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Cocky boys

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“I’m not bottoming,” declared Loki, arms crossed, snooty expression.

Huffs of frustration all around.

“But Loki, we’ve discussed this before…” began Tony.

“I said I’m not bottoming.”

“There has never been a Thor Odinson film without me topping!” exclaimed Thor.

“There’s always a first time for everything, isn’t it,” replied Loki with intention, his voice sweet, poison underneath. “And he’s not riding me either. I’m fucking him.”

“Can you believe this guy?” said Thor, hoarse with outrage.

“Non-negotiable,” said Loki.

They all turned to Darcy, imploring. She shrugged, a small, commiserating smile. Tony sighed.

“Thor?”

Thor flinched back, in shock. He could not believe his ears.

“What? Are we just going to go along with everything he asks? Why the hell am I even here then?”

No answers. Nobody was meeting his eye, except for Loki, who was also sending Thor’s way a smug half-smile. Thor was a safe bet, he worked regularly for Tony. But Loki? This wasn’t going to happen without him. He had them by the balls.

“I can’t fucking believe this. He’s just being impossible, and you all just roll over and take it?” he was dismayed. “Listen, man, if you don’t want to do this…”

“Of fucking course I don’t want to do this!” snapped Loki. “Do you think I’m here for the pleasure of your company? I’m doing this for the money, understood?”

Whoa, that was harsh. Tony thought the lady doth protest too much, but kept it to himself. Anyway, Thor did not take it well.

“Don’t do us any fucking favours, sir,” he hissed.

Loki arched his eyebrows.

“You’re the ones who’ve been chasing after me for weeks,” he noted, accurately, to the room in general. “Do you think I have nothing better to do than fuck this beefcake on camera?”

Oh, dear, the look on Thor’s eyes.

“If it’s such a huge fucking sacrifice, don’t fucking do it, then!” he roared.

“Fine! I won’t!” said Loki, pushing his chair back with a screech and stomping to one end of the room. 

“Fine!” Thor did the exact same thing.

“Gentlemen…” said Tony, panicking.

By his side, Pepper gave his knee a discreet squeeze and shushed him. She winked, mouthed “wait.”

Indeed, Thor and Loki were each in their opposite corners, sulking, huffing with barely contained anger… but clearly not storming out of the room. Not yet. Hm, interesting.

“Fine,” said Thor, after a long, tense while.

Loki half-turned to him, with a cocked eyebrow, full of suspicion.

“Fine,” repeated Thor, stance still proud. “You can fuck me, but I want a rim job.”

Loki frowned, caught off-guard. What sort of a counter-offer was that?

“What,” said Thor, insolent, “don’t want to show me what that famous silver tongue can do? This is my bargain.” (And then, under his breath.) “Whining cunt.”

Loki’s eyes narrowed, his cunning brain trying to work out Thor’s angle.

“Sixty-nine,” he haggled. He always had to have the last word. “And I know you can deep throat.”

They all turned to Thor, who had a look around, and then exhaled deeply, making a big show of it.

“Deal.”

Tony checked out with Pepper that she had seen what he had seen. She shrugged. A few minutes later it was all on paper, black and white, with the quick scribble Thor had for a signature (he was used to serial-autographing dildos, you see) and Loki’s neat, pointy, fastidiously written name, one on each side of the paper, lots of empty space in between, as if they could not even stand to cross inks.

The date was set, the meeting dissolved. 

“Well, that was easy,” commented Tony.

Pepper gave him an eyebrow and a half and made her way out. 

It would soon be six months since Stark Studios made internet history with the celebrated Christmas Live Event. There had been a clamour to see Thor and Loki together again, as anyone would have expected, and Tony had had every intention of orchestrating a reunion from the first minute, but he did not want to rush it. He wanted the fans to stew in it for a while, make them wait for it, make them really, really crave it, and nurse their woes with frequent visits to his website, of course.

Now summer had arrived, the weather was lovely, and he thought it was time. He had approached Thor with the notion, expecting at least some resistance, seeing that weeks after the fact, he was still sporting the scabs Loki had given him. Thor had sounded eager when he said, “sure, when?” He always wore his heart on his sleeve, bless.

Loki had played hard to get. It was just his way, he probably didn’t know any other. He had turned him down several times, but there was a distinct lack of… finality, shall we say, about the way he did it. And when Tony had waited more than two days before he insisted again after the latest rebuff, he had immediately got a call from Darcy, wanting to talk shop. Intriguing, wasn’t it?

 

 

*

 

 

(Six months earlier. Christmas Day.)

