Fic: Slipping From Skin To Skin
Title: Slipping From Skin to Skin
Fandom: Thor
Pairing: Thor/Loki
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: gender play, incest
Word Count: 2480
Disclaimer: In no way mine, or anything to do with me, I own nothing.
Summary: Loki has never been afraid to change his skin.
AN: Written for the 'gender play' square, for kink bingo.
Thor's search for his brother leads him from the feasting hall to the throne room, far enough away from the laughter, and the singing, that it's nothing but a dull rush in the distance. Loki is on the throne, body slumped in lazy disregard for the golden majesty of it, expression fixed aggressively on the wall.
"I was looking for you," Thor tells him.
Loki's attention is his for only the briefest of moments.
"Then you've succeeded in your quest. Though I'm not plotting anything. So, feel free to return, and enjoy the frivolities." Loki drawls the word out with such disdain, though it's an ill fit to the raucous, drunken revelry going on in the hall.
Thor's disappointed at how carelessly unconcerned he seems.
"You're missed."
There's a snort of laughter. "Missing, I think is the word you're looking for, don't exaggerate. Besides, if I wished to watch you get drunk and do something stupid there are other days of the week."
Thor glares at him, and his determination to be difficult. But his brother's only answer is to slide down in the throne, long legs flung over one side, spine twisted so he can still rest his head on the back of it. Loki can make the most uncomfortable position look fluid and effortless.
"It's horrifically uncomfortable," Loki says, as if in answer to Thor's expression. "I don't know how he bears it."
"If he catches you sitting there -"
Loki waves a hand to show he doesn’t care. Though almost immediately he fixes a curious look on Thor.
"Though it's your rightful seat, not mine, isn't it." He lets his foot swing as far as the golden armrest will allow. "Perhaps you should claim it, and I should sit in your lap." There's a bitterness to the words, for all that he makes it sound like a joke.
"I do not wish you to sit in my lap," Thor says sensibly. He means it kindly, but it only makes Loki scowl harder, legs slithering round. His former posture of carefree mischief becomes regal irritation in the blink of an eye. Though he carries the look like it's simply another face he's long had perfected.
"What do you want Thor?"
Thor makes his way up the steps.
"You are beautiful, you know," he says, rather than admit he wants nothing at all but Loki's company. But it only makes his brother's scowl deepen into something insulted.
"I am not a woman to be flattered," Loki bites out.
Thor's frustration shades into anger. "Shut up and take compliments, damn you."
"Then stop making them so insipid." Loki looks tempted to kick him, and it's the sort of immaturity which he can get away with. If he even has the ability to feel shame Thor has never seen it.
Thor grits his teeth, pulls back the anger that wants to crawl up his throat. "Why must we fight?"
Loki tips his head forward, looks down at him. There is something in his expression, mockery, or threat, or some strange mix of the two. Certainly nothing that should look playful, though Loki manages it.
"We have always fought."
"Not like this." Thor is exhausted from trying to untangle meaning and intent from Loki's words. He climbs to the top of the steps, sits awkwardly on the highest one, which Loki seems to find amusing. Thor doesn't care what his brother takes from their positions. The throne is cold and uncomfortable, and he's sure that knowing how to sit on it is not important. "We have never fought like this. Even when you kiss me it feels like a fight."
Loki curls one of his legs round Thor's shoulder, for all the world like they are teasing, and not somewhere that feels like it teeters on the edge of a fistfight.
"Don't all kisses feel like that?"
Thor shoves his leg off, puts a hand on the throne and reaches up with the other, until he finds the chilled skin at the back of Loki's neck. He pulls, and for a second he thinks Loki will resist, but he leans, meets Thor's mouth. There's no reluctance there. Loki kisses him like it was exactly what he expected to be doing. He kisses him like he means it, all aggression, barely warm mouth, and harsh fingers. If he let himself be pulled, just a little further, he would end up in Thor's lap, warm and close enough to struggle with. It's a struggle Thor would always win, if Loki never cheated, and he does, he always does. But Loki doesn’t let himself be pulled. Thor knows he's doing it on purpose, because there's a smile behind every kiss - and then he's gone, swaying back and away, slipping from his grasp, and straightening on the throne again, one leg crossed over the other.
