Temper, Temper
*My Anon. work from Norsekink*
Thor looks to the ruin around him, the trashing of man-made machinery and rubble of buildings alike. Loki's cloak drags around the corner of a building still standing. He was fleeing, again.
Alone, again.
Thor rebels at the very thought of it, deliberately he stormed after his brother. The Avengers would not miss him right away; they were human and caught up with the ruin of human things. Thor would have Loki give him an answer for this wanton destruction.
"Brother?" Thor tosses into the dark alley as he enters it. Loki leans against the wall, cradled in the dark between these still standing buildings, as if waiting for him. Thor wonders if he is hurt, and worries so much he speaks.
"Are you hurt?" Loki sneers, his pale face twisted in the play of dark and light.
"What do you care for your brother when you take up with them?" Thor has known his brother to be called silver tongued, but this is not always because of lies.
No, when Loki cares enough to lash out, he does so with true words. Loki says that word, brother – which Thor treasures and cherishes, with mocking disdain -distaste.
Loki pushes himself away from the wall, and Thor wonders if this is it, if this is when Loki will disappear. Thor snarls and strides to where Loki stands, backing him back into his place. Cornering him.
"You are selfish brother. Will not their lives will be but a blink of an eye to such as you and I?" Thor's growl fills the dark with a rumble like thunder. Loki's eyes flick upward, clouds gather above their heads. Loki smirks, as it's obvious he's touched a nerve – perhaps guilt. He can not help but dig deeper, his words like a wicked plant burrowing into his brother's heart and bones.
"You play with mortal lives, Thor. You seek to be their hero, their god, loved as you once were. You're good and noble, accuse me all you wish of doing evil and trickery in your great shadow, a stain to blight your noble eyes, but it is you who led me here." Loki's eyelids are low; a lover's look, mocking.
Thor does not know if it is that look which he has missed all these mortal years alone, like Loki, when they should not ever be apart nor opposite. Or if it is those too true words striking true rage. Rage that must go somewhere: must do something.
"I do not regret you, brother." Thor never will regret Loki, as his brother so accuses.
"Can you prove it?" Loki whispers as it begins to rain. Thor's hand strikes the wall by Loki's head, lightning striking, casting Loki in light and Thor in shadow.
"You would do well to shut your mouth." Thunder above rumbles threatening, and Loki shivers at the promise of it. Thor has his limits, Loki knows well.
"Make me." Loki smirks. Thor looks to him, lion yellow mane of hair wetting, making Thor look vulnerable. It is then that Thor kisses him in a rush of heat and raw need, the smell of a freshly brewing storm and the stink of sewage and alley trash. Loki does not struggle, but moans. He wants this, wants the show of brutal strength and power, he's missed Thor, and that is Thor in essence. Loki waits and wants, the anticipation breaking Thor's great restraint.
It is Thor's hands that snatch hastily at his pants, yanking or breaking Loki's belt, or the ripping in Loki's ears is his pants themselves. Loki smiles against his brother's lips, and Thor growls, the sound like thunder above fills Loki. With thunder comes lightning and rain, and it is the lightning that Loki now anticipates.
Thor is like thunder, rumbling and raging, he's the storm, and his lighting is lust, but the rain Loki does not linger on.
Loki is soft and submissive against Thor, doing nothing to help or encourage his brother in the problem of getting out of his own clothes. Thor pins him to the alley wall, with his free hand he undoes his own pants more gently, but in no less earnest haste.
"Is this what you want, brother?" Thor asks between muffled kisses along Loki's neck, the electric heat of Thor's lips on him is joined by the searing heat of Thor's skin against Loki's own. Their lower bodies meet and rut, in playful warning, welcoming what is to come.
Thor takes a bruising grip of Loki's thighs, lifting up to a height that fits them, familiar and sure. There is no preparing to meet Thor in this most intimate of ways, no wet probing or teasing, what would kill a mortal, Loki alone is strong enough to meet half way in urging. Loki is still smaller and slighter then his brother, but weaker? Loki is no less then Thor, merely stronger in stranger – different – ways.
"Yes." Loki promises, and Thor trusts into him, long and slow. "Yes, brother, harder Thor – I am no mortal!"
Loki's fingers draw blood on Thor's back, just as the alley wall scrapes into his own raw. Thor doesn't know when Loki took their clothes away with his magic, nor does he care. He will care later, when his brother isn't wrapped around him, clinging and making small needy noises.
"Oh, Thor – brother, yes!" Loki strains and writhes between the alley wall rock and the hardness burrowing into him, as if it belongs. He reaches for a kiss and Thor gives in at once. This, Thor thinks, is how they belong, in unity.
"Missed this." Thor confesses, forcing his way in and out, Loki is tight and Thor can not help but be pleased. He knows his brother has had no one for a lover. Yet.
"Mine." Thor promises, undoing Loki's careful control, his brother's pride hinges on his calm and watchfulness. Slinking in the shadows, where Thor is sure Loki does not belong. Loki proves him right, when he cries out, an eager whine.
"Ah!" Thor sobs, chokes, shakes, and holds his brother tight as the storm that rages through him leaves rain in its wake. It is now when Thor is at his most vulnerable, and it is now that he knows – trusts – Loki to never take advantage. Loki only breaths in his brother's scent, the storm having cleansed the smell of alley trash. An alley, Loki thinks, is where he belongs – but not Thor.
"You do not belong here." Thor says in deadly protest, as if he reads Loki's mind – or Loki is so simple to read when Thor is weak like this.
"Temper, temper." Loki chides, sure that Thor means both the alley and on Midgard. Isn't that what got them both to this in the first place? Thor will never learn, but Loki might always delight in teaching it.
"Where are our clothes?" Loki only smiles at this demanding question. Thor wonders if a walk back in the nude would be Loki's idea of punishment for this…debasement, debauchery. He is not so bad off then.
Thor does not ask again, merely kisses Loki on each cheek and forehead.
"Forgive me?" It's a whisper, to which Loki's grey eyes soften in the dark.