aka: things I want from Thor 2
“I’m so tired,” he says to Thor, letting the faintest hint of a whine find its way into his voice, and Loki is almost surprised to find that what he says is true. It hasn’t been a particularly long journey - certainly he and Thor made longer quests in the days of their youth - but there is a heaviness to Loki’s limbs that he cannot deny. His legs burn and quiver with every step; his weakness shames him, all the worse for the knowledge that he has brought it upon himself. He had meant the words to taunt Thor, to awaken his guilt for pulling Loki from his cell whilst clearly undernourished and exhausted; he had not meant to put voice to the burning behind his eyes, the way his hands can scarcely hold their shared wineskin steady enough to pour a thin stream between his dry lips.
He can feel Thor looking at him, sizing him up and finding him lacking. Second son. Weaker son. Not a son. The thought makes Loki’s lip curl - perhaps if the weakness were a lie, it would not sting so badly, but as it is, the way Loki’s world has begun to slope dangerously to one side speaks to the truth of it, and his stomach rebels though there is nothing in it save for this morning’s wine. (He’d refused the honeyed bread Thor offered him, just as he’d refused his every meal since the day of his captivity. With the way acid is crawling up the back of throat, Loki can’t bring himself to regret it.) Loki swallows hard and wills Thor to look away as he gags a little, the vertigo just this side of terrifying.
(It is only hunger, he tells himself, hunger and lack of sleep. He had almost taken Midgard in a worse state than this; this is nothing.)
Distrust and pity war on Thor’s face, and there is a fresh surge of bile in Loki’s throat; his mouth tastes of wine and vomit. “Should we stop? Do you require rest?” his not-brother asks, and there is genuine concern there. Typical. Loki would slap him had he the strength. Slap him and then sleep. (Except Loki does not remember what sleep uninterrupted by nightmares is. Cannot recall a time when darkness did not remind him of the void, and the void did not remind him of… Them.)
Thor’s Midgardian pet is with them, one hand wrapped tightly around Thor’s arm - Jane, Thor calls her, and Loki hates her more than he hates Thor. The thought makes him laugh, unhinged; he had not thought it possible. The open pity on her face is perhaps worse than Thor’s; she doesn’t know who she is dealing is, doesn’t know what he is capable of. Loki needs no one and he is no one, foolish woman. He means to tell her that, but all that comes out is a growl, deep and bubbling in his throat. Fitting, he thinks, that even his words should fail him.
Time passes, Loki couldn’t say how much, and it is with a faint sense of disbelief that Loki finds he is no longer moving, that he has sunk to his knees; he does not remember stopping or kneeling or falling or whatever it was that brought him to this place in the dirt. He knows only that his legs still burn and quake even though they do nothing to support him, that the sun is so very hot against his back, that his vision is clouded and blurred at the edges. Distantly, he recognizes that there is bile spattered on the rocks in front of him, that it is his - he is still coughing on some of it - that laying his head in his own sick should disgust him, even though it does not.
It is only Thor’s hands on his shoulders, shaking him roughly, desperately, that stop him from doing so - Loki would shake him off, but his head is lolling to the side of its own accord, coming to rest against Thor’s chest, and all he can do is pant there and struggle not to be sick again. (Thor deserves to wear Loki’s vomit, but Loki would spare himself the shame.)
“Loki, brother!” (Brother, is it? And even now Loki has to smile, for Thor has not lost an ounce of affection for him. If this were the trick he’d wanted it to be, he would count it an unabashed success.) Thor’s free hand, the one not supporting him, is on the side of his face now, and it feels so blessedly cool that Loki makes no attempt not to nuzzle into it, his stomach finally settling some now that he is still. “You are ill! Where is your sense? You should have taken the opportunity to rest when I asked.”
