It starts off with a celebration — Tony Stark hosting a party in Las Vegas to celebrate his company’s anniversary. Or a new invention. Or for publicity. Maybe a combination of all three.
The Avengers are all invited, and as it’s supposedly the event of the year, Loki decides to attend with his brother.
It turns out to be mind-numbingly boring, with people by turns fawning over Thor or trying to engage in small talk. Loki heads straight to the bar not an hour after they arrive, and does his best to entertain himself with alcohol.
It’s not nearly as effective as he would like.
—-
Thor approaches sometime around the 20th drink, and though Loki is used to something much stronger, he does begin to feel warmth and tingling (although that could be a combination of Thor’s proximity and the sight of his brother in a suit).
“I’ve been looking for you,” Thor says, making room for himself beside Loki. He eyes the empty glasses warily. “Are you well?”
“It’s fine,” Loki allows his words to slur and his gaze to unfocus. Alcohol was an excellent excuse for wandering hands and eyes. Thor iss close enough to smell, and it’s making his pants uncomfortably tight and his wits uncharacteristically slow. “I’m fine. Everything’s fine. Another!”
He punctuates his request by slamming the glass on the bar, and reaches over to grab two full bottles of clear amber liquid when the bartender takes too long. One of them is handed over to Thor, and Loki clinks their bottles together.
“A toast,” Loki says, his voice just a little too loud. “to brotherhood!”
They down half their bottles in one go, and as Loki starts giggling and reminiscing about their past adventures, Thor finds himself laughing and smiling along. Loki rarely acknowledges their bond, and Thor will happily indulge in drink if it means being closer to his brother.
The Midgardian liquor has no effect on Thor; it’s like drinking water. But it seems to please Loki when Thor stumbles a little or trips over his own tongue, so he plays up his drunkenness. He assumes Loki is more affected due to his Jotun biology.
Time passes quickly in their little bubble of pleasure. They must have been sitting there for hours, talking and laughing harder than they had in decades, but if feels like Thor only just sat down.
As Loki reaches for his next drink, his hand brushes lightly against Thor’s, lingering just long enough to be considered a caress. His eyes meet Thor’s, and he leans forward, opens his mouth to laugh it off —
Suddenly they’re kissing, a hot clash of mouths and bodies pressing into each other, trying to crawl into one another through their clothes. Loki winds his hands through Thor’s hair and pulls, trying to devour all that is Thor while heat pools low in his belly. Thor pulls away first, and they’re both gasping for breath with wide-blown pupils and flushed cheeks.
“Marry me,” Thor says, eyes glazed from lust and drink both.
“Yes.” The reply slips past in barely a whisper, but Thor hears it. The next thing he knows, Thor is dragging them across the room, towards the exit, and hailing a cab to take them to the nearest chapel.
The moment the cab pulls away from the curb, Loki is straddling Thor, arms around his neck and kissing him again. Thor’s arms wrap around his middle, pulling him closer, letting him feel every inch of hard muscle. His mouth opens on a moan, and Thor’s tongue slips inside, sliding against his in a warm, slick dance before pulling away to suck at his lower lip. He moans again, louder this time, and grinds down against the hardening bulge in Thor’s pants.
The cab jerks to a halt, and Loki almost tumbles from Thor’s lap, their kiss broken. He exaggerates his movements as they climb from the vehicle and walk towards the building, continuing his charade of drunkenness.
The building they enter is small, but nice, with off-white pews decorated in fake flowers and drapery. There are a few other patrons inside, some completely inebriated while others are stone-cold sober.
They are given forms to fill out inside the chapel, and there’s a small fee required, but it takes no longer than half an hour before they are standing before the altar saying their vows.
“I am not an easy person to love, I admit that,” Loki starts. “And I have hurt you so much in trying to push you away. But you have never wavered, and your strength and love I do not deserve, though I need you as dearly as the worlds need a sun. I love you, more dearly than any other, and though I may be envious, never doubt that I love you.”
Loki feels tears forming in his eyes, and looks up to see Thor staring at him, eyes wet and clear and far more sober than they have any right to be. His stomach drops, but before he can say anything more, Thor is speaking.
“You are my brother, my best friend, my closest confidant. I have shared more with you than I ever have or ever will share with any other. We grew together, played together, fought together, and I would be nothing without you by my side. Though we share no blood, you will be my brother always, and I love you until Ragnarok and beyond.”
