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Title: To Walk A Mile (1/2)
Fandom: Thor (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Pairing: Thor/Loki
Rating: NC-17
Words: 5200 (10700 overall)
Summary: “Your books on seiðr speak of a spell,” Thor says. “One that allows the exchange of physical bodies.” He glances up, hopeful.
Loki sighs. Trust that the first and foremost reason for Thor to delve into seiðr would be for carnal relations and the promise of untold intimacies.
A/N: For this prompt on norsekink, where “Loki swaps body with partner for sexy times, gets stuck that way; hijinks ensue”.
~
It’s hateful, this mundane peacefulness and quiet—most of it due to an uneasy truce Loki has with Director Fury and the Avengers these days.
Although it was Loki himself who had turned Thanos’ attention toward Midgard in the first place, the Avengers had cultivated a grudging respect for Loki ever since he helped them defeat the Titan. And after his aid with a multitude of other, clearly inferior villains, their respect had grown enough to offer him a consultant position with S.H.I.E.L.D.
It’s not what Loki would prefer, but it allows him access to the Avengers’ resources, rooms, and though Loki is loath to admit it, Thor. Loki, however, craves chaos, the tumult of conflict and war, and these halcyon days at the Avengers tower gnaw at him, feeding the dark restlessness within.
He tugs at a loose thread on the sheets of the bed, rolling it between finger and thumb. Perhaps he could loose a little magic on the populace. Manufacture a small-scale war between rival gangs. Or even—
“Loki.”
Thor startles him out of his wishful reverie, warning in his tone. He edges closer on the bed, and, as if sensing the tangled skein of Loki’s thoughts, lets his fingers skim the edge of Loki’s knuckles. As if the motion could somehow draw out the nebulous web of darkness. How foolish.
“What is it?” Loki replies, a touch irritably. He won’t deny that the dry brush of Thor’s hand against his is a calming presence, though.
“I have been perusing some of your books—carefully, I assure you,” Thor interjects at Loki’s scowl, “on seiðr.” He slides his other hand along Mjölnir’s haft, letting it wander over the raised ridges. There is a nervous energy thrumming through his fingers as he picks at the metal and leather.
If Loki didn’t know any better, he would think Thor was fidgeting.
“You, reading books on seiðr?” Loki scoffs, before the lure of curiosity seizes him. “And what have you discovered in your foray into magic?”
“They speak of a spell that allows the exchange of physical bodies.” Thor is resolutely avoiding Loki’s gaze now, choosing instead to trace the runic inscriptions on Mjölnir with his thumb. “If we could try this, perhaps we could…better empathize with each other.” He glances up, hopeful.
Loki sighs. Between interrupting his thoughts and coming up with harebrained schemes, Thor keeps him extremely occupied, diverting his attention from mischief. Although, trust that the first and foremost reason for Thor to delve into seiðr would be for carnal relations and the promise of untold intimacies.
“Very well. Show me this book,” Loki commands, with a dismissive wave of his hand. He already knows which book it is, but the sight of Thor scrambling eagerly for it brings the slightest twitch of a smile to his lips.
~
“Brother, could we not…” Thor frowns when Loki readies himself to cast a simple glamour on them both. “I would rather go as we are.”
Loki has deemed that some measure of disguise would be prudent before they leave to secure supplies for the spell. “You would rather your precious mortals recognize us—me—and run screaming from their shops? Thus denying us of the materials we need, as entertaining as that might be?” Loki raises a critical brow.
“You are no longer their enemy, Loki. After all the good you have done while working with us and S.H.I.E.L.D., they will recognize you for what you are now, not for days past.”
“As a liar?” asks Loki, with a cruel curve to his mouth. “A cheat? Who knows when the false prince of Asgard will turn against Earth next? The Jötunn traitor who—”
“As my brother,” Thor replies. He heralds his approach with careful fingers along Loki’s arm. Closes what little distance there was between them and cradles Loki against his shoulder. “In arms. And in bond.”
“Ah, yes, living in the shade of your greatness, once again. ‘Brother of Thor’, I was called when I arrived. Never Loki, never my own, but always, always—”
“Loki,” Thor says softly. He winds his arms around Loki’s waist, gentle. Loki has taught him by now that brute force is not how he works, that Thor cannot purge the bitterness from him with overenthusiastic hugs. That Loki needs time, space, and careful though generous displays of affection. “Forgive me. That is not what I meant.”
Loki soaks in the warmth and tenderness Thor exudes as he presses his face into Loki’s neck, and at the soft touch of Thor’s flannel shirt, all the fight bleeds out of him. “As we are, then,” Loki sighs. “But at the first sign of trouble, allow me the pleasure of an ‘I told you so’.”
“Aye,” Thor agrees happily, and before Loki is aware of it, Thor has his hands under Loki’s arms, lifting him into the air.
“Do not spin me around the room like some maiden,” Loki commands pre-emptively, scowling. “Thor, no—”
Thor laughs, a deep rumble of genuine pleasure, and does so anyway.
~
They make it to the local supermarket without incident.
Thor is dressed in the blue flannel shirt that he’s inexplicably fond of (a gift from Loki at Yuletide, but there’s no reason he needs to wear it all the damn time) and jeans, while Loki sports a dark grey blazer with a green, loose-knit wool scarf Thor gave him, both of them without the security of Loki’s glamour.
Most of the items the spell calls for can be found here, including the ones Loki refuses to arouse suspicion for by pinching from the Avengers’ shared kitchen. They gather such things as rock salt, rose petals, pillar candles and red wine; the more obscure ingredients Loki is sure they can find in herb shops scattered throughout lower Manhattan. Besides, he has most of the other crystals and stones that they will need.
He’s pondering just how much of the wine they’ll have left over after the spell, when a vividly red package drops into their purchases.
Loki stops, and inspects the new addition rather pointedly. “Thor. What is the meaning of this?”
Thor shifts uneasily in place, the most pleasing flush coloring his cheeks at having been caught sneaking condoms into their basket. “I thought—that is, J.A.R.V.I.S. always said—”
“Ah.” Loki presses his lips into a thin line, stifling a laugh. It is true that they have been repeatedly reminded—and reprimanded—by Stark’s A.I. that the staining of linens with seed, Asgardian or otherwise, is poor form.
Loki still refuses to use them on occasion, as a defiant Take that to J.A.R.V.I.S.
When Thor offers him a feeble grin, Loki notices an unusual giddiness, in the way he’s tapping his fingers along shelves, the odd jittering of his leg. Nothing immediately obvious, just small tells not unlike the ones Thor had when he was spoiling for fight in their younger days, when Thor was more bold and brash.
Loki’s unsure if it’s the purchase of condoms themselves that’s causing it, or the promise of actually using them later, but he reaches out, letting his fingers brush against Thor’s. Thor stills instantly.
“Patience, Thor,” Loki murmurs. He glides his knuckles along the side of Thor’s hand, tracing the blue-black of veins up the length his arm, the touch feather-light and teasing.
