The office is wide, with a choice view of the city skyline, but the dressing is ostentatious. Try-hard. Decorated with the intent purpose to impress and the obvious ass-kissing leaks from every corner.
Justin Hammer sits at his overly large desk and pinches out a smug grin. Behind him, Loki stands, as beautiful as the day he walked out of Thor's office for the last time. The top button of his crisp shirt is undone and there's a slight wave to his hair, though, that leaves Thor suspicious. Normally impeccable to a fault, Loki doesn't let himself go until the very end of a fuck, when he's crying, begging, and his cock is drooling out a steady stream of come.
Thor lowers himself into the chair across from Hammer. The man himself is a rat-faced and slinky, with the slicked back hair of a con artist. He mostly deals with weapons technologies, but his business is failing—his engineers must be too busy sniffing glue to actually design something good.
But there is potential—Thor knows it when he seems it. He's got a mind to takeover Hammer Industries and give Stark a run for his money in the green energy department. Thor's offering a great deal for a company that hasn't turned a profit in five years.
Hammer doesn't see it that way.
“I'm sure you understand,” Hammer says, voice needling, after nearly an hour of back-and-forth, “but I can't justify giving away by company for less than it's worth.”
“Which is how much, again?” Thor snaps. “Take the deal, or go bankrupt. Again.”
“I would need more incentive—”
A spike of frustration pierces him. Hammer doesn't care about his company, or his workers, or even his own goddamn reputation. The man wants enough to buy a small island and live there like his company was actually worth something. Thor's fists tighten on the handle of the chairs.
This whole goddamn meeting has been nothing but Hammer swinging his dick in a power play, from making Thor fly all the way across the country to meet him in his headquarters, to the flagrant disregard to business etiquette, to not even having the manners to offer Thor a drink while Hammer tries to fuck him in the ass.
And then there's Loki.
Thor hasn't been this hotheaded in nearly twenty years, but something about Hammer's lemony, shit-stained smile is clawing under his skin like a botfly larva.
Thor opens his mouth to tell Hammer just what incentive he thinks would be best—a long drop and a sudden stop right off the top of this building—when Loki's phone chimes.
“Excuse me, gentlemen,” Loki says, soft. His fingers skim over the glossy screen of his phone. “But Mister Hammer has a lunch plan with Romanov. Perhaps we might take a break?”
Thor might actually have an aneurysm.
Hammer's mouth pinches like he just caught a whiff of his own bullshit. “I'm a busy man,” he mocks.
“Of course,” Thor replies baldly. “Trying to find the highest bidder for your failing, bloated, run-down company must be exhausting. I'll be back in an hour.”
He stands without waiting for Hammer's approval—it's time for that man to learn some humility. Loki dutifully rounds the desk. “I'll show you out, Mister Odinson.”
More out of habit than anything else, Thor's eyes hone in on Loki's ass as it sass-walks out of the office and down the hall. Loki must know—his hips have a swing, a sort of strut that shows off just how good his ass looks in his tailored suit, but he pays no nevermind to Thor.
And that, honestly, is the cherry on the shit cake of this day.
Before they reach the elevator, Thor grabs Loki by the elbow and hurls him into the first room he sees. An empty boardroom, as luck would have it. Thor slams the door behind him so hard the frosted, tempered glass rattles.
Thor barely has time to turn around before Loki's lunging at him, snarling, and Thor raises his arms to defend himself but Loki's not attacking, not precisely—he's yanking Thor closer by the lapels of his power suit and kissing him like he's trying to kill him.
“What the fu—” Loki cuts him off at every word, kissing, fierce, his teeth sinking into Thor's lip.
A dam inside Thor breaks open. He winds his fingers through Loki soft, but longer, hair and yanks his head back, exposing the same long and lean throat he remembers, though the vulnerable skin of it is mostly hidden.
Loki's green eyes narrow in delight. “Did you miss me, Thor?”
