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In Your Dreams

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The room is dim and cool, silent but for soft breaths and the thick slurp of Thor’s cock as it glides slowly in and out of Loki’s sheath. They sit naked on their folded legs, rucking up the bed sheets with their knees, making love before the large mirror mounted on the wall across from them. Loki reclines against Thor’s broad chest, soaking up his affection, basking in his embrace.

Thor presses his teeth into the tender spot where Loki’s neck meets his shoulder and sucks light bruises onto his skin, his hands moving languidly all over his body. He pushes into his brother’s warm, slippery clasp, pacing himself in spite of the brutal urge to ravish him.

Which he doesn’t, of course.

No, Thor hugs Loki’s waist and noses his long black hair, inhaling its familiar scent. He could never use Loki so vulgarly. Love has much to do with it, but perhaps there is a little respect there, too—and understanding. Loki’s spirit may be indomitable, but his heart is delicate and his feelings easily hurt. Thor knows that now, and tries to be a better brother to him.

A breathy grunt escapes Loki’s lips. “I felt you twitch,” he leers, his body moving with Thor’s penetrating rhythm. “You must be thinking of something perverse.”

Thor can’t help grinning. “I was thinking of you.”

Loki lifts his hand to caress the side of Thor’s head. “Hm, perverse indeed.”

“No, this is something strong and good”—Thor kisses Loki’s ear and rolls deeper into him—“warm and lovely. Something sweet and precious to me.” He drags his hands down Loki’s stomach and stops just below his navel, lingering there, caressing his skin. If it weren’t for the mirror, Loki might have thought nothing of it; however, the sight of their reflections and the way Thor is holding him, petting his belly like that . . .

He picks up Thor’s hands and brings them to his chest, pressing their callused warmth onto his cold nipples.

It feels divine, but it looks just as bad as the other thing.

He pulls Thor’s hands away again and plants them on his thighs. Yes, that is better. Not quite so . . . maternal. Nevertheless, Loki can’t seem to banish the thought to the back of his mind. It creeps out of the shadows of his subconscious, growing louder and more insistent with each passing second, stealing the pleasure from his loins. He swallows dryly, feeling suddenly miles from Thor’s arms.

“What’s the matter?”

The question catches him by surprise, and he realizes Thor has gone still. “Nothing,” he whispers.

“Loki.” Thor’s voice is soft and plaintive. “Please tell me what’s wrong.”

Loki pinches his lips into a thin line and stares at his own face in the mirror. “I know what you’re thinking. You’re fantasizing about me being”—he shuts his eyes, spits the last two words—“with child.”

“Yes. I was.”

The bluntness of the admission stuns Loki more than the subject of his brother’s thoughts. “That’s so utterly—I can’t believe you’d—how can—” he sputters, trying to form a complete sentence.

“It is only a fantasy, Loki,” Thor gently rumbles, and Loki feels the vibrations in his shoulder blades. “Such things are immaterial. They hurt no one so long as they remain inside one’s head.”

Loki couldn’t agree more, but he isn’t about to admit that Thor is right, heavens, no. “Even so, it makes me uncomfortable knowing that’s what you’re thinking about when we’re together.”

“You said yourself your season is not yet come; do you think my imagination powerful enough to impregnate you?”

No,” says Loki vehemently, reacting more to that abhorrent word than to Thor’s question. “But I think you are more aroused by what my body can do rather than how it makes you feel.”

“I find your body wondrous and beautiful, Loki, regardless of its abilities.”

Loki scowls. “Spoken as one who has never possessed a womb nor suffered from its miseries. How liberating it must be to be only a man.”

Thor’s one eye turns humbly downward. “Does the thought of bearing children disgust you?”

It’s a matter-of-fact question, but Loki detects a sad, fragile note in his tone.

“No,” he answers, “but it terrifies me. Infants, they’re nothing but helpless, screeching lumps of flesh. And pregnancy itself—childbirth, merciful gods—I can’t imagine a more horrific ordeal.”

Thor laughs—deep, throaty guffaws of pure amusement. It resonates through his cock and results in some rather pleasing tremors, but the sound itself rankles Loki and makes him instantly, profoundly annoyed.

Thor helpfully massages the tension from his brother’s shoulders. “Oh, Loki, Loki. I give you my word, you are in no danger of falling victim to my fantasies. I wouldn’t dream of making you endure something you find so distasteful. As it stands though, I believe you are missing out on a delightful opportunity to indulge your imagination.”

