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“Invading army is rather a harsh term,” Fandral sighed, ripping the poster form the wall and balling it in his delicate-fingered hands.

“I didn’t know the truth offended you,” Thor replied, watching the ball of paper fall into the snow at the street.

“We’re not invading anything,” Fandral scowled. “Occupying is the term. Friendly occupation. We’re just—stuck here. Because of this damned winter.”

“I’m sure you can see how the people of this town would see it differently,” the Colonel tugged at the hem of his black leather glove, adjusting it so it sat comfortable against his skin. The air that escaped between his parted lips condensed, white vapor, in the harsh cold.

“We’re not at war with them.”

“I can’t honestly tell you who we are at war with,” Thor shrugged.

“Not this fucking town!” the lieutenant hissed.

Thor gave him a skeptical look. “You miss our tender motherland, brother?”

“You’ll tell me you do not?” Fandral scoffed. “Your grace?

“I’m the same as any other man, Fandral,” Thor slung an arm around his friend’s shoulders and brought him close, ducking his head to smile at him. “I need to prove myself to my father just as you need to prove yourself to yours.”

“If you say so,” Fandral rubbed his hands, shrugging dismissively beneath Thor’s heavy arm. “I just want to leave this frozen wasteland already.”

Thor began walking, keeping Fandral close to help shield him a bit from the biting cold. “They say Jotunheim is most beautiful in the spring. Don’t be so sour, my friend. We might be able to see the wonder of it.”

“That would mean three other months here,” Fandral protested. “Thor, do you not want to go home, or go to the front? Does it not irritate you to be stuck here in this standstill, doing nothing?”

“We’re holding the corridor to Svjartalfar,” Thor replied. “It is important business. Our soldiers can’t get to the frontline if they can’t go through this here narrow strip of ground,” he said, gesturing to the street beneath their feet, cobblestoned and covered in dirty snow, as if he was referring to that exact same spot of ground. “You know what Prime Minister Baldur says all the time: logistics win wars.”

“Spoken like a true politician,” Fandral grumbled.

Thor laughed in his usual fashion, long and true peals of masculine laughter that attracted the attention of everyone around for the volume and the music in them.

“Hogun was in the Air Force. My friend, you are very dull tonight.”

“I’m sick of this miserable place,” Fandral sighed, rubbing his hands over his face slowly. Suddenl he gripped Thor’s wrist and turned the full power of his biggest grin on his Colonel. Thor arched his brows. “I have an idea. Let’s go blow some steam off, what do you say?”

Thor chuckled, disentangling himself. “I know how you blow steam off, Fandral. And you know I can’t.”


“Fandral, no,” Thor shook his head, raising his hands. “I can’t. It’s too risky.”

“Live a little! You’re the most boring Royal Prince I’ve ever met.”

“Met many, have you?” Thor arched a brow. “No, Fandral. Out of the question for me—but you may go, you know. I don’t mean to keep you from your fun.”

Fandral pulled a face. For some bizarre reason he didn’t like to go to whorehouses alone. He preferred the share experience, up to a certain point, of course. Thor knew Fandral liked to do almost anything in company of his closest friends. What could be done in public he almost never did on his own. Thor didn’t usually mind indulging him, as he was a very physical man himself, but in Jotunheim he could very simply not afford it; the risk of siring a bastard child from a Jotun whore was absolutely unacceptable. In so many levels, in fact, Thor could hardly bring himself to count them.

This was actually one of the things he missed most about Asgard; there, siring a bastard would not have been so much an issue. Such things happened, and were kept quiet and intimate. But a bastard son of the throne prince from another country, and from a prostitute? Unforgivable.

“Well,” Fandral stoked his bearded chin, considering. “There is one other option. If you’re worried about getting someone pregnant, we can always remove that possibility. I’ve been told of one rather obscure bar around here that specializes in, shall we say, different tastes?”

