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As if he were the Sun

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“I'm merely telling you that you should not rely on Nicholas to make any significant changes in the future.”

As heartfelt as his words are, Thor knows they will fall on deaf ears. He sighs and drums his fingers on the table. He’s irritated and restless this evening, the turn of their discussion souring him on his friends’ usual welcome company.

He lets his eyes sweep the long walls of Volstagg’s den, the stark white barely visible under the colorful tapestries adorning them. Every single one is elaborately crafted, depicting his friend’s ancestors as well as memorable moments in history like the czars of old, never forgotten.

“And I am telling you that you should have more faith in the Emperor,” Volstagg says, his beard quivering with the force behind it. He is starting to slur his words despite the still early hour, but it does not stop him from taking another deep draught from his glass.

Volstagg has always been one for tradition, maybe even to a fault. It may well be his downfall if he keeps his mind closed to change and progress, Thor thinks moodily.

He snorts and downs his own drink. “My dear friend,” he says, “I will never understand how you trust that the one who restricted the distribution of vodka will solve the problems of our economy.”

He can feel Volstagg’s gaze on him, examining the fine cloth of his top shirt and vest. “Now, it seems you are completely unaffected by this sad affair we call economy,” Volstagg says. It is followed by a belch he does not bother to hide.

“Maybe that is because my family sold the land when it was still worth more than just a handful of silver rubles.” It’s an old argument Thor has tired of long ago. “How often have I told you that I would gladly aid you to invest in new commercial ventures.”

“You or that menace you keep at home,” Fandral chuckles, speaking up for the first time since this argument has started.

It is said in good spirit, so Thor takes no offense at Fandral’s reference to Loki. Truth be told, it is not entirely uncalled for, but for entirely different reasons than Fandral and Volstagg have any business knowing.

“Say what you want about him, but you have seen how my gains have quickened as of late. Loki’s knowledge of the foreign markets is unsurpassed.”

“Just one of his many talents, I’m sure,” Fandral says with a sly smile, raising an inquiring brow.

“You are quite right, my friend. He also has a vast knowledge of international relations and the liaisons at court.” Thor grins wolfishly. “Which has proven to be very useful.”

And that is all Thor will say about it. His relationship with Loki has been the subject of whispers and gossip at court for years, there is no reason to add fuel to the rumors and false assumptions. Volstagg and Fandral are his friends and they mean well, but they do not truly understand the nature of what binds him to Loki.

“Since we are speaking of new commercial ventures,” Thor says, refilling his glass. He bends forward and looks meaningfully at his friends, excited to finally tell the news he meant to share all evening before their conversation digressed.

“I’m planning to buy one of the automobiles Yakovlev showed last month in Nizhny Novgorod. Since the Emperor–behind the times as always– did not show any interest in it, it may very well be the first of its kind in St. Petersburg.”


As expected, Fandral showed himself suitably impressed while Volstagg inquired what was suddenly wrong with good old horses.

For now Thor still has to make do with a troika, which takes him home as swiftly as any–as Volstagg had so eloquently put it–hellish machine.

It has started to snow again. The flakes are swirling in the crisp air, adding another layer of white to the streets of St. Petersburg.

Any other day Thor would enjoy the sight of the city’s elaborate roofs and the still exciting golden glow of the new electric lamps, but not today. After a long and tedious day of financial talks and his slight discord with Volstagg he feels cold and wary and eager to be home.

Thor pulls the collar of his cost a little tighter and tells the postillion to go faster.

His mood lifts considerably as soon as the brightly lit windows of his home come into view. The large house is warm and inviting when Thor steps into the entry hall.

Their new maid, Katenka, welcomes him with a shy smile and alleviates him of his coat and the many boxes and packages he brought from the city. A deep blush is staining her cheeks and she can’t quite meet his eyes while she arranges everything on a low table with delicate golden legs, hurrying away as soon as Thor dismisses her with a nod and a word of thanks.

Thor learns just what has the girl so rattled as soon as he opens to the sitting room.

Loki is in the middle of the room, kneeling amidst of what seem to be small patches of fabric in a myriad shades of red.

That alone is nothing to fluster any member of their household, for the best tailors and seamstresses of St. Petersburg are regular visitors, but Thor can see how Loki’s attire is more than enough to make the poor girl wring her hands.

Loki is wearing his favorite robe, the raw silk of it pooling around him in a sea of lush green, the hem and its long flared sleeves trimmed with finest ermine. He has not bothered to belt the robe and Thor can see a nipple peek from between the gaping lapels, pert and rosy, and the bright white of the drawers Loki so favors.