He gives Loki’s arms an encouraging squeeze as he kisses his neck, his beard scratching lightly against his skin. “For as long as I can remember, you were always the creative one. Always the best at coming up with new games and playing pretend. Do you remember?”

Loki does, and for a brief moment he allows himself to turn and gaze into his past. There is a boy there, dark-haired and quiet, with skillful hands and an industrious, mischievous mind. This boy plays elaborate pranks on his loud, boastful brother, tricks him, teases him, scraps with him, competes with him, always tries to remind him who the better artist and poet is, even though his material is hilariously rude and gets him into trouble with Mother. You have such talent, Loki. Must you always use it in this way?

When Loki returns to the present, an unexpected wave of arousal comes with him, flaring through his groin and seeping into the rest of his body. In the mirror, Thor is rubbing flirtatious circles around Loki’s nipples, his hands bronze against his brother’s pale skin. The children are gone now, replaced with their adult counterparts—taller, a little wiser, and much less innocent. Loki shudders and breathes through his mouth, staring at himself.

“Let us make believe again, Loki,” says Thor, nudging his hips forward and sinking himself deeper into Loki’s cushioned warmth. “Let’s pretend you are a fertile young prince and I am your devoted groom, chosen personally to attend to your needs.”

Loki can’t help it; he starts snickering.

“What?” says Thor.

“‘Fertile young prince’?” He blows air through his teeth. “You can’t be serious.”

“But I am.”

“Thor, I love you, but you’re being prepost—”

A big hand covers Loki’s mouth, gently, just enough to quiet him.

“I’m aware how silly it sounds,” says Thor, “but just indulge me.” He pulls out completely, and holds himself at length against Loki’s slick, sensitive lips. “Close your eyes and listen to my voice. Feel it inside you and think of nothing else. Our bodies, my words. Can you do that for me, Loki? Just for a little while?”

Loki sucks on his bottom lip, considering his options. He reaches down between his legs and brushes his fingertips against the warm, smooth head of Thor’s cock. A moment ago it had been deep inside him, bumping pleasurably against his cervix, and he wants it back there as soon as possible. He sighs.

“Very well. Show me this fantasy of yours, brother.”

Thor smiles. “Close your eyes.”

Loki does.

“You are the prince of a vast and prosperous kingdom,” he begins, “one that is set to become yours, should you satisfy one condition.”

“And what condition is that?”

“You must bear a child.”

Before Loki’s rational mind can reject the idea, Thor’s hand, having snuck its way down into his crevice, finds his stretched and oozing hole and slips two fingers inside. Loki lets out a surprised peep.

“This is where I come in.”

A smile comes to Loki’s face; it’s not often Thor makes a clever remark, so he gives the fingers inside him an approving squeeze. Thor kisses the nape of his neck and begins stroking the slippery, silky flesh of Loki’s inner walls.

“You require a man, big and lusty and stupid, to service you.”

The image of Thor, long-haired and hung and as dumb as a stump, enters Loki’s mind. He giggles as quietly as he can, and he feels a moist huff of breath on his shoulder as Thor gives a silent laugh himself. But he continues his narrative before their amusement can distract them further:

“This man will be your slave and your stud, a servant to appease your every fancy, and you select me for this privilege.”

Loki sees it in his mind with perfect clarity: Thor, all six feet and four inches of him, heavily-muscled and gleaming with oil, wearing chains and little else, dragged before his prince for appraisal. Long, sultry stares. A brief examination of the goods. Oh, yes. He’ll do quite nicely. It is an image Loki finds intensely, powerfully erotic. His mouth opens and releases a rush of air, unable to believe how strongly Thor’s words are affecting him.

“I am simple and rough,” Thor continues, “little more than a strong back and a weak mind, yet you love me in spite of my shortcomings.” He kisses Loki’s shoulder, his jawline, the whiskers of his beard tickling ever so slightly. “I have but one purpose. One chosen course in my life.”

He angles himself and thrusts sharply forward, into Loki’s quiver. Loki gasps at the suddenness of the penetration, at the sensation of Thor’s member, covered with his cooled slick, warming inside him. He shudders, his skin prickling.

“To impregnate me,” he whispers.