“No,” Thor lies with a growl, punctuating his denial with another tug on Loki's hair.
But Loki's just smirks and whispers, “You're a fucking liar.” He grinds his hips against Thor's, filthy, his erection already hard and pressing.
Thor should leave. He should walk out of this boardroom, out of this office building, and fuck on the first plane back to New York, buy-out be fucked. That would be the sensible thing to do.
But Thor didn't get where he is today by being sensible and playing the game safe.
He spins Loki around, manhandling him to the long, clean table. Chairs get knocked over and the leather place-mats go flying. Loki just laughs, low and mean, as he's bent over the table, ass out, hands firmly pinned to his lower back.
“Oh, you did miss me,” he coos, disgustingly sweet. “Does Amora not put out?”
Thor fumbles with Loki's belt one-handed, tugged at the supple leather none-too-gently before shoving his trousers down. No underwear. Figures.
“And you're one to talk?” he snaps, spreading Loki's cheeks wide to reveal his dry, pink little hole. “Look how tight you are. Have you not been fucked since you quit?”
Loki chuckles, cruel, in his throat. “Maybe his dick isn't big enough to stretch me out like yours.”
Thor presses his thumb against the clenched bud of skin. “Unfortunately for you, you're not getting fucked by me again.”
“Oh yes I am,” Loki says. He fumbles in the bunched pocket of his pants and extracts a packet of lube and a foil-wrapped condom. “Don't look so surprised,” he mocks. “Why do you think I went through the trouble of setting this all up?”
Red bleeds into the edges of Thor's vision. He draws a hand back and lays a ringing smack on Loki's ass cheek, jerking him forward and eliciting a heady cry. “You—fucking—what?”
“I made sure Hammer called you out here.”
Thor tears into the packet of lube with his teeth and pours the slipper stuff down Loki's crack. A finger gets unceremoniously stuffed in and Loki hisses from it.
“I told Hammer to make you bid high.”
Another finger that Loki is barely prepared for, but Thor can feel the sneer on his face and the primal instinct to claim, claim, claim his little bitch that ran off with a lesser man.
“I sucked his dick right before you came in so he wouldn't lose his nerve.”
White-hot rage pulses, mixing with his arousal into a tempest that has Thor batting the unopened condom wrapper in front of Loki's face and snarling, “I'm not using that. You're going to stand there and drip my cum all over Hammer's fucking floors.”
Loki growls, but doesn't object, doesn't fight back, just pants and squirms as a third finger breaches him. “Fuck.”
Thor used to pride himself on fingering Loki until he melted, wet and loose, his blown-out hole begging for a cock, but today... today he gives Loki the bare minimum of prep. He wants his former Personal Assistant to feel this. To take it until he can't anymore, to rub what Loki left behind in his face.
Or stuff it into his ass.
Loki stiffens and groans as Thor lines up his cock and pops the naked head in. He's tight, tighter than Thor ever allowed him to be when he was in his employ. Thor grabs Loki by the wrists and plants their hands on the table over his head. The leverage is perfect, and inch by inch, Loki's abused little hole swallows him.
A low keen tumbles out of Loki's mouth and he turns his head to watch Thor with a narrowed green eye. His suit is wrinkled, his shirt tails hanging, his finely tailored pants bunched up under the curve of his ass—
There's a flush high on his pale cheeks, too, blooming already when normally Loki is reserved until the very end.
Beautiful, Thor thinks, and hates himself for it.
Because Loki walked away after two years of working together, and he didn't even have the courtesy to tell Thor himself. Instead, Loki had sent an email, crisp and formal, as though they had never been anything more than professional.
The bitter old scab tears open and Thor fucks into Loki harder, wrangling out a choked sob. Loki rocks under his weight, taking his dick, mouth hanging open as the steady slapping of skin on skin fills the room. It already smells of musky sex in here, and like an animal marking its territory, Thor is savagely pleased.
Goddamn, Hammer's going to have to pay whatever's left in his bank account to clean Thor out of this room.
