Fic: Ambiguous Credulity (Thor/Loki, R)
Fandom: Avengers
Title: Ambiguous Credulity
Pairing: Thor/Loki
Rating: R
Word Count: ~2,800
Summary: “You would have me now, when everything else is lost to you, and your more subtle wiles are far afield,” Thor tells Loki, his thumb in the soft meat under Loki’s chin, behind the muzzle. “You would whore yourself for your freedom, am I right?”
Thor’s command of the Tesseract is clumsy, at best.
Bare moments after the earth disappears beneath their feet, they are deposited on a barren world, hot sand in all directions, stinging Thor’s eyes. Loki ducks his chin down into his neck, and Thor twists his handle of the Tesseract’s cage. It takes a moment for the gut-wrenching pull to grab hold of them, a breathless second where Thor’s sure they’ll be trapped in the desert forever.
Then they’re whipping away again, plummeting through an airless space of whizzing light and flashing colours.
Thor stumbles when they land, this time, stumbles and falls. And keeps falling.
He is no stranger to the sickening wrench of gravity, and neither is he frightened of it. Mjolnir is heavy in his free hand, crackling already with electricity. He spins her, twisting around in free-fall to give her space.
This nebulous world is dark; a chill wind tears his cloak back. A circle of blue glow from the Tesseract is all that allows him to catch sight of Loki’s face, the eyes immense and terrified above his glinting muzzle, limbs flailing wildly.
Thor realizes that perhaps they are approaching the bottom of a chasm, to be dashed against rocks or freezing ocean, and he sets Mjolnir loose to halt their fall. She yanks his arm straight up, and Loki dangles at the other end of the Tesseract by one hand.
Thor looks down at him, and it is an all-too familiar view. Panic goes through him. What if Loki were to let go--
He twists his wrist, reactivates the Tesseract.
They land with a painful thud on cold grass, a tangle of sharp elbows and jostling armour.
With barely a pause, Loki lands a hard blow to Thor’s belly, and rolls away.
Thor takes a second to recover, retching, and scrambles after Loki, catching him by the ankles, hauling him back.
“Oh, no, you don’t!” he cries, brimming suddenly with excitement. Bloodlust sparks along his veins; he wants to gut Loki like a boar, snare up his legs and pack him home over one shoulder, food for a feast.
His senses return when Loki kicks him square in the jaw. Stars burst before Thor’s eyes. He gets one arm around Loki’s knees, pinning him flat, and grabs both Loki’s bound wrists in the other hand.
“Stop!” Thor tells him. “You’ll hurt yourself.”
But Loki is beyond reason. He twists wildly under Thor’s weight, a panicked fury of sharp bits and hard bones. It is all Thor can do to hold him flat on the ground without doing him harm.
He lies heavily across Loki’s legs, bearing down with all his weight against the thrashing and kicking. He fixes his eyes on the far and strange horizon, sets his jaw against the pain of Loki’s sharp body.
It takes a long time for Loki to exhaust himself, to be drained of will and energy.
Loki breathes hard through his nose, wheezing. His knees crack against Thor’s ribs, toes twisting horribly against Thor’s groin.
Thor grits his teeth. He won’t let go. He won’t.
Instead, head turned safely to the side, he catalogues the dark and narrow meadow in which they’ve found themselves, scans the constellations, tries to spot familiarities. The sky is slowly brightening, a pale sun creeping over the nearby loom of forest. It isn’t a sun Thor recognizes, but it is soon fully above the horizon, whiting out the faint stars and gaseous bursts of heavenly things that Jane had told him were called nebulae in the Midgardian way.
It is nearly full light by the time Loki calms, going gradually limp beneath Thor’s body.
Thor doesn’t trust his brother’s stillness. He has fallen prey to Loki’s tricks too many times to reckon, and he makes them lie there longer still, dew forming on their armour, on their hair. Loki’s chest eventually ceases to heave so desperately under Thor’s head, and his heart slows.
Thor eases his grip on Loki’s bound wrists, and Loki grunts, flexing pale fingers. Thor watches them return to a more pinkish colour.
“I’m sorry,” he says into Loki’s cold leathers. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Loki doesn’t answer, of course-- can’t. His face is livid, blotchy around the edges of the muzzle, as though all the blood has drained from the rest of his face and gathered there. His cheeks are free from tears, for which Thor is entirely relieved.
