iwantmyburd:

I still don’t know what this AU is supposed to be oh god damn it
reposting since tumblr is a douche and I had to remake and stuff

i’ve been wanting to write some hipster au for them. this definitely inspired me in more ways than one. as per usual: no beta, sleepily proofread. LMFAO also first attempt at writing some rimming jfskldjfs [ AO3 link ]

—-

The air is cold. Stagnant. Laden with the acrid smell of stale cigarettes. Yellowed wallpaper is peeling in various places throughout the small apartment. Which, if Loki was honest (and he would be), he found it to be an improvement. A once bright floral pattern looked dead and decaying. Ugly vintage. Brown shag carpets the floors, crushed and matted from years of travel. Dark stains mottled the surface, here and there, like a pattern all its own. He definitely feels it is in his best interest to not question how or why or what. Old, dusty furniture lay scattered about. Tufts of stuffing or springs poking out through the warn fabrics. Nothing terribly inviting. And he likes it.

A steady drip of water falls every seven seconds. He had counted once.

Waiting.

It wasn’t yet time.

Loki sits on the counter, once a bright white, but now just a dingy gray. The flecks of gold no longer holding a shine. Dull and muted. Heavy boots knock against the cabinets below, the sound hollow and resonating. Vibrations shake his legs and all the way up to his chest. Rattles around like it’s hollow there, too. And it just may very well be.

The last rays of the sun shine through the slats of the blind. Yellow-orange lines decorate his body, striping his clothes to make it look like a prison uniform. Crossing over his eyes so brightly that it nearly blinds him. But, he doesn’t turn away. Doesn’t move. Instead, his eyes follow the flecks of dust dancing in the light.

The faucet merely drips as if to ask him why.

He’s lazy, moving slow. Lighting a new cigarette and taking his time on that first inhale. It’s bitter and burns; sucking the smoke down deep to smolder in his lungs. Breathing it down so far that he curls his toes inside his boots. A long exhale and his gaze shifts, watching as the smoke curls around him. Circling and closing in like a predator. Closer and closer. Just when he thinks may suffocate, it disappears, like smoke is wont to do.

Blinking against the sun, he decides it’s more like the shadow of a cage. He feels trapped. Blocked in. There’s a tightening in his chest and he feels like he can’t breathe. Or maybe that he may just burst. The question lingers; why his wings have been clipped and he’s still here. Still coming back to this fucking place. Distantly, the sound of heavy footsteps sound. Noise bouncing off the corridor moving ever closer. Loki can feel each one shake him to his core.

The faucet drips in acknowledgement.

Another stream of smoke is blown out—harsh, forceful—just as the front door bangs open. Thor had once said Loki resembled a dragon when he did that. Angry and full of fire. Now, standing in the doorway, Loki thinks Thor resembles a tiger. Wild and untamed. Nearly crouched and ready to spring. Pounce upon the enemy and consume him until there’s nothing left. Unafraid and set for the kill. Loki doesn’t flinch at the sudden intrusion—he never does. Thor is expected. Predicted. Predestined and it’s suffocating. So fucking suffocating, but he needs it. They need it. He anticipates what’s coming—Thor always being so easily readable—setting down the still burning cigarette in the ashtray by his thigh.

In an instant, the door is slammed shut and Thor is there. Omnipresent and more utterly fucking suffocating than the smoke. Except for as much as Loki despises being cornered, he also can’t seem to turn it away when it’s Thor. Their lips are crushed together in a kiss so encompassing that had he been standing, his knees would have gone weak. He hates this. He hates how invasive these kisses are. They take his breath away. Tongues clashing in a battle for control—that control neither is willing to relinquish. And what he hates most of all is how he craves it and how Thor seems to know that he does. So he gives it to him, unrelenting. Loki doesn’t know when Thor became so attune to his needs and wants, and for as much as he hates it, he wants it, too.

Clothing is shed, dropped carelessly to the floor. The ashtray pushed aside, the smoke from the still burning cigarette curling around Thor’s arm like a snake ready to sink it’s teeth into his arm. Fill him with venom until it kills him. Loki’s eyes watch, trained and then almost unconsciously, his fingers brush down the strong arm. Almost in a possessive streak down the skin, staking claim that if anyone is killing Thor from the inside out, it will be him.

The smoke dissipates.

