[thor fic] drink to me, babe, then (bury me in gold) part I
fandom: thor 2011
pairing: thor/loki
warnings: incest (not-pseudo), semi-au world, future mpreg, arranged/forced-marriage, dub-con, manipulative!dark!loki, stupid-in-love!manipulated!thor, odin's tries-to-be-a-good-dad-but-fails parenting, bamf!frigga.
summary: With Thor as king, Loki will be the closest to the throne.
A fill for this prompt at the norsekink meme.
"-no, Loki."
It feels like something inside him has been ripped to pieces (he refuses to think the word heart), and everything in Loki feels like it's being squeezed tight. His head, his lungs, his throat, his ribcage. It's all in iron bands.
Loki can't breathe.
The All-Father's gaze locks with his and Loki sees nothing but what can only be pity and disappointment. He thinks-almost passively and without feeling, for he can no longer spare another drop of emotion, not now, not after everything-that after so many years he should be used to being the source of Odin's dissatisfaction. Nothing he ever did was up to par with Odin's expectations for his younger offspring-not his son not his-, even when Loki did everything to please him. All his life choices made for him-for Thor, always, everything for Thor, and funny how for once, the oaf wasn't the root of the problem-, his future stolen from him, and he, blind to it all until now like a hapless fool, had lapped at the scraps of affection from the great All-Father's hand like a trained dog.
How all of Asgard must have laughed behind his back this entire time! The whole Nine Realms no doubt mocked him this very moment. Foolish, weak Loki Laufeyson, so brittle and so small, tamed wolf without fangs, broken by the hands of his betters.
His entire life, a mockery, a sham. All his efforts and all his plights, the humiliation lessons and painful, bitter acceptance of a life he never would have chosen for himself, but could have, given the time, learned to love (learned to love him, fully and wholly, because even with all his faults, his overbearing arrogance and childish selfishness, he was Loki's one and only brother-).
Lies, all of it lies. Even the Liesmith himself, with all his wicked tricks, with his talented silver tongue, known far and wide for his penchant for mischief and at times cruel deceit, could not in his wildest dreams birth something so monstrous.
Never had Loki known Odin to be this purposely cruel.
Yet, why not? Is Loki not who he is? Would anyone blame the All-Father, when in truth, he is within his rights to treat his war hostage however he pleases? Because for all the years, for all the memories, is that not what Loki is?
Hateful Loki.
Liar Loki.
Deceitful Loki.
Unwanted son and unworthy heir, shoved aside from the very beginning for Odin's golden boy.
Now it makes sense, Loki sees, rage burning obsidian in his chest, why he was given the role Odin bestowed on him all those years ago in a once warm-now-turned-black memory. Oh, how blind Loki had been, to think it an honor then, how stupidly blind!
His hateful blood tastes bitterly poisonous in his mouth when Loki swallows.
For all the times he claimed to love him, Odin would never see a monster on the throne of Asgard.
A toy for the future King, on the other hand?
"A thousand Ragnaröks on your cursed House, Odin son of Borr," curses Loki, mouth drawn in a vicious sneer. "May you and all your wretched line burn asunder!"
It's as fleeting as a harlot's smile, but the shudder of something that runs down the old warrior's body is unmistakable, and a feeling not unlike satisfaction curls low in Loki's belly.
"Loki," is the almost-whisper the All-Father lets loose, his eye softening and- no. No. No.
He feels the grip on Gungnir go slack, fingers loosening their hold almost subconsciously.
Immediately, large, brutish fingers close around his wrist. Loki feels the bones grind together painfully.
"Brother, please, Brother-" There is a wild, desperate look in Thor's eyes, golden hair in disarray. The electric blue is almost completely obscured by the dark of his pupils. He looks almost as worn and weary as the man who spawned him, and the purple-blue bruises adorning his face have not yet finished blossoming. "Do not do this, I beg of you, Brother, think-"
Loki cannot recall ever hearing the Thunderer beg before.
"-it is not worth your life, Brother, please listen to me!"
Something wet hits Loki's face, realization dawning on him like the Midgardian sun, and Loki feels his chest constrict something awful.
Thor, beautiful, glorious and foolish Thor-of course he does not know! Would he be here, if he knew otherwise, if he held even a speck of the truth their father (not yours never yours) had gone to such lengths to keep hidden?
No, of course not. Not Thor, Asgard's greatest and mightiest. Not Thor, noble and honorable Thor, slayer of monsters! Thor, destroyer of evil. Thor, crown prince and future king of Asgard. Thor, Loki's beloved older brother.
Thor, who did not know of Loki's disgusting parentage. Or how close he'd come to wedding one of the very same monsters he went to such great lengths to destroy. Loki can imagine the look on his face, then, upon discovering Loki's secret, together in the bridal rooms picked for his chosen consort since the day of the Thunder God's birth.
Loki imagines the look on Thor's face and-
I wants to jump off this stupid bridge, he thinks, suddenly and with more clarity than he's felt since his cursed background came to light. He feels lucid for the first time in what seems like too long a time and he wants off. He wants to get off the whole universe all-together. He wants to turn back time and make it so he'd never learned of his shameful heritage. Before he learned he was no more than a war trophy for the mighty Odin to play politics with.
How easy it must have been, back then, for the great warrior to steal a babe for his own wicked designs. The plan must have come easily to him, bathing in the post-heat of battle, his enemies defeated at his feet, any treasure his for the taking. How pleased he must have been, how delighted, at the prospect of finally defeating his enemies once and for all, and all through a simple ceremony of sweet-scented lies and veiled deceit.
Loki has to concede, though. It had been a brilliant plan. They had all played their roles magnificently, the poor fools. Yes, even he. Even Loki, who thought himself so cunning and so wise. Loki, who in the end was nothing but a-
"-my Brother," begs Thor, dampness in his eyes, and the Trickster's bones cry in protest at his crushing grip. Brutish Thor, always so free with his hands and his strength. Always so careful around his little brother, once, back in the days when arrogance and war did not cloud his mind so. "You are my Brother, son of Odin the Wise, future queen consort of Thor the Great. Stop this foolishness at once, Brother, you are not in your right mind!"
It matters no longer, those foolish memories are that, memories, and the God of Mischief pays the sharp sting of them no mind.
Thor sucks in a sharp breath; Loki's sharp nails dig bloody crescents into the rough skin of his hand.
"I," murmurs Loki, low and secret, "am a stolen relic." Twitching, his lips curve into a vicious smile, sharp and dangerous. "And I am not yours to keep, Thor Odinson, much less to be had!"
Perhaps he had once willingly, blindly played the fool-but no more.
"Loki belongs to Loki, and no other!" he growls, trashing, Thor's grip unrelenting. "You do not own me, Brother, and I shall do as I please!"
No longer is he that foolish child, blind to everything and starving for touch. He knows better now.
Loki shall belong to the House of Odin no longer, and he will be a pawn of the AllFather's game nevermore.
Even Thor...
Narrowing his eyes, Loki feels that something inside of him (not his heart, not ever again) reshape and twist into something foul and ugly, black and colder than the ice in his veins.
It burns terribly, and Loki welcomes it, for it erases somewhat the crushing sting of betrayal. The horrible sense of loss tearing at his insides like sharpened knives.
Giant hands grip his shoulders tightly, and Loki lashes out instinctively. Thor grunts when wicked, black fingernails catch the soft skin under his eyes, but otherwise does not let go, and soon, Loki is bucking underneath him, pinned roughly under the golden God's hefty weight against the shattered remains of the Rainbow Bridge.
Landing a solid knee to the Thunderer's gut, Loki calls forth his magicks, enveloping himself in mist and shadow. He stumbles when Thor reaches for him, by a stroke of luck catching him around the ankle. Loki lands like a stone, the back of his head cracking loudly against the unforgiving bridge. His reservoirs are shaky at best, weak and fumbling, and the sudden loss of control over his spells lays him at a disadvantage against Thor's brutish strength.
"Off me, you oaf!" snarls Loki, and before he has time to call forth his wretched heritage and burn the other with unforgiving ice (-and he would kill him, in this moment, if Thor pushed him, Loki would he would he could-), the air leaves his lungs like a sudden punch to the throat.
He hacks blood, rich ruby spurting from his lips like red wine. The rest of his life-blood burns in his veins, scorching him from within, and for an infinite second, Loki can only writhe in absolute agony.
Then, just as abruptly, the pain is gone.
"Enough!"
Loki coughs, having screamed himself hoarse without realizing it. Above him, Thor's nostrils flare harshly, his ethereal face a visage of Godly fury. He breathes deeply through his nose, burning almost black bruises on Loki's thin wrists. He does not let go, crushing the thin body beneath him with unrelenting strength.
"Enough," repeats Odin, his face recalling the storms and lightening his son is famous for. "I will have no more fights. I forbid it."
"You wretch," hisses Loki, voice hoarse. He spits blood on the Thunder God's face. The older God remains unflinching but for a tightening of his generous mouth.