Thor sits back on his heels, soothes his thumb over Loki’s wrist, presses just under the band of cuff. “It will get better,” he says. “I promise.”
The scornful dart of Loki’s eyes puts the lie to Thor’s words. How will it get better, they ask, when you drag me to imprisonment and torture?
Thor can hear the words in his mind as clearly as if his brother has spoken them aloud, but he knows it’s nothing more than a trick of his imagination; his brother’s thoughts are his own.
Loki’s fists clench suddenly, and the cuffs heat, etched runes flaring green. Thor snatches his hand away from the biting shock. A few paces away, Mjolnir sizzles with sympathetic energy, and she moves against the grass when Thor’s fingers twitch. He doesn’t call her to him, however: the cuffs do their job. Loki’s magic is barely a whisper, even at his best try.
The runes’ faint light dies away, and Loki’s hands loosen. In this half-light of dawn, under clouds and the shadow of branches overhead, he looks gaunt, sultry. His legs shift between Thor’s knees, and then one of them draws free to tuck itself around Thor’s hip.
Somewhere in the forest, a bird caws. It’s an strange sound to Thor’s ears, and it puts him in mind of their situation-- out in the open on a strange world, perhaps one uncharted and known only to the Tesseract. Any manner of monster and foe could reside in the dark nearby forest, peering out at them with malevolent eyes.
Loki’s heel digs at his back. Thor settles himself more firmly. His brother seems relaxed, hands limp at his sides, the chain linked between them stretched over his chest.
“We should go on,” Thor says, halting. “Father is expecting us.”
It’s not true-- Thor hasn’t been able to contact anyone back home since he was first sent to Midgard by Father’s arcane machinations. Asgard is cut off entirely from the other realms without Father’s express and secretive intervention.
However, Loki has no need to know that.
By the subtle upward flick of his eyes, Thor suspects he already does.
“We can’t tarry,” Thor murmurs.
Loki’s foot has crept tight to the small of his spine, and pulls him down.
Thor doesn’t resist. He plants his fists on either side of Loki’s head, bearing down upon him. Loki lies pliant but for a sinuous motion of his hips, making room for Thor between them. His hands touch either of Thor’s sides, fingers digging beneath the armour.
Thor puts his weight onto his elbows, and presses one thumb over Loki’s muzzle. “You mean to tempt me into letting you free with your sluttish body?”
Loki narrows his eyes, and nods.
Thor smiles. “You must think me oafish, indeed, brother.”
Loki nods again.
Thor pinches Loki’s nose closed with two fingers, holds just long enough to feel Loki’s heart lurch, to see his pupils dilate.
“Don’t tempt me, brother,” Thor whispers. “I am angry enough to split you down the middle.”
Loki’s eyes brighten, and he pushes his body up against Thor’s.
“Not like that,” Thor says, embarrassed, cock lurching in his trousers. “I meant… You know what I meant.”
Loki lifts his face toward Thor, eyelids lowering, and presses his forehead against Thor’s chin. It would be a sweet gesture, if the chill of the muzzle weren’t tickling Thor’s neck. He glances his fingers along Loki’s neck, catches them on the cold metal. He pulls, dragging Loki’s head back.
“You would have me now, when everything else is lost to you, and your more subtle wiles are far afield,” he tells Loki, his thumb in the soft meat under Loki’s chin, behind the muzzle. “You would whore yourself for your freedom, am I right?”
Loki doesn’t nod or shake his head this time, but his eyes grow narrow and tart.
Thor leans down near him, rubs the sharp scratch of his beard along Loki’s neck. “I won’t have it,” he whispers into the graceful curl of Loki’s ear. “I’ll fuck you when and how and if I want, and owe you nothing in return. Do you understand?”
Once more, Loki gives a slow nod. Thor’s other hand pushes in between their bodies, squeezes at the hardness in Loki’s clothes. “Your cock answers to me more readily than to yourself.”
Loki rolls his eyes, lets his head drop back. Thor catches it with a fistful of hair, slides his hand around to press his fingers into the back of Loki’s skull. “It’s always been so, brother,” he murmurs.
He kisses the muzzle, opens his mouth against it. His tongue slips between the grooves, his teeth catch at the interlocking pieces. Loki groans, as though he can feel every motion against his own mouth. His hips shiver under Thor’s.
“I think you do these things just to goad me,” Thor says, between licks, warming the coolness with his mouth, sucking it and making it drip. “You do hateful, vicious things so I’ll come catch you and tie you up. Am I right?”
