Boltedfruit Archive

His punishment is simple. That he live without the use of his, or any other’s seidr, until he realizes the path he must walk.

That hasn’t quite sunk in yet.

Loki had been prepared for death, to have his neck spread bright, his blood to stain the curve of an axe-head—but his fate is not death. It is to be made bare.

Thor is solemn and silent, peering at him with too blank of an expression at the other end of the room. Intensity comes in many forms but somehow Thor has managed to erase any emotion from the word.

The look burns Loki more than Odin’s probing runework does as he lays his form bare of any magic.

But where Loki expects a curious blank, a daub of black in his mind where that knowledge should be he finds instead something else. His skin tingles and beneath it he feels something like a river cascading over his ribs.

He sees Thor’s eyebrow twitch, his mouth quiver and part only enough to alarm Loki that something has indeed changed.

When he looks down, his skin is not his own and painted in the raised lines of a house that forgot him to the winds and ice of a realm far away.

Odin says nothing more, and it is then that Loki is being dragged away by the surrounding Einherjar.

Frigga tells him later that he’d been screaming.

“Where has Thor gone?” he asks her, a week into his self-imposed banishment. He’s locked himself inside his chambers—manually, pathetic.

She shakes her head, smile turning sad and her gaze drifting off. “He’s been studying, actually. He often spends the afternoons with Heimdall. He dines on his own more often than not and other than that, I cannot speak for what he gets up to.”

“Studying?” he huffs. “To take the throne, surely.”

Frigga’s smile gains strength, humor glinting in her eye. “Of a sort. He’s taken a keen interest in the other realms. Svartalfheim, Alfheim, Jotunheim especially.”

Loki balks. Frigga chuckles at his gaping mouth until he manages to close it again. She is in a teasing mood, and one he does not entirely want to be audience to.

“I’m glad to see you’re happy with this turn of events. I’ve been made to look the part I’ve been playing all these centuries. The court jester. Lying and scheming and telling fantastic stories even Tyr could crack a smile to. You married a cruel god, truly.”

Frigga has gone quiet. She moves to approach him and he lets her. She smiles gently and strokes his hair, petting it back. When she moves behind him and begins to work at the strands, he feels her tug and pull his mane into braids.

“Had I not wed Odin, I’d have no sons to dote on as I’ve loved doing for a thousand years. That you found your true lineage vile is the mistake of myself and he, as well as every scholar we put in front of you two growing up. We teach our children the Jotnar are to be feared, that they are monsters in the night come to steal away children and eat them up with ice chips. That their breath smells of fish and they don’t so much as give birth as vomit their heirs up before them, already angry at the world. But it is all a lie. Lies twisted from half truths twisted from truth, from stories told over fires shared at the fronts of wars. The realms led a bloody fight with the Jotnar. The stories they left with came from the throat of battles hard won and harder lost. It is not an easy thing for a warrior to come home to his sons and daughters and tell all the many goods about a foe he’s spent years killing, years he’s spent witnessing many others fall victim to.”

Loki counts each braid as it is finished. She is up to five and he realizes his hair is an unkempt mess that he must cut at the nearest chance. He listens to her, rapt with attention, picturing the battles he’d been made to study as a boy. Remembering the landmarks of a war he was a key piece in but too young to be witness to. He cannot remember the realm as it was then that he was abandoned in and somewhere that sits sick inside him. Some unmerited, unwanted node of guilt he must swallow thickly down at her words.

“The Jotnar, in peacetime, are kind. They are gentle. They raise children in pairs and love them fiercely as any other who has known the sight of a babe in their arms, wholly theirs. They laugh and play and are raised on lessons taught about our realm and all the others. They too are told stories of war and bloodshed of darker times. They are taught to picture a young prince, yellow of hair and fair of skin with eyes that flash with the storm.” Loki swallows hard because he knows the boy Thor used to be, still so clear in his mind, lost in memories. “And they are taught he is to be hated, to be feared. They are taught to fear the storms that streak across their skies, taught to defend themselves against a god of thunder. Children taught to hate each other are always led astray.”