Around them, the sharp smell of ozone heightens with a tang of electricity.
"What have you done to me? My-"
"Your magick is bound, as it will remain so until I deem fit." There is something weary on the King God's scarred face. "As shall you, my son."
Loki throws his head back and laughs. "You truly think chains will bind me, you old fool?" After what I owe you for all these past centuries? Fool, Loki thinks again, disgusted. "You must hold me in very low regards if you believe such flimsy bondage will keep me." Grinning, snake-quick, he turns mocking eyes on the King. "Then again, we both know what you truly think of me, do we not, Father?"
Odin's body goes rigid. His lone eye frosts. His mouth thins. Unmistakably, his gaze drifts to Thor, quick, and back. "Enough," he growls softly. "Enough, Loki, it is over."
He laughs, body limp under the man he once called brother. "No, I think not. Not until you lay dead by my hand, I believe. It is the least you owe me, Father."
Obviously reaching his limit, confusion mixing with the storms in his eyes, Thor shakes Loki roughly by the shoulders. "Brother, do not speak to Father as such-"
"Do we have manners now?" he snaps, whip-quick and sharp, acid-green venom in his eyes. Anger burns in his ribcage like boiling lava, so hot he can just bear it. "Did your human pet teach you to fetch as well?"
"Brother-"
"Silence!"
Her name on his tongue is like cinders. To his everlasting shame, Loki feels a sharp sting in the corner of his eyes. Growling low in his throat, he turns the other cheek and glares hotly at the expanding galaxies. He swallows thickly, shards of glass down his throat. "Call me not by that name, My Lord Thor, for you bring shame on the Odin House by speaking it."
How many centuries wasted, all for naught, in his efforts to teach Thor a semblance of humility? Too many to recall.
And yet a mortal female, a sack of bones and dirt-
Thor pulls back, brow furrowed. His mouth pinches, as it tends to do before the wake of his famous temper. "I do not know why you speak like this, Brother, but know that this time, I will not plead your case with Father." His grip tightens punishingly. Loki's hiss of pain whistles past his teeth. "What you have done will not be easily forgiven, thus Father's punishment is just, and you must abide by it until he sees fit."
Loki's mouth curls in disdain. "I need no forgiveness. Throw me in the darkest dungeon, I feel I will find my cell-mates much more pleasing than present company."
Thor's face softens, his hands turning gentle. Against Loki's hissing protests, he presses a chaste kiss to the younger God's forehead. "You may not have my complete forgiveness, Brother, but you will always have my love. You should not have done what you did, but you have, and for that you will bear your punishment. Until then, our ceremony will-"
"Ah, yes, but of course!" Loki spits, furious. "Please do invite everyone, for it is to be my big day. I will dress myself in white, as tradition calls." He grins, teeth bloodied and lips lewd. "What say you, Brother dearest, will you mount your Jötunn whore for all of Asgard to see-"
Thor's eyes widen in naked shock, and Loki is pulled hard and fast to his feet, his wrists encased in heavy gold even as he revels in it. The shackles further sap his strength and he feels himself go drowsy. If not for the armored soldiers at his sides supporting him, he would not be standing. They handle him roughly, though efficiently. Blinking hard in an effort to remain awake, Loki half considers turning them to ice. The cursed gold may help keep his magick buried deep beneath his reach, but he is much more than Aesir and spells.
The guards force him to turn, facing Odin, and in his face Loki reads all he needs to see.
His grin curves even wider.
"Tell you brave son what you stole from Jötunheimr, my King, and see if he is so quick to wed a monster then."
He falls to darkness before he can hear the AllFather's response, if he even had one, but it does not matter.
All is broken and far beyond repair.
drink to me, babe, then (bury me in gold).
.
Once upon a time...
.
.
"I do not understand, Mother, why can I not study swordsmanship?"
Scented water pools at his feet, his skin pink and warm from the bath. A young girl, one of the many standing at the side, steps forth to wrap a lush robe around his shoulders. A second one follows her, eyes lowered as she catches the water droplets licking his limbs.
She is dismissed by a quick flick of royal fingers, Frigga taking her place. Grudgingly, he takes a seat next to his mother in the vanity table. His feet do not quite reach the floor, though his growth spurt is not far behind him. Lips pinched together, the second Prince of Asgard huffs while the servant girls ready his clothes, familiar hands toweling his hair dry. Drumming slim fingers against the gleaming table, he glares hotly at the elaborate mirror in front of him.
Loki's reflection stares back at him, his expression sullen and not without a hint of confusion.
To his left, Frigga smiles warmly. Because his hair tends to curl if left alone, a trait she knows her son dislikes, she reaches for a familiar jar of green color. Carding her fingers through his damp hair with a tenderness all her own, she pins jewels to match his eyes in the inky blackness. "My dear Son, do not begrudge your Father this decision. He is a wise and knowledgeable King. Trust that he has chosen only what is best for you."
The reflection in the mirror speaks of hurt.
"The day I grow from boy to man is only moons away," murmurs Loki. Frigga's hands still. "Yet Father wishes for me to take up the arcane arts," he spits, green eyes flaring. "Is this punishment? It must be, else I do not know why else the All-Father would have me choose so humiliating a path," he finishes miserably, shoulders dropping.
Slender arms drape across his stomach, pulling him tight against his mother's bosom. A kiss finds its way home on his cheek.
"Dear Son of mine. You have a gift for the unknown, waste not your blessings in sword and battle." Her reflection in the mirror smiles gently even as Loki scowls. "Father knows this. His wish is only that you grow into your talents."
Misery gives way to the first tendrils of anger. Pulling himself free from the Queen Mother, he scoffs, "You say that, yet will I not be the only boy in sorcery school?"
To his horror, Loki feels a hot dampness in his eyes. He swallows thickly, an ugly knot in his throat.
Mother does not reach for him. "You are a Prince of Asgard, Loki, there is no shame in what you are."
Loki's voice trembles, real anger bubbling to the surface, "Father will send me to learn a woman's art, to fight with trickery and deceit as no man would ever do, and soon all the realms will know the second son of Odin as arg-"
Frigga's eyes flash dangerously. "Loki."
Loki bites his tongue, turning his back to the Queen. He draws his arms around himself, shoulders tight. "Brother was my age when he picked up arms." His hands clench into tight fists. "Father was most proud," he continues, voice bitter, "yet when I come to him to ask permission to commence my training, as is my right as a son of Asgard, he dismisses my wishes with so little concern and instead dares to suggest I would be better suited for witchery!"
He feels like screaming, and in a fit of anger, rips the emeralds from his hair and swings them against the mirror. Frigga does not flinch back from the cascade of glittering shards.
"It is most unfair, Mother!" cries Loki, face drawn in anger. The pain and misery are not far behind. "How is it that while I must remain here and learn tricks and parlors, Brother is free to roam the realms however he pleases? Have I not earned the right to prove that I, too, am my Father's son?"
He heaves a shuddering breath, lips drawn back in an ugly snarl. "Or is it that because he is to be King, and I his lowly consort, that Father-" Loki swallows, and the tears come freely now, fast and warm down his flushed cheeks.
Gritting his teeth, he swallows his words, knowing how close to treason he is.
It doesn't sting any less.
"Oh, my little one." Frigga wipes the tears from his cheeks with soothing thumbs. "Did Father not yet speak to you of your future, as I am sure he did not so many moons ago?" She does not permit him the chance to reply. Drawing him close, Frigga rubs soothing circles on his shoulder-blades. "One day, you will stand by Thor as I do your Father. You will be his closest ally, his most trusted council. It is your capable hands the All-Father will trust with the future King of Asgard. Show me, for I do not see as you do, how such an honor is in any way deserving of shame."
The tears fall thicker, much to Loki's disgust.
"I meant no insult to you, Mother," he answers honestly. A small flicker of embarrassments heats his face. "You are Reigning Queen and Generous Mother, and I cannot fathom any woman more deserving of such titles than thee. Father is blessed to have you in his House, as is Asgard, your son Loki included." Even so, Loki cannot help but think.
Even so, Loki does not, and has never, envied his mother her place at Odin's side.
"Is it such a horrible fate, to be tied to your Brother?" she asks gently, and Loki cannot be sure, but there is something akin to sadness in the Goddess' eyes. Her arms tighten around him. Her breath warm on his cheek, sweet and not unlike spring. "Thor loves you dearly, Loki. Your brother would go to such lengths for you, if you simply asked."
Brow furrowing delicately, Frigga worries her bottom lip between white teeth. "It was not so long ago when you proclaimed the same. Has your heart had a change of mind, Son of mine?"
Not so long ago, Loki can't help but think darkly, Thor was not too high and mighty to share rooms with him, to explore and brave the forests with him. But things had changed ever since Thor first picked up a sword. When in the beginning there had been Thor and Loki, not there is Thor and his friends, young warriors his age to fight and grow alongside with. Loki could no longer recall the last time he and his brother had shared more than a passing conversation.
