Across The Nine

Throwing his head back Loki grabs at Thor mercilessly, goaded on by the sounds he doesn't usually make until much further into this game. And then he stops, sudden and greedy, to grab much further up. By Thor's collar he pulls the elder up (just a bit, his arms straining with the intimidation of pulling a thunder god but mostly) on top of him as he lays back onto the table, his brother's mouth losing contact with his chest and leaving him cold and bitter.

"Christ, just get up here." He rasps, the nape of his neck aching as it lays just barely off of the table's opposite edge with the lights of the city bleeding into his eyes.

It was cold without Thor's radiation perfectly atop him and he wasn't nearly strong enough in the moment, or in many, to throw his brother around. So he tries to look innocent, his neck exposed and eyes blinking: his hips begging without him even knowing.

Thor chuckles at this impatience, sure that he's coming off as a demeaning asshole. But it's cute, in his brother's way. Very cute. The Loki he knows does not often go into battle unfortified by antlers, but tonight there are no horns for them to lock. Just body and breath and colored crowns of dancing spellwork.

"You know, for a trickster, you're hardly..." he tilts his head and smiles, pressing his elbows to the table on either side of Loki's arched shoulders. "Slick."

To drive the meaning, he grinds himself between lightly Loki's open thighs, two of his fingers reaching out to curl a strand of dark hair.

His other arm dips below the edge of the table, left palm flattening down over the front of Loki's pants, squeezing the shape of his cock through the fabric, and ending in a cup at the curve of his ass. "Or is your well of tricks too dry, brother? Do you need my mouth to do it for you?"

Loki's ears burn red with his brother's laughter out of embarrassment and spite. As if Thor wants this any less-- at least he's got the guts to show it. For a moment he bares his teeth, clenching his jaw, and forces himself to not completely ruin the moment. There weren't many moments like this anymore.

He wants to be furious with accusation, righteous in retort, but he can't be: not with Thor's motions. Every one of them coils up Loki's inner mechanics tighter and tighter to leave no room for anger. Instead there's only room for sweet agony and with it he whimpers, pushing forward into the deity before him, regretting the sound the moment it leaves his throat. This isn't fair. How could he possibly be cunning when he's pinned down, trapped right where he wants himself to be?

"Well, for the God of Thunder you haven't struck me yet." Loki lies through his teeth, attempting to seeth while he trembles.

Fine. Fine. He attempts to recollect himself inwardly and focuses on his hands, drawing them up Thor's sides with a thin veil of spell to warm the thunderer. Desperately he wants to push Thor below the surface, to manipulate him into his will, yet he can't. He wants Thor tonight rather than his spells.

"Why don't you show me what you're made of, brother?" Loki smiles momentarily as he speaks before rolling his eyes and dipping his head just barely below the table's edge to choke on his brother's favorite words, "Pretty please?"

Loki blinks and in the next moment he’s pinned up by his brother’s arms at his wrists, against the window, smiling like mad. He blinks again and he’s on the countertop of the tiny kitchenette with Thor before him, wrapping his legs gently around his elder and shoving his hands into the golden hair that he just can’t stop touching. One last blink and they’re on the bed. From behind Thor, Loki cackles and shoves the thunderer forward onto all fours.

“Or were you expecting that?” Loki sneers leaning over to hiss into Thor’s ear.

Maybe Loki doesn't understand this, but Thor learned long ago that the only way to survive his brother's erratic instincts was to come to expect nothing.

That doesn't mean giving into everything, but-

This time, he does submit.

"Was I expecting sorcery, and tricks?" he prods, angling his neck so that he can throw his gaze over his shoulder. "Of course, Loki. Were you expecting me to resist them?"

He's a bit breathless from the whirlwind, but the hitch in his voice is nothing he doesn't want there. In the next moment, he lets his elbows melt down into the mattress, spreading out his body until his chest and chin hit the sheets.

Gently, he rolls onto his back with his head still flat to the bed, and reaches his hands up to maneuver Loki onto his lap. With the older's jaw above him, towering down like the pale, lanky entity he is, Thor suddenly sees the Godship that Loki carries. It equals his own.

"Disrobe, you hairless deity," he growls.

Thor is glowing below him, gilded with the tiny blossoms of diaphoresis that are shared between them. He is a trophy to be taken there at Loki’s knees. It’s quiet except for their panting and ethereal in the city light and almost ruined because of course he’d been expecting it, why wouldn’t he be? But for once Loki just wishes that his elder would not be so blatant and that he’d play into the memory of what could jokingly be called their “Glory days”. The summers spent in Asgard, well past their awkward phase and more into their adult-youth. But Loki refuses to allow it to sour his moment.

