ii. summer
"Why is it always I who do the cleaning?" Loki asks from his place on the floor. His legs are perched up on the couch he doesn't use for sleeping anymore. His whole new life was moved into Thor's bedroom, stacked in his closet and tucked under the comforter, hidden in the nightstand drawer, and smoothed over the pillows, and it is a route he has only ever hoped to go down.
He's been tiding up their apartment the whole afternoon, and his back is killing him. It actually popped when he lay down and stretched it.
"Because I do all the cooking," Thor calls from the kitchen, and from the scent Loki can tell they would have meatballs today.
Loki is a terrible cook. All he can do is scrambled eggs and broccoli soup, and far too many dishes to wash.
"Besides, you love cleaning."
Loki sniffs at his hands. They reek of detergent. "No, I don't. But I hate filth even more."
"You can come and help me, then I will help you with cleaning."
Loki looks at him upside down from his place as Thor sticks his head into the living room with a cheeky grin. "No. This time I want to eat an actual meal from a plate and not its ingredients from your skin."
Thor laughs and disappears back in the kitchen. The last time they cooked together ended up in a mess in the kitchen and no dinner at all. The failure had little to do with their cooking skill and more with the fact that they found more interest in each other than the food.
But that's a common issue these days.
. .
"You can't possibly sleep in such heat." Loki's finger is a sharp jab in Thor's back, and he groans, moving his tongue in his mouth as if it was full of mud because he actually almost managed to fall asleep. It is simply typical of Loki that he wouldn't let him.
The air-conditioner provides a constant noise level in the silence but it doesn't do much else, and they alternate between hoping it would work and opening the windows when they realize it won't, but the latter doesn't do much except for flapping the curtain a little. The heat is stacked among the walls like a vacuum that doesn't move anywhere, and they are sweating even by lying naked and motionless on the sheets.
"I usually think of boring things. That helps me fall asleep," Thor mumbles as he turns on his back. His arm brushes up against Loki's, and his brother jerks away from the additional heat. "Like microeconomics."
Loki groans. "I'd rather not think of it. I'll have the exam in two days."
In the darkness, Thor smiles at him sympathetically. After high school, his father sent him to study business and finance so he could later direct their family company but Thor gave it up after two semesters. It was simply not his cup of tea. Since Baldur was still very young, Odin made Loki go down the path Thor refused. It is not really Loki's interest either but he is smart enough to be able to accomplish it. Thor has never asked why he would obey Odin's wish; he fears it's Loki's way of proving himself worthy for his place in the family, like he is afraid, had he resisted Odin's will, he would find himself out. Thor hates the idea, he hates how it still shows the leaking wound Loki's father cut into his son when he left them behind one day. Loki was only seven, and he didn't understand back then that people's selfishness has little to do with others' worthiness. Loki still doesn't understand that a place in a family is not a thing to earn or fight for. Not something to lose.
"Sometimes I try to list the names of the dwarves in The Hobbit," he admits with a smirk. Loki snorts beside him, and Thor can feel how he shifts into a new position. "I always get confused, and then before I can sort it out, I fall asleep."
Loki laughs. "Boring, you say. Then I guess it's enough for me to think of you."
Thor says it's his vengeance when the next moment he rolls on Loki and holds him down until his brother arches into him with a clever mixture of curses and moans spilling from his lips.
After all, there are other methods they can try to help them fall asleep easier.
. .
"You have a new earring," Thor mumbles around his earlobe between his lips. His hand runs a distracting path on Loki's flank, but Loki has only been pretending he was reading ever since Thor stepped in the room. His arousal has a whiff Loki can recognize from a mile, and it echoes in his groins every single time.
"Yes. A hammer."
Thor takes a closer look. An incredulous yet proud laughter rises in his chest. "You're kidding me. Mjölnir?"
"Yes, of course."
"I'm oddly flattered," Thor's tongue dances on the shell of his ear, a ticklish adoration in a language they speak the best, and this time it brushes over the metal symbol of the closest thing to a confession he would maybe ever get from Loki.
Loki's smirk is a devious tinge in his voice. "And how will you show your gratitude?"
It's only fortunate Thor has always loved challenges.
. .
It's raining cats and dogs, especially the former, Thor thinks as he looks at Loki. He is like a wet cat with his hair hanging in his face, with the piercing glare and angry hiss.
"Would you come already?" Loki bites it out sharply because Thor has the key which separates Loki from warmth and dryness. Thor laughs at him but he does so with a fondness only he can morph a slight into something light and weightless with.
Thor loses one of his flip-flops halfway to the apartment. The water is up to their ankles, running in wild waves down the street, and the string of the slipper snaps in the current. Thor cannot trudge forward anymore, he doubles over with his palms against his knees and laughs because such storm is beyond belief, and the downpour seems to seep into his body and fill him with something electric as though he were but a plant. He spots Loki watching him in astonishment from under the eaves of a building and he doesn't even realize how the water drips on his shoulder from the roof just as much as if he was standing in the open air.