Thor arched his brows. He knew of course that Fandral was a man with a very open mind, and even back in their boyhood he’d already experimented with a lot of things Thor had not found any interest in. But that he’d suggest it so openly was unexpected.

“Fandral, that fixes your problem, but how should I find any pleasure in it?”

“Thor, any skilled body in movement will be pleasurable.”

“I don’t find any pleasure in watching your body move, even though I know you to be skillful.”

“I’m not a dancer.”

“My friend, I understand your wide tastes, but you must admit a man cannot be as erotic as a woman in movement.”

Fandral scoffed, “I’ll not admit to any such thing. A beautiful man can heat your blood as much as any beautiful woman.”

Thor shook his head. Though he could, objectively, recognize beauty in a man, as he could easily tell that Fandral was a handsome one, he could not find any sort of attraction in the male body. His own was masculine enough; he craved the soft warmth of a woman’s form, her curves and the delicate sweet scent of her skin.

“You don’t believe me?” Fandral laughed. “Come with me to this bar. I will make a believer out of you, I know it.”

The Colonel crossed his arms. “And how do you propose to do that, if you don’t even know where this bar is?”

“Oh, that’s the easy part,” Fandral scoffed. “I will find it in minutes; but first, you will give me your word that you will come with me and submit, willingly, to being convinced.”

Thor gave him a skeptical, amused look. Then he reached out and presented his hand for a shake, inclining his head genially. “You’ve my solemn word.”

The grin Fandral gave him was truly ferocious. Thor was not concerned, however, because even though Fandral had an unparalleled ability to smile like the cat that caught the bird and ate it, he rarely succeeded in his most convoluted schemes. Fandral had a rather short attention span in all facets of his life.

Much to Thor’s amusement, Fandral discovered the directions to this bar by the simple action of asking the appropriate people. It wasn’t that homosexual activity was illegal or even obscure in Jotunheim, just as it was not on Asgard, but this particular bar was, apparently, rather exclusive. An invitation by paper or the knowledge of the name of a member were seemingly necessary to gain entrance.

In keeping with its apparent secrecy, if not with the air of gallant exclusiveness its difficult access suggested, the bar resided within a rather unremarkable, low and dark building near the borders of the small town they were posted in. Thor looked upon it with unimpressed eyes, but Fandral’s own were bright. The Dashing knocked on the door, dropped a name, and grinned when they were promptly received inside.

When the doorman offered to take their winter clothes, Fandral surrendered his coat and gloves, but kept his cap and uniform intact. Thor shook his head. He preferred to keep all his things about him, especially in unfamiliar places. He took off his gloves and shrugged off his coat as the moved further into the main bar room.

The main room was also unremarkable. The light was dim and golden, the tables small and round and very far away one from the other, inviting privacy. This Thor appreciated greatly. The windows were tall and narrow, the glass panes smoked dark and frosted from the outside. The lamps, hanging at irregular intervals from the ceiling as if they were the leftovers of a time before when the room served some sort of industrial purpose, were very simple and draped in what appeared to be old silk ribbons, faded and worn.

It was all rather decadent, truly, Thor observed as he sat down, making sure to drape his coat over his shoulders so that it didn’t wrinkle between his back and that of the chair. There was one thing a Colonel needed to take special pains with, and it was how impeccable his uniform should look at all times.

He folded his leather gloves and put them away on the inner pocket of his coat, looking around curiously. It was easy to tell the difference between the patrons and the staff; not only because many of the clients were wearing uniforms of Thor’s own Asgardian Army, but also because the staff and waiters were wearing black clothes and white, expressionless and unadorned masks.

This didn’t look well to Thor. Their own faces were uncovered, so he couldn’t understand why the wait staff should have the right to hide their own. Besides, Fandral would have rather a hard time of making Thor appreciate male beauty if Thor couldn’t even get a glimpse of it.

Fandral joined him at the table, sitting a tumbler of fragrant-smelling cognac in front of him.

“You bring me to the nicest places, Fandral.”

The lieutenant waved a hand. “It’s all been arranged.”

