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Loki finds himself thinking of the time Mjolnir was lost. He isn’t sure why he is suddenly reminded of it as Thor stands before him, shoulders tense, except perhaps for the look of stung pride on his brother’s face.
Surely he has seen the same look there since. He recalls adjusting the veil, laughing, pulling it aside for just a moment as they prepared to go to recover the mighty weapon. “Lovely princess of Asgard,” he teased, and as he stole a kiss from Thor’s lips there was a warning rumble from the sky. Loki snorted in response. “Don’t be like that, brother.” Thor had glared at him as he played with a lock of blond hair and reached a devious hand down to give Thor’s other hammer a quick squeeze through the silken fabric of the dress. He, Loki, was allowed to be amused at the sight of the golden prince—the defender of the realm, strong and forceful and dominant—in bride’s garb, all delicate lace and soft curves.
He was allowed it, because the story would spread and the entire realm would be amused, and it would be Loki who would learn a spell to conjure clinging imps for those who dared to taunt Thor over that disguise, and in later years the only thing that would be mentioned of the tale would be the way the giants’ blood splattered when Mjolnir was regained. Loki was vicious when roused.
Still, he is reminded of that look of bitterly injured pride as the storm comes sweeping into Loki’s room, damping the half-deciphered pages, nearly shattering the hinges.
“Tell me, Loki, did you mean what you said? Do you truly believe I cannot?” Thor is a vision of pent-up affront, hands clenched, eyes narrowed.
Loki hides his smile. This is all because of a few words the night prior. A few offhanded words left to tease against the warm, damp dip in Thor’s shoulder as Loki lay stretched against him, his brother’s seed soaking into the skin between Loki’s thighs.
(That is the way it has always been when they are together. Loki enjoys being taken. Loki is Loki, shaped from tricks and twisted wit and magic and the sharp edges of blades and he has never obeyed the rules anyway, most particularly not about what is meet and proper; he transgresses against all that with pleasure, with satisfaction. He recalls the snickering elation that writhed in his belly when they started this, years ago. He practically lived on it for a time—every glance, every touch, the feel of Thor pinning his wrists above his head and pounding into him, jolting his backside against the filthy ground. It tasted like triumph, somehow. The silver flick of his tongue along Thor’s skin, sucking red marks into it. Loki enjoys it, and he often assures Thor of his great prowess as a bed-partner, simply for the feel of Thor sighing against him, content, his hidden fears at rest.)
“If you truly believe I can’t…” Thor grits his teeth. “I will prove it. But only to you. You have to do it.” It is a plea dressed up as a demand, and Thor is every inch the arrogant god, proud and certain. Or that is how he wants to seem, Loki is sure, even as his hands fidget against the edges of his tunic.
Thor is impatient, doesn’t wait for Loki’s answer before he begins to strip off his clothes “You have to do it.”
Loki hides his smirk; Thor has come up with the solution himself, and Loki knows—any time when the thunder god decides he wants something, he cannot be denied. Thor has decided he wants this. He is determined to have it, determined to prove himself. And all because of a few offhanded words. Thor is so vulnerable to such things that it makes Loki love him all the more, and for that Thor is fortunate.
Loki closes his book with a meaningful sigh. Peels off his own clothes, strides over to where Thor has seated himself at the edge of the bed. “All right, brother. If you insist.”
*
Years ago, when they were barely more than children and still acting like boys, they had stroked themselves to hardness so they could compare their manhoods. Loki remembered the way Thor’s eyes widened for a brief instant, though he had quickly dismissed the difference as of no consequence. (It didn’t matter. He could still pin Loki easily when they wrestled. He was still stronger, and he was the elder of the two, and it didn’t matter. And even when they began to do things to one another that brothers were not supposed to do, it still didn’t matter. It would only have mattered if… but Loki liked to be taken.)
Loki feels his heart thudding as Thor’s eyes flick downward, and he knows he is already half-hard with anticipation. He knows how he looks. His form is too wiry to match up to most Asgardian men, but that only makes it all the more stunning to see—the thick, heavy length of his cock, its deep red set against pale skin and lean limbs.
Thor looks at it with eyes full of trepidation.
A few times—only a few times—Thor has tried to take Loki in his mouth, managing not much more than the head, stroking the remaining length with his hand as Loki ran his fingers through soft blond strands. Loki still thinks of it when he touches himself, the feel of Thor’s tongue soft and warm against the slit as he spilled, the taste of his seed on Thor’s lips after.
Thor looks at Loki’s cock with eyes full of trepidation, pupils gone wide. He opens his mouth to speak, though it takes him a moment to force out the words. “I thought to… I already prepared myself,” he admits, looking away. Loki cannot help but imagine the sight of him spread on his own bed, so determined to get what he wants that he would press glistening, oil-slicked fingers between his legs and stretch himself on them until he believed he was ready. Loki feels his heart thump.