When Thor calls for water, Loki opens his mouth greedily and waits for the kiss of moisture against his lips - and though it is Jane who brings the skin, it is Thor himself who dribbles the water onto Loki’s tongue, slow enough that Loki doesn’t become sick on it; even as cold as it is, his stomach cramps not even a little. And while Loki closes his eyes against the gentle swaying of the world, he hears Thor chide “Where is your regard for your well-being?” as he wipes water from Loki’s chin with the edge of his own sleeve. Loki does not answer - it is all he can do to swallow.
But even as Thor’s voice is scolding, even as there is still a hint of distrust in his eyes, his hand has begun smoothing over Loki’s wrecked hair, palm big enough to cradle Loki’s head. Don’t touch me, Loki thinks - he would have to say it if he felt stronger, but for now consciousness is enough of a battle that he allows himself the weakness. (And if Thor trusts him still, even a little, has he not accomplished something?)
“Shhhh, brother, shhhh,” Thor whispers, pillowing Loki’s head against his thigh, and while the words not your brother fight for purchase in his dizzied mind, Loki only curls his hands tighter in the rough fabric of his leftover prison garments.
i don’t write thorki much and of course when i do, it’s an au where they raise a baby together. alsdkfh and thanks to umakoo who gave me the courage to post this up :3
Time passes differently between gods and men. While gods remain youthful, many mortals pass by from cradle to grave. And that is just the way it is. Immortality, the greatest gift and curse of gods. A life time of a man is only but a mere moment in the eternity of gods. May be that is why people say gods live many lives. All they have is time. They are fluid in their identities. More lives lived meant more tales to be told between gods. Like that one time, when Sif reigned as a queen in Midgard, or that one time when Volstagg led an army of ten thousand men while he was drunk. Gods always have plenty of tales to tell.
This tale, however, I must warn you, is not for boasting. No, it is rather an intimate, secretive memory shared between two gods, two brothers. No one speaks of it, because no one knows much of it. It is a story untold. It is a hidden tale buried under the countless stories and legends of gods. It is a quiet one. It is a heartbreaking one. Heartbreaking enough that Thor and Loki still find themselves mourning at times, or laughing reminiscing of their child. Yes, their child, I say.
It was an escape. They have angered their father once more. So they left for Midgard hoping that by the time they return, Odin’s heart would have softened. The first plan was to escape as quietly as possible. The second plan was to remain hidden, which isn’t as easy as it sounds with Thor as a companion. But escape they did and remained hidden they also did. They hid their metals and leathers and changed into simple attires that was perfect for blending in with the mortals. That wasn’t so bad. However, changing the perception, bending the memories of mortals around them to think that they were no different from them, that they’ve always been around, now that, was a bit tricky even for Loki. But after all, it was Loki and all was fine.
Two months, in Midgard time, passed in peace. Thor would often go out early in the morning for a run; he still had too much energy inside him with too little to do. Sometimes, he would drag his younger brother to join him. They would spend most of their time reading and exploring the different, but rather fascinating, cultures of Midgard. When Loki was in a good mood, he would even take Thor to different parts of the world, traveling through secret paths. When Thor was upset having to see his mjolnir unused and left to rust—“Thor, stop exaggerating. Mjolnir does not rust,” his brother would say—Loki would take him to a place where no humans have gone and allow him to release all his pent up energy.
The sky is still gray when Thor prepares for his morning runs. Loki’s still deep asleep, tired from their travel back. Thor smiles and musses his dark hair before he heads downstairs. Cool air surrounds him as he opens the door. He rather enjoys this weather. It’s a good day for a run.
It’s only when Thor bends down to tie his shoelaces that he sees it; a small basket. With caution, he carefully uncovers the fabric hiding what is inside. When he sees a tiny hand wriggle out of it, Thor, the mighty god of thunder, loses his balance and falls to the ground with wide eyes.
“Loki!” Loki groans and pulls the blankets up to his face. The footsteps are loud and heavy enough to break the floor. “Loki, you must come see this!”
