Thor finds the videos by chance, much like they did with Banner when they were in the Grandmaster’s personal ship.
The holographic device in his personal quarters had yielded useful information about the ship’s layout and capacities before, along with some… interesting videos that Thor had to suppose were what passed for Sakaaran entertainment—the less said about most of them, the better—, so he’d gotten into the habit of tinkering with the thing whenever he was lying in bed, restless, unable to turn his thoughts off and drift into sleep. It was toss up between being either a practical use of his time, or mindless enough that it’d sedate his brain into submission. Either outcome was better than letting his thoughts consume him.
He wishes he’d gone with that tonight.
He finds the file amongst the other ones, innocuously titled with a series of letters from the Sakaaran alphabet and numbers from their numeral system, like every other one he’s opened so far.
He realizes this one is different almost as soon as it starts playing, but he only realizes just how different this file is when the shot comes into focus and he sees Loki, sprawled in a chaise longue, chest bared, with a man that’s naked save for his undergarments leaning over him, kissing him slow and deep.
Thor sits up on his bed almost immediately, heart hammering inside his chest.
Loki’s eyes, closed until that moment, open to fix on something— on someone.
The Grandmaster. Thor can see him on his throne, a distance away from the chaise longue, looking just how Thor remembers him from that first meeting— smug and lecherous.
Loki smiles at him, before he closes his eyes again, and puts a hand on the back of the man’s head, fingers carding through the dark strands of his hair before he pulls him down into a deeper, messier kiss, only to pull on his hair after a couple of seconds and have their mouths part, making an obscene picture, mouths open and panting, lips lush and swollen.
I shouldn’t be watching this, he thinks, and swallows.
But he doesn’t stop the video. He can’t. He’s stuck to his spot, hands balled into fists in his lap, on top of his covers. His muscles are tense and his breathing is fast and he shouldn’t watch this, shouldn’t watch his brother debase himself for the Grandmaster’s entertainment, but there’s this ugly part inside of him, so ugly and hidden well beneath everything else, that needs to see.
And so he does.
Loki pulls on the man’s hair until his head is thrown back and he’s letting out a pitiful noise that is half pain and half arousal, and Loki licks a stripe up the line of his throat, pausing whenever the man shivers, and when he finally gets to his jaw he bites there, hard enough to draw out a hiss.
Loki smiles at the noise, satisfaction shining in his eyes, and the ugliness inside of Thor coils up tightly inside his gut, heavy and uncomfortable.
“Up,” Loki commands, and the man scrambles to follow his order.
Thor can’t help but notice that he’s built like a warrior, and that his face is pleasant enough, with a generous mouth and high cheekbones, with dark hair framing his features. He looks like some of the men he’d seen keeping Loki company during his youth, trained for battle but willing to bend to Loki’s will easily enough.
Thor had always thought those men beneath Loki.
And even now, with everything that’s transpired between them, he looks at this stranger getting Loki’s attention, and feels exactly the same.
“How are you liking your treat?” The Grandmaster asks then, startling Thor, who’d honestly forgotten about him. “He’s a handsome one. And he has a rather impressive… well, we don’t need to be crude here, don’t we?”
Loki chuckles as he sits up on the chaise longue, movements fluid and easy. He looks at the Grandmaster with a smirk before leaning into the man standing next to him, one of his hands coming up to slide up one of his thighs, the touch light enough that Thor can see how the man’s suppressing a shudder as Loki’s hand inches higher and higher.
Loki stops at the hem of the man’s flimsy undergarments, letting the tips of his fingers slip underneath them.
He makes a contemplative noise even as he leaves the chaise longue to go down to his knees on the floor in one smooth movement, and looks up at the man, hand still on him, giving him a smile that could almost be sweet on anyone other than him.
“I’ve had bigger,” Loki drawls, finally, and his fingers slip out from underneath the fabric and his hand inches up until he’s palming the other man through his undergarments, and directing a smirk in the Grandmaster’s direction.
The Grandmaster smiles at Loki’s words in a way that makes Thor’s fists clench tighter than they’d already been, nails biting into the skin of his palm until the sting feels like background noise—it’d be predatory, if a predator knew its prey would choose to be eaten, and enjoy it every step of the way.
“Oh? How naughty. Tell me more.”
