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Loki lays sprawled out on the golden steps of the throne room, absently biting into the sour flesh of an apple and watching over the proceedings with rapidly growing disinterest.
Why he had to be present for Thor’s suitors gathering was beyond him.
It was the same outcome, year in year out; a line of Asgard’s most beautiful women would be set out before the throne room like a string of pearls for Thor to pick out a potential wife.
Every year, the women were more alluring. Every year, Thor turned them all down.
If nothing else, the outcome did offer Loki a source of amusement. It made their Father spitting mad, and the reprimand he gave Thor after he’d waved yet another line of women away never ceased to bring Loki endless enjoyment.
Thor would have to sit there, red faced, getting told off like a petulant child. It was one of Loki’s favourite activities, lingering behind to catch his brother afterward and comment on the colour match of Thor’s enflamed cheeks with his cape.
In all honesty, Loki wishes they could skip passed the entire deluded ordeal and straight to the delightful scolding. As soon as this was all over, he and Thor could sneak off to spar in the orchard, as they often loved to do.
It would do their Father well to realise the only thing on Thor’s mind was fighting Frostgiants. Such frivolities as women and marriage would have to wait.
/He has all he needs with me/, Loki thinks to himself with a smug smirk, taking a generous bite out of his apple.
Then Thor does something stupid, and Loki almost chokes.
He extends his arm downward, and down the line of his pointed finger stands a woman, far less captivating than the others in most people’s standards, dark of hair and fair of skin.
/She is so pale she looks bloodless/, Loki thinks nastily, swallowing. He turns to his brother, who is sat on their Father’s throne for the ceremony, but before he can incredulously ask what kind of trick he was playing Thor was standing and descending the steps.
Loki looks on in disgusted shock as Thor comes to stand in front of the woman. He asks her name. He takes her hand, kisses the back of it. Something bitter twists low in Loki’s gut.
He is about to spit insults, enquire as to what in the seven Hel’s Thor thinks he’s doing, but in the next moment the throne room is exploding into thunderous applause.
Everyone in attendance gets to their feet, making noises of merriment and shouting their congratulations to the woman, /the bland excuse of a whore/ that Thor had picked for seemingly no reason at all.
Loki stands, shaking in his quiet fury. He leaves the throne room in silence, leaving behind his unfinished apple to rot on the golden steps.
The next few weeks pass by in much the same tone. Thor courts his woman, Loki seethes from the corners of rooms.
Sometimes, he even goes as far as to try and ward the woman off. He magics insects into her food, he puts snakes in her path. Once, he even goes as far as to set her courtroom gown alight. But each and every time, she finds a way of evading his threats.
Thor makes a joke of the insects being Loki’s current party trick, and the snakes do little more than make her take a detour around the gardens.
Admittedly, the fire had spooked her. Right up until Thor valiantly bounded up and doused the flames with a chalice of water, and made some crude comment about helping her out of her tarnished clothes which had made her blush.
/It was a sickly blush/, Loki had thought to himself. /Nothing like Thor’s./
And the very thought of Thor bedding that - that /common wretch/ made Loki's mouth curl into a snarl.
But, after disappointed looks from Frigga and pointed words from Odin for his behaviour, he had to stand by and watch the two dance around each other.
He stayed inside and angrily watched them from his bedroom window as she read some poppycock tale to Thor under Idunn’s tree, just as he used to.
Thor used to rest his great head in Loki’s lap after a particularly taxing sparring session, and Loki would conjure some book of spells to read to him - adding in his own running commentary alongside to make Thor chuckle.
Now, he stared up at her lovingly, no doubt charmed by whatever spiel of romantic nonsense she was reading to him. Perhaps poetry, as bland and as simple minded as her.
Stars above, Loki despised her.
What did Thor think he was doing? Frolicking about with that lackadaisical girl whilst there were far more pressing matters at hand?
He and Thor hadn’t sparred in weeks - in fact, Thor had hardly spent any time with Loki at all since she had waltzed into his life.
Did he think that the Frostgiants would postpone invasion whilst Thor wooed a woman? Planned a wedding, even? Had he gone utterly, utterly mad?
Loki paced about inside his room like a caged creature. Something had to be done. By some great feat or miracle, Loki would have to tear them apart.
But how? He could curse her already lacking features, but what if he liked her for something ghastly like her personality? What if he loved her?
There was only one thing worse than losing his brother, and that was losing his brother to someone uglier than him.The prince of Asgard with a unsightly whore at his side? That would damage all their reputations.
He could try to bargain with her - surely she wanted for something; jewels or power or books - but what could he give her that she couldn’t already get by staying by Thor’s side?
And what if she chose to tell Thor what Loki had tried to do? No, that wouldn’t do at all.
He could try threatening her in person - but, then again, she could just as well run off to Thor and tell on Loki for that too. It would suit her to be a tattletale brat.
No, he would have to do something more drastic. Something permanent, something that couldn’t be traced back to him.