All too soon, his face is resting against the cool laminate countertop, the bones of his hips pressing hard at the edge. His breathing sounds harsh to his own ears and he tries to reign himself in. But, he’s finding that harder to do with each stroke of Thor’s tongue that slips passed his entrance. This isn’t something that happens often; Loki can’t help but feel like Thor is up to something. A strike of heat fires through his body as Thor’s tongue delves deeper, over and over again, and Loki feels himself begin to come undone. He bites on his lip to stifle any sound, hold back the words that threaten to spill over. Knees begin to shake and he feels like he’s falling—physically and metaphorically. This has to stop, he can’t keep letting Thor do this. But then he feels strong hands grip his waist, fit around him so perfectly and tug him back and he can’t think of anything besides how good it feels. How feeling that gentle sucking and then another assault of the stroke of Thor’s tongue in such a sensitive place. It’s too much, and maybe he’s actually saying that aloud now, hands gripping so tight at the edge of the counter. Legs buckling as he feels a slightly calloused hand wrap around his cock, stroking him in time with each lick of his tongue.

It’s dangerous, but he doesn’t remember moving from the kitchen to the living room. His back is against that shitty wallpaper, legs wrapped so tight around Thor’s waist. He knows he won’t fall, trusts that idiot implicitly no matter how much he denies that fact. No, he’s wrapped so tight because he wants to feel Thor. Feel him so keenly and deeply that it’s almost like he’ll be split apart. And maybe that’s what he wants. Wants no one but Thor to split him wide and make him feel nothing but feel everything all at once. He wants the world and knows Thor is the only one that can give it to him. Just like this. He tries to hold himself there, Thor buried so deep inside that in those few precious seconds he can feel his cock throb inside him with impatience. But it doesn’t last as long as he’d like before Thor moves, fucking him so hard he can hardly breathe. He hates this, too. Hates presenting this face to Thor because he can’t hide how good it is. Hates seeing that confident grin on Thor’s lips as they move together. Perfectly. It’s always so fucking perfect and he doesn’t know why he can’t muster up the hatred for that, too.

And then they’re on the floor—any reservations Loki had about the carpet long since forgotten. He’s poised on top of Thor, looking regal enough that he could be sitting atop a throne rather than a cock. This time he dictates the pace. Moves slow and teasing, making Thor writhe beneath him. Contracting his muscles to create more stimulation to drive Thor mad. And it’s there in his eyes, electricity sparking in the depths that speak of the desire he has for Loki. He doesn’t hate this so much—he’s in control now.  For as much as he’d like to torture Thor for all the torturing his body endured (he does so enjoy retribution), he doesn’t. He wants the gratification, needs that release. The speed increases, hips moving faster, grinding a little harder. Coaxing them both to the edge and then shoving them off. Stars spark his vision, a multitude of colors that remind him of a distant past. It feels so good and so welcome that this time he doesn’t mind when Thor’s fingers slip between his own as he comes.

Loki sits perched on the arm of the dilapidated sofa. A piece of wood poking upward and making it slightly uncomfortable. But he doesn’t move. Not yet. Instead, he lights a cigarette absently. He doesn’t feel like smoking but he doesn’t feel like being idle either. It’s something to occupy his hands that still feel the press of warm, muscled skin and his mouth that still tastes of Thor. He thinks he shouldn’t still want to feel those things, tells himself he doesn’t—lies to himself to make it all okay.

The sun has long since set, the room illuminated by the neon lights of the bar next door. Shining in just enough so he can watch Thor sleep; unabashed in his nakedness. So foolish and trusting. And Loki thinks of all the things he could do to him, but he doesn’t. Instead he bends to put his boots on, teeth grinding on the butt of the cigarette. This is how it always ends and he thinks it should get easier, but it never does. But, that’s alright. He lies well enough that even he believes what he tells himself to believe. It’s all a game—it’s fun. Never mind that he’s made it easier for Thor the more time goes by.

He pulls Thor’s jacket on, inhaling the smell and all at once gets hit with a wave of a feeling he’s never, ever going to admit to anyone. Especially, himself. It’s a little too big, but he’s taking it anyway. Spoils of the war. The cigarette is put out on a broken end table and Loki jams the rest of the pack in the pocket. Feels something in there and pulls it out. A napkin with Thor’s scrawled, messy hand writing—the address of this apartment. Just from a quick glance there in the near dark room, he can sense the excitement he felt when he figured it out. His eyes flick over to him laying there on the floor and there might be the barest hint of a grin on his lips. But it’s gone before he can waste any time thinking about it further.