With a growl, Loki flips the warm sheets from his body and gets out of bed. “This better be important, Thor.”
Loki is lost with words for the first time in a long time when he sees what is inside the basket. “Why did you bring in a mortal baby into our house?” He asks slowly.
“I didn’t. He was placed outside the steps of our door. It’s cold outside, Loki. I couldn’t just leave him there.” Thor, still astounded, tries to explain.
“Of course not, I’m worried that he may be ill already.” Loki speaks with concern.
They stare at the mysterious baby for a few minutes in silence, observing the way the little one turns his head from left to right taking in his new surroundings. His blonde hair and fair skin reminds Loki of Thor while Thor can’t help but think the child’s green eyes are just like his brother’s.
When the baby suddenly begins to cry, they both jump and rush to reach for the baby. “I don’t know what to do,” Loki says perplexed.
For a moment, Thor is surprised to hear Loki say those words. It’s always been hard for Loki to admit his flaws. It’s Thor who finally takes the courage to hold the baby carefully.
“You have to cradle him inside your arms against your chest. You’re just holding him with his legs dangling.” Loki comments and Thor somehow manages to gently lay the baby inside his arm, his other hand holding his small back.
To their surprise, the baby stops crying and looks into Thor’s eyes with such an intense stare. “He’s studying you, Thor.” At the voice, the baby turns his eyes to Loki.
Loki goes rigid for a moment. Then sudden laughter fills the room as the baby smiles at Loki wriggling his fingers towards him. “I think he wants to go to you, brother.” Thor says with a gentle smile, his eyes not leaving the baby’s.
“But I don’t know how to hold him.” Despite his refusal, Thor goes ahead and hands the baby gently into Loki’s arms. Loki instinctively reaches out lest the baby falls.
For a moment, they stare at each other, both with curiosity. Loki carefully moves his hand so that his thumb brushes the soft hair of the child. The baby giggles and Loki smiles gently along him.
“Oh, what are we going to with you, little one?”
Title: Love to Please
Fandom: Thor [weird AU before the movie where they’re actually happy]
Summary: Shameless porn so saccharine you may have a sugar overdose, but be that as it may, this is still rated NC-17
Additional Notes: I’ve gone there. I’ve written sappy porn and there’s no going back so I figured I’d post it.
Thor was — well he was a god in bed.
It took only one night and he knew all the best places to kiss, the areas to touch just so to draw out shivers and pleads from even the most reticent of lovers. He could read people like their skin was written in braille, like the whorls on his fingers could absorb schematics for pleasure. He learnt actively at every moment, committing precious concentration and focus to his task, memorizing the reactions he was given and letting them mold his actions. He could discern a million things from the smallest of twitches (how would you like it, dear? fast, hard, slow — aah, there) and he could draw out great finales that left all others in the dust. He could, with such a skill set, eviscerate the memory of all that came before him.
And Thor did so love to please.
He was everything most people wanted in a lover, someone who would put his own enjoyment last. It was a matter of pride for Thor, of course, to be a good fuck.
Perhaps it was because he seldom graced anyone with a repeat performance that he was so good at it — that the first time was the best time, because it tended to be the last.
Loki thought it really was such a shame Thor’s powers of observation only served him so well during intercourse. Sometimes he entertains how different things might be if he were equally as adept in reading people outside such activities.
But in any case, it’s in the crescendo of their lovemaking that Thor stills, sees where Loki’s hands are going, reads his face and his intentions.
Not to say a finger circling below his balls was very hard to misread.
“Brother,” he gasps, out of breath and overcome like only Loki can make him. “Brother,” and this time it’s a reprimand, but Loki is even better at reading people than Thor, in and out of private chambers, and so he can damn well detect the undertone of fear. Minute and subtle it is, but unmistakable.
Fear, in the mighty Thor — and he exalts in it.
Only now, in moments like these, where it’s only the two of them and Thor always, always looks at him like he’s everything, Loki is hard pressed to be petty.