Loki doesn’t make any form of answer, except that his nostrils flare. Thor pulls back when Loki tries to turn his face away.
“Look at me when I speak to you,” he says. He puts his thumb back into the tender places on Loki’s throat, near his jaw, pushes until Loki’s brows draw together, flinching away.
Thor kisses the outside of the muzzle again, and pins Loki deeper into the grass with his hips, rutting smooth and firm.
Loki’s convoluted layers of robe and armour and (Thor has often teased) skirt bunch between them. Thor pulls it all aside, pushing his hand up until there’s nothing between them but his own trousers, and the thinness of Loki’s soft leggings. Both of Loki’s thighs squeeze him tight around the waist.
Thor curls his fingers under the side of the muzzle, yanking Loki’s head sideways, a better angle for sucking at the chin, along the cold sharp sides.
Loki makes a noise in his throat when Thor shifts his hips a certain way, rocks forward and up like they’re properly fucking, as though Thor’s cock is halfway into Loki’s belly, throbbing inside him. Thor has heard this noise before.
He digs his fingers into the secret catches along the muzzle’s sides, a specific sequence known only to himself, and Brokk, who crafted it. It falls opens on the side.
Thor pulls it away slowly, wary of Loki’s teeth, and of his hair, caught in the mechanisms. Even in the dim light of dawn, he can see how wet the inside is, slick and hot with Loki’s spit. He puts his mouth there, tastes until his beard is damp with it, licks it clean.
Loki pulls one hand from between their chests, tangles it in Thor’s hair.
“Kiss me,” he whispers. “Properly.”
Thor obliges.
Loki’s mouth is swollen and bruised from grinding against the muzzle. Thor sucks Loki’s bottom lip, testing it between his teeth. It gives sweetly, hot and coppery like blood, like bruises after battle. Loki’s tongue, searing and engorged, rubs against Thor’s own. Thor sucks on it gently, rolls it between his teeth, lets it go to bite at Loki’s wet chin.
Loki pushes up under him, spreading wider. “Thor,” he says under his breath, as Thor kisses his neck, the underside of his jaw, the lobe of his ear. “Thor, my lovely. You are so gullible.”
He says other words, then, words that make Thor’s ears pop. He recoils, or tries to, but his elbows give out when he attempts to sit up, and he collapses back on top of Loki, who huffs and coughs against Thor’s numb cheek.
Thor’s body is limp, buzzing at the tips of his fingers and toes. His vision is grey around the edges, sparkling with a dull electricity. None of his limbs will answer his commands. There is no reassuring impact of Mjolnir in his palm.
Loki kisses the side of his face, puts an arm around his neck to roll them over with a great grunting heave.
Loki perches on Thor’s chest, heels against Thor’s ribs. He pets Thor’s hair back from his face with both hands.
“Stupid Thor,” Loki tells him, elbows digging into Thor’s chest. The sharp points of his bones make Thor’s heart stutter and lag. “My beautiful, stupid boy.”
Thor opens his mouth to say, “Fuck you, brother,” but instead he just drools.
Loki licks his mouth tenderly. “I appreciate the thought, I really do. But perhaps another time.” He leans over, crawling half off Thor, and comes back with the Tesseract. Its light blinds Thor’s dilated eyes, held up between the two of them.
“I’ll be leaving now,” says Loki. His chains coil against the base of Thor’s throat. “These things…” He shakes his wrists. “…These things are encumbering, I’ll give you that. But they’re not perfect.” He laughs. “Obviously. I’ll get them off soon enough, when I’m far from here, and you.”
Loki climbs to his feet, shaking out his hair and bending himself over backwards. Thor hears the crackle and pop of a loosening spine.
“I certainly don’t wish myself to be in your shoes, brother,” says Loki after a moment. He moves just out of Thor’s line of sight, and Thor can only barely hear, above the rushing in his own ears, the rustle of Loki’s feet in the grass.
“You may have Mjolnir,” continues Loki, “and a great deal of survival ambition, but I certainly don’t know what this world contains, do you? For all we know, it’s nothing but plants and insects. Or perhaps there are monsters for you to gruesomely dispatch. You like that sort of thing, don’t you?”
Loki’s face appears above Thor’s suddenly, smiling. “What I mean to say is that no one can find you here. The Allfather’s reach is… amputated, of late. Only I know where you are, and only I know how to return to you.”
