The third day, they leave the cave. They should return to Asgard, but Thor does not want Heimdall to see him in such a state. For surely he will tell Odin, and Odin will express his displeasure: at Loki for his trickery, and at Thor for even tolerating it for longer than a moment.
"There is a village nearby," Loki informs him, as he leads Thor down a weaving mountain path. It strikes Thor as odd that Loki, who despises Midgard so much, is so familiar with this land.
"We could have just stayed in the cave."
"I am hungry," Loki replies shortly. "And I would like a bed that does not stink of dead animal." Loki has shed his usual attire for Midgardian garb, and can almost pass for a simple huntsman, if one does not peer close enough to notice that there is nary a speck of dirt upon it. The same cannot be said for Thor. His arms and legs are streaked with dirt where they aren't covered by cloth. Whatever little there is; Thor would swear his skirt was longer previously, and his vest less flimsy.
It is very possible that each time Thor entreats Loki to return him back to his old form he shrinks Thor's coverings.
They encounter the huntsmen halfway down the path. Four of them, burly men all, but with a tired, hungry look upon their faces. Thor takes appraisal of their their weapons, determines them as no threat. There is a strange, deferential tone to Loki's voice though, when he calls out, "Would you be so kind as to direct us to the village. We appear to be lost."
One of the men spits. "You are not from around here," he says, with the suspicious glare of someone not fond of strangers. His demeanor changes when Thor steps out of Loki's shadow. He must not have been visible to them yet, not with this height. "And what do we have here? Aren't you a sweet little slice. She yours?"
"She -" Loki sounds amused. "In a manner of speaking, I suppose."
Another man pipes up, this one taller and thinner, and Thor has only been stared at in such a manner by ravenous beasts seeing him as a meal, "We will trade you directions for her. Or even just an hour."
"Tempting," Loki replies. "But no. Surely she is worth that deer I see you have dragging behind you."
"She's too scrawny. Barely even a woman - has she bled yet? We'd give you a rabbit, maybe two."
Thor has had enough. He surges in front of Loki, shooting him an unimpressed glare as he does so. "Have care how you speak," he says, brandishing Mjolnir.
The burst of laughter from all four of them is unexpected.
"Look, the child has a hammer. Imagines she's some kind of a warrior, eh?"
"More like a warrior's spoils, from the looks of it," another one says. "A cowardly one at that." Thor looks behind him, and Loki has vanished. He frowns, and turns his gaze upwards, to the sight of Loki perched up in the branches of a tree, grinning madly. He offers Thor a cheerful wave. "It's all right, sweetheart, we'll take care of you. Won't we, lads."
They are spreading out around him, in a broad circle.
He is not half as strong as he used to be, this he realizes swiftly, as a mere push lands him face down in the dirt. The body is wrong, and he cannot even rely on his muscles remembering how to fight; so many years of training and battle that even the most ferocious of opponents should be barely a test.
These are only men.
It's a challenge that pumps his heart full of blood and puts a smile on his face, until a hard swipe at the side of his face puts him on his back, a body heavy and foul between his open knees. He laughs, and then he stops. A strike with his forehead sends the man reeling back clutching at his nose, and by this point Thor is tired of the fight. They are not afraid of him: it gives them confidence, but it also makes them careless. He rises to his feet, raises Mjolnir to the sky, the call to battle the same as it has always been, the sweet sound of thunder in his ears.
"I fear we have not yet been properly introduced. I am Thor."
The men start laughing once again, and Thor is momentarily distracted by Loki joining them, a low whisper in their ears: Fancies herself a God, eh? A blunt force hits him from behind, and he finds himself staggering, almost tripping over the raised root of a tree.
"Enough," Thor snarls. "You will learn respect."
Loki only jumps down from his perch when it's over, cackling gleefully. "That was fun. I had some worry for a moment."
"Some assistance might have been useful."
"Since when have you required help." He shakes his head in disappointment. "Should have finished them. Or have you gone soft, sister? They say women are given to a bigger heart."
"They were only men." They had run off into the forest, wounded in both body and pride. It was enough.
"They would have defiled you, sister." There is an unhappy edge to his voice.
"Do not call me that."
"Does the novelty wear thin," Loki says. "And so soon, as well."
Thor does not deign to respond, goes instead to fetch Mjolnir, hurled somewhere into the trees in his rage. Loki, who cannot bear to be ignored, takes Thor by the arm as he passes by and pins him to a tree. Thor allows it because he is exhausted, because the fight has drained more energy out of him than it should have. "What have you done to me," he asks, as Loki lifts him up, wraps his legs around his waist.
"Must you keep asking the same questions," Loki says, as he licks his fingers and presses them briefly to Thor's cunt. Cold, and it is strange how easily Thor has gotten used to this: it has barely been two days. He hears rather than sees Loki rustling with his trousers, before he slides into Thor with one sharp thrust.
