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Loki wraps his legs around Thor’s waist and jams his heels into the middle of his back—and despite his brother’s larger size and greater strength, Thor pitches forward, thrown off balance, and Loki swallows a pain-pleasure shout as Thor’s cock sinks all the way into him.  Thor lets out a loud groan (he never swallows his shouts, never holds back, never, does not even seem to know how), and Loki clenches with a wolf grin, wringing another cry out of him.

Thor laughs breathlessly.  “Impatient, brother?”

In lieu of a reply Loki snaps his head forward, striking like a serpent to sink his teeth into the meat of Thor’s shoulder (though it strains his arms, bends them back awkwardly thanks to the ropes lashing his thin wrists to the headboard, he loves the burn of that stretch almost as much as the stretch of his hole around Thor’s prick).  He tastes blood, as Thor snarls like a wounded animal.  Blood he will never share.  Blood he wants inside of him.  Blood Thor wants to give him, the blind naive greatheart, doesn’t understand what a sorcerer can do with blood on his tongue, far too trusting, dear brother—

He laves the bite mark wetly, laps up the welling red, summons the blue to his lips and blows.  The frost only lasts a moment, a fleeting lacy filigree against the ruby and gold, but Thor shudders beautifully before the heat of his skin melts the ice to cold droplets that pebble his flesh as they trickle down his chest.

“If you do not start moving soon,” Loki hisses, his breath fogging the air, “I will freeze your prick where it sits.”

Thor takes the hint.