Work Text:
The end of winter is near.
Once again Thurseblot is celebrated in all the plains of Asgard. Every year a great feast reminiscent of Thor’s defeat of the Jotnar fills the Great Hall with laughter and merriment. Tales are spun how Thor drove back the frost giants and lifted the spell their queen had woven to blanket Asgard for many years under snow, ice and famine.
“Do you really wish to accompany me,” Thor asks again. He is in Loki’s sleeping chamber, sitting in what he has come to think of as his armchair.
It has been less than a single moon since the first night he spent willingly in Loki’s bed, but Thor finds himself spending more and more time in Loki’s chambers. It is not only their most enjoyable coupling that brings him back most evenings after a long day of sparring and tending to his duties. Thor, quite unexpectedly, finds that he truly enjoys Loki’s company, his cunning wit and sly humor, even if Loki’s mischief comes often at his own expense.
“Do you think my answer will change if only you ask often enough,” Loki replies impatiently. He adjusts a length of bright and colorful silk around his hips, casting Thor a sly look with those strange red eyes. “One could think you do not wish to have me there.”
“I am merely trying to be considerate of your feelings,” Thor says, indignant at the accusation. By the Norns, for so many years he laughed at his friends’ and fellow warriors’ complaints about their foul-tempered wives, but it seems that husbands are equally hard to please.
“You think I will be offended that you celebrate the defeat of my people?” Loki asks, coming to stand before Thor. He sounds surprised, and his hand is cool against Thor’s cheek. They rarely touch outside a passionate embrace, but Thor finds he quite likes it and he leans into the touch, covering Loki’s slender fingers with his own much larger hand.
“Have you already forgotten what I told you? That most of them repudiate me, even my own father?”
Loki speaks softly, but his red eyes are like fiery steel, burning with a cold anger that would frighten a lesser man than Thor. “Do not worry, Thor. I will gladly stand at your side.” Loki strokes his cheek, his slender fingers trailing lightly over Thor’s lips in a lingering caress and down his throat. Thor shivers, remembering how effortlessly those cool fingers can turn into an deadly blade of ice. He can only hope he will never be the cause for such deadly fury.
Thor is not sure what angers him more, the looks of pity or disgust.
True to his word, Loki stays close to Thor’s side while they slowly make their way around the Great Hall. The large tables are laden with meat and fruit, nigh to breaking under the sheer mass of food and drink. The air is full of laughter and the hum of conversation, everybody’s merriment aided by the never ending flow of ale and wine served by a flock of bustling servants.
Thor has always enjoyed Thurseblot. Not only because it is celebrated in his honor, but also because people are cheerful and glad, as if the harshness that has crept into in their hearts with the cold of winter is melting like the snow outside. There always is a lot of laughter and friendly banter that warms his heart like the first sunny day of spring.
Today it is different.
Loki is beautiful next to him. Thor does not know how he ever thought differently. The red and green of the silk around Loki’s hips is mirrored in the gems he wears woven into his dark hair, and emeralds trail down his spine in a graceful line. Thor longs to touch them, trace them with his lips and taste every single one until Loki shivers and cries out under him.
There are many, men and women alike, who look at Loki with desire in their eyes. But for every one of them there is another who looks at Thor with open pity and at Loki with barely veiled disgust. Thor seethes, wants to rage and shout at them that they are wrong and that theirs is a happy marriage. It would not be true, not really, but it could be. It will be, in time. And still, it would be wrong to unleash his rage at them, because not so long ago he would have welcomed and shared their feelings. For now, all he can do is smile, behave as it befits a prince and pull Loki a little tighter against his side.
Loki has been quiet all evening. It comes at no surprise at such open hostility. But a smile finally brightens his face when Frigga strides towards them, beautiful and regal as only a true queen can be.
“Thor, Loki, my dear boys,” she exclaims warmly, kissing each of them on the cheek.
“Mother,” Thor says, returning the kiss, “you look beautiful as always.”
“For once my husband is right, mother. You look radiant,” Loki says. Thor startles at Loki addressing her as such and even more so at Frigga’s pleased smile. He wonders when Loki and his mother grew so close that she would allow such liberties.