“Yes.” Thor smiles. He gathers the scant flesh of Loki’s breasts in his hands and squeezes firmly, gives his pebbly nipples a light pinch.

Loki’s head rolls back in ecstasy. “Oh my. Ah . . .”

“Because in this pretend-world, brother,” says Thor, “you chose me from a host of hundreds of suitors to grant you your heart’s desires. And what you desire most”—he reaches down and cups the handful of belly just above Loki’s pubic hair—“is to be bred. To be filled with my seed. To carry it and grow heavy with it.”

A low whine rises from Loki’s throat. His cock, dribbling shamelessly now, leaves silvery smears on his inner thigh. He feels Thor within him, gliding easily in the fresh gush of his juices, teasing some deep place of rapture each time he’s fully seated. It thrills him, tantalizes him, makes him yearn for more.

“Yes,” he pants. “I can do that. A kingdom for a child.”

Our child.” Thor’s hands continue to coax Loki into a state of frenzy. “One of many. Because your womb aches with emptiness. And I, being your obedient mate, am obligated to fill it.” He combs both hands through Loki’s hair, caressing his scalp, rubbing his neck, moving down to his shoulders.

“Imagine us, Loki, spending hours locked together in rut. Striving towards this one goal, trying hard to conceive—for we must, it is our duty. And should I fail at this task, I will be replaced with someone more virile, a stranger whose whose seed is more potent than mine.”

“He doesn’t exist,” Loki insists, his mind feverishly latching onto the images Thor is feeding him; dark images full of skin and sweat, two bodies tangled and trembling, rolling in golden sheets. “Yours is the most potent. I would conceive after our first coupling.”

Thor’s ego swells—and so does his cock, sluicing hard and fast into Loki’s cunt. “That would make me very proud.”

Loki reaches up and places his hand on the back of Thor’s neck, holding him cheek-to-cheek while his body lurches with each thrust. He is completely lost in the fantasy now, his brows furrowed in concentration, focused wholly on his pleasure.

“As you should be,” he pants. “Fathering my progeny is an honor.”

“The very highest, my prince. I give myself gladly for this ambition.”

“Yes. For my kingdom. For me.”

“You shall make a fine mother,” Thor purrs, holding Loki’s belly as he slaps forward in steady rhythm. “You will soften and wax sweet, full of love and nourishment. I will dote on you. Spoil you. I will fall on my knees and worship you, bearer of my children.”

Loki groans in bliss at the very idea: Thor, fawning at his feet with adoration sparkling in his eye while Loki towers over him, couched in luxury and surrounded by endless riches, his hand resting proudly upon his belly. A more decadent picture there never was.

“Oh, gods, Thor, give me this,” Loki moans, arching the small of his back and lifting himself to allow Thor even deeper penetration. “Bring me to bear. I need it.”

“Anything for his highness.”

Loki grins as he reaches the edge of orgasm, and continues to chase the sumptuous fantasy of Thor hammering him full of children, turning him into a fertile, breeding machine.

Thor’s voice deepens to a satisfied growl. “Is the prince enjoying the company of his slave? Does his manhood please him?”

“Oh yes. Yes yes,” Loki falls forward on his hands and knees, eyes still squeezed tightly shut, and groans through his clenched teeth, “Fuck me, Thor.” He rocks back once, twice, quickly. “Fuck your prince.”

Thor rises to his knees and grasps Loki’s hips, adjusting his mount. Then he begins to pound vigorously and urgently into him, thighs clapping against his haunches with every lunge.

The friction and the force brings Loki to climax almost immediately. He whimpers, wails, and slams himself back onto Thor so hard that Thor nearly loses his balance. His hold on Loki’s rear end is the only thing that keeps him from toppling backward. He quickly rights himself again and resumes his pace, but two strokes into Loki’s convulsing sheath sparks his orgasm into a raging flame.

Thor bellows and reaches out, grabs Loki by the shoulders, and pulls him back. Spearing him on his spurting, jerking cock and holding him there, buried balls-deep inside him.

“Oh gods, I can feel you filling me,” Loki gasps. “I feel everything. I . . . ah. Ah!”

Thor’s mouth drops open in shock as he feels Loki’s second orgasm take him, this one more violent and desperate than the first. His muscles shudder around him, clenching and squeezing, wringing every drop out of him. Thor lets go and allows Loki to freely thrust, buck, arch his back, do whatever he must to reach completion. He stares down at the lovely curve of his brother’s spine, at the dark hair spilling over his shoulders, his flawless skin, his contorting muscles.