It helps that Thor, for all he might as well be god of sex instead of thunder, wasn’t always so godly around Loki. It helped a great deal, in fact, that Thor fumbled sometimes, wasn’t always as self-assured.
“Shush, I’ll make it feel good, I promise,” and if his voice is soft and nearly tender, well, he can’t be blamed. It’s all a ploy to get what he wants — he tells himself — repeating it firm too many times.
“I want you. I want all of you, please.”
Thor shudders and Loki can see him begin to warm to the idea.
He lets his hand curl around Thor’s cock as he leans forward to kiss him, messy, filthy, shoving his tongue into his hot mouth, swallowing The Moan he has always prided himself on being able to extract.
Thor is many things in bed, fierce, cocky, occasionally soft, but he is never completely open. He does not love wholly, understandable with the amount of maidens he beds, because his body is one thing, but his soul a different matter entirely. Thor does not moan, much less in such a needy way; he can grunt and gasp and sigh, but it is all empty compared to The Moan. The sound encompasses something more than desire, something deeper that is warm and full and vulnerable; it drips like syrup, like liquid want.
He does not moan this way for anyone but Loki, and he knows it well. A sharp lick of possessiveness curls in his stomach every time he hears it, and he thinks at all the world: he‘s mine.
For how easily his brother is able to give to others, there are still some things that he does not give freely or without cause.
Loki covets his brother, covets the expression in his eyes and the way he lets him in.
And now, only one more possible way for his brother to open up to him.
So he whispers a stream of suggestion into Thor’s ears, pausing to kiss at sensitive skin, sucking at his pulse until there’s a bruise, and though he would love to look back at this moment and say he was demanding nothing but fair turn-about, the truth was anything but. He wanted to show, to render thoughtless (not that it was so hard a task) and to love how he was loved, to give.
In fact his quest now to reverse their positions had so little to do with any satisfaction in besting Thor, in the physicality of asserting his dominance, that it was fairly detestable.
Finally Thor nodded, a short, choppy motion, and he began to roll over until Loki stopped his movements.
“I would see your face,” he says, and damn him if it’s not completely true.
Thor frowns, thinking this some exercise in humiliation, but Loki tuts at his expression.
“Idiot mine, it is easier this way.”
While that’s not quite true, this position is more intimate and allows Loki better access to everything he needs.
And he really does need — he needs to watch Thor’s face. Watch it scrunch up at the unfamiliar sensation of fingers prodding where none have gone before, watch as his chest rises and falls in staccato beats, watch the way his lips move to gasp quietly, forming the breathy syllables of “Loki” again and again, never giving voice to a single sound.
Thor’s muscles are taut with tension — and so Loki is only being practical when he uses a spell to make the way easy, slicking Thor’s entrance, in turn using it generously on himself. Similarly he is merely sensible when he takes as much care to be gentle, even though his brother is battle-toughened and fierce, still, he is careful, pretending he is not already frantic with anticipation. And it certainly does not mean anything that he beckons Thor to touch him, either, instead of mangling the sheets.
Hands here, brother mine, hold me.
Then he is pushing his way inside Thor’s body, taking him, taking him and Thor’s legs wrap around his hips, his arms clamp down around his neck and shoulders, and Loki obeys the silent request to stay still, letting him adjust.
He is beautiful, even if he would resent being called such. Flushed and golden-skinned, the beads of sweat painting him as something Loki wanted to touch and destroy and keep, his hair splayed out and messy, muscles trembling, body open and by all things decent and good, he is breathtaking.
Most of Asgard would agree with him, but none shall ever get to see him quite like this.
Mine, something hisses within him, and he can’t help the way his hips stutter forward at the thought.
Though the mighty Thor would never let his eyes be dimmed with pain-prickled tears, his face is still a picture of discomfort and uncertainty, and he is holding onto Loki far too tight.