“It was war.”

“Rumors and stigmas oft breed from the lips of war. A sorry thing but one I feel can be tugged out, with time. With the proper words and pace of breath.” And as if to punctuate her remark, she tugs a braid free with gentle fingers and starts anew. “We have known peace with Jotunheim just as we have known war with them. The same has been said of Vanaheim, and have we not gained a family in their realm? I know you have always been fond of lovely Freya.”

Loki frowns but at the way she is pulling at his temples to better gather his hair up, it feels more a pout.

She sighs. “Mimir has been an aid to us for many millennia. Before the war that brought you to us. Before Odin lost his eye, even. Jotunheim was the realm that bore Odin, and his mother before. It is something most are quick to forget.”

“He is the Allfather. He has Gungnir to point at anyone who would speak out against him,” Loki says wearily. He is tired of this, going in circles, not understanding. It is so very foreign to him.

“That he does not and allows those who will to speak freely in his realm and all the others is a reason why he has remained the Allfather. Laufey was a cruel being. And daft for having tossed a treasure to the snow,” she adds, pinching his earlobe fondly. “But he was a king driven to what he saw was a viable course of action. Losing the Casket was losing their realm and for how foolish a king he was, he paid a price not often dealt. Not even by Odin.”

“You speak as if you love him for a kind thing, a forgiving thing. You think Odin did not see other children thrown to the snows? That he had not witnessed atrocities he could have prevented? I was a power play and he saw his chance, so he took it. It is a wonder he did not throw me in the Vault beside Mjolnir. Thor certainly would have been spared the annoyance of having a false ergi giant for a broth—”

Frigga stills with her hands at his shoulders. She turns him around and Loki is surprised to see something close to anger in her eyes. “That he acted as a king in that moment I did not question, for he brought a weeping babe to my arms that had been cast out to perish alone in the world. That he acted as a father in allowing me to raise you beside him, that he raised you alongside his son, I questioned only once. For how could such a kind soul tear away the heart of a realm? How could he put the Casket on display when somewhere among the stars a people were weeping their desolation?” Frigga’s eyes are shining with tears and it makes him want to soothe her, utter shooshes and wrap her in a son’s embrace. But he is too proud for that, and he remains locked in place.

“How can you love both he and myself? I would think one a lie if not both if I did not know you for Frigga.”

She smiles. “He is the Allfather for he must make decisions that demand his entire self in deciding them. That he should be cruel on the coattails of an act of kindness. That one day, barring the end of Laufey’s rule, the Casket would be returned. But only when wisdom and peace returned to its rule.”

“Laufey has had other sons. Thor and I both were taught of them. This won’t just go away.”

The tears spill down her cheeks. “Yggdrasil has suffered many a loss in her time. It will not worry an entire realm. We each of us live long, long lives, and if it demands it of us, we will wait. Jotunheim will again know light and better rule, but it is not our place to assassinate leaders. The Norns will many things but murder is not often among them. Jotunheim will survive. They are, indeed, the proudest, strongest beings I have ever met. You are no exception.”

Loki had not expected that. And when Frigga presses a kiss to his cheek and wraps her arms about his neck, he notices he too has been weeping.

“Your blood will come soon, and after, once every six months. It will last for a week and you will feel like you need to peel your skin from your body due to the clinging heat, but it will pass. Three days prior you will feel a constant itch along your bones. You will hunger so do not deny yourself, even of any sweets. You will feel desire lance your frame and someone or other will look particularly appealing to you, but you must be careful. With your blood comes fertility. And though I’d love to hold another babe in my arms I fear it is not your time just yet, and I don’t think Odin expects to see anyone running around with your child in their belly so soon after your return.”