Loki hums while he curls his hand around the other man's bulge, his thumb stroking him lazily over the fabric. The man shivers under the touch, his knees looking like they want to buckle for a second before he straightens up, and leans into Loki’s touch, eager even in his attempt to retain his composure.
“He held me down, on my knees, with my shoulders pressed to the mattress, my face buried in a pillow, and he fucked me like it was his due. Like it was his birthright to have me open and red on his cock.”
The words (and the odd undercurrent of tenderness in them) stir something in Thor, something uglier than he'd felt when he'd seen Loki kiss the man, uglier than the swell of rage that had just reared its head when Loki had gone down on his knees, sinuous and fluid.
“Oh? What a barbarian,” the Grandmaster says, still watching from his throne, legs parted, interest obvious in his tented tunic even from the sideways angle.
Thor hadn’t wanted to punch him this bad even when the bastard had had him handcuffed to a fucking chair, and called him God of Sparkles to add insult to injury.
“Quite,” Loki agrees with the Grandmaster. His thumb still rubs along the man’s length over the fabric. “It was— primal. Being taken like that. His cock so deep inside me, his hands holding me down, him plastered all along my back, like he wouldn’t let me get away even if I wanted to.”
“You liked it,” the Grandmaster says, and there’s mirth in his voice, and an edge of lust that’s enough for Thor’s nostrils to flare.
“I loved it,” Loki tells him, as if in confidence, and as soon as the words are out he leans forward and licks a long stripe up the man’s clothed cock, stopping to spit at the tip and dig his tongue into his slit, drawing out a stuttering moan from him, and causing him to put his hands on Loki’s shoulders.
Loki takes that as praise, by the way he’s smiling, and he sucks on the head of the man’s cock through the fabric, almost like a reward.
“He’s being so well behaved for you,” the Grandmaster says, like he’s discussing someone’s newly gotten pet. “It’s a pity you don’t seem to like them well behaved.”
Loki nuzzles the man’s bulge, and there’s another moan, softer, before Loki says, “I like them well enough. But sometimes I need a little… more.”
The Grandmaster hums in response, seemingly deep in thought, before he makes a triumphant sound and claps his hands a couple of times, like the pompous bastard he is.
“Yes?” Comes Topaz’ disembodied and somewhat distorted voice.
“Send the twins in,” the Grandmaster says, looking utterly pleased with himself.
Topaz doesn’t reply, but after a couple of minutes there’s the sound of what might be a door sliding open and then shut, and then the sound of steps, and then there are two other men in the shot, dressed in Sakaaran garb.
“Boys,” the Grandmaster starts, and waves a hand towards Loki and the well-behaved man, “Our friend here, he needs some special treatment. You won't mind sharing, will you?”
The men—both of them tall and both of them muscled and pleasing to the eye, if also utterly forgettable, for the exception of the slight curvature to the nose of one of them— nod and give the Grandmaster twin smiles of arrogance before making their way to Loki.
“Start him easy. You wouldn't want to break your toy before you get to properly play with it.”
Thor has to bite his lip to keep himself from making an enraged little noise at the words, and at how at ease Loki seems with them, taking them in stride flawlessly, gaze busy going from one twin to the other.
“Why, hello there.” He makes to stand, but the twin with the crooked nose puts a hand on his shoulder, and makes him stay where he is.
Thor is pretty sure Loki could've done away with both men without even breaking a sweat, but he stays where he is, looking up at Crooked Nose with a raised eyebrow.
“You look good on your knees for us,” Straight Nose says, and starts to disrobe with economical movements.
Instead of following his twin’s example, Crooked Nose takes the hand that isn’t keeping Loki in place and uses it to untie his breeches, reach inside, and pull out his already half-hard cock.
It’s about as average as the rest of him, Thor notes, and dismisses the voice inside of him that calls him sullen and petty.
Crooked Nose’s hand trails up Loki’s shoulder, and then his neck, until he’s finally cupping his nape and squeezing. He demands, “Suck me.”
Loki makes a playful, considering noise deep in his throat as he eyes the length of Crooked Nose’s cock, but the man seems to have an impatient vein in him, and so he squeezes harder, and drags Loki forward until his nose is buried against his smattering of pubic hair, lips only a scant few inches away from his cock.
From this angle, Thor can only see Loki’s profile, and he expects to see Loki— react. Expects to see him take the disrespect he’s being treated with and make these fools who seem to believe themselves worthy of treating him in this way sorry that they ever dared to lay eyes on him.