"You're impossible," Thor complains.
"Because I don't wait in your chambers with my legs spread?" Loki has always known how to make him angry, how and where to press to find the nerves that flare alight. Thor tightens his grip on Loki's ankle. The leather of his boot squeaking under his strength. Loki stretches, body sliding on the throne in a way that's far too familiar, but Thor has had enough of his teasing.
"Out of it, or I will tear it."
The smile that opens on Loki's face is knife-edged, amusement wrestling with triumph, threaded through with red veins of delight. His ankle stretches in Thor's grip, material going thin, dissolving away from his skin, like it's melting in the heat. Until Thor's fingers circle bare flesh.
"All of it."
Loki obeys, everything sliding free like it was never there. His brother, pale and naked against the bright, cold metal of the throne is a thing Thor would have no one else see, if he had the power. He rises to his knees, hands on Loki's bare legs, spreading his long thighs. He stops, abruptly, stunned.
"This is different," Thor says simply. Too aware of Loki's ability to react to words like they're knives, when Thor has no idea how to fight with words to start with.
"I can change my body however I see fit," Loki flings. There's...something underneath the words, that Thor thinks he's not supposed to see. He thinks perhaps that Loki expects rejection. Though if that's his plan then he will be disappointed. He's a long, strange stretch of both male and female, as if a person could be both with no joins to be seen. Thor lets his hand slide up the inside of Loki's thigh, finds warmth and dampness where there was none before.
"For what reason?" Thor's genuinely curious. He touches, carefully, and is surprised at the low clench of curious fascination, of shaken desire. It's hot and unexpected, and he hardens under it. Though he shouldn't be surprised. Loki has always managed to leave him stupid with desire, no matter what he does to himself.
"Must there be a reason?" The question goes shaken at the end, in reaction to the press of Thor's fingers.
"For you there is always a reason," Thor says with a nod.
Loki spreads his thighs, just a little wider. "Oh, there is always a reason. But it isn't always clandestine and sinister."
"The things you make me do are enjoyable enough. Though often I come to regret them later."
Loki's smile is the sort that no one should trust, and it's entirely too familiar and comfortable on him for Thor's liking.
"You are agreeably pliable when you're drunk, brother." Undisguised mockery is also becoming far too familiar.
"You are shameless, and I shall treat you as such." Thor jerks on his ankle. There's a brief, honest expression of surprise, when Loki slides, inelegantly, to the edge of the throne. Thor is neither graceful nor careful. He has never been the sort to plan, or scheme. He has always simply driven for what he wants. He spreads Loki with his hands, bites the inside of his thigh, for the flinch and the hiss. He's already wet under Thor's mouth, and Loki's hands scrabble for the ornate back of the throne, heel digging hard into the muscle of Thor's back, when his tongue presses inside him.
Thor's fingers bite deeper into his thighs, to hold him still. He knows how to please a woman. He finds what pleases Loki, what makes his gasping go ragged. What makes his body twitch and shudder, and then there's nothing but the rush of his breathing. The shift and clench of his thigh on the muscle of Thor's shoulder, and the scratch of his fingers in Thor's hair. His hips tilt, push up, utterly shameless.
"Anyone could come in." Loki doesn't even seem to care that his voice shakes. "See you on your knees with your tongue inside me."
Thor briefly considers punishing him, for thinking that he cares. But Loki sounds undone, and that's a rare thing. He proves he is as shameless as Loki accuses him of being, indulges every greedy push and twist of Loki's hips. Until Loki whines, fails to hold on to any semblance of control, fingers fisted so tightly in Thor's hair that the pain is a constant, dull ache. But it's not even close to enough to distract Thor from the iron brand of his own erection, from the taste of Loki on his tongue.
"Thor." Loki's making high, gasping noises that are not like him at all. Ragged little snaps of teeth between every groan.
There's satisfaction to be had in his sudden ability to unravel his brother's control. Thor slows, tongue drawing a path down from where Loki wants it most.
Loki hisses when he realises Thor is going to ignore his demand.
"Brother, please."