Warmth spreads in Thor’s belly; not only from the sight of the dark tuft of hair visible between the legs of the delicate garment, but also at the thought of just why Loki prefers these kinds of women’s underthings.

“You’re late,” Loki greets him from the floor. He doesn’t look up from his examination of the samples of fabric, his mouth pinched in an unhappy frown. “I sent the tailor home an hour ago.”

“Good evening to you as well, kotyonok,” Thor says, bending to drop a kiss on the dark crown of his head. “Is something wrong? You don’t usually acquire my assistance with your tailor. There are plenty of others if his work isn’t satisfying.”

Thor is secretly pleased with himself and his crafty suggestion. Loki’s wardrobe is a sensitive matter, both to Loki and to Thor’s accounts, and not to be taken lightly. Finely tailored clothes put a smile on Loki’s lips and Thor loves to see him happy and devilishly handsome dressed in the latest fashion from Paris and London, and so he takes great care to not dismiss Loki’s concerns.

“Actually he came to discuss your new smoking jacket.” Loki throws his arms wide in a gesture encompassing the wealth of red around him. “Or did you think this was for me?”

Loki sighs and rises gracefully to his feet. “The man is intolerable. I asked for quilted velvet the shade of a ripe apple. And what did the halfwit bring? Plain silk in burgundy and wine red.”

Loki sniffs and rolls his eyes. “Silk for a gentleman’s smoking jacket, oh please.”

Thor doesn’t care at all about smoking jackets, let alone whether they are made of silk or burlap. He has no intention of wearing the cumbersome thing more than once or twice, much as the other three he keeps in the very back of his closet. That should be enough to appease Loki and assure him his efforts are appreciated, before Thor can go back to wear his comfortable old robe or, as he often prefers, nothing at all.

Loki pours two glasses of vodka from one of the many delicate decanters arranged haphazardly on a small inlaid table and offers one to Thor. He accepts gratefully, catching a whiff of berry before he downs the drink; one of Loki’s favorites, deceptively sweet but no less potent than the clear vodka Thor prefers himself. Very much like the kiss Loki presses to Thor’s lips, sweet and sharp, his own way of letting Thor know that he is already forgiven.

Thor has long since learned to accept Loki’s moods, so he does not bother to ask what exactly he is forgiven for.

“So, what did keep you out so long,” Loki asks. He pushes Thor to sit on the heavy sofa, the green silk damask of it almost matching the color of his robe, its sturdy arms flanked with finely detailed golden wolf heads.

Thor goes easily and sinks into the plush cushions, glad for the comfort of his own home. Loki is warm and pliant against his side and all is right again in Thor’s world, his earlier sour mood forgotten.

He tells Loki of his evening with Volstagg and Fandral and how he worries that Volstagg’s stubbornness and blind faith in the Emperor will eventually lead to his ruin.

“You could always buy parts of his lands, enough to keep him from falling into debt for a while,” Loki shrugs, brushing a kiss to Thor’s cheek. “Pay him a little more than the market price, just enough not to hurt his pride and make it seem like alms.” Loki hums thoughtfully, walking his fingers over the small buttons of Thor’s top shirt. “He will sell it to you, I’m sure of it, and it’s a perfect opportunity for you to expand your position as one of the city’s biggest landowners.”

“Loki, there are times when I can’t fathom how I deserve you and your brilliant mind,” Thor laughs, amazed at what Loki just proposed. The thought would have never occurred to him, but laid out like this it sounds like a brilliant plan. It might take some time to persuade Volstagg to see the merits of it, but Thor is willing to at least try. He is all the more grateful for Loki to suggest it, because he knows how little love there is lost between the two of them.

“Maybe that’s because you do not deserve me at all,” Loki says. His smile is sharp enough to scare a lesser man, but Thor simply kisses him, licks deeply into his mouth until Loki relents and huffs a laugh into the kiss, showing Thor just how worthy he is.

Loki’s skin is warm and soft under Thor’s fingers when he strokes a hand inside his robe. For long minutes Loki lets himself be stroked and petted, encouraging Thor with little moans and kisses.

“I met the Countess Freyja today,” Loki whispers into Thor’s ear.

Such simple words and yet enough to immediately cool Thor’s sparking ardor. Thor tenses despite the tempting arch of Loki’s back under his fingertips. He bares no ill will against the woman, but the mere thought of her husband Odr makes his blood boil with barely suppressed anger.