Instead, what Thor can see of Loki’s face goes— slack. Mouth dropping open, his one visible eye blinking slowly a couple of times, almost sedately.
“Suck me,” Crooked Nose repeats, gruff and a little husky.
And Loki— does. He noses at the coarse hairs above the man’s cock, seeming to be taking in his musk, and then he dips lower and takes his cock—still half-hard— in his mouth; takes it in without preamble, without teasing, without any of the tricks that Thor would’ve thought—
—if Thor had ever thought—
On the video, Loki sucks the man eagerly, sloppy enough to have spit running down his chin, shining and obscene as Loki’s lips reach pubic hair, taking the entire length of the man even after he’s gotten him entirely hard, keeping him hitting the back of his throat and making these noises— these noises that are keen and shameless, almost needy.
And then Straight Nose is there, standing next to his brother, completely naked and giving his own hard cock a couple of lazy tugs, saying, “Don’t slack.”
And for a second there, Thor sees Loki stop dead in his tracks and thinks this is it, this is how this farce will end, but Loki unwinds fast enough that Thor could’ve made the whole thing up in his mind, and he pulls back from Crooked Nose’s cock with an obscene pop, licking at his lips in a way that’s nothing short of sinful before he sinks down on Straight Nose’s cock, eyes open, maintaining eye contact with the man while he goes down on him, slow, hollowing his cheeks whenever he reaches the head, and letting out these sweet little hums when the head of his cock is pushed as deep as it’ll reach.
Straight Nose makes appreciative noises, deep—ugly—, as he holds Loki’s head down by grabbing a fistful of his head.
“You, make yourself useful,” Crooked Nose says, and Thor finally notices Well-Behaved still standing where Loki had left him, almost fidgeting in place, wet fabric clinging to his hard cock. “Get him ready for us.”
And then he takes a vial from the pocket of his undone breeches and hands it over almost indolently, before leaning into his brother’s ear and whispering something that makes him hum in interest and pull Loki away from his cock by his fistful of hair.
“On the chair,” Straight Nose tells Loki, nodding in its direction. “On your back.”
Loki hums, an eyebrow arched, before he obeys Straight Nose’s orders, lying down on the chaise longue, resting his head on his crossed arms, looking for all the world like the bored, spoiled, petulant brat Thor remembers from tedious lessons on topics that didn’t particularly pique his interest.
“Do you have a plan here, gentlemen? Or am I to start entertaining myself?” Loki tells the men, smirk in place.
The twins don’t make an effort to engage Loki in a battle of wits (they do say that the better part of valor is discretion, Thor thinks, unkindly). Straight Nose goes to the head of the chaise longue and proceeds to throw a leg over it, straddling Loki’s chest. He holds his still wet cock with one hand fisted around the base, and with the other one he cups the back of Loki’s head. He says, “You know what to do.”
And Loki does, even with the restricted range of movement, taking the inches of the man’s cock as he feeds them to him, at the pace set for him—slow for the first couple of thrusts, and then relentless, almost punishing, going fast and deep, getting punched out little sounds from Loki. Loki attempts, at a point, to regain some control by placing his hands on the man’s hips, but Crooked Nose comes forward then and grabs a hold of them in one of his own, while he grabs his own cock in the other one and strokes himself off lazily, seeming content enough for the moment to watch his brother fuck Loki’s mouth to his heart’s content.
Well-Behaved moves again then, going over to undo Loki’s own trousers with deft fingers, even through his evident arousal. When he pulls them down, he takes Loki’s undergarments too, and Loki’s cock bobs up, hard and already a little wet at the tip, despite his previous behavior. Well-Behaved eyes it with obvious interest for a couple of seconds, before gathering himself and taking a hold of Loki’s legs from under his knees, getting them parted, with his feet planted on the chair.
Loki offers little to no resistance to the man putting him where he wants, occupied with Straight Nose’s cock, taking it deep with every thrust, making a mess of himself with his own dribbled spit and the pre-come that leaks out from the corners of his mouth, overly full. Every now and then he makes an attempt to free his hands from the other twin, and when he fails to, he moans around the other’s cock, and Thor sees the way his cock seems to jolt, pre-come beading at the tip.
It’s— debauchery. Of the filthiest, most forbidden kind, and Thor should stop watching for his own mental wellbeing, but he can’t— he can’t keep his gaze away from Loki, can’t bear the thought of not knowing what else will happen, what else he’ll let these men (so unworthy of him, even at his worst) do to him.
