‘Listen to me – !’ is the last thing Loki hears before he sees his brother be flung off the cliff side by the man of iron, his body propelled violently through the flora and fauna of Midgard before landing unceremoniously into the dirt.
‘I’m listening,’ he says, almost to himself, in a vague insult that he could not make in front of his brother’s face (with the desperation in his eyes, that arrogant, lovely, golden brilliance transformed into pleading, begging, loving Loki) and watches as Thor stands up, a growl in his throat.
Oh, realizes Loki, and watches his brother take a breath, then another, calling Mjolnir to his hand, hair tousled and expression murderous. He can feel the killing intent coming off Thor in waves, the clouds around the forest coming together at the call of thunder and lightning.
Loki can’t help but shiver in awe – his brother’s power, godly and destructive, never fails to incite something dark, curling and possessive in Loki. He releases it for me. I am the one he wants. Thor uses it for me, and so I own this power.
Thor glances upwards at the cliff, where Loki smiles, sharp and easy, watching much too intently. In his brother’s bloodlust mind, Loki knows, he has confirmed that his prize has not run off and so must simply get this obstacle out of the way. It is brutal, ancient thinking – reserved for the ages lacking reason and fueled on instinct.
He instinctually craves me – wants me, wishes to claim me. Come, Thor, do not disappoint.
Loki sees his brother call down the lightning without a pause, as quick as light travels and slams into the iron body without remorse –
(here, on Midgard, with Barton and Selvig at his side, Loki has learned the basics of physics – as knowledge is power wherever one goes. This is what he knows: a battery is a power source. It can commence at hundred percent and eventually run out. If too much power – too many electrons – is injected into the battery, it overloads and become unusable)
– the man of iron sparks, metal burnt to some colour like dried blood smeared over the outfit, before shutting down and collapsing onto his knees.
Thor snarls low in his throat, swinging Mjolnir rapidly in his hand as he approaches the body one predatory step at a time. Loki watches as the man of iron’s hands scramble to get his mask out of his way, to speak to Thor – ‘we want to capture Loki too, we’re on your side – ’
And – of course – the brutal crunch of Mjolnir sinking into the mortal’s face, spraying blood and brain before Loki sees the metal body topple forward, unmoving.
There is a splatter of blood on Thor’s cheek and Loki aches to lick it off, feel the dark bloodlust rise from his brother like steam, envelop them both, sink right into his pores and coat his blood from red to black. He sees his brother glance up, making eye contact again with Loki, blue eyes now electric.
Of course, before Thor can walk back up the cliff face and take his rightfully earned prize, there is an interruption, a muffled, ‘oh my god', before Thor is whipping his head to see a new obstacle appear – dressed in tight blue with a round shield in one hand.
The captain, recognizes Loki, who resembles his darling brother so much – golden haired and blue eyed, broad-shouldered and strong. He licks his lips in anticipation. No, it does not matter how strong for the captain is but a mortal and my brother – ravenous destructive Thor – a god.
‘Put the hammer down!’ yells the captain, voice cracked in the middle – come now, coos Loki silently, surely you have seen more death than this. Thor seems deaf but his mouth curls up at the thought of crushing this mortal.
‘You want me to put the hammer down?’ His voice booms through the air – all thunder and no remorse, an inkling of amusement, sardonic laughter. Foreshadowing to an imminent death. Loki’s mouth is dry – he swallows and feels his skin rise as the tension stretches.
One moment. A second. Thor moves first – as fast as the lightning that courses through his veins, jumping into the air, Mjolnir raised high, ready to sink into the soft mortal flesh, see life give in and explode in front of him.
The captain raises his shield and the hammer makes contact, the boom wrecking through the trees with a strength made for the skies of Asgard, and –
(The most basic rules of physics – that all life on Midgard follows, says Selvig, his knowledge dripping into Loki’s skin like good poison, is that each force has an equal and opposite force. This is law – unyielding and unwavering of which this earth is made of)
– the shield reverberates with the power of Mjolnir behind it, not yielding in the slightest, but the opposite force, the force that must compensate against the hammer, shakes into the mortal’s body and his arm shatters.
