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Yes, it’s certainly Thor.
There should be no way. Loki only just wrapped his brain around his brother's untimely demise back on Asgard. Hela followed on the bifrost. Loki thought there was time to get them back to Asgard before Thor could charge the beast. A being with the strength to crumble Mjolnir with one hand.
They were on the bifrost, but Hela closed in fast. Loki tried to dispel her with a dagger, but it was another misstep. She hurled the weapon back at him, and suddenly he was falling. Stars and space spiraled around him. It felt faster than his last descent, back when he let go of Gungnir. That felt like resignation. It was a slow, drifting delve into darkness.
This time, Loki fell at a frantic pace. Solar systems spun around him. Then, the blackness of space became light and he crashed into a mountain of garbage.
Loki fell alone from the bifrost. Thor did not fall with Loki, or so Loki thought. He found his way to the palace on his own, head flooded with possibilities. What he may encounter. How best to keep himself alive. And what of Asgard, what of Thor? Would all come to ruin in the end?
But it is Thor, there’s no mistaking it. Thor, clasped to a table by steel around his wrists and ankles. A mighty metal indeed by his brother’s inability to wrench himself free. Someone relieved Thor of his beloved hair leaving a cropped mess of uneven scissor lines. Thor lies naked and face up, his only clothing a strap of leather holding his erect cock aloft. Ankle shackles hold his legs wide open. It is clear from the gaping wetness of Thor's body that more than one reveler has enjoyed him thus far.
It’s ridiculous. How has Thor even found time to get himself into such a predicament? Loki himself only crash landed amongst the trash heaps of Sakaar hours ago. Thor is an oaf, but even he is not capable of getting himself into this much trouble so soon.
“Ah, I see you’ve taken a shine to our Lord of Thunder here.” The Grandmaster drapes a delicate hand across the back of Loki’s neck.
Thus far, the Grandmaster has proven an amenable host. He offered shelter and clothing in exchange for participation in what he called a “party for the eons.” A fair enough trade.
But something was amiss even before finding his unfortunate brother strapped to a table. Loki knows power, it calls to him like a siren. The Grandmaster carries an immense amount of it, and he does so with a smug air of indifference. His ease makes him dangerous. It seems poor Thor learned this fact before Loki had the chance.
“An interesting choice of decor,” Loki offers with a smile.
There is a circular disk fastened to Thor’s neck. He is gagged - oh, how Loki enjoys the comeuppance. Thor’s accessory is red fabric knotted around something round and metal. The other end disappears between Thor’s hollowed lips. Loki thinks of whatever must be weighing down Thor’s tongue; how his dear jaw must ache!
Damn Thor. Even in this state of ruin, he’s beautiful.
Thor’s eyes have a haze to them. His glossy stare meets Loki's, but nothing close to recognition registers. Thor only looks at him, it seems all he’s capable of in his current condition.
The Grandmaster laughs, a bell chime of a sound. “Sparkles here has been pretty popular since he dropped in a few weeks ago.”
Weeks? The Grandmaster must be mistaken.
“He’s a fighter though, this one. Hard to keep a handle on that temper without a little something-something. You know how it goes, Loki. You’re a smart one. I saw it on you right away.” His fingers comb Loki’s nape up into his hair.
Loki forces himself to stay put and bear it. “I am,” he agrees. “As are you, Grandmaster. We make quite the pair, you and I.” A little forward, but he keeps the words gentle. Just a touch of flirtation.
His reward is a grin, sharp and interested. “I like you, sweetheart. You’re a special breed.” His focus makes Loki uneasy. What does he mean by ‘breed’?
New activity keeps the pause from dragging out into awkwardness. “Talk about timing!” the Grandmaster crows. “Looks like the, ah, next batter’s up. You have that expression where you’re from? Batters?”
“It’s from a Midgardian game,” Loki says vaguely. He’s distracted by the large individual sliding on scaly appendages across the floor.
‘Individual’ is too kind a term for the creature worming its way towards Thor’s unfortunate table. It is a bulbous, hulking thing - more mass than ‘person.’ Its bulk leaves a smear on the floor as it moves. A smear of what, Loki refuses to hazard a guess.
The thing, oil slick across its surface, hefts itself to the end of Thor’s platform. Here, it sits - or stands? The thing must have eyes for his unlucky brother, though where those eyes are exactly is a mystery. Its top, what for many constitutes the face, is a mucus-wet thing devoid of defining features.