And if he finds the subsequent shiver that runs through Thor immensely satisfying, he will never admit it.
As they continue with their shopping, it strikes Loki how terribly domestic this is: Thor sneaking in pop-tarts for himself, cakes and sweet breads he thinks Loki will enjoy, and herbs he’s heard Loki mention as being not altogether useless, while Loki shops for them both from a list written in Thor’s lazily scrawled hand, humming in absent approval when they find what they need.
It’s a feeling that’s only reinforced when, on their way home (and isn’t that a funny thought, the idea of the Avengers tower as home), they cut through a park that embodies the dichotomy of new-old, with fresh-laid grass along archaic wooden benches, children frolicking among the seniors playing chess and feeding pigeons.
An elderly couple sits on one of the benches, a bag of bread crumbs forgotten between them, as they share light, sporadic kisses. Gentle, loving touches. The delicate exchanges of affection remind him of Frigga and Odin, of stolen moments Loki had seen as a child, when they were not the reigning monarchs of Asgard, but simply husband and wife.
Loki’s steps don’t falter and he doesn’t slow to look at them, but he watches them from the corner of his eye, envious. Wondering if he will have something like they do, someday.
It’s only when Thor bumps into his back that Loki realizes he has slowed, to a stop, mouth tilted in an oddly wistful manner. Damn it.
“Loki,” Thor breathes. There’s the sound of bags being set down, and fingers brush against the inside of Loki’s wrist, soft, stroking, before Thor’s suddenly tipping Loki’s chin back and kissing him, in public. His hands are gentle as they slide around Loki’s waist, safe, precious touches that emulate the couple on the bench.
Thor has never been one for subtlety.
Loki smiles against Thor’s lips, feels the answering grin on his own. He commits the moment to memory—the lazy summer sunshine overhead, the warmth of Thor’s hands encircled over his hips, the sweet smell of spun-sugar from a confectionary cart nearby, children’s laughter, the tug of teeth at his lip, sucking, bruising—tucking their own stolen moment away, deep into his repository of recollections.
It slots neatly into his precious hoard, just below his first memory of Thor’s idiot-bright grin when Loki was still in Frigga’s arms. Next to the exact shade of blue of Thor’s eyes, the precise tang of Thor’s blood—all the little things that have made a home in Loki’s heart.
Loki sighs into Thor’s mouth when he’s done, pressing further in to deepen their kiss.
Thor allows it for all of a heartbeat, the promise of something darker, deeper, somehow more, before pulling away completely.
“Patience, Loki,” Thor chuckles, when Loki whimpers at the loss. He presses his thumb over Loki’s pulse, traces slow, teasing circles over his wrist.
Loki snarls at having his own words thrown back in his face, but it’s half-hearted at best, especially when Thor slips his fingers into the spaces between and they walk together, with hands intertwined and bags in tow, back home.
~
The setup of the spell itself takes a fair amount of time. Loki lays out the ingredients in order of usage, and carefully inscribes runes within a magic circle on the floor, where the brewing of the spell’s draught will take place.
“Are we to engage in lovemaking within the circle?” Thor asks at one point, curious. “As part of the spell, of course,” he adds quickly, crimson blooming high in his cheeks.
Loki quirks a brow, amused. “No, nothing so crude,” he replies, though he allows a small smile to play across his lips, letting Thor know he’s filed the idea away for later. Perhaps after they’ve seen this experiment through.
He stirs the ingredients together just so, mixing rock salt and crushed herbs with fragrant petals, then reads the ancient incantation by candlelight as a dark liquid bubbles and boils in the flask. When it’s ready, he pours it out, the full volume just enough for two vials. The inky concoction is overlaid with a thin sheen of purple and gold, like oil on water, a liquid replica of the colors of the Bifrost.
Thor wrinkles his brow at it, and Loki can’t help but giggle, because he echoes the sentiment: the draught looks like death, but oddly enough, carries a light scent of lilies.
“Well?” Loki says, holding out the vial to him.
Thor nods and takes it, as Loki holds his own vial to his lips. They tip their heads back simultaneously, and the liquid sliding down his throat sparks the oddest sensation: a delightful tingle that starts in his throat, then spreads to his belly and races through his limbs, and—Loki knows he should feel outraged, as the spell book never mentioned this, but somehow he can’t bring himself to care—slowly but surely begins to fog his mind, corralling his thoughts inward, crowding them into nothingness.
The last thing Loki remembers is the taste of the silky darkness, like rain, the first of autumn, crisp and sweet and cold; like liquid lightning, like Thor—
~
Loki blinks awake in the bright light of their room. It’s odd, this, the way everything is somehow brighter and more vivid.
“Thor?” Loki slides back on his elbows, trying to sit up, but his head spins and he sinks back into the sheets. He feels big, brutish and slow, somehow off, and curls in on himself—which is when Loki catches sight of his own limbs: stockier and tanned.
Oh.
“Loki?” Slender fingers reach out and bump against his own, and Loki grasps them without thinking.
Thor blinks at Loki, a half-smile curving his lips. It’s completely novel, Loki decides; it’s him, but not him. Thor, with all his bright wonder and curiosity, has been repackaged into a slighter, paler frame with dark hair and green eyes. He looks warm and muzzy, adorable in his disorientation, and Loki fights off the strange urge to trap Thor between his legs, press him into the sheets, and snuggle him to death.
He wonders if this is how Thor sees him all the time. Wonders how much of this is the world seen through Thor-tinted lenses.
To distract himself, Loki turns his attention inward, marvelling at his new form. He twines his fingers through hair of sun-spun gold, letting it fall whisper-soft against his shoulders. Traces the finely toned musculature of his arms, legs, and abdomen. Fingers the curls of hair along his chest.
Meanwhile, Thor explores the lithe body he inhabits, letting his fingers slide over milk-pale skin, touching lips swollen rose red with kisses. He marvels at his dark, silky hair, then runs his hands along the smooth planes of his body before palming his cock gently, lovingly. Strokes the length of it, brushes a thumb over the slit—
“Thor.” Loki’s tempted to continue staring, unabashed, but the near-pornographic display of his own body makes him feel self-conscious. It’s also the first time he notices the numerous battle scars along his body: remnants of past conflicts, some from Thor, and others inflicted by Thor’s comrades, back when Loki had still been driven by a misdirected hate for his brother. Blemishes and imperfections even the apples of Iðunn that Thor stole for him would not erase.
“Don’t…” Loki swallows around the lump forming in his throat. “Don’t look upon—cast your gaze elsewhere.”
Thor frowns, reaching toward Loki in the dim lamplight of the room and knitting their hands together. “You need not be afraid, brother.” He turns Loki’s hand upward, presses a kiss into his palm. “This is a body I cherish, in the way that I cherish you.”
