
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1126779.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Thor_-_All_Media_Types
  Relationship:
      Loki/Thor
  Character:
      Thor, Loki, Frigga, Odin
  Additional Tags:
      Dubious_Consent, kind_of?, Arranged_Marriage, Underage_Sex, war_bride,
      Jotun!Loki
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-01-08 Chapters: 1/2 Words: 1276
****** Dont let in the Cold ******
by RradioactivePpanda
Summary
     Typical war bride fic:
     Loki and Thor are to be wed as part of the truce; it was never going
     to be easy.
     Basically a smutty two shot pwp most likely
Thor leaned heavily against the wall of his fire lit chamber, briefly eying the
fire before shrugging off his ceremonial jerkin and lazily throwing it over the
closest chair. He recalled the fiasco of the night for a short time; the memory
of high pitched yelling and broken cutlery scattered haphazardly across the
feast hall playing in his head. He touched his cheek gently, feeling the four
shallow slashes that newly adorned his sculpted features and sighed loudly as
he leant back and slid down to the floor, closing his eyes.
==
 
In Loki’s opinion the night had been terrible from start to finish, and no one
could tell him that the catastrophe preceding it was anything less than an
ominous foretelling of how things would span out, most likely, for the rest of
his life.
The ice giants had finally been beaten by that blasted Odin.
Well, they called it a tactical truce, but in Loki’s opinion it was his father
turning his belly up, coward enough to bare their icy lands to the so-called
mercy of the Asgardian royalty. Loki didn’t enjoy war, young as he was he could
still see the effects on heir kingdom and people, yet surely fighting on would
be better than being so yellow in the face of the oncoming storm? Either way
Loki, being the youngest, smallest, weakest and most unimportant of the family,
had not been privy to the war counsels, nor been asked his opinion. And now
they were here, dining and laughing with their once-bitter enemies.
They’d arrived only a day ago, the most important members of the royal family
travelling together with the most important members of court to the famed halls
of Asgard, all in all totalling only a few thousand in number. Cleary Loki’s
father was sparing no expense in this truce, Loki had thought moodily. At first
he hadn’t really understood why he’d even been brought along, but a speech
about duty and the greater good had been delivered to him, explaining why the
underage prince was accompanying them to these important meetings. He was to
marry, and not just marry any so and so, but the crown prince of Asgard
himself. Obviously he had been upset, or angry to be exact, but in reality what
else was he to expect in life? And it helped that he was so fascinated with the
new lands he had forgotten in half about it, there was truth in his father
complaining about Loki being easily distracted.
Only when he was suddenly landed in the middle of the asgardian feast, decked
out in finery and forced to sit next to the huge brute of a man, his husband to
be, did Loki freak.
And freak he did.
Sure the Asgardian hadn’t meant anything by his pointed look at Loki whilst
talking about a particularly badly mannered whore to his bearded friend.
Suuure, thought Loki angrily.
And so there had been a small comment here, and depreciating laugh there, and
before he knew it the hall had burst into an uproar. Plates and cups were
thrown across the stone hall, Loki clawed Thor’s cheek, Frigga hissed like an
angry goose, whilst Thor’s friends were torn between holding Thor back and
finishing the mead before it was further spilt. The food managed to remain
untouched saving for when Thor overturned the table it was sitting on.
All in all a disaster, and yet Loki was still there, being primped and preened
by maid servants before he would be escorted to Thor’s rooms for a night he
knew would be hell.
One of the pale skinned maids finished re-applying thick kohl to the dark blue
skin of Loki’s eyelids before tucking a loose lock of black silken hair behind
one horn. Loki’s shamefully small, overly-polished, curved horns had earlier
been adorned in golden ornaments, which had thankfully been removed and a sheer
white body wrap had been draped over his slim shoulders.
A heavy hand landed on said-shoulders and Loki gulped as he looked over his
shoulder and up into the piercing red eyes of his father.
“Loki, my son,” he started, fingers tightening on the supple skin “the time has
come to make me proud”
==
 
Thor dwelt on his duty; somehow he was going to have to get up it up for that
spoilt runt that had thrown a hissy fit at the wedding feast. Angrily he tossed
the blond locks from his forehead before staring hard at his crotch, as if
willing it too hard enough would make it rise to the occasion. Unfortunately
that’s not how it works and he sighed before trailing a hand down to cup at his
manhood, gently pressing and releasing with his eyes clenched shut.
He couldn’t do anything with the memory of the first giant’s youngest prince in
mind; his black-lined flashing eyes, the bared teeth and his not-female flat
chest only weakened his resolve. Quickly he summoned the image of the whore
he’d visited the day before, recalling her fleshy curves, the dimpled skin of
her upper thighs and the way her ridiculously soft breasts spilled over the
edge of her bodice. His breathing quickened as he thought of the way she’d
giggled as Thor had pushed her over the table, hiking the voluminous skirts up
to reveal the weakly-rounded globes of her bottom which flushed pink as he’d
playfully slapped them. Thor could almost hear the echoes of her breathy, sugar
sweet voice as he finally began to harden.
And yet, almost exactly one breath after he had relaxed into the process a
knock came on his doors and they swung open, revealing an escort surrounding
the young blue prince. Thor paused, and eyed the group momentarily before
motioning for them to enter. He pushed himself up from the balls of his feet,
dusting off his knees as the two front escorts ushered Loki past Thor and
towards the bathroom. Thor waited for the two escorts bringing up the rear,
each baring a small collection of items in velvet purses before following them
to the bathroom. He leant against the frame of the room, studying the prince
who had been divulged of the garish golden ornamental jewellery that had
littered his hair, horns and body. Now he stood in the centre of the room in a
thin gauze shawl, his slender body visible through the material and his jaw
raised high, directed away from Thor and studiously ignoring him. The female
attendant moved towards the prince, polite yet wary and gently removed the robe
from his skinny shoulders and passing it on to the other waiting servant,
whilst the last two escorts busied themselves with setting up two small heated
bowls into which they poured liquids. One was a ceremonial fragrance that had
been prepared specially using the natural pheromones of the gosling dragon, the
other simple oil.
Though often other cultures ignored this part of the ceremony, Asgard
considered it customary to commence the night with a preparation and the first
escort had begun persuading Loki to sit on the ledge that ran around the
bathroom. Thor watched with feigned uninterest as the attendant coaxed Loki to
open his legs. There, between the prince’s legs, was no cock or hair to be
seen. Instead he had a cunt, a royal blue one, but a cunt nonetheless. Thor
halted himself from making any noise of surprise at this and followed the scene
with his eyes as the woman dipped two fingers in the heated oil by her side and
brought them up to Loki’s unnaturally still body.
Suddenly Thor didn’t need to think about yesterday’s whore anymore.
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