“You’re gorgeous,” he says, but it’s lost in the storm of profane interjections hissing between Loki’s clenched teeth.

After a few more white-knuckled moments, Loki sinks face-first onto the bed, panting for breath, his bottom still pressed snugly to Thor’s crotch.

“Tell me,” he says between breaths, “did I honestly just get off on pretending to be pregnant?”

Thor smiles and rubs his back. “Twice, actually.”

He cringes. “Damn. I’m more depraved than I thought.”

Thor chuckles.

When Loki finally pushes himself up and rises on wobbly knees, Thor’s embrace is waiting for him, solid and stable. He melts into it without hesitation, comfortably waiting out the aftermath of their union.

Thor drops soft, quiet kisses onto his temple, his ear, his neck. Loki turns his gaze to the mirror and is met with the reflection of a slim, spent wreck of a man with strands of disheveled black hair spilling over his face. He reaches up and touches his flushed cheek, studying its rare and unusual color.

“It looks lovely on you,” says Thor kindly. “I am glad to see there are still some things capable of making you blush.”

Loki smirks lopsidedly. “Enjoy your victory, brother. It will be brief.”

“I don’t mind trying again.” Thor sucks the tender spot just beneath Loki’s ear. “In fact, I relish the opportunity.”

“I never knew you were such a ridiculous romantic.” Loki pauses, his smile weakening. “Or so imaginative. Your creativity surprised me.”

“As I’ve said before, I have changed much in the years we’ve been apart. I should like to think the same of you, Loki.”

Shadows of the past flit briefly through Loki’s head: the jealous brother, the trickster, the mischief-maker. Always in trouble. Always hiding and sneaking about, riding his luck until it runs out—and it always does, sooner or later, one way or another.

“I haven’t changed,” Loki murmurs. “I have become predictable, just as you’ve said.”

“Only to those who truly know you.”

Loki’s hands settle on Thor’s heavy, vein-striped forearms. “And how well do you think you know me, brother?”

“Well enough to appeal to your most hidden desires.”

“I don’t want to be pregnant.”

“No. You want power and attention, and I gave it to you. Everything in our little fantasy is exactly what you have always craved.”

For a few seconds Loki is thrown into chaos and confusion, frantically recalling the details that had been running through his head only a short while ago. Thor doesn’t wait for him.

“Your proud brother reduced to servitude,” he says. “A throne. A dominion. Wealth and riches. Love and adoration—”

“How dare you,” Loki utters. “You tricked me, you—”

“Do not take offense, Loki. I wanted only to give you a dream, to make you happy for a while. I swear to you, my intentions were harmless.”

That seems to soothe Loki’s ruffled feathers, at least for the moment. He sighs curtly and goes quiet while Thor tenderly massages his shoulders.

“You know what pleases me most,” he says finally, “and yet I have no idea what pleases you.”

You please me.”

“You know what I mean, Thor. It’s been . . .” Loki’s eyes move to some unknown point on the ceiling, as far from his reflection as possible. “I haven’t cared about anyone else for a long time. I’m afraid I’ve forgotten how to be kind and loving. If I ever knew at all.”

The corner of Thor’s mouth curls. “What were we just doing? Mating like common beasts? Fornicating like a pair of strangers who met in a tavern?”

“Yes?”

“No. We were making love.” He gathers Loki’s long hair in his hands, smoothing the wild waves and twisting them gently into a single lock. “I know there is love in your heart, Loki, just as there is goodness. It simply hasn’t been used in a while. You’re a bit out of practice. But you’ll get better at it in time.”

Loki falls silent. He’s overcome with the sudden urge to bite his nails, something he hasn’t done since he was an adolescent; he curls his fingers into protective fists and chews his lower lip instead.

“You’re still troubled?” Thor asks worriedly.

“I’ll be alright.”

“Forgive me for not believing you.”

“I tell you, brother, I’m fine.” Loki twists himself around as best as he can, and guides Thor’s head toward his face, pressing a kiss onto his bearded lips. “You fret needlessly.”

Thor hums deeply and slides his arms around Loki’s slender frame, hugging and holding him. “I cannot help it. I love you.”

