With one gentle hand massaging his scalp, one firm hand rubbing each foot, two strong-yet-teasing hands rubbing fragrant oil into his calves and thighs, and ten glorious fingers wrapped around his stiff cock, Prince Loki sighed. It was good to be prince.
Much like his brother, Loki had taken quite a liking to the harem, but while Thor frequently disappeared into the harem’s bedchamber to lie with one or another woman, Loki preferred the massage parlor, where he would lie on the massage table while strong women with strong hands rubbed and scratched and stroked and teased him all over, for glorious hours on end. All his cares, of which there were few, melted away, running off his glistening body like the scented massage oil he so loved.
“Mmm, Drifa, that’s new,” he moaned, smiling. Loki leaned into Drifa’s hand kneading a knot in his neck; it hurt just the right amount, and he was greedy for more.
She laughed fondly, and did it again. “Do you like that, my young prince?”
“Yes, it’s exquisiiii--oh, oh!” He gasped as the hands on his cock began to twist, corkscrewing around his sensitive head. “Oh, yes , Gunnhilda, keep doing that,” he groaned. The pressure that had been building inside him for an hour was nearly at its peak when he happened to glance out the window and see the most beautiful Aesir he had ever seen. The man wore a baggy tunic that just barely revealed his collarbone, and when Loki imagined the delicious muscles that must be hidden beneath the fabric, he was overcome. Loki cried out as the women coaxed out his seed and soothed his suddenly taut muscles, but his eyes were locked on the stranger.
. . .
It took a moment to catch his breath, but he did not have a moment; the stranger could leave any second, and Loki would lose his chance. His chance to...to do what, exactly?
“Eistla! Hildr! Er, someone with clean hands!” he ordered the women, still out of breath. “Someone—go fetch that man. Invite him to—” Loki paused, overheated mind racing. What did he want with the man? What would the man want with him? Well, he was the prince of Asgard; that had to count for something. “Invite him to join me here for a massage tomorrow.”
The women shared a knowing smile behind his back. “What time tomorrow, my lord?”
“This time. The same time. Now go! And the rest of you, clean me up the way you always do. You always do such a good job,” he smirked and fell back into his usual honeyed voice, feeling in control once more.
. . .
Anthony fidgeted, standing outside the door to the harem. He was a little early, and didn’t know quite what to do with himself, but he felt that if the prince invites you to something, you had damn well better be early.
Truth be told, he had no idea what the prince wanted with him; they had never spoken before, and although Anthony was a fairly powerful member of the court, he doubted that Prince Loki even knew his name. Perhaps he had been mistaken for someone else? Yes, Anthony nodded to himself, that seemed the most likely explanation. Prince Loki probably meant to invite someone else to indulge in the harem. A different nobleman, perhaps. Although, he thought, he had never met another “Anthony” in all of Asgard, so he doubted that there was another of his name. Perhaps--
The enormous oak doors creaked open, and Anthony jumped, startled, before straightening his back to stand at attention. A tall woman smiled and beckoned to him. “You have come! I will inform Prince Loki. Please, come in.”
Anthony gulped and stepped inside.
He stood just inside the doorway, looking around at the chamber. It was not as vast as he had imagined; it was almost cozy, with flickering candlelight illuminating two low, firm leather beds, which he supposed were the massage tables. One was empty. The other…The other massage table occupied by a very handsome, very pale, very nude prince.
“Ah, you actually came!” Loki grinned like a boy, then caught himself. “Er, I mean, you have arrived. Right on time. Very good.” He nodded, frowning in a way that he was sure looked mature and serious.
Anthony gaped. It wasn’t as if he had never seen another man nude; he had been to the sauna plenty of times, and the baths, and the wrestling matches, but...to see royalty naked? This was highly unusual, to say the least.
“Well? Don’t stand there like a statue. Come. Disrobe and lie on your table. My ladies will take care of you.”
Anthony finally came to his senses and stopped staring. “Why?”
“Why me? Why did you invite me here? For a… massage?”
