Round 8
ROUND 8 IS CLOSED.
Welcome to norsekink!
Keep up the awesome, folks.
Attention:
M ind the new rules that have gone up over the course of the last round.
NOTE: We've noticed that some of the prompts being posted have Thor characters only making cameos or not featured at all. We realize that Thor is closely involved in the Avengers, but we're requesting that ( Read more... )
Welcome to norsekink!
Keep up the awesome, folks.
Attention:
M ind the new rules that have gone up over the course of the last round.
NOTE: We've noticed that some of the prompts being posted have Thor characters only making cameos or not featured at all. We realize that Thor is closely involved in the Avengers, but we're requesting that ( Read more... )
Thor surfaces from a dive and blinks the salt water out of his eyes, breathing in the crisp air. “Rather.” He brushes sodden hair back from his brow, turns to look at Loki still fully-clothed on the shore. Thor himself is completely naked as he was born, and the water feels wonderful against his bare flesh. “Not every day you get crowned the King of a Realm, Loki.”
A flick of Loki’s fingers, and Thor jerks back as water is splashed in his face. Loki grins, knowing he’ll get away with it if it’s Thor. He knows it, and so does Thor.
Thor will forgive Loki anything.
“How are you feeling?” Loki’s voice is soft, beguiling like he is. There’s a ripple of something in his words that doesn’t quite sit right, but Thor can’t identify what it is. He can’t really see Loki’s expression now that he’s further away from the shore, can’t tell if his brother is smiling or frowning from this angle.
Surely Loki is happy for him, though?
Making a thoughtful noise, Thor leans back to float in the water. The sun’s just broken out weakly from behind the thick clouds of the afternoon, and he relishes the cool embrace of the sea in this heat. “I’m never nervous,” he ventures. “It is a big responsibility, though, and I am honoured the All-Father is all but entrusting Asgard to me.”
“The mighty Thor, second-guessing himself?” There’s a mocking gasp, and Thor snorts at Loki’s theatrics. “Have no fear, Odinson. Even us gods are just men, and no one will ever know of the way you fretted so in the water, and I shan’t tell the entire ensemble of warriors at the great table on the fateful day of how you sighed like a maiden with unbridled worry.”
Thor hurls a handful of wet sand at Loki, who dodges it neatly and chuckles. “You’re far better at handling your knives!” He taunts good-naturedly, and Thor growls, deep in his throat.
Loki is still laughing when Thor emerges from the water, all sleek muscles and mussed hair, stalking up to the beach with intent. “You will pay for that insult dearly,” Thor vows, and Loki doesn’t budge, only continues to smirk at him in that damnably appealing way of his, a dark eyebrow raised.
“Come on then, Thunderer,” Loki gets up then, dusting off the sand from his clothed knees, takes a few long strides towards the edge of the water and tilts his head. He crooks a finger at Thor then, sly smirk shifting into a smile, sincere and bright.
It takes Thor’s breath away.
“Come at me, Thor.”
Thor snorts. “Oh, I will.” He begins to run towards Loki, bracing himself to tackle his brother and pull him along into the water, clothes and all-
-and lands face-first in the water with a great, undignified splash to the uncharacteristic sound of his normally refined brother whooping and punching the air. Thor scrambles to his feet, sputtering and disoriented, salt stinging his eyes in the most unpleasant of ways.
“Loki!” He yells, wiping furiously at his face, and it’s not long before he can make out the slightly blurry outline of Loki just to the left of him, doubled over in laughter with his legs in the water, too.
“Will you never stop falling for that trick, Thor?” Loki wheezes. “You’d think the last few times I tricked you would have made you more impervious to my shadows.”
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“Shut up,” he mumbles a little, mortified.
Loki is still snickering.
Taking advantage of Loki’s distraction, Thor lunges and pulls at Loki’s arm. Loki cries out in surprise, and they both lose their balance and crash down together in a pile of awkward limbs and helpless laughter. The dark sea-green of the waves around them paints a pretty picture behind Loki’s disgruntled face above him, black tendrils of hair plastered to his cheeks.
He is suddenly reminded of a great wet cat, and Thor cannot stop laughing.
Loki narrows his eyes and pulls his lips into a pout.