In the kitchen he finds a pen—amazed that it works—and writes one simple note on the back. His steps are quiet as he returns. Stealth and silent. It’s carefully laid on Thor’s chest so it will be the first thing he sees upon waking and then he’s leaning down, almost as if he’s going to leave one parting kiss. But he stops, hovering there above his lips; breathing softly and allowing their breaths to mingle. Entwining together as one. Again there’s a twitch of a smile and then he’s pulling away, rising and without another look back—he’s gone.

Later, Thor stands at the window. A black hoodie one size too small stretched over his body, smelling like ash and cloves. A crumpled napkin in his hands and a bright grin on his face.

Catch me if you can, brother.

(Source: sigurdjarlson)

heartbrokengirlsketches:

don’t slouch, brother.

This fic just sort of happened. I don’t know. It’s happening at some ambiguous time pre-movie. Loki gives Thor a lesson in proper manners… unbeta’d and half-assedly proofread. Sorry for any mistakes. [ ao3 link ] fixed loss of italics ):

———

“Don’t slouch, brother.”

The words are almost a comfort; a phrase so well-worn he hears it in his sleep. They are something tangible almost, right now, as he feels the words ghost across the bare skin of his shoulder. Loki’s hand is pressed there against the small of his back, demanding of attention and for the order to be followed.

But, Thor isn’t going to follow. Not yet. His shoulders roll forward, back bowing enough to be noticed. An almost cocky jut to his hips, as if he is asking for the punishment.

And he is.

There is a palpable silence, the air becoming thick. Laden with defiance from one and authority from the other. Thor’s heart kicks against his ribcage like it’s fighting to be free. A soft ‘tsk’ of disapproval sounds and he knows it’s coming. It builds there, slow and roiling, at the base of his spine. A heat that nearly burns like fire—and maybe it is, he can never tell with his brother—as Loki presses two fingers harder against his skin. They travel up the line of bone, vertebrae by vertebrae, with a warmth unlike any other. Though he’s never seen it, he knows there’s a red welt the width of Loki’s fingers that lines his back. Some days it burns hotter, usually when Loki holds a foul temperament. But most days it curls around him like an old friend, forcing a lucid relaxation to spread over his muscles. He never anticipates what comes next, preferring to leave it as a slight surprise every time. Loki, however, sees the mannerisms that give his brother away. Knows that once he reaches the base of his neck Thor will lick his lips once—slow—part them carefully afterward and inhale. Lower his lids, pupils expanding to give away his innermost thoughts.

A careful pause is left once he does reach that point.

A slight upturn of his lips and he’s pleased for that moment, watching Thor out of the corners of his eyes as he goes through each action. Just as predicted. His brother is so simple. Then Loki’s fingers are dragging back down—so icy cold that it almost seems too hot. It’s then that Thor is forced rod straight, a deep breath is sucked in and back in perfect alignment.

Loki’s hands smooth over Thor’s shoulders. “Good,” he says as if he was a master praising his performing pet. And maybe he is, because Thor waits for that pleased edge to color his brother’s tone. Craves and desires that approval more than he’s willing to openly admit. When he gets it, a smug smile settles on his lips because that means there’s more. The reward for a job well done. It isn’t something that happens often, and sometimes it’s more of a torture than reward. But, everything serves a purpose. That’s what he keeps telling himself.

Loki runs his fingers lightly down Thor’s arms—such a light and teasing touch that his skin pricks, hairs standing on edge. Bites back a shiver because that would break his posture. And above all he must keep it right now. He simply lets his eyes fall closed, lips pressed tightly together. Waiting. Determined. Except, what he expects doesn’t come and instead his arms are being pulled behind his back. Held secure just above his tailbone by Loki’s hand. Familiar words are whispered; an incantation that all at once pierces his heart with an icy splinter of fear, yet shoots a shock of warm heat that pools between his legs. He doesn’t know what the words mean, Thor isn’t gifted in magic like his brother. But the mellifluous lilt takes him back to another time, another place. Hands secured above his head, Loki seated fully upon his cock. That lesson had been for proper enunciation. It had also taken him two weeks to properly recite the poem Loki made him memorize without gasping or moaning under his brother’s wicked movements.

So, when he’s restrained this time, he can’t help the increase in his heartbeat. Mind flying all over to all the possibilities of what is going to happen next. There’s not even one ounce of shame that he’s already half-hard in his light trousers. He simply affords a feigned look of near boredom and stares straight ahead.

