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To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

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If Loki’s trade was in lies, then his currency was in secrets.


After all, there was no way of capitalizing on a lie without an ill-guarded truth to twist, and more and more, Loki is beginning to develop a taste for blood on a blade.


That’s what others were starting to whisper. Thor, frankly, thought they were exaggerating.


If anyone else had the skill, they’d also try to peak behind the Norn’s veil covers. When Loki told Thor about the new area of trance-magic he was starting to practice, Thor had been excited for the both of them, anticipatory at the glint in Loki’s eyes, one that spoke of illicit knowledge to be gained.


Now Thor is starting to think it’s all a bunch of hogwash. All the tall talk about abilities that cross-over with seer sight and divination, and Loki has nothing to show for it except afternoons meant for the both of them reneged and wasted, all while Loki spent his days in slumberland.


Thor thinks it’s very much like keeping company with a geriatric cat.


Loki could never have before been accused of being a bore, but well…


Thor missed his brother.


And it stung to think that Loki did not miss him quite as much, if he repeatedly kept choosing the Lokisleep (how Thor starts referring to it in his mind) over his older brother’s company.






Frigga smiles at her boy – cusp of being a man – but still appropriate to refer to as boy while he continues to pout to her for council.


“Tell Loki it’s a waste of time, that it’s not anymore true than palmistry or reading tea leaves.” He lays a head on her lap, and scrunches up the corner of his cape, annoyed.


Frigga titters into her cup, pretending to be scandalized, “Oh my, all this time I’d been contemplating engagement prospects based on leaf to shoot ratio. There had been some good names too. Now I suppose I’ll have to start all over, inspecting, hmm, oh, compatible horoscopes or some such.”




“Now, now, you heard nothing Thor. Here, open up and have a raspberry short bread pastry love.”


Thor has not the power to refuse Frigga when she offers him high tea snacks and obediently eats. Nevermind that it tastes good and that the berries are two drops sweeter than they are tart – the perfect ripeness – because Thor is still more parts sour than saccharine.


“Father already has Loki on advanced seidr lessons and early political debating. Meanwhile I’m with Tyr most of the day at the training grounds and taking up military strategy.”


Frigga lightly laughs at Thor, and what is to her, a rather endearing issue between brothers. She smooths Thor’s hair over his forehead and furrowed brow – one that will one day bear the burden of a kingdom and yet cannot unknot the feeling of juvenile dejection. She finds herself a little surprised that it is not over matters regarding awkward courtship or spurned ladies, but then, Loki and Thor have always been even closer than kin.


“Have you tried speaking to him about it?” willing to bet her latest loom that he hasn’t.


Thor’s cheek burns. “No.” he responds petulantly. “I don’t believe that Loki can be oblivious. Last night at dinner I goaded him for losing himself in complacency than making like a warrior of Asgard.”


Yes, she was rather disappointed to witness it. Loki had only withdrawn further into himself at that, putting on an air of academic indifference.


She sighs.


“Thor, Loki can perceive insult from the insipid, disrespect from the daft, and even slander from the sibling. Speak to him frankly, without contempt, and you should yet be able to thaw the shields of ice he puts up.”


Her words, though softly spoken, press on him like a bruise, for he knows she is right, and that he has been too proud.


But why couldn’t it ever be the other way around? Why couldn’t Loki ever be the one to set down what it was between them and be the first to relent? But no. Thor has to humble himself. Always the obligation of the older brother: to be the better.


He’s not quite ready to let go of the feeling of righteous anger. So not today, not tomorrow, but maybe in a few more will he try approaching Loki again.




When Loki dismissively sends a page boy with a note, scrawled last minute, to cancel the riding trip that he had agreed to – and indeed, reaffirmed at breakfast the morning of – does Thor lose his temper.


He dismounts in indignation, startles the steed into a huffed canter while the stable boy yelps and tries to catch on the bridle. Thor storms across the grounds and through the halls, before shoving open the heavy doors to his brother’s room.




He’s lying on a divan like a spoiled noble napping at noon.


Thor treads over heavily, still in full riding gear. He works off his leather gauntlets by each finger before tugging them off entirely and throwing them to the ground in annoyance.


“We need to talk.”


No response.