Thor arched a brow, “What has been arranged?”

“All,” Fandral grinned.

The Colonel sipped his cognac and crossed his legs, studying the room. The music was pleasant enough, well executed by the musicians and accompanied harmoniously by the singing of a young girl with a white mask. Her voice was clear and sweet; Thor didn’t understand the Jotun language, but it sounded melancholy to him.

Thor wondered what exactly the patrons of this bar came to look for. Though the majority of the waiters and dancers were women, there was a fair amount of men in masks, and some of them were accompanying clients that were ladies; surely a lady, especially one as pretty as the one Thor was looking at, had no shortage of offers of companionship. She needn’t recur to paying for it.

Hands were on his shoulders. Thor made to turn around, but the hands slid down over his chest, clever long fingers encased in leather worked to gloss, and then stopped over his stomach, spread over the fabric of his uniform. He could feel the weight and heat of someone’s chest against his upper shoulders, and the warmth of a cheek against his own.

“So,” the person with arms around him was certainly a male. “rumor has it you are here to convinced of something.”

It was one of those strange, accented Jotun voices low as a murmur and yet able to be heard, Thor wagered, across a room. His Asgardian was perfect, though the sharply shaped words, the dragging of some consonants and the too-strong mouthing of others made it somewhat foreign all the same. It was deep and rich, for one.

Thor stared at the glossy gloves against his stomach, only just barely feeling the presence of them.

“And how do you propose to do that?” he asked, amused.

“Well,” the man’s right hand traveled up Thor’s chest to his face, grasped his chin and turned it so he was looking at the other man, or rather at his mask. Beneath it, though, he could see two bright, clever green eyes. The man’s mouth was long and thin-lipped, but very mobile. “Think first of all the things a man knows another one likes,” he suggested, ghosting his leather-covered fingers over Thor’s cheek.

“This argument has been used before,” Thor replied, cynical.

“Ah,” the man smiled, slow and sharp. “I see other means shall have to be used.”

He pulled back, long arms snaking up and away from Thor. As he came around Thor’s face to stand in front of him he trailed his fingers over the Colonel’s shoulders and, at the last moment, reached up and took the cap from his head, twirling it comfortably in his hands despite the weight of the metal plates within.

Now that Thor could get a look at him, he realized the man was unexpectedly tall, with a long-limbed, elegant and slender body. Like many of his fellow staffers, he was dressed in black, with perfectly fitting trouser; unlike them, he was naked from the waist up. He was also barefoot, which surprised Thor given the temperature of the room, and the suspenders were a rather bizarre addition.

Thor, who was not blind, had to admit he was a handsome man, of long graceful bones and long flat muscles. Lean and willowy, perhaps, and with little bulk, but certainly very fit even for Thor’s military standards. He was, most importantly, not effeminate. Fandral had chosen him well.

“Safety first, hm?” the man smiled, putting the cap on his own head and pulling it down so it fit right.

“I like my skull in its current shape,” Thor said, crossing his arms.

“And what a lovely skull,” the man tilted his head genially, exposing a long, pale throat. “We don’t get many blond people here in Jotunheim.”

Thor didn’t reach up to adjust the bun his golden haired was arranged into, despite the fact those green eyes were intense enough to set things on fire. There was a strange sort of edge to this man, like a blade, smooth yet deadly. It was that, more than anything else, that kept Thor’s eyes on him.

“Is that why you wear that mask?” Thor asked, turning in his chair to face him completely. “Safety?”

“Bar rules,” the man answered easily, unbothered by Thor’s clearly mocking one.

“You look like someone who always follows the rules,” Thor commented, because clearly on of the bar’s rules were that the staff wore black clothes and covered all of their bodies, unless it just happened to be everyone but this man preferred.

“I’m sure a—Colonel, is it? Can appreciate that.”

The music had changed to something more languid and slow. Behind the man, Thor could see a tall, elegant girl swaying her hips seductively between a man’s legs. He smiled.