“Are you going to sulk, brother?” Thor’s tone is teasing, and he gently pulls Loki down against his bare chest. It feels good, Loki’s wet limbs against his, even through the thin layer of his brother’s robes.
Loki huffs and straddles him, green eyes ever-calculating as he quirks an eyebrow and snaps his fingers, his wet robes melting into the ocean. “No, but I think I just might do something else,” Loki leans down, murmuring against Thor’s ear.
Thor shivers, and Loki drapes himself, long limbs and all over Thor languorously. It’s almost too much to bear, Loki’s skin against his own in the cooling embrace of the waves, with the hushed whispers of the tide around them. If Thor could work seiðr, he would freeze this moment in time: an almost perfect moment of careless joy that he might not be able to relive again when he is king.
“How do you want me, Thor?” Loki says, voice a low curl around his name, the dark seductiveness of his voice going straight to Thor’s cock. Truly, Loki’s mastery of words is something to behold; he has reduced Thor to a whimpering mess before with seemingly innocuous whispers and only the barest of touches, teasing and teasing him until he’d given in, pleaded for Loki to kiss him, take him in his mouth, anything to end the torture of the heated words that had tumbled from his lips.
Thor bucks up against fingers dancing lightly up his thighs, craving friction and the skilled movements of Loki’s clever hands on him. “Please,” he utters, a little feverish already. Thor has learned early on to accommodate and pander to his brother’s whims and ego if he wants something, even in bed. He is not too proud to beg for Loki’s wicked mouth, especially when he knows all too intimately how marvelous Loki’s silver tongue really is when pressed slyly against his heat.
Those who insulted Loki in court on a regular basis by granting him that nickname had not the slightest of ideas how Loki’s tongue could, truly, fell entire empires if he were to work his own brand of magic with his words with it like this, along with the witchcraft of those sharp green eyes.
Loki purrs, approving, and rocks against him in the water. They’re still half-submerged in it, and it feels a little surreal. “There’s a good boy.” He kisses his way down Thor’s chest, palm grazing Thor’s cock teasingly, just a brush. Thor bites down on a moan.
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Yes, he can never really predict what Loki wants to give or take when it comes to Thor. But, he muses hazily as Loki presses a kiss to the crown of his cock, that is probably what he finds most thrilling about Loki and the bed-games they play.
“Future King of Asgard,” Loki whispers, his breath tickling his skin in the most tantalising way, his soft lips an absolute torture. “Fucking into my mouth, using a prince’s lips like a common whore, bucking up like an animal rutting in heat. You enjoy this immensely, do you not?”
“Yes. Oh, Loki, yes-” Thor arches, his body a sharp curve off the water, but Loki waves a hand and his hands are pinned down. His cock jumps, because he’s never not loved it when Loki used his magic against him, rendering him powerless as Loki drank Thor to his fill. “Your tongue, brother, please, I yearn for it, I-”
“Patience, Thor.” Oh, the cruel trickster, laughing at him and kissing him so intimately. He draws his breath in like a sob, wanting and wanting and still Loki withholds pleasure from him-
They are both probably a little mad, two brothers entangled in this labyrinth of carnal delights and sin, partaking in pleasures that would never end. Loki and Thor, Thor and Loki - both so damned and beyond salvation at this point, they might as well go down with the memories of their roughest fucks and tenderest moments, clawing and mouthing at each other like they can never get enough.
They never can.
Loki’s palm is hot against his cock when Thor keens, and that infernal smirk back on his face as he swallows him down.
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But it is amazing, and hot, and oh God, the descriptions of the different ways Loki has 'wanted it' in the past, are just HNNGFF. And wet!Loki is the most delicious mental image I've had today, even if Thor finds it amusingly feline.
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It fits Loki to a T, though! He's so unpredictable sometimes, chaotic, and I think a part of him has known madness all along so it figures that he'll be erratic even with what he wants when it comes to Thor. I find that even in the previous movie and with The Avengers (spoiler-free comment here, just sayin' to those browsin'), he doesn't seem to know what he wants? I don't even know what kind of point he's trying to prove, or if he's trying to prove one. He just seems so lost, and it's like the only purpose he has determined is that of raining havoc and disaster upon the realms, because he can.
Also, unf, wet!Loki. XD I agree completely with you.