“Hairless?” Loki chuckles at the comment as he strips of his shirt, shaking out his hair as it falls back to his shoulders, “Is that an insult?”

Skittishly he runs his fingers up Thor’s torso, allowing them to linger just long enough that he can savor the thin film of sweat that’s beading up. How much we’ve grown in the opposite directions. He thinks to himself as he tries not to wonder at the sheer size of his brother. Thor has grown massive, even for him, since he’s last saw him. With new wisdoms to top off the size like the cork on an aged wine. And he’s so warm there below him, offering a safe refuge for Loki to curl up inside of and never leave again.

Almost awkwardly he gets rid of his pants and the undergarment beneath them, his forearms down flat next to the Thunderer’s ribs, before summoning up the blankets around himself to fend off the cold and simmering down to a comfortable spot on his brother’s chest.

“I’ve missed this.” The confession is quiet enough that it almost gets lost between the bouquet of kisses he places on Thor, desperate for forgiveness and acceptance.

That admission. It ripples through Thor so deeply and suddenly that a joking reply dies on his lips. It's not insulting, it just means that you're more exposed to me had been readied to his tongue, but it seems out of place now. Because the place has shifted, and he fits into this one differently.

Thor hoists upward, using all his muscles to pull into a sitting position where he can be level with his brother's face. He slides his hands under the soft cavern of blankets, running them down Loki's shoulders, his arms, his hips in one symmetrical movement. His hands are acting on their own, but his face is focused on one spot, eyes softened in vulnerable searching. Thor tries to find proof that what he heard was truly said.

For all his boldness, he's too afraid to ask outright.

"Are you warm?" he inquires instead, pulling at the flannel edges of the blanket so that they swallow up the younger's body, almost far enough to wrap around Thor by proxy. His hands return beneath the fabric, one palm snaking to the low of Loki's back, the other wrapping tentatively around the male's cock. He strokes in such a slow pattern that it hardly even feels sexual; it is a stalling, painfully obviously action to bide the time before he can hear Loki speak again.

“Yes, I-“ Loki chokes on his reply and instead allows himself to melt into Thor’s palm, head lulling back just slightly.

All at once, between the memories and the moment, Loki feels suffocated: pinned down by his decisions and made to face them at the front lines. How many times had he betrayed his brother? How many times had he proven himself unworthy of Thor’s admiration, presence, or pity? Yet the cycle continued, dancing alone the lines of the universe’s horizon. This would always be where he ended up. This would always be the only place where he felt a sense of belonging. Thor’s hands were his safe place.

Trance-like Loki finds himself following Thor’s rhythm and thrusting with him, wrapping his arm’s around his brother’s neck and whispering soft, begging phrases in hopes that one of them will bind them in spell. But he knows better: his spell work has never been verbal. To preoccupy his mouth from making false reassurances his teeth find the curve of Thor’s neck through a kiss and graze at the skin before sinking further in and greedily marking the rich surface of his elder’s skin. When he was through a darkend, purple bruise would stand out as though it were shouting that Loki had found refuge.

“Please,” Loki rasps and drags kisses along Thor’s collar, neck, jaw, “please don’t stop.”

His words repulse him into angry, twisted knots on the inside with how desperate they sound but somewhere within him the ring out as though channeling a simpler time when he found begging not so cowering.

The slightest inch of Thor wants to be cruel; the way that innocuous request meets him sends a fistful of ice down his chest, and he wants to hurl it back. But when he opens his mouth, sense stifles his words, and the mewling of an animal injured takes its place.

Loki, so vulnerable for once. Years of stored anger threaten to snap out of Thor's flesh at this rare opportunity. But his arms are tougher than his feelings. They hold it back.

Loki has always avoided vulnerability because that's how he gets hurt. So Thor grits his teeth and lets the anger churn until it becomes sadness.

"How many times have you stopped, Loki?" he asks before he can help himself, a pained and hopeful sound in his voice. "How can you think that I'm not, at every second, imagining that you could be about to teleport away?"

Because as warm as it is, Thor doesn't feel safe. There was a time when he could lose his head in the pleasures around him and suppress all thought of the consequence, but not after what he's been through. Even this city, which he would gladly see burn, sits like a weight on his mind, as though he needs to protect it.

He trails his knuckles up Loki's length, barely touching him. "Or have you spells for forgetting?" he wonders honestly, thinking that if Loki is going to leave, it would be now. And he would rather it be now than after everything starts to finally feel fixed.