But Mother does, of course, not know this.
Besides, Loki has always loved Thor, even when he hates him.
He sighs, his tense body going soft in Frigga's embrace. He cannot bear to make Mother sad, unintentionally or not.
"Thor is a brutish troll," he says at last. Mother laughs, her eyes twinkling. Loki clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, his nose furrowing in disgust. "Mother, he never bathes. He chews and speaks in the same breath, it ruins my dinner every night. I cannot bear it."
Laughing freely, the Queen stands, a signal of her dismissal. "Your brother is your Father's son, Loki. There was a time when I, too, once found him to be a child. Give him time, soon Thor will grow into a man worthy of your hand."
Though he wishes he could look forward to that day, Loki has never dreaded Thor's coronation more than he does now, when he knows the matching golden chains that will fit his wrists as perfectly as Thor will his crown.
-
-
-
In the end, as he knew he would, Loki is right to think things would change for the worst when he picks up magick.
He cannot help but begrudge the All-Father. Regardless, Odin is King, and he his son. If it is what he wishes, Loki will do it, if only to see the spark of affection in his lone eye, to win a smile of approval, no matter how fleeting or small. It shames him, a times, how easy he is to do as Odin bids. Yet he finds himself deep in his studies at all times and hours of the day, urging his talents to grow faster. It is not long before he surpasses the sorceresses in training at school, fanning the flames of their hatred for him. Their dislike bothers him more than it should, and it's not long before he finds himself using his studies to play mean tricks on them.
They never catch him at it, but everyone knows it is his doing. This pleases him, for he finds he is good at something, even if that something is a cause for shame and disgust.
Loki wishes, deep in his heart, that there was a way for him to learn other arts.
"What are you doing here?"
His words come out a touch angry. It is unlike him to lose control of his emotions so easily, but this tree happens to be his place of recluse, a way for him to hide from everybody else, yet is it currently inhabited by another being. This displeases him.
Dark eyes return his glare aplenty.
Despite the number of bruises on her otherwise fair face, the Lady Sif cannot be mistaken for anyone but herself.
"I should ask you the same question," she replies easily, though Loki's sharp eyes catch her favoring her left side. "It is late, and all know it is forbidden for the second son of King Odin to wander alone at night."
Looking his nose down at her, Loki pays her warning no heed.
Ignoring her completely, he spells a book into his hand, leans back against the imposing tree trunk, and sits down to read.
This works for all of several minutes before Loki finds himself rolling his eyes at her feeble attempts to hide her injuries. He wonders if all warriors are as thick, thinks briefly of his brother and his friends, and comes to a solid conclusion.
Loki peers at her from behind the cover of his book, cataloging her wounds. She is in no danger of losing her life, but they are serious in their own. Is it her pride, he ponders, that keeps her from seeking the healers' assistance? All of Asgard knows of Lady Sif and her plight.
Loki knows her because she, like him, is somewhere she does not belong.
The difference is that she, unlike him, choose her path willingly.
Nevertheless, it is as easy for her as it is for him. Sometimes Loki thinks he has it better. At least he never walks out of a challenge match in pieces.
Snapping the book shut, he dusts the creases from his robes and scoffs at the young female warrior when she stiffens.
"Oh please." Eying the patch of dirt she's sitting on with distaste, he grudgingly sits down next to her. "If I wanted to further embarrass you I'd do a better job by leaving you to your own pathetic devices. Give me your arm," he adds, because he can see that aside from her right leg, her left arm took the brunt of her training.
Her shield arm, he thinks briefly to himself. The thought is followed by the familiar bubble of jealousy he feels whenever he looks at her.
What he would give to trade places with her. Loki looks at her and sees the life he would have chosen for himself, and he can't help but hate her.
He doesn't regret for one second her once beautiful golden hair.
Several long minutes pass before Sif relinquishes her arm to him, though looking as happy at doing so as Loki feels at the prospect of one day wedding his brute of a sibling.
They are not friends. Loki holds no foolish romantic notions over her, and neither does she towards him, but they find they can tolerate each other at times, away from everybody else.
Green sparks lick at the purple-blue skin marring otherwise flawless pale skin, vanishing them from sight. Healing magick has never been a subject he's been too interested in, but what he does know is more than enough for this.
"Brother is weaker on his left side." Sif's dark eyes snap up to his face. Loki doesn't look at her. "He's blind to it, the fool, but when all of his opponents attack him directly, it's hardly a weak point, is it not?"
He leaves before she can conjure up a proper response.
The look of surprise on her face is answer enough for him.
The next day, peering down at the training grounds from his balcony, he chuckles when Thor blinks up stupidly at her from the ground.
The beautiful set of daggers he finds in his room are also quite lovely.
It takes every ounce of self-control Loki has not to kick his brother out of his chambers.
-
-
-
Loki does not have the energy to deal with his brother right now. He is tired, and his body aches from time to time for no apparent reasons. He finds himself hot, then cold, then hot again, his temperament changing with little urging.
He has hit his last growth spurt, and it has left him alienated in his own skin. He finds himself sleeping more, his appetite increased-it is all very disconcerting. Loki cannot find any explanation for his condition in any book and has given up questioning Odin. If this is part of being an Asgardian son, he cannot find any comparisons.
The worst part is the empty, hungry ache of his body. It, too, changes like the tides, yearning for the firmness of his brother one second, and a strong repugnance the next.
It was not so long ago that he first found himself on his brother's bed, warm furs sticky against his equally heated skin. It had started innocently enough, as they both knew one day they must lay together as more than simple brothers bound by blood, and it had progressed into heated kisses and a ruined set of sheets. It had been easy, ever since, to lose themselves in this new and exciting way of communicating without words.
The gifts had begun showing up since then, too, but Loki pays them little attention when in comparison to the warmth of his brother's body. It is truly marvelous, having Thor at his side, silent but for the words that are spoken in passion, free and without the boundaries that separate them outside their bedrooms.
Loki finds his brother easier to love this way, through matters of the flesh, when there is nothing to remind him why he often wishes to rip Thor's heart out and swallow it whole.
Regardless, the fact remains that any other day he would gladly welcome Thor into his bed-but not when his emotions are bleeding freely all over the place.
Indulging his brother's whims is not at the top of his priorities tonight.
As is, he barely reigns in his magick at the last second when he is startled awake by his brute of a sibling sliding under the covers next to him.
"Thor," hisses Loki, torn between ignoring the Thunderer and turning his body inside out, "what in Hel's name are you doing?"
Thankfully, his body and mind seem to agree that for once, his brother needs to die. Preferably in a very bloody and miserably manner.
Pressed tight against the younger God's back, Thor's chest shakes with laughter. His mouth is wet on the crook of Loki's shoulder. "No words, fair one, simply feel."
The stench of mead hits the Trickster with the force of the Lady Sif's legendary fist.
Loki wrinkles his nose in distaste and pushes Thor's prickly face away. "Eugh. Brother, you reek."
Thor's ridiculous arms squeeze the air out of his lungs. Loki gasps.
"The migh'y Thor said silence, you wicked wench," he rumbles drunkenly, huge paws pulling at the younger Prince's sleepwear. "Now, stop this trashing of yours."
Loki begins to struggle in earnest when Thor's wet mouth begins to trail sloppy kisses down his throat.
"Brother," he punctuates threateningly, his voice promising discord, "if you do not wish to live the rest of your long life as a lowly amphibian, you will unhand me this instant."
The bumbling oaf must have sneaked into his rooms by accident, thinking him one of his numerous female admirers. He had undoubtedly ended up drinking too much at the tavern, as per tradition for Thor and his merry band of idiots after another of their little adventures.
Much to Loki's eternal frustration, tonight is only one of many nights like this.
He makes a noise of disgust when Thor's lips find his in the darkness, thick clumsy fingers gripping his jaw with a pathetic amount of finesse. His mouth remains stubbornly closed against the Thunder God's proving tongue and overeager lips. Clearly he had learned nothing from Sif, if rumors are to be believed.
(- "Hung like a war horse, the court ladies say?" Catching the knife in a twirl of his wrist, the blade disappears with the next flick of his hand.
Sif is ruthless, as is her aim. The expression of deep concentration on her face does not falter. "A Lady does not gossip."
Loki cocks an eyebrow, mercilessly flinging the knives back at her in rapid succession. He grins, "Clearly, I am no lady, but what if I were to say my jaw ached for several days after?"
Her lips twitch. "Then let us simply say I refrained from training for the next following morns'." -)
Despite himself, Loki rolls his eyes. He slaps his brother across the face, moderately of course. "Enough, you brute."
Confused as to why Loki refuses to grant him entrance to his mouth, Thor blinks slowly, then squints at the darkness. A flicker of soberness shines in his eyes, and he slurs, "Brother?"
Lips drawn back in disgust, Loki wipes the slobber from his mouth on the end of Thor's crimson cape. "I rue the day the Gods cursed me with a troll for a brother."