Judging by the whispers of those standing close enough to overhear the conversation, he is not the only one. Judging by the sharp glint in Loki’s eyes it is exactly what he intended, and Thor cannot help but admire his husband’s aptitude for scheming and conniving.
“You have not visited me for a whole week, my dear Loki,” Frigga scolds gently and Loki has the grace to look abashed, a dark blush staining his cheeks.
“I am very sorry, mother, but my husband, ah— commanded my time,” Loki offers as way of explanation. His eyes are dancing with mirth, and there is no doubt for anyone who cares to listen just how that time was spent.
“What do you do when you visit,” Thor blurts out, refusing to blush at Loki’s implication.
“We talk, Thor,” Loki replies with the air of the long-suffering, waving a graceful hand at him. “About womanly things.” There is a wicked glint in his eyes and Thor does blush at that. He only has a vague idea what these womanly things might be, but he has no desire to learn more about such matters.
“That is a very fine necklace, mother,” he says, cheeks burning. Thor has always found that complimenting a woman is the easiest way to distract her from matters he does not wish to discuss, and he is grateful that his mother is no exception to that.
“That it is,” Frigga smiles, her face soft while she touches the strands of gold that adorn her cleavage. “Your father gave much thought to selecting it. I could not have wished for anything more beautiful to celebrate Thurseblot.”
“For the Aesir it is customary that men gift their wives with gold and jewels for festivities as this as proof of their devotion,” she explains at Loki’s bewildered expression. “Did my foolish son not tell you when he gave you these?” Frigga asks, touching a finger to the gems braided into Loki’s hair.
“Oh,” Loki says, very quietly.
Thor feels the blood that had heated his cheeks mere seconds ago drain from his face. His mother does not know that the adornments in Loki’s hair were not gifted by Thor, and for that small favor Thor is grateful. But Thor knows, and now Loki too, that Thor failed to honor his spouse in the way that befits him.
Loki looks no different, still smiling and nodding along to the little anecdotes Frigga tells about the people in attendance. But Thor knows him well enough by now to see that he does not smile with his eyes, the warmth in them chased away by hurt and humiliation, and once again it is Thor who put that look on Loki’s face.
A moon ago he would have had no care about it, would have walked without giving any thought about it, but Thor has slowly grown to think of Loki as his husband, for whom he feels— Thor does not know what exactly it is, but affection and admiration are a part of it.
And yet, what little they have managed to build between them in those few weeks is still fragile as gossamer, threatening to break at the slightest strain. Gaining his husband’s forgiveness will be a difficult task, of that Thor is certain. He will have to consider carefully what gift to choose for Loki to accomplish it.
Balder’s hand on his shoulder shakes Thor from his thoughts.
They have not spoken for some time. Balder has been away to oversee repairs on his great ship Hringhorni, and Thor has spent what little time was left between sparring and duty with Loki. It gladdens him to see his brother well and smiling.
“A word, please, brother,” Balder says, already steering Thor to the side with a hand on his elbow. “While the ladies are chatting. It seems you are not needed at this moment.”
A quick look assures Thor that Frigga and Loki are still talking. Loki’s back is stiff and turned to Thor, quite possibly ignoring him on purpose. Indeed, Thor is not needed here.
“What is it, brother,” Thor asks, forcing a smile on his face. There is no need to burden his brother with his own glum thoughts. “Surely you do not need advice on courting a maiden again? It seemed you were quite successful the last time I saw you with Nanna,” he adds teasingly.
“No, no, it is not that,” Balder says hastily, a blush tinting his cheeks. He is nervous, Thor realizes with a feeling of dread, the smile on his face a poor veil for his forced bravery. “It is about— Loki. Father told me that it was I who was to wed him.” For a few moments there is only silence between them, but then Balder’s mask slips and he looks at Thor with pity and repulsion smeared over his face.
“I thank you for sparing me this fate, brother,” he says earnestly. “I could not bear to be bound to him, to touch him or only even look at him. Of the two of us, you have always been the strong one. But even for someone as strong as you it must be difficult to pretend that nothing is amiss while you face a lifetime without love at the side of a monster.” Balder looks as if to embrace him, but Thor keeps him away with a hand on his shoulder. He looks at his little brother, aghast at the look of disdain he sees on Balder’s face.