Loki lets Straight Nose’s cock slip out then, hitting his chin, and he lets out an aborted little whine that makes Thor aware of the heat in his veins, the way his cheeks feel uncomfortably hot, the way he itches all over.
And that’s when he sees it.
Well-Behaved has his face buried in Loki’s ass, his hands holding him up for ease of access, and Thor can’t see, but he can imagine the way he’s fucking Loki with his tongue from the way he’s thrusting himself against Loki’s ass, deep and fast, and nowhere near enough to what Loki needs, from the way he’s trying to thrust back against the man’s face, useless with how little leverage he has.
He catches a glimpse of Loki’s hole, red and abused and looking so wet when Well-Behaved grabs handfuls of Loki’s cheeks and parts them before he goes back to eating Loki out with a single-minded focus that bears fruit in the form of Loki falling apart on the man’s tongue, letting out strangled little moans, little punched out ah ah ahs that give way to harsh breathing that seems to be the prelude to sobbing and Thor feels the ugliness inside him come back with a vehemence so consuming that he feels it like a blood rush to his head.
Then Well-Behaved backs away, cleaning the spit on his chin with the back of one hand before he looks for the vial Crooked Nose had given him and he opens it and pours the contents on two of his fingers, rubbing them together for a second or two before he— sinks them inside Loki, with no finesse and no nothing.
And Loki whimpers. Loki whimpers, and this man fucks him with his fingers like it’s what’ll buy him his entrance to Valhalla.
The twins, who’d been entertained enough watching Loki come apart while Well-Behaved got him open and slick on his tongue, seem to have had enough of being ignored. Straight Nose grabs Loki’s chin and slaps his cock against his bottom lip until Loki’s tongue comes out to lick at his head before letting him slide back inside, while Crooked Nose makes and approving noise and squeezes Loki’s hands where he’s still holding them.
It goes like that for a little while longer, Straight Nose fucking Loki’s mouth, slipping out a couple of times when Well-Behaved ups his pace, or moves his fingers in such a way that has Loki squirming or when he— when he gives him a third finger and Loki lets out a shaky little exhale that wreaks all sorts of havoc on Thor’s gut, and then getting him back to task, with Crooked Nose finally letting one of Loki’s hands free so he can have him wrap it around his cock, guiding the strokes with his own over it.
“I think that’s quite enough of that,” the Grandmaster says, startling Thor again with his presence. He’s stroking himself lazily through his tunic as he speaks. “We don’t want to finish our meal before the main course.”
The three men back off at that, almost instantaneously.
Loki, on the other hand, just stretches himself luxuriously, and turns to the side to look at the Grandmaster and say— more composed than he has any right to, looking as defiled as he does with his swollen lips and his leaking cock, and his unkempt hair, “That was a good start.”
“Tell me about that barbarian of yours,” the Grandmaster replies, at the same time as he gestures for the twins to join Loki again in the chair.
Loki sits up in one single fluid motion, and gestures lazily for one of the twins—Crooked Nose— to sit down next to him. The man looks both a little irked at being treated with such levity and a little intrigued.
Then Loki straddles him and sinks down on his cock, taking his entire length all at once, letting out a drawn out moan as his inner thighs touch the man’s lap and he’s practically sitting on his cock, giving the Grandmaster a perfect view of the way his cock bobs and leaks, the way his stomach tightens as he gets used to the fullness.
“He was broad—” Loki gasps out then, as he grinds down on Crooked Nose’s cock a couple of times, selfishly pursuing his own pleasure. “Broad and skilled in battle, with hands roughened from weapon drills.”
“How fascinating. Were his hands good at anything else?”
Crooked Nose’s hands find their way to Loki’s hips then, forcing Loki into a grueling rhythm that Loki falls into seamlessly.
“He was a virtuously talented man,” Loki says, and some of the words come out mangled, hitched, but that doesn’t stop Thor from reading into them, into the care Loki’s putting into choosing them even when his eyelids are fluttering shut with every thrust of the man beneath him, and every grinding motion of his own, slow and so calculated, getting exactly what he wants where he wants it.
Straight Nose joins them then, tracing a finger up Loki’s cock, collecting the wet from his tip and smearing it all the way down with a loose fist that Loki bucks into.