Groaning, Thor rolls onto his back. He blinks dazedly up at the ceiling. "m' I?"
He makes an effort to sit up, fails spectacularly, grunts, and falls limply back on the bed again.
It is quite a pathetic sight.
With a sigh of endless suffering, Loki snaps his fingers and conjures up a touch of light. With that out of the way, he sets to freeing his brother of his armor.
Thor stares at him with heavily lidded eyes as Loki makes short work of his boots. "N'brought you a gift."
Holding his breath, Loki chucks the smelly boots over his shoulder. "Did you, now?"
"Aye," says Thor. He kicks off his trousers down to his knees, after which Loki yanks them off completely. Covered in a truly foul smelling substance Loki in no way wishes to inquire, they join Thor's discarded boots. The tunic follows next. "Is' a, a...that one thing you use a lot. For that purpose."
He brushes the tips of his fingers against the angry red line running down the older God's left pectoral. His fingers come back sticky with blood. "I use many things for many different purposes, Brother."
"Hmm. Tis' true." Thor smiles dumbly, too drunk to object against the green sparks that kiss his golden skin before flickering away. "I hope the book is to your pleasure, as I know you have a strange fondness for the dusty trinkets.
"Why you would have them instead of jewels and gold-well, if it is what Brother wants, I will gladly brave the realms for whatever picks your fancy."
Loki stills, his face freezing.
He shakes his head, wiping his mind clean of dangerous thoughts. Twas foolish to look too deeply into the Thunderer's gestures. His dear brother is simple and empty-minded; Thor's actions rarely have any second meanings but the obvious.
"I thank thee, Brother, for your most kind gesture."
It is just one of many gifts, and nothing more. A new addition to the useless trunks of junk collecting dust in his room.
"I will make sure to let you known how it fares against my critique, as I am sure to find something wrong with it, given that it was hand-chosen by my dear older brother."
He brushes his hand across the other's cheek, against his prickly beard and smiling lips. Thor's eyes fall shut, and he pushes insistently against Loki's hand. He's expecting it, so he's not at all surprised when the Thunderer drops his fat golden head on his lap, naked and stinking of booze.
"My men challenged me to a contest," is ultimately his excuse.
Of course.
"I won, as is my right."
The testosterone in the room is positively stifling. "Given the numerous alpha male contests you love to entertain, I'm surprised you ever get anything done."
Thor scoffs, scratching his chest., "M'am plenty man. Am I not?"
Loki stares, unimpressed, as Thor cocks his hips and proudly gestures to the manhood that, ever since the Thunderer came of certain age, has been a favorite topic of discussing among the court-and deadpans, "I see."
Thor grins. "Yes, it is quite the mouthful I am told."
Carding his fingers through his brother's golden locks, Loki grips the tresses a touch tighter than necessary. His voice drips with sarcasm, "I am positively speechless."
Thor's chest rumbles with his laughter, deep and rambunctious. He smiles gently, his face softening.
"Loki."
Loki's body stiffens instinctively.
He fists the bedsheets in a death-grip.
Clumsy fingers find their way to Loki's face, stroking absently. "I am not sorry to keep you from your sleep, Brother."
Though his words remain slightly slurred, there is a sudden awareness in the electric blue eyes that speak of dark desires.
The fingers cradle Loki's check, fragile against the thickness of Thor's hand. "Nor will I regret bearing Father's punishment in the morn,' when he finds me between your sheets yet again."
Closing his eyes, Loki takes a deep breath.
Now would be a great time for his body to decide it wants Thor too, rather than find the act of coupling with him as appealing as drinking poison.
Thor's thumb trails over his lips, his breath growing heavier. "It is most worth it."
Opening his eyes, he gifts his older brother with a smile full of wicked designs. "Pretty words will get you everywhere, Brother dearest."
Parting his lips, the younger Prince sucks the thumb into his mouth.
Thor's breath hitches, pupils dilating. "You are wearing far too many layers, Brother."
Shaking his head, he pulls back, licking his lips. "Patience."
Shifting, he moves to cradle the Crown Prince's waist with his thighs. Rolling his hips, he grins at the hiss this elicits from the other.
Thor's smile is pained. "You are a cruel, wicked thing."
Raising his arms above his head, he makes a show of disrobing. He could simply magick his clothes off, but his brother has never been a fan of that option.
Thor swallows thickly once he is completely nude, his hands reaching to cradle Loki's hips. Loki lets him, offering no protest when one of those hands dips lower to the curve of his ass. A muscle on his jaw twitches, though, when the probing fingers delve further.
Catching the wandering hands, he pushes them back against the bed. At Thor's questioning look, he smiles mischievously. "Fret not, for this Loki will take good care of you soon enough."
Thor is always easier to please when inebriated. Loki will simply bear his demands for tonight and kick him out of his rooms before the sun has a chance to rise. Though Frigga had seemed amused the small handful of times they'd been caught in bed together, Odin All-Father did not share his Queen's humor. He had expressed himself firmly on the subject, and had reminded Thor that if he could not wait until their ceremony, he was to take his pleasure from another's bed until then.
He licks his way down his brother's golden body, wondering, as he sometimes does at times like these, what it would feel like to have someone other than his sibling under him. If the person would taste different, if they would react as Thor does, with impatient thrusts of his hips, big hands pulling at Loki's hair.
Unlike Thor, he does not have the freedom to explore these desires.
If his touches grow rougher, nails pinching sharply at supple skin, Thor does not complain.
When he finally draws his brother's cock into his mouth, the Thunderer's right hand twitches violently. Loki pays him no mind, nibbling down the thick length and back up again to mouth wetly at the red cockhead. His fingers soon grow slick with Thor's precome, which he uses to stroke around what he can't fit, thumb teasing at the stretch of foreskin.
Pulling his mouth free with a wet smack, he licks a stripe down his palm, wraps his fingers around the base, and jacks his fist up and down roughly, gripping tight, tight enough to make Thor feel it.
Voice incredibly hoarse, Thor's hand tightens in his hair. "Ngh. Brother, you-"
Knowing his brother's ability to form big words-low in its own outside of the bedroom-drops by half in the throngs of passion, he dives back down again, not quite as deep as he would like, but his brother is a big man, and so he makes due. He can feel Thor's thighs tremble, the hitching of his breath, and knows these are sure signs of his close relief.
"Brother, wait-"
He finds himself on his back, flushed and panting and unaroused. Thor either does not care or does not notice. The Trickster would be willing to bet on the latter, aware of how lost his brother can get in their coupling.
Scrambling, Loki pulls himself up on his elbows. He pushes against the other's broad chest with his foot, keeping the Thunder God at a safe distance. "Wait-"
Brushing his leg aside, Thor catches his heel and presses a kiss to it. He takes hold of one of Loki's ankles in each hand, easing his massive body between the cradle of his thighs. Sweat dips down his brow, past bronzed muscles, his blonde mane cascading down his shoulders. The gold tresses tickle Loki's nose when he leans down to smash their mouths together in a hungry kiss.
Loki kisses him back with teeth and tongue, trailing after the thick, heady taste of storms and lighting that can be found in his brother's mouth.
Thor kisses like he fights, and each kiss feels like a battlefield.
Loki has always enjoyed their kisses.
Thor kisses his way past Loki's throat, down to his chest, the pale skin blooming an irritated red from his beard. At the same time, he thrusts insistently against Loki's warm thigh with his dripping cock.
Loki chuckles despite being short of breath, wickedly amused, knowing Thor can't and won't, because for all they've done together, this has never been one of them.
"You can't, Brother," he huffs, pushing teasingly, cruelly, against the other, "otherwise Father really will strip your back this time."
With a frustrated growl, Thor pulls him down until Loki is close to sitting on his lap, holds his legs together by the knees with one hand, and guides his cock with the other into the warm, tight grip of Loki's thighs.
It's a bit dry without any slick, but Thor doesn't seem to mind, rutting like a beast against the soft place he's made for himself. His muscles bunch together, tensing, and Loki buries his hands in his brother's hair and brings their faces close again, teeth stuttering on spit-slicked lips, tongues dancing together.
Together, like this, so close he can no longer tell where one begins and the other ends, Loki finds he can love Thor without hating him.
It's a frightening feeling.
Afterwards, when the hot mess slicking Loki's thighs has cooled down and Thor is no longer crushing him with his weight, Loki looks at his brother, asleep as he is, and tries to recall if there was ever a time when love existed without hate.
Carding his fingers through soft long blond hair, Loki peers closely at him. He takes in the strong line of his jaw, the generous mouth, the gold of his eyelashes. He takes this all in and compares it to his earliest memory of dancing blue eyes and a cub-like charm.
If there was, he sure doesn't remember.
Either way, it doesn't matter.
One day, Thor will take away his freedom, and that is enough to make Loki hate him.
One day, Thor will belong to him as surely as Loki belongs to him, has always belonged to him from the day of his birth, and that is enough to make Loki love him.