Loki watches with reluctance as Thor continues to revel in his pale skin, pressing the pads of his fingers to his chest, then his lips and hair. He feels inadequate—he, the Jötunn runt commandeering this golden physique for his own, while Thor takes pleasure in inhabiting his imperfect body.
“Be thankful you are not subject to my other form,” Loki says lightly. “The inferior one.”
“Inferior?” Thor narrows his eyes. “I find your other form equally beautiful.”
Loki shrugs noncommittally. They have only just achieved their nigh impossible goal to switch bodies, and he does not care to taint this moment with argument. Especially not one they have been through time and time again.
Thor remains equally composed, but does not drop the subject. “You think yourself unworthy of my love,” he observes, resting light fingertips on Loki’s hand.
While Thor is quicker on the uptake these days, perhaps a natural effect of being more attuned to Loki’s thoughts, said through Loki’s body, it’s as if Loki is speaking to himself, and the hurt pangs deeper than it would otherwise.
“I said no such thing.” Loki turns away.
“Not in so many words,” Thor says, his hands reaching around Loki’s broader than usual shoulders, “but the sentiment is the same.” He lays a quick, open-mouthed kiss to the nape of Loki’s neck. “And in thinking so, you miss the truth of my love for you, Loki.”
“So your love would suit me ill?’ Loki says spitefully, aware of the tense line of his shoulders. This is too close to their conversation about ruling, and how a throne would suit Loki ill, and he does not need this—
“Never,” says Thor, continually defying Loki’s expectations. “I only wish to tell you the truth of my loving you, Loki: that it is unconditional.”
“Unconditional?” Loki echoes, arching a brow.
Thor nods solemnly, threading their fingers together and pressing his lips to their joined hands. He seems to be done with exploring his new, lithe form, and turns his attention to Loki instead, kissing a trail between their arms: one on himself in Loki’s body, then one on Loki in Thor’s body, treating both of them to reverent, worshipful kisses. “I love you not in spite of your Jötunn heritage, but as part of all that you are,” Thor murmurs, his lips a searing brand against Loki’s forearm, then his shoulder. “I love everything—”
“Then you are no more than a fool,” Loki says quietly, but there is no malice in his voice, no ice behind the words. He lets Thor gather him into his arms, insomuch as he can with his slimmer, longer limbs. Lets Thor alternate between pressing playful, sloppy kisses along his arm, and stinging nips down along his neck.
The atmosphere shifts when Thor begins kissing a trail down Loki’s chest, then over his belly, and before long, his lips are grazing Loki’s groin as he nuzzles the soft curls there.
“Thor,” Loki gasps, as Thor lowers his head over Loki’s cock, pressing light, airy kisses to the tip. He resists the urge to buck up into Thor’s mouth, but it turns out he doesn’t need to when Thor’s mouth slides easily around Loki, taking it down to the base, then glides back up while nipping and sucking with his lips.
“Thor, you—” Loki groans, but Thor only shushes him, laving his tongue from balls to shaft, slow and careful, tonguing the underside of Loki’s cock just so. As if Thor knows what his body likes, knows just how much of this hot, wet heat Loki needs to feel pleasure.
For his part, Loki throws his head back on the pillows, breath stuttering as he pushes his hand into the wild mess of Thor’s dark curls. “Stop, I—” he rasps, just as Thor engulfs the whole of Loki’s length in his soft, sinful mouth again.
“Hmm?” Thor hums around Loki, before pulling his lips away. He wraps his fingers around the base of Loki’s cock and squeezes, hard, making Loki yelp as his cock twitches indignantly in Thor’s hand. “Not allowed,” Thor whispers. He climbs his way slowly into Loki’s arms, lets his lips graze the shell of Loki’s ear. “Not yet, because when you do, when I let you spend, it will be inside me.”
Loki pulls Thor forward into a filthy kiss in retaliation, hands twisting tight in Thor’s hair as he licks dauntless and demanding into Thor’s mouth. Leaves him breathless, gasping, before kissing his way down Thor’s jaw, then biting and sucking whatever inch of flesh he can get his mouth on.
When Thor starts to whine and rut against his thigh, Loki makes a mad fumble for the fragrant oil in the night table. He slathers his cock with the oil and remembers to dip his fingers into a generous amount before pressing them against Thor’s entrance, but Thor bats his hand away.
“I want you now,” Thor hisses, breath heaving like he’s hungry for it, aching for it, and before Loki can react, he’s positioned himself over Loki’s cock, sliding down with a soft, breathy cry.
It takes all of Loki’s willpower not to thrust into his brother with wild abandon. Instead, he shifts his hips experimentally, savouring the heat and tightness as he moves deeper within Thor.
“Ah—L-Loki, wait,” Thor stutters in a pained whisper. He leans forward, hips trembling, to brush his lips across Loki’s new stubble. “Please.”
“Are you all right?” Loki asks. He hadn’t missed the pinched expression on Thor’s face when he lowered himself down so suddenly, and keeps his hands on Thor’s hips, both to steady him and keep him from hurting himself with his eager overtures.
“All right,” Thor manages to gasp out, between shuddering breaths. “I just…I haven’t…”
His brow knits in what looks like agony, and Loki brings his thighs up behind Thor’s back, steadying him further. Thor deflates a little, resting his back against the makeshift chair as he moves his hips—small, undulating motions to get him used to Loki’s length, because he has never taken Loki into him with Thor’s body before—and it isn’t long before he’s rocking into Loki’s lap, moaning as he pitches forward and braces his hands against Loki’s shoulders, an exquisite wine-dark flush coloring his face and traversing over his chest.
Is this what I look like when Thor takes me? Loki wonders. All wanton moaning and uncontrolled lust? It’s not fair how lovely Thor looks in Loki’s body, the way he arches into Loki’s grasping hands, the way his eyes flutter shut, hiding bright and clever green until they fly open as he gasps under Loki’s ministrations.
Loki is struck by the sudden urge to mar, to maim, and he sits up, winding his fingers into Thor’s newly darkened locks, dragging his head up and back by the hair to expose the pale column of his throat. He sucks and scrapes, all tongue and teeth as he leaves a trail of possessive bites, darkly satisfied at the crimson bruises that bloom across Thor’s pale skin.
“Loki,” Thor murmurs against his neck when Loki lets him go, “hurt me. Mark me. Please.” His softer voice, robbed of the depth of his usual baritone, travels straight to Loki’s groin, making him harder than ever, and he lies back to brace hands over Thor’s forearms, hips bucking up and in, as he relishes Thor’s choked-off sobs.
“Thor,” Loki whispers, and he’s surprised at the deep timbre of his voice, so rough and filled with want.
He reaches out to claw Thor’s back, just the way Loki likes it done himself, careful not to break skin. Drags his fingers along Thor’s shoulders, down into the muscles of his back, tracing the knots of his spine. Thor snarls in discomfort from the heat, from the pain, and leans in, tucking his chin into Loki’s neck and wrenching them over until Loki lies on top of him, then grabs Loki’s hips to drive him in harder, deeper.