 

“Are you alright, my darling?” said Frigga, putting her hand warmly on Thor’s. “You seem distracted.”

Thor snapped out of it.

“I’m fine.”

“You did’t stay up too late last night, did you?”

Muuum, I’m going to turn twenty-eight in a few months!

“I was in bed at ten, actually,” said Thor instead.

“You and what other three or four men,” said Odin, chuckling, bawdy.

“Dear!” said Frigga severely.

“Nah, alone. I was knackered,” said Thor, untroubled. His dad wasn’t being mean or anything. Thor thought he actually took pride in his son’s reputation as a sex machine. “I had to work,” he added.

“On Christmas Eve?” said Frigga, shocked.

“How many were there?” said Balder.

“Just one,” said Thor, glancing at his mum.

"Whoa, and he tired you out? He must have been really something."

Frigga was rubbing her forehead heavily, eyes shut tight, trying to keep the conversation out. No matter how hard she tried, this kind of banter did not amuse her. She was no prude, and Thor had talked openly about men with her before, but his work was another story. Thor was still her babyboy, look at him, only yesterday she was still nursing him and changing his nappies and singing him to sleep… And now one of the best-selling sex toys in the world (and her friends' favourite) was a vibrating replica of his cock. It wasn't easy, alright?

“So, Balder,” said Thor, trying to steer the conversation away from himself, “have you decided what subjects you’re going to take next term?”

Frigga straightened her head, put her socialite mask of perfect composure back on, and tried to pay attention to whatever her youngest son was babbling about. She gave her oldest a fond, apologetic look, and squeezed his hand over the table. Thor smiled back. It’s ok, mum.

 

 

“You’re definitely distracted,” noted Odin later, as the two of them waited on the couch for another helping of apple pie, with It’s a Wonderful Life on TV, as they had done every year on this day after dinner, since Thor was a little boy.

Thor ruffled his hair, shrugged. What could he honestly say that he was willing to own.

“I’m ok,” he said.

“I hear this… work you did yesterday was quite a remarkable, uh, online phenomenon,” said his dad. “It was on the newspapers. Media section.”

Thor harrumphed.

“Wow, really? Well, there was some, um, anticipation,” he explained. “We had never (harrumph) worked together before with this guy, and he’s kind of, well, he’s popular. And with it being live and all, well, it got a lot of attention.”

He’d leave out the part where it was the first time that Loki bottomed on camera. He had a flashback. His crotch clenched. He swallowed dry.

“Pardon?” He had not been listening.

“I said,” repeated his dad, patiently, “that it must be very complicated, from a technical point of view. How do you actually do it?” He suddenly went cherry-red. “The-the shooting.”

Thor gleefully dug in the technicalities for his dad. He managed to keep his terminology so aseptic, nobody would have guessed it was not a nature documentary they were talking about. It still made his dad blush purple anyway, and himself, in solidarity.

You know what, they were pretty good with all this, mum and dad, considering. It had been a big shock at first, way more awkward than the coming out talk (the worst his dad said when he told them he was gay was “but you’re captain of the football team…” with a tone of disbelief.) The porn thing had horrified them initially — understandable —, but Tony’s set-up was so… wholesome, so tasteful. And Thor was doing so well, and they could tell he was happy, that he had found his calling, so to speak, that soon enough, being the decent, liberal-minded people they had always been, they just gave him his blessing, got on with their lives, let Thor get on with his, and supported him.

It must have been hard, however, at dad’s country club, with Frigga’s socialite friends. Thor could just imagine his parents’ acquaintances at those stuffy, snobby do’s, going on about their sons and daughters, the one an engineer, the other a publicist, IT consultant, stock broker, odontologist… porn actor. Gay porn actor, for extra kick. Thor was kind of sorry to put his mum and dad through that ordeal, and he had even apologised for it a few times. 

“I’m proud of you, son,” his dad had declared, chin up, jaw set, eye fierce, “and that’s what I say to anyone who has a problem with this.”

Still brought a tear to Thor’s eye, just thinking about it. 

And look who was laughing now. Let’s see how many of your kids had been on Conan and Colbert and the covers of Time and Cosmo (yes, Cosmo, so what? The largest portion of Thor’s audience were women. It had Odin making naughty jokes about having missed a chance there, and getting unimpressed glares from his wife in return. Oh, and that issue of Cosmo had flown from the shelves, had been re-printed several times, and it was still a highly sought-after find for collectors. Not that he liked to brag.) 