He laughs, and gives Loki what he wants, because he has always given Loki what he wants, when he asks. Thor presses his thighs open wider, until Loki's shaking, clenching tight, and the high little noises of pleasure turn into a long, rumbling groan. Thor works him through the last shivers, and then straightens, hands sliding up Loki's thighs.
Loki has his head tipped back on the throne, eyes shut, hair damp and loose against his forehead. His legs are still spread, one thrown limply across the bend of Thor's elbow. He looks beautiful and completely obscene. Thor has never wanted him more.
He bends low enough to grasp Loki's knee, pulls his leg around his waist. Loki doesn't resist when he catches the other, he winds them tight around him instead. Then he fists his hands in Thor's hair, when he curls an arm around Loki's waist and lifts. The metal of the throne is warm from his body, when Thor sinks back into it, pulling his brother close. He can't resist slipping his fingers inside him, the loose, relaxed expression going briefly sharp when he sinks them in deep. The wet heat of him twists Thor's arousal into a sharp knot.
"Loki." Thor's voice sounds desperate, pleading.
Loki rises, fluid and beautiful. One knee pressed into the cold metal next to Thor's thigh, one leg draped over the arm on the other side. Hands unsnapping the fastenings of Thor's armour without looking. Aggressive and practised, impatient. He shoves at the opening, no more than is necessary for the length of Thor's cock to jut free, before he rises and moves forward, presses down.
Loki's thighs are wet from his mouth, and he's slick and tight inside like he's never been taken before. But he's easy to slide into, hips moving into Thor's push, body opening around him. He groans, soft and over-sensitised when Thor buries himself. Thor feels the breath shake out of him, watching his eyelashes flutter, and there's an expression on his face so close to thoughtless surrender that Thor has to reach up and kiss him. Loki doesn’t pull away, he tastes the slickness of Thor's mouth, bites the roughness of his jaw. He lets Thor hold him there - until he gives in to the urge to grip his waist, pull him down into every quick, hard shove of his hips. Thor knows well enough that his brother is impossible to grasp, if he doesn't wish it. That he only has this because his brother allows it, because he wishes it.
Loki's body is new like this, Thor is pushed, in some strange way, to claim it as his own. But also to please it, to prove that it makes no difference how Loki comes, as long as he comes to him.
Thor's hand strays in, finds where his brother is still soft and swollen beneath the damp warmth of hair, watches Loki gasp and bite his lip. He starts to move, meeting him on every rolling push. Thor tips his head back, and Loki pushes hair from his face, and kisses him again. There's no play to it, it's rough and honest, and Thor kisses him until he has no breath left for it. Until there's just the heavy, desperate pushes of his hips, and the hot, slick grasp of Loki's body. Which goes tight, suddenly, grinding down into him, and Thor can feel every twitching shiver of Loki's orgasm. He can do nothing but grasp his hips, and hold him still, while he comes inside him.
Loki ends slumped over him, unwilling, or unable to move. Thor takes his weight, until he shifts, sighs and settles, with little care for the mess.
"I see the rumours of your capabilities are true after all," Loki murmurs into his skin.
Thor will not let himself be distracted by flattery.
"Is this how you choose to live?" he asks. Because there is so much about his brother that he doesn't know. That he should know. "Picking which pieces please you, and which don't."
Loki snorts like the idea is ridiculous.
"Perhaps it's not a question of 'picking' but of 'accepting.'"
Thor doesn't understand at all. He's not even sure if Loki wants him to. Thor thinks he would only ever discover Loki's secrets by blundering into them. But his brother doesn’t object, doesn't turn his head away when he finds himself absently playing with his hair.
There's a rush of warmth across his throat when Loki laughs. "Which parts please you best, brother?"
Thor shakes his head, rather than be forced to form words, unwilling to talk of preferences. Loki allows him his silence, though Thor is convinced that his brother doesn't need words to pull answers from a man.
"Which parts please you?" Thor asks curiously.
Loki ignores the question entirely.
"I like this ache you've left inside me. It's pleasant, in a well-used sort of way. You should try it."
"I like my cock," Thor warns.
"I'd give it back," Loki says with a laugh.