Mid-pace, his eyes caught on the title on the spine of a book on his desk. It was enough to give him pause, and then, slowly, enough to have a grin carve up his face.
Now that, that will do nicely.
He decided the best place to carry out his plan would be during dinner.
Their parents, Thor, his woman and Loki were all sat around in a little cluster, opting out of the usual power dynamic of having Frigga and Odin sit at opposite ends of the great dining table in favour of a small, cosy family dinner. Loki found it almost laughable.
What was also frankly laughable was the way Thor was wearing his hair - clearly the woman’s doing. She must have offered to plait his hair in place of Thor’s usual waiting maids [re: Loki], but whilst Loki would usually style Thor’s hair into thick, practical cords - indicative of a warriors mane - this woman had decided to practice a more feminine design on her dear husband-to-be. If Loki could have gagged, he would have.
Nevertheless he held his tongue. Now wasn’t the time to begin petty arguments over who should be allowed to dress Thor’s hair. Loki had a far more important game to play.
His behaviour at the dinner table thus far could be described as amicable, which was honestly a first for him.
He was using the correct cutlery for the correct plates, he poured his wine into a chalice instead of simply taking a swig directly from the bottle and he didn’t even rest his feet up on the table.
Frigga commented that perhaps Loki was coming to the end of his so called ‘rebellious stage’ of youth and was finally coming into himself as an adult. Thor joked as to whether Loki was feeling alright.
He took that as his opportunity to clear his throat, and confess to having something to say.
The woman looked like her interest had been piqued, clearly fully open to listening to him. The rest of his family, the ones who knew him, regarded him with suspicion.
Loki raised his chalice of wine in her direction.
“I want to make a toast to you, and to your union with my brother.” He declared, all tight smiles and forcibly kind eyes. “I must admit, I did not take to you kindly at first, but you must understand I was merely testing your mettle. You have surprised and impressed me time and again, and so I think it is far passed its due for me to welcome you into the family.”
The poor lamb was practically eating it up with a spoon, just shy of teary eyed. Her quickness to trust made Loki feel sick, but he maintained his smile with her to the very last whilst she met the rim of her chalice with his own in a sign of gratitude.
The spell Loki cast flickered across their joined cups like the forked tongue of a snake, and no one was any the wiser.
Loki raised his cup once more in toast, just to make sure everyone drank at the same time and would miss the beginnings of the spell taking a hold. Any practitioner examining the woman’s body after that would declare the cause of death to be asphyxiation - a nifty little choking spell would keep the accusatory glances away from him. And even if it didn’t, surely his heartfelt little speech would make them doubt themselves.
“To your union,” Loki declared, once more, and watched in ever-mounting disturbed glee as she rose the cup to her lips. To the left of her, Thor was watching Loki very closely. If Loki hadn’t been so intent on watching her choke, he might have noticed.
“Sæta,” Thor spoke, the endearment heavy on his tongue, and the tone of his voice was enough to make the woman pause. He kept his hard gaze on Loki’s face even as he spoke to her, and Loki felt the sickly tendrils of dread licking at his gut. “May I try your wine?”
Loki froze, fake smile transfixed onto his face. Thor’s eyes never left his as he took the chalice from the woman’s outstretched hand, and began to bring the accursed thing to his lips.
Loki’s heart hammered in his chest and he was sure Thor could hear it because /he knew/, there was no way he couldn’t with such a look of wretched betrayal and anger in his eyes and Loki’s expression shuttered and his breath caught in his throat as Thor made to tilt his head back -
“No!”
Loki slaps a hand over his own mouth, but it’s too late.
Thor is setting the cup back onto the table with enough forced to slosh it’s contents over the table and his clenched fist, before slamming his palms down onto the surface and standing in his rage.
“What did you do?”
His voice is full of such vitriol that Loki physically flinches back, before he remembers himself.
“What did I do? What did you do!” Loki admonishes, positively feral, gesturing to the woman savagely. “What in Odin’s name do you think you’re doing? Taking that slovenly wench to your rooms when you should be focusing on a million other things! What of Asgard, Thor? What of Joütnheim? Have you forgotten yourself?”
Thor looks too enraged to speak, he probably hadn’t even heard a single word Loki had said.
Everyone else at the table either looks disappointed or upset.
Loki makes a vicious noise of frustration, shoving away from the table and standing so abruptly his chair clatters to the floor behind him.
“You are, all of you, utterly mad!”
And with that, he pushes through the double doors of the dining hall and storms away up to his rooms, slamming the doors shut.
It is only much later that night that Loki’s doors open again, admitting a very ragged looking Thor, who closes them behind him with a practiced calm that tells Loki he’d probably been doing his breathing exercises in his room for hours on end.
Loki doesn’t even deign it important enough to turn to look at him or acknowledge his presence at all. He has stayed in the same position he’d put himself in when he’d come through the doors, thrown onto his bed with his face buried in his pillows. He looked like some petulant child throwing a tantrum, but he simply doesn’t care.
“You tried to poison my future wife.”