“Loki is not like the others of his kin,” Thor says softly. He wants to tell Balder about the evenings he spends in Loki’s chambers, of laughter, heated embraces and pleasure unlike any he has known. Until now he still guarded those feelings fiercely, not yet ready to share them. But he sees now that in doing so he encourages others to believe he suffers in his marriage.
“Here is not the place to discuss such matters,” Thor says with a sigh, squeezing Balder’s shoulder in silent apology. “I thank you for your concern, brother, but there is no reason for it. I do enjoy my husband’s company, very much so.”
It is not much, but it is all Thor can offer for now. Before he can admit to his affections he will have to make things right with Loki.
“You do not mean that. How many times did you warn me about them? And did you not take great pleasure in slaying the Jotnar all those years ago? Is it not what we are celebrating today?” Balder says, a sneer marring his handsome face. It slowly melts into a look of sheer incredulity when he notices Thor’s stony expression. “He tricked you into believing so, did he not? He cast a spell on you.”
“You will not speak lies about my husband,” Thor growls in warning. Already people are watching them and, without a doubt, listening keenly.
“Bed him, if you must. Father told me he is a trained whore after all. He is nothing but filth,” Balder hisses, turning to leave. “But if you truly enjoy his company, as you claim, think about what that makes you,” he throws over his shoulder at Thor, his voice dripping with malice and, even worse, disappointment.
“Are you going to tell the same to Mother,” Thor asks viciously. “For it seems she enjoys his company as well.”
He knows he hits a nerve when Balder looks uncertainly to where Frigga stands, watching them with displeasure darkening her features. The satisfaction he feels at it sits heavily in his stomach, but it also soothes the hurt he feels at Balder’s harsh words.
Thor looks after his brother, his little brother whom people call the gentle one. He has not heard Balder speak like this for a very long time, not since he was a youth with a quick tongue, and he is unsure what to think of it. All he feels is a cold, vicious fury, a rage he has not felt since he last returned from battle. The only thing that keeps him from going after Balder is the shake of Frigga’s head and the empty space beside her.
Loki is gone.
Thor waits in his chambers until the morning breaks, but Loki does not come.
Freya’s tits, but it stinks.
The halls of Nidavellir are great and splendid, but even here in Dvalin’s private dwellings the stench of smoke and sulfur from the forgers is almost suffocating. Thor coughs, albeit politely, and tries to distract himself with thoughts of more pleasant things. It would be unwise to anger the dwarves. Little as they might be, they are fierce warriors and their alliance with the trolls makes them a force not to be taken lightly.
”What did you ask him to forge, son?” Odin grunts at him. “We have been here for five days already. What could possibly take this long?”
Thor pays him no heed. His father spent the last four days locked in a chamber with Alfrigg, haggling over a golden necklace he wishes to gift to Frigga. Thor does not know—nor does he wish to, under no circumstances— what his father did that he needs such means to appease his mother. Alfrigg would not accept his payment in gold, and Thor is more than a little concerned what kind of favors from Asgard Odin promised to the dwarf in return for the necklace. They cannot be trusted.
Thor spent those days drinking with Alfrigg’s brothers Berling and Grerr, keeping them in good spirits while their brother Dvalin forges what Thor asked of him. They are a fickle lot, the Duergar of Nidavellir, even more so the sons of Lovar, the great masters of the Realm Below.
“Fine, keep it to yourself then,” Odin says. Mead sloshes over the rim of his tankard as he slams it down on the table. He is displeased with Thor’s lack of obedience, and Thor knows that there is more to come. Soon. The Allfather does not give up so easily, especially after too much drink.
“Thor, son, now is as good a time to talk than any,” Odin starts again, leaning closer to Thor. His breath smells of mead, and Thor is already dreading what his father will have to say in his ebrious state. He has caroused with him often enough to know that Odin is not a merry drunk. “Yours is a marriage of politics, not love. There is no need to remain faithful if it does not please you. Women have ever since abided to their husbands taking mistresses, it is not their place to argue.” He belches loudly and clasps Thor’s shoulder in a fatherly gesture. “This Jotun, it has a cunt. That makes it a women, yes? Maybe even less than that.”
Thor bristles at his father’s crude speech.
“Is that what you think? Have you been unfaithful to mother?” he asks stiffly. The thought sickens him. Thor remembers his mother’s words how marriage is a blessing, something not to be taken lightly.