“You’re not doing a very good job of convincing me.”

“It’s is no easy matter to convince the disbelieving,” the man said softly. He stepped up close, sinuous like a snake, leaning down to push some tendrils of Thor’s pale hair away from his face. The leather of his gloves was incredibly soft, and his legs very long and strong when he slipped between Thor’s knees. The Colonel spread his legs obligingly, playing along.

The man came very close, sliding one of his knees up around Thor’s thigh to sit it on the chair, so that only an inch remained between his lean bare chest and Thor’s uniformed one.

“You’d have to be willing,” he continued quietly, green eyes half-lidded behind his mask, towering over Thor where he sat.

“I’m here,” Thor arched his brows.

“As am I,” it seemed to Thor the man might have arched his brows, hidden beneath the mask. His long mouth quirked up. “Yet I don’t see you taking advantage of it. If you were an opportunist, you’d have uncrossed your arms by now. Grasped my hips.”

He smiled, widely now, as he leaned to the side, long arm reaching. Thor followed the movement with his eyes, watching as the man picked up his cognac and took a discrete sip, as if tasting it, before he took a long one. Clearly he was pleased with the quality of it.

“I do like a man of expensive tastes,” he smiled.

“Is that what you are?” Thor smiled sharply. “Expensive?”

“Costly,” the man nodded. “But one must pay handsomely for quality.”

Thor was going to reply, but the man shifted, only slightly, but enough that his supporting knee came in contact with Thor’s groin and pressed forward; then he shifted again, beginning to sway, slowly. Creating friction; not enough to be uncomfortable or even enticing yet, but certainly difficult to be ignored. Thor took a deep breath to steady himself, and was suddenly assaulted by the man’s own scent, masculine and rich. He was surprised to find it pleasant.

He realized the man was moving with the slow beat of the music, hands on Thor’s shoulders, swaying, shifting. Thor’s eyes fell to the man’s bare chest, watched as the muscles there coiled and relaxed as he danced. Then the man slid into a deeper movement, hips moving now with confidence, gaining momentum while still staying slow and, Thor had to admit, seductive.

Heat was definitely building between them. Thor gritted his teeth when the man’s fingers brushed up along his throat and to the back of his neck, where they squeezed, once, before grasping the bun of his hair and pulling at it. Thor let his head fall back, and the man curled above him, warm like a cat, his chest moving against Thor’s. He bent his head to breath in Thor’s ear, and chuckled darkly when the Colonel swallowed.

“Even the harshest atheist will pray in the trenches,” he murmured.

Before Thor could reply, he pulled back and turned around, settling his back against Thor’s chest before arching, moving like a snake. He bent his head back over Thor’s shoulder, so that when the Colonel straightened and turned to look at him his breath ghosted over the pale skin of the man’s throat, surprisingly long and delicate for a man.

Thor’s hands twitched. It would take a stronger man than he not to heat up with a warm body moving so skillfully against his own, female or not. But the man didn’t move like a woman, in any case; though seductive and confident in his movements, he took advantage of his strength and of the angles of his masculinity. And, Thor realized, on the fact that men interested in men like him liked the position of power afforded them by the chance to possess someone of equal strength, the chance to discard the need for gentleness and delicacy.

The man slid down, dragging his back along Thor’s chest so the Colonel’s groin was pressed against the small of it. The curve of his spine there was suddenly what created friction for Thor, as the man seemed to undulate, boneless and flowing like wine. His dark hair, surprisingly long and ink-black, trailed stark against the olive green of Thor’s uniform. With Thor’s cap still on, his face was hidden now, and Thor suddenly wanted to see it clearly. He shifted uncomfortably.

He nearly flinched when the man’s hands fell to his knees. He heard the dancer chuckle again as his fingers trailed up, slowly, over the tops of Thor’s thighs, up closer and around to brush against the sides of his ass before, abruptly, he turned around again and crouched between Thor’s spread thighs. His long mouth was smiling as he again moved his hands, long-fingered and clever, up Thor’s thighs and up his sides.