The captain’s scream of pain paints the air in bright reds and yellows as the shield drops onto the dirt and Thor smiles before bringing his beloved hammer down once more.
Loki sees Mjolnir rise from the wreckage of human body coated in blood and the silence demonstrates how they are alone – uninterrupted finally. The bloodlust is still there of course, in the fierce electric blue of Thor’s eyes and stretch of white teeth as sharp as Jotun ice blades. He swings Mjolnir and ascends the cliff face to the top, stepping in front of Loki, blood in his beard, hair tangled and long, spilling like gold.
His brother’s hand – splattered in mortal gore – comes up, fingers grazing Loki’s cheek, leaving cold trails of blood before Thor’s thumb lands on the bottom lip, easing Loki’s mouth open.
Loki is transfixed by the cold, destructive energy that coats his brother (why do they call it bloodlust when it makes Thor the coolest, cruelest one of them both) and he watches, unwavering, as Thor’s voice booms out, low, chill, ‘I sent two righteous lives to their death for you.’
The air around them seems to heat, curl up around Loki like bonds, tying him to his place, his brother’s voice taking on a possessive quality, ‘I expect the most handsome of spoils indeed.’
Loki knows this part as well as he knows the creases in the palm of his hand, the jolt of seidr at the tips of his fingers – the role he plays when his brother transcends his conscious to this vicious beast. Oftentimes, he has provoked Thor when he is like this and has paid with the consequences – bruises on his skin, mouth swollen and wet, his own cock left weeping and untouched as he is brutally undone from inside.
‘Come, brother,’ croons Thor, whose blood has cooled enough for taunting, and his thumb slips from Loki’s lip so his fingers can wrap around the thin tower of the trickster’s neck. ‘Suck my cock.’
‘You kiss our mother with that mouth?’ laughs Loki, his pulse flaring as adrenaline pumps through his veins. He owns Thor when the man is like this. Thor would never truly hurt Loki – because he means to claim Loki as his own.
Possession, brother, whispers Loki as his mouth skims over Thor’s breeches and his fingers untie them swiftly, runs both ways. He sucks down his brother as much as he can in one go, feeling unsteady, as calloused fingers run through his hair before getting a solid grip.
Loki suckles at the head, drinking in the drops of precome, and laves the veins of his brother’s prick with his tongue, tracing long patterns. Sometimes, he thinks of leaving the slick imprints of runes on Thor’s cock, something that means Thor can never fuck anyone but him - because Thor has always been his, no matter if they had been related or not.
Quickly, Loki ducks down, feeling the girth stretch his mouth as he sucks, harsh and sweet. The sounds his lips make as they move up and down are obscene and wet, loud in this night air where ozone is a blanket that coats both of them.
Thor begins to roll his hips into the suction, slowly using the grip on Loki’s hair to move the trickster’s mouth where he wants it to go. He does not fuck into the mouth – not yet. Fucking – with all the energy and brutality that is in a beast – will be reserved when Thor is in his brother. For now, Loki knows, he sucks and coats the prick with all the saliva he thinks he needs to get fucked, for Thor will not prepare him.
Eventually, Thor pulls him off, eyes storming as the sea of Jotunheim under the moon, and shoves Loki backwards, onto his back, following him. His hands are familiar with Loki’s belts and buckles – half of them, he has learned over the years – are simply for show and have no particular purpose.
Loki shimmies out of his clothes, leaving them underneath as a cushion from the dirt and rock. His fingers eagerly try to rip Thor’s clothes off and, finally, finally, he can feel Thor’s scarred skin against his – battle-worn and warrior-bled.