“You know not what you speak of, son. Women change quickly with age, but a warrior’s appetite stays the same.” A sly glint flickers in Odin’s single eye while he lifts his tankard. “Do not tell me you have fallen in love with it.”
“He is not an animal, and you will address him properly,” Thor bellows, feeling his face redden with anger. They are attracting more than a few startled glances from their hosts. “You forced me to marry him and I obeyed. For Asgard, and to preserve peace. But what happens in that marriage is none of your concern now, father. It is only between Loki and I.”
“I did not believe Balder,” Odin says wonderingly. “But it seems you do care about— him. Do as you will, son, but do not upset him. This union cannot fail. Laufey already expressed concern that Loki still is not with child.”
“We have been married for only a little more than three moons,” Thor mutters defiantly. It is not for lack of trying, he thinks, feeling heat rise in his belly at the mere thought of it. In all his life he has never felt pleasure as between Loki’s legs.
“Maybe your prowess is not as the legend says, then,” Odin taunts. “It is said that Jotnar in heat are more fertile than rabbits.”
“And do get him clothes.” Odin throws the order carelessly at Thor, standing from the table and preparing to leave. “His shameless attire is an insult to the Aesir.”
Thor watches his father’s back as he leaves for the night and wonders if Odin has always been this cruel and he merely did not notice it. He broods over Odin’s vile and careless words all night, thinking that this is not the kind of man or king he wants to be.
He bolts from a restless sleep before the sun even rises. Dvalin does not bother to knock, he just stomps in and holds out a hand at Thor, a very small pouch resting on his palm. Thor takes it and stows it away carefully.
He does not wait for Odin when he leaves.
“Remember, the horn of a unicorn from Midgard,” Dvalin calls after him.
“Aye, you have my word on it,” Thor says solemnly, turning back to assure the dwarf. He does not know what kind of creature a unicorn is, but he will find one.
“Ah, so you have decided to finally grace me with your presence,” is the first thing Loki says.
Thor has arrived mere minutes ago, and rushing to Loki’s chambers had been the first thing on his mind. Despite what occurred before his departure, he had hoped for a warmer welcome.
“I have been away to converse with some of our allies,” Thor says gruffly. “Surely as a prince yourself you understand the importance of duty.”
“Do I?” Loki is sitting on the chaise with a heavy tome in his lap and regards Thor with something close to amusement. “Is that what drinking with the dwarves is to you?”
Thor looks at him, aghast. His cheeks are heating at being caught with a lie on his lips and his mind whirls how Loki might have come to know about it. Much to his relief, though, a small smile curves Loki’s lips. He seems to be in a forgiving mood.
“Do not worry, Thor. I did not put a spell on you.” Loki says, seemingly reading Thor’s mind without effort. “Your mother told me the Realm Below is where Odin goes quite often when he disappears for several days. We figured he took you as well, since you had as much reason to visit the smiths as your father.”
Thor sighs and sits down heavily next to Loki on the chaise. If there was ever any hope that Loki would not mention Thor’s negligence, it was only very small to begin with.
“I do not deserve your forgiveness, yet still I ask for it,” Thor says, taking Loki’s hand and feeling encouraged when it is not withdrawn immediately. He is not a man of many words, but he is determined to make things right with Loki. “I did not mean any disrespect. I was not ready to wed when father brought you here, and it is still difficult for me to think of you as my wife when—,“ he stumbles over his words and waves a hand vaguely in the direction of Loki’s finely muscled chest, “—when clearly you are not.”
“How astute of you to notice, you foolish man,” Loki sighs, withdrawing his hand to stroke back a strand of hair from Thor’s face.
“I am not a woman, Thor, nor do I wish to be your wife. I did not lie when I told you that I asked to be given to you because I desire you. But I also asked because you will put me on a throne one day, something that my own people deny me.” Loki stands abruptly and paces the length of the room, his voice rising with agitation. A flush colors his cheeks, making the pale blue lines carving his skin more prominent. “I wish to be your equal, for you to respect me enough to share the crown with me when the day comes. I wish to desired, if not loved, for what I am. There is no need to court me like any of your women.”