Thor wavers between throwing Loki off and breathing through the pain until it settles, decides on the latter when Loki kisses his cheek, bracing his free arm against the tree and sighing into Thor's hair.
"I remember," he says, "how all the girls used to titter about you. How your hair was so soft and golden, as if it had been dipped in sun. Only Sif's rivaled yours, until I changed that."
"You did not do it for me," Thor says, wincing as his body rises from the force of Loki's thrusts, back scraping against the rough bark of the tree. The pain has receded somewhat, pleasure trickling upwards in a leisurely manner that does not seem remotely close to reaching any sort of peak. Is this the norm?
Loki might well know, but Thor will not ask, not while Loki laughs in the crook of Thor's throat as he replies, "No, I did it for me. For the look on her face. It is my only regret that the dark suited her in the end."
He curls his fingers into Loki's hair, yanks his head back and uses the momentum of Loki's backward jerk to push himself away from the tree. They both stumble, and perhaps he might find this body sufficient after all: it is lithe and easily bent, and with a cry he propels them both onto the ground. The earth shakes, and startled animals scurry away into darkness.
Loki snarls his displeasure, but Thor sinks down on him and squeezes his thighs against his sides until he stills, his eyes darkening. "Well, go on then," Loki says, as Thor blinks in sudden uncertainty. He unclenches his fists from Loki's lapels and bends down instead, hair falling forward to halo them both.
Loki tolerates the press of Thor's lips against his for merely a moment before he is surging upwards, sitting up and twisting both of Thor's wrists behind his back in one smooth motion, holding him still. They struggle for a bit, and it is Thor who ends up pinned on the ground as Loki's body heaves on top of him. Thor calls Mjolnir, stretches his hand out and it comes, still dripping blood from earlier.
Loki turns his head as it returns to Thor's hand, returns home, and remarks mildly, "That is not fair. You don't see me using magic. Put it down."
Loki rocks slowly against Thor, his cock jutting hard between them and eliciting an involuntary whimper. But he does not put Mjolnir down. He asks instead, again, "What did you do?"
Loki heaves a sigh. "Does physical weakness bother you so much you must keep whining about it constantly?"
"It does when you leave me to fend for myself against men who would do me harm."
"As if you did not enjoy the challenge." Loki's hand slips under Thor's vest, finds a breast to cup. Thor shivers as a thumb brushes across his nipple, and Loki murmurs, "Put the hammer down, Thor. I will give you want you want."
"You have not been able to yet. I start to question your capability."
Loki narrows his eyes. "That is a challenge, I believe." In an instant, he has hauled Thor into the air and rushed him up against the tree, this time high enough that Thor only sees the top of his head before it disappears under his skirt.
Loki's tongue is cool and quick, and Thor finds himself scrambling for purchase against the bark of the tree as the pleasure heightens, blotting out almost all other thoughts.
He drops Mjolnir, barely hears the thud as it hits the ground. "Loki," he bursts out, quite despite himself, and bends over Loki's head, sliding his other leg down his shoulder as well. He feels as limp as a rag doll, buffered by sensations both old and new: mostly new, it has been a while since anyone, even Loki, could make him tremble so, and with such intensity. It takes a while, Loki's tongue slipping deeper and deeper into him - impossible, Thor thinks dazedly, surely not - and then his thighs tighten and he is coming in a dizzy rush, clawing at Loki's back until Loki somehow reaches back to grab his wrists with an impatient hiss.
He spins Thor around before he tosses him carelessly to the ground, and Thor lays there for a while, breathless and reeling from minute aftershocks of pleasure.
It starts to rain, and Loki looks up to the darkening sky briefly before he falls to his knees, arm extending to capture Thor's ankle and drag him forward, to pull his lower body into his lap. "Make it stop," he says.
"I do not want to." Thor wraps his legs lazily around Loki's waist, arches up into the fat, warm droplets.
"Would you rather I mount you here in the mud as if you were an animal?" He touches Thor's upper thigh lightly, smirks when Thor twitches as the rain turns to ice on his skin. Thor cannot be bothered to formulate a reply, so he beckons instead. Loki's smirk slips away and after a moment he makes a circling motion with his finger.
It is easy enough to oblige, but as his hands and knees start to sink into the ground, Thor has to consider that perhaps this was not the best idea. It is too late a moment later, for Loki has pulled his skirt up and slid roughly into him, grunting softly. His body weight forces Thor closer to the mud, as does Loki's hard grip against the back of his neck.
Thor closes his eyes, focuses on the coolness of Loki's hand on his skin, the coarse rub of his trousers against the back of his exposed thighs. He is only just starting to find pleasure again when Loki shudders, spilling inside of him with a low moan.