“Relax, brother,” he coos, kissing his nose as Thor huffs shakily.
“I am relaxed,” and he’s scowling, his discomfort no doubt caused less by physical pain and more the new territory he finds himself in. Pride was a fickle, hateful thing and they both knew it well.
Loki stares at him intently, their faces close due to Thor’s insistence on keeping him pulled tight against him and Thor stares back, if a little wavering, breath fanning out too quick and moist over his face.
Instead of saying any of the number of things he could have, he smirks and kisses him, coaxing him into pliancy, reaching down to fist his cock, still proud against his belly, in just the way he knows Thor likes it, twisting, pressing his thumb, circling at the tip.
At Thor’s grunt of pleasure, Loki grins.
He starts moving tentatively, forward and then back, short little thrusts, until Thor groans and mutters unintelligibly. He steals The Moan and gives it back, whimpering into his mouth.
Loki moves again, at just the right angle, and he know, he knows when Thor makes that raw, choked-growling noise— “There?” he whispers, purrs, and Thor bites the skin of his shoulder in affirmation, urging him forward by grinding down.
That’s all it takes and soon enough there isn‘t enough air in the room; every movement is slick and sweltering and Thor is begging, begging.
Not that he ever voices any of the staples, no ‘pleases’ or ‘mores’ or ‘harders’ but he pulled at Loki’s hair and kissed him in between broken gasps as his body absolutely surrendered to his, rocking, shoving, clenching, shaking.
It is heady watching Thor’s too bright eyes, their pupils blown wide, his swollen lips, quivering stomach, hearing The Moan spill out of his mouth time and again, like music really.
Loki would come undone from just the sound, but he is determined to drive Thor over the edge first.
Which is why, when he finds—after much struggle—the perfect angle to press against the place inside that makes Thor pull him down hard with a guttural groan (nails scratching on his back, legs forcing his hips deeper, heels digging commandingly) he continues to hit that spot, harder, harder, and when his brother’s breath is coming in sobs, he strokes him fast and sure.
Thor’s body arches up and he’s shuddering and it only takes another short moment, a few seconds before he cries out, whimpering and shaking, writhing in a manner that hardly befit Asgard’s strongest warrior.
He holds onto Loki tightly the entire while, and the sense of it, of Thor underneath him and undone, sends him into a bit of frenzy.
So Loki slams in once, twice more, before he whines and snaps his hips forward sporadically, lost in his own release, feeling Thor clench around him with The Moan on his lips. He lets his fingers dig into Thor’s shoulders, lets his body curl around him, presses his forehead against damp skin.
He stays inside Thor, chest heaving as they breathe together, and it’s almost unbearable to think of being separated, as though without the physical connection, they wouldn’t survive a breath longer.
When his arms start to shake, he collapses on Thor heavily, knowing he could. He stays buried inside his brother and Thor grips him like he doesn’t ever want to let go.
It makes something warm and soft unfurl in his chest and Loki is sufficiently appalled with himself—the sentimentally of his thoughts is nearly sickening.
But Thor is still breathless, and Loki forgets himself when the oaf smiles dopily up at him, as he always does after climax, nuzzling unabashedly.
It helps nothing that warm hands toy with his hair, scratching lightly against his scalp, conveying perfect contentment. The sleepily sated look of Thor’s features makes pride bloom in Loki’s chest.
“There,” he says, softness hiding beneath the sly teasing, “that wasn’t so horrible, was it?”
Thor rumbles underneath him, laughing and jostling him.
“Perhaps not,” and he is adorable in his good natured petulance, glancing away as color suffuses his cheeks, frowning half-heartedly through a smile.
And now this is the part Loki always has trouble with. He loathes post-coital bliss, partly because he feels said bliss so acutely himself with Thor, Thor, Thor, surrounding him, warm, sticky, utterly together and it was marvelous —-
Damn it, damn him.
He bites the inside of his cheek and settles against Thor indefinitely, neither prepared nor wanting to move.
