Thor jolts awake at 2am, groggy and disoriented.
But the fog evaporates when the sound breaks the dark silence again—the creak of the kitchen door. Thor rolls out of bed, heart pounding. Farbauti is out for the night; she’s at a bachelorette party and is staying at the hotel with the bride-to-be. Loki, her son, went to bed hours ago.
The door hinges whine as whoever’s come in eases it closed.
Thor should grab… something. Anything. The intruder could be armed. There’s probably an old baseball bat from Loki’s Little League days shoved into the back of his closet, but Thor doesn’t want to wake him up. Calling the police is an option, but they live in Bumfuck, Nowhere and it would take them a half hour, at best, to get here. Still, he slips his phone into the pocket of his pajama bottoms. Thor licks his lips, muscles tight, and decides that he’ll just have to hope that he can scare them away. Just in case, though, he slips his phone into the pocket of his sleeping pants.
Holding his breath, Thor creeps down the stairs. The old farmhouse wails if a strong breeze hits it, but Thor manages to toe around the worst of the creaking stairs.
The unmistakable sound of the fridge door sealing closed gives Thor pause. What in the hell?
Maybe Farbauti decided to come home early?
As Thor rounds the corner from the landing of the stairs, he sees the flickering light of the florescent bulbs bleeding out from the kitchen. The tenseness in his shoulders ease. “Hey, hon,” he calls as he approaches the doorway.
But it’s not Farbauti in the kitchen.
Instead, Loki whips his head around from his perch on the counter. A jug of orange juice sweats in his hand. His eyes widen briefly, but Loki covers it with a cheeky grin. He’s wearing small cut- off overalls, the buckle on one side left undone so it droops down to show off his crop top. The kid only closed the screen door; a hot gust of air rolls in, filling the kitchen with the overripe scent of summer.
Loki drinks the juice straight from the jug, holding eye contact. “Hey, babe,” he says, casual. A drop of the juice slides down his chin, leaving behind a trail down his bobbing throat. Loki swipes it away, unconcerned.
The muggy air wraps around Thor like a heavy blanket. Each breath feels like a gasp, his anger—because really? Sneaking back in in the middle of the night sporting what look like fresh hickeys, eyeshadow smeared around his eyes?—mixing with the overbearing heat. The heat that even the breeze can’t blow away; the heat of challenge in Loki’s eyes; the heat pounding in his own groin.
They’ve been dancing around this for nearly three months, since Thor started dating Farbauti. Loki—nineteen years old, a college drop-out, freshly moved back in with his mother—had given Thor one smoldering look. Just one glance, one quirk of his eyebrow, and Thor knew the kid was nothing but trouble.
Within days, he was bemoaning the settling heat of new summer. ‘I’m an air-conditioned boy now,’ he’d said. ‘I’m not built for this heat anymore.’ Loki started wandering the house in cut-off shorts and tank tops, the slight mounds on his chest flattened by a binder. Even worse, the kid had taken an apparently liking to Thor’s over-large undershirts and had wearing those instead, the hems stopping around the middle of his thighs. Thor had been reasonably certain that whatever Loki had on under them wasn’t much, if he even had on anything at all, because it hadn't been uncommon to find Loki lounging next to the AC, nipples peaked and barely showing through the worn shirt.
When Thor confronted Loki about the stolen shirts, Loki just gave him a baleful blink and shrugged. “Mom must have mixed up our laundry,” he said, as though the shirts weren’t practically dresses on his thin body.
And now this.
Loki takes another swig of juice before setting it down on the counter next to him. His skinny legs swing, naked heels thudding against the cabinets below. “So...” Loki drawls, tilting his head in an obviously well-practiced way to show off his striking cheekbones. “Are you just going to stare at me all night, or can I go to bed now?”
“Loki,” Thor starts. “Where were you?”
He bites down on his anger. “If your mother had been home—if she knew you were gone—“
Loki laughs. It’s a cruel thing, beautiful and biting. “Mom wouldn’t have noticed shit. She’s probably out at that party picking up her next boyfriend. You’re on your way out. I hear the way she’s been snarkin’ at you lately. She’s gettin' restless again.” He jumps off the counter, feet slapping the bare tile as he saunters past. “That’s how it goes. The moment y’all start having disagreements, she’ll drop you.”
Without any conscious input from his brain, Thor’s hand shoots out and grabs Loki by his scrawny arm. “Apologize.” Thor’s voice has an admirable calmness, but it’s the calm before the storm brewing in his belly.
“Or what? You gonna punish me?” Loki’s eyes narrow. “You gonna spank me?”
Thor’s grip tightens around Loki’s bicep. His palm is slick with sweat; he can’t tell if it’s his or the kid’s. “I don’t think that would even work on a brat like you.”
Loki’s sinful pink tongue darts out to wet his lips. A grin stretches across his face. “Coward. No wonder Mom’s dumpin’ you.”
Something in Thor snaps; something brittle and burning that sets his blood on fire. He hauls Loki back, throwing him against the counter. Loki accepts the harsh treatment and bends his torso over the surface, thrusting out his bottom.
