They are heading to Asgard by holding the Tesseract – space and time and rifts flitting past them and sinking into the black distance behind them. Loki is gripping the handle across from him – muzzled, chained and tired. Thor knows the All-Father will have the Tesseract land in Asgard, or at least on the Bifrost with Heimdall, no matter what interferes in this journey between Midgard to their home. Loki cannot escape with his seidr tied up against him, unusable as the runes sit heavy on his silenced silver tongue.
Perhaps this is why Thor reaches at one of the rifts, lets the electricity of Mjolnir flicker at his fingertips, and react – snap harshly at the space around them both, a weak mimic of his brother’s seidr. Loki watches him, dead-eyed with loathing, and Thor shouldn’t be surprised at how much he is repelled. There is no part of him that wants to be here – doesn’t want them to end like this, not-brothers, blood spilled, dead bodies between them –
Thor reaches once more, taking a deep breath while holding Mjolnir in one hand and listening to her song singing up his veins, feeling the crack under his hand, thinking I do not want this I do not I do not I –
He blinks and ends up in his own room.
No, this is not his room. It is filled with trinkets – of fur pelts in abundance on his bed, of creatures’ heads mounted on the walls of his room, shelves filled less with books and more with gifts over the ages – arm rings and bone necklaces and different swords – both practice-dulled ones and ones with a sharp edge.
This is his room before Loki’s fall off the Bifrost. His actual room is sparse from his mourning – gifts and trinkets hidden away, books piled on desks and shelves dedicated to research of resurrection, dark magic, the world of the Nine Realms and beyond, in the recesses of Hel’s domain where Loki’s soul may reside.
Here, now, Thor is distinctly aware that he is in the past. If Loki were here, what would he do? – kill the All-Father and hurt his brother and destroy his people – Clenching his teeth, Thor stops his musings and takes in the situation.
Mjolnir is still with Loki and the Tesseract, and the All-Father will most assuredly get both the weapons and the son without fail. If there was one with stronger seidr than Loki, it was Odin. Instead, Thor tries to search for his own seidr inside himself – not that he had any – and feel at any crack on the walls, both literal and metaphysical.
The walls do not yield to his fingertips as he suspects, nothing illusionary about them to resemble the shadow-like clones Loki would create in battle. He is a solid presence in a solid room, and so it is not the initial stroll through memory as he assumes. A time gap then – an alternate reality, passing through the same conformed timeline as his life. Thor takes another cursory around the room and feels the jumble of sensations – nostalgia and alarm – curled up as vipers do in the pit of his stomach.
Outside, the night is pitch black, but there are lamps strung around the room to give sufficient light. For a brief moment, Thor considers walking out and to his father to speak to him, but he restrains himself. He will not interfere with this… continuum, if it was so.
You could. It is a simple passing thought, but Thor’s rising anxiety as his fingers trace over the walls of the room finding no indent, no escape, has it germinating into something bigger than itself – there is a brother here, you know. A young one who doesn’t know what will soon destroy him. You can stop this. You can. Stay here and stop this.
It is a ridiculous supposition and a vague part of Thor’s mind understands this as no one else would. Yet, yet – Loki –
This is how he ends up sitting straight-backed on the fur bed, watching the door for his younger self to appear, if he will. Thor limits himself to one day – he will not mess around any longer, and wonders if this… younger incarnation of himself has found some other bed to sleep in, either passed out from mead or a seduction from a night out with his friends.
Thor waits, feeling the fatigue of his excursion on Midgard settle into him, and is pleased when he hears footsteps – loud, abrasive – approach the door from the outside. He knows his own steps, his own attitude of arrogance before –
The door is thrown open, and Thor sees his younger incarnate – all mussed blonde hair, arrogance in the tilt of his chin, the line of his shoulders as he unbuckles the red cloak from his shoulders the same time he kicks the door closed behind him.
It comes to no surprise that half a second later, Thor is rolling out of the way as his younger self throws himself at him in attack, Mjolnir in hand and leaving a long crack through the wall where it lands right behind where Thor’s head would have been had he not moved.
‘I wish you no harm,’ he says, and his voice is hoarse but calm. The other – all fierce and bloodlust rising – growls but does not attack him again. For now.