The being rests, betraying no intent or action. Loki only knows what happens next by the change in Thor’s face. His brother’s lax expression tenses, sudden and startled. His glazed eyes squeeze shut, and Loki sees - the thing, this mass of a creature, is expanding. Or rather spilling forth, its appendages more like the gush of an errant hose. But its spray has form and purpose, coasting up Thor’s legs instead of down. It floods Thor’s thighs and swims greedily towards a place already wet with the spend of others.
Loki would let it happen. It’s not as if Thor hasn’t let calamities fall upon him in the name of what he believed was right. Thor could use a liquid screw to knock him down a peg. In the long run, it could be a good thing. Humiliating and painful as this day will be, it will end with Thor alive, albeit embarrassed and a bit sore. He will learn that rushing in head-first like a moron is not the wisest decision in every situation. Particularly when one finds himself on a planet lorded over by a creature that oozes cosmic power.
Loki would let it happen, he truly would, if not for the tears that slide from Thor’s trembling eyes. Damn him.
The blade of Loki’s dagger is at an approximation of the creature’s face in less than one blink. Loki grimaces at his own sentiment, and at holding a hand close to such a gigantic mound of waste. There is no way whatsoever to tell whether the being is intimidated by Loki’s show of aggression. But it does stop its sickening spill towards Thor’s backside.
Beside him, the Grandmaster gives a delighted laugh. “Look at you! When you take a shine to someone, Lo-Lo, you really go for it, huh?”
It’s tempting to have a go at the Grandmaster’s face with his daggers, but on this Loki fears he will have far less success. Still - Lo-Lo? It’s disgusting. “I’m a particular sort, Grandmaster,” Loki explains. He doesn’t quite keep the annoyance from his voice. “A show, I’m all for. But this swill is a bit low for my tastes.”
“Right, I thought I got a note of that, ah, regal stock in your voice. I can respect that! You know what you like.”
The Grandmaster points a dismissive finger, and the bulbous creature quickly departs. The tension eases out of Loki’s posture. He sheaths his weapon back in the magic store from where it was plucked.
He frowns when he finds the Grandmaster watching him. “Well?” the Grandmaster prompts.
“Apologies, Grandmaster, I’m afraid I’m not-”
The Grandmaster interrupts with a wave towards Thor. The implication is crystal clear. Loki gives an incredulous laugh. “Oh no, you see, I couldn’t possibly-”
“You put the claim in, Lo-Lo,” the Grandmaster tells him. The gleam in his eyes promises imminent danger to anyone who dares refuse him. “That’s encouraged here, don’t get me wrong. You want something, you go get it! Sakaar is where the lost get found. I found you, right? I found you, and you found Sparkles here. Circle of life, baby! All that’s left,” the Grandmaster claps his manicured hands together, “is to seal the deal. What do you say?”
For one of very few times in Loki’s life, he is speechless. His mouth flounders open like a gasping fish washed up to shore. Meekly, he stutters, “I can’t. You see, Thor is my brother...adopted, anyway, so I couldn’t-”
“Your brother?” The Grandmaster’s face takes on a new, dangerous light. “Even better! I’ve got a thing for that. Family, you know. Adopted or no, there’s so much drama. Delicious! Go on, Lo-Lo. You don’t want the, ah, meat to get cold. Chop chop.”
Loki feels like he’s been hammer-fisted in the gut. Every instinct in his body tells him to run, but every brain cell he possesses argues that he won’t get very far. And when he’s caught, he won’t like the result. Nor will Thor, though at the moment Loki could not care less about what Thor could want or not. Idiot - if he’d managed to keep himself out of this ridiculous predicament, none of this would be happening!
Loki turns around. Thor appears less tense without anything slithering towards his most vulnerable places. The tears are gone, but wet tracks still carve down the sides of Thor’s face. Teeth grit, Loki waves a hand. The wet trails fade, as does the mess between Thor’s thighs.
“Oh yeah, I see what you mean by ‘particular.’” The Grandmaster’s hands frame Loki’s shoulders. “You like a clean shop, don’t you? I get it. Make it about you and only you.” An undercurrent of energy hums under the Grandmaster’s fingertips. Loki tenses. “Easy there, champ,” the Grandmaster soothes, a laugh under the word. “Stand still.”
He’s already peeling Loki’s leathers off before Loki can ask why. The sudden openness of his body makes him shiver. He’d thought he could make quick work of this. Loose himself from his pants only and be done with the whole torrid thing. But the Grandmaster strips him piece by piece. Even has Loki step out of his boots so his pants can drop from around his ankles.