Loki can sense Thor’s uncertainty churning through him like waves on the ocean. For a moment he slows time, or maybe time slows him, and he pulls away just slightly from Thor, enough to take in his entire upper half. The God of Thunder looks so defeated there, confused before him. Racking his brain he plays with the tendrils of Thor’s hair, lightly dusting the side of his temples.

“I’m not going anywhere tonight.” He promises, reading Thor’s thoughts as they flow out in the open.

Disappearing acts were Loki’s forte, his absolute specialty. They always had been: first out of necessity and then out of old habit. But here, tonight, he would stay, putty in Thor’s hands. Gently he pushes Thor down, following on top of him, and kisses him deep, forcing the elder’s lips to part with just enough strength as to not seem demanding. This is perfection, this is safety he chants over and over in his head as he plays with Thor’s tongue, desperate to convince himself of letting go of bad habits if only for the next twenty-four hours.

He breaks the kiss with a small gasp, “I wish I could make you forget it all,” he mumbles it over Thor’s lips in a timid prayer, “I wish I could undo everything that’s happened.”

"No, no," Thor mumbles as he's pressed down into the bed, body turning to liquid gold melted by a blue-tinged fire, "I don't wish that."

As arduous as it's been, if not for that line of memories, they wouldn't be here right now. With his body utterly played by Loki's tongue and hands, he cannot think of any other convergence point he'd desire to be at in this moment.

The thunderer squirms with his back to the bed, shifting to grab the back of Loki's neck so he can crush their lips together. His mouth parts and all the anxiety dissolves. It's like sudden bathwater has fallen all over him, comforting from without, and he isn't convinced that Loki didn't cast a spell.

But his body is actually much drier than it feels, apparently, as sparks jump from the friction of his skin grating against the sheets. The electricity catches on his body, amplified by the untamed arousal burning through his flesh, and he watches in amused concern as the spark travels from his fingertips onto Loki's skin.

He laughs loudly and instead of apologizing, lifts his other arm and gives a light, electric slap to Loki's bottom.

"One day we should spar again," he suggests, though in the moment he's more caught up with the taste of Loki on his mouth, and the weight of a naked body pressed too close for him to think.

Though Thor is just as malleable as Loki is, the younger fails to notice it as he tried to slowly sink into Thor's being. He wants to be engulfed, washed into the diety until he can no longer decipher himself. It's when he attempts to nudge Thor's open pants off of his waist that Loki is slapped and offhandly hears his brother's laughter sometime after it has left his lips. He arches his back just slightly, the plush blankets teasing the little curve his back makes, and smiles broadly, confidently, slyly.

"You're telling me this doesn't count as sparring?" Loki muses from above, marveling at Thor's own brand of unique seidr.

The lightening control, the storms that roll in on the horizon at Thor's emotional request have always puzzled Loki. His brother had never shown any sort of magical inclination and yet he possessed such powers. In honesty Loki was jealous of it, that Thor could so easily summon magic by accident.

"Have you any new tricks up your sleeve?" The question is genuine as Loki let's his hands trail down, past Thor's hips, to stroke the older's length in almost contimplation, his pants still annoyingly in the way.

Thor crosses his elbows and grabs Loki roughly, rolling sharply to their left. He doesn't let up until he sends Loki bounding down onto the bed next to him, where he can really get his arms around the younger. He makes use of the position, wrapping his limbs around the male and devouring him in a breathless kiss.

"Sort of," he responds swiftly, then presses his mouth back down where he can feel Loki's tongue glide hotly against his own. "They're old ones."

He maneuvers himself out of his trousers with a shimmy, finally withdrawing a hand to aid in ridding himself of the excessive clothing. As he strips the fabric from his body, more static pops between him and the sheet, a delightful, familiar sting.

He grabs the blanket and pulls it over the two of them before pressing himself back up to Loki's front. His erection prods between the front of Loki's thighs, though he's sure the tease is even worse on himself than the other. And it's not, at the same time. Loki smells and feels like no other creature. It's as though Thor might lean in and end up tumbling into a plethora of different landscapes.

"Can I fuck you?" he asks lowly, putting his mouth against Loki's ear as if trying to prevent the city from hearing. "Or did you hope for the opposite?"

“It’s always a thrill to be thrown around by you.” It’s a joke that leaves Loki’s lips, breathless and airy, instead of wicked sarcasm.