“Yes,” Thor cries out, writhing beneath Loki’s arms. “Yes, Loki, yes.”
Loki takes a moment to lean back on his elbows and watch Thor, curious. Where Loki draws his eyes shut in such moments—perhaps due to fear that Thor will see into his soul, find some truth he didn’t mean to divulge—Thor’s eyes are open and honest. This is what Loki never wants to be, this vulnerable.
“Nay, not vulnerable,” Thor rasps, bringing his arms up to bracket Loki’s, hands steadying Loki’s shoulders. As if he’s sensed Loki’s thoughts from their long association. “Spirited.”
Loki wants to fling a taunt in Thor’s face to cover his slip, to laugh and deny, but before he can, Thor drags his fingers into the foreign golden locks of Loki’s hair and pulls him down to meet him in a fierce kiss.
“When you dare to look at me this way, you are never vulnerable, but spirited,” Thor whispers. “Watching me like you own me. Like you possess me.” He tightens his grip on Loki’s hair, to demonstrate just how spirited. It’s not the first time, but it reiterates to Loki just how much they belong to each other, reinforces their mutual ownership.
Loki makes a strangled sound, because despite his best efforts, Thor has seen through to the core of him, and he hikes Thor’s legs over his shoulders, slamming his hips in hard to protest, to tell Thor he’s wrong. To own him in an entirely different manner tonight.
Perhaps it’s the change in angle, or that he’s found the elusive spot within Thor that makes stars flare across his vision, because on his next thrust, Thor actually whimpers into Loki’s ear, nails digging deep into the flesh of Loki’s shoulders.
“More, Loki, more,” Thor pleads, the last word sobbed against the corner of Loki’s mouth. Thor’s face contorts into a sweet mixture of pain and pleasure, mouth falling open to allow the escape of tiny gasps and the draw of shallow breaths as Loki obliges, bending him in half as he fucks Thor into the headboard. It’s only when Thor nearly stops breathing from the strain that Loki relents, letting Thor’s legs slide down to his waist, where they hook immediately over his back.
From his telltale trembling and arching, Thor’s nearing his release, so when Thor snakes a hand down to palm his own cock, Loki closes his hand over Thor’s. Slides fingers and thumb along the shaft, circles the crown of Thor’s cock.
With a quick twist of his wrist, Loki presses the pad of his thumb along the slit—just the way he knows his own body likes it—and Thor shudders hard in his arms, fingers grasping, throat pulled tight as he cries out, wordless, against Loki’s shoulder, painting their bellies with streaks of come.
Loki’s pace doesn’t slow; he keeps grinding Thor into the mattress, coaxing the sounds of needy want from him, swallowing his hoarse cries with greedy, sucking kisses.
“Brother—brother, please,” Thor begs, cock twitching between them, spent, his fingers scrabbling weakly at Loki’s shoulders.
It’s at the long familiar endearment that Loki comes undone, driving his hips forward in sharp, brutal thrusts until Thor is thrashing beneath him, and with a low, shuddering moan, he spills inside Thor, hips twitching until he’s utterly spent, and they slump together, exhausted, satisfied, sated.
~
When the early rays of sunlight filter through the shades, Loki’s eyes flutter against the intrusion. He feels sluggish, slow, and trapped, but when he wriggles to free himself, Thor murmurs in displeasure and pulls him closer, pressing himself against Loki’s back. Loki laughs, low and pleased; even though they’ve switched bodies, Loki is still the little spoon.
He shouldn’t find that as amusing as he does.
“Thor,” he tries, tongue lying thick and heavy in his mouth. He rolls his shoulders and hips, both pleasantly sore from last night’s debauchery. Nudges Thor in the ribs with his elbow. “We should…” He means to say We should return to our true bodies now or The reversal ritual takes some time—anything that might guilt Thor into action—but a yawn scatters the thought and his nudge only serves to tighten Thor’s arms around him, a petulant cling not unlike that of a creeping vine.
Loki blinks blearily and kicks at the sheets, another bid to free himself from the bed and Thor, to see what’s left of the magic circle and their supplies.
This time, Thor traps him in the bed with his thighs, tangling his feet around Loki’s. “After breakfast,” he mumbles, a breathy whisper against Loki’s ear.
They end up eating breakfast in bed, feeding each other lazy spoonfuls of sticky-sweet children’s cereal.
Later, Thor covers Loki’s neck with frosted-sugar kisses, kisses that darken into cherry bruises as he presses Loki into the sheets, riding him hard and fast. He cries out when Loki rakes his nails along Thor’s back, hard, this time drawing blood. And when Loki darts out his tongue to lick the pearl of crimson from his thumb, relishing the copper tang, Thor leans in to nip Loki’s lower lip, vindictive, sucking drops of his own velvet richness from broken flesh as they moan together, equally eager, dark and possessive.
They collapse against each other when they finish, a tangle of limbs and giddy laughter. Loki burrows into the soft cotton sheets, cocooned in the warmth of their lovemaking, while Thor worships the nape of his neck and the lobes of his ears with his lips.
It’s not long before Loki weaves his fingers between Thor’s beneath the sheets and noses at his cheek, and Thor rolls on top of him, nestling between his hips. They make love again, this time slower and sweeter, and as Loki takes Thor deep within him, he makes sure to pepper Thor with tender touches and kisses, to gaze deep into those green eyes for all the secrets and truths he won’t give up himself.
~
“Stop that,” Loki hisses from the corner of his mouth, at the way Thor’s fingers have crept across the tabletop and settled lightly on his own.
Thor gives him a wounded look as he withdraws, but retaliates by letting his hip bump playfully against Loki’s under the table. The pads of his fingers tap Loki’s knee, where they linger, adamantly affectionate. When Loki looks up, he notices the others watching them warily, Rogers with a raised brow and Stark with narrowed eyes. Even Barton and Romanoff have paused in their conversation to glance their way.
Banner, meanwhile, is busy scribbling complex equations into a coiled notebook, absently spooning cornflakes into his mouth.
Loki’s aware that to the others, it looks like Thor’s just told Loki off for touching his hand. He tries his best to imitate Thor’s grin, and bases his next words on interactions he’s seen between Thor and his teammates.
“My friends,” he says, curling his lips into a desperate pantomime of a Thor-smile, “what plans have we made for the day?”
A collective sigh breaks the tension at the table, and Loki secretly preens at having fooled the lot of them. Still, he and Thor are switching back at the first possible moment; there is no way he can keep up this charade for much longer.
Stark is about to reply, when a rudimentary tear gas grenade bursts through the window, putters in place for a moment, then lies still.
“Well. Someone’s R & D needs more funding—” Stark manages, before a flash grenade follows, exploding just as the tear gas canister hisses, filling the room with vaporous smoke.
There’s blinding brightness and muted noise as tears are forced to Loki’s eyes, but all he can feel is Thor’s hand gripping his, too tight in the confusion, as all Hel breaks loose.