Everything else fits somewhere in between.
Part two
pairing: thor/loki
warnings: incest (not-pseudo), semi-au world, future mpreg, arranged/forced-marriage, dub-con, manipulative!dark!loki, stupid-in-love!manipulated!thor, odin's tries-to-be-a-good-dad-but-fails parenting, bamf!frigga.
summary: With Thor as king, Loki will be the closest to the throne.
A fill for this prompt at the norsekink meme.
"-no, Loki."
It feels like something inside him has been ripped to pieces (he refuses to think the word heart), and everything in Loki feels like it's being squeezed tight. His head, his lungs, his throat, his ribcage. It's all in iron bands.
Loki can't breathe.
The All-Father's gaze locks with his and Loki sees nothing but what can only be pity and disappointment. He thinks-almost passively and without feeling, for he can no longer spare another drop of emotion, not now, not after everything-that after so many years he should be used to being the source of Odin's dissatisfaction. Nothing he ever did was up to par with Odin's expectations for his younger offspring-not his son not his-, even when Loki did everything to please him. All his life choices made for him-for Thor, always, everything for Thor, and funny how for once, the oaf wasn't the root of the problem-, his future stolen from him, and he, blind to it all until now like a hapless fool, had lapped at the scraps of affection from the great All-Father's hand like a trained dog.
How all of Asgard must have laughed behind his back this entire time! The whole Nine Realms no doubt mocked him this very moment. Foolish, weak Loki Laufeyson, so brittle and so small, tamed wolf without fangs, broken by the hands of his betters.
His entire life, a mockery, a sham. All his efforts and all his plights, the humiliation lessons and painful, bitter acceptance of a life he never would have chosen for himself, but could have, given the time, learned to love (learned to love him, fully and wholly, because even with all his faults, his overbearing arrogance and childish selfishness, he was Loki's one and only brother-).
Lies, all of it lies. Even the Liesmith himself, with all his wicked tricks, with his talented silver tongue, known far and wide for his penchant for mischief and at times cruel deceit, could not in his wildest dreams birth something so monstrous.
Never had Loki known Odin to be this purposely cruel.
Yet, why not? Is Loki not who he is? Would anyone blame the All-Father, when in truth, he is within his rights to treat his war hostage however he pleases? Because for all the years, for all the memories, is that not what Loki is?
Hateful Loki.
Liar Loki.
Deceitful Loki.
Unwanted son and unworthy heir, shoved aside from the very beginning for Odin's golden boy.
Now it makes sense, Loki sees, rage burning obsidian in his chest, why he was given the role Odin bestowed on him all those years ago in a once warm-now-turned-black memory. Oh, how blind Loki had been, to think it an honor then, how stupidly blind!
His hateful blood tastes bitterly poisonous in his mouth when Loki swallows.
For all the times he claimed to love him, Odin would never see a monster on the throne of Asgard.
A toy for the future King, on the other hand?
"A thousand Ragnaröks on your cursed House, Odin son of Borr," curses Loki, mouth drawn in a vicious sneer. "May you and all your wretched line burn asunder!"
It's as fleeting as a harlot's smile, but the shudder of something that runs down the old warrior's body is unmistakable, and a feeling not unlike satisfaction curls low in Loki's belly.
"Loki," is the almost-whisper the All-Father lets loose, his eye softening and- no. No. No.
He feels the grip on Gungnir go slack, fingers loosening their hold almost subconsciously.
Immediately, large, brutish fingers close around his wrist. Loki feels the bones grind together painfully.
"Brother, please, Brother-" There is a wild, desperate look in Thor's eyes, golden hair in disarray. The electric blue is almost completely obscured by the dark of his pupils. He looks almost as worn and weary as the man who spawned him, and the purple-blue bruises adorning his face have not yet finished blossoming. "Do not do this, I beg of you, Brother, think-"
Loki cannot recall ever hearing the Thunderer beg before.
"-it is not worth your life, Brother, please listen to me!"
Something wet hits Loki's face, realization dawning on him like the Midgardian sun, and Loki feels his chest constrict something awful.
Thor, beautiful, glorious and foolish Thor-of course he does not know! Would he be here, if he knew otherwise, if he held even a speck of the truth their father (not yours never yours) had gone to such lengths to keep hidden?
No, of course not. Not Thor, Asgard's greatest and mightiest. Not Thor, noble and honorable Thor, slayer of monsters! Thor, destroyer of evil. Thor, crown prince and future king of Asgard. Thor, Loki's beloved older brother.
Thor, who did not know of Loki's disgusting parentage. Or how close he'd come to wedding one of the very same monsters he went to such great lengths to destroy. Loki can imagine the look on his face, then, upon discovering Loki's secret, together in the bridal rooms picked for his chosen consort since the day of the Thunder God's birth.
Loki imagines the look on Thor's face and-
I wants to jump off this stupid bridge, he thinks, suddenly and with more clarity than he's felt since his cursed background came to light. He feels lucid for the first time in what seems like too long a time and he wants off. He wants to get off the whole universe all-together. He wants to turn back time and make it so he'd never learned of his shameful heritage. Before he learned he was no more than a war trophy for the mighty Odin to play politics with.
How easy it must have been, back then, for the great warrior to steal a babe for his own wicked designs. The plan must have come easily to him, bathing in the post-heat of battle, his enemies defeated at his feet, any treasure his for the taking. How pleased he must have been, how delighted, at the prospect of finally defeating his enemies once and for all, and all through a simple ceremony of sweet-scented lies and veiled deceit.
Loki has to concede, though. It had been a brilliant plan. They had all played their roles magnificently, the poor fools. Yes, even he. Even Loki, who thought himself so cunning and so wise. Loki, who in the end was nothing but a-
"-my Brother," begs Thor, dampness in his eyes, and the Trickster's bones cry in protest at his crushing grip. Brutish Thor, always so free with his hands and his strength. Always so careful around his little brother, once, back in the days when arrogance and war did not cloud his mind so. "You are my Brother, son of Odin the Wise, future queen consort of Thor the Great. Stop this foolishness at once, Brother, you are not in your right mind!"
It matters no longer, those foolish memories are that, memories, and the God of Mischief pays the sharp sting of them no mind.
Thor sucks in a sharp breath; Loki's sharp nails dig bloody crescents into the rough skin of his hand.
"I," murmurs Loki, low and secret, "am a stolen relic." Twitching, his lips curve into a vicious smile, sharp and dangerous. "And I am not yours to keep, Thor Odinson, much less to be had!"
Perhaps he had once willingly, blindly played the fool-but no more.
"Loki belongs to Loki, and no other!" he growls, trashing, Thor's grip unrelenting. "You do not own me, Brother, and I shall do as I please!"
No longer is he that foolish child, blind to everything and starving for touch. He knows better now.
Loki shall belong to the House of Odin no longer, and he will be a pawn of the AllFather's game nevermore.
Even Thor...
Narrowing his eyes, Loki feels that something inside of him (not his heart, not ever again) reshape and twist into something foul and ugly, black and colder than the ice in his veins.
It burns terribly, and Loki welcomes it, for it erases somewhat the crushing sting of betrayal. The horrible sense of loss tearing at his insides like sharpened knives.
Giant hands grip his shoulders tightly, and Loki lashes out instinctively. Thor grunts when wicked, black fingernails catch the soft skin under his eyes, but otherwise does not let go, and soon, Loki is bucking underneath him, pinned roughly under the golden God's hefty weight against the shattered remains of the Rainbow Bridge.
Landing a solid knee to the Thunderer's gut, Loki calls forth his magicks, enveloping himself in mist and shadow. He stumbles when Thor reaches for him, by a stroke of luck catching him around the ankle. Loki lands like a stone, the back of his head cracking loudly against the unforgiving bridge. His reservoirs are shaky at best, weak and fumbling, and the sudden loss of control over his spells lays him at a disadvantage against Thor's brutish strength.
"Off me, you oaf!" snarls Loki, and before he has time to call forth his wretched heritage and burn the other with unforgiving ice (-and he would kill him, in this moment, if Thor pushed him, Loki would he would he could-), the air leaves his lungs like a sudden punch to the throat.
He hacks blood, rich ruby spurting from his lips like red wine. The rest of his life-blood burns in his veins, scorching him from within, and for an infinite second, Loki can only writhe in absolute agony.
Then, just as abruptly, the pain is gone.
"Enough!"
Loki coughs, having screamed himself hoarse without realizing it. Above him, Thor's nostrils flare harshly, his ethereal face a visage of Godly fury. He breathes deeply through his nose, burning almost black bruises on Loki's thin wrists. He does not let go, crushing the thin body beneath him with unrelenting strength.
"Enough," repeats Odin, his face recalling the storms and lightening his son is famous for. "I will have no more fights. I forbid it."
"You wretch," hisses Loki, voice hoarse. He spits blood on the Thunder God's face. The older God remains unflinching but for a tightening of his generous mouth.