Odr’s scheming is the reason the Emperor’s troika is no longer drawn by the fine breed of Thor’s stables. Thor cares little about the rubles that were lost to him–after all his stallions are highly sought across the country–but he does not take kindly to losing against a competitor.

“I don’t think she was happy to see me,” Loki tells him. He moves to straddle Thor’s lap, winding his arms around Thor’s neck. “I saw her leave the house of that dashing young man who was introduced to us at the skating rink last month–Freyr, I think, surely you remember his splendid red curls–and I swear by all that is holy that her hair was in complete disarray and her petticoats were showing under her skirts.” Loki looks at Thor from beneath half-lidded eyes and licks his lips, as if already tasting victory. “That young man seems to be quite– engaging.”

Thor can’t help but bark a laugh at the positively wicked shine in Loki’s eyes. He already knows Loki will think of a dozen ways to spin this delicate tidbit to his advantage.

For all that he loves Loki, Thor should probably stop him.

As entertaining as Loki’s schemings are to those unaffected, it has made for some bitter enemies who are eagerly awaiting an opportunity for revenge. So far nobody has challenged them; afraid of Thor’s ever increasing wealth and the puissance that comes with it, allowing him to live openly with Loki at his side.

As always, Thor does no such thing.

“What is your plan, then? Tell Odr that his beloved wife is a loose woman, an adulteress?”

“How very dull of you,” Loki sighs. His boredom is belied by his eyes, lingering on the skin that is revealed where he is unbuttoning Thor’s shirt. “What would be the benefit of that? He would chase her out in shame and nothing more would come of it. Heaven forbid, he might even be secretly grateful. No, I will tell her,” Loki smiles, “because as a women she can’t risk to be shamed and ruined. Trust me, Thor, this will work splendidly in our favor.”

Thor doesn’t see how it will, but he does trust Loki. “If you say so, I am sure it will.”

“I think for now we should visit the ice rink more often,” Loki muses. “I think I will be able to coax some secrets from our young man.”

Thor winces inwardly. He can think of so many ways he would rather spend his time: hunting with Volstagg, carousing with Fandral, to name but a few. But he is far too distracted by the robe slowly slipping from Loki’s shoulder, revealing pale and perfect skin, to put up any protest.

“Oh, stop scowling,” Loki says, smoothing cool fingers over the creases in Thor’s forehead. “Your purse is safe. I assure you my wardrobe is perfectly acceptable for that purpose. I think the Mahogany mink will do just fine.”

Loki may even be sincere with it, but Thor doesn’t miss the hint of longing in his voice.

Thor thinks of the large box in the hallway that he meant to keep from Loki until his birthday. He may as well give it to him now, not only as another token of his affection–even if Loki has already two rooms full of those–but also as a sign that he fully supports Loki’s plan to get the better of Odr. Along with that Loki also has provided excellent advice on how to help his friend. Surely that alone is deserving of a reward. Even if it will be near impossible to find a more formidable birthday gift than the one waiting just outside the door.

“Would you not rather have something new to show off at the rink?” Thor asks, his lips quirking up. “Something so outrageous people will talk about it for days?” He cups a hand around Loki’s jaw and strokes his thumb over Loki’s smooth cheek. “What do you think about silver sable?”

“Oh,” Loki breathes reverently, and from the sheer joy in that single sound Thor knows that Loki truly didn’t mean to ask for a new coat. It makes gifting him even more of a joy and Thor’s heart beats a little faster with anticipation to see Loki’s reaction when he opens the box.

“When can we go to the furrier?” Loki demands. He is wringing his hands with obvious excitement and Thor regards him with fond exasperation, because he is without a doubt ready to leave, regardless of his dishabille and the late hour, if Thor would only tell him to go right now.

Somewhere in the back of his mind Thor knows he shouldn’t find it so terribly winsome. He firmly tells that part to be still already and plants a gentle kiss on Loki’s lips. “Go get the large blue box from the hallway.”

For a moment Loki’s mouth forms a perfectly rounded o of surprise before it stretches into a brilliant smile. Loki slides from Thor’s lap in a swirl of green silk and ermine, rushing back into the room just moments later, the blue box clutched tightly in his hands.

Loki kneels down on the floor, and Thor holds his breath while he watches him folding back the protective layers of cloth.

He need not have worried. Loki’s eyes grow large and round and the blush of excitement rising high on his cheeks is more than reward enough for the small fortune Thor counted into the furrier’s hands, already for the second time this year.