"Eventually." Thor can sometimes read his brother perfectly.
Fandom: Thor
Pairing: Thor/Loki
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: gender play, incest
Word Count: 2480
Disclaimer: In no way mine, or anything to do with me, I own nothing.
Summary: Loki has never been afraid to change his skin.
AN: Written for the 'gender play' square, for kink bingo.
Thor's search for his brother leads him from the feasting hall to the throne room, far enough away from the laughter, and the singing, that it's nothing but a dull rush in the distance. Loki is on the throne, body slumped in lazy disregard for the golden majesty of it, expression fixed aggressively on the wall.
"I was looking for you," Thor tells him.
Loki's attention is his for only the briefest of moments.
"Then you've succeeded in your quest. Though I'm not plotting anything. So, feel free to return, and enjoy the frivolities." Loki drawls the word out with such disdain, though it's an ill fit to the raucous, drunken revelry going on in the hall.
Thor's disappointed at how carelessly unconcerned he seems.
"You're missed."
There's a snort of laughter. "Missing, I think is the word you're looking for, don't exaggerate. Besides, if I wished to watch you get drunk and do something stupid there are other days of the week."
Thor glares at him, and his determination to be difficult. But his brother's only answer is to slide down in the throne, long legs flung over one side, spine twisted so he can still rest his head on the back of it. Loki can make the most uncomfortable position look fluid and effortless.
"It's horrifically uncomfortable," Loki says, as if in answer to Thor's expression. "I don't know how he bears it."
"If he catches you sitting there -"
Loki waves a hand to show he doesn’t care. Though almost immediately he fixes a curious look on Thor.
"Though it's your rightful seat, not mine, isn't it." He lets his foot swing as far as the golden armrest will allow. "Perhaps you should claim it, and I should sit in your lap." There's a bitterness to the words, for all that he makes it sound like a joke.
"I do not wish you to sit in my lap," Thor says sensibly. He means it kindly, but it only makes Loki scowl harder, legs slithering round. His former posture of carefree mischief becomes regal irritation in the blink of an eye. Though he carries the look like it's simply another face he's long had perfected.
"What do you want Thor?"
Thor makes his way up the steps.
"You are beautiful, you know," he says, rather than admit he wants nothing at all but Loki's company. But it only makes his brother's scowl deepen into something insulted.
"I am not a woman to be flattered," Loki bites out.
Thor's frustration shades into anger. "Shut up and take compliments, damn you."
"Then stop making them so insipid." Loki looks tempted to kick him, and it's the sort of immaturity which he can get away with. If he even has the ability to feel shame Thor has never seen it.
Thor grits his teeth, pulls back the anger that wants to crawl up his throat. "Why must we fight?"
Loki tips his head forward, looks down at him. There is something in his expression, mockery, or threat, or some strange mix of the two. Certainly nothing that should look playful, though Loki manages it.
"We have always fought."
"Not like this." Thor is exhausted from trying to untangle meaning and intent from Loki's words. He climbs to the top of the steps, sits awkwardly on the highest one, which Loki seems to find amusing. Thor doesn't care what his brother takes from their positions. The throne is cold and uncomfortable, and he's sure that knowing how to sit on it is not important. "We have never fought like this. Even when you kiss me it feels like a fight."
Loki curls one of his legs round Thor's shoulder, for all the world like they are teasing, and not somewhere that feels like it teeters on the edge of a fistfight.
"Don't all kisses feel like that?"
Thor shoves his leg off, puts a hand on the throne and reaches up with the other, until he finds the chilled skin at the back of Loki's neck. He pulls, and for a second he thinks Loki will resist, but he leans, meets Thor's mouth. There's no reluctance there. Loki kisses him like it was exactly what he expected to be doing. He kisses him like he means it, all aggression, barely warm mouth, and harsh fingers. If he let himself be pulled, just a little further, he would end up in Thor's lap, warm and close enough to struggle with. It's a struggle Thor would always win, if Loki never cheated, and he does, he always does. But Loki doesn’t let himself be pulled. Thor knows he's doing it on purpose, because there's a smile behind every kiss - and then he's gone, swaying back and away, slipping from his grasp, and straightening on the throne again, one leg crossed over the other.
