Author's Note: Because I imagine Thor being a rather naive, loyal, shy woman, and Loki being one hard-ass, teasing bitch of a woman. And, I couldn't think of a decent feminine substitute to Thor's name.
She couldn't stand it anymore. Try as she might to ignore it, to distract herself, nothing seemed to work. She hadn't even really noticed it until her best friend, nearly adopted sister moved in with her after her family had practically disowned the "monster." But, alas, her friend had moved in, and here she was, doing the very thing that nearly had the elder screaming.
For some reason, it seemed Loki didn't own a single damn bra in her entire wardrobe, and opted to walk around with it all hanging loose. Thorene, though, being the great friend she is, opted to never mention her discomfort towards this. It was her body, her choice after all, and they were just breasts.
Perfect, perky, soft…always on display and almost always just a few feet away breasts.
Thorene found herself biting her lip, hard, watching her almost-sister go about making herself a lunch while she leaned against the counter, trying the best she could not to stare at the low-cut, thin black shirt Loki wore, which barely concealed her nipples. The blond knew she was probably failing at it too.
"Alright, what is it." The voice was flat, just like her face, and Thorene nearly jumped in surprise from the sound, quickly gathering herself before lamely responding, "Wh-What is what, then?" giving her best friend a forced smile of innocence.
With a heavy sigh, Loki placed her sandwich condiments onto the kitchen table, placing her hands on it and leaning against the surface, unknowingly giving the elder a rather nice view right down her shirt. "Don't even play dumb with me, Thor. I'm not dull. I know when something is troubling you, and damn it, something is troubling you." Her face would appear angry to anyone else, but Thorene knew that looks. Her friend was worried.
Reaching up to knot fingers in blond locks, the elder looked down at her own chest. She'd never get away with going bra-less, not with her size, anyway. Even if she could, she knew there was this thing called "common decency," and truthfully, it would be rather uncomfortable to go unsupported for too long. Besides, it wasn't really jealousy that was bugging her, it was-
"Your breasts bother me." And so, she just came out and said it, quickly looking away from her "sister" in shame. She'd probably sounded terribly shallow, which wasn't how she meant it at all, but her poor brain just couldn't' think of any better way to go about the situation. "Listen, it doesn't matter, I'm fine, okay? I have a tournament to get to, s-" Before Thorene could even finish her scapegoat of an excuse, her words died abruptly in her throat, for she'd turned to look back at her friend, who'd happened to remove her shirt all together in the time she hadn't been looking.
And now those supple, pale, buoyant breasts were glaring her right in the face, said face heating up rather quickly with a blush that would put any prize tomato to shame. She didn't know what to say, where to look, hands falling from her hair in order to twist at the cloth of her training shorts. She didn't need to see the smirk on her best friend's face. She heard it.
"And how, pray tell, do my breasts bother you, dear sister?" Loki had a rather wolfish grin on her face, eyebrows cocked in curiosity as she, now with purpose, leaned over the table some, chest knowingly on display. "Do they disgust you, Thor?"
"No, they distract, me, Loki!" Thorene snapped, finally turning around to face her so called "sister," eyes blazing in a momentary flash of anger and shame. The moment was over quickly though, and her face fell into her hands with a regretful groan. "Is-is it that hard to put a bra on? Honestly?"
Her torment was only made worse, however, when she felt two cool hands prying her hands away from her burning face, only guide those hands right to the breasts in question, placing them firmly to Loki's chest.
The blond nearly groaned, brown eyes shutting tight with a noticeable tremor. They were as soft as they looked, and oh so warm, and perfect for holding, for touching…
The sound of her best friend purring in satisfaction had dark eyes quickly snapping open, looking at Loki in surprise and pure embarrassment, not to mention what she thought was unrequited lust. Alas, Loki seemed to be nearly melting in pleasure, her head having fallen back some, exposing her lean neck beautifully, teal eyes hidden by eyelids. And this time, Thorene did groan, a deep, husky sound slightly muffled by the teeth biting down on her lip. The sight alone was just too much, and she subconsciously felt her thighs squeezing together.
And then she remembered she actually did have a game to get to. There was no way her team would compete without their star player, not if they wanted to win, at least. "Game…I-I have a game to get to, Loki…" Her voice wavered a bit, though she couldn't seem to pull herself away from her "sister," hands still pleasantly kneading the mammary glands they held, of their own accord.
"Mhmmm…I know." Loki didn't even lift her head, eyes open just enough to give her best friend a teasing glance. That one look though, had Thorene snapping back to her senses, groaning in annoyed agony before she gently shoved her friend away, whom just chuckled in response.
"Have a good game, baby! I'll be watching you from the stands!" The younger jeered, her words turning into a teasing cackle as Thorene quickly stormed out of the house, screaming behind her, "Get a goddamn bra first!"
As Loki was left in the silent apartment, she decided to continue making her meal, smiling to herself all too haughtily. What Thorene hadn't known was that her friend did indeed own bras, plenty of them, actually. The younger had just been plotting ways to get their sexual attraction to one another up and out of the way.
She had to admit though, not wearing the certain undergarment was rather liberating, and hey, if it had such an amazing effect on her best friend, why start wearing one now? With that in mind, the trickster of a woman finished up her sandwich and pulled her shirt back over her head, expecting to go to the tournament in exactly what she was wearing, no more, no less.