Then there had been that BBQ when dad retired, that had been fun. Thor had expected the wives to flock around him making heart eyes, but there had been several husbands as well, a bunch of Odin’s former workmates, wanting a word with Thor, much better acquainted with Thor’s career than could be explained away by a visit to Thor's entry in the Wikipedia.

Between one thing and another, apart from a few understandably awkward instances now and then, Thor’s job was not that much of an issue in this house, and he was grateful for it.

Except for Balder. Balder was a different story. Balder drove Thor up the wall. Balder fucking watched Thor’s films with his mates at college, and then left enthusiastic reviews on the website under his own fucking name. The kid had no fucking sense of propriety. I mean, there’s hero worship, and then there’s that. It made Thor’s skin crawl. Not to mention the laughs Tony had at his expense, the bastard.

Because his parents’ house was kinda out of the way, Thor usually spent the night there when he visited. Balder was staying with them the whole of his Christmas break. Thor was reading in bed when he heard a knock on the door.

“Hey, it’s me,” came Balder’s muffled whisper from behind the door, and he let himself in.

Thor had pulled the sheets all the way up to his chin. He did not sleep in the nude in this house, and still he was feeling strangely… exposed.

“I just saw the pre-view on the website!” reported his kid brother, with a fucking semi, impossible to miss in those loose pyjama pants. “It was fucking awesome, man! Any idea when they’re going to put it up for download?” 

His little brother sat down on the bed by his legs. Thor recoiled as far back as he could go, until he hit the headboard. He really had no idea what to make of this kid. They had not been close growing up (a ten year gap is a ten year gap, and when Balder started to become his own person, Thor left for college). He was like an enthusiastic, completely oblivious happy puppy who worshipped the floor Thor trod on, wanted to be his mate more than anything, and… and Jesus fuck, he got fucking boners watching him fuck other guys on screen, what the fuck? Thor exhaled heavily, rubbing the bridge of his nose. It was so hard not to stare, and he so, so did not want to.

“They need to edit it first, I don’t know,” he grumbled, eyes firmly shut.

“Do you think you could get me his number? Loki’s I mean.”

Thor’s bristles bristled.

“Didn’t you say you were straight?” he snapped.

“Man, I could totally make an exception. He can really suck cock, can't he?”

Jesus, Mary and Joseph. Mum, help.

“I don’t have his fucking number,” he said, curtly. And if I did, I’d never give it to you. For your own sake, that is. He’d have you for breakfast if you even so much as tried to say hello to him, you snotty brat. (An exceedingly pretty nineteen-year-old snotty brat. No, Balder was never getting anywhere near Loki, if Thor could help it.)

“Can’t you, like, ask?” insisted Balder.

“No,” grunted Thor. “They will think I want it for me. Fuck that.” That was surely the main reason.

“Wow, is that a bite mark?” Balder reached to touch his lip. Thor nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Balder, I want to sleep,” he pleaded.

“Oh, right, yeah." Finally, his brother got off his bed and made for the door. He turned around one last time before he left. "Anyway, great job! I can’t wait to see the whole thing!” He gave him two thumbs up, and closed the door softly behind him.

Thor sighed, relieved, and started to unfold from his rigid, as-small-as-you-can position. He settled in with his book again. 

Balder’s bed creaked behind the wall. Thor jolted. Oh, great. Now he would spend the rest of the night in terror, fearing every squeak and every rustle, just in case it was his little brother jerking off to one of his own goddamn porn films. Please, god, he did not want to hear that.

He tried to concentrate on his book. His tongue absently poked the bruise Loki had left on his lip (inside and out, what an animal). After a few pages, while idly scratching his arm, his fingertips found the crescent-shaped indentations in the skin of his wrist, where Loki had sunk in his nails and drawn blood. When he distractedly carded his hand through his hair, his abused scalp throbbed with the reminder of Loki’s yanks and tugs. And there it was again, that stupid smile on his face, what the fuck? And he just kept on sighing, all day, for no reason. What had he come to, thinking of that wild little shit, and sighing. How he had stared at him from above, those huge green eyes, how he paraded completely naked, so cock-sure of the effect he had on Thor. I mean, Thor had eyes, ok?, he had always found him beautiful. Since the very first moment Loki had stepped into Tony’s studio, Thor had wanted to do a scene with him. His interest had never really gone away, no matter how big a jerk Loki was, because damn, just look at him. But anyway, if Loki disliked him so much, fuck him. Or not fuck him, whatever. 