When the Grandmaster is done, Loki stands nude in a room full of Sakaarian revelers. Fury burns under his skin.
“Pretty,” the Grandmaster decides, sealing his appraisal with a chaste kiss. “Now go on! I’ll be right here, sweet thing.”
Few promises could sound as terrifying. Loki hopes his smile does not betray the nausea rolling through his stomach.
When he turns around again, Thor’s eyes are on him. It makes the sickness in Loki’s stomach worse. After years plotting to screw Thor over in the same way Thor did to him, this is what the Fates have presented. A literal screw. Damn Thor.
Loki approaches the table with caution. He has no doubt that Thor is as bound as he appears, that no lightning or thunder are set to rain down upon him. But Loki is on edge all the same. He feels the Grandmaster’s eyes on his bare back, along with far too many others. Music still thumps above, around, and under Loki, but the room seems hushed somehow. The Grandmaster's attention must be rare, his fellow revelers are watching.
“This is all your fault,” Loki hisses to Thor. “If you think for one minute I’d want anything to do with this if our lives didn’t depend on it...”
A lie, of course. But Thor doesn’t have to know that. And he won’t, as glazed over as he still is.
Loki tests a theory by easing a single finger up Thor’s side. Thor’s eyes slip shut like he’s on the verge of a heavy sleep. Pleasure rumbles deep in his throat. He shifts towards Loki’s touch.
“Oh, he likes you,” the Grandmaster croons. “I bet he’ll like it if you give him a little taste too. Why don’t you kiss him all better, sweetheart?”
What Loki wouldn’t give to kill him.
The Grandmaster doesn’t know, of course. To him, this is all some sick flight of fancy. He’s a purveyor of fantasy within a palace of garbage. He doesn’t know how Loki warred with himself in the throes of his youth. Woke moaning in his bedding, Thor’s taste from his dreams following him into morning. Now, for the first time, he’ll see if fantasy lives up to reality. How Loki has wanted this, and how he hates himself for it even now.
Loki sets a hand on Thor’s chest. It stutters under him, breath disrupted by a mere touch. Loki bends over him, lets Thor feel his words. “I’ll never forgive you,” he grumbles. Then, he tucks his face under his brother’s stubbled jaw.
His salt is stronger than Loki imagined, but the warmth and smoke of Thor’s taste are as Loki always dreamed. His skin is the earth after a heavy storm. The lingering scent of mist. Thor’s stubble scratches Loki’s lips. He sucks at Thor’s neck, feels the muscle beneath tense and tremble.
Thor’s chest staggers under Loki’s fingers. Loki traces over his heartbeat, the pulse throbbing against his touch. His nipples are hard as rocks. Loki pinches one firm enough to make Thor grunt around his muzzle. Thor’s body shifts, a jut of his hips. His cock is a painful red. The black ring of leather at its base appears rather distracting.
“Must he wear that the whole time?” Loki asks over his shoulder. This humiliation will be over faster if Thor were free to relieve himself.
“I mean, not the whole time. Just until I say.” This does not sound promising. Still, what choice does Loki have but to continue?
He climbs up on the table, Thor’s body thick and prone under his limbs. For a second, Loki can forget his surroundings. He is where he should be, above Thor in every way possible. He is more powerful, more free, Thor’s very life in Loki’s hands.
The hoots and catcalls from their audience put a quick halt to Loki’s pleasure. There is no joy to find in Thor’s misfortune when Loki too is a show piece in the Grandmaster’s playhouse.
Loki seethes behind a smile as he descends upon his brother’s body. He lavishes Thor with bites and kisses. Sucks bruises into his skin and leaves Thor shuddering and moaning under him. Whatever the Grandmaster spiked Thor with proves quite potent. Thor is as responsive as a virgin. The lightest graze of Loki’s fingers makes Thor shiver in his bonds. His bleary eyes shift across the ceiling, desire flushed across his cheeks. He looks captivatingly wrong. Loki’s stomach churns more with every kiss.
Thor’s cock is magnificent. Loki has known this, of course, after so many shared bath houses or changing stations in their youth. But the cruel strap pulled around Thor’s shaft only makes him more beautiful. His cock is a furious red, like strawberry wine on a hot day. A cool breath is all it takes to make Thor jut forward. Thor whines for him, tight and strained behind his gag. Who would have imagined it, the mighty Thor brought low by an inability to find release?