“Thor, Thor,” Loki gasps, sharp, his arms straining against Thor's hold. “You piece of shit, let me come, let me come, oh god, please, let me come—”
“Why?” Thor hisses, “Why should I?” He's merciless, taking Loki's ass and ruining it, claiming it, needing it—needing more—
Loki isn't the only one that hasn't gotten some in a while.
Thor feels himself tensing, his balls drawing tight and hot. He buries himself into Loki and lets go, lets his come flood that hole and firmly establish who owns it. Mine, mine, mine--
“Mine,” he growls into Loki's ear, then nips at the soft lobe.
“Get off,” Loki snarls, slamming his foot down onto Thor's. It doesn't hurt, but Thor backs away. A lovely torrent of come follows as his cock slips out.
Loki shakes off Thor's hands and rolls himself over, facing Thor upright and struggling to drag his black pants lower down. With a moan, Loki pulls out his red, hard cock. He glares up at Thor, eyes stupid with lust, and Thor can't help himself. He doesn't want to, but he bends and kisses that look off Loki's face.
The kiss was supposed to be as rough as the fuck, but when Thor's mouth connects to Loki's, it's as though nothing has changed—it's the filthy kiss before board meetings and the sweet kiss at the end of the day. It's Loki pressing his lips to Thor's temple when he has a headache and Thor kissing Loki's neck during a moment alone.
It's everything that Loki destroyed.
Something cracks open inside of Thor, something bitter and hot. He takes Loki's cock in hand. The shaft is so wet, slick from Loki leaking everywhere like the slut he is, and Thor's fist glides over the skin.
The sound Loki makes into Thor's mouth is intoxicating. Loki wraps his arms around Thor's shoulders, holds him close as Thor jerks his cock.
“You left me,” Thor says against Loki's lips, the words smothered and cracking. “You left.”
Loki just pants, in response, shaking, small hums vibrating his lips as he tries to hold them in. The little whimpers increase in volume and Thor knows he's close, so close he can practically taste it in the taste of his mouth, like a Pavlovian response to all the times he's sucked Loki off in the office.
“Thor, I--” Loki seizes and semen spurts from the tip of his cock, thick ropes of it coating Thor's fist. He slumps. “I had to,” he says in one great rush of breath.
“What? Loki, what do you mean?”
Loki lifts his head, face open, and certain words pop into Thor's head, forbidden words, words that can never be said between them—but the walls snap back in place and Loki's expression becomes tight, stony.
“Thanks for the fuck,” Loki says, offhand, and slithers off the desk, hitching up his pants. He strolls out, casual, leaving Thor behind in a cloud of their sex-stink and a handful of come.
“Fucking fuck!” Thor snarls. He wipes his head on the edge of the desk, not giving half a fuck. Heart aching, and another stress migraine building in his temples, Thor follows, not even bothering to smooth the wrinkles from his clothes.
– – –
In the end, Thor buys the company for nearly twice its worth. Hammer makes off like a goddamn thief, and Loki... Loki hasn't shown his face. He tacked on his resignation with Hammer's and scampered off to who-knows-where.
Gone is gone.
Thor builds his empire and sits on his lonely throne.
Three words haunt him, with the ghost of a thought—if he had said them, would Loki still be here?
Maybe not. Loki's pride is no small thing.
And yet, more often then not, Thor finds his fingers hovering over Loki's contact in his phone, still there, along with his old address. His birthday. The Odinson company email.
What happens when an immovable object meets an unstoppable force?
Licking his lips and praying Loki hasn't changed his phone number, Thor types out a text.
And he waits.
He checks his phone constantly throughout the day; glancing at the screen in meetings and peeking at his notifications like a high-schooler. Nothing but the usual junk.
As the work day draws to a close, Thor's hope dwindles.
Just as he is about to stuff his phone into his pocket and call this a failure, his phone buzzes, and Loki's name flashes on the screen.
I'll be in town Thursday.