The accusation is softly spoken, with just enough edge to suggest the anger had yet to dissipate completely.
Loki knew better than to rile Thor when he was in such a fragile state of calm, but that word - that wretched phrase my future wife - had Loki sitting up in a flurry of rage, turning his livid glare on Thor.
“What does that whore have that I don’t?”
His eyes are wild, his hair is a mess. That had been far too revealing, too soul baring, but Loki is too far gone to care, too far into this anger that his feet are equidistant over the edge of an abyss and that phrase had been the last little shove -
“A cunt?” Loki spits the words out, using vulgarity to slap Thor across the face. “A hole to fuck into? Is that it?”
Thor looks too shocked to speak. It makes a nasty smile come across Loki’s face, fierce and self-deprecating.
“You do know I can shift my form?” He does so, just to punctuate his point, casts a glamour of a naked female, far prettier than her, flawless skin and pert breasts and dark, dark hair, eyes still the same shade of piercing green - and he stands with this body, tall and composed, shifts his hips because he knows Thor finds them attractive, catches him staring at his own far too often. He watches Thor’s gaze rake all over his body, and he knows he’s got him. “I can turn into anything you want. I can be anything you want. You don’t need anyone else.”
He puts a little too much venom into his last words, for it seems to snap Thor out of his stupor.
Thor meets his gaze, firm if a little distracted.
“Turn back,” Thor tries to demand, but his voice wavers, his mouth too dry; it comes out as little more than choked plea.
Loki smirks, saunters close enough for Thor to reach out and touch if he so pleased.
“Like this?”
He lets the glamour slip, but keeps the naked aspect, stands there in front of him with not a sliver of self-consciousness to his name.
He keeps his hip cocked, wears the style of femininity well over his slender frame, lifts his chin ever so slightly to flash his throat in a tantalising tease at submission.
“Well, is this better?”
Slowly, then more surely, Thor advances, and Loki’s confidence slips ever so slightly. It would be ever so undignified to be found brawling with his brother whilst naked in the middle of the night if Thor goes to hit him -
But as Loki closes his eyes and braces himself for a hit, the hit never comes, just the gentle slide of fingers through his hair. When his eyes flutter open, Thor is leaning in, pressing his lips against his own. Loki’s breath catches, his heart hitching painfully in his chest.
Loki is dizzy, too breathless to do much else then part his lips when Thor teases the seam of them with his tongue.
The hands which cup his face slip lower, over his collarbones, and when his thumbs press in insistent circles around his sensitive chest, his eyelids flutter closed.
Thor’s hands slip lower to hold his hips in a bruising grip, a thigh is pressing between his legs, warm leather on his soft inner thighs and it makes him shake with want - his entire body one taut line, from his tight chest to his hardening cock.
Then Thor’s lips are pressing to the pulse point at his throat, nuzzling there until Loki instinctively bares it.
When his hands slip around the backs of his thighs and hoists him up, Loki’s legs intrinsically lock around him, as they would if they were locked in a fight. Because that’s what it feels like, the air that’s charged between them, he feels like Thor is going to best him in a war - take him apart with his hands and his tongue and make him surrender.
Thor pulls away to watch his face when he lays him down on the sheets, and it’s the first time Loki thinks of him as truly animalistic, his gaze steady and predatory. It makes something low in Loki’s gut writhe in liquid heat.
Then, he shifts back onto his heels to look down at Loki, who is fully naked whilst he is fully clothed, his legs sprawled obscenely over his thick thighs.
Loki goes up onto his elbows, scrambles for some sort of equal ground in all this, and tries to look up at him defiantly. The look is slightly ruined by his kiss-reddened lips, the slight tremble that passes through him when he meets Thor’s gaze.
Thor smirks down at him, and this is a dark side to his brother that others besides Loki seldom get to see. The look Thor is giving him now is so dark and crooked Loki is almost proud.
He’s about to grin back, laugh off the entire situation as an elaborate joke, but Thor grips the backs of his thighs, opens his legs impossibly further.
He cups under the backs of his knees and presses his knees up to his chest, leaving him indecently exposed. He holds his legs open as he presses his clothed crotch up against Loki’s exposed hole, as if he were teasing some whore in heat. The sheer depravity of it makes Loki’s cock leak over his stomach.
He lets out a hiccupy breath, and realises tears have begun to gather at the edges of his vision - just by the pure intensity of their intimacy, and by the stars, wasn’t that humiliating -
But then, Thor is letting his legs fall to the covers in favour of laying over him fully, bringing his hands up to cup his face. The dark look is gone, replaced by something softer, more fond - and Loki hates it - but Thor is pressing kisses all over his face, his cheeks, his nose, his eyelids, tasting his tears.
He’s finally settled back into kissing his lips, softening Loki with their gentle insistency, before he is pulling back to look down at him.
“Do you honestly think,” He says, shaking his head at the pure absurdity of it, “That I would have chosen that woman, if I knew I could be with you like this?”
Loki opens his mouth to speak, but finds no words will come. He is too shocked by the soft admission to say much of anything.