And what an infuriating jerk he was, god, that superiority of his when he had looked at him over his shoulder, daring Thor to fuck him…

…And here we go, the bedspread was tented. It was only the umpteenth unwelcome boner today. Sometimes he thought he should really see a doctor. Then again, mister doctor, sir, you should see those eyes, that butt, that clever, snarky mouth, those legs…

He had actually toyed with the idea of asking Loki out, after the shoot. Now he realised he must have been completely high and drunk on happy hormones, because what a batshit crazy idea was that? Loki loathed him. But Thor was impulsive, ok?, he didn’t think things through.

When he had got into the changing room, the shower was running. He took the stall two spaces away from Loki, so as not to come through as a total creep. As the hot water loosened his knots (and stung like a son of a bitch wherever Loki’s nails or teeth had broken the skin), he had that sappy, completely ridiculous thought, that he wished he could have taken Loki’s scent with him a bit longer. And then he thought longingly of his own scent on Loki’s skin, his spunk.

On the third cubicle to his right, the shower stopped. Thor felt shy, and a bit naughty, when he stole a glimpse of that long, lithe, graceful body, as Loki walked past his stall. Which was kind of surreal, what with what they had been up to for the last hour, but oh well. In his line of business, Thor had found, surreal situations were anything but rare. 

He had finished washing quickly, suddenly fearing that Loki would be out of there before Thor could… what? “Hey, sweetcheeks, wanna grab a coffee?” — seriously, man? 

Impulsive, remember?, he told himself. Think later. It usually works for you, and if it doesn’t, it doesn’t. 

He found Loki already dressed, unfortunately, and lacing up his boots. Damn, that was quick. Fair enough. Thor cupped himself with the towel to rub dry his pubes, cock and balls. He knew full well how good he looked like that, fresh out of the shower, his skin rosy with the heat, droplets artfully pearled on his muscles. He was used to finding his lovers gaping in awe when he got out of the bath, like Venus in her shell, emerging from the ocean on the crest of a wave.

But Loki wasn’t even looking. He had finished with his boots, and now he was dabbing a nut of product into his hair, in front of a mirror that, with the way it was angled, would not be reflecting Thor.

There was only so much lazy ball drying Thor could do before he started to resemble a gorilla with pubic lice. He turned his back, and pretended to be very interested in the contents of his locker as he towelled his hair. After all, he had been told that his B-side was just as impressive as his A.

Meanwhile, Loki had extracted what looked like a futuristic laser beam gun out of his bag, and had started to blow dry his hair. 

Thor dressed up as slowly as humanely possible, took forever to put on his lumberjack boots, took pains to fold his things and put them neatly inside his bag, and fumbled with his phone as much as he could, but even after all that stalling, Loki was still drying. Thor guessed he could just get there, tell him to turn the damn thing off, and make his pass like a grown-up, but…

What the fuck, Odinson, can’t you read between the lines? He hates your guts, remember? And if I’m not very much mistaken, you’re supposed to hate his.

He could not remember chickening out on a crush since he was twelve. With a heavy heart, he slung the bag on his shoulder, and walked to the door.

“Bye,” he said, forlorn.

Loki did not look at him, and he did not reply

 

And his bedcovers were still tented. Oh well, there was only one way to deal with this, so he got on with it. If he let his mind wander a bit, and re-played a few scenes in his mind… Well, they do say the brain is the biggest sexual organ. Not sure that applied to him when he was fully hard, but anyway, there was that.

 

 

*

 

 

(Still six months earlier, Christmas eve, after the shoot. Back in the changing room.)

 

Loki tensed up like a guitar string when he heard the other shower start running. He thought he would have more time. He sacrificed conditioning, rinsed as quickly as he could, wrung the water out of his hair, and walked out, hesitating between wrapping or not wrapping a towel around his hips. He went with not wrapping, because frankly, Laufeyson, shy, at this point? He passed Thor’s stall with as much dignity as he could with that fucking stiffness in his hip.

What he could not possibly do was wrap his hair in a towel turban, because… just, no. Which made drying his body a bit of an uphill battle for some time, and left the neck and shoulders of his shirt soaked within ten seconds of putting it on. Fucking great.

Shoes shoes shoes shoes. God fucking dammit, Laufeyson, do you really need your footwear to reach half way up your calf and have more fucking laces than a corset? What’s wrong with a pair of fucking loafers? And shit oh shit, the shower had stopped running. He made the huge mistake of lifting his eyes for a second, and caught the fucking reflection of that lump of golden meat with nothing but a flimsy towel on his crotch, all that plentiful, supple flesh in full display. He cursed the heavens under his breath, because come the fuck on, Odinson!