But, Loki knows better. A devious grin curls his lips, both pleased at the thin silver filaments that bind his brother’s wrists together and at how Thor is trying so hard. Thor is trying hard to please Loki. It gives him a thrill, a taste of power he’s never likely to know outside the walls of this bedroom. If only he could show the whole of Asgard that their Mighty Thor gets hard and nearly begs for relief from his own brother. But, he won’t. He can’t without damning himself and ruining everything. So, he’s content enough to know he can lord over Thor and, in turn, lie enough to himself that he believes he doesn’t want this just as much.

A short pause and then he’s placing the largest book he has and balancing it upon the golden crown of hair. Thor twitches but doesn’t break, eyes flicking to the side to try and see his brother. “What—”

Loki drags a finger, still icy cold, along one of the indents that sit poised just above Thor’s waistline. “Shh.”

Thor immediately falls silent.

Quiet steps, like a cat prowling for the mouse, Loki moves around to face his brother. The look on his face is certainly of the cat who got what he wanted. Wicked creature. His green eyes are focused on the binding of the book, balancing precariously upon Thor’s head. Then traveling lower to see the determination burning deeply in his eyes. Oh his dear brother is always so good to provoke into a challenge.

Loki steps closer. “Curious, brother?”

He swallows thickly, forcing himself to stare straight ahead. “Yes.”

And closer still. Thor can feel the body heat between them, it’s like a magnet. Drawing him in and pulling him deeper. Carefully, Loki runs his hands up Thor’s sides, easily feeling each ripple of muscle. Warm and electric, his brother always feels like he’s holding a bolt of lightning. Vibrating with energy and blinding him with light. His nails dig into the sun kissed skin and he drags his fingers down—pleased with the hiss that chases the action. “Do you trust me to teach you properly?”

Thor allows his gaze to fall to his brother’s face. As the memories of their many, many lessons fill his mind, a sharp grin is given and he nearly nods but remembers the book at the last second. “Yes.”

As if there was any doubt. Thor is always so foolish, so gullible. But, it doesn’t really matter, Loki enjoys taking advantage of those aspects of his personality. Now is no different. “Good,” he says again, still just as pleased. He lowers himself to his knees in one fluid motion and raises his hands to untie the lace of Thor’s pants. Which he pulls down slow, drawing it out and forcing his brother to deal with just beginning torture. He can see how Thor’s chest rapidly rises and falls with a quickened breath.

Letting the clothing pool at Thor’s ankles, he wets his lips, eyes flicking up to his face. He can see it there in Thor’s gaze how much he wants this—wants what he doesn’t even know, though it’s fairly easy to guess by this point. And what Loki doesn’t realize is that same desire is reflected in his own eyes. He wants this just as much as Thor does. This game of cat and mouse they seem to play, more frequent as the days go by. More and more time is spent locked away in his room or Thor’s room, cloaked away from Heimdall’s ever watching eyes. Thor emerging with fresh wounds, small, but littered over his body. Easily explained from a busy day on the training grounds. Loki appearing slightly disheveled, satisfied and with swollen lips. It’s all just a game.

Except for the part where it really isn’t and it means something more. Something more that neither one wants to face. It’s much easier to write this off as stress relief, something clandestine and a fantastical secret to share between brothers. But, to Thor it’s a reason to spend time with Loki. To fully enjoy all that his brother has to offer. Albeit an unusual way, it’s a bonding practice. One that he doesn’t particularly want to lose. Loki is always hiding away, there’s no denying they’ve grown apart as they grow older. And even though this is wrong on so many different levels, he can’t really find it in himself to care. It’s fun and exciting. And learning has never been so fun.

To Loki it’s all a matter of control. That is something he desires most, is to always have a strong grip on control. His brother is so wild that it’s often hard to reign him in, and concocting this plan had taken some time and effort. In the beginning, he thought he could use this as something more, blackmail perhaps. But, somewhere along the way, he derailed from that track. He never wanted to admit he missed all the time they spent together, how stupid that would be to voice aloud. He watched as Thor grew bigger and stronger, spending more time outside the palace. Training, always training. He watched as he slowly began to fade from his brother’s sight. Or so he thought.

The lessons started as an off-handed suggestion from their mother. But, Loki took it to heart—knowing that, at least for that brief time during the day, he would have Thor’s undivided attention. But, knowing how his brother is he knew it would be difficult to attempt anything in a true scholarly form. It had taken three days to dream up a plan and another three before he was able to implement it. The first lesson had been proper introductions, something easy and something Thor already knew. His reward was a kiss. Soft, lingering and just over the line of chaste. That was the real test. He couldn’t continue with the rest of his plan if Thor balked at a kiss.