He stood, in one sinuous movement, and pressed close again. His right leg moved up and out and suddenly he was straddling Thor’s right thigh, warm and heavy against the angle of his hip.

Thor realized he was getting hard, and the man’s thigh was pressing exactly where he could tell. As he realized he shifted uncomfortably again, gritting his jaw.

What followed was no longer a dark chuckle but a rich, low laugh against Thor’s ear.

“I do believe I might be doing something right, Colonel.”

Thor took a deep breath, reached up and grasped the man’s hips, pushing him away firmly but gently. The man went easily enough, lips pursing.

“Running scared, Colonel?” he asked, teasing, as he stood straight to his full, impressive height between Thor’s legs.

“I’m not the one wearing a mask,” Thor ground out.

“Is that what puts you off?” The man laughed lightly. He reached up, easily, and pulled the mask away from his face and up, so that it sat comfortable on the front of Thor’s military cap.

Thor stared. The face beneath the mask was a very handsome one, of sharply elegant, almost lupine, features. High sharp cheekbones, a long straight nose, straight eyebrows and long dark lashes around jade-green eyes. His mouth Thor knew well enough, but now accompanied by the rest of his face, it was suddenly very attractive. He was a very expressive man.

“Satisfied?” the man asked, shifting his eight to one leg so he could rest his other knee on the top of Thor’s thigh.

Thor crossed his arms, feeling more in control now. The man smiled again, eyes dark, but the smile faded away. Without the shield of the mask between them, the man’s face was very open, and his eyes were very green. Thor was acutely aware of the fact he was still half-hard. He was also becoming increasingly aware of the fact he very much wanted to grab this man and make him sit still. Most importantly he wanted to make him stop smiling that superior little smile of his, so knowing and sharp.

“But you’re still scared, aren’t you?” he murmured, intimate and low. Thor’s eyes snapped down to the man’s hand as he stroked it down his own stomach and into the waistband of his trousers, where his fingers disappeared and a glimpse of dark curls could be caught. The Colonel’s eyes stuck there, throat suddenly dry. “You might be willing to admit I can get you hard, but you’ll never accept that you want to fuck me.”

He smiled, shifting to stand on both of his feet, tall and straight. He reached up and took the cap off, running a hand through his dark hair casually.

“I believe, Lieutenant, that your friend has been thoroughly convinced,” he gave Fandral a quick, dismissive glance, and carefully sat the cap back on Thor’s head. “Keep the mask,” he suggested, smiling. “To remember me by.”

Then he turned around and left, without a single backwards glance or another word between them.

Fandral laughed low.

“You’re not about to forget him, are you?”

Thor inclined his head wordlessly. He reached out and finished his cognac, shifting in his chair. Fandral reach over and took his cap, taking the mask off and turning it in his fingers, admiring the fine porcelain.

“You think he’ll get in trouble for leaving this with you?” Fandral asked, blue eyes full of mirth. “Maybe you ought to return it.”

He offered the mask. Thor stared at it in his friend’s long fingers for a long, long moment. Then he snatched it up and stood, stalking after the man and ignoring the other dancer’s offers of companionship. Out in the hallway, finding the man was simple; everyone else was dressed. He stood speaking to a woman, a client from what Thor could see, smiling his usual knowing little smile and trailing his gloved fingers over her arm.

Thor lifted the mask so the light caught on its glossy surface. The movement caught the man’s attention, and his green snapped up to Thor. His smile now was different, wolfish, as he stepped away from the woman and down the hallway. Thor followed.

The man led him down a twisted corridor full of doors, until finally he opened one and stepped inside. He didn’t close the door; Thor did that when he followed him in.

It was a private room, he realized; dark and sparsely furnished with a low couch, a coffee table and, of course, a wide bed.

The man stood in the middle of it and turned back to Thor, tilting his head like an inquisitive cat. He uncrossed his arms to reach out and take the mask from Thor, brushing it as if it were dusty.