Around them, the sharp smell of ozone heightens with a tang of electricity.
"What have you done to me? My-"
"Your magick is bound, as it will remain so until I deem fit." There is something weary on the King God's scarred face. "As shall you, my son."
Loki throws his head back and laughs. "You truly think chains will bind me, you old fool?" After what I owe you for all these past centuries? Fool, Loki thinks again, disgusted. "You must hold me in very low regards if you believe such flimsy bondage will keep me." Grinning, snake-quick, he turns mocking eyes on the King. "Then again, we both know what you truly think of me, do we not, Father?"
Odin's body goes rigid. His lone eye frosts. His mouth thins. Unmistakably, his gaze drifts to Thor, quick, and back. "Enough," he growls softly. "Enough, Loki, it is over."
He laughs, body limp under the man he once called brother. "No, I think not. Not until you lay dead by my hand, I believe. It is the least you owe me, Father."
Obviously reaching his limit, confusion mixing with the storms in his eyes, Thor shakes Loki roughly by the shoulders. "Brother, do not speak to Father as such-"
"Do we have manners now?" he snaps, whip-quick and sharp, acid-green venom in his eyes. Anger burns in his ribcage like boiling lava, so hot he can just bear it. "Did your human pet teach you to fetch as well?"
"Brother-"
"Silence!"
Her name on his tongue is like cinders. To his everlasting shame, Loki feels a sharp sting in the corner of his eyes. Growling low in his throat, he turns the other cheek and glares hotly at the expanding galaxies. He swallows thickly, shards of glass down his throat. "Call me not by that name, My Lord Thor, for you bring shame on the Odin House by speaking it."
How many centuries wasted, all for naught, in his efforts to teach Thor a semblance of humility? Too many to recall.
And yet a mortal female, a sack of bones and dirt-
Thor pulls back, brow furrowed. His mouth pinches, as it tends to do before the wake of his famous temper. "I do not know why you speak like this, Brother, but know that this time, I will not plead your case with Father." His grip tightens punishingly. Loki's hiss of pain whistles past his teeth. "What you have done will not be easily forgiven, thus Father's punishment is just, and you must abide by it until he sees fit."
Loki's mouth curls in disdain. "I need no forgiveness. Throw me in the darkest dungeon, I feel I will find my cell-mates much more pleasing than present company."
Thor's face softens, his hands turning gentle. Against Loki's hissing protests, he presses a chaste kiss to the younger God's forehead. "You may not have my complete forgiveness, Brother, but you will always have my love. You should not have done what you did, but you have, and for that you will bear your punishment. Until then, our ceremony will-"
"Ah, yes, but of course!" Loki spits, furious. "Please do invite everyone, for it is to be my big day. I will dress myself in white, as tradition calls." He grins, teeth bloodied and lips lewd. "What say you, Brother dearest, will you mount your Jötunn whore for all of Asgard to see-"
Thor's eyes widen in naked shock, and Loki is pulled hard and fast to his feet, his wrists encased in heavy gold even as he revels in it. The shackles further sap his strength and he feels himself go drowsy. If not for the armored soldiers at his sides supporting him, he would not be standing. They handle him roughly, though efficiently. Blinking hard in an effort to remain awake, Loki half considers turning them to ice. The cursed gold may help keep his magick buried deep beneath his reach, but he is much more than Aesir and spells.
The guards force him to turn, facing Odin, and in his face Loki reads all he needs to see.
His grin curves even wider.
"Tell you brave son what you stole from Jötunheimr, my King, and see if he is so quick to wed a monster then."
He falls to darkness before he can hear the AllFather's response, if he even had one, but it does not matter.
All is broken and far beyond repair.
drink to me, babe, then (bury me in gold).
.
Once upon a time...
.
.
"I do not understand, Mother, why can I not study swordsmanship?"
Scented water pools at his feet, his skin pink and warm from the bath. A young girl, one of the many standing at the side, steps forth to wrap a lush robe around his shoulders. A second one follows her, eyes lowered as she catches the water droplets licking his limbs.
She is dismissed by a quick flick of royal fingers, Frigga taking her place. Grudgingly, he takes a seat next to his mother in the vanity table. His feet do not quite reach the floor, though his growth spurt is not far behind him. Lips pinched together, the second Prince of Asgard huffs while the servant girls ready his clothes, familiar hands toweling his hair dry. Drumming slim fingers against the gleaming table, he glares hotly at the elaborate mirror in front of him.
Loki's reflection stares back at him, his expression sullen and not without a hint of confusion.
To his left, Frigga smiles warmly. Because his hair tends to curl if left alone, a trait she knows her son dislikes, she reaches for a familiar jar of green color. Carding her fingers through his damp hair with a tenderness all her own, she pins jewels to match his eyes in the inky blackness. "My dear Son, do not begrudge your Father this decision. He is a wise and knowledgeable King. Trust that he has chosen only what is best for you."
The reflection in the mirror speaks of hurt.
"The day I grow from boy to man is only moons away," murmurs Loki. Frigga's hands still. "Yet Father wishes for me to take up the arcane arts," he spits, green eyes flaring. "Is this punishment? It must be, else I do not know why else the All-Father would have me choose so humiliating a path," he finishes miserably, shoulders dropping.
Slender arms drape across his stomach, pulling him tight against his mother's bosom. A kiss finds its way home on his cheek.
"Dear Son of mine. You have a gift for the unknown, waste not your blessings in sword and battle." Her reflection in the mirror smiles gently even as Loki scowls. "Father knows this. His wish is only that you grow into your talents."
Misery gives way to the first tendrils of anger. Pulling himself free from the Queen Mother, he scoffs, "You say that, yet will I not be the only boy in sorcery school?"
To his horror, Loki feels a hot dampness in his eyes. He swallows thickly, an ugly knot in his throat.
Mother does not reach for him. "You are a Prince of Asgard, Loki, there is no shame in what you are."
Loki's voice trembles, real anger bubbling to the surface, "Father will send me to learn a woman's art, to fight with trickery and deceit as no man would ever do, and soon all the realms will know the second son of Odin as arg-"
Frigga's eyes flash dangerously. "Loki."
Loki bites his tongue, turning his back to the Queen. He draws his arms around himself, shoulders tight. "Brother was my age when he picked up arms." His hands clench into tight fists. "Father was most proud," he continues, voice bitter, "yet when I come to him to ask permission to commence my training, as is my right as a son of Asgard, he dismisses my wishes with so little concern and instead dares to suggest I would be better suited for witchery!"
He feels like screaming, and in a fit of anger, rips the emeralds from his hair and swings them against the mirror. Frigga does not flinch back from the cascade of glittering shards.
"It is most unfair, Mother!" cries Loki, face drawn in anger. The pain and misery are not far behind. "How is it that while I must remain here and learn tricks and parlors, Brother is free to roam the realms however he pleases? Have I not earned the right to prove that I, too, am my Father's son?"
He heaves a shuddering breath, lips drawn back in an ugly snarl. "Or is it that because he is to be King, and I his lowly consort, that Father-" Loki swallows, and the tears come freely now, fast and warm down his flushed cheeks.
Gritting his teeth, he swallows his words, knowing how close to treason he is.
It doesn't sting any less.
"Oh, my little one." Frigga wipes the tears from his cheeks with soothing thumbs. "Did Father not yet speak to you of your future, as I am sure he did not so many moons ago?" She does not permit him the chance to reply. Drawing him close, Frigga rubs soothing circles on his shoulder-blades. "One day, you will stand by Thor as I do your Father. You will be his closest ally, his most trusted council. It is your capable hands the All-Father will trust with the future King of Asgard. Show me, for I do not see as you do, how such an honor is in any way deserving of shame."
The tears fall thicker, much to Loki's disgust.
"I meant no insult to you, Mother," he answers honestly. A small flicker of embarrassments heats his face. "You are Reigning Queen and Generous Mother, and I cannot fathom any woman more deserving of such titles than thee. Father is blessed to have you in his House, as is Asgard, your son Loki included." Even so, Loki cannot help but think.
Even so, Loki does not, and has never, envied his mother her place at Odin's side.
"Is it such a horrible fate, to be tied to your Brother?" she asks gently, and Loki cannot be sure, but there is something akin to sadness in the Goddess' eyes. Her arms tighten around him. Her breath warm on his cheek, sweet and not unlike spring. "Thor loves you dearly, Loki. Your brother would go to such lengths for you, if you simply asked."
Brow furrowing delicately, Frigga worries her bottom lip between white teeth. "It was not so long ago when you proclaimed the same. Has your heart had a change of mind, Son of mine?"
Not so long ago, Loki can't help but think darkly, Thor was not too high and mighty to share rooms with him, to explore and brave the forests with him. But things had changed ever since Thor first picked up a sword. When in the beginning there had been Thor and Loki, not there is Thor and his friends, young warriors his age to fight and grow alongside with. Loki could no longer recall the last time he and his brother had shared more than a passing conversation.