Loki smiles thinly and nuzzles Thor’s cheek. “I love you as well.”

A contented growl rumbles in Thor’s chest. His big hand slides over Loki’s hip and grasps his semi-soft erection, and begins to stroke it back to life. Loki draws in a long breath and closes his eyes, bracing his hands on Thor’s hard, hairy thighs and surrendering to his care. No words are spoken between them as Thor slowly works to elicit the fourth climax of the evening.

When Loki finally comes, it’s with a shudder and a helpless sigh. He pours himself into his brother’s hand, his sheath clenching involuntarily around Thor’s flaccid penis, still embedded tightly within him.

“You are amazing, Loki,” says the voice in his ear, “and you are enough.”

A lump rises in Loki’s throat as he floats on the diminishing waves of his orgasm. His pale eyes gleam in the dim light. He hadn’t realized how badly he needed to hear those words until they were spoken to him just now. His heart so aches in its fullness that it nearly reduces him to tears. Only through a monumental effort of self control does he manage to compose himself, and sniff away the evidence of his vulnerability.

“What can I do to please you, brother?” he whispers, looking over his shoulder at Thor.

“I’ve already told you, nothing.” Thor smiles gently. “But it would make me very happy if you were to stay the night.”

Loki’s face pinches with dismay. It has to be that one thing. “Thor, I’m not—”

“I know. You prefer to sleep alone, you always have, but just once I would like to wake beside you, to be the first thing you see when you open your eyes. Please? Will you honor me by sharing my bed?”

Loki considers the possibilities. He knows he won’t get very much sleep if he stays with Thor—he’s too light a sleeper, too fond of coolness and uninterrupted silence and total darkness—but he cannot deny that there’s a powerful desire to remain at his side. Perhaps it will not be too unrestful, he thinks. He can always make up whatever sleep he loses. If this is all he must do to make Thor happy, well, it’s not too unreasonable a request.

“Alright,” says Loki. “I’ll stay. But only for tonight.”

“Tonight is all I ask.”

Loki sighs and slides forward on his knees, pulling himself off of Thor’s member with a moist smack. He turns around to meet his brother’s gentle, affectionate face and slips his arms around his shoulders.

“You ask for too little. It’s not very kingly of you.”

“Would you prefer I were a tyrant?” Thor chuckles, wrapping him in his arms and falling back on the bed with him. “Shall I order you to stay with me? To make yourself available for sex whenever I please?” He clasps Loki’s naked buttocks with both hands and begins to knead the warm, supple flesh.

Loki’s eyelids droop contentedly. “Mm, keep doing that and I just might let you.”

Thor laughs and rolls over with him, and now they’re lying side by side and face to face, staring at one another with matching smirks. Loki raises his hand and gently touches Thor’s cheek—the one below his eye patch—tracing the edge of his beard, his lips, his prickly jaw.

Thor reaches down and grasps Loki’s thigh, pulls it around him. Their legs entangle and their hips meet, the most intimate parts of their bodies pressing warm and sticky and damp against one another. Thor lays his hand at the base of Loki’s throat, feeling the steady beat of his pulse, then slides it slowly downward, coming to rest in the middle of his chest.

“I want you to rule beside me,” he murmurs. “As an equal. You would be a valuable asset to my court.”

Loki’s face loses its warmth as the seriousness of Thor’s words settles in his mind. “Only a fool would put me in a position of such power.”

“I suppose that makes me a fool then.”

Loki shakes his head. “The people would not tolerate a traitor sitting at their king’s right hand.”

“So sit at my left. That way I can keep my eye on you.” Thor smiles at his own joke. “Besides, have you forgotten that you are their great savior? They would accept you on that basis alone.”

“One good deed in a lifetime of trickery will not make me a hero.”

Thor opens his mouth but he finds no words to refute this unpleasant truth. His smile fades and a weariness that looks soul-deep slowly comes over him.

Loki narrows his eyes. “You really want this, don’t you?”

Thor answers with a hollow, gutted look.

“Tell me, brother,” says Loki, his voice suddenly sharp, “is this little arrangement something you’ve been considering over several years? Or has it just been in the last few weeks, when you discovered I had a hole you could fill?”

