“Fuck my mouth,” he says, voice cracked and aching.
It had been too long since had his brother here in his chambers. Loki says nothing but twists his fingers tightly in Thor’s hair. It’s like the sun, gold and shining. He pulls Thor closer, thrusting his hips forward and forcefully shoving his cock into his brother’s waiting mouth.
He is not kind, but Loki never is. Thor sputters around him, trying to keep up, trying to prove himself. But Loki is too quick, too slight.
Thor’s throat burns already, but he won’t give in, won’t make any noise other than a deep, vibrating hum. Done only in an effort to slow Loki down. And it does, if only for one brief moment. He sees his brother’s jaw go slack and hears the sharp intake of breath. Thor does the same because he knows once Loki resumes it will be the last breath he takes.
“Is this what you like, brother,” Loki crones and pulls him close. Slower this time, easing his cock further into the wet heat of Thor’s waiting mouth. Pushing, pushing, pushing until he bumps the back of thor’s throat. “Show me how you’ve yearned for this.”
Thor’s hands grab on to Loki’s thighs and he swallows, thrice, around him. But he can hardly move, if only for the hands tightly fisted in his hair. Hot tears prick at his eyes but he doesn’t care. This is important. This is what he wants. This is what he’s dreamed of.
A deep moan, one that starts at his toes and fires up through his body, nearly shaking himself as it wraps around Loki’s skin like a prayer. It’s there he gets his chance, the lithe fingers he constantly feels over his skin slacken and he rips them free, holding them tightly with his own. His head bobs fast, mouth working over time and harder than it ever has. Loki may have a silver tongue to put the Nine Realms to shame, but Thor is not without his talents. Learned from the best.
When he brings his brother to his peak, that white-hot heat searing across Loki’s vision so hard and so fast he sees stars, it’s as if there is a moment of peace between them. Nothing bad existed and nothing awful will happen. It is just the two of them, locked hand to hand in the most intimate of moments. He hears Loki say his name, over and over—husked and full of desire and lust. It’s almost too much and he feels his own body tremor with that same desire and lust. To take Loki and claim him, make him his own. But he doesn’t.
Instead he coaxes him down, leaves reverent touches over his skin. Kisses him; his shoulder, his neck, the hollow of his throat. Each kiss echoes the words he’ll never say—‘I love you’ ‘You’re mine’ and then finally reaches his mouth. Lips against lips. It’s slow, passionate. Thor pours everything he is into it, forces Loki to feel what he feels. And Loki, in that moment, accepts.