Loki was very, very concerned right now. There had to be something wrong with him. He had symptoms. Ever since the choreography meeting, he had not had a day of peace. His pulse just bolted on him like a mad bull for no reason, his stomach was permanently upset and churning, he got hot flushes, and he struggled to sleep. And today had been the worst. He had almost been sick this morning before heading for the shoot, and after the event, he had got to the changing room short of breath, heart beating madly. He had trusted that a long hot shower might soothe his nerves (he felt like a character in a Jane Austen novel), or his blood pressure or whatever, but no chances for long hot showers in peace in this place. Loki could not possibly calm anything with that thunderhead hovering there, getting on his tits by the mere fact of his existence.

What was he going to do? He could not go out in this state. What if he started to see black and needed to lie down? Oh no, never, not with Mr. Universe there, giving himself a crotch rub that was going to lead up to a happy ending if he kept at it. (And, jeez, here we go again, blacking out. Need to sit down. He was going to die, wasn’t he? Deep breaths, deeeep breaths.) No, if he had some sort of undiagnosed heart condition, and he was going to have a stroke today, he was not going to have it here, where Thor would have to try and reanimate him. Because… because fuck you, that’s why.

Chill, just chill. The heart condition was debatable, the pneumonia he was going to get if he got out into the streets of New York on a cold December night with his hair dripping wet, that was a certainty. So he proceeded to blow dry his hair.

If he looked to one side, he could see Thor through the reflection in the mirrors by the long row of sinks. At least he was putting clothes on, thank god, but he was taking ages. Just hurry the fuck up already! Can’t I have my stroke in peace?

Thor took for fucking ever to get out of there. Loki had probably burned his hair, he had been drying it for so long. Great, Odinson, thank you.

 

 

When he got home, there was a fucking Christmas Eve party in his apartment he could not remember organizing (that’s because he hadn’t). The band was there, a few of the more hardcore groupies that were by now almost family (not his family, heavens, no), and Darcy and that Ian boy of hers.

“Here he is!” shouted someone. “He returns victorious!”

There was cheering, clapping, wolf-whistling. They had all been watching the whole damn thing on his own fucking iMac. He got back-patted and jostled and one brave soul attempted to kiss his head (wouldn’t be trying that again in a hurry). He rejected with a single well-honed glare the beer someone was offering, and just snatched Darcy’s drink instead, fluorescent green, a little paper umbrella and a slice of cucumber, and ten times more kick. He downed one third in one gulp before he plummeted on the couch like dead weight and offered it back. Darcy let him keep it, took a seat next to him.

“Tough day at work?” she teased.

“What are they doing here.”

“It’s Christmas!”

Loki gave her a dark look.

“I got you a present,” she said, conciliating. “Here.”

“Put it under the fucking tree,” groaned Loki, rubbing his eyes. He was so fucking done.

“You don’t have a tree.”

“Precisely.”

“Oh, come on!” she persisted. “Open-open-open-open-open…”

Loki rolled his eyes and accepted the box, wrapped up in cheery red paper with lots of cartoon Rudolphs printed on it. He had a bad feeling about this. Darcy had many qualities, but tact was not one of them.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he grumbled, while there was some more cheering and clapping. Amora took the box from him, with wide eyes, just before Loki bashed Darcy’s head in with it.

“Oh my god!” she exclaimed. “It looks even bigger in real life!” 

It was a fucking dildo, moulded directly from Thor Odinson’s erect cock. Amora had extracted it from the box, and she was appraising it, in awe. Loki groaned again when he saw that the base was fucking autographed.

“But I thought you were fine bottoming in your private life!” teased Darcy.

“I hate you,” hissed Loki.

Darcy made a kissy pout, unfazed.

 

 

He had managed to kick them all out before eleven (never underestimate the scattering powers of his snark). From bed, he checked his stats. Stark’s website regaled him with a short clip of today's scene, to wet the viewer’s appetite for the soon-to-be-released downloadable version of the thing. It had been hastily but flawlessly put together — the first attempt at a kiss, which Loki had dodged; a couple of hair-pulling instances (nice); the moment when Thor had gestured at him to come hither, that fucking infuriating wink, then the moment when he had done the same, a wicked smirk instead of a wink; the moment when Loki had perched on the chair, offering himself; and some short, teasing glimpses of the actual sex.