His fingers tangle in Thor’s hair, tugging. Ever nerve in Thor’s body is aflame; when Loki scratches his nails against Thor’s scalp, although lightly, it feels like a branding iron.
“If,” Loki says near Thor’s temple, “you’re very good, perhaps I’ll come back for you. Next time I’m truly desperate to be laid, for instance. Do what you can to appease me. I’ll probably look in on you from time to time. Maybe conquer a few cities in my honour, that sort of thing. A large statue wouldn’t go amiss.”
He laughs, kisses Thor hard on the mouth, and moves away.
Thor strains to hears Loki’s voice, almost lost now under white noise and the rush of blood against his eardrums.
“Take care, brother,” says Loki. “Your limbs should start working again in a couple hours. Let’s hope no hungry beasts venture by before then, shall we?”
The Tesseract makes a roaring, empty sort of sound, and then Loki is gone. A quick wind rushes past Thor’s pounding ears.
Many hours later, when Thor has finished calling himself every vile name of which he can possibly think, he finds himself capable of wiggling his toes. After that, feeling creeps up his legs, through his chest, down his arms. Mjolnir comes singing into his hand, but he drops her almost immediately.
Thor struggles upright, yanks his pants down, and takes his erection in a punishing grip. He comes into the grass, leaning on his free hand, panting and retching. Bent over, ribs only just holding in the furious lurching of his angry heart, Thor makes a very solemn promise to himself.
In just a few minutes, he will get to his feet. He will fly until he sees people. Whether they are friendly or hostile, familiar in form or not, he will go to them. And when Loki returns (and he will, Thor is sure of it-- his brother has never been able to resist temptation for long), he will find Thor as king of this place, with an army at his command.
There will be a lot of blood, and a lot of cursing. Thor will fuck Loki into the ground, until there are earthquakes and hurricanes around them. Thor will trap Loki here with him, or steal back the Tesseract and leave Loki here instead. They will be together, or perhaps they will be apart. Whichever Thor can best stomach.
After that, his plan dissolves a little. But the important elements are there, rough and ready.
Eventually, Thor gets to his feet.
Erm. Because Loki's muzzle gives me feels in my parts. And Thor is an idiot.
Title: Ambiguous Credulity
Pairing: Thor/Loki
Rating: R
Word Count: ~2,800
Summary: “You would have me now, when everything else is lost to you, and your more subtle wiles are far afield,” Thor tells Loki, his thumb in the soft meat under Loki’s chin, behind the muzzle. “You would whore yourself for your freedom, am I right?”
Thor’s command of the Tesseract is clumsy, at best.
Bare moments after the earth disappears beneath their feet, they are deposited on a barren world, hot sand in all directions, stinging Thor’s eyes. Loki ducks his chin down into his neck, and Thor twists his handle of the Tesseract’s cage. It takes a moment for the gut-wrenching pull to grab hold of them, a breathless second where Thor’s sure they’ll be trapped in the desert forever.
Then they’re whipping away again, plummeting through an airless space of whizzing light and flashing colours.
Thor stumbles when they land, this time, stumbles and falls. And keeps falling.
He is no stranger to the sickening wrench of gravity, and neither is he frightened of it. Mjolnir is heavy in his free hand, crackling already with electricity. He spins her, twisting around in free-fall to give her space.
This nebulous world is dark; a chill wind tears his cloak back. A circle of blue glow from the Tesseract is all that allows him to catch sight of Loki’s face, the eyes immense and terrified above his glinting muzzle, limbs flailing wildly.
Thor realizes that perhaps they are approaching the bottom of a chasm, to be dashed against rocks or freezing ocean, and he sets Mjolnir loose to halt their fall. She yanks his arm straight up, and Loki dangles at the other end of the Tesseract by one hand.
Thor looks down at him, and it is an all-too familiar view. Panic goes through him. What if Loki were to let go--
He twists his wrist, reactivates the Tesseract.
They land with a painful thud on cold grass, a tangle of sharp elbows and jostling armour.
With barely a pause, Loki lands a hard blow to Thor’s belly, and rolls away.
Thor takes a second to recover, retching, and scrambles after Loki, catching him by the ankles, hauling him back.
“Oh, no, you don’t!” he cries, brimming suddenly with excitement. Bloodlust sparks along his veins; he wants to gut Loki like a boar, snare up his legs and pack him home over one shoulder, food for a feast.