But Mother does, of course, not know this.
Besides, Loki has always loved Thor, even when he hates him.
He sighs, his tense body going soft in Frigga's embrace. He cannot bear to make Mother sad, unintentionally or not.
"Thor is a brutish troll," he says at last. Mother laughs, her eyes twinkling. Loki clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, his nose furrowing in disgust. "Mother, he never bathes. He chews and speaks in the same breath, it ruins my dinner every night. I cannot bear it."
Laughing freely, the Queen stands, a signal of her dismissal. "Your brother is your Father's son, Loki. There was a time when I, too, once found him to be a child. Give him time, soon Thor will grow into a man worthy of your hand."
Though he wishes he could look forward to that day, Loki has never dreaded Thor's coronation more than he does now, when he knows the matching golden chains that will fit his wrists as perfectly as Thor will his crown.
-
-
-
In the end, as he knew he would, Loki is right to think things would change for the worst when he picks up magick.
He cannot help but begrudge the All-Father. Regardless, Odin is King, and he his son. If it is what he wishes, Loki will do it, if only to see the spark of affection in his lone eye, to win a smile of approval, no matter how fleeting or small. It shames him, a times, how easy he is to do as Odin bids. Yet he finds himself deep in his studies at all times and hours of the day, urging his talents to grow faster. It is not long before he surpasses the sorceresses in training at school, fanning the flames of their hatred for him. Their dislike bothers him more than it should, and it's not long before he finds himself using his studies to play mean tricks on them.
They never catch him at it, but everyone knows it is his doing. This pleases him, for he finds he is good at something, even if that something is a cause for shame and disgust.
Loki wishes, deep in his heart, that there was a way for him to learn other arts.
"What are you doing here?"
His words come out a touch angry. It is unlike him to lose control of his emotions so easily, but this tree happens to be his place of recluse, a way for him to hide from everybody else, yet is it currently inhabited by another being. This displeases him.
Dark eyes return his glare aplenty.
Despite the number of bruises on her otherwise fair face, the Lady Sif cannot be mistaken for anyone but herself.
"I should ask you the same question," she replies easily, though Loki's sharp eyes catch her favoring her left side. "It is late, and all know it is forbidden for the second son of King Odin to wander alone at night."
Looking his nose down at her, Loki pays her warning no heed.
Ignoring her completely, he spells a book into his hand, leans back against the imposing tree trunk, and sits down to read.
This works for all of several minutes before Loki finds himself rolling his eyes at her feeble attempts to hide her injuries. He wonders if all warriors are as thick, thinks briefly of his brother and his friends, and comes to a solid conclusion.
Loki peers at her from behind the cover of his book, cataloging her wounds. She is in no danger of losing her life, but they are serious in their own. Is it her pride, he ponders, that keeps her from seeking the healers' assistance? All of Asgard knows of Lady Sif and her plight.
Loki knows her because she, like him, is somewhere she does not belong.
The difference is that she, unlike him, choose her path willingly.
Nevertheless, it is as easy for her as it is for him. Sometimes Loki thinks he has it better. At least he never walks out of a challenge match in pieces.
Snapping the book shut, he dusts the creases from his robes and scoffs at the young female warrior when she stiffens.
"Oh please." Eying the patch of dirt she's sitting on with distaste, he grudgingly sits down next to her. "If I wanted to further embarrass you I'd do a better job by leaving you to your own pathetic devices. Give me your arm," he adds, because he can see that aside from her right leg, her left arm took the brunt of her training.
Her shield arm, he thinks briefly to himself. The thought is followed by the familiar bubble of jealousy he feels whenever he looks at her.
What he would give to trade places with her. Loki looks at her and sees the life he would have chosen for himself, and he can't help but hate her.
He doesn't regret for one second her once beautiful golden hair.
Several long minutes pass before Sif relinquishes her arm to him, though looking as happy at doing so as Loki feels at the prospect of one day wedding his brute of a sibling.
They are not friends. Loki holds no foolish romantic notions over her, and neither does she towards him, but they find they can tolerate each other at times, away from everybody else.
Green sparks lick at the purple-blue skin marring otherwise flawless pale skin, vanishing them from sight. Healing magick has never been a subject he's been too interested in, but what he does know is more than enough for this.
"Brother is weaker on his left side." Sif's dark eyes snap up to his face. Loki doesn't look at her. "He's blind to it, the fool, but when all of his opponents attack him directly, it's hardly a weak point, is it not?"
He leaves before she can conjure up a proper response.
The look of surprise on her face is answer enough for him.
The next day, peering down at the training grounds from his balcony, he chuckles when Thor blinks up stupidly at her from the ground.
The beautiful set of daggers he finds in his room are also quite lovely.
It takes every ounce of self-control Loki has not to kick his brother out of his chambers.
-
-
-
Loki does not have the energy to deal with his brother right now. He is tired, and his body aches from time to time for no apparent reasons. He finds himself hot, then cold, then hot again, his temperament changing with little urging.
He has hit his last growth spurt, and it has left him alienated in his own skin. He finds himself sleeping more, his appetite increased-it is all very disconcerting. Loki cannot find any explanation for his condition in any book and has given up questioning Odin. If this is part of being an Asgardian son, he cannot find any comparisons.
The worst part is the empty, hungry ache of his body. It, too, changes like the tides, yearning for the firmness of his brother one second, and a strong repugnance the next.
It was not so long ago that he first found himself on his brother's bed, warm furs sticky against his equally heated skin. It had started innocently enough, as they both knew one day they must lay together as more than simple brothers bound by blood, and it had progressed into heated kisses and a ruined set of sheets. It had been easy, ever since, to lose themselves in this new and exciting way of communicating without words.
The gifts had begun showing up since then, too, but Loki pays them little attention when in comparison to the warmth of his brother's body. It is truly marvelous, having Thor at his side, silent but for the words that are spoken in passion, free and without the boundaries that separate them outside their bedrooms.
Loki finds his brother easier to love this way, through matters of the flesh, when there is nothing to remind him why he often wishes to rip Thor's heart out and swallow it whole.
Regardless, the fact remains that any other day he would gladly welcome Thor into his bed-but not when his emotions are bleeding freely all over the place.
Indulging his brother's whims is not at the top of his priorities tonight.
As is, he barely reigns in his magick at the last second when he is startled awake by his brute of a sibling sliding under the covers next to him.
"Thor," hisses Loki, torn between ignoring the Thunderer and turning his body inside out, "what in Hel's name are you doing?"
Thankfully, his body and mind seem to agree that for once, his brother needs to die. Preferably in a very bloody and miserably manner.
Pressed tight against the younger God's back, Thor's chest shakes with laughter. His mouth is wet on the crook of Loki's shoulder. "No words, fair one, simply feel."
The stench of mead hits the Trickster with the force of the Lady Sif's legendary fist.
Loki wrinkles his nose in distaste and pushes Thor's prickly face away. "Eugh. Brother, you reek."
Thor's ridiculous arms squeeze the air out of his lungs. Loki gasps.
"The migh'y Thor said silence, you wicked wench," he rumbles drunkenly, huge paws pulling at the younger Prince's sleepwear. "Now, stop this trashing of yours."
Loki begins to struggle in earnest when Thor's wet mouth begins to trail sloppy kisses down his throat.
"Brother," he punctuates threateningly, his voice promising discord, "if you do not wish to live the rest of your long life as a lowly amphibian, you will unhand me this instant."
The bumbling oaf must have sneaked into his rooms by accident, thinking him one of his numerous female admirers. He had undoubtedly ended up drinking too much at the tavern, as per tradition for Thor and his merry band of idiots after another of their little adventures.
Much to Loki's eternal frustration, tonight is only one of many nights like this.
He makes a noise of disgust when Thor's lips find his in the darkness, thick clumsy fingers gripping his jaw with a pathetic amount of finesse. His mouth remains stubbornly closed against the Thunder God's proving tongue and overeager lips. Clearly he had learned nothing from Sif, if rumors are to be believed.
(- "Hung like a war horse, the court ladies say?" Catching the knife in a twirl of his wrist, the blade disappears with the next flick of his hand.
Sif is ruthless, as is her aim. The expression of deep concentration on her face does not falter. "A Lady does not gossip."
Loki cocks an eyebrow, mercilessly flinging the knives back at her in rapid succession. He grins, "Clearly, I am no lady, but what if I were to say my jaw ached for several days after?"
Her lips twitch. "Then let us simply say I refrained from training for the next following morns'." -)
Despite himself, Loki rolls his eyes. He slaps his brother across the face, moderately of course. "Enough, you brute."
Confused as to why Loki refuses to grant him entrance to his mouth, Thor blinks slowly, then squints at the darkness. A flicker of soberness shines in his eyes, and he slurs, "Brother?"
Lips drawn back in disgust, Loki wipes the slobber from his mouth on the end of Thor's crimson cape. "I rue the day the Gods cursed me with a troll for a brother."