“Do you think I would have wasted my time with her if I knew you wanted me like I want you?”
Those words - that simple saying - I want you - it sent delicious sparks down his spine, far too intense for anything Loki was prepared for, and the feeling made him keen in his throat, turning his face away in shame.
Thor gently nudges his jaw with his face, as if he were some ungainly pet vying for attention, his hands brushing down his taut sides in soothing motions.
“Do you?”
His tone gives Loki pause. Thor is many things, but not one of them is hesitant. The meek plead in his voice is enough to make Loki look at him, and the expression on his face is striking. Thor had never had to beg for anything in his life.
“Do you want me?”
He was begging now, unashamedly. It made Loki shiver, and he could no longer look at his pleading eyes, just wrapped his arms around his shoulders and pulled Thor’s face down into his chest.
“If you stop touching me in the foreseeable future, I may be forced to stab you.”
It’s meant to come out as a threat, but it only manages to be soul-baringly earnest, and it shocks a laugh out of Thor, which Loki feels like the rumble of thunder in his chest.
“You think you’re in any position to be doling out threats?” Thor comes up to rest on his elbows above him, and the dark look is back. “You’re not out of the woods yet.”
“Is that so?”
“You tried to poison an innocent woman, Loki,” Thor’s voice was condescending, and it almost would have felt reproachful if not for the feel of his hard cock pressed to his own. “Even you cannot snake your way out of this one.”
“Oh?” Loki smirked, pointedly arching his hips underneath him, eyes alight with mischief. “And I suppose you think you can punish me?”
Thor rises on his knees, trapping Loki between his strong thighs. He presses a broad hand over his chest, with enough pressure to hint at a threat, and slides it upwards until it meets his soft throat.
He leans in close, threateningly intimate, and presses his lips to his ear.
“Are you really so naïve to think that I can’t?”
Thor had threatened him plenty of times before, empty jests during sparring, but nothing like this. The decibel of his voice in that low tone was almost enough to make Loki come untouched, like some touch starved virgin. It rumbled deep enough to send the vibrations sparking down his spine in little licks of lightening.
He had to bite his tongue to keep from making some obscene noise. He could hear his own heartbeat in his head, or maybe it was Thor’s, close enough to feel through their touching chests, but all that Loki knows is that he’d never known what prey felt like being pinned by a beast before now.
Had he ever felt real fear before this? Had he ever been this turned on in all his life?
“All that’s left now is deciding your punishment,” This is said against Loki’s throat, like the threat of a wild dog. He can feel his teeth. “Perhaps it should be to withhold what you want from you.”
He pulls back at that, up onto his knees again to lord over him. He fakes a look of pensiveness. “I could tie you to this bed. Leave you dripping all over yourself until morning.”
Loki bares his teeth, forcing himself up onto his elbows. “You wouldn’t.”
It’s humiliating that all Thor has to do is press down with a single hand on his chest to pin him back to the bed. “Wouldn’t I? Give me one reason why I shouldn’t.”
Loki falters, momentarily, before he remembers himself.
“And what of what you want, brother?” He hitched his hips up to press against Thor’s heavy cock. “I bet that whore could never truly satisfy you, if this is how you react to a flash of skin. Feel how hard you are, could she even make you come? Did you have to think of me whilst you fucked her?”
There’s this noise then, feral and low, and Loki realises too late that it had come from Thor. He had once again gone for his throat, to silence him, his eyes this hybrid amalgamation of wrath and lust. Loki screws his eyes shut at the pain and moans without meaning to.
If nothing else, it seems to solidify Thor’s resolve.
“Undress me.” He grits out.
Loki opens his eyes a fraction to send him a questioning look.
“With your hands,” Thor clarifies, voice hard. He releases him once more, going up onto his knees to allow Loki the room to move. He does so, keeping a steady eye on Thor, but his brother doesn’t deign to look at him, just stares resolutely at the back wall.
It’s the first time Loki gets a sense of actual punishment, his brother not looking at him. It gives him the same uneasy feeling of worthlessness he gets when he loses a fight, as though he didn’t deserve to even be considered the same calibre as this man before him. He feels like a boy in comparison, a brattish youth, unable to build much muscle on his feminine frame.
The feeling gets worse as he undresses him, he can practically feel the blunt force of Thor’s power and strength radiating through his skin. His hands shake when he unclasps the buckles of Thor’s garment, undoing straps of leather and letting them fall to the bed.
Once Thor’s chest and torso are fully exposed, Loki recognises the feeling as submission. He runs his hands over his skin, golden and warm, a stark contrast to his own. At his chest, Loki considers stooping to take a pink nub between his teeth, wonders if he is as sensitive as him. He wonders what it would take to make Thor feel what he was feeling.
“I could fuck you,” Loki offers quietly, before he can think better of it.
Finally, mercifully, Thor looks at him. His cold expression doesn’t thaw.
“Not tonight,” He says, briskly. Loki wagers it would take an age of worship to make Thor submit, but it could be done.