Thor recoils as if he’s been slapped. “I swear to you, Loki, I would never—”

“Oh, but you would like to, wouldn’t you?” Loki’s smile is cold and nasty. “You would make me your queen without a second thought. You might even convince me to bear you children in enough time, and then we really would be a family, wouldn’t we? Just as Mother and Father always wanted, only bound by wedlock instead of fraternity. King Thor and his little Jötunn bride, the supreme rulers of Asgard. Because that is your side of the fantasy, isn’t it, brother? Not that maudlin picture of humility and servitude you painted for me. No, you require a much more tangible dream, don’t you? One that is not entirely out of the realm of possibility.”

He pauses, waits.

“Well? Am I right?”

Tears gleam in Thor’s eye, flayed to the bone by his brother’s serrated words. “You are seldom wrong, Loki.”

A bitter, triumphant grin spreads across Loki’s lips.

“But it is still only a fantasy.”

The grin vanishes with a scowl. Frustration smolders in Loki’s eyes. “Your obstinance is surpassed only by your foolishness,” he snarls.

“I don’t know which is more poisonous, your attitude or your tongue,” Thor quips.

“You are an ignorant, soft-hearted buffoon.”

“And you are a mean, cold-blooded shrew!”

“And yet in your heart of hearts you still love me!”

“Yes!” Thor rolls over on top of him, pinning his wrists to the mattress. “And I would rather have you beside me than beneath me. Unless that is where you prefer to be.”

Loki bites his lip and swiftly pulls his legs out from under Thor before he can be further trapped. He wraps them around Thor’s waist and locks his ankles together, squeezing as hard as he can.

“I think we both know it’s where I belong.”

Thor grunts from the strength of Loki’s hold. “You belong on a throne, not in my bed.” Pause. “Well. Not just my bed. You forget we were both raise—whoa!”

In an extraordinary feat of leverage and lower-body strength, Loki throws himself to the left, flips Thor onto his back, and sits smugly astride him. Thor sprawls wide-eyed on the bed, stunned by the abrupt change in position.

Loki leans over him, his dark hair falling around his face. “Oh, I’ve not forgotten our father’s words: raised to be kings, both of us. I know, brother.”

“Then you also know how well we complement each other,” says Thor, stealthily sliding his hands up Loki’s naked thighs. “Where one of us fails, the other prevails. I am hasty and you are cautious. You are clever while I am mighty. We are opposites whose strengths are unmatched when we are allied; we balance and moderate each other. Asgard would surely benefit from such a pairing.”

Loki’s eyes glow hungrily. It’s plain to see he’s tempted by Thor’s words—but not wholly convinced. He sits back and straddles Thor’s hips.

“Are you asking me to marry you? Because if you are, it’s one of the worst proposals I’ve ever received.”

“Marry? No, I’m simply suggesting a—wait, one of the worst?”

“We may complement each other in every way,” Loki persists, “but there is one thing we lack, brother. Something so important that its absence would discount all other virtues we share.”

“And that is?”

“Trust.”

The confusion drops from Thor’s features, replaced by the unmistakeable look of dismay when one is faced with a terrible, inescapable truth.

“You know I’m right. I can’t be trusted. And if I am perfectly honest”—Loki smiles at the irony—“it doesn’t bother me at all. It’s just as you said: you are you and I am me. I am capricious and easily bored. I come and go as I please. I’m spontaneous, I enjoy my freedom. A lifetime tied to the throne of Asgard would be a prison sentence to someone like me.”

“Really? As I recall, you seemed to be rather enjoying it before I showed up.”

Loki narrows his eyes balefully.

“In fact,” Thor continues, “you were quite insistent that the kingdom had never been so prosperous and peaceful.”

“I was lying. The economy was drowning in debt. Inflation was at an all-time high and jobs were—”

“Loki.”

What.”

And the way Thor looks at him, so kindly and warmly, banishes the irritation from Loki’s heart. “You were a better king then than I would have made six years ago. You and I both know it.”

Loki tries to feign indifference, but his illusions, as grand as they are, fail him. He stiffens his lips pensively. “Perhaps. But even if I hadn’t interfered, you would have learned eventually.”

“Or destroyed Asgard in the fires of war. Which of those seems most likely, I wonder?”

There is no reply, not even a derisive sniff.

Thor sits up on his elbows. “People can change, Loki. I have. You can. You are the most adaptable person I know. The only thing that doesn’t change about you is the fact that you are always changing.”

