Thor is a Class A Asshole. What a fucking shame. He is also the most beautiful thing Loki has seen in his entire life. He’d be willing to make many allowances for that face, that body, that blinding smile, but the truth is, the man is an Asshole of the highest order, an irredeemable, unbearable jerk. Worst, he’s a dudebro.
Him and his mates had been regulars long before Loki started working weekends in the bar, trying to make ends’ meet while he’s on trial part-time at the tattoo parlor. Fresh out of art school, apart from some newspapers runs, he had never had a real job in his entire life. He lied about having experience working with the public to get this one at the bar. Not that it mattered that much, he guessed, it’s nothing but a watering hole on the outskirts of this small town. He had only been nervously taking his very first orders ever, when Thor burst in like a conquering army, with his entourage trailing behind, and the neck of that outrageously beautiful brunette under his arm. They went straight to that cluster of tables at the back. A minion was sent to give Loki their order of a dozen beers and snacks. It took three fucking trips to get the whole thing to the tables, and none of them deigned to lend a fucking hand. On the contrary, while Loki was setting down the second round, two of them were arguing (not sure if they were horsing around or serious) without any regard for the poor guy trying to deliver their fucking drinks right beside them. He got a shove and spilled some beer on the table in front of Thor.
“Shit, sorry,” muttered Loki. There were more guys around that table, just as big and burly, but Loki was only worried about him. He rushed to wipe it off with the towel hanging from the back of his jeans.
“I suppose there goes your tip then,” was all Thor said, with a dazzling, prize-winning, shit-eating grin, and that husky, dark voice. A pants-melting bear voice, if bears could fucking talk.
Loki threw him a glare and gave him a tight, insincere smile. Always proud, he walked away for the third tray of drinks. He thought he could feel Thor’s eyes on him at every step he took towards the bar, but he must have imagined it.
Thor was talking and laughing rowdily with his mates when Loki returned, and didn’t so much as look in his general direction once for the rest of the time he was there. Loki also tried to ignore him, but like it or not, he seemed permanently tuned to his every movement as he played pool, as he groped his girlfriend, as he flirted with another three girls who seemed willing to take him home and share him.
And sure enough, when the group left, they didn’t leave him a tip. Bastard.
The Asshole and his entourage came to the bar pretty much every Saturday, took over that corner of the bar, always occupied the same cluster of tables, ordered beers and snacks, stayed for a couple of hours, and then went on their merry, rowdy way. Loki was usually tense as a coiled spring whenever the time for their regular scheduled appearance approached, and he remained tense all throughout their stay. He only fucking breathed when they left. What he didn’t get was the low feeling he was left with whenever he watched them go away.
He became über aware of himself while they were around, constantly fearing tripping on his own feet, or saying something lame, or just generally fucking up, even though they probably didn’t even notice he was there. They barely talked to him, as if he was invisible or a fucking robot, and this is how Loki learned a thing here and there, overhearing snippets of conversation. That although he looked like a contractor of some description, Thor worked downtown, in his dad’s firm of finance something or other. That these were old school or high school mates, Loki deduced a mix of both. That they were joined in their love of big motorbikes, and had formed some sort of unofficial gang. That last summer they had got in with an actual gang of bikers, and Thor had half-intimidated, half-charmed their way out of trouble, for which all his mates still thought he deserved to drink for free. And more than anything, Loki had confirmed his earlier impressions that Thor was incredibly full of himself, that he was indeed a spoilt, entitled brat, used to getting his way in all things with a wink and a smile, probably coasting on his dad’s hard work, and no fucks to give about it. He was convinced that the sunshine came out of his ass, and what was worse, he seemed able of convincing anyone about it.
How could such a massive asshole be so sexy, Loki could not fucking understand. At least, after that first night, he usually did leave a tip.
The thing was, he often felt like Thor was watching him. He had only really caught him staring a handful of times, but hell, when he had, the fucking shiver he had felt, as Thor’s eyes lingered on his, electrifying. He shouldn’t really be wishing that the Asshole was secretly interested, should he? He supposed society programs you to crave the attention of the Alpha Male, and if there was ever a Male to fucking Alpha, but still, man, he’d tell himself, have some fucking pride… He drew in the light, the jerk. Oh, Loki’s taste in men had always been pessimal, but he was clearly hitting new lows.
“Your order, gentlemen,” said Loki, as he unloaded his tray on their table. He had not purposely timed the delivery with Thor’s absence. He was not fucking afraid of him, okay?