Loki takes the ensuing silence as prompt enough to reach for Thor’s undergarments, but Thor catches his wrists in his hands.
“That’s enough,” Thor concedes, nodding towards the headboard. “On your knees, face the wall.”
Loki quirks an eyebrow at this, but elects to carry out the command with little resistance, if only to cover up how much Thor’s imperative tone was turning him on.
By the time he’s in position, his thighs are sticky with precome, and he’s shaking a little with anticipation. He keeps his posture straight regardless, his hands tucked behind the small of his back as if he were standing to attention.
At first, Thor does very little other than watch him, and Loki can feel his gaze beating down on his shoulders like the sun. Then, Loki feels the bed dip behind him.
A broad hand cups the nape of Loki’s neck, then comes the pressure. Loki - the very image of submission - gets manhandled into presenting himself, cheek pressed to the covers, wrists caught in Thor’s grasp behind him.
Loki can feel Thor’s cock, still bound in leather undergarments, pressed to the back of his bare thighs. Thor wastes little time manoeuvring Loki’s hips to his liking, keeping him up with a hand on his abdomen, tantalisingly close to his cock. Then, without warning, Thor leans in, pressing his face between Loki’s cheeks and licks a line of heat all the way from the tip of his cock to the tip of his spine.
Loki makes this punched out noise, feeling violated, and immediately tries to sit up, but Thor keeps him in place with his hands alone, still gripping his wrists in one palm.
“Thor -“
“Quiet.”
Loki bites his lip to keep from whimpering at that, and his cock drips onto the linen sheets. He turns his face into them and takes the linen between his teeth when Thor continues, licking in broad strokes and pressing inside with his tongue.
They both know that if Loki didn’t want this, not even Mjölnir could keep him still. As it is, he takes it, and soon enough he’s desperate, pressing back for more. Thor keeps him in place, and Loki lets him.
Soon, the spread of Loki’s thighs are soaking wet with Thor’s ministrations, and Loki’s been on the edge for a while now, every press of his tongue just short of enough. He’s thankful for the position, because he’d been sobbing quietly into the sheets for quite some time, and every time Thor twists his tongue inside of him Loki has to bite his own to keep from making some pathetic noise.
It’s humiliating, but Loki had checked his pride as soon as he’d started taking orders from Thor, of all people. So when Thor sits back on his heels to press a finger in all the way to the knuckle, Loki is too focused on not blacking out to keep the high keen from escaping.
Thor makes a noise of contempt, as if this has utterly disappointed him, and takes his hands away.
“You were doing so well,” He admonishes, and the cold tone is enough to give Loki pause, dread twisting in his stomach. Thor only ever used that voice if he’d pushed passed the realm or destructive anger, and was now onto something darker. “Get on your back.”
Loki does what he says, too out of it to conjure much autonomy. It’s only when he’s in the position that he realises what he much look like, tears tracked down his cheeks and cock leaking onto his stomach. Thor seems nonplussed by it all, wholly unimpressed, and Loki draws a little shuddering breath at the sight of it.
“Hold yourself open,” Thor instructs, opening his legs for Loki to hold. Loki holds the backs of his knees, keeping himself obscenely spread, and waits further instruction. Thor seems to consider him briefly before continuing, voice blank of his usual jovial tone. “Now, be quiet. If I hear one sound out of you, I’ll leave you like this.”
It’s only then that Loki realises this is his punishment. This detached, hateful version of his brother, demanding humiliating things from him and watching him with disdain.
It was fitting, Loki had to admit. Befitting of the crime and the criminal, certainly. But it was doing something to him that he couldn’t describe, pushing him to some miserable end of the spectrum of submission, making him not only desperate for release but something more debasing. He wanted Thor’s approval, his praise.
He wanted to please him, which is something he’d not felt for a while. Not for anyone.
“I know how much you love the sound of your own voice,” Thor's voice was a shock, heavy in the silence of the room. His low tone reverberated around him as he teased Loki open with his fingers, one hand poised around the base of his cock to keep him from release. Loki struggled not to make a sound. “But you’re going to have to learn to keep your mouth shut, and take what I’m giving to you.”
The things Thor’s voice were doing to him were enough to make him want to cry out, let alone the slow circles Thor was pressing inside of him. Every time he pressed deeper, his fingers would brush against something that made Loki tense and bite down to keep from making a noise.
Then Thor begins playing with his cock, tantalisingly soft tugs, not tight enough to get him off but enough to make him want to beg for it. Loki covers his face with his forearm, bites down hard on his bottom lip and takes it.
When Thor’s grip finally tightens, Loki can taste blood in his mouth, but he still doesn’t make a sound. Thor’s fingers press mercifully deeper and Loki’s thighs go taut with the shock of it, his abdomen fills with molten heat. His legs shake and he pants wetly when Thor finally rings his release out of him, making a mess of himself and collapsing in exhaustion and hard earned satiation.