Thor sits, stunned at what he just heard. He may still have much to learn about Loki, but what he does know is that his silver-tongued husband rarely speaks without a hidden motive or purpose. And while Thor cannot help but feel that he fails to see the larger truth in the amalgam of Loki’s words and omissions, he feels that what Loki just shared is true. Mostly true. Thor remembers Loki’s look of disappointment after Frigga’s explanation of their customs only too well, but he is in no mood to argue with Loki about half-truths.
“Maybe courtship is not needed, but I do hope it is still welcome.”
Thor rises and steps into the hallway for a moment, retrieving the rather large bundle he had left there before entering Loki’s chambers. He carefully arranges its content on the chaise and looks at Loki, hoping to see approval in his red eyes.
Loki’s gaze travels slowly over the finely crafted coat, breeches and boots, followed by his fingers. He picks up the coat and strokes thoughtfully over the soft black leather and golden clasps, rubbing his cheek over the vibrant green lining. It looks striking against the dusky blue of his skin. Suddenly Thor cannot wait to see him wear it and he barely swallows his disappointment when Loki places the coat back on the chaise.
“Is it not Odin who wants me to wear these,” Loki asks, sitting down in the plush arm chair that stands perpendicular to the chaise. He settles down sideways in it, his legs dangling over the left arm of the chair and his cheek resting against the high back. “Is my attire and skin insulting his delicate senses? Reminding him of what he brought into his own home because he has grown too fat and weak to defend against Jotunheim should Laufey dare to attack?”
Loki smiles sharply, baring his teeth, and for a moment Thor wants to wipe that smile from his face. But as much as he wants to, he cannot deny the truth in Loki’s words. Asgard’s defenses are weaker than they used to be, the task taken too lightly in a long stretch of peace, and Jotunheim has grown stronger under Laufey’s reign.
“Oh, come now, Thor, do not look like that. We both know that Odin and Laufey did not decide on our union out of the kindness of their hearts. Marriage between enemies to ensure ones own safety is as old as time.”
Of course Thor knows it. He has raged against it long enough before he took the time to get to know Loki. The sting of it is softened by the hand Loki holds out to him. “It comes to us what we make of it.”
Thor presses a kiss on the palm of Loki’s hand. “We have not done so badly, I think,” he says, his voice rough. Loki’s smile at that feels like a reward, like Thor has finally done something right.
“I will wear the clothes if it pleases you.” Loki turns in the chair so he sits in it properly. “But would you not rather see me like this?”
The silk Loki wears vanishes with a flick of his wrist, leaving him completely bared. Loki’s pink cunt peeks from between his slightly spread legs, partly hidden by the cock resting against his thigh. Even like this Thor can tell he is already wet. He can smell it and arousal slams into him at the familiar scent, leaving him hard and breathless with want.
“Is this not what you want,” Loki asks, stroking delicately over the tip of his cock before his hand trails lower, two fingers parting his labia, letting Thor see all of him.
“Yes,” Thor growls, dropping to his knees as if pulled by an invisible string. “There was not a single day I did not think about having you like this.”
“I missed you, too,” Loki laughs breathlessly, guiding Thor between his legs with a hand in his hair. “Have me then.”
Thor follows eagerly, Loki’s taste now familiar on his tongue when he licks over the wet folds and the fingers Loki has still buried between them. He cannot get close enough, the chair preventing Loki from spreading his legs to make room for Thor’s wide shoulders. Too impatient to take Loki to the bedroom Thor tugs him forward until Loki’s arse rests on the edge of the seat and spreads his legs, arranging them over the arms of the chair.
“Much better,” Thor rumbles, delighting in the blush of excitement that blooms on Loki’s cheeks at being displayed so wantonly.
“I love you like this. Completely shameless and at my mercy.”
Thor bends and licks Loki’s entrance, using just the tip of his tongue and teasing him with slow circles, occasionally tugging the swollen labia gently with his lips. Only when Loki curses and pleads does he lick inside, fucks Loki with his tongue and laps at the slickness that trickles over his tongue. Loki’s thighs are quivering under Thor’s hands, tensing when he arches and peaks with a shuddering gasp. Thor moans against him, never tiring of the taste of Loki’s excitement.