“Alright. Fine,” Loki snaps. “So I have the capacity to change. What of it? Shall we plight our troths now or wait until we have an actual land to rule? Oh! What about crowns? I’d like mine to be silver—no. Solid diamond, carved into a crown, with gold accents. Lots of accents. And a monstrous emerald”—he smacks his fist to his forehead—“right in the middle.”

Thor lets his head drop back. “Gods, you can be so insufferable.”

“Oh, no no. You wanted it, you got it. These are serious matters, husband. They must be addressed without delay.”

An unexpected shudder races through Thor’s body. Loki’s eyes widen as he feels his brother’s cock, which he is sitting directly overtop of, give an interested twitch.

A line forms between Loki’s eyebrows as they rise in horror. “Oh, you are a sick man,” he utters softly. “Very sick. I thought my mind was a rank, festering abomination, but yours, brother—yours is infinitely more rotten.”

“Keep talking, Loki. It is only arousing me further.”

Loki grins wickedly, delightedly, and rubs himself against Thor’s awakening flesh. “So you like being called ‘husband’, do you? By your own brother? I couldn’t think of a more vile, degenerate thing if I tried.” He reaches down and grasps Thor’s semi-soft erection at its root, slapping it playfully back and forth between his thighs. It hardens and grows in his hand. “Except perhaps being your bride, your simpering little pet, bound to you and your disgusting fantasies for the rest of my life; a toy to be played with as often as you like. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

Thor looks meekly up at Loki, his face flushed and his single blue eye dark with desire.

“It is,” Loki sneers. “Oh, this is rich. Here I am, a poor little Jötunn foundling, wed to a nasty Asgardian king who wants only to fuck me with his gigantic cock”—Thor moans as Loki squeezes him—“and make me carry his children.”

“Loki, you don’t have to do this if you don’t wa—”

“Shut up, Thor, this is turning me on like you would not believe.”

Thor’s jaws come together with a dull click. He watches Loki roll his head back with a sigh and arch his lean, sinuous body upward, rubbing his slippery folds against his erection.

“At first I refused,” he narrates in a low, sensual voice, “and you had to take me by force. I didn’t want it. I fought you, but you held me down and defiled me.”

He gets up on his knees, positions himself, and sinks down onto Thor in one long, smooth stroke. He lets out a whimper, his face contorting in pleasure. “And it felt wonderful.”

Thor growls and clenches the sheets in his fists, twisting them as he feels Loki’s warm, slick flesh part around his cockhead before he is suddenly, deeply buried in the tight clutch of his post-coital sheath.

“I tried to resist,” Loki squeaks, his voice now much higher as he begins to move, “tried to shut you out, but you pried into me and just—”

He braces his hands on Thor’s chest and grinds down, rises up, over and over, slapping himself onto Thor’s lap.

“—hurt me. Used me. And I loved it.” Loki sounds deliberately weak and helpless as he falls into character. “You made me beg for it, even though it was too much for me. I bled and I wept and you . . . you fucking gave it to me. Split my virgin cunt and took it.”

Thor is so powerfully, appallingly aroused that every breath he draws makes him dizzy. Surely there is sorcery behind Loki’s words. There is no way he could be excited by such wanton wickedness . . . could he?

He glances down. Loki’s juices are seeping out of him with every slide and squelch, making Thor’s shaft gleam and his pubic hair glisten wetly, a sight which proves that, yes, he could and does find this exciting.

But certainly not as much as Loki, who is so enthralled by his own words that it’s practically masturbatory.

“You force yourself on me many times in a single night,” he moans, staring down at Thor through half-closed eyes. “You fill me with your vileness and try to breed me. My body is corrupted over and over. Yet even in my most delicate state I am not spared from your lust. You ravish me though I am with child, because you are a beast. A sick, insatiable monster.”

He snatches up Thor’s hands and presses them to his breasts, holds them there. He thrusts back and forth on the cock inside him, his movements fast and jerky as he begins to crest. “How long, husband? How long will I last before you utterly destroy me?”

That is it. Thor loses it. His mind blows apart at the seams. He grabs Loki by the waist and roars, lunging up off the bed. Loki can only yelp before he’s suddenly rolled over and driven into the mattress. An arm hooks under one of his knees and nearly rams it to his shoulder, and suddenly Thor is over him, red-faced and terrifying to behold, a bellowing madman, pounding into him with ferocious energy.

