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Loki is so often the mischievous one, enticing Thor towards ill-advised exploits with but a few careful words and a flutter of his dark lashes. While impetuosity is in his brother’s nature, so often it’s spurred by the impish Loki, whose innocent smile is never enough to hide the deviousness of his intentions.
Thus, the unprovoked boldness surprises Loki, the hand squeezing his thigh causing his knee to jerk up and hit the table with a dull thud. The rich wine catches in his throat and he splutters, cheeks flushed as red as his drink with humiliation as the Vanir delegate seated across from him asks after his wellbeing.
Loki doesn’t know how to respond, because Thor has seen fit to unlace his trousers somewhere amidst the confusion, stroking his cock to hardness with a casual ease. He doubts making mention of that to their honoured guests would be considered appropriate, and so instead he smiles wanly, awkwardly dismissing the man’s concerns before shooting Thor an irritated look.
It does nothing to deter Thor, however, whose skilful fingers dance cleverly along the length of Loki’s arousal, following the thickening curve of it. Loki curses his traitorous body for its response, unable to help but buck into his brother’s calloused palm beneath the table. He pretends not to notice Frigga’s suspicious gaze fixed on him from the head of the table, and in particular how he holds onto his cup just a little too tightly.
Thor is not content to bring him to completion so quickly; his hand strays from Loki’s engorged cock, curious fingers brushing the sensitive folds of his woman’s sex that lay just beneath. At that, Loki moans unthinkingly, and then belatedly raises his cup to his mouth in an effort to disguise the wanton sound that spills forth.
Fortunately, the attention of the hall is on the Allfather, whose speech Loki cannot recall so much as a single word of. He spends the entirety of it in a state of complete bliss, lashes fluttering low against the highs of his cheeks as Thor’s thumb circles his clit, dragging him closer and closer to the brink, but never giving him quite enough… When the toast is made at the end of the speech, Thor has two fingers curled deep inside him, and Loki thinks the position of his hand must be causing his wrist to cramp. Nevertheless, Thor does not complain, and Loki absentmindedly marvels at how the rest of the hall is oblivious to the perverse squelch as Thor’s thick fingers move inside him, massaging the walls clenching down around them…
For a time, Thor engages in small talk with those sat across the table, and during the conversation, Loki is forced to take his pleasure for himself. Those thick fingers remain curled inside of his sex, unmoving, and so Loki rocks shamelessly against them, rutting against his brother’s wrist as he does so until the skin is wet and glistening with his natural slick.
But Thor’s attention soon returns to him, and Loki is greedy for it, uncaring of how he looks as his head lolls back in pure pleasure. Thor licks his lips, fingers slipping from Loki’s sex to instead wrap around his neglected cock, pumping it in quick strokes that make Loki writhe on his seat. If it were the two of them alone, the twist of Thor’s hand would have reduced the Liesmith to a moaning, mewling mess, but in the company of others, Loki bites his lip to refrain from crying out his pleasure. He almost loses it when the pad of Thor’s thumb swipes across the leaking head, collecting the bead of pre-come there, but Thor squeezes the base of his cock to stave off the orgasm, amusement shining in his blue irises, though Loki is unable to focus on them now.
Thor, the wretch, brings Loki to that point another three times, the delicious friction of his palm dragging him to the brink of completion before refusing him release. The next time he comes close, Loki lets out a soft sob of frustration, his own hand shooting beneath the table to hold Thor’s in place. He ruts into it like a mindless beast, and Thor is not so cruel as to deny him a fourth time.
Loki’s hips jerk as he comes, lips parted in a silent moan. Thor strokes him through the aftershocks of his orgasm and watches with satisfaction as Loki curls forward, his hair hiding how his face contorts with pleasure, and then slumps back in his seat. If anyone sees, no one draws attention to it, and Thor releases his brother’s cock as Loki pants, trying to regain his stolen breath.
He waits until Loki’s eyes return to his, half-lidded and sated, and then his hand moves to his lips. Loki watches, his breath hitching as Thor laps up his spend, sucking each digit clean in turn and savouring the taste… He leans closer to his brother when he’s done, his lips glistening and wet with saliva. “I shall have you tonight, brother,” he murmurs huskily in Loki’s ear, whose spent cock twitches with reluctant interest despite himself. “I shall have you in all manner of sordidness, and you will accept everything I give you gladly. When we are alone in my chambers, I will make you gasp and moan until your voice is lost to pleasure, and the only name you know will be mine.”