His own cock is heavy between his legs, the pressure of his breeches uncomfortable against the sensitive skin. Thor hisses in relief when the laces finally give way to his fumbling hands, but the sight of Loki’s still hard cock distracts him from disrobing.
“So peculiar,” Thor muses, stroking a finger through Loki’s slippery slit which makes him roll his hips into Thor’s touch with a groan. “That you can find pleasure here while your prick stays hard.”
“There are advantages to being partly what you would call female,” Loki laughs shakily. He strokes one of his nipples and twists the ring adorning it with a sigh of pleasure. “Even future kings kneel before me willingly.”
Thor enjoys watching Loki pleasure himself for long moments before he remembers the small pouch still hidden in his pocket. “Will you accept this from me, then,” he asks, carefully emptying its content into his palm. “I would very much want you to wear it.”
“Thor,” Loki breathes, looking at him with wide eyes. “It’s exquisite.” He slides from the chair onto his knees before Thor, reverently touching the small pile of gold in Thor’s hand. “This… this is Dwarven work. I would be honored to wear it.”
Thor carefully fastens the endings of the delicate piece of jewelry to the golden hoops that adorn Loki’s nipples. Three strands of gold extend between the rings now, cascading like a waterfall, thin as strands of gossamer and enwrought with small glittering gems. The glint of gold, read and green against cool blue is entrancing, reminding Thor just how much he enjoys looking at Loki.
Unable to resist he pulls Loki to straddle his lap and bends down to lave at a stiff nipple. Loki arches into him, his back bowing sharply when Thor sucks strongly and worries the ring with the tip of his tongue. “Such wicked temptation you are, just begging for my touch, ” Thor murmurs as he gives the same attention to Loki’s other breast.
“Harder,” Loki demands as he writhes against Thor. His cunt slides over Thor’s exposed cock, aided by his own wetness and Thor’s pre-spending that leaks heavily at such sweet torture. Thor obliges, sucking hard on one nipple and pressing heavily on the other with his thumb, his own gut tightening with with pleasure at the keening sound it elicits from Loki. He bites down, gently first and harder when Loki’s breath hitches with excitement at the small hurt.
He suddenly finds himself on his back with Loki straddling him and leaning heavily on his chest with his hands. Thor’s skin tingles where Loki touches him, and it takes him a moment to notice that Loki’s magic is causing the sensation, leaving him completely naked.
“Does this please you,” Loki asks, a smug smile on his lips and his eyes bright. He sits up straight and cups his flat chest, his thin fingers caressing the strands of gold adorning it. “Sucking my tits like an infant. Imagine how they will look and taste heavy with milk once I am with child.” Thor can only groan his agreement, all speech lost at the thought of suckling milk from Loki’s swollen breast, the sweet taste of it as it splashes over his tongue.
Loki is beautiful above him, eyes clouded with desire and panting harshly, taking his pleasure from Thor without a hint of shame or inhibitions. He rolls his hips greedily, rubbing his wet vulva over the length of Thor’s prick, almost cupping him like a warm hand. Thor feels his bollocks draw tight at the sight of his own cock sliding between the swollen labia, his blunt crown parting the soft folds until it bumps against Loki’s clit. Something coils tight in his gut at the sight of them, so different yet beautiful together, how his bush of golden hair tickles the blue skin of the hairless outer lips of Loki’s cunt, the rosy head of his cock a stark contrast to the flushed folds that frame it.
Loki presses his hips down more urgently, a string of oh oh oh tumbling from his lips as he spends himself with a shuddering gasp, his thighs tensing against Thor’s side. For a moment he leans heavily on Thor with his hands on Thor’s middle, hair in disarray and looking utterly debauched. His seed trickles down and slides slowly over Thor’s bollocks, down into the crease of his arse over that place where nobody has touched Thor for a long time. Thor gasps, the images of being on his knees, breached by graceful fingers and speared on Loki’s cock almost his undoing.
“Loki—“
Thor means to warn Loki because he has reached the end of his endurance, but he is cut off by Loki’s urgent demand of “Inside… Thor, fuck me!”
Growling with relief to finally have what he craved for days Thor holds him steady with his hands too tight on Loki’s hips and pushes up, breaching him in one stroke until his bollocks press against Loki’s arse. Loki pants for air because Thor is too eager to be gentle, but then he tightens around Thor with a lustful moan and Thor goes mindless with need.
