[Brother, Loki says again, and repeats Thor's name like begging words. And Thor is thrilled with it above all, above even the squeezing heat and slide of a virginal body. It's Loki's voice, even young, that strokes him more deftly than bodies or hands. Thor has always been weak to that silken voice and clever tongue, weaving untrue words, whatever he should want to hear-- And it's no different now, for how changed all else is. Loki is Loki. And still, Thor's weak to him, to the call of brother, by one not of his blood, to the desperation, the need, and trust he gifts.]
Loki. [Thor answers, grip slipping against wet skin, and still pulling hard as Loki grows ever bolder, as the rhythm of their hips and bodies builds. He kisses him, open-mouthed, hard and plundering still, between gasped and rushing words.] More words. [He asks in a voice low with wanting, and presses his face to Loki's jaw again, biting and kissing, and leaving marks high on his neck, laving his neck to better free the mouth he loves, to speak and moan if he likes.]
[And Thor's hands grip and pull, and he rolls his hips up, pressing deep and rocking fast enough to shift the unsteady little bed with each rough thrust, turned rougher as Thor's pleasure builds, and lust begins slowly more to blunt his actions.]
hot.
Loki. [Thor answers, grip slipping against wet skin, and still pulling hard as Loki grows ever bolder, as the rhythm of their hips and bodies builds. He kisses him, open-mouthed, hard and plundering still, between gasped and rushing words.] More words. [He asks in a voice low with wanting, and presses his face to Loki's jaw again, biting and kissing, and leaving marks high on his neck, laving his neck to better free the mouth he loves, to speak and moan if he likes.]
[And Thor's hands grip and pull, and he rolls his hips up, pressing deep and rocking fast enough to shift the unsteady little bed with each rough thrust, turned rougher as Thor's pleasure builds, and lust begins slowly more to blunt his actions.]