Fine, let his brother feign innocence. Thor tears out the note from his pocket and reads it out loud “Apologies for all my shortcomings, brother. Go on without me. If you truly desire company, request Fandral or Hogun with you for an evening of entertainment at the brothels. Consider not Volstagg however, he might crush our horses by accident. Also, he is married.”


“What do you have to say for your cheek, Loki? I invited you because I only wanted to spend time with you, merely for the gesture to be smacked down in such an uncouth manner.”


Loki has not moved a muscle, has not even acknowledged a thing Thor has said.


Thor moves to sit down beside him and shake his shoulders. “Loki! Loki!” It was like trying to wake up the dead. Loki’s head jerks with the motion Thor is rattling his body with.


Now Thor was just bewildered. “Loki?” He slaps him lightly.




He lets go and Loki’s head falls back against the cushion, hair tussled from its usual sleek and impeccable arrangement.




Not only can they not deal it out, Thor also must wait until Loki comes back to before then. His nostrils flare in hot exhale. It was only mid-afternoon. How long is he supposed to wait? When usually did Loki make a reappearance? Thor grabs his head and presses the heel of his palm into his eyes, slumping backwards. Dinner, the answer being dinner. There were hours yet until.


Thor looks towards Loki’s lax, supine form. At least Loki is an elegant sleeper. Doesn’t drool, doesn’t snore.


Doesn’t talk back before Thor can even finish tripping over his own tongue.


“You make it seem like such a sin to want to spend time with you these days.”


Then the tension leaves his body, and Thor is more tired and disappointed than anything. He snorts, wondering if it’s so foolish since it appears he’s only talking to himself. “You know mother is already looking into betrothals. Next comes balls, escorted dates, dowry negotiations, a political wedding.” The idea thrills Thor none.


To be sure he’s had his fair share of comely maidens by now, but it was just as easy to abandon them afterwards, as long as expectations were made clear beforehand. No, what he dreads is being bound to another, if not by affection, then by appearances. Whichever marriage Thor would be tied down by, at least he’ll get to stay on Asgard. Loki however…there’s no guarantee that Loki will not be sent away to Vanaheim or Alfheim to broker an alliance.


Ever since growing into his own, Thor’s concept of time is suddenly staring at him like the spear point of Gungnir. They have not the careleeness to be so acrimonious with their youth anymore.


They were growing.




They were growing apart.


Loki’s chest falls in a gentle rhythm, absent from Thor’s woes.


Then Thor’s gaze travels from Loki’s chest to Loki’s face.


His little brother wasn’t quite so little anymore, something that was starting to catch the attentions of more than one. With eyes that could cut to ribbons anyone’s status, a wit that was both poison and antidote, a smile that was docile as adders and twice as seductive, and cheekbones that any heiress would surrender half their inheritance for… Loki was maturing into quite the handsome beauty. Thor cannot help but smile in pride at that a little.


Something that was still only ever discerned by Thor however, was the ever so tender expression now exposed in sleep, an expression that Thor was starting to see less and less of these days, even when Loki laughed or smiled. Despite the sharp, quicksilver of Loki’s features, it altogether softened him and came to resemble what was preserved in the depths of Thor’s heart.


Thor suddenly can’t tear his eyes away, now that he’s come to appreciate what he’s looking at.


They wander, tracing the vulnerable arch of Loki’s neck, the tilt of his head to one side, the enticing invitation of those parted lips. Unconsciously, Thor’s hand comes up to thumb over the dip of that cupid’s bow.


He leans in.


Kisses Loki like shy lovers would, own eyes closing at the touch.


It’s selfish, but Thor can’t think of anyone more worthy of Loki’s first kiss. Can’t think of anyone who knows his brother like he does.


Another kiss.


Can’t think of anyone who will cherish Loki as much as he always has and always will.


One more.


Can’t think of –


Thor can’t think of anything anymore.


He’s kissing Loki and he can’t stop. Thor tucks a strand of hair behind Loki’s ear, cups his jaw, and deepens. He kisses until he needs to break for breath, runs his hair back from where it fell in front.


When his senses refocus on sight, Loki’s unresponsive lips are red and full enough to make any woman jealous. Enough to give a man ideas… Thor becomes aware of blood advancing downwards, flowing to fill where it shouldn’t. Desire seeps into him like a toxin, corroding all coherent thought.


Thor’s conscience twinges weakly.


He should really, really stop while he still can.