He fucks up into Loki fast and hard, spurred on by Loki’s gasped confession of how much he missed being taken like this and the sight of their hands entwined on Loki’s hips. They rut like animals, greedily taking their pleasure from each other. Thor watches Loki with rapt attention, the way he strains to take Thor’s girth, how the walls of his cunt cling to Thor’s cock when he pulls out, as if Loki cannot bear the thought to let it go for even the smallest amount of time.
“Touch yourself,” Thor growls, lifting Loki until his cunt is stretched wide by just the wide crown of Thor’s prick. Loki obeys with a sobbing breath, cupping his half hard prick with one hand and parting his slippery slit with the other. He strokes his entrance where they are joined, smearing the wetness he gathers over the rim before he dips two fingers inside himself along Thor’s shaft.
“Move, damn you,” Loki urges. Thor grunts at the pressure and fucks him slowly, too close to spilling already. Loki laughs breathlessly, demanding that Thor fuck him deeper, and deeper still. His eyes lock with Thor’s when he suddenly goes rigid and tightens around Thor like a fist. He climaxes with a deep, luxurious groan, bathing Thor’s cock in a rush of hot liquid. Thor arches at the sensation and spends himself with a hoarse shout, his pleasure so great he is shaking with it, his seed milked from him in long spurts.
Thor lies there for long moments, breathing heavily and enjoying the sensation of Loki’s inner muscles fluttering around his softening cock with little aftershocks of pleasure. Loki’s lips are gentle against his and Thor hums into the kiss, content to accept Loki’s caresses.
“Welcome home,” Loki smiles.
“I am glad to be back,” Thor whispers, unwilling to disturb the quietness that has settled over them after their shared passion. He realizes with a start that he means it, that for the first time in many years it feels like exactly that, like he came home instead of just returning to the palace. He idly wonders when he started to think of Loki’s chambers as home, but he has never been a man to question a good chance. There are few enough of them.
“Please, my prince, I beg you. Please waive the debt.”
Thor looks at the man kneeling before him and sighs. He enjoys the monthly audience, an opportunity for their people to convey their sorrows and concerns. It is only when the matter of tribute arises that he dreads it. Asgard is wealthy beyond imagination and could easily spare the meager pieces of copper owed by the peasants, but it will not do to let him get away with spending all his coin on mead and cheap wine while others work dutifully to pay their due.
The gathering before him is larger than usual after the harsh winter and only dwindling slowly. To his right there is suddenly a stir and shouting disturbs the hushed murmur that fills the hall. Guards are rushing by quickly to separate the men who dare to tussle before Odin, judging by the way their voices rise angrily most likely over a small matter like boundary disputes. Odin looks as tired as Thor feels.
Thor glances to his left, where Loki is sitting at his side, the sight of his husband the only thing to brighten his weary mood. Loki takes his breath away, clad in black, gold and green, his long legs encased in black leather. Pride fills Thor’s chest at how well he chose for Loki, and that Loki chose to wear his gifts and adapt to their way of attire. It came as a surprise when he joined them earlier in the day, and as most times Loki’s reasons remain a riddle to Thor, but he hopes it means that Loki is starting to think of Asgard as his home.
“I will not waive the debt, as you have failed to pay even the smallest amount of tribute since you stood here six moons ago,” Thor declares, hoping he conceals his weariness well enough. “Instead of asking for labor you were seen visiting the taverns. But let it not be said that the House of Odin is unreasonably cruel. For the next three months you will work three days of the week at the royal warehouses to pay for your debt. It will leave you enough time to till the fields. Use it wisely.”
A sturdy woman with a child clinging to her hand is next, asking for a position in the royal kitchens. Thor has a mind to ask her why she dares to waste his time with such trifles, but the way she glances at Loki are answer enough. Word must have spread that Loki attends today, presenting a rare opportunity for the common people to see the exotic prince themselves instead of relying upon the undoubtedly countless rumors told in the markets and taverns. He waves her away and sends her to see the stewards, but Loki halts her with a quick command.
“Wait,” he calls, rising slowly from his chair and kneeling down next to the child. Her small face is framed by fiery hair, a thin sheen of sweat covering the pale skin. Her breath is rattling in her thin chest.