So I was complaining for days how I couldn't seem to write anything for the Sherlock/John Big Bang and then I go and churn out almost 5k of Thor/Loki UST/porn in the form of this fic a little over three nights... what is air.
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Thor does not know what Loki has become.
His sharp, pale face twisted in hate and madness ringing in the loud bark of his laughter, Loki is unrecognisable as he smashes Thor to the ground with a swift brush of his magic. Thor can taste blood in his mouth, shudders in revulsion at the feeling of Loki’s corrupted magic around him, on him. Loki had recited a passage from his lessons to Thor, once, about how a mage’s magic mirrored and revealed himself.
Loki’s magic might have been warm and golden-green before, mysterious and full of mischief, but now it just feels slick, like bile, against his skin.
Like death and despair.
The Avengers are scattered around him, engaged in their own battles, too busy fending off dastardly creatures of Loki’s summoning to really pay attention to the fire that is unfolding between two not-brothers, the pain they are both going through.
How much agony and loneliness had Loki suffered without Thor by his side, at the revelation about his past? Thor has cursed himself countless times for not picking up on his brother’s insecurities building like a dark storm through the centuries, for not heeding the way Loki had distanced himself so towards the end, learning to lock more and more of his secrets within the ice cage of his heart, away from Thor. Clueless Thor.
And Thor had never noticed the resigned sadness bleeding through the edges of his smiles whenever he’d turned to look at him. He had so mistakenly assumed that those tight, soft smiles were expressions of the strange, simple love Loki had held for a brother who was more than a brother.
How could he not, when Loki had always looked at him so while murmuring unexpected words of quiet devotion in his ears between his languid movements against Thor’s naked body under the cloak of night, between the reverent kisses he pressed to Thor’s temple?
Loki had spat at him when Thor had returned from his exile on Midgard, telling him that he, Loki, was no son of Odin. He’d pushed Thor away when all Thor wanted was for everything to right itself, to fold Loki back into his embrace and for life to continue in Asgard the way it’d always had. The sheer hate in Loki’s eyes, mingled with misery, had stopped him in his tracks when Thor tried to reach out to him.
His brother - he is still a brother to Thor, still, even if a part of him is fiercely delighted that now, his love for Loki need not be wrong -had planted seeds of simmering anger and resentment within himself so long ago, in his confusion and not understanding why it was Thor, why it was always about Thor, and why Loki was always thrust into the shadows.
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Thor had been so blind; when had it all started to spiral so wildly out of control?
“Loki,” he bites out, wincing at the searing pain across his back where Loki had struck him. This is nothing like their eager, casual sparring. Thor does not truly want to hurt Loki, and it reflects in the way he parries Loki’s reckless, savage thrusts of his staff - with defense in mind to preserve them both. Loki, however, is having none of it; he fights dirty every chance he can, knocking Thor down with cruel blows and magic both. “Brother.”
A blast of magic narrowly misses his face, and Thor steadies himself with a palm on the ground, one knee in the debris. He looks up at Loki’s face, helpless before the force of his brother’s descent into his obsession with hatred and vengeance.
Never has he looked more the part of the God of Chaos before this very moment.
“I am not your brother, Thor,” Loki hisses, bitter. “I have never been, no matter what false memories you choose to live by to convince yourself. To think that all these years, I believed-”
Thor doesn’t say anything, gripping onto Mjolnir like a lifeline, eyes never wavering from Loki’s face as Loki seethes and rages on. Loki’s vanity, his need for theatrics, his hungry longing to be heard and acknowledged will always be a weakness to be exploited; now, though, Thor has no such designs on his brother, and he believes it is the least he can do to listen to what Loki has to say.
(It is also to assuage some of his own guilt.)
In hindsight, Thor and the rest of Asgard have done little to endear Loki to them through the years.
Outside and even within the house of Odin, the extent of Loki’s loneliness must have been crippling. Thor can see it now, stark and clear, a solitary figure swathed in green and black standing against the sneers and mockery of the other warriors at court, belittling him for his sorcery, the clever use of his tongue and his preference for diplomacy over duels.
Loki, steeling his biting retorts against the whispers of how he must not have been of their blood, that surely he was no trueborn of Odin’s, because he held on to what everyone had presumed a reluctant truth; even if he were Loki the Liesmith, perceived by all of Asgard to be battleshy and craven, he was still Loki, son of Odin.