But then pre-come darkens the fabric of his tight riding breeches, and Thor really cannot, to give himself relief – to cure him of this red, throbbing ache.


Thor kneels on the divan, knees astride Loki’s torso, breathing a harsh staccato compared to his sleeping brother’s regular constant. Thor’s hand is a balm on his furious erection. He strokes himself to his own hastened heartbeat and comes with a staggered shout over Loki’s face. He grips the armrest to the side of Loki’s supported head, hands shaking, knuckles white.


His eyes land on the faint pink of Loki’s bottom lip, adorned with a pearlescent droplet of spend like a dewdrop on a petal. His own mouth descends on it and comes away connected by the silver spun thread. Thor keeps their faces close enough to prolong the connection before it breaks with an exhalation. 




Loki’s eyes flutter open like a butterfly’s wing unfolding for the first time.


In the afterglow of sunset, he makes out Thor’s golden backlit figure with him, elbow balanced on the divan, head leaning on the back of a curled hand. His expression shadowed.


Loki leans up, feeling coming back into his limbs to lend him a little strength. “How was the riding trip?”


“I didn’t go.”




Loki’s cultivated demeanor is back in place by the time they rejoin for supper. He tries not to feel a little surprised at Thor’s staying.


He had not declined Thor entirely out of spite, but because having Thor’s temporary presence before becoming reacquainted with the cold of his absence was worse than not seeking it out at all.


Loki became increasingly alone as Thor increasingly amassed friends and admirers. Even when Loki saw Thor during dinners, his brother blathered on about every manner of sort that held no interest to him. Loki used to see Thor as generous, devoted, and affable, now he was but self-centered, arrogant, and proud. At times, those previous qualities could still be brought out, but they were becoming less-seldom in between.


If only Thor were ugly, blundering, and reserved. Instead he’s handsome, strong, and charismatic.


And exasperating. Ever oh so exasperating.


“So what do you see when you are beyond the waking world?”


“Can nothing rouse you?”


“What have others seen before?”


“Why would the Norn’s secrets be accessible at all?”


This would all be heartening, if Loki thought Thor was sincere in his interest.


“Thor, chew with your mouth closed.”


Thor does so, but even when he’s done doing so he still looks at Loki expectantly, watches his brother’s composure as he sits straight, handles cutlery like those of fine breeding, and looks on disinterestedly at his meal.


Sometimes his brother can be truly impenetrable when he was in a mood.


“Why don’t I spend tomorrow afternoon with you then? Just to keep company while you do what you want.”


Loki’s fork halts midair as his eyes makes searching contact with Thor’s.




“Don’t even think about it.”


Thor stays very still, terrified that he’s given something away.


“If you take or move anything in my rooms, I’ll know.”


He breaks into an overwide smile in nervous reprieve.


“You can however, massage my feet.” Loki teases, only half sarcastically.


Thor throws the pillow he had been fluffing at Loki’s face, which he catches to adjust behind his back.


“That being said, if you’d like to expand your vocabulary, I have plenty of big books with long words in them lying around.”


“My vernacular is fine, brother.” but takes one as a prop anyway, just to look occupied. It’s one from Loki’s lessons, heavy and bound in snakeskin.


Loki shifts and shimmies in place, holding his own – one about deep meditation methods.


“Could always be better.” and then he thumbs it open to a page that has been revisited so often, it’s gapped in the spine and reveals itself readily.


Like anyone that might fall asleep on a summer afternoon reading in the shade of a tree, Loki’s eyes lose focus and close. His breathing slows to a rate of dormancy, and when that hand loosens grip to fall at its owner’s side, book dropping to the floor, Thor is already hard and wanting.


The part of him that’s so far gone is screaming at him across the ravine to leave it as it is and salvage what’s left. Because Loki doesn’t know, and it had only been a kiss. The much more insidious part of him, the part that occupies the yawning abyss of said ravine, beckons him to jump in and discover. To take.


His eyes travel down the outline of his little brother: taking in what it could of revealed skin, halting at the hint of collarbone interrupted by cloth. Thor felt the urge to touch both what he saw and what he didn’t. Too late does he realize his hands have already moved in to unclasp and remove Loki’s clothing. One by one, until all that remains is his brother’s own natural grace.


It’s not long until Thor is in the same state. He moves to cage Loki’s unconscious figure beneath him.


“Loki. Oh Loki.”


