Fingertips ghost over thighs.
Lips plant their mark on impressionable skin.
Quivers and gasps lead the way to Thor’s cock. It is there Loki kisses, lets his lips part to slide his tongue, snake-like, against the bob of his swollen head.
The sound Thor makes in return is glorious.
Loki smiles before he takes him into his mouth. He closes his eyes, that he may better hear those sounds he draws out of him with hands and lips and teasing tongue, playing him like a fine instrument.
He moans deep in the back of his throat, that Thor may feel it.
Not for Thor’s pleasure.
But for his.
Thor is slack in his thrall. One hand digs into the bedclothes, threatening to tear. The other pulls Loki’s hair between his fingers, slack and loose again with the rock of Loki’s head.
Thor whispers his name like a prayer.
When Loki lifts his head, it is only to catch Thor’s eyes, half-lidded in the firelight.
He licks his lips – slowly, very slowly – and climbs the sculpture of his body to kiss him.
Thor groans, and writhes, petulant at being left unsated.
Loki curls a lock of Thor’s hair around his finger.
“Do you trust me?” he whispers.
Thor makes the effort to meet his gaze, to think through the haze of incoherence that surrounds them.
“I love you,” he croaks, when he can speak.
Loki’s eyes are dark.
His hands fall still. He looks at Thor, sees the sweat glint golden on his brow. He can feel the tension beneath the spread of his palms.
He leans down and kisses his chest.
“Do you trust me?” he whispers again.
Thor doesn’t answer.
Loki keeps his face bowed. His hand darts down, takes Thor between his thighs. In a few quick strokes he finishes him. He watches Thor’s expression, arched and thrown back, full-bodied in his ecstasy, before he falls. Dazed.
Loki settles alongside him. He sets his chin in one hand and strokes his hair. Soothing whispers and purrs of encouragement nudge Thor toward sleep, despite his protests to reciprocate.
“Later,” Loki promises, and kisses his brow.
Thor sleeps. Loki rests his cheek against his chest and sighs, watching with the vigilance of the overly aware, until the time comes when he can slip away unnoticed.
Loki leaves Thor’s bedchamber and walks the halls of the citadel.
In the night, its golden walls turn to silver beneath the light of Asgard’s moons. Great columns of it fall through open windows, creating strips of washed-out pale and dark.
Guards still stand their posts. They bow their heads as Loki passes.
Loki tilts his chin up to them in return.
He wears his robe loosely, half undone from Thor’s attentions. His hand clasps the front lining in a feigned show of modesty to keep it closed. The dark green material still drapes loose around his shoulders. Enough to show the bruises and marks on his skin.
He’ll wear something in a similar fashion tomorrow, that Thor may see them, too.
Let the guards see. Let all of Asgard whisper of what goes on in the citadel at night.
Loki closes the door to his chambers behind him. He crosses the space to throw open the windows.
Moonlight cascades upon him like a cool breath. He closes his eyes and tips his face to it, welcoming the night air as he welcomes Thor’s touch with a sigh.
He thinks of his brother, sleeping soundly now. Loki can imagine where every hair rests upon his peaceful face. The sound in the rise and fall of his breathing. The way he’ll turn, inevitably, and reach out in his sleep, seeking the warmth of another blanket or else a body beside him.
Loki shivers, and lets the robe fall from around him.
The cloak he keeps in a secret place: a warded hollow, invisible to all save him. He withdraws the folded red material with the reverence it deserves.
The way he has always handled it.
Loki closes his eyes, and holds it close. He presses his face to the worn, soft lining and breathes deep.
It still smells of Thor, after so many years.
Loki spreads the cloak over his bed, and lies down upon it, stretching as luxurious as a cat.
Still roused from lying with Thor, it is almost no time before he takes himself in hand. Moans softly as he strokes.
Thor’s scent on the cloak surrounds him. He drapes it over himself, twists and curls into it.
There was a time when Loki questioned. When he wondered why he should retreat to a warmthless cloak when Thor’s very real and eager body waited for him only a few rooms away.
He did not wonder for long.
There were some things he could not yet reveal. Vile thoughts and twisted desires his brother would blush to hear, if he entertained them at all. Things Loki was certain would only make Thor look upon him with caution.
What else did this corrupt thing hide that had lusted for his brother since they were young?
A part of Loki did not wish to taint Thor with that knowledge. He did not want Thor to shade that innocence that so claimed him.
Moreso, he did not want Thor to think him depraved.
Who among the two of them was prideful?
Who of the two of them did not trust?
Fingers slip to his entrance and Loki bares himself as an animal would in heat, panting as he whispers pleas for his phantom Thor to conquer him. To tear him asunder.
His cries when they come are muffled into the cloak.
He drops, panting ragged, and yearns for Thor more than ever before.