Sort of vaguely based on a prompt from Sigynthefaithful. A bit more vaguely so than I really meant it to be - sorry!

3.

Sometimes words are nothing. Sometimes they are dust on a lonely library shelf, background music in an empty room, a sigh on a deserted street. Sometimes there is nothing more unnecessary than a word. Sometimes there is nothing more needed and still it goes unspoken and unheard; a bottle that goes unopened however thirsty one may be for the sweetness within.

Sometimes ideas, knowledge, awareness, all are conveyed in silence and with the understanding that comes words form from the dark of silence like stars brightening in the sky.

Loki looks up from his writing to see his brother in the doorway with the sky flaming in his eyes. Gone all day, Loki has waited in silence, obstreperous tongue in no mood today to share babbling nonsense in passing platitude with the whole unworthy world. He thought the bottle would break upon his brother's return, that the words he spared on nobody else would fall like harvest upon the offered gold.

But the fire in the blue eyes holds him like a fly in amber, a fire that crackles and speaks a thousand words, some of them over and over like a song – want you, missed you, need you. Thor closes the door as he comes into the room, bringing the song with him as it segues from a pulse into a drum beat – need you, want you, ache for you, burn burn, tear you down – a sizzling song hissing in the ears and all his practised cool melting in that heat and the hands upon him that sing their own song – touch, shiver, taste, sigh, stroke, take, own, possess – and he groans beneath that touch and the unbearable love in the song that it sings, Thor's gold beneath his hands, between his fingers and the scent of air and earth and animal.

Helpless beneath the crashing kiss that roars its own words into his mouth; hungry, starved for you need you, consume you, devour you – the oft recited words of description as tantalising as sensation itself. Some words are as old as the primitive and yet never age at all. The terrible loss, the deprivation of vocabulary when Thor leans back, gasping to wrench out the groan –

"Loki –" and there is so much contained in the utterance of that one word that it rocks the head and heart until they clatter and bruise but Loki snarls for loss of the kiss, for want of that heat and that fairy tale that comes all combined therein and he drags Thor's face to his with greedy hands and teeth and tongue that scream as he does not wish to aloud, and with more enunciation than mere words could manage – Don't, don't stop, dearest gods, never stop, never stop touching me, wanting me, needing me – ending on a wordless cry of desperation, his head falling back and Thor's teeth grazing his throat –

I would let this wolf consume me before Ragnarok even comes – he thinks, wanting nothing more than to be so utterly possessed, taken over, swallowed by Thor as to become him as a part of him will never stop wishing that he could. This is the closest he gets, in these times, entangled so closely as to be near enough one entity, a twisted writhing mass of limbs – and Thor pulling him up into his arms, swinging him off the ground and Loki's legs locking around his back a half whispered word and a twist of the fingers enough to part clothing and free the cocks that ache and want, to slide together, hard hot flesh against hard hot flesh. Thank the gods, Loki thinks, he had prepared himself already in anticipation of Thor's return and in expectation of his hunger, and yes because he has no wish to wait any longer than he has to himself either.

Thor swings him round to push him into the nearest wall which is covered floor to ceiling with one of his enormous bookshelves and Loki grunts for the thud as his back connects with the wood and the spines of books and his arms strain back to grab onto the edge of the shelf above his head as their collision shakes books from their places and onto the floor. Loki makes a slight high sound of concern because books and Thor pauses for perhaps a fraction of a second, enough to see that Loki's concern is nothing to the rabid hunger and want screaming out from every line of his face. He pushes Loki up again and more books fall and he drops him down with a grunt to impale him on his cock, moaning with the incredible perfection of the sensation so intently that the sound never comes out and Loki's eyes close, near enough to transported as he sinks down until Thor is buried in him to the hilt, teeth clenched in silent screaming.

Loki's hands tangle in Thor's hair and when he opens his eyes it is to see Thor looking up at him with an expression of utmost wonderment and bliss as he pushes on into him, moving Loki on his cock as he does so. Loki's head sings in a rush of wordless ecstasy and his fingers fall through that stream of golden hair to rest on Thor's great shoulders and move himself in time to the thrusts that drive his body shaking towards the edge. His fingers torment the fabric of the cloak Thor is still wearing, twisting it into crumpled balls in his hands as Thor holds him in place now with one hand, the other seeking Loki's cock and finding no purchase for it is trapped between them and Loki shakes his head minutely to say it does not matter – and it does not, the friction is enough already and if it were not then there is still Thor's cock inside him stroking him to ecstasy.

There are so many things they could be saying, so many words that fuel that fires of lust, so many truths that pass each time their eyes meet amongst the mad scramble towards satisfaction – I need you, you complete me, I love you, you're beautiful, I want you – all the cries and commands that rock the body just with the speaking of them - Yes, please, yes, more more, always more – devolving into the curses that spill the pressure of build up from the lips. But not today, today words just steal valuable breath that is needed for gasping, for energy, to thrust and ride with greater frenzy into the bookshelf than words would allow room for. In the face of all that their bodies express words are suddenly redundant, petty things – irrelevant to the actuality of Thor's cock driving into his brother until the silence of their screaming shatters, Loki blowing it apart first as he comes with white hot fire shaking him from spinning head to curled toes, his come soaking the fabric between them. As he sinks down the wonderful contracting tightness squeezes maddeningly around Thor and he comes moments behind his brother, that tightness milking every last drop from his cock until the battle to stay standing fails and he sinks to his knees, Loki a soft, boneless pile in his lap, head cradled against one muscular arm.

Loki's hands uncurl from Thor's shoulders, letting the material drop, crumpled back almost into place as he slowly stretches out his aching fingers, letting his arms drop and those recovering fingers skim the covers of the books around them. He frowns, scowls, reminds himself how lips and tongue employ themselves to the business of forming words and says quietly, slightly lamely –

"My books –"

"I will get you new ones."

"Some of these are irreplaceable!"

"They cannot be damaged beyond repair –"

"Perhaps not. But get me new ones all the same if you can work out how they can be caught and killed."

"You mock me."

"Yes usually. Well done."

"Loki!"

"New books please."

"Fine. I will get you new books!"

"And some old strange ones."

"And some old strange ones fine. Though it is hardly my fault –"

"Well who pushed me into the bookshelf then?"

"Who did not complain at the time?"

"Th – or!"

"Why I would wager you let half of them fall just for the excuse to have me get you new ones."

"I would never do such a thing, brother, whatever do you take me for?" Loki supposes it would sound more convincing if he were not smirking but even if he were not he knows Thor can always see right through him anyway.

"I take you for my brother and a scheming, manipulative, conniving little –"

"Brother hush –" Loki half laughs, wriggling in pleasure beneath the only terms of endearment he will happily accept, nuzzling into the top of Thor's neck, his nose against his cheek, his lips moving to catch up once again with his brother's – "Not another word."

_x_

I like words, as I'm sure you've noticed if you've been following my stuff I generally like even my porn to contain a lot of dialogue – because – and I was trying to find a subtler was of saying this I really was – but because it's hot as! So I thought I'd have a go for once at having some no-dialogue sex….I quite like how it turned out though it won't become a habit!

Will there be another chapter of this? Hell, I just don't know any more!