Loki leans close to kiss him. “You should start on top, then,” he says. He moves to lie down, simple and matter-of-fact, making no more fuss over what they are about to do than necessary. Thor, the mighty Thor, is never nervous, never unsure of himself, of course—the fearless heir of Asgard. No one would ever believe it if Loki told them that Thor has worn ruts in Loki’s floor the eve before seemingly every important day in their lives, only deterred when Loki drags him down onto the bed with gentle touches and burning kisses, soothing his fears with whispered promises and reassurances. (Loki both loves and hates that it is so. The feeling of cradling his brother’s head in his hands, the strength of the arms that wrap around him for comfort, and knowing that Thor can admit these things to no one else, that this will always remain shadowed and hidden between them. It burns in his chest.)
*
Thor kneels astride him, settling with Loki’s narrow hips between his legs. Blond hair hangs down across his face, shadowing his eyes like a veil. His broad chest rises and falls, fast and shaky, the skin flushed pink, as one hand reaches to hold Loki’s prick steady.
Thor cannot seem to meet his gaze, but Loki cannot look away. Thor is perfect, he is beautiful, and Loki has secretly wanted this for so long, and dreamed of it, and felt sure that Thor would never agree to it. That his pride would not allow it. Only once long ago had Loki ever suggested it, and Thor had glared at him for an hour, turned snappish and distant.
Loki feels a laugh welling up inside him. Thor tries to seem stoic and unaffected as the thick head of Loki’s cock presses against him. His body is tensed all over. Despite how slick Thor is, Loki can feel the resistance there, and he knows that no matter how much Thor has prepared himself, it won’t be nearly enough to make this easy. But oh, Thor is so determined to prove himself. His jaw tightens as he takes the plunge.
He whimpers as Loki’s cock pushes inside him for the first time.
They go slowly, so slowly it is torturous. The head of Loki’s prick has only just passed the clench of muscle at Thor’s entrance and it is almost painfully tight, hot and wet and Loki cannot hold back a groan at the intensity of it. He savors the press of Thor’s powerful thighs against his hips, the firm weight of him. He savors the sight of his sweat-damp brow furrowed in concentration, the tremble that passes through his shoulders, the way the fan of golden lashes seems to flutter on his cheek.
It is impossible, impossible, but it must happen.
Blue eyes flash at him like lightning, determination warring with desperation warring with helplessness in every hesitant move his brother makes. Loki runs his fingers gently along the lines of Thor’s body then, making soft noises that he hopes are comforting. There is a flush of red high on Thor’s cheeks, and he leans over, holding himself up as he works with tiny strokes, as he learns how to shift his hips to rock Loki’s hard length deeper inside him bit by bit to force his body to adjust.
Loki recovers himself enough to speak, peers up at his sibling. “That’s good, brother. You’re doing very well.” His voice is tender. Fascination whirs through him. “There is no need to rush. You can go as slowly as you wish.”
“I am not… a fragile maiden, Loki,” Thor tries to snarl. “Do not treat me as one.”
“Of course you’re not,” Loki purrs, unable to keep the smile out of his voice. He pets his hands down Thor’s hair. “Maidens are far better able to handle this. Why, the last I had—”
It is a sign of how this is affecting him that Thor barely growls in reply. The arms that can wield Mjolnir seem about to give out under the strain as Thor goes quiet, shuddering.
Loki’s heart is pounding as he pushes himself up on his elbows until their foreheads press together. Breath like hot storm-wind, like damp ozone brushes his cheek, and at this angle he can see where the swollen, dark shaft of his cock is buried in Thor’s body. They are all contrasts, and Loki suddenly loves that his brother is bigger than him, stronger than him, and that he is letting himself be taken in this way. The muscles of Thor’s abdomen clench as he watches. It seems he is stretched as far as his virgin flesh will go, and Loki is only halfway inside him.
Loki bites his lip and his throat feels tight, the words strained as he asks, “Am I too large for you, brother? Will you be able to take it?” He can feel his cock twitch at the thought that maybe Thor cannot—that maybe Loki will overwhelm him.
The twitch makes Thor squirm even more, struggling to master himself. “I will,” he stutters, jaw working. “I will.”
*
Thor breathes through clenched teeth, every muscle trembles, his skin is gleaming with sweat, and Loki can’t take his eyes off the sight of his brother splitting himself apart on his cock. He has never seen anything sweeter, and Thor is velvet-smooth and tight, so tight that Loki cannot wait to know how it will feel when he is fully sheathed inside him. Thor is heat inside and out, every place their bodies touch. Thor’s cheeks burn, his bitten lip is red and tender as fire.
Impulsively, Loki kisses him. Eyes close and Loki can taste electricity on his tongue. Thor’s kiss is desperate, impatient and hungry and frantic as Thor attempts to control this, and Loki lets him try, accepts Thor’s tongue delving into his mouth, invites everything. Thor’s chest brushes against his as if Thor cannot bear not to touch him with every possible piece of his skin. Loki can only imagine what it is like—in the space of a day, Thor has gone from sneering at the idea of this, to wanting it merely to prove his own fearlessness and toughness, to…
Thor’s teeth clasp Loki’s lip as he groans.
