"Let us spar," Thor says one morning after breakfast, and Loki flounders for an immediate excuse. He checks his schedule in his head, but there are no royal duties and all his city tasks can be done tomorrow—and Thor knows, by the grin on his face.
"Fine," Loki says, already prepared to be bruised and sore by dinner.
When they get to the training grounds, Loki takes off and folds away his jacket where it can't be ripped, muddied, or burnt. Thor unhooks his cape, flings it in the same general direction, and then passes Mjölnir from one hand to another. He doesn't discard that, and Loki stares at him, disbelieving. "I don't think so, brother."
"What?" Thor looks at him, oblivious, as he steps up into the dirt circle at the center of the courtyard.
"You do not spar with Mjölnir. Put it away."
"Why?" Thor laughs, but Loki doesn't show any sign of relenting. "Fine, fine..." He sets the hammer at the edge of the circle, handle up in the grass. "Then what shall we use?"
Loki looks around the yard, noting the various weapons on the racks against the walls. "Staffs."
"You always use a staff. What about swords?"
"They are as bad as Mjölnir in your hands." Except worse; Loki doesn't fancy anything getting sliced, either.
Thor pauses to think for a moment, idly stroking his beard. Impatient, wanting to get his inevitable beating over and done with, Loki turns and reaches out his hand towards one of the training staffs against the far wall—
A tackle around his waist slams the breath from his lungs. Thor and he tumble to the ground, kicking up dust, and Loki grunts as he digs his palm against Thor's shoulder and pushes. Thor doesn't relent.
"What are you doing?" he shouts. He lifts his knee to jab into Thor's side, the one soft spot in his armor. The momentum rolls them once, twice, and Loki is flat on his back again.
Thor laughs, all bright grins and overbearing strength. "'Hands', Loki—you gave me the idea."
Loki shoves up, hands pushing and whole body heaving, and throws Thor off of him. He sits up and tries to hook Thor's leg, but Thor moves out of the way. A strong hand at Loki's shoulder pulls him down, and soon they are grappling and pulling and pushing all across the dirt, into the lawn, until Loki manages to pull himself to his feet. They stand across from each other, not more than six feet apart, breathless and ruffled.
"You first," Thor says.
"Oh, no." Loki steps as Thor steps, and they form a slow circle that puts Thor closer to the pillars at the edge of the yard. "I couldn't deprive you of your chance to win, brother."
When Thor is almost beside the pillar, he steps forward, and Loki lunges at him, off-center. It forces his brother closer to the pillar when he dodges, but Thor grabs him by the waist, fingers catching in his shirt. Loki twists in his grip, grabs his shoulders, and pins him.
Loki stills. Thor's thigh presses up between his legs, and Loki's knee fits snug against Thor's own apparent arousal. Loki's lungs feel tight, and not just from exertion. He glances down, then back up at Thor, who stares back at him with the same wide-eyed realization. Loki hesitates because the yard is so public, so open—
A smile tugs at the corner of Thor's lips. One large hand settles low on Loki's back and jerks their hips to meet, bringing a sudden burst of blissful friction and pressure. For a few moments, Loki grinds against Thor's hip, gripping tight at his armored biceps, and Thor leans forward to push their lips together. The kiss is hard, impatient, with Thor's tongue pushing forward as Loki rolls his hips. Thor's hand slips lower to grope firmly, cutting off any escape.
Loki pulls back, panting, his fingers digging into Thor's arms. "I will not have this here," he says in a tone that's hopefully forceful—they can't risk exposure like this—but Thor just chuckles and slides his hand from Loki's side to the front of his trousers. Like he has ever been one for restraint or worry; he will always be Asgard's golden heir.
"You should be quick about it, then," Thor teases, pulling at the fastenings there while Loki's frozen in indignation, but only for a moment.
"Me? What about you?" Loki lowers his own hands, bats Thor's away, and starts to pull at his trousers. "What of your legendary stamina? Will my hand tire before you're satisfied?"
Thor smirks, and Loki feels the pull at his waistband again. "You already know the answer to that question, brother." When Loki finally has Thor's cock in hand, he grips a little too tight. Thor growls low in his throat, his fingers digging into Loki's buttock, and Loki smiles as his hand starts to stroke. He leans forward for a quick, teasing little kiss and leans back when Thor tries to push it further, but it gives Thor the space and the time. Loki feels Thor's callused grip against his cock, and he almost groans right then.
He dips his head towards Thor's neck, lips and teeth brushing over the vulnerable expanse of skin. He bites, hard. Thor grunts and shifts his grip, and their cocks rub together in a maddening blend of friction and heat and intimacy. He feels Thor's fingers curling around his cock, feels his thumb glide over the slit and smear pre-come in its wake, hears Thor's quiet gasp as Loki scratches a nail underneath the glans. Thor revels in the extremes of sensations; Loki enjoys pushing him there.
They rock their hips forward against each other in an alternating rhythm, perfected after years of hidden moments like this (in all of the hospitable realms, which Loki shivers thinking about). Thor pulls at Loki’s hips, always seeking to bring him closer, but Loki pushes back, slows his thrusts up into their hands, and Thor breathes harder than he would in any actual spar between them.
"Loki," Thor whispers to his ear as their hands move and twist, fingers brushing against thumbs and palms warming against shafts. While Loki's strokes started patient, his rhythm becomes more erratic, more desperate, pulling groans from his brother that are only meant for his ears. Thor, in turn, is rough and unyielding, gripping tight and twisting hard in a way that's almost too much and too fast. Loki bites his neck again, and Thor groans loud, arching off the column. Loki's hand shifts in time to cup over his cock, the wet warmth hitting his palm.
The come slicks his grip over their cocks. Thor might not need it anymore, but Loki still needs this touch, this attention—and by the thumb lazily circling the head of his cock, the teeth scraping at the edge of his ear, Thor knows it, too. Thor's hand twists just so as it comes up and squeezes as it comes down, careful and knowing and familiar. Everything feels hot and stifling, and the heat addles his thoughts; his hips can’t keep a steady pace. He doesn't know what he whispers to that safe spot against Thor's neck.
Then, Thor's hand comes up from Loki's buttock to tug at his hair, coaxing his head back with a gentle grip. Loki catches the look in his eye and for one terrifying moment he thinks Thor might stop and leave him unsatisfied now that he's had his fill—but Thor smiles, and pulls him into a soft, gentle kiss that takes what control Loki has left. The tenderness of it drags a moan from Loki's throat. Thor's thumb circles over the head of his cock, and his quiet whimper is muffled into the kiss as his back arches and he releases.
Thor pulls away from the kiss, and his hand rubs at Loki's back; Loki takes his time recovering. He looks down at the mess of their hands and whispers a spell to clean it up. Thor places a kiss against his forehead as the green ether curls through their fingers before fading away. Clean and satisfied, Loki tucks himself back into his trousers, and Thor does the same before pushing himself off the pillar.
"Wait." Loki touches Thor's shoulder, stopping him from where he turns. He reaches over to swipe a stray drop of seed from one of the bottom circles of Thor's breastplate, and he makes certain Thor watches while he sucks it off the tip of his finger. "...there."
Thor smiles, then walks over to where his cape and Loki's jacket are on the grass. "Always looking out for me, are you?"
"Who else would bother?"
When Thor's back is turned, Loki pushes him into the grass, and they wrestle again.