Hey. I'm alive. My new job just doesn't let me write while working. Also, I'm woefully behind on this project, and I've only just finished January.
Originally posted to tumblr 2016-02-06.
/ Day 13 (2016.01.13)
/ noun
/ 1. a wether or other male sheep that leads the flock, usually bearing a bell.
/ 2. a person or thing that assumes the leadership or forefront, as of a profession or industry:
/ Paris is a bellwether of the fashion industry.
/ 3. a person or thing that shows the existence or direction of a trend; index.
/ 4. a person who leads a mob, mutiny, conspiracy, or the like; ringleader.
Thor was nothing new. There were a million Asgardians just like him: blond and thick and decent tacticians and too kind for their own good. And yet, there somehow weren't any just like him. There was something about Odin's son that just made people follow, that made people joyous and loyal.
Somehow, Loki was one of them.
He didn't know how his dearest brother did it, how he could get Loki to obey with just the curve of a smile or the pleading twinkle of his eye.
It was even more amazing considering how eager to please his king was in bed. There, Loki was not the second son, the prince, a stolen Frost Giant. He was simply Thor's. Thor's lover, leader, his only.
Deep in the halls of Asgard's palace, Loki led with the barest brush of a finger or the whisper of a hushed command. He led and Thor followed. Willingly. he could have tied up his brother and left him impaled on his own hammer should he so wish to do so, and he had. He could leave Thor there and return hours later to find blond hair and tanned skin drenched in sweat, face wet with tears, thighs trembling because he'd left the warrior suspended just so that he had to hold himself up to avoid a constant contact with his prostate.
He would watch from the shadows, see the way Asgard's proud king would give in to temptation and fuck himself on Mjolnir's handle, cringing at the scrape of that leather wrapping scraping against his most sensitive insides. He would stay hidden, gleeful in knowing that when his brother called out his name, pleading, begging, desperate, that he didn't know that he was there, disguised against the patterns of the wall and amongst the drapes.
Yet for all his beloved king's desperate need, when Loki would step out into the range of that watery blue gaze, the warrior would obediently still, would watch and wait for his next instructions. Sometimes he would bow his head, knowing he wasn't supposed to have been trying for the orgasm he couldn't reach anyway, not with that thong wrapped tight around his cock and balls.
Thor would be drooling though. Not from his mouth, but from the tip of his proud manhood, white weeping from the failed stimulation.
Loki would sweep a drop up with his finger, press it to his tongue, and close his eyes to savor that sweet taste of desperate need.
FINIS
2016 10M WotD Master Post (themadkatter13fanfiction tumblr, /10M-WotD-2016).
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