They’re almost there, and in the midst of the kiss Loki cants his hips up slyly, pushes just a little, slipping the last inch or two into Thor’s enveloping heat. Thor keens into his mouth, but Loki twines his fingers in Thor’s hair, not letting him break the kiss.
They both need to be still for a moment.
Not for long. When Thor’s eyes open, the blue is clouded under heavy lids. Sinuous, unaccustomed motions rock him as he adjusts. A soft, whining moan escapes his slackened mouth.
“Doesn’t that feel good, brother?” Loki says as he meets Thor’s motions, rolling his hips into them to help things along. Thor’s brows draw together like stormclouds as he gropes at his brother’s body, seeking an anchor point as all steady ground crumbles away; he doesn’t answer, seems unable. Loki wonders how much longer Thor would have denied himself this, if Loki had not intervened.
He can feel Thor’s cock jutting between them as Thor rides him. He can feel how Thor’s body brims with twitches and gasps, knows he is stretched so wide it is just as much pain as pleasure. Yet being filled with his brother’s cock has made Thor harder than Loki has ever seen him. He can feel precome dripping cool and slick and copious onto his belly, and he cannot help the gentle taunt that comes to his tongue, intended to drive Thor to new heights. “It’s all right, Thor. No one else will ever know how you give yourself to me.”
He slips his hand down, brushes his thumb through the moisture at the head, rubbing in a fine circle, and Thor’s hips jolt as he cries out, hands clenching beside Loki’s head. Thor curses him soundly, calling him Trickster, as if there were any insult in that.
It is what he is, and Loki doesn’t feel bad about it. It would never have occurred to Thor to do this without a little instigation, after all.
So Loki smirks, and in an instant he has twisted, bodily, to overthrow his brother. It is gratifying how willingly Thor goes, how it takes only a nudge to get him to pull his knees up and spread himself even farther. His back arches, he pants for breath as he looks up into Loki’s face, all nervous excitement and dazed need as Loki plunges deep into him once more.
Loki fucks him, sliding in and drawing back out almost his full length, making Thor feel every inch. He still goes slowly, bringing forth wet, slick noises, purely obscene, and he plays with a lock of blond hair between his fingers, thinking vaguely of a veil long ago.
Thor, writhing beneath him with his head tossed back, pulls out of his desperate delirium just enough to gasp Loki's name once, twice, to call him brother and stutter out a few incoherent pleas for mercy or release, and Loki watches him come apart, unable to tear his gaze away. He knows what it is like, feeling that for the first time—yet Thor has taken to it with such honest fervor, his protests dissolved into the shadows around them, that Loki is in awe. Thor’s fear lies slain; he is triumphant even as he lies there gasping and panting with his legs clamped around his brother’s hips and Loki’s monstrous cock moving inside him and his own prick fiercely hard on his belly.
Loki has a sudden idea, just then, and he can feel the glint in his eyes as he moves them to the edge of the bed, rearranges limbs so he can dig his fingers into Thor’s hips and drag his body down tight. Far enough that he is bent in half, until he can close his lips around the head of his brother’s cock and suck, still fucking into him in a slow, loose rhythm. Thor twitches, jolts, cries out, voice guttural in his throat, far beyond words. He is trapped, trapped in both directions, caught in the subtle scheme Loki has worked on him. He is caught between the bliss of Loki’s mouth on him and the heavy drag of Loki’s prick inside him. Loki is sure Thor can be aware of nothing else but him.
It is a pleasant little trick: the hot flesh in Loki’s mouth throbs, and his tongue is washed in the taste of him as Thor comes with a hollow cry.
Thor’s body goes wholly slack then, breathing hard, and as Loki lifts his head and stretches out a little, a pair of heavy, limp arms wraps around his shoulders. Lean calves rest against his sides. Thor is relaxed enough now that Loki can go a little faster, and Loki murmurs praise and adoration into Thor’s ear as he does so, their bodies pressed together as he thrusts.
It takes only moments, and he shoves deep inside when he comes, flooding his brother with the heat of his seed, a choked moan on his lips.
He has dreamed of doing that, too, and he savors the soft noise Thor makes at the feeling of it.
Loki kisses the warm, damp dip in Thor’s shoulder, a spot that tastes of salt and silver, before he withdraws, moving just enough so that they can both be comfortable.
Thor nuzzles against him, and Loki yawns a little, stroking blond hair. “You did well, brother. I suppose I must believe you now,” he says with a grin. “Though I may wish to have it proved to me again.”
Thor merely hums and smiles back at him, too dazed with pleased exhaustion to be any fun to tease. So instead Loki tugs the covers up over them and lets Thor wrap himself around him.
Within minutes Thor is deep in slumber, snoring lightly, and Loki has not moved. He stares up at the shadows of the ceiling.
Someday Thor will be king, and Loki will be at his side, protecting him in the ways that only Loki can. But he will never be Thor’s equal.
This little trick, no matter how pleasant, has not changed that.
Loki’s heart does not slow, and his eyes do not close even as the night deepens and the shadows around him grow darker.