It thunders, then the crack of a lightning paints the scene in monochromic yellow hue. Thor suddenly imagines Loki as a child, he sees the frail boy watching the storm from inside his room, counting the seconds between thunder and lightning.
Thor was always out in the garden until his mother dragged him inside again.
Sometimes he cannot believe they don't share these memories, he and Loki. Every second together now hides the sense of eternity, and he thinks the years they spent apart were simple intermissions in two lives that were meant to be one.
. .
Sometimes he thinks this would be his undoing when it seems all the blood in his body concentrates into just one part. It is a wonder he can drive without causing accident. Sometimes he realizes how ridiculous it is that the effect can be triggered with two simple words. Loki texted him right before his shift ended: I'm bored. And now he is so hard he cannot see straight. Thor knows what it implies. He has come to know how to chase away Loki's boredom, and his head pounds with the thought of it. It's a game they play, innocent words of insinuation.
He enters the apartment without so much as a greeting, and he gets only a silent nod in reply as he spots Loki on his knees, bent over his books on the coffee table in the living room. He is reclined on his elbows, the angular lines of his ass form a perfect right angle with his back.
Thor sees stars from his arousal, and he hasn't touched himself yet. He kneels behind Loki, stripped exactly to the extent it's needed. His erection draws a wet line on the fabric of Loki's pants as it glides down on the curve of his ass. He rolls the pants and the underwear down in one go to mid-thigh because it is just enough, too. His hand brushes over Loki's erection, and he wonders if Loki has counted the minutes of his drive home, if in his mind's eye he followed the lamp posts and intersections along the way, growing thicker and harder by the minute. The crease of Loki's ass blinks at him in shiny invitation, and the realization that he is already prepared sends Thor's head reeling.
It's Loki's favorite position, and Thor makes it worth for him, aiming for and finding the perfect angle with each thrust. They have done it many times, he has spent shameless hours of experiment to find the best stroke, the perfect slide that shakes Loki apart, to learn how to roll his hips and when to dive in with all the force he can muster. He had never been with men before Loki (and he doubts he would ever want to be – maybe with anyone else at all), but he learns fast, and Loki is vocal in his acknowledgement. It's so different from anything he has ever experienced, the drag of his cock in the clench of the tight muscles of Loki's entrance is a sensation he doubts he could ever grow tired of.
The table dances farther with each thrust, and Loki's clutch on it is the white-knuckled grip of blinding pleasure. He comes all over his papers, and the pulsation of his insides pulls Thor after him.
"Welcome home, Thor," he smirks lazily.
"I missed you," Thor answers.
And this is their usual greetings.
Neither thinks it is something they shouldn't do, and for many months to come they don't question it, don't recognize it for what it is. The apartment with their secret is a snow globe they keep close to their hearts.
. .
Loki's university is over for the semester, so when Thor doesn't find him there one evening as he gets home from the café, his mind spirals downwards on an ugly, wicked course.
"I didn't want to be sitting around here all day, so I work now at a sex shop," Loki shrugs when he arrives later and faces Thor's inquiries stoically.
Thor gapes at him. With the rational side of his mind he knows it's not like in a sex shop they sell the clerk but he cannot help the pang of jealousy. "Couldn't you find something else?"
"Why? It's a job just like any other out there. It's okay," Loki tips his head to the side snidely. "They might give me a discount, you know. They have so many interesting toys there. I'd love to try some of them with you."
He hooks a finger behind the waistline of Thor's jeans, and the rest of the night is spent with reciting the stock list of the shop with a demonstration of the user manual. By next morning, Thor doesn't think he has any objections left in him against Loki's workplace.
. .
The second time Loki visits him at the café is months after the first. Sif has a day off, so it's only Thor and Hogun behind the counter. Thor's stomach is tied in knots when Loki steps in, but this time Loki isn't uncivil to Hogun. They share a few pleasantries but neither is known for small talks so it ends quickly and painlessly.
It's mid-summer, the café is always crazy this time of the year.
"Mm, brother," Loki groans as he sips his milkshake appreciatively, and it's loud enough for others to hear it.
Thor's eyes narrow at how he intoned the word brother in the way he knows would land in Thor's groins. Green eyes glint at him mischievously, and Thor is aware how powerless he is to do anything against it.
"You know, I've wanted you ever since Odin showed a photograph of you for the first time," Loki drawls, and Thor watches transfixed as his tongue twirls around the straw in his drink, and Thor grabs the edge of the counter like it was his only lifeline. "Sometimes I sneak in your old bedroom to jerk off on your bed."
The images come unbidden and Thor swallows back a moan that continues to sit in his stomach, a thrumming vibration that shakes his bones. He scans the café with scarlet face. There is a couple sitting just two feet away from them, and he knows Loki knows it, too. He knows Loki keeps his voice just on the border of being audible only by Thor.
Loki enjoys this, watching him squirm with irritation and lust. He will do it all summer, and Thor never once tells him to stay away from the café.