“Why, thank you,” he murmured, eyes low on the mask. His lashes were very long. “I did say you could keep it, though, Colonel.”

“I didn’t want you to get in trouble.”

“Aren’t I already? Well, how nice. If there’s nothing else you require from me—“

He brushed around Thor and grasped the doorknob. The colonel tilted his head and smiled. Then he turned around and pushed the door back closed, leaving his hand flat against it.

“I’ll have your name, too.”

“My name?” the man turned around and leaned his back against the door. “I have no name. I’m a man in a mask.”

Thor arched his brows. He reached over and took the mask back, threw it away to the bed where it bounced and fell to the floor, cracking.

“It so happens that you’re not,” he smiled. “Your name?”

The man gave him a wide, dangerous smile. “Loki.”

“Loki,” Thor repeated, rolling the name against his tongue. He stepped in, closer, caging Loki against the door with his arm as his other hand trailer up the soft leather of his long glove, to where t finally ended at his upper arm. And then skin, warm and soft, up the swell of shoulder to that long pale neck.

Loki smiled. Thor tangled his fingers in his long dark hair and pulled until Loki’s throat was bare. He leaned in to pressed his nose against it.

“I think you made a miscalculation,” he murmured against Loki’s skin.


“You said I wouldn’t accept I want to fuck you.”

Loki swallowed, laughing lightly. His hands came up to Thor’s hips, spine arching sinfully to press his front all along the Colonel’s.

“Who says I was a miscalculation and not a clever push?”

Thor pulled his head back from Loki’s throat and crashed his lips against the man’s, crushing him up against the door. Loki gasped, hands flexing on Thor’s hips. He opened his mouth immediately for Thor, breath growing quick and shallow. Thor’s hand left the door to grasp his waist, stroke his hands up the bare muscles criss-crossed above his ribs and around to the small of his back, where he splayed it flat and brought Loki closer.

Loki sucked in a long breath and, abruptly, sank his teeth savagely into Thor’s bottom lip, drawing blood. Thor flinched back, and in his distraction Loki slipped away from him and into the room, laughing low. Thor touched his lip; his fingers came away wet with red blood. He turned around slowly, unsure of whether he was more furious or more desperately aroused.

“That’s what gets you off, isn’t it?” Loki teased, smiling, stepping slowly back to the bed. “You want to have it hard and fast, is it? No delicacy for me.”

“You like it just as much,” Thor replied, voice low, stalking forward to shove him on his back down on the bed and straddle him, gripping his hair again. Loki surged up into the kiss, teeth and tongue and violence, but Thor pulled his hair back and slowed it down. He caught Loki’s wrist when the other one made to grip his hair, and pressed it down against the bed, holding tight even when Loki twisted.

“That’s what get you off, isn’t it?” Thor murmured, releasing Loki to sit up so he could start taking off his clothes. Loki’s long, clever fingers deftly undid his uniform belt, unbuckling the ammo-belt to start working on the buttons of the jacket. Once it was open Thor shrugged it off his shoulders and threw it carelessly away. He twisted gracefully out of his undershirt. “You want stronger men to bend you over and fuck you, don’t you?”

Loki’s gloved hands ran up his stomach, across his pectorals to his neck; wrapping his hands around it, he brought Thor down for another punishing kiss. His back arched again, this time so his hips could thrust up into the space between Thor’s spread thighs. Thor gasped at the movement, bracing himself against the bed as he pushed in a downwards roll, crushing Loki to the bed.

The dancer managed to untie his hair; it fell, limp and straight, around their faces. Thor could feel the other’s erection now against his own. Loki thrust up again, rolling his head back to expose his long throat, throwing his arms up over his head to accentuate the shift of muscles on his lean torso. Thor pushed down, and smiled savagely when Loki gasped.

“Well,” the dancer said, looking at him over the curvature of his cheeks, head still curved back. “Won’t you get on with it? Or need I explain the mechanics?”