That and the rare fortune to see Loki speechless.

Loki’s hands flutter over the silver-brown mount of fur, his fingers flexing as if he can’t decide if he really is allowed to touch, before he finally plunges them into the thick softness, no longer able to resist. He brings the thick folds up to his face and Thor watches with fond amusement as Loki rubs his face into the silky wealth with a happy sigh.

“Thor, how can I even thank you for this? It’s truly magnificent,” Loki says, his voice trembling with open excitement. The smile that never left his face turns sharp, almost feral. “Oh, I can just imagine the whispers at the rink; hissing and judging and wishing they could take my place.”

Loki shuffles forward on his knees until he can part Thor’s legs and slip between them to tug on his hair, ever mindful of the precious bundle in his lap. Thor lets himself be pulled down and meets Loki half-way, returning Loki’s kiss with equal fervor.

“Still, you are completely mad,” Loki says when they part for air, nipping Thor’s lips teasingly. Thor can’t take his eyes from the graceful arch of his neck where he stretches up to meet him, impatient to leave his mark there before the night is over. “People will think that I’m staying with you only because you keep me wrapped in outrageously costly fur.”

“And wouldn’t there be more than just a hint of truth in it?” Thor chuckles. He cups Loki’s chin, pressing his thumb against Loki’s lower lip briefly before slipping it inside his mouth to silence that wicked tongue. “Do you deny that you love your clothes and finery, your precious cloaks and fur? Sometimes even I think it might be possible you love me just for my wealth.”

Loki sucks hard on Thor’s thumb with a noncommittal hum that could be either assent or playful outrage. But he doesn’t try to hide the heat in his eyes, and Thor knows that nothing could be farther from the truth.

Loki is spoiled to a fault, but while Thor knows he can blame nobody but himself for it, he has no regrets. It is Thor’s greatest pleasure to pamper Loki and read his every wish. There are many reasons for it, but the one that matters most to Thor is that he knows, without the shadow of a doubt, that Loki’s affections are as steadfast as his own.

Loki pulls back, letting Thor’s thumb slip free with a lingering lick. “Why would I deny it,” he says, huffing a little at Thor’s question. “Only the dull and idle make do with anything but the best.” Loki strokes over the sable in his lap lovingly and looks up at Thor, a coquettish smile curling his lips. “And I do look fabulous in fur.”

Thor can’t help it, he throws his head back and roars with laughter, used to Loki’s peculiar kind of honesty. It quickly turns into a gasp as Loki bends and lays his cheek against the placket of Thor’s trousers, rubbing back and forth over Thor’s cock with a thoughtful hum. “Why, Your High Nobility, maybe your money is not all I love you for.”

Thor has been pleasantly aroused until now, little more than a lazy curl of warmth in his belly, but now, with Loki breathing hotly against him, his cock is filling rapidly. He threads a hand in Loki’s hair and shifts his legs wider, making space for Loki and keeping him close.

“Is that so,” Thor rasps, his thighs and stomach tense with arousal. Loki looks like sin between his legs, with his dark lashes fanning against his flushed cheeks, seemingly utterly content to sit with his face nestled against Thor’s cock.

Thor shifts Loki’s head with a gentle tug on his hair, ignoring his displeased whine, and unfastens his trousers with his free hand, baring his cock with a sigh of relief. He’s already wet at the tip, leaving a slick trail on Loki’s skin when he taps his cock against his cheek. “Get on with it then.”

Much to Thor’s relief, Loki does not seem to be in the mood to tease. He obediently shifts on his knees for a better angle and then his mouth is wet and hot around Thor’s cock, his lips tightening just behind the crown. He sucks hard, once, twice, before he pulls back with an obscene wet sound, and Thor is unable to hold back a grunt of dismay at the loss.

Loki pushes to his feet with a silvery laugh, his hair slipping through Thor’s fingers like liquid silk, just as enticing and difficult to capture as Loki himself. Thor looks up at him, bewildered and almost achingly hard.

“Stop pouting, Thor, I have something much better in mind,” Loki says, still laughing or maybe he is laughing again, Thor can’t tell. He is too entranced by the slow slide of silk over the planes of Loki’s body, leaving him bare but for his drawers. His cock is hard, curving up between his legs, entirely unrestricted by the cloth surrounding it, the rosy flush of it so lewd against the innocent white cotton that Thor feels his mouth water.

“If it’s not your ass then I don’t care. Come here,” Thor growls impatiently, never taking his eyes from Loki.