But he hadn’t. In fact, it was almost as if that one, simple kiss had shattered any wall between them. Thor had kissed him back so fiercely that it stole his breath, left him weak in the knees. Embarrassing, really, letting his brother get to him like that. But, even now when they kiss it’s still just the same. It’s like they need it to exist. Loki feels like all his control slips, and not just the control he has over Thor but that over himself, when they kiss. So, he’s begun to force himself to limit them, no matter how much he wants it.

Blinking once, he drags himself back to the present, smiling as innocently as he can up at Thor. His hands stroke slow over the backs of his legs. Leaning in he leaves a trail of warm, open-mouthed kisses along his thigh. Pausing once only to murmur there against his skin, “Shall I tell you the rules, brother?”

“Yes.” He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t even hardly breathe the word.

Loki draws his finger, teasing along the underside of Thor’s cock. Back down and then back up. That’s all it takes to get him completely hard. It’s easy, so easy. He teases over the head, a slow circular motion and notes the twitch of muscles in Thor’s thighs to not move. Even still it amazes Loki how willful he can be. “You know what I’m going to do, don’t you?” But he doesn’t wait for an answer before leaning in and running his tongue from base to tip. There he pauses, voice low and soft as velvet. “Do you want me to explain that part, Thor?”

He can see his brother fighting with himself, though there’s not entirely much he can do. Hands bound in such a way, it’s not like he can leave without raising a multitude of questions. And he knows he can’t fight Loki like this, he doesn’t even want to think of the consequences. So, he just sucks in a sharp breath, forcing himself to remain as calm as possible. Even if he’s wound tighter than a spring. There’s a slight edge to his tone, he can’t control himself that well. “No.” Then as an afterthought, softer and just bordering on pleading. “Brother, please.”

An airy laugh dances over his skin. “Very well. Then I shall just tell you this: If the book falls, Thor, the lesson is over.”

It’s not fair, he wants to protest. But he can’t. None of these lessons have ever been fair. Nothing Loki ever does is fair and he should be quite used to that fact by now. That doesn’t stop him from foolishly hoping that one day things will change. “Alright.”

As soon as he gives his acquiesce, Loki sets into motion. His lips wrap around Thor’s cock, relaxing himself and taking him deep. He’s not going to hold back—he wants Thor to fail. Each stroke of his tongue against the sensitive skin seems to say that. The teasing graze of his teeth along the shaft echo the wish of failure. His pace was slow at first, a tease, really. Lulling Thor into a false sense of security that he would go easy on him and allow completion. So, he worked him over slow; cheeks hollowing as he sucked his cock in earnest.

One quick glance up and he can see a sheen of sweat on Thor’s brow. Can feel his legs trembling with restraint. And it gives Loki a swell of power—it’s fantastic and he almost doesn’t want to lose this. But, he simply must break his brother. A deep breath and he’s taking Thor all the way in, only stopping when his nose bumps his abdomen. And then he’s humming, moaning, around his cock as he slides back.

Thor lets out a noise, low and nearly a whine. His hands shift behind his back, yearning to card through Loki’s hair. Pull and yank and hold him there so he never stops. He’s biting hard on his bottom lip—so hard that he swears he tastes blood. He’s trying to focus on anything but how good it feels—how good Loki is at this. Mouth sliding up and down on his cock like it belongs there. Each pass of his tongue makes his body grow warmer. That familiar coil of heat burns low in his belly. It’s too soon but he doesn’t care. He needs that release. Loki isn’t sure if he’s pleased or not that it seems Thor is going to actually make it through this. It figures. Loki redoubles his efforts, moving faster, sucking harder. Thor is so close and he can feel it there, crackling below his skin and he thinks that he’s going to survive this. And then Loki does that again and it’s going to happen, he’s right there…

His head tips back, a choked curse ripping free as the book slides off his head and crashes to the floor at his feet. Loki stops immediately, pulling back and looking up at his brother. Thor doesn’t move, eyes wide as he blinks up at the ceiling and his cock straining and pulsing so hard, needing that release. “Brother…”

It’s said so meekly that Loki almost feels sorry for him. Almost but not quite enough. He rocks back on his feet and stands. “What a shame, brother. Another failed lesson.” It’s hard not to pick up on the smugness in his tone.

Thor looks at him, pleading. It’s agony still being this hard and being denied what he truly wants most. “My hands…”

Loki taps his chin as if he’s giving it great thought. He isn’t. Instead he just smiles, bends to pick up the book and then heading for the door. “Perhaps this will serve as a reminder, Thor. It pays to keep proper posture.”