‘Who let you in here?’ snaps the other, teeth bared in warning. ‘Who are you?’
Thor speaks slow, careful – realizing that he is not what he is now. There is no pain in this incarnation’s heart, no regrets or deep desires. A selfish brat-prince. It stings, but it is true. ‘You are me from long time past. I am you, transported here by Mjolnir’s seidr. Many millennia are between my lifetime and yours.’
‘You lie,’ snaps the younger Thor, easy to jump to conclusions, and he begins to swing his hammer in his hand in warning. ‘You’re an illusion, here to use my image and harm Asgard. I’m not stupid.’
You might as well be, thinks Thor with a strain of self-loathing on his tongue. ‘I am you, you must trust me.’
‘Imposter,’ says the other flatly, before he’s moving forward again, Mjolnir colliding against the wall where Thor’s chest would have been had he not moved to the side. Thor can readily admit he does not have much patience and his temper frays from the emotional exhaustion with Loki and his own disgust over his ignorant youth, so when he is attacked once more, he lunges.
There is something alarmingly easy when it comes to fighting an inexperienced version of oneself, learns Thor, when he dodges the predicted kicks and punches, and closes his hand over the younger Thor’s throat, slamming him against the wall so his skull snaps back with a crack.
Dazed but bloodthirsty, his younger incarnation snaps at him – legs kicking upwards, but Thor pins him using his bulk – hips against hips, knees knocking against each other.
‘Calm yourself,’ says Thor, ‘I mean you no harm.’ The other’s Mjolnir is across the room where she was thrown but a minute ago, yet she is never called. Evidently, curiosity is stealing over the younger one’s face, and it leaves Thor with a moment of reprieve.
‘I resemble you because you are me, I best you in battle because you are me,’ says Thor firmly, ‘I know you because you are me.’
‘Prove it,’ rasps the other, throat bobbing under Thor’s grip. There is a pause where Thor thinks on his younger self, the dark creeping thoughts that often drifted during his youth that he would claim to never have, and he smiles bitterly.
‘You fear that Odin will give the throne to your brother instead of you,’ says Thor simply, ‘you fear Loki’s competency at diplomacy and strategy will best your strength and charisma. You encourage his mischief to dishonor him in Father’s eyes.’
His younger self is frozen, eyes wide, insecurities seeping into the twist of his mouth, the straining of his muscles. ‘You lie,’ he says, finally, ‘I love Loki.’
‘You also love the throne,’ sighs Thor, ‘and you will lose both in time.’
‘You lie,’ repeats the other, and his body begins to struggle violently, trying to squirm his way out between the wall and Thor’s body, ‘you lie,’ and his voice grows louder, ‘you lie!’
Thor is tightening his grip over the other’s neck, making him gasp and choke, but his hands are pinned between both of their chests.
‘Listen to me,’ says Thor, this time stern. ‘I will tell you how to save this. I will tell you how to fix this.’
Thor the younger is torn between anger and fear, his voice but a rasp and unable to do anything against the bigger, bulkier force against him and the wall unyielding at his back. In careful measures, Thor loosens his grip on the throat, letting the other take in gasps of air fervently.
‘You are weak still,’ remarks Thor, mouth curling. ‘We have time. This is what you need to know – you will never go to Jotunheim.’
‘I have been there before,’ snaps the other rebelliously, though his voice is hoarse, ‘I have been to all the nine realms. It is too late.’
‘Then you will not go again,’ replies Thor swiftly. They lapse into a silence – Thor glaring down at this stubborn, young incarnate and hoping that he will get through.
Finally, the other Thor, still scowling against the grip on his throat, spits – saliva splattering over the older’s cheek. ‘Make me,’ he challenges. ‘You are some seidr-user disguised to protect your precious planet. Are you a Jotun, Thor?’
Thor can feel the spit on his face and breathes once to calm his temper, then again to let his bloodlust seep through his veins and become controlled by him, not the other way around. Not as his younger incarnate lets his mind be clouded by feeling – no, Thor has learned to take control of that. Loki would be proud, he can hear his mind say – that vindictive, bitter, regretful part, and it only makes him resolve to fix this.