(tbc - Chapter 2)
Fandom: Thor (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Pairing: Thor/Loki
Rating: NC-17
Words: 5200 (10700 overall)
Summary: “Your books on seiðr speak of a spell,” Thor says. “One that allows the exchange of physical bodies.” He glances up, hopeful.
Loki sighs. Trust that the first and foremost reason for Thor to delve into seiðr would be for carnal relations and the promise of untold intimacies.
A/N: For this prompt on norsekink, where “Loki swaps body with partner for sexy times, gets stuck that way; hijinks ensue”.
It’s hateful, this mundane peacefulness and quiet—most of it due to an uneasy truce Loki has with Director Fury and the Avengers these days.
Although it was Loki himself who had turned Thanos’ attention toward Midgard in the first place, the Avengers had cultivated a grudging respect for Loki ever since he helped them defeat the Titan. And after his aid with a multitude of other, clearly inferior villains, their respect had grown enough to offer him a consultant position with S.H.I.E.L.D.
It’s not what Loki would prefer, but it allows him access to the Avengers’ resources, rooms, and though Loki is loath to admit it, Thor. Loki, however, craves chaos, the tumult of conflict and war, and these halcyon days at the Avengers tower gnaw at him, feeding the dark restlessness within.
He tugs at a loose thread on the sheets of the bed, rolling it between finger and thumb. Perhaps he could loose a little magic on the populace. Manufacture a small-scale war between rival gangs. Or even—
“Loki.”
Thor startles him out of his wishful reverie, warning in his tone. He edges closer on the bed, and, as if sensing the tangled skein of Loki’s thoughts, lets his fingers skim the edge of Loki’s knuckles. As if the motion could somehow draw out the nebulous web of darkness. How foolish.
“What is it?” Loki replies, a touch irritably. He won’t deny that the dry brush of Thor’s hand against his is a calming presence, though.
“I have been perusing some of your books—carefully, I assure you,” Thor interjects at Loki’s scowl, “on seiðr.” He slides his other hand along Mjölnir’s haft, letting it wander over the raised ridges. There is a nervous energy thrumming through his fingers as he picks at the metal and leather.
If Loki didn’t know any better, he would think Thor was fidgeting.
“You, reading books on seiðr?” Loki scoffs, before the lure of curiosity seizes him. “And what have you discovered in your foray into magic?”
“They speak of a spell that allows the exchange of physical bodies.” Thor is resolutely avoiding Loki’s gaze now, choosing instead to trace the runic inscriptions on Mjölnir with his thumb. “If we could try this, perhaps we could…better empathize with each other.” He glances up, hopeful.
Loki sighs. Between interrupting his thoughts and coming up with harebrained schemes, Thor keeps him extremely occupied, diverting his attention from mischief. Although, trust that the first and foremost reason for Thor to delve into seiðr would be for carnal relations and the promise of untold intimacies.
“Very well. Show me this book,” Loki commands, with a dismissive wave of his hand. He already knows which book it is, but the sight of Thor scrambling eagerly for it brings the slightest twitch of a smile to his lips.
“Brother, could we not…” Thor frowns when Loki readies himself to cast a simple glamour on them both. “I would rather go as we are.”
Loki has deemed that some measure of disguise would be prudent before they leave to secure supplies for the spell. “You would rather your precious mortals recognize us—me—and run screaming from their shops? Thus denying us of the materials we need, as entertaining as that might be?” Loki raises a critical brow.
“You are no longer their enemy, Loki. After all the good you have done while working with us and S.H.I.E.L.D., they will recognize you for what you are now, not for days past.”
“As a liar?” asks Loki, with a cruel curve to his mouth. “A cheat? Who knows when the false prince of Asgard will turn against Earth next? The Jötunn traitor who—”
“As my brother,” Thor replies. He heralds his approach with careful fingers along Loki’s arm. Closes what little distance there was between them and cradles Loki against his shoulder. “In arms. And in bond.”
“Ah, yes, living in the shade of your greatness, once again. ‘Brother of Thor’, I was called when I arrived. Never Loki, never my own, but always, always—”
“Loki,” Thor says softly. He winds his arms around Loki’s waist, gentle. Loki has taught him by now that brute force is not how he works, that Thor cannot purge the bitterness from him with overenthusiastic hugs. That Loki needs time, space, and careful though generous displays of affection. “Forgive me. That is not what I meant.”
Loki soaks in the warmth and tenderness Thor exudes as he presses his face into Loki’s neck, and at the soft touch of Thor’s flannel shirt, all the fight bleeds out of him. “As we are, then,” Loki sighs. “But at the first sign of trouble, allow me the pleasure of an ‘I told you so’.”
“Aye,” Thor agrees happily, and before Loki is aware of it, Thor has his hands under Loki’s arms, lifting him into the air.
“Do not spin me around the room like some maiden,” Loki commands pre-emptively, scowling. “Thor, no—”
Thor laughs, a deep rumble of genuine pleasure, and does so anyway.
They make it to the local supermarket without incident.
Thor is dressed in the blue flannel shirt that he’s inexplicably fond of (a gift from Loki at Yuletide, but there’s no reason he needs to wear it all the damn time) and jeans, while Loki sports a dark grey blazer with a green, loose-knit wool scarf Thor gave him, both of them without the security of Loki’s glamour.
Most of the items the spell calls for can be found here, including the ones Loki refuses to arouse suspicion for by pinching from the Avengers’ shared kitchen. They gather such things as rock salt, rose petals, pillar candles and red wine; the more obscure ingredients Loki is sure they can find in herb shops scattered throughout lower Manhattan. Besides, he has most of the other crystals and stones that they will need.
He’s pondering just how much of the wine they’ll have left over after the spell, when a vividly red package drops into their purchases.
Loki stops, and inspects the new addition rather pointedly. “Thor. What is the meaning of this?”
Thor shifts uneasily in place, the most pleasing flush coloring his cheeks at having been caught sneaking condoms into their basket. “I thought—that is, J.A.R.V.I.S. always said—”
“Ah.” Loki presses his lips into a thin line, stifling a laugh. It is true that they have been repeatedly reminded—and reprimanded—by Stark’s A.I. that the staining of linens with seed, Asgardian or otherwise, is poor form.
Loki still refuses to use them on occasion, as a defiant Take that to J.A.R.V.I.S.
When Thor offers him a feeble grin, Loki notices an unusual giddiness, in the way he’s tapping his fingers along shelves, the odd jittering of his leg. Nothing immediately obvious, just small tells not unlike the ones Thor had when he was spoiling for fight in their younger days, when Thor was more bold and brash.
Loki’s unsure if it’s the purchase of condoms themselves that’s causing it, or the promise of actually using them later, but he reaches out, letting his fingers brush against Thor’s. Thor stills instantly.
“Patience, Thor,” Loki murmurs. He glides his knuckles along the side of Thor’s hand, tracing the blue-black of veins up the length his arm, the touch feather-light and teasing.