Loki is staring at the wall just above Frigga’s head and she is smirking. The woman is made of amusement and he suddenly doubts all those years of stern scolding he and Thor received.

He wonders if she can see his flushed cheeks through his new skin.

Loki stays in his room, his hall really. He’s had one to himself for years but Thor often was too tired to walk past Loki’s to reach his and just borrowed whichever room he happened to stumble into during the night.

But Loki has always had keen hearing and he can hear footsteps as they steadily lead to, past and away from his door. There was no hesitation, no pause. It is too late for a maid and there is no need for a page to call upon him with his punishment set as it is.

When Loki carefully opens his door to lean just outside it, eyeing Thor’s back as he continues away, he must stifle his thoughts from spilling over into words.

He nearly called after him. Nearly called him brother.

Loki wonders why Thor has not been to see him and chooses not to linger on the possibility that Thor might not want to see him.

He watches Thor until he disappears around the corner and then returns to his own bed.

The pattern repeats. He spies on Thor each night leaving the hall, some nights armored, others not. Some nights smelling of mead and others of wine. And none does he walk with a woman or three at his hip. It is baffling to Loki that Thor could be so angry that he’s forgotten how to find a bedmate.

Loki is so caught up in waiting for Thor that when Frigga informs him over tea that it has been a month since he’s been home, he has to keep from letting out a cry of shock.

A month! And Thor has waited out this long. Loki doesn’t know whether to applaud Thor’s patience, or curse his stubborn temper.

Frigga notices his mood shift. “You’re troubled.”

“Thor has developed quite the mind for texts.”

Frigga tilts her head and hums. “He will come to you, in time. He may seem angry, because he is. But he’s also worried about you. I had to soothe him the night before you were brought before Odin.” “Did he weep?” Loki scoffs.

Frigga’s silence tells him that maybe Thor had.

The thought is unsettling.

That night, Thor pauses by his door. It is the first time he’s done so and Loki’s heart is racing for it.

But Thor doesn’t knock. He keeps on.

The next night it happens much the same and Loki huffs into the air when Thor leaves.

The night after that, Loki is busy staring at the new lines raised along the backs of his hands when a knock does come. He nearly falls out of his chair he stands so quickly.

When he opens his door, Thor is three feet past and counting, frowning at the ground.

“Thor? What are you doing?”

He stops and Loki sees his fists twitch at his sides. When Thor turns he can tell Thor has been drinking. Never mind that he can smell it in the air, but Thor’s eyes are red and his face is flushed and full. His lips are bright.

Thor’s eyes meet his and then slide over his face, starting at his chin and dragging to his forehead. Loki feels his skin crawl under the scrutiny, but Thor’s gaze is merely intense and not cruel, so Loki allows it.

When Loki moves to open his door wide, Thor’s attention is caught by his bare forearms. He stares at Loki like he’s something new and Loki hates that he is.

“Thor?” he tries again, quietly this time.

Thor shakes his head, squinting. “I thought—I had not—I,” Thor stops and glares at nothing before trying again. “I thought I had, another room. Didn’t think it was yours.”

He can’t possibly be that drunk, Loki thinks. But Thor does seem ready to sway to the ground and sleep there if the thought occurred to him so he takes a step forward.

Thor doesn’t move away and Loki doesn’t want to think why he expected him to.

Loki goes up to Thor and takes his arm, pulling Thor after him. Thor is a heavy weight at his arm, but when his other hand comes up to squeeze Loki’s fingers, he knows Thor has no qualms about spending the night.

When he sits Thor down on his own bed, he moves first to tug Thor’s shoes off. Then he unclasps the intricate knot at his furs and drapes the lovely beast over a chair. Thor is hunched, looking absolutely exhausted.

Thor is watching him as he moves about.

“Your skin is cool now. It must be a convenience in Asgard’s heat.” He hadn’t noticed, really.

Thor doesn’t point out Loki’s silence. “But then, maybe you’ve always been a little cold and I never noticed.”

