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Loki’s first coherent thought on waking is that everything feels rather a bit too hot, though the cause of his discomfort is hardly a mystery. Even in the moments before he blearily opens his eyes it is readily apparent that Thor is the source of so much heat. Loki finds himself pressed to the length of his brother’s back, his cheek tucked against the sweltering skin at the base of Thor’s neck.
The bed in the King’s quarters aboard their borrowed-stolen-commandeered spaceship is just a touch too soft and a fraction too small to comfortably accommodate two people of their relative proportions, and they find inevitably that they begin each morning having rolled together into the bed’s centre, pressed skin-to-skin and in a veritable tangle of entwined limbs. Pushing the blankets down to waist level in order to give them both some much-needed breathing room, Loki gives a sigh of relief as the cool air of the room washes over them, rendering their chaotic little refuge of a bed somewhat less stifling.
Fitting himself to Thor once more, Loki has every intention of drifting off again. Even in slumber, however, Thor is infuriatingly restless on this particular morning. His breath comes quicker than its usual steady rhythm, and he twitches jarringly when Loki presses his lips to the hot expanse of skin between his shoulder blades. Thor’s body temperature tends toward overwarm at the best of times, much to Loki’s frustration whenever they share a bed, but today he is a blazing furnace.
“Must you fidget?” Loki mumbles drowsily when Thor moves fractiously yet again, but receives no response as Thor sleeps on obliviously.
The hand that Loki skims over the bare skin of Thor’s hip is intended to soothe rather than to wake him, but wake him he does: Thor stirs, shifting against the sheets with a sleepy, disoriented sound, then falls silent for several heartbeats.
“Brother,” Thor murmurs eventually by way of greeting.
His voice is sleep-roughened and so low that Loki can feel the rumbling vibrations of it where they touch. There is a subtle tension in the way Thor holds himself, each breath still coming forth in a soft pant.
“Whatever is the matter?” Loki asks, perplexed even in his half-asleep state. “Did you suffer a nightmare?”
This time, when Loki strokes his fingers over Thor’s hip once again, Thor gives a helpless and full-bodied shiver.
“Quite the opposite,” Thor says, and Loki can hear him smiling even if he cannot see it. “I just awoke from a most pleasant dream.”
Now that it has been said, it is obvious that Thor’s body thrums with arousal that needs to be tended to. Loki pushes at the blankets to slide them down further and summons a trivial amount of energy so that he may drape himself indolently over Thor’s side to look at him properly, his palm sliding down over Thor’s chest to feel the pounding of his heart beneath. Thor’s cock is so very, very hard -- thick and straining and pearling fluid at the tip -- and Loki can only wonder how he has managed to work himself into such a state. The mere sight of it makes his stomach lurch as a fresh wave of lust hits him, the embers of desire in his belly stoked into something greater.
“Intriguing,” Loki says with a flicker of a smile. “Was I in this dream of yours?”
“Indeed,” says Thor, chuckling softly as he turns his head slightly upon the pillow to catch Loki’s eye. “You gave me your fingers and your cock just as splendidly as you are able to in the flesh, and I am most upset that I awoke before we were done.”
Loki narrows his eyes. Norns, Thor could not be subtle if he tried, and try he most certainly does not.
“And is this your way of asking me to finish what I supposedly started, brother? You cannot possibly expect anything overly energetic from me after you had me so very thoroughly last night.”
Loki is being entirely truthful; can still feel the pleasant ache deep at the base of his spine after Thor had pounded at him with glorious enthusiasm for most of the evening and into the early hours. He is almost certain that he has seen Thor’s bedroom ceiling more frequently than any other part of this ship they now call home and yet finds to his interminable bewilderment that he cannot bring himself to care. They are like teens again, endlessly starving for one another and unable to keep their hands to themselves for any longer than is strictly necessary. It is ridiculous, highly improper and unspeakably perfect.
Thor gives him a look of fond resignation, fleeting disappointment evident in his expression.
“That wasn’t a no,” Loki says mildly, sliding his gaze down the length of Thor’s body. Even if he had been planning on denying Thor what he wants, he doubts he’d be able to do so when Thor looks so pathetically forlorn about it. Thor would hardly consider himself a master of manipulation -- on that they can both agree -- but Loki has always found him to be terribly convincing when he wants to be. “I was merely establishing expectations.”
Thor lets out a soft breath of laughter and takes Loki’s hand where it still rests over his heart. Drawing it to his mouth, Thor kisses the tips of Loki’s fingers tenderly; lets them catch wetly at his bottom lip.