And if he finds the subsequent shiver that runs through Thor immensely satisfying, he will never admit it.
As they continue with their shopping, it strikes Loki how terribly domestic this is: Thor sneaking in pop-tarts for himself, cakes and sweet breads he thinks Loki will enjoy, and herbs he’s heard Loki mention as being not altogether useless, while Loki shops for them both from a list written in Thor’s lazily scrawled hand, humming in absent approval when they find what they need.
It’s a feeling that’s only reinforced when, on their way home (and isn’t that a funny thought, the idea of the Avengers tower as home), they cut through a park that embodies the dichotomy of new-old, with fresh-laid grass along archaic wooden benches, children frolicking among the seniors playing chess and feeding pigeons.
An elderly couple sits on one of the benches, a bag of bread crumbs forgotten between them, as they share light, sporadic kisses. Gentle, loving touches. The delicate exchanges of affection remind him of Frigga and Odin, of stolen moments Loki had seen as a child, when they were not the reigning monarchs of Asgard, but simply husband and wife.
Loki’s steps don’t falter and he doesn’t slow to look at them, but he watches them from the corner of his eye, envious. Wondering if he will have something like they do, someday.
It’s only when Thor bumps into his back that Loki realizes he has slowed, to a stop, mouth tilted in an oddly wistful manner. Damn it.
“Loki,” Thor breathes. There’s the sound of bags being set down, and fingers brush against the inside of Loki’s wrist, soft, stroking, before Thor’s suddenly tipping Loki’s chin back and kissing him, in public. His hands are gentle as they slide around Loki’s waist, safe, precious touches that emulate the couple on the bench.
Thor has never been one for subtlety.
Loki smiles against Thor’s lips, feels the answering grin on his own. He commits the moment to memory—the lazy summer sunshine overhead, the warmth of Thor’s hands encircled over his hips, the sweet smell of spun-sugar from a confectionary cart nearby, children’s laughter, the tug of teeth at his lip, sucking, bruising—tucking their own stolen moment away, deep into his repository of recollections.
It slots neatly into his precious hoard, just below his first memory of Thor’s idiot-bright grin when Loki was still in Frigga’s arms. Next to the exact shade of blue of Thor’s eyes, the precise tang of Thor’s blood—all the little things that have made a home in Loki’s heart.
Loki sighs into Thor’s mouth when he’s done, pressing further in to deepen their kiss.
Thor allows it for all of a heartbeat, the promise of something darker, deeper, somehow more, before pulling away completely.
“Patience, Loki,” Thor chuckles, when Loki whimpers at the loss. He presses his thumb over Loki’s pulse, traces slow, teasing circles over his wrist.
Loki snarls at having his own words thrown back in his face, but it’s half-hearted at best, especially when Thor slips his fingers into the spaces between and they walk together, with hands intertwined and bags in tow, back home.
The setup of the spell itself takes a fair amount of time. Loki lays out the ingredients in order of usage, and carefully inscribes runes within a magic circle on the floor, where the brewing of the spell’s draught will take place.
“Are we to engage in lovemaking within the circle?” Thor asks at one point, curious. “As part of the spell, of course,” he adds quickly, crimson blooming high in his cheeks.
Loki quirks a brow, amused. “No, nothing so crude,” he replies, though he allows a small smile to play across his lips, letting Thor know he’s filed the idea away for later. Perhaps after they’ve seen this experiment through.
He stirs the ingredients together just so, mixing rock salt and crushed herbs with fragrant petals, then reads the ancient incantation by candlelight as a dark liquid bubbles and boils in the flask. When it’s ready, he pours it out, the full volume just enough for two vials. The inky concoction is overlaid with a thin sheen of purple and gold, like oil on water, a liquid replica of the colors of the Bifrost.
Thor wrinkles his brow at it, and Loki can’t help but giggle, because he echoes the sentiment: the draught looks like death, but oddly enough, carries a light scent of lilies.
“Well?” Loki says, holding out the vial to him.
Thor nods and takes it, as Loki holds his own vial to his lips. They tip their heads back simultaneously, and the liquid sliding down his throat sparks the oddest sensation: a delightful tingle that starts in his throat, then spreads to his belly and races through his limbs, and—Loki knows he should feel outraged, as the spell book never mentioned this, but somehow he can’t bring himself to care—slowly but surely begins to fog his mind, corralling his thoughts inward, crowding them into nothingness.
The last thing Loki remembers is the taste of the silky darkness, like rain, the first of autumn, crisp and sweet and cold; like liquid lightning, like Thor—
Loki blinks awake in the bright light of their room. It’s odd, this, the way everything is somehow brighter and more vivid.
“Thor?” Loki slides back on his elbows, trying to sit up, but his head spins and he sinks back into the sheets. He feels big, brutish and slow, somehow off, and curls in on himself—which is when Loki catches sight of his own limbs: stockier and tanned.
Oh.
“Loki?” Slender fingers reach out and bump against his own, and Loki grasps them without thinking.
Thor blinks at Loki, a half-smile curving his lips. It’s completely novel, Loki decides; it’s him, but not him. Thor, with all his bright wonder and curiosity, has been repackaged into a slighter, paler frame with dark hair and green eyes. He looks warm and muzzy, adorable in his disorientation, and Loki fights off the strange urge to trap Thor between his legs, press him into the sheets, and snuggle him to death.
He wonders if this is how Thor sees him all the time. Wonders how much of this is the world seen through Thor-tinted lenses.
To distract himself, Loki turns his attention inward, marvelling at his new form. He twines his fingers through hair of sun-spun gold, letting it fall whisper-soft against his shoulders. Traces the finely toned musculature of his arms, legs, and abdomen. Fingers the curls of hair along his chest.
Meanwhile, Thor explores the lithe body he inhabits, letting his fingers slide over milk-pale skin, touching lips swollen rose red with kisses. He marvels at his dark, silky hair, then runs his hands along the smooth planes of his body before palming his cock gently, lovingly. Strokes the length of it, brushes a thumb over the slit—
“Thor.” Loki’s tempted to continue staring, unabashed, but the near-pornographic display of his own body makes him feel self-conscious. It’s also the first time he notices the numerous battle scars along his body: remnants of past conflicts, some from Thor, and others inflicted by Thor’s comrades, back when Loki had still been driven by a misdirected hate for his brother. Blemishes and imperfections even the apples of Iðunn that Thor stole for him would not erase.
“Don’t…” Loki swallows around the lump forming in his throat. “Don’t look upon—cast your gaze elsewhere.”
Thor frowns, reaching toward Loki in the dim lamplight of the room and knitting their hands together. “You need not be afraid, brother.” He turns Loki’s hand upward, presses a kiss into his palm. “This is a body I cherish, in the way that I cherish you.”
Loki watches with reluctance as Thor continues to revel in his pale skin, pressing the pads of his fingers to his chest, then his lips and hair. He feels inadequate—he, the Jötunn runt commandeering this golden physique for his own, while Thor takes pleasure in inhabiting his imperfect body.