. .
They fuck once in the restroom of the café, and the whole time Thor is as thrilled as scared they would be discovered.
For a week afterwards, he cannot look at the men's door without coils of excitement in his belly, and he just knows it was exactly what Loki aimed for.
Hogun doesn't speak much and never asks anything intrusive, but he has clever eyes that make Thor panic sometimes that Hogun just knows.
. .
Thor has two days off from the café, and they are really lucky with the weather, with several days of uninterrupted sunshine, so early morning they get in the car and he drives them southward.
"It's not like we don't have beaches closer than that, and you wouldn't need to drive 300 km to get there," Loki grumbles.
"Plus the ferry to the island. You forgot that," Thor can see his own smirk reflected in Loki's huge shiny sunglasses, and though they cover his eyes, Thor can very easily imagine the eye roll Loki is giving him, accompanied with a groan. The island is far from the city, but Thor chose it exactly for this reason.
Through the crack of the window he fancies he can smell the salt of the sea, even though they are driving down between rows of trees as the road cuts through a forest. He cranks the window lower, and the draught grips his hair under the sunglasses perched on his head, flying long locks in his face. He uses the band around his wrist to tie them in a loose bun. From the corner of his eyes he catches Loki watching him with an unreadable expression.
"You should wear it like that more often," he murmurs after a pause, his voice strangely hitching in the middle. "Rather than that unkempt wig of a thug."
Thor's laugh booms with amusement because this is something only Loki can do: handing praise along with slights, but he learnt to read among the lines.
The sun filters through the canopy of trees in wide sparkling streaks, and the sky is glowing above them like a golden dome. The road seems to be shimmering before them as they leave the shade of the forest behind, and their arms mold into one under the burning light where they touch above the gearshift. Loki's legs are hiked up on the dashboard, and Thor's lips pinch at the sight of his long, slim-cut pants. He has no idea how Loki can shove himself into his tight pants on hot days like this but it's become now a tantalizing image ever since he had the chance to study the wiry curves of Loki's calves very, very closely. He would like to lick the thin sheen of sweat coating the back of his knees now. He has learnt how the trail from that spot up to the curve of his ass reduces Loki into a visceral, undone thing.
They get milkshakes at the next drive-thru, and the car is filled with the artificial scent of strawberry. Loki flips through the channels on the radio until he finds something more tolerable, and they sing along loudly, and maybe terribly off-key, and it's picture perfect the way it is.
They are riding the ferry to the island, standing in the stern, drawn farther from the other passengers, and Loki's smile is relaxed on his face as he leans against the railing. Thor feels the tension leave his own muscles, too, a tension he hasn't known of. A seagull is following them, squawking as it slides on a current, and they follow its airborne flight absent-mindedly. They are free here, too, in a similar airborne levitation. Nobody knows them, nobody cares who they are, and what they have. If what they hide in their snow globe is anything illicit.
Thor's chin scrapes against Loki's shoulder as he nestles against his back, one arm draping around Loki's abdomen. He still cannot believe how their bodies fit so seamlessly, and the idea has a sacred savor to it. He doesn't want to say they are meant to be but sometimes it feels so. Inky feathers of Loki's hair flap in the wind, stroking Thor's cheeks like a silky veil, and Thor smuggles a kiss onto the sharp edge of his jaw because he can, and it's a gift.
As it turns out, Loki is a good swimmer, and he can stay under the surface for an unsettlingly long time. The first time he disappears, Thor starts to fret when he doesn't resurface, and he ducks to search for him in frenzy. He calls him salmon, and not only because of it. Loki is a slippery, uncatchable creature.
"If you catch me, you can have me," Loki challenges him, and Thor is surprised that he succeeds in the end. Or maybe, he shouldn't be so surprised at all.
"You didn't try too hard, right?" he teases, and it earns him the honor of being pushed underwater.
It doesn't matter, though, because later that night he has Loki there, on the shore, when the line between sky and sea ceases to exist. There is not an inch space between their bodies, either. Thor kisses the salt from the dip at the base of his neck. Loki's skin is ablaze under his lips where he is sunburnt, and it would surely ache later, more than the marks Thor leaves along them.
. .
His favorites are the lazy weekend mornings when the light through the blinds paints stripes on their blanket and Loki is sleep-scented, dream-soft on top of Thor's back.
"I think I drooled on you in my sleep," Loki mumbles, and the laughter in Thor's chest is a deep, blissful rumble.
"I love when you do it. I wouldn't want you any other way." And he smirks affectionately at the glorious bed head Loki's wax-laden hair can twist into each night. Then it would twist further each morning they have time to roll into each other.
Thor has other favorite things as well, a lot of small details. The odd black hairs on his pillow, the warm dent in the mattress right after he hears the tap open in the bathroom, the two coffee mugs in the sink and the vanilla soymilk in the fridge: these are the things Thor wants to keep forever. Every idea, every promise in each of them.
He wonders if these simple things are the ingredients of happiness.