The bed is comfortable below him and Thor warm above him. If ever he had a home it was here in this moment and in the countless ones like it that survived on in his distant past, radiating in glorious limbo between his history and his manic thoughts. Thor is rippling above him, weighty and impervious dragging him further and further into reality, but it’s a welcome crushing that’s being placed upon his chest. He ponders his brother’s request with a sly smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he fails to be surrapticious, “Do you want to?” He reaches back down again to tease the older’s cock that sits so patiently between him, his finger tips soft upon Thor’s golden flesh.

Loki lays there, plain and innocent as his cheekbones will let him appear, and increases the pressure in his palm to further goad on the Thunderer at his will. How perfect could the glimmer of daylight above him be against the stark contrast of the city night? How contorted could he make it with just his hands, no magic? He drags the nails of his free hand up Thor’s side, wrapping his fingers around the glorious locks of blonde hair that lay so ragged and limp, matted with sweat and anticipation, to pull on them.

“Convince me to allow you.” His words are a villainous rasp as his lips skim across Thor’s neck, his free hand pulling him up into his brother’s being by his hair, “Worship me for a while, my Kingship.”

A smile flits across Thor's face. That familiar tone of voice is perfectly timed to his ears and it brings such excitement to him.

Thor is happy to worship his brother. The golden bangles and sculpted helmet may give Thor his title, but he doesn't mind imparting its glory.

"I've always been king," he considers aloud, hips pressing forward into Loki's palm while his face buries between the other's collars. "And in a way, brother, that's all I've ever been... but you..."

He allows himself another moment to submit to Loki's rhythm, the sensation flooding him with a sparkling pleasure, before he edges his body downward and slips out of Loki's curled fingers. Thought, Thor snakes south along the front of Loki's body, greeting him with suckling lips each inch he travels down.

"I don't know what you are," he breathes. "A scaled mermaid?" He presses an open-mouthed kiss between Loki's nipples. "A sphinx?" Wet lips trail down to the male's sternum. "A prophet? A pagan entity?" His belly button, the line of his pelvis. "My king."

He opens his mouth and expels a hot flurry of breath over Loki's cock, one arm forcing its way between the sheet and Loki's leg, the other facing no resistance as it wraps around his hips. Thor teases the head of Loki's member with a subtle flicker of tongue before embracing the male by the hips and pulling him forward into his mouth.

“My, my, brother. You’re too ki-“ Loki’s words, and any coherent thought that isn’t of the electric sparks that radiate through him now, are cut off into a quiet, shrill squeak at the heat of Thor’s lips.

A bright blue current runs though him, wild with unstable electrons, and encompasses his being. For a moment he is truely ethereal, a light mist that hangs over the bed in limbo between realities and the astral plains. On a bed of voltage he floats aimlessly through purgatory. Crashing back to the planet Loki dives his hands into Thor’s hair and grasps for clumps of it in a disorderly, stumbling fashion. He can’t keep a single hold as he thrusts himself deeper into Thor’s mouth, rasping, groaning, begging for him to never stop with his back arched sharp against the sheets below.

Magic has no power here as he writhes below the God of Thunder, choking on his own being: the cavern of Thor’s mouth is impenetrable to anything except for Loki’s own, pleasurable suffering punctuated by a quiet hiss. By this point he’s broken his own sweat, nervous in origin. He doesn’t want it to be over this fast and yet with the heat of Thor’s wet mouth it’s racing towards a quick end. He bears down to keep himself grounded and drives up quicker and deeper into his brother, unafraid and uncaring of suffocating him.

“You’ve gotten...” His purr pauses with a shameless groan unable to keep his mind off of the way Thor is engulfing him, the rhythm that he keeps in time with Loki’s own erratic heartbeat, “you’ve gotten far too good at this.”

If "good" means putting his comfort aside for his brother's needs, then yes. He's performed particularly poorly at that in the past, but his learning curve is immense. How could he have ever known that the reward would be absolute? And instant?

The base of his throat gives a low rumble as Loki thrusts into his mouth, locking into place the role Thor has always wanted with the younger. A thousand images of the possibilities rush through his head so suddenly that he pops his lips off Loki's cock, worried he'll lose out on a handful of them if he takes too much too quickly.

He angles his eyes up, letting the head of Loki's erection sit against his chin. "I've had a lot of time to think about it," he divulges as he pushes back up, taking Loki into a deep kiss, the bitter and salty tinge of precum still purposefully perched on his tongue. "Have you thought about it?" he dares to ask, knowing the answer but embarrassingly curious about the hidden particulars.