His senses return when Loki kicks him square in the jaw. Stars burst before Thor’s eyes. He gets one arm around Loki’s knees, pinning him flat, and grabs both Loki’s bound wrists in the other hand.
“Stop!” Thor tells him. “You’ll hurt yourself.”
But Loki is beyond reason. He twists wildly under Thor’s weight, a panicked fury of sharp bits and hard bones. It is all Thor can do to hold him flat on the ground without doing him harm.
He lies heavily across Loki’s legs, bearing down with all his weight against the thrashing and kicking. He fixes his eyes on the far and strange horizon, sets his jaw against the pain of Loki’s sharp body.
It takes a long time for Loki to exhaust himself, to be drained of will and energy.
Loki breathes hard through his nose, wheezing. His knees crack against Thor’s ribs, toes twisting horribly against Thor’s groin.
Thor grits his teeth. He won’t let go. He won’t.
Instead, head turned safely to the side, he catalogues the dark and narrow meadow in which they’ve found themselves, scans the constellations, tries to spot familiarities. The sky is slowly brightening, a pale sun creeping over the nearby loom of forest. It isn’t a sun Thor recognizes, but it is soon fully above the horizon, whiting out the faint stars and gaseous bursts of heavenly things that Jane had told him were called nebulae in the Midgardian way.
It is nearly full light by the time Loki calms, going gradually limp beneath Thor’s body.
Thor doesn’t trust his brother’s stillness. He has fallen prey to Loki’s tricks too many times to reckon, and he makes them lie there longer still, dew forming on their armour, on their hair. Loki’s chest eventually ceases to heave so desperately under Thor’s head, and his heart slows.
Thor eases his grip on Loki’s bound wrists, and Loki grunts, flexing pale fingers. Thor watches them return to a more pinkish colour.
“I’m sorry,” he says into Loki’s cold leathers. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Loki doesn’t answer, of course-- can’t. His face is livid, blotchy around the edges of the muzzle, as though all the blood has drained from the rest of his face and gathered there. His cheeks are free from tears, for which Thor is entirely relieved.
Thor sits back on his heels, soothes his thumb over Loki’s wrist, presses just under the band of cuff. “It will get better,” he says. “I promise.”
The scornful dart of Loki’s eyes puts the lie to Thor’s words. How will it get better, they ask, when you drag me to imprisonment and torture?
Thor can hear the words in his mind as clearly as if his brother has spoken them aloud, but he knows it’s nothing more than a trick of his imagination; his brother’s thoughts are his own.
Loki’s fists clench suddenly, and the cuffs heat, etched runes flaring green. Thor snatches his hand away from the biting shock. A few paces away, Mjolnir sizzles with sympathetic energy, and she moves against the grass when Thor’s fingers twitch. He doesn’t call her to him, however: the cuffs do their job. Loki’s magic is barely a whisper, even at his best try.
The runes’ faint light dies away, and Loki’s hands loosen. In this half-light of dawn, under clouds and the shadow of branches overhead, he looks gaunt, sultry. His legs shift between Thor’s knees, and then one of them draws free to tuck itself around Thor’s hip.
Somewhere in the forest, a bird caws. It’s an strange sound to Thor’s ears, and it puts him in mind of their situation-- out in the open on a strange world, perhaps one uncharted and known only to the Tesseract. Any manner of monster and foe could reside in the dark nearby forest, peering out at them with malevolent eyes.
Loki’s heel digs at his back. Thor settles himself more firmly. His brother seems relaxed, hands limp at his sides, the chain linked between them stretched over his chest.
“We should go on,” Thor says, halting. “Father is expecting us.”
It’s not true-- Thor hasn’t been able to contact anyone back home since he was first sent to Midgard by Father’s arcane machinations. Asgard is cut off entirely from the other realms without Father’s express and secretive intervention.
However, Loki has no need to know that.
By the subtle upward flick of his eyes, Thor suspects he already does.
“We can’t tarry,” Thor murmurs.
Loki’s foot has crept tight to the small of his spine, and pulls him down.
Thor doesn’t resist. He plants his fists on either side of Loki’s head, bearing down upon him. Loki lies pliant but for a sinuous motion of his hips, making room for Thor between them. His hands touch either of Thor’s sides, fingers digging beneath the armour.