Loki’s nostrils were flaring again. It was all coming back to him. That asshole! How had he dared to rim him? And what the fuck had he intended, riding him until he almost made him come, two fucking postures and twenty minutes too soon? And he called himself a professional? A fucking child is what he was! It was making his blood boil with fury. That’s what it was, right?, the reason why his pulse kept racing, his heart beating so hard, this heat in his stomach. He was fucking furious, that’s what it was. It got to him every time he thought about Thor, the most annoying, arrogant, self-satisfied jerk he had ever had the displeasure of crossing paths with. He should never have agreed to bottom. Not with him. And letting him come on him? What the fuck had you been thinking, Laufeyson, you greedy bitch? He wanted to punch a wall. He wanted to strangle someone.

And this deadly virus he had caught had to be at the very least tropical in origin. Heart racing, stomach turning, feverish, and now he was also fucking hard.

Unwell, rare disease, pssbly dying. Get me doctor appntmt” he texted.

Darcy replied in seconds.

OMG u ok? amblnce now?

Nah, 2mrrow

He wasn’t dying that much. And that boner wouldn’t be going anywhere without some coaxing. It was like an annoying guest like that, never fucking knowing when they're not welcome.

Darcy had left her Christmas present on his bedside table, how thoughtful. It had remained out of its box, proudly towering above it. Loki traced it base to tip with his eyes.

No, Laufeyson, he severely warned himsef, the fuck are you thinking? I forbid you. A quick jerk-off to get it out of your system, and that’s that. Keep Thor Odinson’s cock as far away from you as possible, you hear?, don’t get all fucking weird. Not about that slutty airhead who fucked dozens of men per week, and possibly forgot their names while he was still inside them. Not about that stupid gorilla with that infuriating shit-eating grin, and those fucking blue eyes that seemed to reach deeper than his dick, that irksome self-assurance, as if he owned the whole world, and that cocky smirk, as if he now also owned him…

He was all shaken up after he came, and not one bit more relaxed. Took him ages to fall asleep. He blamed the life-threatening tropical disease he had obviously contracted somehow, not Thor Odinson.

 

 

*

 

(Back to the present day)

 

It was a lovely June afternoon, they had set up camp in the meadows around the country club upstate where they had shot the Christmas scene. Seemed like everything that could blossom was in bloom. The small lake at the back, touched by the late, slanting sun, shone and sparkled like polished bronze, or fish-scales, or glass shards or something — Tony left the poetry to Loki.

The team had set up a picnic blanket on a small hill, under the low branches of a tree, heavy with tiny cream flowers, silvery waterside trees all around, and on the background, beyond the lake. The light was delicate, light and shade dappled on the grass. It was delightful, romantic even. He had to remember to bring Pepper here.

Only two cameras this time, and no Blair Witch Project running around, please. Nice, harmonious, mainly static shots. Because no matter how dementedly successful and popular the Christmas Fuck still was (attesting to how little the viewers seemed to care for cinematography, damned them all to hell), this time Tony wanted decent material he could edit into something that wasn’t an absolute mess. He was first and foremost a filmmaker, goddammit, and he had standards.

“What the hell is this, Tony?” grumbled Loki the minute he arrived. “You want us to fuck or recite each other sonnets?”

“Good afternoon to you too,” said Tony, appraising the black linen trousers and deep green t-shirt, wide neck dropping off the shoulder, yum. Loki’s hair was longer and looked softer, possibly because of the drier weather, and that smattering of new freckles on his nose and cheeks made it easy to picture him as a ginger. Cute.

Thor showed up two minutes later. He was dressed in faded blue and white, very casual and classy, his hair now dry. He had been around for hours, enjoying the sun and the breeze and the cool waters of the lake. Watching him float blissfully on his back earlier, cock breaking the surface, curly pubes like seaweed (not that he was looking. Much), Tony had considered starting the action with Thor emerging naked from the lake, golden skin glistening and dripping, like some sort of magical aquatic creature, but even with Thor’s size, that lake was a chilly, mean, envious bugger. Bad for photography. He had no doubt that half a minute of Loki’s attentions would make the problem disappear, but fuck it. They would begin on the picnic blanket as planned, dry and warm, and with the equipment in full glory from the word go. 

This time, the boys didn’t seem so tense as they were stiff. There seemed to be an unofficial competition between them, to see who could act more oblivious of the other’s existence. Tony wagered they both believed they were winning, but one look at Phil and, yes, so Tony was not the only one who had noticed how hard they were trying, and how miserably they were failing. He had seen smoother eight-year-olds.

