feel the press of an arm against his back.
He prays that whoever he has bedded is pretty, at least.
He stretches, and finds something hard digging into the back of his thigh, he grumbles quiet, unhappy complaint and digs around until he can grasp a long curving piece of metal. Which is attached to another long curving piece of metal. He drags the whole thing free, and then lifts it. He stares at it, for longer than is probably necessary since it's already far too familiar. He drops it off the side of the bed, with a heavy 'clang,' and rolls over, to make absolutely certain he has not drunkenly bedded its owner.
Thor's prayers are not answered.
He pokes the sleeping form, just in case it's some form of devious magic, some illusion to trick him. A pale hand smacks his fingers away.
"Let me sleep," Loki grumbles miserably. "You've had all you're going to have."
Thor rocks back to the other side of the bed, and, for lack of any idea what else to do, nudges Loki with a foot, hard.
"Ow, curse you, stop kicking me."
"Wake up," Thor demands.
"I do not wish to be awake." Loki's protest is half-growled, he gives the sheet a hard jerk. "And since you were the one who insisted, loudly, wetly, that I join your idiotic celebrations, you are to blame for my current state. My revenge, sadly, will have to wait until such time as my brain feels equipped to think of a suitable punishment. Or to survive upright at least."
That's already more words than Thor knows how to deal with. His headache is murderous. He pulls the sheet again.
"Why are you so calm? Do you not see what we have done?"
Some of Thor's horror must have gotten through, because Loki opens his eyes. He frowns at whatever expression Thor is wearing.
"The situation does not warrant this much noise, and agitation."
"How can you say that?" Thor says angrily.
Loki sighs into the pillow, as if Thor is being difficult.
"Thor, you have done worse things while drunk than sleep with your brother."
"I can currently bring none to mind," Thor says unhappily. Loki raises an eyebrow, suggesting perfectly that he can, and that he will share the memory of them, if necessary. Thor's still gathering the sheets, folds of gold that seem to go on forever. Loki stops his quest, by trapping it beneath his body, and Thor immediately stops trying to pull it.
"You were a more than acceptable lover, if that helps." Loki seems to think it will. Thor has no idea how he could think such a thing.
"That does not help," Thor says, louder than necessary. He instantly regrets the volume when it makes his brain feel like it's swelling, to the point where it will no longer be contained by his skull. A punishment he well deserves.
"You performed admirably, considering you could barely pronounce your own name."
"I should not have performed at all," Thor does not think he sounds appropriately horrified.
"And yet you did, several times."
Thor is too old to put his hands over his ears, and yet he wishes for nothing else. He wishes to un-hear much of what comes out of Loki's mouth.
"We are brothers," Thor says, voice dropped to a harsh whisper.
"We don't share the same blood, if you recall. We're not even technically the same species."
Thor honestly doesn't know if that makes it better, or worse. He feels confused and unprepared for this. Body suddenly restless and tense, with no enemy to fight. There is also guilt, vexing hints of anger, at himself, and no one else. He stumbles from the bed, aware suddenly of his own nudity, and his clothes are in no fit state to be worn. His clothes are in no fit state to be clothes.
"You should have stopped me," he snaps.
Loki huffs, as if the idea is ridiculous. Thor's boots are full of fruit, and he has no idea why. He has no idea the 'why' of anything any more.
"Why is there - why?"
"That is not a complete question," Loki tells him, pulling himself to a sit. He looks ghostly pale in Thor's golden bed.
"This is a trick, is it not. A trick to drive me mad." There's the quivering edge of pleading in his words, the anticipation of relief from this twisted turmoil of emotions.
Loki lifts an eyebrow, and now the amusement is tinged with surprise.
"You really don't remember anything?"
Thor's confused expression must answer the question for him.
"This is why filling your helmet full of fermented fruit juice is not a good idea," Loki says slowly, as if he'd cautioned against it at some point in the night. Knowing Loki he would have cautioned against it repeatedly, and Thor would have ignored him.
Loki gathers the sheets, rises to his knees, and slides to the end of the bed. His smile is wide and bright.
"You could come back over here, and see if any of it feels familiar."
There's a twist in Thor's gut which is most certainly not horror at the suggestion.
"Loki, do not joke about this."
Loki laughs, and throws the sheet aside. Thor looks away.
There's a moment of stillness.
"You were not so disgusted by my body when you claimed it last night." Loki sounds offended. Though Thor cannot for the life of him tell if it's genuine.
A low noise gets stuck in his throat, choked and guilty, and he tosses Loki's clothes at him.
"Get dressed, for the love of everything, get dressed."
Loki huffs. "I think I shall tell mother you slept with me, and then threw me out of your room, and denied everything." Loki disguises intent so well that Thor cannot tell if he's offended, amused, or scheming at Thor's expense. But he's still overwhelmed with horror at the thought.
"You would not?"
"Kiss me, and I shall not."
"Do as you're told," Loki says with a smile.
"My head hurts too much for this," Thor complains.
Loki slithers from the bed, letting his clothes drop, and Thor cannot help but watch him cross the room. His brother is beautiful, deceptive, sleek, and beautiful. He cannot help but feel wrong for thinking it, but it's true.
Thor intends a simple kiss, the briefest press of mouth.
Loki laughs, and tugs his head down. His mouth is a shock of warmth, and it's clear that Loki doesn't intend to let him cheat. He presses into him, gives in a way that he simply does not do, and Thor is not expecting it.
He curls an arm round Loki's slender waist, pulls his body against him. He lets Loki's sharp fingers roam into his hair, pull, twist, and the shiver of pain crawls down his spine, wakes desire, whether he wishes it or not. Thor pushes Loki's mouth open, takes everything he offers. He does not care, he does not care.
He's breathless when he pulls away.
"That is how you kissed me last night," Loki says quietly. "And that is how I ended up in your bed. Against my better judgement."