“Is this the part where I’m supposed to cry and call you ‘Daddy’?” Loki says, short of breath as he turns to look at Thor over his shoulder. A lock of hair falls into his face, covering one of his green eyes, but the other one pierces him, gleaming with satisfaction.
Thor plants his hand on the middle of Loki’s back, his fingers spanning a breadth that sucks the air from his lungs. “You can.” He caresses the back of Loki’s pale, milky thigh, brushing the crease where it meets his ass. These shorts do fuck-all, covering him only to the point of ‘decent enough to not be arrested’. “But it won’t stop me.”
“Who says I want to stop you?”
The first strike startles a cry from Loki that trails off into a hiss. He gives him another, slightly harder this time, like he’s testing how much the kid will let him get away with. He likes this more than he should. Thor doesn’t know where this is going, but he doesn’t care anymore. A third smack has Loki whimpering beautifully, but the denim of his cut- offs is rough, distracting, on Thor’s palm. “Take these off, brat.”
The buckle’s metallic clink underscores Loki’s throaty chuckle. “Yes, Daddy.”
Thor slows his breathing, grasping for some measure of control. Loki shoves the top part of his overalls down under his ribs, but he makes no move to remove the rest. Instead, he levels Thor with a smug look. Take them off yourself, he seems to say.
Thor slides his hands under the fabric, reveling in valleys of Loki’s ribcage that flex with each heavy breath he takes in. Thor drags his hands down and the bunched up overalls follow, down to grope Loki’s tiny waist. Loki wiggles his hips; Thor retaliates with a punishing squeeze, digging his thumbs into the cradle of his hips. The boy will bruise from this. The fire in Thor’s blood rages.
The final frontier comes, and there’s a nudging in the back of his head that he’s missed something. He realizes with a groan exactly what when the overalls slide down Loki’s thighs and reveal the peach-soft skin of Loki’s naked ass. Lower still, and Thor can see the two plump, hairless lips of Loki’s pussy, cradled between his thighs. The knowledge that Loki’s been prancing around without underwear for God knows how long punches the air from his lungs. What has he been doing tonight? Who has he been doing?
Thor spares a brief look at the discarded overalls, sees the dark seam between the legs, before he brings his attention back to where it should be—the sticky wetness trailing down his thigh, inviting him to chase it to the source. He palms Loki’s ass cheek, greedy, giving it a squeeze to settle his nerves.
A red mark already blooms over the soft flesh, beautiful and stark.
Thor raises his hand. Loki sucks in a breath and tenses, expectant, but can’t—or doesn’t—hold back another yelp as Thor strikes his ass. The impact ripples over the plushness of his bottom deliciously.
“Again,” Loki demands.
The next slap comes harder, punishingly so, but Loki just moans and lifts his hips for more.
“She going to leave you.”
“She’s probably fucking someone else by now.”
“But you can’t be mad, can you?”
“Because you’re going to fuck her son.”
The crack! of Thor’s palm cuts through the air. His ears ring; distantly, he knows that Loki’s winding him up, but Thor can’t stop. He can’t stop.
“And who,” Thor hisses, delivering a smack to the crease of Loki’s thighs that leaves his palm stinging and slick, “says I’ll be fucking you?”
It takes Loki a second to find his voice. He groans, then says, “You.” Loki whimpers as he’s spanked again. His ass is rosy, heated, but still he pushes back into his ‘punishment’. “Because you want to know how I feel.” He flashes Thor a toothy grin over his shoulder. “You want to know if I’m worth the trouble, Daddy.”
Shaking, Thor lays his hand on Loki’s ass. He maps the heated skin, dipping his fingers between the cheeks. He brushes over Loki’s tight asshole, then lower to his dripping cunt. Using two fingers, Thor parts the lips and groans at the sight of the dark hole nestled within.
Obliging, Loki spreads his legs and tilts his hips, presenting himself like a cat in heat. The eye pinning Thor gleams in smug satisfaction.
The kitchen is alive with sound: cricket song, the buzz of the florescent lights, the hum of the fridge, and the heady squelch of Thor sinking his two fingers deep into the cunt being offered. Juice bubbles out around his thick fingers and by god, Thor wants to taste it. He wants to drink Loki, to devour him, to strip this succubus and fuck him until he is nothing—nothing—but a sobbing, satisfied mess.
Thor takes a deep, shuddering breath. “Why should I? This is supposed to be a punishment, brat.”
“So, punish me,” Loki says with a grunt, pushing back against the fingers. “There’s a condom in my right pocket… if you think you can manage it.”
This little fucking shit.
Thor pulls out his fingers. He cracks down another spank that tears a yelp from Loki and leaves a smear of his juice behind. Fuming, Thor fumbles in the pocket of Loki’s overalls before finding the condom, pushing down his sleeping pants just past his own ass, and rolling it onto his dick with deadly efficiently.
Loki watches as Thor lines himself up, pressing the head of cock against Loki’s hole. Then he fucks in with no warning, burying himself to the root in Loki’s wet cunt. Loki sobs and arches his back, allowing Thor to wrap a strong hand around his throat. He doesn’t squeeze; he simply holds Loki there, steady, forcing him to take each stroke.