He’s still fading absently in the afterglow when Thor takes the forearm still resting across his face and presses a kiss to his wrist, the inside of his arm, his shoulder. He scatters kisses across his cheeks, tasting salt and chasing it with the metallic tang of blood which he licks from his lips. Loki makes an amused noise at his antics, softly batting him away.
“What’s gotten into you?” He huffs, amused and soft from the warmth, forgetting himself.
“You did so well for me,” Thor praises, looking himself again, all sunlight and adoration. He tucks a lock of hair behind Loki’s ear. “I’m just rewarding you.”
Loki can feel himself glowing under all the attention, chest swelling with the praise. It’s rather pathetic, but he’s too satisfied to care. He practically leans into Thor’s touch, pleasantly warm and welcoming sleep, but Thor seems to have other ideas. He begins kissing his throat, far too pointedly to be post-coital affection, and Loki feels Thor’s cock heavy on his abdomen.
“I’m not finished with you, Loki,” There’s something in the way Thor whispers this against his skin that makes him shiver. “That was just getting you ready.”
Loki groans at that, too weak to do much when Thor sits up and uses the grip he has on his hips to pull him flush against his lap. Loki watches his brother grin down at him.
“Undress me,” Thor says, soft and without the earlier vitriol. Loki’s lips part slightly as he reaches between his legs, undoes the lace bindings of Thor’s leather leggings enough to free his cock.
It’s little surprise to Loki that Thor forgoes undergarments, being the feral child that he was. It would make him smile, if not for the sight of his cock making his mouth water. He could already feel himself getting hard again just from the prospect of having it inside of him.
“I will let you be as loud as you like when I fuck you,” Thor concedes conversationally as he goes up on his knees to push the material down his thighs, his tone light as if he didn’t know exactly what his voice was doing to him. “Lest you bite off your tongue.”
The very idea of that makes Loki writhe, unable not to moan. Did Thor really believe he was so obedient, so eager to please? It made him feel whorish, desperate - but at the same time, he despised his arrogance.
“For someone who claims I love the sound of my own voice,” Loki huffs, shifting his hips to show Thor he wasn’t the only one who could tease. “You do talk an awful lot.”
“And you really think talking back is going to keep you in my favour?” He presses his thumbs roughly into Loki’s hips in warning as he says this, hard enough to leave bruises come morning.
It’s enough to put Loki back in place, and he feels his cock twitch at the look on Thor’s face - this domineering expression that made it seem like he was deciding whether to punish him or devour him.
He keeps his gaze locked with Loki’s own when presses the pad of his thumb between his legs, doesn’t relent until it’s pressed deep inside of him. Loki keens high in his throat when Thor applies pressure downward, just shy of his prostate, and he feels his thighs ache when he surges up towards it with his hips. Thor keeps a steady hand on his abdomen and makes sure he doesn’t take more than he’s given.
Loki growls in frustration, letting his hips fall back to the bed.
His voice trembles with malice when he makes the threat; “Thor, if you don’t fuck me now I’ll find someone who will.”
He realises it as a mistake almost the second he voices it, but by then the expression had already settled on Thor’s face. This thunderous rage that only touched his eyes, and Loki wasn’t quick enough to react when Thor stood from the bed, grabbed Loki by the ankles and dragged him to the edge.
“Thor - ”
His brother bodily manhandles him onto his hands and knees, before forcing him to arch his spine with a harsh grip in his hair. Loki is about to complain of the treatment, but he feels the head of Thor’s cock pressed between his legs and promptly chokes.
Thor pushes in, and Loki knows enough of gender anatomy to keep himself wet for it, but stars, does it burn. He feels like he might be split apart, but he keeps his teeth grit and his eyes screwed shut and doesn’t breathe until he’s fully inside, the backs of Loki’s thighs pressed close to Thor’s lap.
When Thor puts a steadying hand on his hip, Loki remembers to breathe, and it’s a tortured, ragged sound, his lungs burn and his mouth is hot and his eyes are wet.
Thor releases his grip on his hair to slide his heavy palm down Loki’s taut spine, coming to rest at the small of his back in a handprint-shaped brand of heat. No matter how much Loki thinks he is burning, Thor always runs hotter, always seems to scold him with his touch.
“Is this more to your liking, brother?” Thor admonishes, his tone cocksure, and the familial term is a slap to Loki’s face in their current position.
Loki bites out a terse imperative, “Move,” through gritted teeth, but Thor makes a noise of amusement.
He takes Loki’s hair in his grip again, leans in close which only serves to press his cock further inside of him.
“Are you giving the orders now?”
“Thor,” Loki hisses his name like a curse. “If you think for one moment that I’m above turning into something venomous and biting you just because your cock is inside me, you are sorely mistaken.”
Thor uses his grip on his hair to pull him upright, slips his other hand around his throat.
“You forget yourself, Loki,” He presses his lips to the curve of his ear, speaks softly there. It still carries the undertone of a threat. “Just because I’ve allowed to you speak does not mean you are out of the woods.”