The frisson of excitement Loki feels as his body responds steals the breath from his lungs, quickening his pulse.
“I had intended to ask for it last night,” Thor admits, “but became -- distracted.”
Cocking his head to one side in contemplation, Loki slides his fingers idly through Thor’s hair, fingernails raking lightly over his scalp; feels Thor lean into his touch with a quiet groan of contentment.
Loki smirks. Lowers his voice until it is a dark and silk-wrapped tease, and fits himself close to Thor’s ear: “Distracted before or after you brought me to your bed and fucked me full of your come for the third time in a matter of hours?”
“Both,” says Thor. His voice is light, surprisingly steady, but the way he then swallows thickly betrays his wavering restraint. “You are very distracting.”
Preening under Thor’s obvious desire, Loki settles back onto his side behind Thor with a small smile that he keeps for himself.
“Would you fetch the oil?” Thor mumbles, face half-pressed into the pillows, his patience clearly wearing thin and yet making absolutely no attempt to locate it for himself.
“You fetch the oil, you surely had it last,” Loki snipes.
Thor makes a petulant sound, shifting impatiently upon the sheets. “I am sure that I didn’t. Just -- use your magic, then.”
“It will get everywhere,” Loki whines, though he’s casting the spell even before the complaint has left his mouth, duly dripping oil all over the both of them where it liberally coats three fingers.
Lightly, Loki draws his fingers over Thor’s hole, wetting it from the outside but not yet pushing in. Instead he inches forward and slips the length of his rapidly hardening cock against Thor’s crease, gliding back and forth at a leisurely pace with a quiet, pleasured sound.
Thor pushes back against him slightly, though makes no attempt otherwise to hurry him up. He is still sleep-lax and pliant when Loki eases two fingers carefully inside him and Loki bites sharply at his bottom lip to keep from groaning overloud at the tight, scorching feel of it, every part of him now alight with the urge to replace his fingers with his cock and bury himself deep inside.
Three fingers are a somewhat tighter fit, though Thor accepts them just as readily, murmuring encouragement under his breath when Loki strokes at him from the inside to loosen him up.
“That’s enough,” Thor says gently, barely prepared but evidently in no mood for waiting. “Start slowly and I can handle it.”
Stroking the last of the oil over his cock and then settling his hand over Thor’s waist, Loki then lines himself up, the head of his cock nudging up against Thor’s hole which yields deliciously to the blunt pressure. He pushes inside in gentle and unhurried increments, little push-pull motions as he works himself steadily deeper. Once immersed almost all the way inside he pulls out entirely just to re-live that first moment of penetration, the overwhelming pleasure of it and the unbearably arousing sight of Thor opening up for him so beautifully.
When Loki pushes deeper still, rolling his hips and holding Thor firmly in place, Thor makes a low sound of intermingled pleasure and relief that has Loki’s cock twitching where it’s buried inside of him. Loki has no idea how long Thor has been hard for, left aching to be filled and cruelly denied anything more than his imagination until now, but Thor already feels desperate and eager to come as Loki thrusts into him.
Loki redistributes his weight where he’s lying on his side, altering the position of his hips experimentally, and then presses forward and up in a smooth slide.
“There,” Thor growls suddenly, one hand reaching behind himself to grasp encouragingly at Loki’s hip. “Fuck, right there, Loki, you must -- ”
Watching Thor carefully, Loki keeps his hips angled just-so and repeats the motion. Thor responds with a breathy sigh of satisfaction and so Loki fucks him like that, slow and sure and with relentless precision; feels utterly weak with wanting when Thor melts back into him as though the sheer pleasure of it will be his undoing.
The soft sounds Thor makes with each thrust are raw and honest and utterly intoxicating. Captivated, Loki finds himself trying to draw as many as he can from him, over and over with his own pleasure an afterthought for the moment.
When the hand at Loki’s hip slips away so that Thor may stroke at himself, Loki lazily tangles his fingers with Thor’s so that their hands may work over the length of his cock in combination.
“I am surprised you have anything left to spill,” Loki says, pressing one fingertip to the most tender spot on Thor’s cockhead and massaging at it gently in a way that never fails to render his brother both speechless and dripping wet. “You gave so much of it to me last night, as I recall.”
That is enough for Thor, it seems: he comes quietly, groaning, slicking their fingers further with each hot pulse. Loki draws his hand across Thor’s stomach afterward with a smirk, mildly disappointed when Thor merely laughs and makes no attempt to rebuke him for it.