“I bet he never made you cry on his cock, this brute of yours,” the man says, and he tightens his fist around Loki’s cock and twists his wrist on the upstroke, earning himself a sigh. “I bet we can have you make a mess of yourself.”
“Oh,” the Grandmaster says. “I do love a good bet.”
Loki’s eyes meet first the Grandmaster’s and then Straight Nose’s, who is giving him a smile too cavalier for someone of his station. He shudders on a hard thrust, and closes them for a second, mouth going slack. When he opens them again, his eyes hold want, but also mischief, and he practically purrs, “Do your worst, boys.”
In a matter of seconds, Crooked Nose is lifting Loki off his cock and lying down on the chair with his feet planted on it, motioning for Loki to come forward. When Loki does, Crooked Nose gets him back on his lap, this time facing him, and he starts a slow grind, hands splayed on Loki’s hips, and grabbing a hold of him firmly enough that when Loki seems to grow frustrated and try to set his own pace he finds he has a little trouble doing it.
And then the frustration melts into a second of shock and then a surge of something that Thor can’t even describe—can’t even see well enough, from the way Loki bends forward and buries his face in Crooked Nose’s chest, his hair falling forward to hide him from view— when Straight Nose joins them in the chair and starts teasing Loki’s rim.
He can tell when Straight Nose slides a finger inside when Loki’s whole body shudders and he lets out a groan that fades into a gasp halfway, and he can tell when he slides another one by the way Loki starts trying to grind back into them and then grunting in frustration when he realizes he can’t— or he can’t easily enough; Thor knows his brother’s strength, knows he could easily get what he wants, could easily make these sorry little men give him everything he wants of them, could—
But he doesn’t want to. He seems to want these men to—
To do exactly what they’re doing, to paw at him like they have any right to touch him, to treat him like they would commonfolk, to use him.
To do the things his barbarian— whoever the hell the man is— did to him.
He steps down on the sting the blurry image of the man Loki speaks so fondly of brings, and watches as the twins keep fucking his brother like that for a few minutes— how Loki tries to ride the cock and fingers inside him to no avail until he seems to give up and lies on Crooked Nose’s chest and takes it, looking soft and pliant and so responsive.
And then Straight Nose takes his fingers out and Loki makes his discontent at this turn of events known with a soft little groan. Straight Nose shushes him, uncharacteristically tender—
—and then he shoves his cock in Loki, all in one thrust.
The noise Loki makes at that, the way his whole body writhes, and his face moves just so to lay his cheek on Crooked Nose’s chest to give him a perfect view of the way pain and pure bliss seem to be battling on his features— eyebrows drawn, eyes closed, cheeks flushed, mouth slack once again, bitten raw and shiny with spit, a little bit of it dripping down the corner of his lips.
And then they’re both fucking him, relentlessly, in a rhythm that barely lets Loki catch his breath, rocking back and forth, neither of them ever actually pulling out, keeping him full of cock at all times.
And then Well-Behaved comes back into view, moving of his own accord for maybe the first time since Thor started watching, and he goes to Loki’s side, pets his hair and his cheeks, and wipes the spit from his chin before he’s helping him back into a mostly sitting position with gentle hands, and guiding his cock past Loki’s parted lips.
What Loki lacks in coordination right then, he more than makes up for with sheer enthusiasm, opening up as wide as he can for Well-Behaved’s cock, and getting a hand on one of his buttocks, gripping at the flesh and guiding him until Well-Behaved is fucking his mouth with quick little thrusts.
It doesn’t take long until Well-Behaved is grunting and shaking and guiding Loki off his cock— Loki’s hand on him keeps him where he is, however, and he looks up at him through half-lidded eyes and smirks at him as he licks into his slit.
Just like that, Well-Behaved is spurting all over Loki’s tongue and the bottom half of his face, his come dripping down his lips and his chin and right cheek.
“Fuck.” It comes, half-choked, from one of the twins—Thor can’t be bothered to figure out which one, can’t look away from Loki’s contented face as he licks the come off his lips with eyes closed.
The twins don’t last much longer, after that, only a couple of hard thrusts, and some deep grinding until first one, and then other, is shuddering and groaning in release.
He feels an inkling of relief, amidst the heat curled deep inside him and the tight tingling sensation running all over him, but it’s short-lived.
When the twins finally pull out and get themselves untangled from the mess of limbs on the chair, Loki is left on his stomach with legs parted, the spots on his hips where he’d been gripped looking ruddy and sore. He’s leaning his head on his crossed arms, looking entirely too smug.