Thor puts his weight onto his elbows, and presses one thumb over Loki’s muzzle. “You mean to tempt me into letting you free with your sluttish body?”
Loki narrows his eyes, and nods.
Thor smiles. “You must think me oafish, indeed, brother.”
Loki nods again.
Thor pinches Loki’s nose closed with two fingers, holds just long enough to feel Loki’s heart lurch, to see his pupils dilate.
“Don’t tempt me, brother,” Thor whispers. “I am angry enough to split you down the middle.”
Loki’s eyes brighten, and he pushes his body up against Thor’s.
“Not like that,” Thor says, embarrassed, cock lurching in his trousers. “I meant… You know what I meant.”
Loki lifts his face toward Thor, eyelids lowering, and presses his forehead against Thor’s chin. It would be a sweet gesture, if the chill of the muzzle weren’t tickling Thor’s neck. He glances his fingers along Loki’s neck, catches them on the cold metal. He pulls, dragging Loki’s head back.
“You would have me now, when everything else is lost to you, and your more subtle wiles are far afield,” he tells Loki, his thumb in the soft meat under Loki’s chin, behind the muzzle. “You would whore yourself for your freedom, am I right?”
Loki doesn’t nod or shake his head this time, but his eyes grow narrow and tart.
Thor leans down near him, rubs the sharp scratch of his beard along Loki’s neck. “I won’t have it,” he whispers into the graceful curl of Loki’s ear. “I’ll fuck you when and how and if I want, and owe you nothing in return. Do you understand?”
Once more, Loki gives a slow nod. Thor’s other hand pushes in between their bodies, squeezes at the hardness in Loki’s clothes. “Your cock answers to me more readily than to yourself.”
Loki rolls his eyes, lets his head drop back. Thor catches it with a fistful of hair, slides his hand around to press his fingers into the back of Loki’s skull. “It’s always been so, brother,” he murmurs.
He kisses the muzzle, opens his mouth against it. His tongue slips between the grooves, his teeth catch at the interlocking pieces. Loki groans, as though he can feel every motion against his own mouth. His hips shiver under Thor’s.
“I think you do these things just to goad me,” Thor says, between licks, warming the coolness with his mouth, sucking it and making it drip. “You do hateful, vicious things so I’ll come catch you and tie you up. Am I right?”
Loki doesn’t make any form of answer, except that his nostrils flare. Thor pulls back when Loki tries to turn his face away.
“Look at me when I speak to you,” he says. He puts his thumb back into the tender places on Loki’s throat, near his jaw, pushes until Loki’s brows draw together, flinching away.
Thor kisses the outside of the muzzle again, and pins Loki deeper into the grass with his hips, rutting smooth and firm.
Loki’s convoluted layers of robe and armour and (Thor has often teased) skirt bunch between them. Thor pulls it all aside, pushing his hand up until there’s nothing between them but his own trousers, and the thinness of Loki’s soft leggings. Both of Loki’s thighs squeeze him tight around the waist.
Thor curls his fingers under the side of the muzzle, yanking Loki’s head sideways, a better angle for sucking at the chin, along the cold sharp sides.
Loki makes a noise in his throat when Thor shifts his hips a certain way, rocks forward and up like they’re properly fucking, as though Thor’s cock is halfway into Loki’s belly, throbbing inside him. Thor has heard this noise before.
He digs his fingers into the secret catches along the muzzle’s sides, a specific sequence known only to himself, and Brokk, who crafted it. It falls opens on the side.
Thor pulls it away slowly, wary of Loki’s teeth, and of his hair, caught in the mechanisms. Even in the dim light of dawn, he can see how wet the inside is, slick and hot with Loki’s spit. He puts his mouth there, tastes until his beard is damp with it, licks it clean.
Loki pulls one hand from between their chests, tangles it in Thor’s hair.
“Kiss me,” he whispers. “Properly.”
Thor obliges.
Loki’s mouth is swollen and bruised from grinding against the muzzle. Thor sucks Loki’s bottom lip, testing it between his teeth. It gives sweetly, hot and coppery like blood, like bruises after battle. Loki’s tongue, searing and engorged, rubs against Thor’s own. Thor sucks on it gently, rolls it between his teeth, lets it go to bite at Loki’s wet chin.
Loki pushes up under him, spreading wider. “Thor,” he says under his breath, as Thor kisses his neck, the underside of his jaw, the lobe of his ear. “Thor, my lovely. You are so gullible.”