Loki moves next to get Thor’s cloak off. Thor shrugs out of it easily enough, then lifts his arms for Loki to grab his tunic. Loki huffs a laugh and reaches to tug the cloth from his torso. He leaves Thor to focus on his trousers, should he feel like undressing any further. But Thor seems distracted again.

“You cut me.”

“What?” Loki replies, absently cleaning his desk. He’d been meaning to for a few days.

“Here. I have a scar from where your blade split me. Crude, Eir called it. A nasty thing.”

Loki turns and sees that Thor is pointing low on his hip. There is indeed a scar running thin along the length of where Loki had deigned to stab him that day on the mortal’s tower.

Loki feels the words bubble up in him, angry. “Well, you can see I’ve got a rather large one myself. Blue in appearance and a little red around the eyes, cool to the touch you’d call it. Scars are drivel to us.”

Thor’s glare then is directed at him. “You can barely even look at yourself, and you’d call them meaningless. History is not a scar.”

Loki raises an eyebrow at Thor’s ability to string together whole sentences. “It is for me! Not everyone can have the spoiled history of Asgard’s golden and only heir.”

“Golden and spoiled,” Thor spits at him. “Spoiled with the love of a brother who I’ve been forced to see spurn me for something I had no part in! Gilded in the lies of a father who thought to gift me in sharing the burden of his thievery! For loving you,” he roars, standing. “An ungrateful brother who won’t so much as let me embrace him, to bring him home. You forgot me. You forgot our mother. You—”

“If you dare to mention Odin in this room I swear I will find a way to break this sealing of seidr and flay you live.”

“Odin can burn in Muspel for all he’s done!” And that does set Loki quiet. He realizes then he is trembling, for he has not witnessed Thor this honestly furious in a very long time. Loki can see Thor is struggling to remain standing where he is, or else he’s sure Thor would have his neck in hand this very moment. To shake him. To instill reason, as he was so fond of. But Thor is wavering where he stands and Loki can see angry tears springing to his eyes.

“Damn Odin for this. For all it’s caused you. But damn you for letting him.”

Loki’s mouth falls open but then Thor is falling back to the bed, relinquishing his rage for sitting. His hands hangs for a moment and Loki fears he might have to clean vomit from his floor without the aid of any seidr.

Loki places his palms at Thor’s shoulders, urging him back. Thor shoves at him, but Loki persists. He helps Thor arrange himself in the silks and furs, bringing him more pillows. Then he pinches out each candle he has lit and climbs in beside Thor.

Thor is breathing heavily and it sounds suspiciously like weeping but he’s rather tired of tears so he ignores it.

“I’ve missed you. I have, truly,” Thor whispers beside him. “I’ve missed you more than I can bear.”

Loki realizes after a moment of Thor’s searching hand that he is seeking Loki’s own, which is carefully pressed to his chest. He grants Thor this one thing and finds Thor is trying to tug at him, trying to pull him closer.

They’re too old for this, but he relents. He lies alongside Thor, forehead pressed to Thor’s temple.

Thor turns his face towards Loki’s, too close, close enough their breath mingles and Loki can almost breathe in Thor’s words.

“That you could forget my love so easily. That you’d hate me so strongly for a lie forced to the surface.” His nose brushes Loki’s and a sharp breath leaves his chest. Loki fears Thor can feel his heart racing. “The thought that you will despise me for all our long lives, Loki, oh. It is immeasurable. It makes me want to weep.”

“You are weeping, you fool,” Loki murmurs, voice steady despite everything. “I am too changing to hate even you for all the rest of time.

Thor’s laugh is watery and shaky, sounding more of relief than anything, and his hand wanders up Loki’s side until it finds his neck, his cheek. He palms Loki’s face and Loki can feel the drag of Thor’s lips across his cheek.