And then Loki is surging forward to kiss Thor. It’s desperate, and messy, with tears flowing freely from them both, and it’s perfect.
Their kiss deepens, and then they start pulling at each other’s clothes, mindless of the pastor or their audience. Thor strips off his jacket and tie, before his hands move to help Loki with his own clothing. They tumble onto the ground, with Thor on top as he fumbles impatiently with the buttons on Loki’s shirt, before deciding it’s not worth the trouble and simply tears. He pays the scattering beads no mind as his attention is captured by a smooth expanse of pale skin.
Loki moans, fingers trailing from his throat to the waistband of his trousers and back again, back arching in a silent demand for touch. Thor obliges, and runs his hands over Loki’s torso, sucking and kissing a path downwards.
Thor palms Loki through the material, and Loki whines, high in the back of his throat as he thrusts into Thor’s hand, searching for more friction.
Thor unbuttons Loki’s pants, pulling them down to his thighs along with his underwear.
“You’re beautiful,” Thor murmurs, as he traces the curve of Loki’s half-hard length with a finger, and then following it with his tongue. He presses kisses to the tip, makes his way back down towards the base, and gently strokes Loki’s balls throughout it all. By the time Thor finally, finally takes Loki into his mouth and swallows him down, Loki is a begging, writhing mess beneath him.
And then just as Loki feels his balls draw tight, trembling on the verge of release, Thor retreats. Loki curses, extensively and explicitly, and throws an arm over his face to hide his flush. Thor simply laughs, and removes the rest of his and Loki’s clothing.
When he goes to resettle between Loki’s thighs, he finds himself flipped over onto his back, Loki’s legs on either side of his hips.
Loki mutters under his breath and reaches between their bodies, fingers shining with slick. He works himself open, savouring the stretch and burn as he adds a finger just a fraction too quick. It makes him gasp and roll his hips down, repeating Thor’s name over and over like a prayer.
The sight of Loki’s fingers disappearing into his own body makes Thor’s mouth go dry, and he curses as he drags Loki’s fingers out of his body, replacing them with his cock in one quick, brutal shove.
Loki screams, clawing at Thor’s shoulders for purchase, struggling to adjust to the sudden fullness even as he grinds his hips down for more, wanting and needing all of Thor. When he’s taken Thor to the hilt, he falls limp, breathless and shuddering.
“Loki?”
Loki returns Thor’s concerned look with a glare (how dare Thor seem so unaffected by what he does to Loki?), and clenches in retaliation. They both groan at the feeling, and then Loki sighs and begins to shift.
Their movements start off slow, coming together and pulling apart in lazy strokes, Loki tilting his hips and leaning forwards, searching for the perfect angle. Thor simply lies back and savours the feeling of Loki hot and tight and wet around him.
Suddenly, Loki’s whole body goes rigid, breath escaping in a sharp exhale. He shudders, then starts to really move, hips working faster and more desperately with each stroke, until he is keening and sobbing and holding onto Thor with all his strength. His cock remains untouched, though it leaks a steady stream of precum that leaves wet smears on both their stomachs.
Thor thrusts up, meeting Loki halfway, and the sound of skin slapping on skin echoes through the chapel.
Each push and pull of Thor’s cock drags along Loki’s prostate, and he can feel his orgasm building in the pit of his belly. Loki moves one hand lower, chasing his release, but Thor slaps it away.
“You don’t need it,” he growls, and punctuates his words with a particularly hard thrust. “You’ll come on my cock alone or not at all.”
If Loki’s brain were working, it would tell him that this is a lie, for Thor is no selfish lover. As it is, the words shoot straight to his straining erection and he comes with a cry, thick white ropes painting both their bellies and chests. He clenches down hard on Thor’s cock, eliciting a grunt.
Thor flips Loki back over, driving into him with renewed vigor and chasing his own release. Loki’s cries from overstimulation only seem to spur Thor on, and he comes shouting Loki’s name, body tensing and ground reverberating with the aftershocks of thunder.
They spend several moments lying on the ground in peaceful silence, basking in the afterglow. A cough draws their attention upwards, and they are greeted with the sight of the pastor who wed them, his face considerably more red than at the beginning of the ceremony. A further inspection of the chapel reveals that they were the only ones in it, as any guests who were watching the ceremony had left.
“I now pronounce you husband and husband,” the pastor finishes. “Now get the fuck out.”