AN: I listened to 'A Moment of Madness' by Katie Melua while writing this :D
They had both had way too much. But the younger had had less than his older brother, otherwise his brain wouldn't have sounded the alarms the very moment his felt those wet lips against his own, smelled that alcoholic smell which didn't come from him alone, saw those blue eyes, clouded by lust and alcohol, and focused on nothing, nothing but him.
It was madness! Pure madness! Thor was his brother! That's at least what his brain told him. It also told him that he should push away, but those lips felt oh so good, and the one kissing him was Thor, almighty-loved-favorised-admired-Thor, whom right then worshipped Lokis pale, weak body with his strong hands and lips. The god so desperate for its shadows touch. And once Loki made the madness that much worse by kissing the other, he decided that he were the god of mischief – of chaos, the madness suited him just fine. He did what he wanted. And the shame that would hit them both in the morning would be blamed on the damned alcohol. But that was not for him to think about right then, as the only thing that mattered right then were their own moment of madness.