Groaning, Thor rolls onto his back. He blinks dazedly up at the ceiling. "m' I?"
He makes an effort to sit up, fails spectacularly, grunts, and falls limply back on the bed again.
It is quite a pathetic sight.
With a sigh of endless suffering, Loki snaps his fingers and conjures up a touch of light. With that out of the way, he sets to freeing his brother of his armor.
Thor stares at him with heavily lidded eyes as Loki makes short work of his boots. "N'brought you a gift."
Holding his breath, Loki chucks the smelly boots over his shoulder. "Did you, now?"
"Aye," says Thor. He kicks off his trousers down to his knees, after which Loki yanks them off completely. Covered in a truly foul smelling substance Loki in no way wishes to inquire, they join Thor's discarded boots. The tunic follows next. "Is' a, a...that one thing you use a lot. For that purpose."
He brushes the tips of his fingers against the angry red line running down the older God's left pectoral. His fingers come back sticky with blood. "I use many things for many different purposes, Brother."
"Hmm. Tis' true." Thor smiles dumbly, too drunk to object against the green sparks that kiss his golden skin before flickering away. "I hope the book is to your pleasure, as I know you have a strange fondness for the dusty trinkets.
"Why you would have them instead of jewels and gold-well, if it is what Brother wants, I will gladly brave the realms for whatever picks your fancy."
Loki stills, his face freezing.
He shakes his head, wiping his mind clean of dangerous thoughts. Twas foolish to look too deeply into the Thunderer's gestures. His dear brother is simple and empty-minded; Thor's actions rarely have any second meanings but the obvious.
"I thank thee, Brother, for your most kind gesture."
It is just one of many gifts, and nothing more. A new addition to the useless trunks of junk collecting dust in his room.
"I will make sure to let you known how it fares against my critique, as I am sure to find something wrong with it, given that it was hand-chosen by my dear older brother."
He brushes his hand across the other's cheek, against his prickly beard and smiling lips. Thor's eyes fall shut, and he pushes insistently against Loki's hand. He's expecting it, so he's not at all surprised when the Thunderer drops his fat golden head on his lap, naked and stinking of booze.
"My men challenged me to a contest," is ultimately his excuse.
Of course.
"I won, as is my right."
The testosterone in the room is positively stifling. "Given the numerous alpha male contests you love to entertain, I'm surprised you ever get anything done."
Thor scoffs, scratching his chest., "M'am plenty man. Am I not?"
Loki stares, unimpressed, as Thor cocks his hips and proudly gestures to the manhood that, ever since the Thunderer came of certain age, has been a favorite topic of discussing among the court-and deadpans, "I see."
Thor grins. "Yes, it is quite the mouthful I am told."
Carding his fingers through his brother's golden locks, Loki grips the tresses a touch tighter than necessary. His voice drips with sarcasm, "I am positively speechless."
Thor's chest rumbles with his laughter, deep and rambunctious. He smiles gently, his face softening.
"Loki."
Loki's body stiffens instinctively.
He fists the bedsheets in a death-grip.
Clumsy fingers find their way to Loki's face, stroking absently. "I am not sorry to keep you from your sleep, Brother."
Though his words remain slightly slurred, there is a sudden awareness in the electric blue eyes that speak of dark desires.
The fingers cradle Loki's check, fragile against the thickness of Thor's hand. "Nor will I regret bearing Father's punishment in the morn,' when he finds me between your sheets yet again."
Closing his eyes, Loki takes a deep breath.
Now would be a great time for his body to decide it wants Thor too, rather than find the act of coupling with him as appealing as drinking poison.
Thor's thumb trails over his lips, his breath growing heavier. "It is most worth it."
Opening his eyes, he gifts his older brother with a smile full of wicked designs. "Pretty words will get you everywhere, Brother dearest."
Parting his lips, the younger Prince sucks the thumb into his mouth.
Thor's breath hitches, pupils dilating. "You are wearing far too many layers, Brother."
Shaking his head, he pulls back, licking his lips. "Patience."
Shifting, he moves to cradle the Crown Prince's waist with his thighs. Rolling his hips, he grins at the hiss this elicits from the other.
Thor's smile is pained. "You are a cruel, wicked thing."
Raising his arms above his head, he makes a show of disrobing. He could simply magick his clothes off, but his brother has never been a fan of that option.
Thor swallows thickly once he is completely nude, his hands reaching to cradle Loki's hips. Loki lets him, offering no protest when one of those hands dips lower to the curve of his ass. A muscle on his jaw twitches, though, when the probing fingers delve further.
Catching the wandering hands, he pushes them back against the bed. At Thor's questioning look, he smiles mischievously. "Fret not, for this Loki will take good care of you soon enough."
Thor is always easier to please when inebriated. Loki will simply bear his demands for tonight and kick him out of his rooms before the sun has a chance to rise. Though Frigga had seemed amused the small handful of times they'd been caught in bed together, Odin All-Father did not share his Queen's humor. He had expressed himself firmly on the subject, and had reminded Thor that if he could not wait until their ceremony, he was to take his pleasure from another's bed until then.
He licks his way down his brother's golden body, wondering, as he sometimes does at times like these, what it would feel like to have someone other than his sibling under him. If the person would taste different, if they would react as Thor does, with impatient thrusts of his hips, big hands pulling at Loki's hair.
Unlike Thor, he does not have the freedom to explore these desires.
If his touches grow rougher, nails pinching sharply at supple skin, Thor does not complain.
When he finally draws his brother's cock into his mouth, the Thunderer's right hand twitches violently. Loki pays him no mind, nibbling down the thick length and back up again to mouth wetly at the red cockhead. His fingers soon grow slick with Thor's precome, which he uses to stroke around what he can't fit, thumb teasing at the stretch of foreskin.
Pulling his mouth free with a wet smack, he licks a stripe down his palm, wraps his fingers around the base, and jacks his fist up and down roughly, gripping tight, tight enough to make Thor feel it.
Voice incredibly hoarse, Thor's hand tightens in his hair. "Ngh. Brother, you-"
Knowing his brother's ability to form big words-low in its own outside of the bedroom-drops by half in the throngs of passion, he dives back down again, not quite as deep as he would like, but his brother is a big man, and so he makes due. He can feel Thor's thighs tremble, the hitching of his breath, and knows these are sure signs of his close relief.
"Brother, wait-"
He finds himself on his back, flushed and panting and unaroused. Thor either does not care or does not notice. The Trickster would be willing to bet on the latter, aware of how lost his brother can get in their coupling.
Scrambling, Loki pulls himself up on his elbows. He pushes against the other's broad chest with his foot, keeping the Thunder God at a safe distance. "Wait-"
Brushing his leg aside, Thor catches his heel and presses a kiss to it. He takes hold of one of Loki's ankles in each hand, easing his massive body between the cradle of his thighs. Sweat dips down his brow, past bronzed muscles, his blonde mane cascading down his shoulders. The gold tresses tickle Loki's nose when he leans down to smash their mouths together in a hungry kiss.
Loki kisses him back with teeth and tongue, trailing after the thick, heady taste of storms and lighting that can be found in his brother's mouth.
Thor kisses like he fights, and each kiss feels like a battlefield.
Loki has always enjoyed their kisses.
Thor kisses his way past Loki's throat, down to his chest, the pale skin blooming an irritated red from his beard. At the same time, he thrusts insistently against Loki's warm thigh with his dripping cock.
Loki chuckles despite being short of breath, wickedly amused, knowing Thor can't and won't, because for all they've done together, this has never been one of them.
"You can't, Brother," he huffs, pushing teasingly, cruelly, against the other, "otherwise Father really will strip your back this time."
With a frustrated growl, Thor pulls him down until Loki is close to sitting on his lap, holds his legs together by the knees with one hand, and guides his cock with the other into the warm, tight grip of Loki's thighs.
It's a bit dry without any slick, but Thor doesn't seem to mind, rutting like a beast against the soft place he's made for himself. His muscles bunch together, tensing, and Loki buries his hands in his brother's hair and brings their faces close again, teeth stuttering on spit-slicked lips, tongues dancing together.
Together, like this, so close he can no longer tell where one begins and the other ends, Loki finds he can love Thor without hating him.
It's a frightening feeling.
Afterwards, when the hot mess slicking Loki's thighs has cooled down and Thor is no longer crushing him with his weight, Loki looks at his brother, asleep as he is, and tries to recall if there was ever a time when love existed without hate.
Carding his fingers through soft long blond hair, Loki peers closely at him. He takes in the strong line of his jaw, the generous mouth, the gold of his eyelashes. He takes this all in and compares it to his earliest memory of dancing blue eyes and a cub-like charm.
If there was, he sure doesn't remember.
Either way, it doesn't matter.
One day, Thor will take away his freedom, and that is enough to make Loki hate him.
One day, Thor will belong to him as surely as Loki belongs to him, has always belonged to him from the day of his birth, and that is enough to make Loki love him.
Everything else fits somewhere in between.
Part two