Until he wasn’t.
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“-and you foolishly still want me to return, thinking there is a place for me at the table amongst gods who would sooner see me dead for my sins than to even step one foot in Asgard?” Loki snarls, waving a hand, and more rubble comes crashing down on screaming civilians. “Has your time with the Midgardians addled you so, Thor?”
“No, it’s not that, brother,” Thor feels his throat close up. Frustration burns like a cruel flame within him at his inability to truly articulate what he wants Loki to know, what he wants, the way Loki would’ve effortlessly been able to. It is true, even after all this years; words come naturally to Loki, smooth like silk, but Thor has always been a man of action and consequence instead.
He just wants to tell Loki what he believes the truth. “Even if you think there is no place for you in the hall,” Thor blurts. “There will always be one for you beside me. With me. I’ve told you before - I would give you the crown if you so wished for it!
“Home is, and has always been Asgard to me,” Thor pleads. “But it is most complete with you by my side. Be with me, Loki!”
Loki’s stilled, a silent figure before him, his long cape billowing in the winds of battle.
“I’ve told you, too, that I did not wish for the crown,” Loki sighs after a fashion, resignedly, shaking his head. He looks to have calmed from his wild madness, if only for a moment. “I only wanted to be level with you, through all those long centuries. It was enough to drive even a god mad, my once-brother, how did you think I felt? No, now that I know the truth, I can never be your equal.”
Thor gets to his feet, stumbling and moving shakily towards Loki. “Loki-”
“Stay there!” Loki bares his teeth, and Thor stops, abruptly.
The trickster begins to laugh, but it comes out more like a string of sobs, shaking that thin chest of Loki’s. “I could never even be your equal as your younger, Thor, my storm-born brother of thunder. I couldn’t. The only way left to me is to be your enemy, don’t you understand? Asgard is lost to me, as are the Asgardians.”
He twirls his staff in his hand, almost contemplatively, his eyes narrowing as he looks at Thor, mouth tightening. “Be that as it may, I will rule. I will rule Midgard, and you cannot stop me. Chaos is the one thing I have now, my only constant. These bleating sheep want to be ruled, to be brought to their knees before a greater power.” Loki’s smile is like a shark’s. “Such a pretty picture they will make, Thor, as they scramble to do my bidding, calling my name. Who am I to deny them that?”
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“Mjolnir,” he snaps, summoning his hammer to him, and tries one last time to appeal to Loki, if that were at all possible. “Cease this folly, stop destroying worlds you have no reason to! Thousands are suffering at your cruel whims, and for what? A throne you do not even truly desire!”
Loki’s expression wavers a little, just a quivering hesitation, but Thor spots it even as Loki sets his jaw and steels his eyes to meet Thor’s again. “You think you understand me,” Loki murmurs, almost in awe, but anger is creeping into his voice, laced between his quiet words. “You think you know, you think you can fathom the workings of my mind, Thor. The utter arrogance-”
Thor grits his teeth. “I have loved you for hundreds of years beyond your wildest imaginings, you fool. I know a lot more about you than you believe me to.”
“Shut up,” Loki’s words are like the crack of a whip, quick and strong, and his eyes are desperate. “Don’t speak to me about love, you don’t know anything about what I am, what I have become.”
“Don’t, Loki-”
Thor chokes in surprise, glancing down to look at the knife between his ribs. He turns slowly, and Loki is there behind him, his double fading into thin air.
“Why?” He asks weakly, pressing a hand to his chest and drawing blood. The dagger’s missed his heart for whatever twisted reason Loki has in mind for keeping him alive despite it all, but there is an awful lot of red trailing down his arm. His vision is beginning to swim.
Loki pulls the blade out, and while the pain of a sharp knife being ripped out of him is nothing new, the notion of Loki having been the one to wound him in such a way is gripping, something that wakes a great sadness in him.
He gropes at Loki’s arm, struggling for a grip, to hold Loki and not have him leave, have him escape with things simmering between them like this. “Don’t go, Loki. I’m sorry for everything,” he manages, clinging tightly onto his brother. “Don’t do this, please, there has to be another way.”