On carefully pulling out, Loki presses his hand to Thor’s shoulder so that he may turn him onto his hands and knees. Thor instead uses his not inconsiderable strength to push back against him and rolls onto his back; takes Loki by the arm, hauling him up on top of him to fit between his legs, and looks up at him in triumph.
“And you have the nerve to call me demanding,” Loki mutters, taking his weight onto his hands, and promptly fits himself back inside his brother in one sleek and decadent slide so perfect that neither of them can remain silent in the moment where Loki fully bottoms out.
Thor stretches out on the bed beneath him, resulting in some very interesting sensations. He is the very picture of insouciance like this, and even in the moments where he cannot help but tremble from the overstimulation he looks utterly pleasure-drunk in his lassitude, malleable and loose.
Glancing over Loki’s face, he is also clearly on the edge of laughter and attempting to hide it.
“What do you find so amusing?” Loki frowns, his rhythm faltering.
Thor’s face breaks into a cocksure grin. “Nothing,” he says, patently a lie. He pauses, the rocking motion of Loki’s hips jostling him gently back and forth upon the bed. “I was merely thinking that your hair looks as though you have fought many a battle and found victory at none.”
It is terribly unfair, Loki thinks, that he must wake every morning with a bed-tangled crown of frizzing waves when Thor has hardly a hair out of place.
“Well then,” Loki sniffs, shaking his head to toss an errant dark curl over his shoulder, “keep your eye closed if you don’t wish to look at me.”
Reaching up to grasp gently at the back of Loki’s neck, Thor’s palm settles over that same place by which he has held Loki close for centuries now.
“But I do wish to look at you,” Thor says softly, his eye enchantingly blue and twinkling with amusement as he holds Loki’s gaze. “Very much so.”
Scoffing, feeling the heat rising in his cheeks, Loki rolls his eyes and drives forth with vigour. He has never been one to suffer fools gladly, yet against all better judgment finds himself perpetually enamoured with this one.
Thor’s thumb brushes delicately over the fine hairs at the nape of Loki’s neck, and Loki cannot help but shiver as the feeling of it combines with the bright, fiery pleasure he draws greedily from Thor’s body with each languorous roll of his hips.
“If you don’t want me to come inside you,” Loki says, breathless with wanting despite his best efforts, “please do tell me imminently.”
“I’ll tell you no such thing,” Thor says indulgently, his expression one of profound satisfaction as his thighs tip further apart in invitation.
Loki feels his orgasm closing in on him so very sweetly -- Thor’s easy permission a turn-on that only serves to hasten its arrival -- but feels no real need to chase it. Instead he continues to rut at Thor with long, steady thrusts as pleasure builds upon itself until at last he is pushing deep with a startled gasp as it overwhelms him, feeling Thor’s fingers tighten their grip as he spills and spills inside him.
He cannot bring himself to move for some time, feeling as though time has slowed to nothing and they are left infinitely suspended. Thor looks up at him, his expression soft, and Loki merely breathes.
He is unsteady on his hands and knees when he finally withdraws, sensations filtering back into his body slowly, though he has the wherewithal to fetch them a cloth from the drawer at his bedside. His seiðr is sufficient to render it comfortably warm and wet enough to cleanse them, and he straddles Thor’s thighs as he drags it gently over their bodies. Even now, with his every movement clumsy and lethargic from sleep and good sex, Thor attempts to pull him down to fit their lips together.
“I’m not kissing you,” Loki says tartly, arching one eyebrow and sitting back to unravel himself from Thor’s greedy hands. “You know I won’t. Brush your teeth, take a shower, and I might be amenable to more than this.”
With a long-suffering sigh and a look of hopeless affection, Thor tugs Loki firmly down to him as though he means to kiss him anyway; ducks his head at the last moment to press his mouth to the hollow of Loki’s throat instead, adding a deliberate little scrape of teeth that has fluttery arousal blooming in Loki’s belly all over again. Lifting Loki effortlessly by the waist, Thor deposits him neatly on his back upon the sheets and proceeds to work his way smoothly down Loki’s body until he is kissing the wings of his hipbones.
“Oh, I do hate you,” Loki laments crossly.
He tosses the damp cloth at Thor’s side, watching it flop back onto the bed ignored, then wearily tips his head back against the pillow with a little huff of resignation. Thor’s mouth charts a new path, moving onward to increasingly interesting locations.
“Shower with me?” Thor breathes, his face now pressed to Loki’s tender inner thigh where he is determinedly sucking a mark.
“Gods yes,” Loki gasps and, when Thor takes him by the wrist and tugs him keenly toward the bathroom, lets himself be led.