“Do not touch her,” the woman hisses at Loki, pulling the child towards her, but paling immediately when she remembers who is kneeling before her. “She is sick,” she offers weakly as excuse for her rudeness, “you might catch it.”
“What is your name, child,” Loki enquires, ignoring her mother.
“Bryn.”
“It is my pleasure to meet you, Bryn,” Loki says earnestly. “It seems you have fallen ill. May I touch you, so I can see if I can help you?”
She looks at him with eyes as curious and open as only a child’s can be. “Are you the monster we came to see?”
“Do I look like a monster to you, little one?”
She studies him with wide eyes, curiously lets them roam over the lines on his face and the braids in his hair. “No,” she decides with a shake of her head, her red curls bouncing wildly. “You are too pretty to be a monster.”
Thor watches the exchange with equal wonder and amusement, as well as most of the people in attendance. He cannot help but mirror the smile that softens Loki’s face at Bryn’s answer, his heart swelling with affection. Even with their fathers pressing for an heir, the thought of Loki with children has never been more than a vague idea, but he can see it easily now. Being raised without knowing hardly any affection from his father, Loki is bound to know the needs of a child. Suddenly Thor has no fear of the future, knowing that their children will never want for love.
“Prince Thor would not smile at a monster. He is very brave,” she tells Loki earnestly, adding “you may touch me” with a gracious air.
“That he is,” Loki nods and touches a hand on her forehead. Gasps and murmurs arise throughout the hall at the flash of green from his fingertips. Already Bryn’s skin looks a little better, and when she lets out the breath she has been holding nothing but the rush of air can be heard.
Later that evening Loki’s moans are positively indecent as they fill Thor’s chambers. Thor digs his thumbs harder into the sole of the foot that rests in his lap and is rewarded with a sensuous sigh.
“Is this another custom I am not aware of? That gifts are given to torture the recipient? How can you stand to wear these boots all day?”
Loki has complained like this for the last quarter, even after his initial pained groans turned into lustful sighs with Thor’s massage. Thor indulges him, quite enjoying their little play and the low thrum of arousal that fills him at the sight of Loki reclining against his settee. Loki has changed into one of his swathes of silk immediately upon their arrival. Surprisingly, after admiring him in the coat all day, Thor does prefer Loki like this, where he can easily see the gold adorning his chest and the outline of his cock covered by silk.
“Tell me, my wicked spouse, did you heal that girl to gain the favor of our people or did you do it solely for her benefit?”
“Oh Thor,” Loki sighs. Thor cannot help but feeling bereft when the foot in his grasp is withdrawn, even when Loki sits next to him and strokes his cheek. “What kind of father is Odin that he failed to teach you about the importance of reaping multiple benefits? I did wish to heal Bryn because no child should have to suffer for their parents’ carelessness. Her mother should have taken her to the healers weeks ago. But in doing so I earned their gratitude and managed to dispel the mistrust of many in attendance.”
“Our children will be lucky to have such a wise mother,” Thor muses, turning his head to press a kiss to Loki’s palm.
“We will see about that in twelve months,” Loki whispers, pressing Thor’s palm to his stomach. It takes a long moment for Thor to comprehend the meaning of his words.
“Loki…” Thor’s mind whirls at the revelation, unable to sort through the multitude of emotions that suddenly fill him, joy, pride and trepidation being the most prominent. He is still getting accustomed to being a husband, he is not sure if he is ready to be a father.
“He was conceived the night you returned from Nidavellir,” Loki offers cautiously. His face that had been full of joy mere moments ago is unreadable. He must think of Thor’s lack of response as rejection, so Thor pulls him into his lap and buries his face in Loki’s hair.
“He will be blessed then, as it was a happy night,” Thor rasps. He kisses Loki deeply, hoping to convey that it was not a lack of joy that made him tongue-tied. It seems he is forgiven when Loki sighs against his lips and holds him close.
“Let us keep it a secret for a while,” Thor suggests. He thinks of Odin’s demeaning words, how his father and Laufey speak of the child like common goods instead of the unlikely wonder it is. They can worry about the safety of their realms a little longer.
Loki’s wicked laugh is all the answer he needs.
“You are starting to learn, my beloved husband.”