He’s exquisite. His brother’s inert body, frozen in sleep, looks like that of a man uncovered from the snow and preserved by its purity. The breaths are barely perceptible, lending to the imagination skin of alabaster, form as marble. Thor groans his admiration. His hands slide lower and lower, familiarizing themselves with the contours of the artform. He darts kisses in between dips, suckles at a slope, and blows over sensitive peaks.


Loki is an Asgardian prince: prince among princes – something out of a dream, who is himself dreaming.


Thor reaches down to the hand hanging slack over the side, brings the back of it up to his lips on the turn of an elegant wrist, and kisses as how suitors do.


But it’s not enough.


So he guides that hand over to his heated cock, and wraps the fingers around it.


“Loki, have you touched yourself like this often? Have you thought of anyone else while doing so?”


Loki’s own manhood does not stir, body too subdued to even respond to the most base and compelling forms of contact. Loki never talks about women as they might potentially pertain to his own attentions. Thor was randy long before Loki at the same age he is now, it’s strange how chaste his devilish brother can be in some ways.


“Let big brother teach you the basic ways of pleasure.”


Holding Loki’s hand in his, Thor tugs, up and down. Up and down. That lily-white hand on his pulsating, crimson member. Thor fights down the feeling of needing to come right then and there, and he lets go, balancing up on his knees.


His cock is painfully engorged, and Loki’s mouth was conveniently at crotch level, the way his upper body was reclined upon the heap of pillows.


Thor takes Loki’s chin in hand, tipping his head backwards slightly so that the underside of his prick, right below the head, is balanced on top of those soft, passive lips.


“You’re so inexperienced. It’s my fault: for not taking you out with us on tavern nights, for leaving you at the library too long.”


Using the other hand, he works Loki’s slack jaw open.


“Take as much as you can for now. We’ll practice.”


Loki’s mouth silently grants permission with its alluring, warm invitation.


He presses in.


Thor’s not unaware of the appeal of his manhood. The way eyes usually widened at the sight, the way some girls could not fit him all the way. He doesn’t want to choke Loki here, and so pushes his head down only to a fraction of the full length, that mouth already straining around the girth.


It’s glorious.


Thor chokes back a sob as he fists the base of Loki’s head by his raven hair, soothes at the throat against Loki’s gag reflex.


“That’s it. You’re doing so well.”


It takes embarrassingly little until Thor’s balls clench. He makes haste dragging his cock out of that tight tunnel to splatter his seed over his brother’s oblivious face.


But the trance session is generous in timing and Thor’s arousal does not wilt. By the fourth time, Loki’s mouth is ruby red, throat likely sore seeing as how Thor has shown him how to take it to the hilt. By the seventh time, there are fingerprint bruises on Loki’s jawline and come dripping down his chin onto his chest. By the tenth time, Loki is as consummate with his mouth as any intoxicated whore.


Then, when the shadows start to stretch long, Thor reaches for and takes out the Idunn’s apple he had brought with him, bites into it and kisses Loki’s receiving mouth with the fresh juices mixing on their tongues.


It takes away the pain and heals any marks left over, concealing all evidence of his deeds before it can be discovered.


Thor’s hands shake as he cleans and redresses them both.


When Loki wakes, he is none the wiser and turning towards Thor, seemingly engrossed in the literature.


The following day, Thor plunders Loki’s waiting mouth in all the positions he can think of from the divan. Whether it’s him thrusting into Loki’s face, or Loki’s head being moved to service him, Thor doesn’t think spend has ever looked quite so good on any other visage.




Sooner or later Loki has to dedicate some time to combat training, if not enough to become a warrior, then at least enough to hold his own in self-defence.


But really. Who else other than Thor did he have to worry about, and did Thor have to go so hard, grinning in exhilaration over Loki landing on his back, having already dispensed with all his usual tricks? This is why they didn’t play-wrestle anymore, never at Loki’s insistence at least.


The breath is being pushed out of him as he holds his staff above, trying to work a foot up to kick. It’s no use. Loki is like a sapling ground against the dirt. He has not the muscle to fend off the weight.


“I yield.”


Is it him, or does Thor take a fraction of a moment longer than it takes to get off?


But he does and extends a hand to help Loki up. Loki rubs his rump. “Oww.”


Thor crosses his arms over that broad chest, and grins at him.