Thor’s fingers – blunt, impractical, brutal – press at Loki’s entrance and he growls impatiently. Loki bucks into them, his tongue finding the sounds again - wet, wet, let me be wet, a mantra in his head as he tries to find the right runes and voice them out.
‘I should have you dry, brother,’ snarls Thor into the skin of Loki’s shoulder as his fingers finally push past the initial ring of muscle. ‘Tight and hot and ready to bleed for me.’
‘Hah – Thor – please,’ whines Loki, feeling his body warm up and loosen, the magick in his veins following the runes he has finally caught hold of, ‘brother, brother – ’
Thor growls. ‘Yes, brother,’ he repeats, before his fingers retreat and the wet, blunt head of his cock pushes inside, working deep into Loki, under his skin, sending jolts of electricity through each nerve-ending, silencing every thought in Loki’s head until his body is a taught wire, ready to be snapped.
He fucks into Loki as harshly as Loki has come to know. There is no mercy in the way his brother moves – hips snapping up into him without pause or hesitation, no care for any wince on Loki’s part. They fuck quick and dirty, and Loki’s tongue flickers out, tastes the blood of the mortals that Thor has left on him, a brand as hot as the false-fire that Loki can conjure.
Each time Thor thrusts, Loki feels his body move in tune, adjusting to the pace – each force has an equal and opposite force – as his hips try to match the rhythm. The long gold strands of his brother’s hair falls around his face, framing him, tickling the soft skin of his cheeks, and Loki reaches out to tangle his fingers in it –
(when did it become so long – just like Loki’s own – too long. Oh. They’ve grown centuries apart)
– Thor fucks him brutally into the ground, fingers gripping into the soft skin of Loki’s hips as he grinds up against his brother, trying to get as deep as he can. Loki grabs at the cloth underneath him, his fingers trying to get a grip, as he is pushed further and further in white, mind-numbing pleasure.
The next morning he will be sore, he will be aching, and he will be empty, loose, open, feeling exposed and vulnerable and broken – all the sharp parts of his mind exposed into the light, and Loki will scrabble to get himself together, hiding each piece behind some sharp smile or poison-tipped remark.
Yet now, with Thor over top of him, his bloodlust still seeping through his veins, tainting his thoughts dark and cruel, Loki doesn’t have to think of these things. He can simply tilt his hips upwards – an offering to his god-brother – and let Thor take and take and take –
‘Don’t stop – why – don’t,’ moans Loki feeling his brother ease up, rolling his hips in gentle undulations, deep but not brutal, not vicious. Thor’s laugh is the rumble of thunder overhead, sounding as awful as Loki knows he will be.
‘So desperate for cock, brother?’ mumurs Thor into the skin of Loki’s cheek, his beard scratching against the trickster. ‘Then I would implore you to get it yourself.’
Shivers wrack down Loki’s spine as he feels his brother pull out, still hard and wet with desire, before Thor settles his back against the rocks of the cliff side and spreads his legs, bringing attention to the curve of his arousal.
Dry-mouthed and silent, Loki fits his hands around his brother’s shoulders before he feels the blunt head of Thor's prick bump into his entrance and then slide in, a slow, hot trail coming up Loki’s cells, trying to burn him from inside out – but he is Jotun and his brother’s fire is the last thing that will destroy him –
(this is a lie in its purest form – crystallized for observation but thrown away before Loki can bring himself to study it. His brother’s love, his brother’s desire, his brother’s existence is a threat to Loki because Loki would die for Thor – die a thousand times over, as long as his brother did not know)
– Thor groans as Loki sinks down, feeling the tightness twenty-fold in this position. Loki is panting, mouth wet and open, feeling impossibly full. He shifts his hips, rolling them, before the familiar calloused hands of his brother descend on his hips.
‘You are for my pleasure, brother,’ says Thor, smile lost to a burning desire that makes his eyes turn into the shade of the brightest summer sky. ‘I will have you.’