"You're impossible," Thor complains.
"Because I don't wait in your chambers with my legs spread?" Loki has always known how to make him angry, how and where to press to find the nerves that flare alight. Thor tightens his grip on Loki's ankle. The leather of his boot squeaking under his strength. Loki stretches, body sliding on the throne in a way that's far too familiar, but Thor has had enough of his teasing.
"Out of it, or I will tear it."
The smile that opens on Loki's face is knife-edged, amusement wrestling with triumph, threaded through with red veins of delight. His ankle stretches in Thor's grip, material going thin, dissolving away from his skin, like it's melting in the heat. Until Thor's fingers circle bare flesh.
"All of it."
Loki obeys, everything sliding free like it was never there. His brother, pale and naked against the bright, cold metal of the throne is a thing Thor would have no one else see, if he had the power. He rises to his knees, hands on Loki's bare legs, spreading his long thighs. He stops, abruptly, stunned.
"This is different," Thor says simply. Too aware of Loki's ability to react to words like they're knives, when Thor has no idea how to fight with words to start with.
"I can change my body however I see fit," Loki flings. There's...something underneath the words, that Thor thinks he's not supposed to see. He thinks perhaps that Loki expects rejection. Though if that's his plan then he will be disappointed. He's a long, strange stretch of both male and female, as if a person could be both with no joins to be seen. Thor lets his hand slide up the inside of Loki's thigh, finds warmth and dampness where there was none before.
"For what reason?" Thor's genuinely curious. He touches, carefully, and is surprised at the low clench of curious fascination, of shaken desire. It's hot and unexpected, and he hardens under it. Though he shouldn't be surprised. Loki has always managed to leave him stupid with desire, no matter what he does to himself.
"Must there be a reason?" The question goes shaken at the end, in reaction to the press of Thor's fingers.
"For you there is always a reason," Thor says with a nod.
Loki spreads his thighs, just a little wider. "Oh, there is always a reason. But it isn't always clandestine and sinister."
"The things you make me do are enjoyable enough. Though often I come to regret them later."
Loki's smile is the sort that no one should trust, and it's entirely too familiar and comfortable on him for Thor's liking.
"You are agreeably pliable when you're drunk, brother." Undisguised mockery is also becoming far too familiar.
"You are shameless, and I shall treat you as such." Thor jerks on his ankle. There's a brief, honest expression of surprise, when Loki slides, inelegantly, to the edge of the throne. Thor is neither graceful nor careful. He has never been the sort to plan, or scheme. He has always simply driven for what he wants. He spreads Loki with his hands, bites the inside of his thigh, for the flinch and the hiss. He's already wet under Thor's mouth, and Loki's hands scrabble for the ornate back of the throne, heel digging hard into the muscle of Thor's back, when his tongue presses inside him.
Thor's fingers bite deeper into his thighs, to hold him still. He knows how to please a woman. He finds what pleases Loki, what makes his gasping go ragged. What makes his body twitch and shudder, and then there's nothing but the rush of his breathing. The shift and clench of his thigh on the muscle of Thor's shoulder, and the scratch of his fingers in Thor's hair. His hips tilt, push up, utterly shameless.
"Anyone could come in." Loki doesn't even seem to care that his voice shakes. "See you on your knees with your tongue inside me."
Thor briefly considers punishing him, for thinking that he cares. But Loki sounds undone, and that's a rare thing. He proves he is as shameless as Loki accuses him of being, indulges every greedy push and twist of Loki's hips. Until Loki whines, fails to hold on to any semblance of control, fingers fisted so tightly in Thor's hair that the pain is a constant, dull ache. But it's not even close to enough to distract Thor from the iron brand of his own erection, from the taste of Loki on his tongue.
"Thor." Loki's making high, gasping noises that are not like him at all. Ragged little snaps of teeth between every groan.
There's satisfaction to be had in his sudden ability to unravel his brother's control. Thor slows, tongue drawing a path down from where Loki wants it most.
Loki hisses when he realises Thor is going to ignore his demand.
"Brother, please."