Loki waved his hand vaguely. “Oh, you know. Morale. Charity. Humanizing the royal family. Getting to know the populace. All that nonsense. Something like that.”
“O...Kay…?” Anthony quirked his head, unconvinced by that non-explanation, but he walked towards his table nonetheless and began to disrobe. He noticed that Loki immediately snapped his head to look in the opposite direction. Odd. Well, he supposed that Loki may not have been particularly used to nude strangers; Anthony laughed at the image of the tall, strapping prince squeezing into a public sauna.
“What are you laughing at, man?” Loki asked, seemingly fascinated by the corner of the room farthest from Anthony.
Anthony shook his head. “Nothing, Prince Loki.”
“Mm. Nothing indeed. What is your name, good man?”
Prince Loki truly didn’t know his name? Why the hell had he been invited? Anthony was so shocked, he almost tripped over his half-removed trousers. “I am Anthony, son of Stark,” he said.
“Anth-uh-nee? What kind of a name is that?” It sounded more like an insult than a question, but Anthony expected that from the notoriously incisive prince.
“It’s my name, my lord,” he retorted, trying too late to stifle his usual sass. “My parents are creative types.”
“Mm, I’m sure they are.” Loki spared a glance and had to stifle a gasp when he saw Anthony’s muscular, tanned body standing before him. It was even better than he had imagined. “Ladies? Come, take care of my guest, Anthony Starkson.”
Anthony found himself being led to lie on his back, and then he felt warm, damp cloths cleansing his feet. It tickled, but he dared not obey his instincts to kick away—not when the prince was giving him such a gift. A strange, unexpected, confusing gift, but a gift nonetheless. As he felt a number of women begin to rub warm oil into his skin, Anthony couldn’t help but relax into their talented hands.
The prince was only a few feet away, and Anthony could hear his soft moans and occasional sharp inhalations. He must have terribly sore muscles, thought Anthony. Two hands that had been studiously working their way up Anthony’s legs were now circling his slowly hardening cock, kneading the muscles in his groin and lightly scratching just-barely-but-not-quite up to his cock. Anthony blushed and squeezed his eyes shut as he felt his body respond. He tried to concentrate on the other sensations—the gentle scritch-scritching on his scalp, the kneading on his shoulders—but suddenly, all he could hear was Prince Loki’s heavy breathing, and he felt his hips roll of their own accord. Anthony blushed with shame and held his breath for half a heartbeat, unsure of his fate—would the prince have him castrated? Banished?—and then he gasped because warm, oiled hands had wrapped around his cock.
He glanced, disbelieving, over at Loki, and was shocked to find the prince in much the same state. Loki lay on the table, back arched, eyes shut, and mouth gaping open in pleasure, as two hands stroked his cock slowly; he occasionally got frustrated and thrust in, hard and fast, and then the hands would be gone, patting his stomach lovingly, as if to say, “Now, now, don’t spend yourself so soon.”
Anthony’s brain short-circuited and he stared, eyes wide, for a long moment. Then he remembered himself and snapped his eyes away. He didn’t know where to look—he felt awkward looking at anyone, so he shut his eyes. “Uh...Is this usually what happens?” Anthony asked.
Loki laughed. “But of course! Are you—Mmh!—enjoying yourself?” He stifled a moan; he had been trying very hard to keep quiet in front of his guest, although he did not quite know why.
“Y-yeah, you could say that,” Anthony half-chuckled, half-moaned, squirming as every part of his body was expertly worked. Everything was so overwhelming, he couldn’t tell whether he felt tense or relaxed, nor differentiate pleasure from pain. The sensations on his cock were so light and so slow that it was either hellish or heavenly, or perhaps both.
“Mmm. Good,” Loki said.
It was silent, save for heavy breathing, smothered moans, and “Is that good?”s, for a long while.
. . .
The hands on his cock had slowly sped up over the course of—what, an hour?—and Anthony could feel an explosive orgasm building. He squirmed under the women’s ministrations. “Oh, gods, uh, I think- I’m gonna come--Miss! What should I do? Oh-- ”
She sped up her hands and smiled as if the answer was obvious. “Come, of course.”