‘I am you, you insolent brat,’ says Thor, voice cool and flat, body and hand unyielding. ‘Will I have to break you to make you believe?’
He watches the other Thor’s pupils bloom, adrenaline pumping into his body, readying to fight - or fuck, Thor remembers – those desperate fucks against the walls of hallways and bedrooms after battle, partners ranging from women to men to his brother’s muffled gasps as he is stuffed with Thor’s cock.
‘You would lie with me,’ snorts Thor, hitching his hips right against his younger self to feel that growing arousal. ‘Brat-prince, you think you can take me? I am your elder and your better.’ The other growls at him, teeth showing, and Thor uses his free hand to curl into the blonde hair and use it to tilt the other’s skull so the neck is bare.
‘I will take you and you will believe me,’ says Thor, rolling his hips and feeling his younger self try to kick him away, ‘do not resist, golden son of the All-Father, isn’t this what you wished for? Immature, insolent brat.’
‘You’re sick,’ snaps the other, struggling against him, but Thor only sneers at him.
‘You’re stubborn. You will not go to Jotunheim.’
‘Then I will fuck you until you do not,’ snarls Thor, and the other bucks against him desperately, trying to escape. It is too late – quickly, Thor has maneuvered the younger so his face is pressed against the wall, and a hand on his hip with his back arched so Thor can drag his half-hard cock down the other’s ass.
‘Do you feel that?’ he says into the brat-prince’s ear. ‘You will take it until you vow to me that you will not step foot on that planet.’
‘You’d force yourself on a prince?’ snaps the other, ‘you are sicker than I suspected.’
Thor laughs – with bitterness on his tongue, ‘and you? You, who will not believe anything until forced to submit to it? What does that say about you? You, who will enjoy this till the very end whether you scream or cry because this perversity is in your blood.’
‘Fuck you,’ says the other, before he is swiftly silenced when Thor unbuckles the other’s chest plate and armguards, letting them drop to the floor in a noisy clatter. He cares not who hears them now – he will get through to the bloodlust-addled brain of the younger.
Soon, his younger self is struggling in only his tunic and trousers, and Thor has undone his breeches, palming the younger’s hardening cock. ‘You ache for cock, your own cock,’ he murmurs, and it doesn’t seem surprising – the way his younger incarnate succumbs to physicality as easily as one does to mead.
‘Only a natural reaction,’ gasps out the other, forehead pressed against the wall as his hips buck into the grasp on his cock. ‘If you are me, then you ache for this too.’ Just to prove his point, he grinds his ass against Thor, making the grip on his cock tighten in surprise.
‘You have fucked your brother, have you not?’ asks Thor, still calm and composed as he feels his hand work over his younger self’s thickness, smearing the precome over the cock to ease each stroke. The brat-prince is squirming, trying to keep his moans in his throat, unwilling to part with them and expose himself to his captor.
‘Depraved monster,’ he groans in reply, and Thor cannot help but chuckle, thumbing the head of the cock, flicking his finger under the rigid cockhead to hear the other’s breath stutter.
‘Do you let Loki fuck you?’ continues Thor because he knows, he remembers, all the filthy things his brother has done, and if this isn’t their darkest secret, then nothing would be. ‘You let him split you open on his spit-slick fingers and ease you down his cock, don’t you?’
The younger squirms, face blushing red, teeth gritting, as his hips still, though his cock is red and leaking in Thor’s hand. ‘This is why you’ll let me do this to you,’ says Thor quietly, his hand pulling away from the prince’s cock and easing down the trousers to let them pool around his ankles. Sliding a finger, wet with precome, down the crease of his younger self’s ass, he feels the shudder rack up the other’s spine.
‘Monster,’ spits out his younger incarnate, and Thor hums in agreement, ‘I should be,’ before he undoes his own breeches and pulls out his cock, pressing the head against the other’s unprepared hole.
‘You wouldn’t,’ says the younger Thor, and his voice trembles.
‘Then do not go to Jotunheim,’ replies Thor simply.