But as he turned around to make for the bar, Thor was there, right behind him. Loki had mastered the casualness and keeping a steady pulse in Thor’s vicinity, and successfully held onto the tray, but having him materialise all of a sudden about one inch away from him was a startle, okay?
“Uh, excuse me,” he muttered.
Thor gave him a smirk.
“Don’t worry about it,” he rumbled, eyes fixed on his.
The asshole. The bastard. Loki clenched his jaw. That was not polite. And also, he wasn’t fucking moving. He was going to make Loki circum-fucking-navigate him.
“Somebody’s hormones are kicking,” mused Darcy as she poured a jug.
“Lay off me,” grunted Loki.
Time for his break. At the back of the building, by the small parking lot. A fag between his lips, about to light it. Somebody fucking swats it out of his mouth.
Thor’s right in his face again.
“I hate the taste.”
Loki opens his mouth to give him the reply that deserves, involving the words “fuck” and “you”, but he finds it full of Thor’s tongue, and his hands fucking everywhere. He can’t react. He can’t think. He’s kissing back. Thor has his hands in the pockets of Loki’s jeans, has found the car keys. For a moment, Loki fears he’s got it all wrong, that this is a distraction manoeuvre to fucking mug him.
“Where’s your car?” mumbles Thor right against his skin.
Loki couldn’t talk if he tried, even if Thor’s mouth wasn’t still trying to devour his fucking soul through his skin. Thor pushes the button on the remote, and backs Loki towards the car that beeped alive. Opens the door, grabs a handful of Loki’s hair, and shoves Loki down and inside.
On his ass on the back seat, Loki has about two seconds to take stock of the fucking whirlwind that’s overtaken him. He sees with a mixture of anticipation and astonishment that Thor is already undoing his pants standing by the car. He pushes them down (no underwear), and Loki’s jaw drops. Fuck. He’s big, he’s half-hard already, and he’s fucking gorgeous. Thor’s face appears, and the rest of him follows. Then his hands on Loki’s pants, unbuttoning by means of hard tugs that lift Loki off the seat. Loki gets scratched when he’s having his jeans pulled down. Then Thor climbs inside and slams the door shut.
How are they even going to fucking do this. It’s not a huge car, and Loki is tall, but Thor is fucking massive. Thor manhandles him as if he’s weightless, hot fucking damn, Loki on his knees, folded on himself, face squashed against the window, and Thor takes position behind him. Loki hears him spit. What? Wait wait wait fucking wait…!
“We need lube!” He sounds fucking shaky.
“Don’t have any.” So husky, hot damn.
Thor uses him as leverage to reach, Loki’s face squashed even harder. Breathing with difficulty with his neck twisted like that, Loki has another moment to think of what’s going on. Not long enough. Thor is perfunctorily slapping some cold lube on Loki’s ass, and without any prep at all, he lines up, pushes hard, and pops the head inside. It’s a pretty fucking big stretch, and Loki can only praise the heavens that he’s such a size queen and all his toys are girthy, and get lots of regular use. Thor is not a total brute, nor is he exactly careful, and god, is he not all in yet? Loki whimpers softly.
“Shh…” soothes Thor, one big hand on Loki’s hair, stroking roughly, but with tenderness. (Looking back on it, Loki thinks this is the moment when he was irreparably done for.)
Full and stretched, ass burning, and suffocating in heat and pressure, every inch of his back now in contact with Thor’s hot, hard body, Loki’s heart is beating rabbit fast. And now Thor is all in. He squirms behind him, getting into a better position, one foot on the floor, and Loki moans softly as he feels him shift inside. Hands on Loki’s hip and shoulder, he manhandles him some more, until he has him where he wants him. There is not enough room, so when he starts fucking him, it’s in short movements, a constant, burning drag. And he’s picking up speed. It doesn’t hurt, but it feels like a fucking lot to take without the least fucking bit of warning, and as aroused as he feels, Loki’s cock is limp, offended by the lack of consideration.
Thor’s hand hooks mercilessly around Loki’s neck, gripping hard. Now and then, a quick pass over his scalp, digging his claws in. God, yes, that. And his breathing. Loki enters a strange trance. Less than five fucking minutes ago, he was about to have a smoke. Now there he is, squashed uncomfortably in his car, with Thor ‘Class A Asshole’ Odinson’s cock up his ass, being plundered for all he’s got.