“On your knees,” says Well-Behaved, then— and the words shock Thor almost as much as his voice, deep and gentle and a bit throaty.
“Oh?” Loki replies, lifting an eyebrow in interest and directing his gaze in a pretty obvious manner to Well-Behaved’s spent cock, even as he follows the directions, getting on his hands and knees— showing off his angry red cock, looking slick with Loki’s pre-come, and terribly neglected.
Well-Behaved’s response is to walk over to him, put his hands on Loki’s buttocks and spread them as widely as he can, giving Thor the sight of Loki’s abused hole, dripping come, before leaning in to start pushing it all back in with his tongue in messy laps and sharp little dips inside.
Loki’s smugness fades almost instantly, and he’s finally free to push back against the pleasure, to seek it out, to get it the way he wants it, and Well-Behaved makes humming noises deep in his throat as he takes it all, letting Loki fuck himself on his tongue like he’s nothing more than a toy there to provide him pleasure however he wants.
After a couple of minutes, Loki starts getting desperate, sloppy, movements jerky, and when he tries to reach for his cock to finish himself off, Well-Behaved makes a protesting noise and makes to bat his hand away, still keeping at his task, and Loki lets out a huff in frustration that is a sob in all but name, but then Well-Behaved—
—Spanks him. He takes an open palm to one of Loki’s cheeks and gives it a smack, striking hard enough to leave a red imprint in Loki’s skin, and then Loki—
He comes. He cries out, and pushes first away from the sting of the slap and then back towards Well-Behaved—like he’s missing it as soon as it’s gone, and he comes all over the Grandmaster’s fancy chaise longue, in thick stripes.
Well-Behaved only stops eating him out when Loki collapses onto his forearms, practically sobbing, the skin underneath his eyes shining with stray tears, giving him one final filthy open-mouthed kiss, and caressing the cheek that has his imprint on it.
For a few seconds after that, there’s only the sounds of Loki’s fast breathing, but then the Grandmaster says, his pleasure evident in his voice, “You might have lost that bet, if I dare say.”
Loki, lying on his back now, carding lazy fingers through his hair, turns his face and smiles with eyes still half-lidded, says, “Oh, trust me— I won.”
And then the file stops, on that shot of Loki’s self-satisfaction, with cheeks flushed and eyes seductive and a little droopy from his orgasm—and Thor can’t see his eyelashes, but he bets they’d be clumped from the few tears he’d shed, can imagine them making him look even more devastating— and Thor—
Thor realizes how painfully hard he is inside his improvised bed clothes.
He doesn’t have much time to feel either guilt or shame as he slips one of his hands inside and fists it around his cock, hissing at the first contact, and then getting to bringing himself to completion as fast as he can, in hard, long strokes, closing his eye so he won’t stare at that frozen shot of his brother, spent and well fucked.
That can’t stop his mind from conjuring images of its own, a mix of what he’s just seen, of what he’d heard, and— and flashes of things that make his heart race even faster, his blood rush in his ears, his fist tighten on the upstroke before he’s going even faster, the rhythm almost violent— a punishment.
When he comes, he bites his lips on the word that threatens to fall out, like one last indictment of this whole thing.
After, he lies in his bed for a long while, staring at the ceiling with brows furrowed even in the afterglow of an intense orgasm, unable to make sense of his thoughts or his feelings, gut too tight, throat too thick.
He finds his way to Loki’s quarters by some mix of happenstance and magic, probably. And he finds himself knocking on his door before he knows what he even wants to say.
It doesn’t much matter, since as soon as Loki opens the door, looking rumpled and soft in his drowsiness, and more than mildly irritated, Thor blurts out, “I found the Grandmaster’s tape. Your tape.”
And then Loki’s just sighing and letting him in.
“I know this is going to hurt your delicate sensibilities, brother, but: I was very much a willing participant.”
“Who was he?”
Loki blinks for a couple of seconds, but he masks his confusion fast enough and arches an eyebrow before saying, “You can hardly expect me to remember their names.”
Thor almost splutters.
“I can hardly expect you to— you know what? I don’t care. I’m not talking about them, whoever they were. I’m talking about him, the one you— the one you were talking about, Loki. Who was he? Did I know him?”