Trapped between Thor and the counter, all Loki can do is work his hips against Thor. Their fucking is rough, frenzied, and the kid spurs him, panting, “Fuck, fuck, fuck—!” His little tits, covered only by his crop top, jiggle with the thrusts. Thor slides his hand under the shirt and palms a sweet mound, too small to even be a handful. He pinches at Loki's peaked nipples, tweaking them and imagining what they look like, all pink and pretty against Loki's bare white chest. It's a daydream he's had often enough since Loki started slutting around in Thor's patchy and thin shirts.
“Be good,” Thor growls in Loki’s ear, pulling him closer, “and I’ll fuck you without a condom. I’ll leave this sweet cunt of yours messy with my cum, baby...you want that?”
“You want Daddy’s cum?”
Loki chokes out an affirmation. His whole body is tense, sweat blooming over the fabric of his crop top. Thor backs him up just enough to work his hand down from Loki's chest to mercilessly fondle his swollen clit. The stimulation leaves Loki quaking, his pussy clenching tight around Thor’s cock.
“Tell me how much you want my cum, Loki. Come on.”
Loki opens his mouth, but all the comes out is an incoherent cry, the pitch wavering with each hard fuck his pussy takes. Unrelenting, Thor rubs at Loki’s clit, pressing down harder as the waves of pleasure build in his groin. His balls tighten. He’s close, he’s so fucking close—
“Fuck!” Loki wails. “I want your cum, Daddy! Fill up my cunt—my mouth—my ass—ung! I want to be covered in it, Daddy, please!”
That does it—Thor’s orgasm crests and he pumps the condom full, instinct driving him to thrust in deep as Loki curses and convulses with his own orgasm. The rhythmic clenching of his pussy feels so good, so right, and Thor buries his face in Loki’s hair as he rides it out.
Then it’s over, leaving them panting in the kitchen. Thor removes his hand from Loki’s slim neck and the boy all but collapses on the counter. As he pulls out and removes the condom, Thor takes a moment to admire his handiwork: Loki’s well and truly fucked out, his ass delightfully red and his cunt flushed. Juice runs down his shaking thighs.
“Drink,” Thor says, nudging the bottle of orange juice towards Loki. Loki guzzles it as Thor tucks himself back into his sleeping pants and lifts the overalls back up Loki’s ass. There’s a mumble in between long drinks that Thor takes to mean, ‘Thank you so much for taking care of me.’
There’s a buzz in his pocket. Frowning, Thor takes out his phone—because who’s texting so late at night?
It’s Farbauti. ‘Thor, I know you’re asleep, but we need to talk. This isn’t working for me anymore. I need to end it.’
Thor blinks at the screen, numb.
“What’s the matter?”
“I...it’s your mother. She—”
“You just get dumped?” Loki asks, adjusting his overalls. He shoves Thor back and makes for the fridge, returning the juice to the top shelf.
Loki sighs. He turns, and there’s a sadness in his eyes. A solemn understanding. The look is so uncharacteristic that it’s unsettling. “Mom…” He sighs again. “It’s always been like this. She believes in true love, or whatever. That if it’s ‘meant to be’” Loki punctuates this with sarcastic finger quotes, “then there will never be any disagreements or fighting.”
A slender hand comes to rest on Thor’s pectoral, right over his heart.
“It’s not fair,” Loki continues. “But that’s just how it is.” The fingers slide down and drop away.
“I guess…” Thor stumbles over his words, still in shock. “I guess I’ll get ready to be kicked out, then.” He glances around the kitchen, a numbness washing over him. The relationship had only lasted three months, but Thor thought things were going well. He wracks his brain, trying to recall a fight he might have had with Farbauti, but all that comes to mind is a brief squabble they’d had a few days ago over what restaurant to have dinner at.
It’d been the usual: ‘Where do you want to eat?’ ‘I don’t care.’ ‘So what about…?’ ‘No, I don’t want that.’
Thor can’t count the times he’s been through that with past partners.
He startles when Loki wraps his arms around his shoulders and presses a kiss to his jaw. “Here,” he takes Thor’s phone out of his trembling hands. He taps his thumbs against the screen for a few moments, then hands it back. “Mom’s gone. But I don’t have to be.”
Thor looks down at his phone screen—Loki's number has been starred in his contacts, replacing Far’s in the top spot.
“Unless,” he continues, “you weren’t serious about me fucking me raw.” Loki flashes a flirty smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
Thor takes a deep breath and pockets his phone. He’s lost a girlfriend, and gained a... whatever Loki has the potential to be, all in the span of a few hours during the night. He doesn’t know what’s going to come next, but he can’t deny that it holds a thrill for him that his relationship with Far never did. Why not, he thinks.
“Of course I was,” Thor assures him. “Who knows what trouble you’d get into without someone to set you straight?”
Loki’s smile turns a touch more genuine, and he laughs softly. “Somehow,” he says, taking Thor by the hand and leading him upstairs, “I think you’re gonna be the one who gets me into trouble... Daddy.”
Thor squeezes Loki’s hand. “And I’ll get you right back out of it, baby.”