“I am a fool. I am a fool, truly,” he says, before pressing his lips to Loki’s own. It’s dry and close-lipped and all Loki can smell is the ale on his breath when he pulls away but then he does it again. Loki parts his lips and Thor makes a startled sound trapped somewhere in the back of his throat. The hand at his face moves to grip his skull and Loki feels his knuckles dig into the bedding.

Loki sucks in a breath and suddenly it is as if a rush of water has washed over him. He moves like he is being pricked, an urgency clawing at his blood. He licks into Thor’s mouth and they can taste each other, he can feel Thor shudder choked off words onto his own tongue.

His heart is thundering harder than it ever has, harder even than the first time he managed to conjure fire in his hands.

And then the rush is gone from him, and Thor is pulling back, both of them breathing too hard. Hard enough it hurts deep in the chest. Exhaustion grips Loki and he’s only just managed to wind an arm around Thor’s shoulders, Thor crushing Loki to his chest in return, before he’s lost to dreams muddled by the memory of his skin being clouded over with blue.

He dreams of Thor, watching from a distance.

Thor wakes before Loki but does not push him away. He clings to his brother, enjoying having him close. Close enough that he can count each breath before he feels it fan across his face.

Loki finds himself still wrapped in strong arms, a nose gently brushing his cheek. Thor’s smile paints his skin when he realizes Loki has woken.

Thor plants a lazy kiss to Loki’s mouth and laughs when Loki cannot stifle a yawn.

“So it was not only drunkenness, then, that spurred this,” Loki mutters. He arches his back and then sinks lower into the pillows, burrowing further into Thor.

“I did not lie when I said I missed you.”

“Most brothers do not miss each other’s skin,” Loki reminds him. A flush rises to Thor’s cheeks but he hums.

“I missed you, all of you. No matter that I have never known this.” And his other hand has splayed over Loki’s hip. “The only thing the mead helped do was erase my ability to think of any consequence.”

“You’re brash. I could have rejected you, thrown you out. Revealed your perversities to your father, and oh, that would have been a grand sight. To see Odin revolted by his only heir.”

Thor pinches his hip and Loki smirks at him.

“Aye, you could have. And I would have been alright with that for I know you’d be here, alive. I’d rather the risk of having you hate me than losing you forever.” “I’ve proven to be rather difficult in killing.” Thor nuzzles his cheek. “And for that I am also glad.” “How long?” Loki asks him.

“Always. It never really began, never really stopped either. It was always there, even when you weren’t,” Thor whispers.

Loki’s breath catches. He shakes his head. “I’m still not. I’m not your brother. Odin has doubly seen to that.”

Thor presses their foreheads together, clings tighter. He’s kissing Loki and murmuring unintelligible things against his mouth but Loki does not care. Thor slides a thigh forward and Loki parts his to squeeze Thor closer to him. The friction makes him break the kiss in a gasp.

“You are still Loki. I still love you as my brother, I will always love you so. That you were borne of a realm not my own means nothing for I had the pleasure of calling you kin growing side by side.”

“You speak of sibling love and yet I feel you thick against my thigh. If this is sibling love then we have been doing it wrong for many years, Thor,” he sighs as Thor rolls his hips at his words.

“There are different kinds of love.”

“And which ones would you give me? After everything?” Loki bucks and Thor rolls half on top of him.

“I would give you them all, Loki,” Thor tells him and it has Loki’s stomach quivering in fear, with hope.

This is not how it was supposed to go. He was supposed to die.

But here Thor is, welcoming him into his bed—Loki’s really—and Loki cannot think to how they got here.

Thor’s weight is heavy atop him and he finds he does not mind so much the how, only that they finally did.

Thor must leave when the sun begins to peak through Loki’s wide balcony. It warms their skin and Loki catches a sapphire hue reflected against Thor’s bare skin where his hands are dancing careful designs over his ribs.

Thor sighs when he stands, pressing a last kiss to Loki’s brow before standing and tugging on his shirt.