‘When?’ snarls Loki in turn, ‘if today, then hurry.’ He pushes Thor, and his brother does not fail to respond, hands lifting Loki upwards and bringing him down the same moment his own legs push into the heat.
‘Tho – ha – ah,’ runs on Loki’s lips, undone and empty as each thrust sends a small sound of pleasure from his throat. He litters the air between their mouths with the short, sharp moans – ‘ha – ah – ahn’ – and does not stop, not until Thor will stop.
Somewhere along the line, Thor’s calloused thumb brushes the head of Loki’s cock and he yelps, feeling a surge of pleasure shoot up his spine. He bucks into the touch – wanting it again, desperately, and Thor’s fingers wrap around his length, moving up and down in counterpoint with his thrusts.
‘Chase you across the heavens,’ says Thor into the open air where the scent of ozone hangs thick and Loki buries his face into his brother’s neck, if only to hear those words right close to his skin, letting them ease past and sink into the spaces between his bones. ‘Have followed your trail for years – centuries – have wanted you.’
Thor’s voice is the dangerous rumble of thunder and speeding rivers and the storm in the middle of oceans – and it is all for Loki’s taking. He owns his brother, has him, feels him underneath the grip on Thor’s shoulders and claims him for his own. There is no other, brother, Loki wants to say, only you, only you.
‘And now you are here – wanting me, having me,’ and the soft laugh in his chest erupts into a loud boom of thunder above their heads. Clouds gather thickly and turn grey, and Loki knows his brother is close.
He twists his hips when coming down, feeling his brother’s cock deep inside, and clenches. Thor groans – deep and guttural – shoving hard and fast into Loki, wanting to feel it again. He fucks into his brother unyielding, oblivious to anything around him, feeling Loki grow hotter and looser and wetter, the trickster’s cock spitting precome over Thor’s hand.
Loki rolls himself down onto his brother’s cock and then up again, into his brother’s grip, the friction both inside and out driving him into near completion. He feels like he is going to sink into himself – melting from the inside out, his brother ruining him utterly.
Thor does not relent, though the rhythm gets lost along with Loki’s voice, who arches, his spine like wire, curved, his mouth open in a silent yell as his cock twitches before spurting warm come into his brother’s hand, shivering and trembling as Thor strokes it out of him.
There is a boom of thunder again – so loud and close – and then a flash of lightning before Loki tightens up, riding his brother’s cock desperately and milking it dry, until his brother stiffens and comes. The feel of come inside of him is a fire that nature tries to douse frantically – rain slamming downwards from the skies.
Thor watches him with eyes as beautiful as the ice moon of Jotunheim as he is soaked to the bone with his own chilling rain, and Loki sees the bloodlust has faded and his veins have cooled into the customary golden arrogant beauty.
He stands up, feeling washed and anew as the water streams off of him, slipping over the lines of his body – now gaunt and lanky and starved from traveling through galaxies without Idunn’s apples – and Thor says nothing, just watches Loki magick off the semen from his own softened cock and pull over his clothes –
(he keeps Thor’s seed inside of him – feel the slow trickle down the inside of his thigh, a disconcerting reminder of who he belongs to when the day is done and all have gone home. Loki may run through universe after universe, scrambling across worlds and flying past stars, but Thor will always find him – always – and it is a constant that Loki wishes not to let go of)
– his brother gets up in turn and also dresses, the semen on his hand clean from Loki’s magicks and the rain. He drapes his cloak over his clothes and summons Mjolnir to hand.
‘Come home,’ he says, soft, but Loki is already moving out of reach, where his brother cannot touch him, where he hopes it is cold enough that his brother won’t see how Loki craves Thor in a way that will destroy them both.
‘Goodbye, brother,’ says Loki before he fades into the rain like a blurred photograph of times gone old.
There is a desperate howl from the wind, long rumbles and a flash of lightning as Loki picks his way through the forest, soaked to the bone, though Thor’s fire burns bright within him, and it makes him smile. Thor will return.