“Well then,” said Tony, after they had gone over the program again, with his stars’ silent, grudgy acquiescence. “Shall we?” 

Two quiet shrugs. Hah, they brought up the inner brat in each other. They sat down on the picnic blanket, side by side.

From their control post inside the building, Nat and Clint gave him the ok. The crew out in the field also gave the thumbs up. Meanwhile, Thor and Loki were now staring at each other, noses six inches away, with solid, buzzing, burning hatred. Tony felt in his pocket for the pills his doctor had prescribed after last time; he inhaled, and exhaled. He gave the sign.

And he almost gave it again — perhaps they were so deeply enmeshed in their mutual distaste that they had missed it? Neither had moved one inch. Quizzical looks between the crew members. Where were the introductions, where was the making out…? Loki stood up on his feet (Oh, boy, here we go). The cameras scrambled to get the new shot. Under Thor’s intense, narrowed stare, Loki took his shirt off, then his trousers, and he stood there naked, gorgeous under that soft, afternoon sun, like clear honey, his hip cocked the way he knew made him look like a Roman marble, and his legs look even longer.

Aaaand Thor was already hard, whoa. Now Loki started to stroke one bare foot on Thor’s bulging crotch. Thor’s frown and his breathing deepened, his lips parted. He looked up again, his eyes were glazed. Loki kept staring him down from his full height, on with that foot-job that had never been part of the program.

Loki pinched the neck of Thor’s t-shirt, gave it a tug.

“Off,” he commanded.

Thor smirked, cocky, and did as he was told, but with an air that said, “I was going to anyway, but I’m going to pretend you said please and indulge you.” Once his chest was bare, he propped himself backwards to give Loki a better view. In Loki’s long, graceful throat, his Adam’s apple bobbed visibly, there was an involuntary gasp of lust.

Satisfied with that reaction, Thor leaned over, to reach for Loki’s hardening, twitching cock with his mouth. Loki took a step back. (Tony crumpled the script in a ball and threw it over his shoulder.)

“You wanted a rim-job?” whispered Loki, enticing, like a poisonous flower. “I’ll show you a rim-job.”

Thor’s smirk got wider, his eyes narrower. He had to get on his back and lift his hips to take his jeans off, which meant that his cock jutted up like the Washington monument when it was released (Gorgeous, Coulson, great shot. Tony could work with that.) And then Thor adopted position at Loki’s feet, on his hands and knees, and managed to keep conveying a sense of pride and hauteur as he did. 

Loki kneeled down behind Thor. The camera guys coordinated to take position without getting into each other’s frames —Coulson and Pietro (the new camera guy, Wanda’s brother, she spoke wonders of him, had worked in war zones. Should be fine.)

“I’m waiting,” said Thor, ready to be unimpressed.

Oh, sweetheart, thought Tony, just you wait. You won’t know what hit you. He checked the monitor. Clint was on the side shot. There it was, that wicked, sharp, cunning silver tongue. Loki let his eyes droop so beautifully before the first touch, feather-light, blink and you miss it.

Another touch, another. Thor was squirming a bit now, quick frowns crossing his brow. He always went in all guns blazing, but Loki took his time, built it from the ground up, and by the time he got to the roof, there were no solid bones left in his partner’s body (Tony knew that well. Sigh.) And he was taking his time now with Thor, just the tip of his tongue barely brushing on the plum-soft flesh, a press of lips, and one clever hand reaching between the thighs, putting pressure on the crotch, but avoiding the cock. It was fucking torture, and how Tony missed it.

And Thor’s eyes were heavy now, and so was his breathing, his mouth gaping. Loki cranked it up a notch, his tongue pressing that bit harder. Thor would have prepared himself for the fucking that was to follow (unless Loki was planning on changing that part too), so Loki found him open and was able to dip the tip in. And Thor’s arms were shaking now, his head hanging between them. Loki hooked both arms around Thor’s thighs, holding him in place, and by surprise, he went for speed, quick, firm flicks, a long, intense suck. Thor blasphemed very colourfully and loudly, and collapsed on his front, burying his face in his arms. And the grin on Loki’s face then, as he kept working him, pure triumph.

"Oh my god..." mumbled Thor, his words muffled, "Christ, what are you doing to me... oh, fuck, fuck, yes... fuck, right there, right there…”

Loki kept at it with relish, holding Thor as he squirmed and wiggled, unable to stay still, as if he was fighting to get free, when his face would suggest that was the last thing he wanted. But he was being kept on the verge, his cock untouched, and it wasn’t enough, and he needed more, now. He got himself up on his arms again, turned to push Loki to the ground, and straddled him, face to crotch. He took Loki in his mouth, started to suck him dry. Loki whimpered so beautifully, his face unhinged. Thor’s legs were folded by his sides, his ass well exposed. Loki raised his head to give back as bad as he was getting. 