He watches in admiration as his younger incarnate grits his teeth, glaring with those electric blue eyes back at him though there is an iron grip on the back of his throat and his cock is drooling precome on the floor. There is determination and stubbornness in this version of Thor that he wonders if he still has even after all that has happened.
‘You would do well to heed my words,’ says Thor, voice low, letting the head of his cock spread precome over the younger’s hole. ‘Heed.’
‘I – ’ The other’s voice cuts off. He has his cheek pressed against the wall, eyes staring down at the far end of the room. He shivers, and when he talks again, it’s with a tremble in his voice. ‘I heed, you bastard.’
Thor lets go of the other altogether, dropping to his knees and spreading the younger one’s cheeks to expose his hole. Tracing the blunt edge of his nail around the pink furl of flesh, he tilts forward and licks, letting the tip of his tongue circle around the brat-prince’s entrance.
Said prince is panting now, gasping, one hand braced against the wall, the other tugging at his own cock as Thor licks him open and loose. It is an unhurried, careful process – and Thor continues with aching slowness, feeling rather than hearing the broken moans that rocks down the spine of the other.
‘You enjoy this,’ laughs Thor, rubbing his thumb around the skin of the hole and making the other keen. He presses kisses to the fluttering entrance, before resuming his licking, sliding his tongue in and out while his finger joins in the slow, wet fucking. Soon, Thor is able to slide two of his joints – thick and long, something he knows his younger self can take from the way Loki has used and fucked him in years past.
‘Let me go, let me come, let me finish this,’ rambles the brat-prince as he is stretched and opened – his puffed, pink hole fluttering over the fingers, either eager for Thor’s cock or to be left alone. ‘I heed, damn you.’
Thor does not reply, but he stands and the head of his cock catches against the rim of the other’s asshole. The younger Thor makes a low sound, and Thor presses in, watching as his dick is swallowed up inch by inch in slow increments. Carefully, with minute thrusts, he is balls deep in himself – who has his eyes shut, his hand working his own cock fervently as his mouth hangs wide open and slick with spit.
‘Damn you,’ he gasps as his back arches, hips tilting, ‘damn you,’ and Thor curls a hand in blonde hair, the other around a hip and fucks into the other.
He supposes he should be able to predict how he will be in bed but it still pleases him to hear the noises of the brat-prince – the gasps in his own voice, his own thick cock spitting precome over the floor, his own fingers reaching back and curling in the curve of Thor’s thigh to make him thrust faster and harder.
Thor breathes words into the younger’s ear, hand still clenched tight in the blonde hair, ‘do not go into Jotunheim, do you understand, whether there is an attack on us or not – do not.’ The younger Thor gasps as he is pounded into, his very breath being punched out of him by Thor ramming into him and cannot manage a proper reply.
‘Do you understand?’ demands Thor roughly, hips pistoning in and out of the tight, hot hole. The prince’s pupils are blown wide open and he sobs, his mouth twisted upwards in some parody of pleasure and pain.
‘Y-yes,’ he gasps in response, and Thor growls, using sex to instill his demand into the form underneath him. He thrusts, fingers leaving bruises on his younger incarnate’s hip, mouth closing brutally over the neck on display for him and sucking a deep, dark bruise for all to see. A reminder. Don’t go to that land, don’t ruin this for yourself.
Amidst the brat-prince’s sounds of grudging pleasure and his own harsh rasping breath, he wonders if there is an undercurrent of another moaning voice, that it might be possible for not just them to be in the room – that there could be a third being here, someone disguised, gasping, moaning, fucking themselves to the sight of Thor using and abusing his younger self.
‘Loki,’ he breathes, once, and the prince underneath him arches, eyes wide over the thought that Loki could be invisible and disguised in the room, a hand on his cock, jerking himself off with a twist of his wrist, his long spider-fingers wrapped around the pulsing thickness.
‘Don’t you dare stop, Thor,’ says his younger self roughly, spitting his name like venom, and Thor slides a hand from the other’s hip to the front of his younger self’s abdomen, pressing back so his cock grinds unspeakably deep into the prince. Said prince chokes on his breath, hand stilling over his cock, before he pumps – once, twice, thrice – and leaves splatters of come over the wall he’s pressed against.