“Am I expected to disclose all my dalliances to you now, Thor? Should I grab pen and paper, write you a record? I should warn you that we’ll be here for a long while.”
Thor knows Loki is provoking him, he knows it. And yet it still stings.
“Was he one of my men?”
Loki sighs and sits down on his bed, looking dramatically weary.
“What does it matter if he was, Thor?”
And Thor doesn’t have an answer to that. He doesn’t know himself why it matters. For all intents and purposes, it shouldn’t. Loki has a right to his privacy, and he is entitled to his sexual exploits. Thor has never been under any delusions that his brother had kept himself pure and untouched. He’d known that those men he saw him strolling around his mother’s gardens with were keeping his bed warm at night. He’d seen them making their way out of his quarters wearing the expressions of those who’d had a mighty good time often enough to have any suspicions about improper behavior all but confirmed.
But Loki had never— he’d never seemed to give any of them more than a few of his nights (if that), always seeming to get bored with them soon after that, and moving on to the next unsuspecting victim.
This one, though, the one he’d told the Grandmaster about— there’d been something, in his voice. There’d been something woven into the words, this kind of warmth that Thor had only ever heard or seen from his brother when it came to the people he held closest to his heart— mother, father, and Thor himself. And no others that Thor could name.
That’s when he recognizes the feeling for what it is, and it’s both a tight knot in his gut and a wave of relief.
Thor has learned to adapt these past few years, to roll with the punches, and he’d— deep down, he’d probably always known, or at least intuited, the truth.
“Were you in love with him?” He asks, and he sounds open and vulnerable, all of himself on display for Loki to do whatever he will, because it seems like Thor just can’t help himself, when it comes to his brother, even if he knows better.
Loki, who seems to have taken Thor’s accusation of having become predictable to heart, doesn’t ridicule him or show any contempt over what he would’ve deemed as Thor being foolishly sentimental not too long ago, he just stares at him with eyes narrowed and his mouth pursed.
After a few seconds of silent contemplation, he sighs and reaches a hand towards his temple, rubbing circles there with his fingers.
When he’s done, his hand drops down to his lap, and he looks up at Thor, and says, “It was a fantasy, Thor. He wasn’t real. I made him up to please the Grandmaster.”
It rings true. Or at least true enough. Thor could do with true enough. He could take Loki’s words at face value, knowing that there’s no danger in doing so this once, and he could— move on. Forget he ever saw what he saw, forget this conversation, forget the realisations he came to.
— but he can’t. Because it’s not who he is, it’s not who he wants to be, doing things because they’re easier.
“Who were you thinking about?” He asks, and takes a couple of tentative steps towards Loki’s bed.
Loki doesn’t sigh again. He looks up at Thor, and there’s something wild in his eyes, like a creature that’s been cornered by a huntsman.
“Don’t.” It’s almost a plea.
“Tell me, brother.” He takes one more step, and he’s almost brushing against Loki, his feet almost nested between Loki’s own.
The wildness in Loki’s eyes is enrapturing, dangerous the way anything of Loki’s is, only more.
“Do you need me to?” Loki says, and it’s barely more than a whisper, although to Thor it sounds louder than any warcry he’s ever heard.
It’s a confirmation to a question Thor hadn’t known to ask, but he still has to hear it, so he reaches for Loki’s face with one hand, cups his cheek, and whispers, “Tell me.”
Loki’s eyelids flutter shut as he lets out a long, stuttering breath.
“You. I was thinking of you. Are you happy now?”
Thor makes a noise deep in his throat, and lets his thumb rub circles on Loki’s cheek.
Loki opens his eyes then, gives him a questioning look.
“I haven’t yet been given my dues.”
That startles a laugh out of Loki, and Thor’s smirk softens into a smile.
When Loki’s laughter subsides, one of his own hands comes up to cover Thor’s on his face, warm and deceitfully soft.
“I’ll see what I can do about it.”
Thor feels every bit like the sentimental fool he’d thought Loki would accuse him of being just a few moments ago when Loki pulls at him until Thor is close enough for them to share soft, chaste kiss.
Feels even more foolish when Loki melts into it, and that ignites something deep inside him.
And then Loki breaks away from the kiss and looks at him from underneath his eyelashes, one part coy, and two parts as terrified as he feels, and his brother tugs at his hand as he inches backwards on the bed, and says, “Come.”
And Thor—even though he should, perhaps— doesn’t feel like a fool at all, when he follows.