Tony did not know where to look. Both their faces, goddammit, tense with pleasure, constantly stopping what they were doing because they simply could not fucking keep it up, with the things the other was doing. And the moaning, Jesus Christ! Everyone within earshot was going to hell just for hearing it. Would it be terribly unprofessional, Tony wondered, would Pepper be awfully vexed, if he was to undo his fly and…

“Glmmmy glmbffuckingff godmblfff…” grunted Thor, cock in his mouth, with one skilled finger and one playful tongue up his hole.

“Oh, thweeth Jethuth…” whimpered Loki, tongue in Thor’s ass, with Thor swallowing him deep and humming around his cock.

Thor bobbed his head and Loki fucked into his mouth, and Tony was very, very concerned that they wouldn’t know when to stop it… 

“Oh my ffff… Off, off, off!” demanded Loki then, impatient, pushing Thor off him. 

Thor looked dizzy, sat on his heels, while Loki panted like an animal as he slipped on the condom and lubed up. Thor got on his hands and knees again, biting his lip in anticipation. He whimpered weakly when Loki entered him, Loki collapsed forward on top of his back, licked his lips. And he started to fuck him. He was holding him down, thrusting savagely, as if he wanted this to end right the fuck now.

But he could not keep that exhausting pace for long, and the moment he slowed down to recover his breath, Thor got up on his knees and pushed, until Loki was on his heels, and Thor's butt resting on Loki’s lap. He threw his head on Loki’s shoulder, letting him see his face, and he began to roll his hips.

If Loki had had any thoughts of trying to assert dominance again, or fighting back, they had clearly gone out the window. They began to rock together, slowly and beautifully, staring into each other's eyes, and before any of them realised, they were kissing with their eyes closed. And Loki’s hand was on Thor’s cock, and Thor’s hand on Loki’s hand, and the other one reaching back to hold Loki’s head in place, their mouths together. A gentle breeze swayed the branch in bloom over their heads, petals rained on them, the sun painted their bodies with changing lights and shadows as it trickled through the leaves, and there it was, Tony thought, if the Impressionists had painted gay porn (which they totally should have, just look at this work of art!).

Thor gently broke the kiss and disengaged. He laid on his back on the blanket, and pulled a pliant Loki over him. They kissed tenderly as Loki entered him again, and Tony clutched his chest. Ah, the power of gay sex, look at them, melting into each other. Thor hooked his ankles around the small of Loki’s back, and Loki propped himself on his arms to be able to fuck him with wider movements. They fucked, their hips rocking and rolling together, then slapping against each other, Thor's golden hands firmly clutching Loki's creamy white butt, kissing and moaning and kissing some more.

And, god, Loki practiced tantra or something, he could go for hours. But Tony did not have the time, and Thor didn’t have the patience, or the continence. He cupped Loki’s jaw sweetly, to make sure he was looking at him, and as he thrusted his hips up in time with Loki’s slams, he started to jerk off. Loki began to snake his spine, so flexible, and Thor whined and whimpered with each thrust, his sweet spot inside expertly pleasured.

“God, Loki…” he moaned, trying to keep his eyes open to watch him, sensation overwhelming him. “Loki…”

Loki started fucking like a dog, his clenching buttocks something that UNESCO should be taking an interest in. Thor whimpered so sweetly, and started to come with a blissful smile of perfect, heavenly satisfaction.

Loki kept fucking up to the very end, then frantically pulled out, condom off, and finished himself between gasps and whimpers, painting Thor’s chest with his come.

They were looking at each other without moving, now, but for their heaving chests. Then Thor touched the spunk on his body, mixing his and Loki’s together, and brought his fingertips to his lips, to taste it. Loki gasped, eyes wide in wonder. Thor threw his arms around him and pulled him close, skin to skin, his legs still wrapped around Loki’s waist, breathing heavily against each other.

It was only when he heard Natasha’s polite throat clearing in his ear piece that Tony remembered to call cut.

 

Loki seemed to wake up from a dream, blinking, an expression that was nothing short of alarm quickly taking over his face. He wiggled out and away from Thor. He was still half-hard as he quickly gathered his clothes, snatched the robe from his assistant’s hands, and made a run for it.

 

 When Thor got to the changing room, Loki was gone.