Thor chuckled filthily behind his hair, leaning down close to lick at Loki’s left nipple.

“No,” he said quietly, looking at Loki through his lashes. “Do it yourself.”

He pushed off the bed, running a hand through his hair. He thought he’d seen bottles on the table, and he was right’ there were tumblers and glasses there, if not ice. He sat down on the couch and poured himself a generous measure of whiskey. Then he sat back and watched as Loki came up on his knees, grinning.

“Ah,” he said quietly as he began to pull off his long gloves. Thor noticed his bone-pale skin was beginning to blush, along his cheeks and upper chest. “You like to watch, then?”

He rose from the bed and threw the gloves down onto the bedside table, before retrieving something from the drawer there. Then he turned to Thor again, and shrugging off his suspenders, he undid the button and zipper of his trousers and let them fall down along his long, elegant legs, to pool on the floor.

Thor stared again. He couldn’t help it. Loki was a beautiful man, long-limbed and slender, lightly muscled. His cock was half-hard, nestled in dark curls. He noticed Thor looking and reached won to stroke it leisurely to full hardness.

“Shall I do it slowly?” he asked, coming closer again to kneel between Thor’s legs, ducking down to kiss Thor’s navel. Thor reached with his free hand to grip his hair and pull his head back, eyes half-lidded. He felt like he was on fire.

“You know how to do it,” he murmured, sipping his whiskey.

Loki chuckled. He settled back on his knees and slicked his fingers with the oil he’d taken from the drawer. He braced a hand at the side of Thor’s thigh and leaned forward, eyes bright like green stars. Thor watched him reach back with his other hand, and felt his own breath catch when those long fingers disappeared between Loki’s ass cheeks.

The dancer gasped, eyes fluttering shut. His breath ghosted over Thor’s nipples. The Colonel pushed his dark hair away from his face with his free hand watching fascinated as the long graceful muscles of his back shifted beneath the smooth skin as he opened himself up.

Thor was so hard he hurt. He hadn’t been this around for a woman in a long time. Loki’s eyes flicked open, and he ducked his head down to press his open mouth against Thor’s groin, breathing out hot and long. Thor’s hips bucked up. Loki laughed quietly and briefly.

“No need to wait, Colonel,” he murmured, pressing his forehead to Thor’s hip and gasping; Thor supposed he had twisted his own fingers to some sort of angle.

Thor finished the last of his whiskey and leaned forward across Loki’s body to set it on the table. On his way back he let his hand stroke up along the man’s skin, up until he could cup the back of his neck. Loki moaned. Thor used his other hand to flick open his uniform pants, shifted his hips up to push them down s he could free his cock and stroke it.

Loki was so close it was easy for him to lean close and kiss the head of Thor’s erection, before taking it into his mouth and stroking it with his tongue.

Thor fisted his hand in his ink-black hair, fighting not to thrust up.

“How long do you need?” he panted.

Loki pulled back, licking his lips. “It all depends on how rough you want it.”

Thor sat up and grasped his throat, pulling him in for a hard, merciless kiss. Then he stood, dragging Loki up, and pushed him back towards the bed. Loki fell back, and turned around once he was on the bed. Thor was on him almost immediately, pulling his hair to the side to lick the side of his neck as he crushed the, back to chest. Loki’s supple spine was moving again, a fascinating undulating movement from shoulders to hips.

Thor pinned him down, pulling his head back so he arched his neck.

“Do you need help with that, child?” Loki called back, eyes closed and teeth bared.

Thor grunted and pulled back only enough to grasp his cock and align them together. Loki stilled when he started pushing inside, waiting, it seemed, for Thor’s cue. Thor couldn’t quite think; Loki’s body was much tighter than a woman’s, though just as hot. It was disorienting and maddening.