Loki lies there, still fully dressed and too relaxed to move. He watches Thor’s skin disappear beneath tunic, cloak, and finally the furs. “I am Jotun,” he says.

Thor does not pause in his dressing. “Aye, you are.”

“Does it not bother you?”

Thor meet Loki’s gaze and Loki sees his lips thin. “You still doubt me?” He walks to Loki and leans sits on the edge of the bed by his side. “Do you think I would not be here, still?”

“You are stubborn.”

Thor laughs lightly. “As are you! Please. I am sincere in this, truly.”

Loki purses his lips, shuts his eyes. He braces himself for Thor’s disgust.

“My body is changed.” He risks a peek when Thor does not answer.

Thor just stares at him, nodding.

Loki narrows his eyes and his voice comes out vicious. “I now have a slit, Thor. A cunny, a—”

“Shhh, shhhh,” Thor soothes. Then he must try to hide a smirk. “You are lucky, I hear they are quite fun—”

“Are you even listening to me, I am not the same as I was. I have changed, Odin has removed the lie.”

“You are changed, yes. But you are still Loki,” Thor tells him firmly, all seriousness. “Do not shame yourself needlessly, for there is nothing to shame. I care no less for you than I ever have.”

“Say that to me when you see what lies between my legs,” Loki huffs.

Thor chuckles and lets his head fall to rest on Loki’s stomach. “I cannot wait,” he breathes.

Loki frowns at the sight of his widening grin. Thor turns his head and mouths leisurely through his shirt. He presses open mouthed, damp kisses to the skin through cotton and they make his belly flutter.

“Thor,” he tries.

“Hush, you worrisome creature,” Thor says, and moves to place hands at either side of Loki’s hips. Loki shifts to sit on the edge of the bed so that Thor is effectively bent between his legs. He moves to kneel on the floor, and he continues his mouthing at Loki’s navel. His fingers find the hem of Loki’s tunic and pull it up.

The first brush of Thor’s beard across Loki’s hip sends his head falling back to the bed. Then there is tongue at his belly, followed by lips leaving insistent kisses all over his abdomen and Loki’s hips lift of their own accord.

“Don’t you have to go spar or something or other?” Loki manages to ask. Thor is undoing the laces of his breeches.

“The others can wait. I want to taste you.”

His hands fly to Thor’s just as Thor begins tugging down his pants.

“Do you want me to stop?” Thor asks him. Loki swallows thickly.

He has not even touched himself since he returned.

“No. No.”

Thor hums against his skin, rasping full lips low along the edge of coarse hair, then lower still. His pants are around his knees now and he helps by kicking them off.

Loki holds his breath, waiting to hear a scoff, a laugh, anything.

But then Thor takes his cock between pallet and tongue and he cries out in surprise. Thor swallows him to the root and hums when Loki’s fingers wind their way into his hair. Thor works his tongue around Loki, pulling off only when Loki’s thighs begin to tremble. There is a deep pulsing low in his belly and Loki can feel himself seeping. He thinks he says something like please, which is ridiculous but Thor knows what he is asking for.

Thor’s pretty tongue follows the curve of his leg, licking over where his sac is now buried alongside plump folds of flesh. He parts what he finds with gentle fingers, staring. Loki is about to ask what he finds so interesting when Thor finally lowers his face, tongue licking teasingly into him. Loki bucks and does not care he might possibly crush Thor between his thighs, for Thor seems to enjoy it. He licks harder, sucking when it suits him and Loki feels the sheets drenched beneath him.

Thor carefully slides a finger alongside his tongue and suddenly Loki is quaking everywhere at once, fire lancing his body. He holds Thor’s face to him and Thor’s arms hold him through it, hand winding around a hip to fist his cock through to spilling.

Thor seems content to mouth at his slit forevermore but Loki’s body is shaking, oversensitive, unused to the feeling of such intensity roaring through his blood. He pats Thor’s head weakly, and Thor comes up for air, beard soaked and lips berry red, grinning. He lays his cheek against a cool thigh and watches Loki gather his breath.