“Be thankful you are not subject to my other form,” Loki says lightly. “The inferior one.”
“Inferior?” Thor narrows his eyes. “I find your other form equally beautiful.”
Loki shrugs noncommittally. They have only just achieved their nigh impossible goal to switch bodies, and he does not care to taint this moment with argument. Especially not one they have been through time and time again.
Thor remains equally composed, but does not drop the subject. “You think yourself unworthy of my love,” he observes, resting light fingertips on Loki’s hand.
While Thor is quicker on the uptake these days, perhaps a natural effect of being more attuned to Loki’s thoughts, said through Loki’s body, it’s as if Loki is speaking to himself, and the hurt pangs deeper than it would otherwise.
“I said no such thing.” Loki turns away.
“Not in so many words,” Thor says, his hands reaching around Loki’s broader than usual shoulders, “but the sentiment is the same.” He lays a quick, open-mouthed kiss to the nape of Loki’s neck. “And in thinking so, you miss the truth of my love for you, Loki.”
“So your love would suit me ill?’ Loki says spitefully, aware of the tense line of his shoulders. This is too close to their conversation about ruling, and how a throne would suit Loki ill, and he does not need this—
“Never,” says Thor, continually defying Loki’s expectations. “I only wish to tell you the truth of my loving you, Loki: that it is unconditional.”
“Unconditional?” Loki echoes, arching a brow.
Thor nods solemnly, threading their fingers together and pressing his lips to their joined hands. He seems to be done with exploring his new, lithe form, and turns his attention to Loki instead, kissing a trail between their arms: one on himself in Loki’s body, then one on Loki in Thor’s body, treating both of them to reverent, worshipful kisses. “I love you not in spite of your Jötunn heritage, but as part of all that you are,” Thor murmurs, his lips a searing brand against Loki’s forearm, then his shoulder. “I love everything—”
“Then you are no more than a fool,” Loki says quietly, but there is no malice in his voice, no ice behind the words. He lets Thor gather him into his arms, insomuch as he can with his slimmer, longer limbs. Lets Thor alternate between pressing playful, sloppy kisses along his arm, and stinging nips down along his neck.
The atmosphere shifts when Thor begins kissing a trail down Loki’s chest, then over his belly, and before long, his lips are grazing Loki’s groin as he nuzzles the soft curls there.
“Thor,” Loki gasps, as Thor lowers his head over Loki’s cock, pressing light, airy kisses to the tip. He resists the urge to buck up into Thor’s mouth, but it turns out he doesn’t need to when Thor’s mouth slides easily around Loki, taking it down to the base, then glides back up while nipping and sucking with his lips.
“Thor, you—” Loki groans, but Thor only shushes him, laving his tongue from balls to shaft, slow and careful, tonguing the underside of Loki’s cock just so. As if Thor knows what his body likes, knows just how much of this hot, wet heat Loki needs to feel pleasure.
For his part, Loki throws his head back on the pillows, breath stuttering as he pushes his hand into the wild mess of Thor’s dark curls. “Stop, I—” he rasps, just as Thor engulfs the whole of Loki’s length in his soft, sinful mouth again.
“Hmm?” Thor hums around Loki, before pulling his lips away. He wraps his fingers around the base of Loki’s cock and squeezes, hard, making Loki yelp as his cock twitches indignantly in Thor’s hand. “Not allowed,” Thor whispers. He climbs his way slowly into Loki’s arms, lets his lips graze the shell of Loki’s ear. “Not yet, because when you do, when I let you spend, it will be inside me.”
Loki pulls Thor forward into a filthy kiss in retaliation, hands twisting tight in Thor’s hair as he licks dauntless and demanding into Thor’s mouth. Leaves him breathless, gasping, before kissing his way down Thor’s jaw, then biting and sucking whatever inch of flesh he can get his mouth on.
When Thor starts to whine and rut against his thigh, Loki makes a mad fumble for the fragrant oil in the night table. He slathers his cock with the oil and remembers to dip his fingers into a generous amount before pressing them against Thor’s entrance, but Thor bats his hand away.
“I want you now,” Thor hisses, breath heaving like he’s hungry for it, aching for it, and before Loki can react, he’s positioned himself over Loki’s cock, sliding down with a soft, breathy cry.
It takes all of Loki’s willpower not to thrust into his brother with wild abandon. Instead, he shifts his hips experimentally, savouring the heat and tightness as he moves deeper within Thor.
“Ah—L-Loki, wait,” Thor stutters in a pained whisper. He leans forward, hips trembling, to brush his lips across Loki’s new stubble. “Please.”
“Are you all right?” Loki asks. He hadn’t missed the pinched expression on Thor’s face when he lowered himself down so suddenly, and keeps his hands on Thor’s hips, both to steady him and keep him from hurting himself with his eager overtures.
“All right,” Thor manages to gasp out, between shuddering breaths. “I just…I haven’t…”
His brow knits in what looks like agony, and Loki brings his thighs up behind Thor’s back, steadying him further. Thor deflates a little, resting his back against the makeshift chair as he moves his hips—small, undulating motions to get him used to Loki’s length, because he has never taken Loki into him with Thor’s body before—and it isn’t long before he’s rocking into Loki’s lap, moaning as he pitches forward and braces his hands against Loki’s shoulders, an exquisite wine-dark flush coloring his face and traversing over his chest.
Is this what I look like when Thor takes me? Loki wonders. All wanton moaning and uncontrolled lust? It’s not fair how lovely Thor looks in Loki’s body, the way he arches into Loki’s grasping hands, the way his eyes flutter shut, hiding bright and clever green until they fly open as he gasps under Loki’s ministrations.
Loki is struck by the sudden urge to mar, to maim, and he sits up, winding his fingers into Thor’s newly darkened locks, dragging his head up and back by the hair to expose the pale column of his throat. He sucks and scrapes, all tongue and teeth as he leaves a trail of possessive bites, darkly satisfied at the crimson bruises that bloom across Thor’s pale skin.
“Loki,” Thor murmurs against his neck when Loki lets him go, “hurt me. Mark me. Please.” His softer voice, robbed of the depth of his usual baritone, travels straight to Loki’s groin, making him harder than ever, and he lies back to brace hands over Thor’s forearms, hips bucking up and in, as he relishes Thor’s choked-off sobs.
“Thor,” Loki whispers, and he’s surprised at the deep timbre of his voice, so rough and filled with want.
He reaches out to claw Thor’s back, just the way Loki likes it done himself, careful not to break skin. Drags his fingers along Thor’s shoulders, down into the muscles of his back, tracing the knots of his spine. Thor snarls in discomfort from the heat, from the pain, and leans in, tucking his chin into Loki’s neck and wrenching them over until Loki lies on top of him, then grabs Loki’s hips to drive him in harder, deeper.