Thor is cursing and swearing. He’s not satisfied with the set-up, apparently, because he stops, sits back, pulls Loki back with him. Now Loki is on his lap, leaning down to fit under the roof of the car.
“Up,” commands Thor.
Loki lifts his ass, grabs the handle on the door to help support his weight. Thor takes hold of Loki’s hips, and moves him back and forth as he fucks up in time to clash their bodies hard together. Loki has to brace himself against the roof to avoid head trauma, but yeah, ok, that’s clearly an improvement. Thor is on a fucking piston, in and out of him quickly and relentlessly, like a dog. Loki lets out a strangled whimper, the first undeniable sound of pleasure he has made since this all started. Thor’s hand digs deep into Loki’s hip, there’ll be finger-shaped bruises there in the morning. Loki is very hard now, so fucking hard, and leaking, and Thor is hitting him just right, and he’s going on and on and on without slowing down, and Loki’s pretty sure he’s going to fucking die from this, and there’s no other way he’d like to go.
“Fuck…” he sobs, and bites his bottom lip hard.
Twenty minutes. Thor fucks him like that, like a beast of the wild, for twenty fucking minutes, groaning and grunting and breathing hard, until Loki’s balls are about to fucking explode, until there is nothing but the drag and slam of Thor’s cock in the entire universe, until he’s pretty sure he’ll never be able to sit down again.
Except for a brief moment of clarity. There is no condom in sight.
“D-don’t come… inside me…” he begs.
Thor doesn’t say a word, and keeps fucking him. Loki should insist, shouldn’t he? Not that he isn’t in trouble yet, probably, if Thor’s got something. God, all he can think is don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop…
When the time comes, Thor shoves Loki up and away, and pulls out roughly. His grunts get huskier and more urgent, slick, wet sounds behind Loki’s back. Loki turns his face to see, and beholds in awe an orgasm face that’s the visual equivalent of a choir of angels, as warm ropes of come begin to splatter his ass and back. (Well, at least that.) (Oh, shit, his t-shirt…)
He hasn’t got any time to get himself together before Thor has pulled him back onto his lap, grabbed hold of Loki’s cock, and begun to strip him hard and fast. Loki comes making plaintive, high-pitched, desperate little sounds that embarrass him, but he’s just been hammered by a force of nature for twenty minutes in the back of a parked car, and he is fucking desperate, thank you very much. Thor’s breath on his neck, on the side of his face. His own spunk all over the fucking back seat, and possibly on his jeans.
Boneless, panting heavily, Loki rests on Thor’s lap. Then there’s two thick fingers shoved between his lips. He tastes himself, or at least he thinks it’s himself. A husky whisper that caresses the shell of his ear.
“Next time, I’m going to fuck this mouth.”
And that’s it. Thor shoves him off and slips out from underneath him. He opens the door, gets out (there is a sensation like air is being sucked out of the cabin, Loki is probably just being dramatic), and then the door is slammed shut again.
Out of the corner of an eye, through the window, he sees Thor tuck himself in and walk away while he’s still buttoning his jeans. Loki is sitting bare-assed on his come-splattered seat, cock still plump on his thigh, jeans bunched halfway down his thighs, panting, mind blank.
His hands are shaking as he fumbles in the glove compartment a few moments later for something to clean himself up with, and they’re still shaking as he fumbles clumsily with his own buttons. He feels sticky and dirty, and he can’t fucking begin to tell what hit him. It’s only starting to sink in that this has happened.
The boss shouts at him for five minutes when he gets back, in front of the patrons, (in front of Thor and his gang), Loki’s ass still throbbing. He takes the pounding in silence, like he took the other pounding.
Thor leaves soon after, with his dozen friends and one arm again hooked over his girlfriend’s shoulders. He never even looks at him again that night.
Loki can fucking feel him whenever he moves and even standing still.
“You’re damn useless tonight,” grumbles the boss a few times.
Thor’s smell hits him like a fucking wall of bricks when Loki gets in his car. It does things to him, localised mainly in his lower stomach.
He’s still sticky and sweaty, and Thor’s scent is on him, and he should have a shower, but he tells himself he’s too tired, and just goes to bed. Sleep doesn’t come easy though, his mind filled with glimpses and sounds and sensations, his ass still burning and throbbing, the ghost of Thor’s touch on his hips, his back, his hair. That whisper repeating itself on a loop until it doesn’t mean anything, “Next time I’m going to fuck this mouth.” Next time, next time, next time.