Chapter 2
Thor grows up alone. Untempered, unrestrained, wild as a storm and with all its gusty arrogance.
His mother thinks he’s a lonely child, which is strange to him. He has no lack of friends, does not want for attention. He cannot be lonely.
His father thinks he is a selfish boy. This, Thor learns to be true. He covets things, he finds out. Never learned to share as a child, perhaps.
This poses no problem, because Thor is a prince and then a king, and he always gets what he wants.
Until what he wants is Loki.
—
The Jotnar attack Asgard on the day of Thor’s coronation, and a war breaks out not soon after. It is a bloody thing, war, and greedier than Thor could ever fathom.
It takes his mother, first, and then his father, and in exchange for it, Thor gets a crown.
And he gets a brother—finds a baby abandoned at a temple, its old stones as quiet as the falling snow, away from the din of battle. He hasn’t known Jotunheim to ever be quiet, and soon enough the newborn Jotun—tiny, shivering— shrieks and shatters the silence.
Thor scoops the baby up, wrapping it in his red cloak.
The baby changes from a dusky blue to a pale pink in his arms, and suckles on the dusty fabric of his cape until Thor gives it a finger instead, dipped in milk and sugar.
He takes Loki home.
His brother.
His.
—
Loki grows up alone. He has few friends, for a prince, but it is all right, because he always has Thor.
Thor, who gives him all he could ever want: books, weapons, sweets, playthings. Birds, to start, then kittens. A stable of horses. A leashed dragon. Best of all, Thor gives Loki his attention, as much of it as he can spare.
And Loki never wants for anything, not when he has Thor’s attention, because attention and love are almost the same things, and Loki does not care to tell the difference.
—
Thor watches Loki grow up, watches him transform from a quiet child to a quiet adolescent, to someone on the cusp of adulthood. But not quite, and not yet.
Loki grows up strong, nourished by the Asgardian sun, and no one ever has to know about his heritage, about his strangeness. How foreign he is, the king’s little brother, everyone exclaims, how odd! They know nothing. No one does, except for Thor himself.
But Loki is devoted, as devoted as Thor, and Thor knows his brother loves him more dearly than he could ever love anyone. And Thor, whose heart rests in the tangled nest of greed, covets that love more than anything.
“You’re a lonely child,” Thor says, echoing his mother, long-dead now, as he and Loki take a quiet dinner in Thor’s chambers.
Loki wrinkles his nose as he wipes his mouth with a napkin.
“Barely a child, now, sire,” he says, then tips wine into his mouth to prove it.
“But lonely?” Thor presses.
Loki shrugs. He picks up his knife and fork again, roasted fowl falling apart like butter under his easy cuts.
“Not as such,” Loki says. “I want for nothing, my king.”
“Truly?” Thor asks. He drinks his wine as well, and sees how Loki tracks the bob of his throat, how his hands stutter to see Thor raise his arm.
“Truly,” Loki says, and smiles sweetly.
Then, “It is only—but I shouldn’t say, my lord.”
“Tell me,” Thor says, and Loki must obey, for his brother is king.
“I miss you,” Loki pouts. “You are always so busy these days, brother.”
Thor sips his wine and nods, and says, “I’ll make it up to you.”
—
Thor is not used to being refused, and Loki is unused to refusing him. Thor tells his brother to sit upon his lap, and Loki, swaying with wine and blushing from the audacity of Thor’s command, obeys.
He’s a beautiful thing, pale and lithe, flushed red across his cheeks and down his neck.
His ass rests lightly upon Thor’s thick thigh.
“Am I not too heavy, sire?” Loki asks, eyes cast low.
“You are as light as a feather, brother,” Thor says. He sets a hand upon the side of Loki’s neck, a common gesture between the two of them, and then drags it Loki, Loki’s shirt falling open like a ripple of water as Thor uses his seidr. All the power in Asgard, and Thor uses it to debauch his little brother.
“Sire—“ Loki startles, then gasps, as Thor bends down to kiss the marble column of his proud neck.
“Sire,” Loki whimpers, when Thor’s lays his fingers upon Loki’s chest to pluck his nipples into rosy peaks.
“Sire,” Loki sobs, when Thor gently unlaces his breeches and presses the whole of his palm against Loki’s cock, then lower, to cup the leaking cunt he knows hides there.
“Sire, oh Gods, no, m-my Lord, Thor—“
“It’s all right, little one,” Thor murmurs, leaning up to bite Loki’s ear, his fingers nudging up against Loki’s swollen folds and stroking along his wet slit, making his beautiful little brother cry out and cling to him, shaking on his lap.
“Don’t, please,” Loki whimpers miserably, as Thor lines up his cock against that wet heat. “I—you’re going to—I’m not, please, I’m a boy, not a—“
“Not a girl?” Thor laughs. “Could have fooled me, little bird.” And he fucks into Loki in one smooth motion.
Loki cries out, once, and then falls quiet, panting wetly as Thor sets their rhythm, guiding Loki into riding him as tears track down his cheeks.
“D-don’t, please don’t come in me,” Loki sobs, and Thor hums, plundering his mouth as he considers.
“You’ll have to give me something else, then, little brother,” Thor says.
And thus the night finds Loki splayed on his back on the dining table, fingers hooking his ass open as Thor fucks him excruciatingly slow. His cunt leaks and his cock twitches as his king takes him, using him like a doll.
Thor takes Loki’s cock in his hand and makes him come first, back arching off the table and his cries echoing in Thor’s large, sparse chambers.
He comes inside Lok’s ass in thick, hot spurts, and keeps himself there for a few long moments while Loki sniffles and sobs.
Then Thor pulls out and takes the goblet of wine still standing on the table, taking a sip as he surveys his brother.
Now Loki will never want for anything, again.