“I bet you can take him all in one go,” the Grandmaster enthuses from their side. “Quite a mouth on you, Lo-Lo. Let’s see what else it’s good for, huh?”
Miserable creature. Loki’s hair hangs down enough to hide his scowl. It’s not as if he has a choice though. He parts his lips wide and gathers Thor onto his tongue.
He can, as the Grandmaster says, have Thor all in one go. Loki is a purveyor of the hedonistic. His tastes stretch wide, and Thor’s cock - mighty though it is - is not the largest that has ever weighed his tongue. His is far more intimate than any other, though. It is not mere girth, it’s Thor. His smell and warmth that Loki know so well. A taste, still new but jarringly familiar.
Loki’s jaw aches from his size, but he descends unperturbed. He closes his eyes and drowns out the whistles and stares from Sakaar’s rabble of watchers. For a moment, it is only them. Thor firm between his lips. Loki’s hair forming fresh goosebumps on Thor’s thighs. Thor’s pleasure dribbles from him in a hitching groan. What Loki wouldn’t give to hear it without the muffle of the gag in his mouth.
“Ohh yeah.” A glance confirms the Grandmaster’s smile. “I knew it,” he says. “I love when I’m right.” An occurrence that must happen often with Sakaar bowing to the Grandmaster’s every whim. It's a good thing that Loki’s mouth is occupied. He does not have to worry about disguising his clear disdain.
The shackles do not allow Thor to respond in full, but his hips bob off the table, testing Loki’s endurance. Loki’s lips meet the leather strapped tight around Thor’s cock. A cruel tactic indeed. He would have Thor already, the shuddered clench of Thor’s abdomen makes this fact clear. Thor would be powerless to resist, a desire Loki’s mind used to revel in often. His early years were punctuated by dreams of Thor crying out his defeat, a battle lost to Loki’s victorious mouth.
Cool, powerful fingers comb down Loki’s spine. Loki freezes in place, mouth looped around Thor’s shaft.
The Grandmaster stands over them, eyes narrow and hungry. “This is good,” he says. “Bonding time, you know. But let’s see you go for it now, Lo-Lo. Go on. Show our Lord of Thunder where he belongs.”
Yes, Loki wants this very thing. He always has. It’s his destiny to rule, after all. Asgard, Midgard, the Nine Realms, anything he deems within his power and oversight. But above all, above everything, it is Loki’s destiny to stand above Thor. To command him. To own him. To possess him in every way. To protect him. To keep him. To love him and be loved by him.
This destiny is not for the Grandmaster or his cackling audience. It is Loki’s control to seize alone at a time and place where Thor can whole-heartedly accept. Perhaps with some hard-won convincing. Blood, tears, and guile against brute force. It isn’t for Loki to claim without Thor putting up a fight. Under the eyes of a crowd who thirst only for the forbidden pleasure of one brother fucking another.
Nausea crashes over Loki in waves. He takes deep, shuddering breaths to hold himself at bay. All the while, the Grandmaster touches him. Slow, patient strokes to his back like a pet. But a reminder through it all what this is. Who the Grandmaster is, and what little Loki can do to change the outcome of this day.
With a swallow of resolve, Loki rises under the Grandmaster’s fingers. He pushes himself up between Thor’s thighs and urges Thor’s legs around him. Loki works mechanically, it’s easier to drown out everyone and everything. Even Thor. Even himself. This means nothing. It’s just sex, a thing Loki has partaken of many times over his lifetime. Those times have often not been for love or even sentiment. He’s wanted something, or he’s decided that the company of another was better than ending another day alone.
It is how this shall be. A performance act. Auto-pilot. Thighs braced around his hips. A wide, already stretched hole open and ready for Loki to fill. He pushes in.
It is not as it should be. Thor is too lax, too over-spent by however many others have used his body as a tool for their amusement. Loki can tell by the clench of Thor's legs that were Loki his first of this day he would be tighter. This whole act would not have been possible without lavishing oil and attention. How his mighty brother would fall apart under his hands alone!
But no, Thor on this day is wide open and sullied. For Loki, his drugged body tries - a weak flutter of tension clenched around him. But he is too spent. Loki burns all over, anger battering inside his chest. How dare they rob this moment from Loki. How dare they already take what should have belonged to him.