Loki is beautiful. He’s standing amidst a pool of green silk and silver fur and Thor adores him, loves looking at him, all dark hair and pale skin; his slender body deceptively soft, the gentle dip of his waist fitting perfectly into the curve of Thor’s palms. Thor likes to think that only his hands fit Loki, only his cock fills him like needs it, that Loki was made for him.

“Impatient, are we,” Loki smirks. He takes one of the small bottles of oil they keep around the house from the table next to sofa and tosses it carelessly at Thor. With his other hand he flicks open the single button of his drawers and slides them teasingly over his hips, and while Thor thought he was beautiful before, now he groans at the hot throb of want that tugs at his insides and makes him fuck greedily in his own oil-slick fist.

“Ah, but it seems I’m not the only one.” Thor huffs a laugh, hungrily eyeing the smears of wetness that are glistening on Loki’s inner thighs. “You’re sopping wet already, just thinking about my cock splitting you open.”

Thor fists himself slowly, pushes deliberately up into his fist just to see Loki’s eyes darkening with want.

Loki bends, slow and deliberate, and picks up his new coat, his eyes never leaving Thor’s cock. He slips into the coat with an indecent moan that sounds not much different from the ones he gasps out when Thor licks him open, burying his face in the high collar.

“One could almost think that the coat arouses you more than my cock,” Thor grits out. If he is entirely truthful, it’s said only half in jest.

“But I have been thinking about your cock all day,” Loki says, sliding into Thor’s lap. Thor knows it’s true, knows it from the tightness in his voice and– oh God, his hole, so soft and slick against the head of Thor’s cock. Loki is kneeling astride Thor’s thighs and guides Thor’s cock between his cheeks with his fingers wrapped tightly around Thor’s own. He shifts his hips, lets the head of Thor’s prick kiss the tight furl of his entrance.

It takes all of Thor’s willpower to not simply pull him down on his cock and rut into him.

“Did you sit here all evening with your ass open and waiting to be filled, you wanton minx?” Thor gasps breathlessly. He lets his head fall back against the back of the sofa, helplessly aroused by the thought.

Oh, he can just imagine it: Loki, draped over the sofa, his hand working between his legs and a whine on his lips because his own slender fingers are never quite enough.

Thor dips quickly between Loki’s legs, and yes, there is his answer: three of his fingers slide in easily, right to the second knuckle. Loki steadies himself with his hands on Thor’s shoulders and rolls his hips, contracting around them with a gasp.

“Loki,” Thor hisses, half plea, half warning, because he’s rapidly losing his patience.

“No, no, like this– just a…oh…little while longer,” Loki demands around a moan. One of his hands closes around Thor’s wrist between his legs and works Thor fingers deeper into himself. He shamelessly takes his pleasure, the very picture of wantonness with his head thrown back and his mouth bitten red.

Thor can’t see where he’s buried inside of Loki, the view hidden by the sides of his coat, but the feeling of him–

“Fuck,” Thor swears. He pulls Loki into a harsh kiss with his free hand, urgent and wanting, biting all the need that is roiling within him into Loki’s mouth. Loki lets him, but his lips are slack against Thor’s. He’s distracted, too intent on shifting his hips just right to do anything but letting himself be kissed.

Loki’s insides are warm and snug around Thor’s fingers. Thor is aching to sink into him and feel the fluttering caress of Loki’s inner walls clenching around his cock, but he takes a deep breath to calm himself and hold out just a little longer because he wants Loki wild for his cock.

Thor curls his fingers and presses hard against the bundle of nerves right under the tips of his fingers. Loki’s wanton groan is deep, loud enough to wake the whole house even muffled by Thor’s mouth. “Do that again,” Loki orders, pulling back just enough so he can murmur it against Thor’s lips. Thor does and Loki squeezes around him with a quiet “ohfuckfuckyes” and now it’s Thor who curses loud enough to let even the last maid know what is happening in her masters’ sitting room.

“Did I say I love you for your cock?” Loki asks with a breathless laugh, rocking his hips down on Thor’s hand. His thighs are quivering with the effort of holding himself up on his knees. “I lied, I think I like your fingers much better.”

Loki smiles sharply at Thor, but it’s softened by the spots of color high on his cheeks and the groan he stutters out when Thor softly brushes his thumb over the underside of his sac. “I–oh… I could let you fuck my cunt like this for hours and never tire of it.”

God, but Loki is beautiful like this, flushed with lust and the heat of the too-warm fur against his skin.