“I yield.”


Loki’s head is limp over Thor’s shoulder as the expanse of his pale neck is bared. Thor bites down on that column, bracing Loki’s arm over his own, while the other hand is saliva-slicked and four fingers deep in his brother’s ass.


He can still taste the sweat and musk from Loki’s skin. Tried not to go dizzy with the heat of it earlier, under the sun, the dry wind, as Loki struggled futilely against his bulk.


The contrast of their figures was lovely, beginning at skin tone, played against each other on textures, tousled by fair hair and dark, met where one was lithe and the other was robust, and ending by the increasing stretch of Loki’s stuffed hole.


Thor catches an ear lobe between his teeth and grunts. “That’s right, yield.”


He pumps Loki’s tight entrance slowly down on his shaft. His brother doesn’t protest. Loki is so much lighter comparatively that Thor bounces him like a ragdoll. Loki’s head jerks helplessly on each rough rebound. Thor’s face drawn tight in ecstasy and hissing on orgasm.


He does it over and over and over again. Hiking his rear up and shoving the cushions underneath the hips, bending Loki over the armrest and thrusting, folding Loki’s legs over his chest by the ankles and fascinated by the depth of his cock sinking into him.


Thor loses track of the number of rounds. The amount of semen bubbling out upon unsheathing was absolutely obscene. Thor makes sure to gather all of it.




Thor encourages Loki to eat more fruit at the harvesting’s peak.


Different varieties of red grapes to develop a finer tongue for wine tasting, strawberries for the way they were so perfectly bulbous and bite-sized, cherries because Thor bets Loki can’t tie their stems with his tongue, but enjoys the way Loki tries to, raspberries for the way he caps and then sucks them off his finger, apples for continued immortality.


Thor develops a bit of a fixation, watching all those juices stain his brother’s lips a deeper red.


Loki, for his part, takes it as Thor, in his big brother way, trying to push more food on his plate, like parents so often do.


He’s always so very full when entering a trance-state and wakes up to the sugared taste of fruit on his tongue.




The sessions become a regular occurrence: fucking falls into the order of the day after lunch, followed by dinner. Thor fills his appetite, slakes his lust, and quenches his thirst. Gorged on his greed, the temptation Thor cannot deny, and Loki only becomes dearer in his heart with each climax, Loki taking in all his love, swallowing on reflex every last drop Thor’s lovesick body can produce.


Thor only hopes that whatever secrets of the universe Loki hopes to uncover, that he never uncovers this.




They’ve become closer in the recent weeks. That it’s lasted this long already is some kind of drastic character shift for Thor, but who was Loki to reprimand him if he chose to do things Loki’s way?


If it were some elaborate prank, Thor would not have had the self-control to keep it going as long as it had. Though he does wonder… at the way he sometimes seemed a little antsy before Loki entered the trance. The twitch of an eyebrow, a bouncing knee, his hand combing back blond locks.


He looks up at Thor from where his head was lying in his lap.


“Thor, you’re not…bored are you?”


His brother responds by sweeping him up in a hug and kissing his brow. “To have it as good and easy as this? Never.”


Loki smiles subtly as all worry is assuaged, leaning into Thor’s chest to fall deeper than dreams.




He did have some unease still however and waits until it’s only the two of them remaining at the table to bring it up.


“Thor, I’m…”


Loki was proud and apologies never came easily.


“I’m sorry for blowing you--.”


Thor sputters into his chalice.


Loki pats his back in concern and continues when the coughing ceases. You’d think given how uniquely rare it was to hear a sincere apology from the trickster himself, that Thor would have his ears tuned.


“Off. I’m sorry for blowing you off when you wanted to go riding that time.”


Thor’s cheeks were still red. Was he alright?


“And for insulting your friends while I was at it.”


There. He said it.


Thor is regaining normalcy in his pallor. “Oh. I had forgiven you long ago already. Tis a small grievance between brothers.”


Loki knew that, but “Why don’t we do so tonight then? It can be short, no one will be imposed, just the two of us, and the evening is pleasant enough.”


It’s such a candid and earnest request that Thor agrees to it on the spot and the two of them leave the dining hall, all fondness and no animosity.




They spur their horses on, racing all the way, neck and neck, to a grand oak tree on the top of a favourite hill of theirs when they were boys, climbing branches, hiding out in the leaves until the servants came searching.