Loki is kept on his tiptoes just so he can breathe, but his ankles ache with the strain of it, and every time he wavers Thor’s cock shifts inside of him.
Thor releases him, wastes no time positioning his hips to his liking once he’s fallen unceremoniously to the bed. He pulls out and Loki hisses at the pain, gripping the sheets. Thor’s fingers press into the dip where Loki’s hips meet his thigh, a place he knows Loki is oversensitive.
He holds him tight enough to bruise when he presses back inside, achingly slow, and Loki keens low in his throat when Thor shallows out.
Thor continues in much the same fashion, much to Loki’s abject horror. It wasn’t enough of anything to even be called fucking, what Thor was doing to him. It was more similar to torture, this slow drag inside of him, and then being impossibly full but still not deep enough to satisfy what he needed.
Every time Loki thought it might be enough to get him off, Thor would pause, as if this were some leisurely activity. He’d runs his hands down Loki’s back, play with his chest, cup his cock, but there was no pleasure in it. It was condescending, pure and simple. Thor was toying with him, and he was so wet it was shameful.
After moments of this, torturous minutes, Loki bites out a terse, “Thor.”
Thor makes a nonchalant noise of acknowledgment, smoothing the small of his back and slowly fucking into him.
“Something you needed?”
Loki grips his fingers tighter into the sheets to keep his hands from shaking.
“Please.”
Thor leisurely draws his fingers through the slick dripping down the backs of Loki’s thighs, raises them to Loki’s lips to lick clean. He doesn’t get the chance before Thor is pressing his fingers into his mouth.
“Please, what?”
He holds Loki’s tongue between his thumb and forefinger, as if he expects him to speak like this.
After moments, he relents, taking his hand away. Loki directs his glare down at the ruined sheets beneath him, cheeks burning.
“I need -“ He realises he doesn’t know what to ask for, everything is not enough, he needs to be held down, he doesn’t want to breathe - “More.”
“What makes you think you deserve anything you need?”
Loki screws his eyes shut against that voice, that disparaging tone that curls inside his gut.
“Please,” He says again, unsure of what else he can say, desperate. “Please - ”
Thor presses down on his lower back, making him arch. His cock pushes impossibly further inside of him, tantalisingly close to his prostate. Loki tries to rock back, but Thor’s grip on his hips keeps him in his place.
“You can do better.”
Loki whines, too far gone to control himself. “Thor, please - I’m sorry - ”
Thor’s hips still, and Loki bites his lip to keep from sobbing. His cock aches between his thighs.
“Again.” Thor intones, beginning to rock into him.
“I’m sorry, I’m - ” He can barely get in enough air to breathe, let alone speak, and the grip Thor has on his hips has him gasping. “I’m sorry, please - ”
“For what?”
“For - ” Loki shudders when Thor drags his nails up his thighs, down his spine. “For my behaviour, Thor, please - ”
“Who would have thought all it would take,” Thor fucks in roughly, precisely once, just to hear the choked gasp Loki makes. “Was a little teasing to make you so obedient?”
Loki is too out of it to make sense of room spinning when Thor pulls out and puts him on his back.
“Now,” Thor says, and his voice is a calm reprimand as he holds his thighs in place to push back inside of him, “What was it you needed?”
Loki can do little more than whimper as Thor presses inside, holding his thighs obscenely apart.
He’s sore and fucked open and throbbing and he doesn’t know how much longer he can stay conscious. There are tears tracked down his cheeks, and his vision is blurry at the edges; he barely registers the question at all.
“Loki,” Thor says again, taking pity on how pathetic he looks like this. He leans over him, strokes the locks of hair from his face, cups his cheek. He kisses him, softly, once, just to draw his attention. “Are you with me?”
Loki looks up at him, and there’s this split second where he’s too out of it to keep the wonderment off his face. His eyes are wet, his mouth is red. Thor can’t help but kiss him again.
“Tell me what you need,” Thor urges again, softly this time. He settles his body more firmly against Loki, lifts his hips to grind his cock inside of him. Loki’s breath hitches as he puts his arms around him, buries his face into his neck.
“Please,” He says again, and his voice is a wreck. “You know, please - ”
Thor knew exactly what he needed, and he’d been set on drawing it out of him, but right now, with Loki as he is, the concept is almost cruel.
“Shh,” Thor hushes him, stroking his hair. “I know, it’s okay, I know.”
Thor takes his time building up to it, changing his pace in increments to help Loki adjust. Loki seems adamant on getting what he wants immediately but Thor holds him still, kisses him often, tells him to be patient.
Loki hiccups a small sob when Thor begins fucking into him how he needs, deep enough to drag across his prostate, hard enough to make his vision white out.
All it takes is a few rough thrusts and he’s coming all over himself, untouched, panting and body drawn taut. Thor holds out for a few moments before Loki tightens up around him, and he has to bite into Loki’s soft shoulder to muffle his shout.
The moments that come after coalesce, overlap, blur in a heat of oversensitivity.