Anthony arched his back, curled his toes, and moaned, utterly unable to control himself as his cock throbbed hard, squirting over his chest.
. . .
Loki willed himself not to stare, but he couldn’t help it if he heard that gorgeous man’s pleasure. Loki’s cock throbbed with every soft moan out of the man’s mouth, and when Anthony had asked permission to come, Loki had nearly lost it himself. He could hardly be blamed for peeking out of the corner of his eye to see Anthony lost in the throes of passion. The candlelight made it hard to see details, and it only made Loki hungrier for more.
“More, dam-nNH- damnit !” Loki hissed, bucking his hips. Gunnhilda’s hands tightened and sped up so suddenly, it drew a ragged cry from Loki’s lips. “Oh, yes, that’s it,” he moaned. He dared to glance at Anthony, and found him shaking with the tail end of his orgasm, mouth open as in shock, eyes shut tight, and Loki decided that meant it was safe to stare as he tumbled headfirst into his own orgasm. “Oh! Yes! OHhhhh~” he cried, foiling his best efforts to keep quiet as his whole body shook and he painted his soft abdominals white.
“Fuck,” Loki breathed when he finally came back down.
“Hah,” Anthony replied, eloquently.
“You do this a lot?” Anthony continued, his sense of propriety having loosened up somewhere between stripping and overhearing the prince’s screaming orgasm.
“Mhm. Nearly every day, when I can,” Loki replied.
“Wow. Must be good to be prince.”
Loki laughed. “I was just thinking that.” He paused. “Ladies, what are you waiting for? Clean us up.”
Anthony felt a bit awkward having someone else drag a cloth soaked in warm, scented water over his come-covered belly, but he had to admit, it was a heck of a way to live.
Loki ignored the women, so accustomed was he to being waited upon hand and foot, and suddenly he felt nervous. He bit his lip. “Would you like to return?”
Anthony started. He was being invited back? In exchange for...what? Why him? But all he said was, “Sure! Of course! ...My lord,” he added for good measure.
Loki grinned. “Great!”
Drifa prodded him in the chest.
“Oops,” she whispered. “Sorry, my lord. I was just thinking about WHAT DAY it is.”
Loki squinted, and then got it. “Ah, yes, um, what day can you come?” He grimaced at the word as soon as it was out of his mouth.
Hell, Anthony would come back tomorrow, but he didn’t want to seem too eager. He wasn’t, was he? Well, who wouldn’t be eager to be treated to the royal harem, right? “Uh...Wednesday?”
Loki nodded and put on his serious, business face. “Yes, very good. Wednesday.”
. . .
Loki had thought it was a grand romantic gesture to wait to orgasm until Wednesday. Not that he would tell Anthony, of course, but still, it’s the thought that counts.
“Oh! Oh gods! Oh --” As Loki felt his orgasm slam into him after just a few minutes of gentle teasing, it occurred to him that he may have overestimated his ability to edge after abstaining.
Anthony forced himself not to stare, but those sounds ! “Fuck,” Anthony moaned, bucking greedily into someone’s hands. She seemed to get the idea, and soon, Anthony was spilling all over himself, replaying those sinful noises in his head.
Loki breathed hard. “Well, I would say that was embarrassing, but you were just as pathetic.”
Anthony replied, voice low and gravelly, “Nothing pathetic about taking what you want.”
Loki nearly choked. What was that supposed to mean? Was it supposed to sound so seductive? But he simply said, breathless, “Would you like to return? Saturday?” and Anthony said, “Yeah, absolutely,” still waiting for the other shoe to drop.
. . .
Saturday came, and then Monday, and Wednesday, and then not again until Monday because Anthony had business in the next town, and then Wednesday again, and Friday, and Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and on and on with greater and greater frequency.
. . .
It had been a gruelling, two-hour-long edging session, and both men had passed out immediately after coming. They awoke alone, with two platters of fruit and bite-sized cuts of meat, placed beside their respective massage tables.
“That’s thoughtful,” Anthony said with his mouth full.
“Mm,” Loki agreed, shoveling hunks of beef into his face.