Loki shakes his head once more, brows furrowing as if confused. “There was never another way, Thor, and there never will be,” his words are shaky, just like his fingers are on Thor’s as he pries Thor’s iron-grip away from his arm. “This is what I have become, and this is what I must remain.”
“No!” Thor shouts, as Loki steps away.
“Oh, yes,” Loki says, almost regretfully, as he looks down at his hands, red with Thor’s blood, one of them holding the dagger that had drawn the scarlet from his flesh. He looks almost disbelieving, his eyes flicking down to the blood, to his hands, to Thor’s face.
Loki tilts his head, and smiles a wan, sad smile as he begins to fade, ignoring the way Thor is crying his name, pleading for him to stop, please-
“Farewell, Thor.”
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“Not now, Starkson,” Thor says, tired, but curls his fingers around the cool glass anyway, taking huge gulps of the glorious, sweetened bitter taste he’s come to associate with Midgardian nectar. “He has gone too far and he will rain destruction on Midgard any chance he gets, but despite it all...”
“He’s still your brother, I get it.” Tony gives him a hearty slap on the back before gripping Thor’s shoulder intently. “We’ll be over here if you need us. Just call for more drinks if you need anything - Pepper insists I take this round, damn it all - and if you happen to find anyone you want to take home...” He makes a lewd gesture, and Thor raises an eyebrow. “Well, just don’t wake us up or anything in the wee hours of the morning if you’re the loud sort.”
Thor sighs, drains the pint, and tries not to think about how he is the loud sort, especially with L- “I’ve not... been with anyone for a long time, Starkson, but I would do you the smallest courtesy of not interrupting your slumber should that occur. And the rest, too, as they reside in Stark Tower alongside you.”
Tony shrugs, just gives him a grin. “There you go again, going all fancy. Bartender, another pint for this man, here! Yeah, all right, just holler if you need anything, Thor.”
And then Tony’s gone to join the others, an arm curling around Pepper’s waist as she bats him away but nips at his ear playfully. Steve is quiet, nursing his drink, and Natasha observes as usual while Clint and Bruce are betting over some cards in a corner. It’s a peculiar picture, given how they had been so bruised and battered just scarce 2 days prior from their last altercation with Loki.
“Here y’go, mate,” the gruff bartender pushes another pint towards him with a stubby finger, and Thor accepts it gratefully.
“You have my thanks,” he rumbles, and the bartender just chuckles and goes back to tending his glasses with a trailing clink, clink of sounds, just like bells.
He doesn’t know how long he sits there alone, brooding, his pint being constantly refilled with an Avenger occasionally shooting him a concerned glance. They don’t approach him, because no doubt Tony has told them to keep away and give him some time alone. Thor appreciates that.
For the first time in a very long while, ever since he’d been so conflicted with the feelings he’d harboured for his younger brother, smiling and dark-haired, Thor wishes he could forget.
The drinks are a start.
As the crowd thins out, Thor thumbs his glass absently, the bartender drawing him another pint, impressed. “You drink them under the table on a regular basis, then?”
“What, out-drink the Avengers?” Thor laughs. “Probably all except the Black Widow, she is magnificent with her drinks.” He tilts his pint in thanks again to the bartender, and takes another gulp.
Eventually, he gets the feeling that someone is watching him.
When he does turn around, there’s a young, brown-haired man smiling at him, tilting a glass.
The bartender huffs and sets a tall glass out before him. “From the gentleman with the voice like silk, he asked me to tell you.” The drink is green and vaguely ominous-looking, and Thor looks at it doubtfully. “The Emerald Balrog contains absinthe, and it’s rather potent. What say you, sir?”
“That a challenge?” Thor smirks, and picks up the glass. He raises it lightly back at the man in the corner, intrigued, before he takes a cautious sip. It is potent, and Thor finds himself pleased by this. “This is good.”
“Yeah, it is.” The bartender gives him a toothy grin, and there’s a flash of gold teeth when he winks. “Best thank him for introducing it to ye.”
Thor drinks more of it, and feels it begin to get to his head. “I suppose. Thank you, tapster.”
“Man, polite customers, they don’t make enough of them nowadays,” the bartender shakes his head wonderingly, mixing more drinks as Thor sidles off his stool to join the man who’d bought him the drink in the corner with the sofas.
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