Thor pulls him up for a kiss, slow and lazy, and it speaks, it really does. It says thank you and that was good and I love you so Loki doesn’t mind being moved for this. He lets his kiss tentatively return the sentiments, because it’s hard not to, finally, in this cursed state of trust and warmth.
Thor moves on to pressing indolent, sticky kisses anywhere he can reach, his hands tracing nonsense patterns on his back, sending little shivery sensations to the tips of his toes, and none of it helps the sentimental gushing.
Loki would be annoyed if his body were not completely relaxed, if he were not at peace and all was right in this moment.
Thor might be brilliant in bed—and everywhere else, really—but with Loki he was quieter and that need for vivacity in everything he did melted away, if only a little. Of course they bickered endlessly; Loki insulted and manipulated and Thor boasted and teased in a constant stream (though there was nothing malicious about it—Loki was begrudged to admit), but there were times where Thor was simply Thor, even times where he was not so confident. Loki may not have seen these moments often, but he was probably the only one alive to witness them at all. Thor would always be all that he was, weak or strong, when he was with Loki.
Likewise, Loki was softer, warmer to the touch around Thor, and maybe Loki lived for these moments.
All that matters now is the decadent, vulnerable feeling of being naked and entwined, of Thor’s lazy kisses marking him without ever leaving a physical trace, of feeling just this side of too hot, but all of it meshed together so perfectly.
Loki considers sleep in this cozy state he’s in, but Thor’s sudden squirming answers his unspoken query as though he could read his mind.
He hums listlessly and with a roguish grin, he squirms again, shifting his hips deliberately. Loki can anticipate what he’s about to say, though of course the growing hardness against his belly is as good an indication.
“Again?” Thor asks, eyes alight and bright blue, voice playful and husky in equal measure.
Oh, he is eager.
Loki felt a reciprocating burn light in his stomach.
He was only too happy to oblige.
“But of course.”
Thor grins and kisses him too hard.
Loki can’t quite suppress the fond upturning of his own lips.
Loki slid fully into Thor’s lap with a slick noise, the sinuous muscles of his back tensing.
“Oh,” Loki sighed, grinding his hips a bit. Thor could imagine the look on Loki’s face as clear as day, his eyes shut tightly, his eyebrows furrowed and his lips slightly parted. Thor’s hands tentatively grasped Loki’s hips. Loki dropped forward, resting on his hands, his head hanging down.
Loki pulled himself forward and Thor was entranced as he watched Loki’s stretched and slick hole ride his cock slowly. His hands moving to grab Loki’s ass, spreading his cheeks to get a better view of the shining red skin as it took him in over and over.
Loki moaned, throwing his head back and moving his hips faster. The tight heat of Loki’s body on his cock made Thor throw his head back, his head hitting the headboard with a thunk, and groan. Thor’s hands drifted up Loki’s sweat covered back, feeling the muscles as the worked him up and down Thor’s cock. He grabbed tightly onto Loki’s shoulders and began shoving Loki up and down his cock faster, their skin slapped together and Loki yowling into the air.
Loki shouted, his back arching and his muscles tensing and shaking as he stroked himself to completion, his come spurting onto the mattress between Thor’s thighs. Thor grabbed Loki’s hips, bouncing him up and down his cock until he climaxed deep inside Loki’s relaxed body.
He pulled Loki back, wrapping an arm around his waist, pushing sweaty black locks from the side of Loki’s pale neck, kissing and sucking gently on the skin there. Loki’s eyes were lidded, his face relaxed as he caught his breath. Loki’s reached back, tangling into Thor’s messy hair, the other arm laying on top of Thor’s. Thor skimmed his fingertips along the underside of Loki’s arm, sighing on to Loki’s jaw.
“Nothing rude to say to me, Loki?” Thor asked quietly.
He heard a soft snore and chuckled. “Guess not then…”