When Loki opens his eyes, it becomes apparent that he’d blacked out for a few moments, and when he looks over Thor is already making his way to the washroom.
Loki’s legs are still shaking a little when Thor returns, warm washcloth in hand, looking ridiculously proud with himself. /Everything about him is ridiculous/, Loki thinks to himself hazily as he closes his eyes, /his ridiculous hair, his ridiculous thighs- /
Loki grunts in shock when Thor begins cleaning him up with the washcloth, dealing with the sticky mess on his stomach and chest before making to clean the come Thor left between his legs, but Loki bats his hands away, disgruntled.
“Hands off, you heathen,” He seethes, but even he has to admit his voice wobbles, rough and fucked out. “I can clean myself.”
He snatches the washcloth from him, not trusting his legs to hold out until he got to the washroom. He opens his legs brazenly before he remembers his audience, and when he looks up Thor is watching come drip from inside of him the same way a beast would watch honey drip from the comb.
“Do you mind?”
When Thor manages to drag his gaze away, it’s this slow transition that lingers on his pink nipples and sharp collarbones before finally meeting his eyes. Thor grins, and it’s the same gradual movement, as if he were some languid predator, full of blood and satiated, laying out in the sun.
Before Loki can repeat his question, Thor is advancing on him, kissing his open mouth, holding him by the wrist and presses two fingers inside him down to the broad sash of his knuckles. Loki groans into his mouth, oversensitive and sore, squirming his hips.
“Thor, that’s -“ He can barely pull away to speak before Thor is kissing him again, licking hotly into his mouth. He can only come up for air when Thor moves his attention to his throat.
Thor scrapes his teeth across his skin before he speaks.
“You know, I had planned on spanking you after I fucked you,” He says it nonchalantly, in that low rumble of a voice, as if he were commenting on the colour of the sky. “Make my seed drip down your legs. Right now, that just seems cruel.”
When Thor looks up at him, there’s a distinct look of panicked arousal in Loki’s gaze, his eyes glazed over and cheeks flushed. He looks as though he might break if Thor kissed him too fiercely.
“All I’m saying,” Thor kisses the corner of Loki’s mouth, watches his eyes flutter at the insistent press of lips. “Is that you should watch your tone whilst I’m practicing mercy.”
He takes his fingers out slowly, coated liberally in come, and he presses them inside Loki’s mouth for him to lick clean. Loki groans at the taste, and it makes him feel whorish, but it’s enough for now to placate him into submission.
When Thor is satisfied he lets his fingers slip free, tries not to look too smug at the blissed out expression on Loki’s face. He stands from the bed, still shamelessly naked, and moves to pull the covers back.
He looks to Loki, intending to speak, but the vision of him in the moonlight stills his tongue. He’s still perched at the foot of the bed, his back to Thor, fussing absently with his hair. His skin was the same opalescent shade as the inner flesh of pears, pearlescent in the light of the moon. He appeared almost translucent, ephemeral, barely in this realm as if he were sharing his existence with some higher plane.
He was transcendent, and Thor wonders when he must have blinked to miss his bird-boned kid brother become a god.
His thoughts disperse when Loki turns to look at him, catches his stare and holds it. He smirks, like he can hear his thoughts, and makes his way across the bed on hands and knees. It should look childish, inelegant, but like all things, Loki manages to manipulate it to look regal.
He goes up on his knees when he reaches Thor, tugs him down with a hand in his hair and kisses him soundly. When he pulls away, Thor chases his lips, and Loki smirks.
“Eager?”
Thor levels him an unimpressed look, feeling chastened, and half-heartedly pushes Loki’s chest so he falls back on his forearms. Now the anger has left him, he feels as bumbling as ever in front of his brother's cold majesty.
Loki seems aware of the shift in Thor’s demeanour, and makes an amused noise, before rolling over and slipping under the covers with his back to Thor.
It’s enough to make Thor hesitate, feeling unsure whether or not Loki’s turning his back on him was clear dismissal, before Loki throws a look over his shoulder.
“Are you going to stand there all night?” He inquires, tone sarcastic as he holds the covers open for Thor to slip inside behind him.
Thor does so, and his grin is a shade sheepish, feeling a little unsteady on his feet on this new ground they’ve made.
He’s slow to put his arm around him, cautious in case that’s the final straw that leads to Loki actually stabbing him tonight. Loki just goes soft against him, and even though a compliant Loki always triggers Thor’s fight or flight response, he’s enamoured, and something swells in his chest.
He wonders how it were possible, to hold such an untameable creature so close, wonders how he ever thought he could settle for less.
He’s deep in reverence when Loki asks, softly into the dark, “What of your woman?”
Thor’s too blissed out to respond with any degree of severity, just pulls Loki closer with the arm around his middle and presses his face into the junction between his shoulder and neck. His scent there was divine.
“You’re my woman,” Thor says, low, intending to illicit submission.
Loki huffs and fusses with his pillows. “Not fucking likely,” He says, casually, and settles in for sleep.
Thor’s laughter rumbles out into the night like thunder.