“Yes,” Thor cries out, writhing beneath Loki’s arms. “Yes, Loki, yes.”
Loki takes a moment to lean back on his elbows and watch Thor, curious. Where Loki draws his eyes shut in such moments—perhaps due to fear that Thor will see into his soul, find some truth he didn’t mean to divulge—Thor’s eyes are open and honest. This is what Loki never wants to be, this vulnerable.
“Nay, not vulnerable,” Thor rasps, bringing his arms up to bracket Loki’s, hands steadying Loki’s shoulders. As if he’s sensed Loki’s thoughts from their long association. “Spirited.”
Loki wants to fling a taunt in Thor’s face to cover his slip, to laugh and deny, but before he can, Thor drags his fingers into the foreign golden locks of Loki’s hair and pulls him down to meet him in a fierce kiss.
“When you dare to look at me this way, you are never vulnerable, but spirited,” Thor whispers. “Watching me like you own me. Like you possess me.” He tightens his grip on Loki’s hair, to demonstrate just how spirited. It’s not the first time, but it reiterates to Loki just how much they belong to each other, reinforces their mutual ownership.
Loki makes a strangled sound, because despite his best efforts, Thor has seen through to the core of him, and he hikes Thor’s legs over his shoulders, slamming his hips in hard to protest, to tell Thor he’s wrong. To own him in an entirely different manner tonight.
Perhaps it’s the change in angle, or that he’s found the elusive spot within Thor that makes stars flare across his vision, because on his next thrust, Thor actually whimpers into Loki’s ear, nails digging deep into the flesh of Loki’s shoulders.
“More, Loki, more,” Thor pleads, the last word sobbed against the corner of Loki’s mouth. Thor’s face contorts into a sweet mixture of pain and pleasure, mouth falling open to allow the escape of tiny gasps and the draw of shallow breaths as Loki obliges, bending him in half as he fucks Thor into the headboard. It’s only when Thor nearly stops breathing from the strain that Loki relents, letting Thor’s legs slide down to his waist, where they hook immediately over his back.
From his telltale trembling and arching, Thor’s nearing his release, so when Thor snakes a hand down to palm his own cock, Loki closes his hand over Thor’s. Slides fingers and thumb along the shaft, circles the crown of Thor’s cock.
With a quick twist of his wrist, Loki presses the pad of his thumb along the slit—just the way he knows his own body likes it—and Thor shudders hard in his arms, fingers grasping, throat pulled tight as he cries out, wordless, against Loki’s shoulder, painting their bellies with streaks of come.
Loki’s pace doesn’t slow; he keeps grinding Thor into the mattress, coaxing the sounds of needy want from him, swallowing his hoarse cries with greedy, sucking kisses.
“Brother—brother, please,” Thor begs, cock twitching between them, spent, his fingers scrabbling weakly at Loki’s shoulders.
It’s at the long familiar endearment that Loki comes undone, driving his hips forward in sharp, brutal thrusts until Thor is thrashing beneath him, and with a low, shuddering moan, he spills inside Thor, hips twitching until he’s utterly spent, and they slump together, exhausted, satisfied, sated.
When the early rays of sunlight filter through the shades, Loki’s eyes flutter against the intrusion. He feels sluggish, slow, and trapped, but when he wriggles to free himself, Thor murmurs in displeasure and pulls him closer, pressing himself against Loki’s back. Loki laughs, low and pleased; even though they’ve switched bodies, Loki is still the little spoon.
He shouldn’t find that as amusing as he does.
“Thor,” he tries, tongue lying thick and heavy in his mouth. He rolls his shoulders and hips, both pleasantly sore from last night’s debauchery. Nudges Thor in the ribs with his elbow. “We should…” He means to say We should return to our true bodies now or The reversal ritual takes some time—anything that might guilt Thor into action—but a yawn scatters the thought and his nudge only serves to tighten Thor’s arms around him, a petulant cling not unlike that of a creeping vine.
Loki blinks blearily and kicks at the sheets, another bid to free himself from the bed and Thor, to see what’s left of the magic circle and their supplies.
This time, Thor traps him in the bed with his thighs, tangling his feet around Loki’s. “After breakfast,” he mumbles, a breathy whisper against Loki’s ear.
They end up eating breakfast in bed, feeding each other lazy spoonfuls of sticky-sweet children’s cereal.
Later, Thor covers Loki’s neck with frosted-sugar kisses, kisses that darken into cherry bruises as he presses Loki into the sheets, riding him hard and fast. He cries out when Loki rakes his nails along Thor’s back, hard, this time drawing blood. And when Loki darts out his tongue to lick the pearl of crimson from his thumb, relishing the copper tang, Thor leans in to nip Loki’s lower lip, vindictive, sucking drops of his own velvet richness from broken flesh as they moan together, equally eager, dark and possessive.
They collapse against each other when they finish, a tangle of limbs and giddy laughter. Loki burrows into the soft cotton sheets, cocooned in the warmth of their lovemaking, while Thor worships the nape of his neck and the lobes of his ears with his lips.
It’s not long before Loki weaves his fingers between Thor’s beneath the sheets and noses at his cheek, and Thor rolls on top of him, nestling between his hips. They make love again, this time slower and sweeter, and as Loki takes Thor deep within him, he makes sure to pepper Thor with tender touches and kisses, to gaze deep into those green eyes for all the secrets and truths he won’t give up himself.
“Stop that,” Loki hisses from the corner of his mouth, at the way Thor’s fingers have crept across the tabletop and settled lightly on his own.
Thor gives him a wounded look as he withdraws, but retaliates by letting his hip bump playfully against Loki’s under the table. The pads of his fingers tap Loki’s knee, where they linger, adamantly affectionate. When Loki looks up, he notices the others watching them warily, Rogers with a raised brow and Stark with narrowed eyes. Even Barton and Romanoff have paused in their conversation to glance their way.
Banner, meanwhile, is busy scribbling complex equations into a coiled notebook, absently spooning cornflakes into his mouth.
Loki’s aware that to the others, it looks like Thor’s just told Loki off for touching his hand. He tries his best to imitate Thor’s grin, and bases his next words on interactions he’s seen between Thor and his teammates.
“My friends,” he says, curling his lips into a desperate pantomime of a Thor-smile, “what plans have we made for the day?”
A collective sigh breaks the tension at the table, and Loki secretly preens at having fooled the lot of them. Still, he and Thor are switching back at the first possible moment; there is no way he can keep up this charade for much longer.
Stark is about to reply, when a rudimentary tear gas grenade bursts through the window, putters in place for a moment, then lies still.
“Well. Someone’s R & D needs more funding—” Stark manages, before a flash grenade follows, exploding just as the tear gas canister hisses, filling the room with vaporous smoke.
There’s blinding brightness and muted noise as tears are forced to Loki’s eyes, but all he can feel is Thor’s hand gripping his, too tight in the confusion, as all Hel breaks loose.
(tbc - Chapter 2)