Thor fucks him through his orgasm, moving in and out of him harsh and deep, hand unmoving in his hair and on his abdomen. The younger’s ass milks Thor’s cock as his own dick softens after a minute, a string of white come hanging off the tip before it hits the floor the next time Thor shoves into him.
He’s ruthless and brutal, leaving fingertip bruises over the skin as he pounds into his younger incarnate. The younger Thor is sobbing now, overwhelmed with sensation as he is worked open over and over again – feeling the drag of thick cock in and out of him, and the thought that his brother was watching him, fucking his own fist as Thor was fucked to pieces by himself.
‘Perverse thing,’ sneers Thor at the other, feeling his orgasm crest up his thighs, balls drawing up as he thrusts. The other can’t say anything, panting, his cheek pressed against the wall, watching where Loki would be if he were here, hiding under some seidr as he is prone to do when Thor returns from his jaunts into town with his friends.
Thor’s rhythm becomes lost as he fucks, and it is only a matter of time before both his hands are on his younger self’s hips as he buries his cock deep into the tight, clenching hole to come. The other trembles as he feels himself be filled up with warm semen, rocking his hips involuntarily as Thor weakly fucks out the rest of his orgasm.
‘Hate you,’ he manages to spit out when Thor has slipped his softening cock out of him, dragging out remnants of his come down the inside of the younger’s thigh.
‘As you should,’ rumbles Thor, arranging himself once more. The other Thor straightens with apparent difficult, soreness in his muscles and his thorough fucking leaving him breathless and exhausted. He glances over to the corner and when he sees Loki leaning his back against the wall, a hand between his legs, covered in white semen, he is not surprised – he would always be victim to Loki’s eternal voyeurism into his filthiness. On further observation, this Loki is young, his hair short, eyes clear of insanity, his form lithe but not starved, and it makes Thor's chest ache.
‘Have you understood me, prince?’ snarls Thor at the younger, who has now managed to limp himself onto the bed, mouth twisted but his frame relaxed and sated with sex, bloodlust dissipating from his veins and sense coming into his mind.
‘Do not go to the land of Ice Giants,’ says the other, watching him, tracking him. ‘Who are you?’
Thor growls, ‘I am you,’ frustrated with his stubbornness. ‘I am you and you must obey me.’
‘Prove it,’ says Loki, voice rough from post-orgasm. He’s let his seidr clean his come off himself and his eyes are slit together with cunning. ‘Pick up Mjolnir.’
Thor does not break eye contact with his younger brother – both fascinated by the youth that he is almost overwhelmed with nostalgia and wary as Loki will always be Loki, trickster, mischief-maker. He approaches the hammer, wrapping his fingers around the leather grip, still new enough that it hasn’t molded to the shape of his calloused hand.
With ease he lifts the hammer, her song singing into his veins, echoing her seidr. His younger self barks out a laugh, watching him with that same bloodlust rising in himself, and Loki is smiling in wonder, but Thor knows he should leave before he is trapped in this timeline.
In this time, you will be innocent in this world, untouched and unspoiled, coated in blood and lust and nothing else. Thor takes a breath, wonders if he has done the right thing, and he feels fatigued. ‘I am you, prince, and you will obey me.’
The younger Thor licks his mouth. His brother pipes up for him, ‘as you wish.’
And Mjolnir’s song echoes into his veins when he calls for her – taking him back, dissipating the room around him, the timeline broken down in pieces until he has returned, fingers curled not around a leather handle but the cool metal of the Tesseract and Loki glaring at him sullenly over the glowing metal and Mjolnir clutched between them.
He almost believes it is a time lapse or a dream, but he knows better. He wonders if that is the reality where he may ascend the throne with Loki at his side and no one else, that he shall learn humility and modesty with his brother rather than without.
Nothing in Loki’s face imparts that Thor has been gone, and Thor wonders if he will ever be able to tell the other what has proceeded in the last few hours. He opens his mouth, takes a breath –
– their feet land on the Bifrost and Loki straightens his back, slits his eyes against the golden walls that glitter around Asgard in the distance.
‘Come, brother,’ says Thor softly because for now – when all is done, there is nothing left to say.