Chapter Text
It happened two months ago, when the dark-haired man approached him in the diner one morning, sliding smoothly into the seat opposite him as Thor was lifting the coffee mug to his lips. The smell of freshly brew coffee couldn’t stop the fresh lemon scent coming off from the other man. Thor frowned, eyeing the pale skinned and bright eyed young man in front of him, who was looking at Thor as if Thor was his lotto price.
“Thor. Thor Odinson?”
His voice was as smooth like honey on Thor’s pancake: thick and rich. Thor couldn’t help a little twitch to his lips. Ah yes. He was getting lucky. After two years divorcing from Jane, he had been lonely. She had moved back to her hometown, leaving him with an empty house and empty bed. He had missed a presence of a lover. But to hook up with men in this town was too risky. Luckily, his job allowed him to go interstates and met some people—men and women, mostly men, because he had missed it. Dark-haired younger men. That was his type. Dark haired, younger, smaller enough to be completely held in his arms, to be pinned against the bed, with full hair to be pulled in the heat of the moment.
He gulped down the tangy liquid. He couldn’t get hard right now, but damn this fine young man was just his type.
“Yes, that’s me.” He placed the mug on the table, smiling at the corner of his lips. He saw how the green eyes lit up and they were fixed—as if enchanted, on his eyes, and those eyes travelled down to his lips, and those pale lips parted. Thor’s experience told him that this boy liked what he saw. A lot.
“And you are?” He asked with a smile. The young man met his eyes again, and there was a fine blush to his sculpted cheekbones. Lovely. Thor didn’t know what he had done right. His life had been an avalanche of shitty moments after moments. Maybe because he had carried a dear hit by another car onto his truck and took it to the vet? Maybe that’s why mother-nature was thanking him with this fine stuff. At last.
“I am Loki.” The younger man replied, his voice dropped low. “I am—“ he coughed, averted his eyes as if embarrassed. Thor lifted the mug to his lips again, even though all he wanted to do now was to put them against that pale neck under the black collar of the man’s leather jacket, and to taste his skin. “I am your son.”
He must have spewed the coffee so hard, because the man—Loki, was taken aback, and there were dark brown liquid all over his chin and neck.
Thor slammed the mug down the table. “Do you think this is funny!?” He roared. Morning ruined, he quickly grabbed his blue jeans jacket and rose to his feet. Threw a couple of dollars on the table and he was good to go.
“Wait!” The younger man stood up, and reached out to grab his bicep. Thor halted, but gave the boy a warning glare. Loki took notice and pulled back his hand. “My mother is Amora. The Spanish girl, you do remember her, don’t you? Your high-school sweetheart.”
Amora. Goddamnit. How could Thor ever forget that name. She was his first love, his first laid. His first woman, long before he discovered himself to be bisexual. He wanted to marry her, but she chose to break off their relationship because she was going to California. Right. No future with a trucker’s son like him. Fine.
But he had finally met Jane, a science teacher, who was smarter than him, but still fell in love with him and married him. She told him many times how she loved his street-smart wisdom. They fell in love fast and got married, then Jane got offered to pursue a PhD in Massachusetts. So, again, he was dumped by two women he’d ever love, but somehow the second time he had quite an immunity and it hadn’t hurt that much.
Or so he told himself. He had been lonely. Very lonely he wanted to gouge his eyes out sometimes. So he drowned that in work—driving and singing 'I Drink Alone' on the top of his lungs along with the music that blast from his speakers, with the night air as his companion, and faceless lovers across the states, gave him enough enjoyment to kill the time.
But deep down, he’d never forgotten them.
Amora. He could never forget that name, and now looking at Loki, he saw her dark hair and green eyes in him.
“What the fuck?” he cursed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but get lost.”
Those pale hand grabbed him again, and the heat, surprisingly, came off from Loki and shot straight into him.
“She told me not to do this, but I had to see you.” Loki pleaded, voice low and broken. “Please. Just—please. I had to see you.”
Those quiet pleas…it did things to Thor. He felt his eyes twitch, and some other parts of him.
He looked left and right, this is bad. Get out of here. This is bad. “All right.” He snatched his arm back. “You have 5 minutes.”
“Thank you…” The sweet, shy smile Loki gave him tugged at his heart as the younger man sat back down. Then he started using a napkin to wipe his neck and chin, craning that long, lean, pale skin for Thor to see.
This was totally a bad, bad idea.