Thor’s abused cock bumps Loki’s stomach. It’s wet from Loki’s mouth, staining Loki’s skin. The Grandmaster seems to like this by his hum of assent. Loki cannot bring himself to look at the creature. His fury is too great. If Loki looks now, he risks bringing down this entire charade.
So he looks straight ahead and proceeds. He makes his body move, gripping Thor’s thighs hard enough to form bruises. Thor moans beneath him, muffled by the gag. His gaze swims, pausing on Loki’s face for seconds at a time before drifting away to some other point. Loki hates Thor for his weakness. He angles himself deeper, buried so full that Thor finally squeezes his eyes shut. It’s a small victory, not having to watch his eyes slide about.
“Looking good there, Lo-Lo.” The Grandmaster strokes Loki’s hair with his blue polished nails. “Looking real good.” Loki imagines cutting his fingers off one by one.
But he must proceed, because the faster he continues, the faster this will all be over. And if his performance is believable, the Grandmaster will remove the bind from Thor’s cock.
Loki looks only at Thor’s quivering face. His shut eyes and his lips parted to allow shallow, quick breaths. His hands ball to fists under the metal shackles clamped around his wrists. Thor looks awful and beautiful. Loki fucks his over-used body and imagines a better place and time. Somewhere Loki could trust every sound Thor made, not aided by chemical influence.
He imagines how Thor would fight him. How he would try to deny what he felt, hold himself from the truth of what Loki intended to do with him. And how inevitably he would shatter, bowed by Loki’s ability to master his body like no other.
It’s a thought worthy of Loki’s finish. His only regret in the aftermath, unsteady hands on Thor’s sides, is that Thor is still strung tight as a bow. His unallowed pleasure makes him tremble with strain.
“Marvelous! Just delightful, you really know how to put on a show. And I think - you know what? I think I’ll give you a little reward. What do you say, sweetheart? A little token of my appreciation, huh?”
Loki blinks down at the leather bind snapping free of Thor’s cock. It pops open with a flick of the Grandmaster’s finger. Thor makes a tight sound behind his gag.
Before Loki can react, the Grandmaster’s manicured hand slides around Thor’s shaft. He gives a deft stroke upward, fist firm and wet from Loki’s mouth. Thor’s hips buck off the table, and into Loki still buried inside him. Loki grits his teeth against the friction. The Grandmaster repeats the motion, unaware or not caring. Thor moans and shifts again. It only takes a third for his seed to spill across his own stomach. He wrings tight around Loki, knees shuddering at Loki’s side. Already spent and softened, Loki can only grimace and bite back a curse.
In the aftermath, Thor breathes heavily, head hung to the side. There is fresh sweat on his skin. The Grandmaster laughs at their side, pleased. “Mm-mm, that was worth the wait, wouldn’t you say?”
Loki does not trust his voice. The Grandmaster took Thor - stole the moment from him like it was nothing. He does not know how to say otherwise, not yet.
It’s his good fortune that the Grandmaster enjoys hearing the sound of his own voice quite a bit. “That was fun!” he enthuses, tapping Loki between the shoulders. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up. Maybe some fresh clothes too? How’s that sound?”
Loki stumbles back to his knees, naked and disoriented on the table. “But what about-”
He can only watch the shackles pop free from Thor’s wrists and ankles. Armed guards gather Thor by the arms and yank him free. His knees give way, and he stumbles on his feet like a drunk. Blinking slowly, Thor raises his heavy head and looks around. His glazed stare settles on Loki. A small, confused frown crosses his face.
Then, he’s dragged out, completely nude and unable to hold his weight on his come stained legs. Loki stares at his departing back, frozen in place like the land of his birth.
“They’ll get him cleaned up too, don’t you worry,” the Grandmaster assures him. “Have him nice and ready for Round 2. Bet you’ll like that, huh?”
A knot tightens in the pit of Loki’s stomach. He considers murder, fleeing, and a full on mental break. A smile is what he settles on. “Of course, Grandmaster,” Loki says.
The Grandmaster grins. “Atta boy.” He kisses Loki’s forehead. “Great show. I liked that - oh yeah, I liked that a lot. Why don’t you go get yourself prettied up again, hmm? The night’s just getting started.”
“Gladly,” Loki says. He unfurls himself from the table and gathers his fallen clothes.
As he moves towards the room’s exit, his mind is already whirling. He’ll need a new scheme to get out of this mess. Something beyond anything he’s ever needed before. But if anyone is up to the challenge, it’s Loki.
And as for Thor, well. Loki will cross that bridge when he gets to it.