Loki gasps as Thor bumps unexpectedly and repeatedly against his clitoris, filling his vision with fiery shadows. “Oh. My. Ah, Thor! Brother!”

He throws his arms around Thor’s sweaty shoulders and pulls him close, sinking his teeth into the firm flesh at the base of his neck. He latches on and groans behind his lips, his eyes rolling back in total ecstasy.

They cling to one another, arms and legs tangled, frantically rocking and heaving together in carnal bliss. Thor gives one final thrust into Loki’s quivering flesh and then he freezes, teeth gritted and eye shut tightly, every muscle in his body locked rigid as he empties himself for the second time that night. Then he shivers, spasms, and collapses onto Loki with an exhausted groan.

“Ngh, hrr”—Loki’s hand worms its way out from under Thor’s massive shoulder and begins smacking him—“gods, Thor, get off, you’re crushing me!”

Thor slowly comes around and lifts himself up on shaky arms. Beneath him, Loki is still trembling as he rides out the aftershocks of his climax, but his features are bent into an expression of pain.

Thor instantly sobers up. “Loki. Are you alright? Did I hurt you?”

“No, I’m fine. I think.” He blinks, still grimacing. “But I feel . . . full.”

“Should I pull out?”

“No. Just . . . just give it a few minutes.”

Thor hesitates, knowing how sensitive Loki is when it comes to talking about his body, but his concern proves stronger than his inhibitions. “Did I put too much in you? Is that why you feel . . . ?”

“I’m not sure. It’s possible.”

“This is the first time I’ve climaxed in you twice. It would make sense. I am rather productive.”

“Yes, well”—Loki is beginning to look annoyed—“whatever the cause, there’s nothing to be done about it now. It will take care of itself, I imagine.”

Thor gets the hint and carefully shifts around, trying to find a comfortable position without prematurely disengaging himself. It’s a bit tricky, but finally he settles on his forearms, holding himself up so that Loki has enough breathing room. The gesture doesn’t go unnoticed.

“That’s very thoughtful of you,” says Loki, and Thor gives him a wide, warm smile. A few moments pass before he speaks again. “I apologize for calling you all those names earlier.”

“Well. In a way, you are right.” Thor tilts his head to one side and the other. “I am a soft-hearted buffoon. I can be foolish and obstinate sometimes. You were only speaking the truth.”

Loki grins apologetically. “But I didn’t have to be such a mean, cold-blooded shrew about it.”

“Don’t worry. I took it as a complement. ‘Complement’ with an E, I mean.”

Loki chuckles, and Thor joins him for a few moments before they fall quiet again. Thor moves his hand over so that his fingers can stroke the side of Loki’s cheek.

“How much longer until your season arrives?” he asks.

“Another week. Six days, perhaps. I wouldn’t risk anything beyond that.”

“I didn’t realize it was that close.”

“We’ve been out here for over a month, Thor. My season is every four.”

“That’s cutting it a little close, don’t you think?”

Loki shrugs his shoulder.

Thor gazes at him seriously a moment. “For the sake of your peace of mind, I would be more than willing to begin abstaining after tonight.”

“Thanks, but I don’t think it will be necessary.”

“Some extra precautions then, if you like. There are other ways of satisfying ourselves without chancing . . . this.”

Loki takes a slow, deep breath as he feels Thor lay his hand upon his belly. All at once he is touched by his brother’s concern and respect for his wishes, by his willingness to prevent the very thing he has openly admitted fantasizing about. Loki isn’t very familiar with the concept of self-sacrifice, but he is most certainly aware of it now. It fills every corner of his remote, heavily-guarded heart with a fierce and fervent love, and for one fleeting moment—a wink in the vast, eternal eyes of the universe—he sees Thor as a father. A real father, outside the realm of fiction, a man full of pride and wonder and boundless affection for his children. It is perhaps the purest, most wholesome image to have ever wandered into Loki’s devious, degenerate mind. How and why it got there is a complete mystery, even to him.

He returns to the present with a blink and forces a smile onto his face. “Indeed. We’re going to have a lot of fun being safe and sensible, aren’t we?” He lays his hand on top of Thor’s, curling his fingers into a gentle grip.

Thor gives him a sweet, patient grin. “We’ll strike a balance somehow.”