He says other words, then, words that make Thor’s ears pop. He recoils, or tries to, but his elbows give out when he attempts to sit up, and he collapses back on top of Loki, who huffs and coughs against Thor’s numb cheek.
Thor’s body is limp, buzzing at the tips of his fingers and toes. His vision is grey around the edges, sparkling with a dull electricity. None of his limbs will answer his commands. There is no reassuring impact of Mjolnir in his palm.
Loki kisses the side of his face, puts an arm around his neck to roll them over with a great grunting heave.
Loki perches on Thor’s chest, heels against Thor’s ribs. He pets Thor’s hair back from his face with both hands.
“Stupid Thor,” Loki tells him, elbows digging into Thor’s chest. The sharp points of his bones make Thor’s heart stutter and lag. “My beautiful, stupid boy.”
Thor opens his mouth to say, “Fuck you, brother,” but instead he just drools.
Loki licks his mouth tenderly. “I appreciate the thought, I really do. But perhaps another time.” He leans over, crawling half off Thor, and comes back with the Tesseract. Its light blinds Thor’s dilated eyes, held up between the two of them.
“I’ll be leaving now,” says Loki. His chains coil against the base of Thor’s throat. “These things…” He shakes his wrists. “…These things are encumbering, I’ll give you that. But they’re not perfect.” He laughs. “Obviously. I’ll get them off soon enough, when I’m far from here, and you.”
Loki climbs to his feet, shaking out his hair and bending himself over backwards. Thor hears the crackle and pop of a loosening spine.
“I certainly don’t wish myself to be in your shoes, brother,” says Loki after a moment. He moves just out of Thor’s line of sight, and Thor can only barely hear, above the rushing in his own ears, the rustle of Loki’s feet in the grass.
“You may have Mjolnir,” continues Loki, “and a great deal of survival ambition, but I certainly don’t know what this world contains, do you? For all we know, it’s nothing but plants and insects. Or perhaps there are monsters for you to gruesomely dispatch. You like that sort of thing, don’t you?”
Loki’s face appears above Thor’s suddenly, smiling. “What I mean to say is that no one can find you here. The Allfather’s reach is… amputated, of late. Only I know where you are, and only I know how to return to you.”
His fingers tangle in Thor’s hair, tugging. Ever nerve in Thor’s body is aflame; when Loki scratches his nails against Thor’s scalp, although lightly, it feels like a branding iron.
“If,” Loki says near Thor’s temple, “you’re very good, perhaps I’ll come back for you. Next time I’m truly desperate to be laid, for instance. Do what you can to appease me. I’ll probably look in on you from time to time. Maybe conquer a few cities in my honour, that sort of thing. A large statue wouldn’t go amiss.”
He laughs, kisses Thor hard on the mouth, and moves away.
Thor strains to hears Loki’s voice, almost lost now under white noise and the rush of blood against his eardrums.
“Take care, brother,” says Loki. “Your limbs should start working again in a couple hours. Let’s hope no hungry beasts venture by before then, shall we?”
The Tesseract makes a roaring, empty sort of sound, and then Loki is gone. A quick wind rushes past Thor’s pounding ears.
Many hours later, when Thor has finished calling himself every vile name of which he can possibly think, he finds himself capable of wiggling his toes. After that, feeling creeps up his legs, through his chest, down his arms. Mjolnir comes singing into his hand, but he drops her almost immediately.
Thor struggles upright, yanks his pants down, and takes his erection in a punishing grip. He comes into the grass, leaning on his free hand, panting and retching. Bent over, ribs only just holding in the furious lurching of his angry heart, Thor makes a very solemn promise to himself.
In just a few minutes, he will get to his feet. He will fly until he sees people. Whether they are friendly or hostile, familiar in form or not, he will go to them. And when Loki returns (and he will, Thor is sure of it-- his brother has never been able to resist temptation for long), he will find Thor as king of this place, with an army at his command.
There will be a lot of blood, and a lot of cursing. Thor will fuck Loki into the ground, until there are earthquakes and hurricanes around them. Thor will trap Loki here with him, or steal back the Tesseract and leave Loki here instead. They will be together, or perhaps they will be apart. Whichever Thor can best stomach.
After that, his plan dissolves a little. But the important elements are there, rough and ready.
Eventually, Thor gets to his feet.
Erm. Because Loki's muzzle gives me feels in my parts. And Thor is an idiot.