“I’m gratified you know where to put it,” the dancer’s voice was undeniably rougher. Thor growled and slammed inside in one push, relishing the cry it jarred out of Loki, half-pleasure and half-pain. Loki was pushing back against him now, trying to rise to knees and hands, but Thor kept him pinned down, much heavier and stronger. Loki bent his head down so it hung between his arms, panting openly. Thor shifted and started thrusting, long and deep thrusts that made Loki gasp and moan beneath him, push back into Thor’s back and hips.

Thor realized he wasn’t going to last long, not with how long he’d been hard and how much Loki had teased him. He shifted up, moving his right knee in between Loki’s spread legs to pull him up enough to reach around him and grasp his cock. Loki moaned, bracing himself on his elbows and dropping his head forward, spine curving sinfully. Thor curled over him, jerking him off quick and hard, breathing in his ear.

Loki tensed, crying out as he spilled between Thor’s fingers, copiously onto the sheets, shuddering violently. Thor gasped with the strength of it clamping down on his cock, releasing Loki’s only to brace himself because it took his breath away, the intensity of it, the headiness of making another man come undone beneath him.

He sat up on his knees and grasped Loki’s hips, slamming harshly into him a few more erratic times before he cried out and came, curling his fingers so hard he must have bruised the other man’s fair skin. When he was spent, he leaned down and eased himself on his side on the bed, breathing harshly, skin tingling with pleasure. Loki was on his stomach in front of him, similarly struggling to breathe, face turned away from him.

Thor reached out and stroked his hand up the curve of the dancer’s back, soothing, before he brushed his fingers through his silky dark hair. Loki hummed and turned his head to face him, eyes heavy-lidded, lips swollen. There was an odd moment of tenderness there between them, before Loki shifted closer and pressed his face to Thor’s throat, relaxing.

Thor let his hand rest between the man’s shoulders. “Can we sleep here?”

“It’s my room. We can do whatever we like in it.”

Thor hummed and moved so his right leg was crossed above Loki’s thighs for some warmth. He fell asleep like that, warm and comfortable in the bed with another man. He stirred at some point, briefly, when Loki got off the bed. The man shushed him, stroking his hair back so he would re-settle into sleep.

The next time he woke up it was not as pleasant.

Loki was above him, straddling his hips. This in itself might not have been bad; but Thor woke up because something above his head had just clicked. He stared at Loki for a long, tense moment; then he rolled his head back to look.

Both of his wrists were cuffed to the bed. He pulled on them, but the cuffs held strong. He took a deep breath and turned back, as Loki got off him and started pacing about the room, getting his clothes on.

“What is this?” he asked, voice gravelly with sleep.

“A robbery, of sorts,” Loki replied distractedly, opening a closet to find an undershirt, shirt and sweater.

“Of sorts?” Thor growled.

Loki sat down on the couch to pull on long riding boots, glancing up only briefly.

“It could be worse, you know,” he said, arching his brows as he stood.

“I know your face, you know,” Thor replied.

Loki laughed richly as he came over to the bed, sliding his hands inside his pockets.

“Well now, don’t be petulant. You won’t find a single man in a country only by his face and name. Besides, you have the little matter of a war to fight in.”

Thor glanced down at himself and realized, somewhat grateful, that Loki had tucked him in and closed his pants.

“You should be grateful,” Loki said, leaning down closer to Thor’s face. “I’m only taking your money.”

“What else could you take?” Thor arched his brows, unimpressed.

“Oh, I could be asking for a handsome ransom for your freedom, Thor Odinsson, prince of Asgard.

Thor stiffened. Loki laughed, low and rich, and showed him what he had in his right hand; the smallest chain of Thor’s dog-tags.

“A memento,” Loki said, tucking it in the pocket over his heart. “To remember you by.”

“I’m going to want that back,” Thor said quietly, a smile spreading low and dangerous over his lips.

“Well then,” Loki backed off the bed, tilting his head and smiling. “Do come find me. Some day. It was an unparalleled pleasure, Colonel. Fare thee well.”

“Until we meet again, Loki.”

Loki’s chuckle lingered for a long time after he had left and quietly closed the door behind himself.