When Thor finally does manage to drag himself from the room, Loki wonders how he ever doubted, indeed.

When Thor returns it is night and Loki is just leaving his bath. When he goes to gather his clothes he sees Thor shrugging off his armor.

“You’ve been to battle this day?” Loki asks, half joking. Thor looks tired.

Thor smiles, gaze drifting over his bare form. Loki wants to cover himself, hide away from sight, but even though he wills the right magic into place, nothing happens. A habit he will likely never shake. Not unless he find the right path, and he knows that is not likely to happen.

Thor drinks in the sight of him. Then, voice low, he says, “A rebel faction has popped up on Jotunheim. Some are vying for a scouting party.”

Loki goes to lie on his bed, watching Thor undress. He thinks of Thor’s hair, spotted with snow.

“And what was the verdict? Do they even know who leads this rebellion?”

Thor’s mouth stays in a firm line. So Loki reaches up to pull at Thor’s cuff, encouraging him to sit. He lays Thor back and moves to undress him the rest of the way.

Thor relents and continues when Loki begins pulling off his shoes and unlacing his breeks.

“Helblindi,” he says slowly. Loki’s fingers twitch. “Your brothers are fighting each other.”

“They are not my kin,” Loki says. “I only have one brother.”

Thor shifts until he too is out of his clothes and then pulls Loki atop him. Loki throws a thigh over his, careful to avoid dragging himself over Thor’s prick.

“Will you go there?”

Thor drags his lips over Loki’s neck. “I’d rather be here with you.”

“Odin would start another war?”

“He is not the only one who decides these things. It is only a scouting mission besides, perfectly safe.” “Hardly,” Loki scoffs.

Thor laughs softly along his temple. “You seem concerned for me, or am I mistaken?”

Loki bites his tongue to keep from answering. Instead, he moves to straddle Thor and Thor does not protest.

He spreads his legs wide so that he might drag his cock along Thor’s, and it’s better than talking of battle, of rebellions. Of thinking what might happen should another war break out, and they be alive and old enough to witness it.

Loki has felt as if his blood has been singing all day, lit like a match. He’s been thinking of what he can do now, to Thor. Of what Thor can do to him. It makes him almost dizzy.

“I want you inside me,” he murmurs near Thor’s mouth.

Thor makes a strangled sound, hands gripping tight at his hips. “If I spill inside you—”

“It does not matter, my blood has not yet come,” Loki tells him. He flexes his thighs again and Thor finally nods, eyes a little wide.

Thor’s fingers wander lower over the curve of his thigh, sliding lightly over his leaking slit. Thor groans Loki’s name when he feels how wet he is and Loki would be embarrassed of this new feature if Thor did not seem so keen on touching all he could reach. When Thor dips the tips of two fingers just inside his folds he keens. It is so sensitive, he feels swollen, aching from the inside out.

Loki grows impatient and reaches between them to take Thor’s cock in hand, guiding it to where he wants it. Thor lifts his hips and Loki lowers himself and then he can breathe again. Thor does not pause, does not speak any words of awe or foolish emotion, he simply starts moving. He makes these broken sounds and grips Loki tight to him, chanting his name among praise.

And Loki feels full, so full, and all he can do is have foreign sounds work their way from his throat, and roll his hips to meet each thrust. At some point, Thor rolls them and then he kissing Loki again, trying his hardest to stave off release.

Loki sucks on Thor’s neck and leaves each bruise where he wills it, squeezes thighs around his ribs, his hips, hugs Thor as close as he can.

Thor cries his name against his cheek when Loki flexes the muscles inside him and he spills, Loki following not long after. When he catches his breath, Thor drags his fingers through the spend painted along Loki’s stomach and brings it to his lips.

He hums and it resonates inside Loki like thunder.