Loki’s mare whinnies and rears up when he pulls on the reins, stopping at the trunk. Thor’s stallion loops around in a gallop to come to a halt. Both of them are flushed and laughing. No matter how big the fight, how pent up they were at each other, how much trouble one or both of them had landed in – riding together always chased it away on the wind, cleared their heads.


Thor can see Loki by the galaxy of stars above that lights the field, the fireflies luminescing about the tall grass, and the distant glow of Asgardia beyond. “I let you win.”


Loki’s mare snorts on cue, echoing the sentiments of her rider. “I’d forgotten how fun beating your arse was.”


Thor dismounts and, like a gentleman, supports his brother by the hand until he’s swung his other leg over, and hoists Loki down by the waist as well. It’s a holdover from when Loki had been young and learning to ride for the first time. He was hard pressed to get on the horses at all, and once on them, was absolutely petrified by how to get down.


Thor wraps an arm about his brother’s shoulder and presses their heads together. “We’re a bit too big now to be climbing trees still however.”


Loki’s finger traces the texture of the bark, as if there’d be a carved heart on it with a cliched T+L. “That’s unfortunate. I was always able to climb higher than you.”


Thor quirks his head. “Fell out harder than me as well.”


Loki winces and settles down at the base. “I remember how fast you carried me back, trying not to jostle, but going as quickly as you could for the emergency it was.”


Thor remembers that incident as clear as day. He thought he’d lost his brother forever then. His mood turns a little sombre. The stars shine on. “However many ways that day could have played out, Loki… I could have never envisioned a future without you.”


Loki’s sitting with his arms crossed over his bent knee, looking out on the horizon. “Thor, I’ve been thinking that it’s maybe time I stop with the trance sessions.”


“Oh?” Thor’s breath catches in his throat.


“As immersing as they are, like lying on a shallow, clear ocean floor and being able to see the honeycombed light shine down and dance from above, it hasn’t been anything more than that. I’m going to try once more tomorrow, the longest I’ve ever attempted this, for a full day, but if there’s nothing to glean still, then I’ll stop.”


Loki’s outstretched hand catches on his. “I wish I could have shown you, but from what I know, it’s not possible to bring another one’s mind along.”


Thor swallows.


“After that, you don’t have to keep vigil watching me sleep. I’ve read up on a lot of the issues father wants you to gain an expertise on. You can practice debating with me so that he can be impressed with your grasp on matters. We’ll still be with each other, but we can actually be doing things together.”  


This is the most open-hearted Loki has ever bared himself before Thor. More than that, this is perhaps also a gentle concession by Loki to Thor for the crown.


Loki is looking at him, almost shyly, at the proposal he’s put forth his older brother.


Thor smiles bittersweet in response. It was what he had wanted all along after all.




Loki has prepared a crystal amphora of wine, trays of snack foods, and a low-burning fireplace for their settling in. Thor pours and pours, drinks and drinks. When he’s done there’s still a good amount for the rest of the time he’ll be there. It’s to be a long night, and yet not long enough.


The gold cup slips from Thor’s hold as the other hand wipes at his mouth.


Loki lies still and trusting before him in nothing but a light tunic and leggings, making Thor’s job even easier.


Thor bridal carries Loki’s nude form over to the large bed, arranging the living doll of his brother as he likes for what he chooses – the first in a marathon. “Let’s make this last night a special one.”


He places himself between his brother’s spread legs, sweetly manipulating them in his large, calloused hands. Thor takes in shuddering, arduous inhalations, feeling the sick rush of vertigo again. Choosing to step away from the promontory of propriety.




This time was certainly different. The waters start out clear enough, but gradually become murkier and murkier.




Loki isn’t seeing anything at all. Worse, he is no longer in the warm ebb and flow of the trance magic either. His body, in self-preservation, is being slowly pulled out of it.




He’s never been this brutal, this animalistic with any of his previous bed partners, but even if Thor wants to blame it on his berserker blood, he knows he’s exactly depraved enough to be doing this. So much so that he doesn’t see any of the signs.


Doesn’t see the faint tint of color as it starts to return to his brother’s cheeks.


Doesn’t see how Loki’s eyelids screw in pain where previously they were still, muscles tensing all over.


Doesn’t detect the increase in heart rate, beating in accordance with harshly drawn breaths.