"Thought about what?" Loki almost snarls as the kiss is ripped from him and the magic of his moment shatters against Thor's words.

The question is an upper cut to his chin after the momentary bliss he’d manage to find— why did the Thunderer always have to ruin the moment with thick thought? Quickly Loki bunches himself up in defense, still securely beneath Thor’s weight, taking the sheets with him. As his cheeks and ears scorch bright pink he searchers the elder’s eyes for an answer but all he can bring himself to focus on is the bruised red, perfect curve of Thor’s upper lip. His head screams for him dissipate out into the city, hidden in the shadows from his brother's soul-searching gaze. A shudder of confidence swoops down his spin and glues his sacrum to the mattress.

“Shut up: don’t you dare ruin this for me.” The words are filled with scorn as he bites as Thor’s mouth between them. "I've waited too long and too patiently."

He sinks his nails into his brother's shoulders sharp enough to chafe the warmth of golden collar bones and throws his head back, staring in desperation at the intricate ceiling tiles. With a slow, heavy sigh he pulls Thor's warmth into him in an attempt to find his moment again before it disappears quicker than his own whimsy, “Of course I’ve thought about it— you.” His voice is feigns steadiness, "Now can you please let this sentiment go and just fuck me?" Loki pauses, the his desire to be coveted swelling in a deep pericardial bubble of effusion, "We can talk sweetly about it later, deal?"

Afraid that he'll laugh, Thor wraps his arms up around Loki's shoulders, holding the back of the male's skull with an outstretched palm. Intrinsically he knows that Loki would be more comfortable with his head on the soft sheets, but something makes him want to hold his crown safe, as though he's at risk of slamming into the headboard. It's also just a good way to pull Loki into him for a false sense of security.

Then he flips his security, sending Loki sprawling chest-down on the mattress. Both hands land on either side of his brother's shoulders, threatening, concrete pillars. He lowers his head, blonde hair falling from behind his ear to brush the side of Loki's face, tickling his cheek.

"If you're so urgent," he speaks into the other's ear as he grinds his hips over Loki's backside, running the length of his cock thrice between the cleft of Loki's ass, "You can prepare yourself then.
Right brother?"

The mattress is a welcomed, somehow wet slap to Loki's sternum that reverberates through his fingers tips, swirling the shimmer of seidr that pools under the muscle of his forearms on it's way out. His world splurges into mild vertigo as clausterphobia threatens to set into his shoulders while Thor gets comfortable above him, the shallow breathing his own lungs quickening under the weight of the deity above him. From where they lay, below his chest and one out to the side, the urge to lash out against it fills Loki's wrists with a heat that hums into the mattress.

He smiles, crooked and into the stands of Thor's hair that surround him as a false halo and preaches in an almost choked rasp from his lowly pulpit, forked tongue at the tip of his lips, "I thought I was the demanding one of us?"

Deliberately he lifts his hips into his brother's and shifts backwards onto him in a downy soft tease despite the jagged edges of his own narrow bones. With a swift, broken grace Loki reaches behind himself to take Thor's cock into his palm to pay it due attention with waves of pressure near an already wet tip. Again, he smiles to himself as he speeds slightly into a back beat of sorts: if either of them gives quickly, he knows, it will be his brother. The years of torture that Loki's experience may have shaped him into a demanding, unforgiving soul but they also taught him restraint.

"Do you really think," He asks, pausing in his motions, "that anything other than years of experience could truly prepare me for this?" He squeezes Thor for good measure with purpose: the Thunderer had always proven a challenge to accommodate to, with or without any preparation.

It comes as a slap to Thor when he realizes that it's he who isn't prepared. Standing at the edge of a precipice, his muscles shake with the fear that he's going to fall in before he's ready to. He comes undone under Loki's hand, moaning thoughtlessly, but even the raw flush of pleasure isn't powerful enough to block out the fact that Loki's been with others since him.

He has too. He shouldn't feel anything. He does.

He's about to pull out of his brother's fist and slide in the younger, but before he can get his body to comply, he goes still, filling Loki's eyes with his own.

"It's-" he stops, collecting one of Loki's slender wrists into his hand. He slides his fingers up the pulse of his vein, then wraps tightly. "Can you take us back to my room?" he asks quietly, blinking at the foreignness of the hotel room. He doesn't know the limits of Loki's power, but he'd beg to find out. They're not even on the same planet, for Norn's sake, but when he imagines his childhood bed and all the memories it holds, he's desperate to hold off until he can completely fall to pieces around Loki's body. "Is that something you can do?"