"Turn around," he says, but he does not wait for Thor to comply before he grabs him by the arm and drags him into his lap. He rearranges Thor's limbs as if he were a doll, until he is satisfied, and Thor loops his arms loosely around his neck. Loki glances away and clenches his jaw, a vein rising along the pale angles on his face, and it has been a while since Thor has seen him affected this way.
He asks softly, "Why this form?"
"Do you only have the two questions to ask?"
Loki merely says, "Look at you, you are a mess," and rubs his palms down Thor's arms. He cleans up whatever the rain has yet to wash away, plucking leaves from Thor's hair and smoothing damp strands away from his face. Thor can feel it bounce as they start to walk, Loki holding Thor by the hand yet again and pulling him along.
They attract a few curious glances as they enter the village, Thor bearing the brunt of them. He glares at whomsoever dares until they avert their gazes. "Are you hungry," Loki asks, heading purposefully towards what looks like a tavern.
"Nay, but I find myself in need of cask of ale or two."
The tavern is lowly lit, and half-empty. They are led to a table by a thin, forgettable looking boy who bobs his head when Loki orders mead and stew, and flushes when he drags Thor into his lap. "Hurry, boy," Loki says.
"Yes, sir," the boy says, and scurries away.
"I doubt the food is remotely edible," Loki murmurs to Thor. "But it will have to do."
"Have you not been to this village before?"
"Why would I ever want to come to this dreadful place unless you are there to insist I follow. Unlike you, I have no interest in toying with the mortals."
"I do not toy with them."
Loki snorts. "I recall otherwise."
Thor is in far too good a mood to argue, and so he merely tracks the boy's movement as he returns with their mead and a hot bowl of stew. He attempts to leave Loki's lap, but Loki holds him firm, choosing to eat around his frame.
"This is inappropriate," Thor remarks, after Loki has pushed the bowl away and moved on to the mead.
"In this establishment? I think not."
Thor has to laugh at that, and he props his legs on the table, crossing them at the ankle. Loki slides his hand down the length of his thigh and leaves it on his knee, caressing it idly. He feeds Thor mug after mug of mead until he is leaning back into Loki, head lolling against his shoulder.
"You should sit like a lady," Loki admonishes mildly, laying a light slap against Thor's leg.
"But I am not," Thor replies, affronted. He burps loudly, and finds himself giggling. "I am a god."
"You are drunk."
"Nay." He remembers being able to hold his mead far better. Perhaps only a few days ago. He slides down further against Loki's cock, which earns him a hiss.
"People are staring."
"Do not be a tease." He lifts Thor by the hips, ignores his objections to turn him around and sit him on the table. Thor puts his boot against Loki's chest, and Loki leans forward, bending Thor's knee towards his chest briefly before he hits his leg aside and raises himself up, bearing down over him.
They have done this, in different taverns across different times and different realms, and depending on the place and time it was either dangerous or not, and the place would end up in pieces or not.
It has never been like this.
The back of Loki's finger is traveling up the inside of his leg, and his thighs tremble at the light touch.
They are interrupted by a soft clearing of the throat. Thor turns his head lazily, to see a man nervously tugging on his vest. "If you would rather be alone -"
"Go away," Loki interrupts.
"What he means is if you want to stick it in her there are rooms upstairs." This is a woman, as ruddy and pale as the man, coming up to scowl at them.
"We should leave," Thor tells Loki.
"Excellent idea." His hand disappears into his pocket, emerges with gold coins that he tosses onto the table without removing his gaze from Thor. "A room, then." Thor jerks when he is lifted, Loki's arms curling around his back, but he is too drunk to do more than giggle and allow himself to be carried upstairs, his legs around Loki's waist.
"First door on the left," the woman calls after them, "and if you make a mess it's extra."
The bed is hard and filled with lumps, but better than the rock of a cave floor. Loki pushes Thor's skirt up and crawls on top of him, forcing his legs apart. "Wait," Thor says, and shoves at Loki until he rolls off. On his feet, he searches for a bucket to relieve himself in, and finds it in the corner.
"You cannot do it standing up," Loki calls out.
"Ah," Thor says, the warm piss trickling down his legs proving Loki correct. He uses a rag to clean himself and stumbles back to the bed, collapses on top of Loki. "This is inconvenient," he says, but his eyes are closing and he is not awake to hear Loki's response.
He awakens to sunlight, and Loki standing by the window, looking outwards. "What is going on?"
"They found a body in the forest. Some sheepherder. Most likely he was drunk and fell into the river."
Thor sits up and rubs the sleep from his eyes with hands that are still far too small, hands that are not his own. "I have not changed back."
Loki turns briefly, shrugs. "Some insipid child informed me that what they call breakfast is to be served soon, and that we may have it downstairs or up here."
"Downstairs," Thor says. "Will we stay here for a while longer?"
"If you wish."
"I -" Thor replies. He stares at his feet, at the thin curves of his calves, his thighs. "Aye. We could."