Thor doesn’t see the signs until Loki’s eyes are open, fractures of shock radiating from the jewelled green irises.


His room is filled with the stench of sex, clings to the furs beneath him, comes from the slick squelch of spend being pumped into. Thor – and it is Thor – surges with enough force to jostle Loki’s entire body, hips slapping against Loki’s ass. Above him Thor is grunting and heaving. He’s doing everything to him but stopping.


Loki opens to scream.


And was abruptly silenced by Thor’s hand clamping down over his mouth. The other one pinned his arms above his head. All while he was still being fucked into by his brother’s monster cock.


Loki starts to do the only thing he can, which is to buck and squirm like his life depended on it. But it’s no use. It never has been, not with Thor. In vain Loki tried to convince himself it was a nightmare, that Thor could never do this to him.


There’s a perversely heart-breaking moment of sympathy, from whatever twisted concern Thor held for him when he guiltily says “It won’t hurt as much if you stop struggling.”


What can he do? He can’t fight Thor off, can only hope that Thor finishes sooner. Tries his best to not seize up and clench at the battering intrusion. In and out with machine-like efficiency.


At some point Thor decides that Loki’s expression of betrayal is too much and flips him over on his front with a twist of his arm. He rudely shoves his head down into the pillows, muffling the cries of fury. Loki starts to curse Thor’s name, their brotherly blood, the house of Odin. Or tries to at least, not much of it is interpretable by the time it reaches Thor’s ears.


He leans over Loki’s back, heat radiating off him like a furnace.


“L-Loki. Don’t think. Just feel. Doesn’t it feel good?” He tells him in labored breaths, the hot stink of alcohol spoken across the shell of his ear. Thor thrusts so hard that Loki’s legs underneath almost give in.


Thor’s wet fingers slide down him, below him. Loki whimpers as Thor finds his flaccid cock. Suddenly fearful of how he might be treated there in Thor’s grip.


He quietly despairs, still and ruined. How long had this been going on? He doesn’t know, gods he doesn’t know. He had believed…believed that Thor’s attentions were sentimental and true, that they were becoming close again.


He had been so foolish. So guarded. So desperate to give himself to the first person who had ever shown him “genuine” affection. Brotherly affection.


Those words and their meaning – they had been discarded as the items of clothing along the floor. Thor’s hand on his cock, stroking him to hardness. Hot, needled tears prick at his eyes. Thor could have had anyone in this realm he wanted. Loki would have let Thor have him if he had just been true to him. Would have given him anything, even the mantle of kingship.


“I know you love me, look at how much I love you. This only happened because I wanted us to be closer. Because I wanted a way to claim you.”


Loki chokes back a sob and a bitter laugh. Was this what Thor called love?


“There’s no other like you. Not their smile, not their body, not their mouth taking me in.”


So Thor used him in that manner too. Of course he had.


“You were so sweet, so pure, and so…”


Loki shudders in something other than fear.


“So beautiful.”


Loki’s mutinous body starts to respond to Thor’s praise. Thor’s dark praise. And Loki’s all the weaker for knowing this, and yet becoming aroused by it.


“You’ll be hard pressed to find another cock to satisfy you or fill you half as well.”


His hips jolt inward insistently to punctuate, shoving Loki’s leaking cock into Thor’s rough hand. What used to be a forced rhythm beyond Loki’s control is now one that his stimulated senses start to adjust to. It starts to please as much as it had hurt.


“I knew you’d get hard for me.”


Thor’s words and actions are exquisite torture.


Speeding up.






The closer Thor gets the faster he strokes Loki along in echoed fashion. Loki can feel Thor’s heartbeat along with his own. As one, beating like the last moments before death.


They fall.


Ecstasy takes them, swift as a body on the rocks.


And then it’s over.


Where Loki had been so heated just seconds ago, like a sacrifice before immolation, he’s suddenly starts to feel the cold set in as Thor withdraws.


It’s the cold claiming him that hurts more than anything else. Being used. Discarded.


Thus, Loki is doomed to Thor’s next suggestion.


“We can start doing this together more.”


He turns Loki over on his back again.


“It’ll be our secret.”


Loki stares unseeing at the ceiling, Thor’s weight collapsed atop. Doesn’t even move a hand to wipe the tracks of tears drying down the side of his face.


A secret.


He loved secrets, hadn’t he?