"Thor."
"Loki."
"Thor, I—"
"No. Say no more."
The golden-headed Apollo-built god traced a tender finger over the younger's lips, reveling in the slight whimper that escaped his silver tongue at the proximity between their golden godly bodies. The Apollo-Ares hybrid needn't an explanation for interrupting his brother during his hourly rage-filled masturbation session; he was Thor, the god of finger-fucking and all that was holy.
"Thor, I am not your real brother."
This filled Thor with incomprehensible constipation and anger.
"Be quiet, you fool."
And so he kissed him, plunging his tongue into the icy depths of Loki's mouth. The younger did not immediately react, but for his nipples, which poked through his clothes, his armor, like twin steel rods. Soon enough, both were naked, Thor deflowering his brother's pearly pink body with the grace and beauty of a defecating cow.
"If only I had known earlier that Loki the Cunning was well-versed in passion…"
They grunted and kicked and pulled hair, their moans reverberating throughout the halls of the palace.
Still, in another realm, it was time for Odin's daily finger-fuckering. On a routine trip to the land of the Valkyries for their famous serving of baked testicles, the king had barely made it back in time for his appointment, though punctuality was of hardly any import to royalty. Nor was another's privacy, he realized, as he watched the god of finger-fucking make love to the other, more forgettable Loki from above the clouds. He frowned with paternal disapproval and buried homosexual angst. As the god of heterosexual relations, the brothers' coupling deeply upset him.
"You thought you could get away with such an offense without my knowing, did you?"
King Odin decided to intervene, suddenly appearing, completely naked, between the romping brothers.
They nearly rolled off the bed at the sudden and startling appearance of their father. Thor was furious, Loki horrified, and Odin strangely content. He turned his head to face Thor.
"Thor, I am disappointed. I had expected better of my favorite son."
Next, to Loki. "And you, I had expected this of you."
The younger was on the verge of tears, but no one cared.
"Ten thousand years of coerced sodomy in a bathroom stall. Be gone with you, you whimpering slim-hipped spittle-fart."
Loki did not—could not—look at his lover after such a conviction. After nearly twelve hours of pectoral-rubbing god sex, he did not wish for Thor to know his pain, to feel the same remorse and agony. He ran around the room, sobbing, blubbering, but pausing before the bed in a dramatic half-turn:
"I suppose this is farewell, brother. Do not look at me, for I am hideous. Perhaps –perhaps—you once loved me."
Alas, his brother had a thousand arguing cats for a brain.