He laughs, and gives Loki what he wants, because he has always given Loki what he wants, when he asks. Thor presses his thighs open wider, until Loki's shaking, clenching tight, and the high little noises of pleasure turn into a long, rumbling groan. Thor works him through the last shivers, and then straightens, hands sliding up Loki's thighs.
Loki has his head tipped back on the throne, eyes shut, hair damp and loose against his forehead. His legs are still spread, one thrown limply across the bend of Thor's elbow. He looks beautiful and completely obscene. Thor has never wanted him more.
He bends low enough to grasp Loki's knee, pulls his leg around his waist. Loki doesn't resist when he catches the other, he winds them tight around him instead. Then he fists his hands in Thor's hair, when he curls an arm around Loki's waist and lifts. The metal of the throne is warm from his body, when Thor sinks back into it, pulling his brother close. He can't resist slipping his fingers inside him, the loose, relaxed expression going briefly sharp when he sinks them in deep. The wet heat of him twists Thor's arousal into a sharp knot.
"Loki." Thor's voice sounds desperate, pleading.
Loki rises, fluid and beautiful. One knee pressed into the cold metal next to Thor's thigh, one leg draped over the arm on the other side. Hands unsnapping the fastenings of Thor's armour without looking. Aggressive and practised, impatient. He shoves at the opening, no more than is necessary for the length of Thor's cock to jut free, before he rises and moves forward, presses down.
Loki's thighs are wet from his mouth, and he's slick and tight inside like he's never been taken before. But he's easy to slide into, hips moving into Thor's push, body opening around him. He groans, soft and over-sensitised when Thor buries himself. Thor feels the breath shake out of him, watching his eyelashes flutter, and there's an expression on his face so close to thoughtless surrender that Thor has to reach up and kiss him. Loki doesn’t pull away, he tastes the slickness of Thor's mouth, bites the roughness of his jaw. He lets Thor hold him there - until he gives in to the urge to grip his waist, pull him down into every quick, hard shove of his hips. Thor knows well enough that his brother is impossible to grasp, if he doesn't wish it. That he only has this because his brother allows it, because he wishes it.
Loki's body is new like this, Thor is pushed, in some strange way, to claim it as his own. But also to please it, to prove that it makes no difference how Loki comes, as long as he comes to him.
Thor's hand strays in, finds where his brother is still soft and swollen beneath the damp warmth of hair, watches Loki gasp and bite his lip. He starts to move, meeting him on every rolling push. Thor tips his head back, and Loki pushes hair from his face, and kisses him again. There's no play to it, it's rough and honest, and Thor kisses him until he has no breath left for it. Until there's just the heavy, desperate pushes of his hips, and the hot, slick grasp of Loki's body. Which goes tight, suddenly, grinding down into him, and Thor can feel every twitching shiver of Loki's orgasm. He can do nothing but grasp his hips, and hold him still, while he comes inside him.
Loki ends slumped over him, unwilling, or unable to move. Thor takes his weight, until he shifts, sighs and settles, with little care for the mess.
"I see the rumours of your capabilities are true after all," Loki murmurs into his skin.
Thor will not let himself be distracted by flattery.
"Is this how you choose to live?" he asks. Because there is so much about his brother that he doesn't know. That he should know. "Picking which pieces please you, and which don't."
Loki snorts like the idea is ridiculous.
"Perhaps it's not a question of 'picking' but of 'accepting.'"
Thor doesn't understand at all. He's not even sure if Loki wants him to. Thor thinks he would only ever discover Loki's secrets by blundering into them. But his brother doesn’t object, doesn't turn his head away when he finds himself absently playing with his hair.
There's a rush of warmth across his throat when Loki laughs. "Which parts please you best, brother?"
Thor shakes his head, rather than be forced to form words, unwilling to talk of preferences. Loki allows him his silence, though Thor is convinced that his brother doesn't need words to pull answers from a man.
"Which parts please you?" Thor asks curiously.
Loki ignores the question entirely.
"I like this ache you've left inside me. It's pleasant, in a well-used sort of way. You should try it."
"I like my cock," Thor warns.
"I'd give it back," Loki says with a laugh.
"Eventually." Thor can sometimes read his brother perfectly.