Thor can’t imagine ever wanting anyone the way he wants Loki. He is everything Thor could wish for in a lover; sharp-witted and a perfect gentleman if society demands it or he feels so inclined, but also reckless and without shame, at times vulgar like a lowly bunter, matching Thor’s ravenous appetite for sex and drink and life.

“Ah, yes, you would like that,” Thor says. He has no doubt that Loki means it, but he thinks he has taken enough of Loki’s teasing for today. Maybe Thor will indulge him another day, when he isn’t tired after a long day in the city. He’ll enjoy making Loki writhe and beg and come on his hand, but desire has been curling inside of him for so long that right now all Thor wants is a good hard fuck.

Thor withdraws his fingers, ignoring Loki’s high-pitched yelp of protest, and fists his own cock. He adds more oil from the now empty bottle and holds his prick steady, slips his free hand under the coat and guides Loki down with a firm grip on his hip.

His cock slips between Loki’s cheeks, slick skin against slick skin, but Thor takes only a moment to savor the soft clutch around his prick. The blunt pain of Loki’s fingers digging deep into his shoulders is a welcome distraction from the excruciating pleasure of Loki’s entrance yielding and tightening around him before he slinks down slowly, a long luxurious slide that has them both gasping.

Thor’s whole body is strung tight with the need to fuck. His hands bracket Loki’s hips impatiently, sliding back to cup his bottom, prepared to help him move, but Loki is having none of it.

“No, miliy, you have been so good to me,” Loki says, his voice soft and airy. His hands slide over Thor’s and lift them from his ass, pressing Thor’s palms into the sofa next to his thighs. “Let me, please. I’m going to make you come so hard,” he promises, circling his hips lazily.

Thor digs his fingers into the soft cushions and takes a shuddering breath. “Then fuck me,” he grits out, lifting his hips and pressing deeper into Loki to make his point.

Loki rides him hard. His inner walls drag over Thor’s cock every time he lifts his hips, clenching tight and milking Thor greedily for his own pleasure. Thor’s head is swimming at the perfect heat of him and the wet slap of skin against skin, the slick slide as Loki slams down hard, taking him balls-deep inside his body.

He lifts his head for a kiss, desperate for touch, licking deep into Loki’s mouth when he dips his head, their mouths slanting against each other hot and urgent.

“Feel how wet and open I am for you,” Loki breathes into the space between them, grinding down hard. He rolls his hips down onto Thor’s cock, stuttering out a high-pitched whine when the head rubs inside him just right. “How deep inside you are–oh…”

Thor can’t hold still any longer, not when Loki is slick and tight around his prick, when his balls are wedged tight against the slick cleft of Loki’s ass. He grips him tight around the waist and thrusts up hard into Loki’s tightly stretched hole, can’t help but gasp at the raw friction and the relief of finally being allowed to move.

“I want to see,” Thor rasps. “Take it off!” He tugs at the collar of Loki’s coat, his hands clumsy, but Loki swats at him, shaking his head with a breathless laugh while he works his hips to meet Thor’s thrusts. Dark strands of hair are clinging to his flushed cheeks, making him look the picture of debauchery.

Something wild uncurls inside of Thor and cuts the last strand of his restraint. He fucks in deep and comes with a roar, his release so sudden and violent his whole body shakes with it, his insides clenching tight. He spends himself deep inside Loki, pulling him so hard against his body he knows he’ll leave bruises.

It takes him several heartbeats to muster enough wit to curl his hand around Loki’s cock, but when he does he meets Loki’s fingers, slick already with his own come.

“Shhh, don’t fret,” Loki says, kissing the apology from Thor’s lips. “It only means I made good on my promise. You did come so hard you forgot everything else.”

He’s smiling, but he can’t hide a wince when he shifts in Thor’s lap. Warmth trickles slowly over Thor’s balls and softening cock and he rolls his hips lazily up into Loki, coaxing more of his seed out of him, a possessive thrill shivering up his spine.

Much to Thor’s surprise, they make it to their bedroom and into bed without incident. Loki sleepily fusses about his new coat on the way, still loud enough to wake the servants, threatening to make Thor take it to cleaners if there are any stains on it.

Thor does not bother to point out that it was Loki who refused to take it off. He feels too mellow and sated for an argument, even a playful one, his body still tingling pleasantly from their lovemaking.

The sheets are soft and cool against his naked skin and he falls asleep with one arm slung around Loki’s waist and Loki’s head a familiar weight on his chest.