They said nothing for a while, inhaling their dinners.
Anthony stretched, long past feeling nervous about his nudity—when flaccid, at least. “Ahh, I feel a ton better now.”
Loki stretched, too. “Me, too.” He paused, bit his lip. ‘Remember how you practiced it, Loki!’ he told himself. ‘Remember how it went when you practiced it with his clone last night. Do it!’ But asking a magically-created illusion on a date is not the same as asking a real person, and Loki blushed and looked away. “Anthony. Would you like to go for a walk in the garden?”
Anthony’s heart raced. Did he mean, like a date? “That sounds nice.”
“I mean with me,” Loki added, holding his breath.
“That sounds nicer,” Anthony grinned.
He let out his breath. “Shall we get dressed, then?”
“Probably a good idea,” Anthony said, and he was suddenly shy, and shimmied into his clothes as fast as he could.
. . .
This quickly became a habit, and it soon went unspoken that every day, they would have a massage and go for a walk in the garden, around the palace, and anywhere else they pleased, and they would talk and talk and talk. Loki would impress Anthony with his vast princely knowledge by pointing out edible or poisonous plants, and Anthony would act impressed even when he already knew them. Anthony would impress Loki with his wit, telling him the toughest riddles he knew, and Loki would wrack his brains to figure them out, even when he had already heard them.
Each yearned for the other, but they were so happy and so anxious not to spoil this tenuous happiness, that it was weeks until Anthony, gazing squarely in the other direction, “accidentally” bumped Loki’s hand with his own, and Loki, fixated on a squirrel in the opposite direction, intertwined their fingers and squeezed. And so they continued on with their massages and walks, hand-in-hand, for many days, and nobody in the palace—except for them—seemed to be surprised by this new development.
. . .
“Have you ever kissed a man before?”
They were skipping rocks across the pond’s surface. Loki looked up before responding. “That depends on what counts.”
Anthony laughed and sent a flat stone flying over the pond. It skipped twice before sinking out of sight. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Plink plink plunk.
“Well, if you mean it literally, then, yes. But it didn’t mean anything. So, it wasn’t really a real kiss, was it?” With a sharp flick of Loki’s wrist, his stone skipped three times, beating Anthony’s record.
Plink plink plink plunk.
Anthony shrugged. “Guess not.” He threw another. Plink plunk. “Ugh, that one sucked.”
Loki laughed, never one to shun a little schadenfreude. “What about you?”
“Yeah, I have. I mean, obviously it’s not like I’ve been in love with anyone before now. But um yeah--” he trailed off quickly, heart racing. Why the hell had he said that? Stupid Anthony.
Loki pursed his lips, nervous, and turned to look at Anthony. “What’s it like? A real kiss?”
Anthony dropped the stone he had been holding. Was this really happening? “It’s um...It’s nice. It’s hard to describe.”
“Is it different from a bad kiss?” Had they started off that close together? Loki felt dizzy, unsure of anything any more.
“It’s, uh,” Anthony’s gaze flickered down to Loki’s lips. How had they gotten so close to his? He licked his lips unconsciously, then blushed deeply when he realized. “It’s different, yeah,” Anthony breathed.
“Show me,” Loki whispered.
. . .
“And that’s the moment your father and I knew we were in love,” Anthony recounted, smiling.
His little son laughed. “Yeah! Father’s the best rock-skipper around! Even though he’s old and boring now.”
His daughter, a little bit older, wrinkled her nose suspiciously. “I already know that story! You’ve told us the skipping rocks and kissing story five hundred times! But what I asked was, how did you and Father meet?”
Anthony laughed and winked at Loki, who was sitting on the sofa, pretending to read and hiding a lecherous smirk. Loki winked back and sank down, hiding his grin behind his book.
“Oh, you know,” Anthony waffled. “We, uh, he saw me around the palace and invited me to go for a walk in the garden. And we took lots of walks, and that’s how we got to know each other.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Is that the whole entire story, Dad?”
“Yup,” Anthony laughed and ruffled her hair. “That’s the whole entire story.”