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A Helping Hand

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When they returned to the ship, Loki slipped back to his quarters. No one noticed his condition or cared to follow him, a state of affairs he would have found irksome at any other time, but that suited him in this case. So, when a knock came at the door, it was with more panic than vindication that he covered himself and said, "I'm busy. Go away."

He didn't really expect his visitor to listen; and indeed, Thor didn't. The door slip open, then closed behind him after he stepped through. "You're in some distress, I'm told."

He didn't have to come any closer for Loki to feel it: the draw, the pull of the desire he'd managed to subdue for this long. If he hadn't had the protections he did, he'd have been on his knees before Thor already. As it was, he remained on the bed, fists clenched, and managed--barely--to say, "You should tell Heimdall to mind his own concerns."

"The concern is mine," Thor said, stepping closer. It was agonizing. Every atom in Loki's body wanted to go to him; holding himself back took everything he had, so that there would be no presenting Thor with some more put-together illusion. "I would not have you suffer. Not when I can so easily take your burden from you." He pulled off his shirt, and then his hands went to his belt; and if part of Loki cursed him for having set his armor aside weeks ago, another part of him was drawn, and was pulled, and he was much too concerned with not moving to pretend he wasn't affected by the view. "Now, is there anything specific we have to do?"

"...Anything specific?"

"Well, there must be some sort of requirement. Me on top? You on top? One of us has to come inside the other one? You have to come a certain number of times? What?"

For a moment, the sheer fact that this was a conversation they were having--while Thor pulled off his boots and then peeled off everything else--made Loki feel almost as if the effect of that strange pollen might have been negated by his own sense of offense. Then Thor came even closer, and Loki could see everything, and it all came back.

"I have to come," Loki said. "I'm not sure how many times." He didn't mean to elaborate, but an elaboration came out anyway: "Fewer with someone else than with myself. Far fewer."

"So Heimdall said," Thor said, and that was when he reached the bed, and lay next to Loki upon it. "I'm surprised you would admit it."

"So am I," Loki said. Where he found the reserves to keep himself from reaching out now, with Thor so near--he'd be paying for this exertion of magic for months, in headaches and digestive concerns, and the inability to so much as change the appearance of so much as his hair--he didn't know.

"You're trembling, brother," Thor said, and reached out to pat Loki's shoulder, nothing more than this same offer of comfort he offered nearly every day since Asgard's destruction...

But it was more than Loki could take, and he broke, surging toward Thor, to...something. The need within him was a clumsy, grasping thing, and whatever it was aiming for, it was Thor who caught him, and held him, even as one of his large hands slid beneath the blanket at Loki's waist, and wrapped around what he found there.

Loki had been trying to come for half an hour before his arrival; now, he came after the first stroke. Even in the throes of it, the humiliation burned, as every humiliation always had.

Thor saw it, as it seemed he always did these days--when he'd started seeing Loki as he was, instead of the way Loki wished to be seen remained as much a mystery as ever, and as grating--and said, "Don't worry. I'm sure your stamina is usually much better."

"It. Is."

For a second, two, Loki wilted in Thor's hand...but then stiffened again. This time, it took ten or eleven strokes before he came, spasming in Thor's steady, warm grip no matter how he tried to fight it, to last a little longer.

The third time, he lasted for twenty strokes. The fourth time, fifty. Each time, his need was no less; but each time, he was a little more aware that this was Thor, touching him.

"I don't think this is working," Thor murmured. The trouble was that he murmured it directly into Loki's ear. Close enough that his breath warmed Loki's skin when he spoke, and his beard brushed against Loki's ear, softer and less scratchy than he would have expected. Loki was sure neither Thor's nearness or the lowness of his voice should have resulted in another bolt of lust surging through him, so much cleaner and brighter than the pollen's haze that there was no mistaking one for the other.

"...You're not going to stop," he said. Later, he'd try to convince himself he hadn't been begging; for now, all he did was beg. "Don't you dare stop."

"No. But I'm going to try something else now."

So saying, Thor kissed Loki's mouth, then his throat, and down and down, until he was pressing warm kisses to Loki's stomach, and then to the sensitive skin below. His hand kept moving all the while, until it could be relieved of its unpleasant duty in one smooth trade-off. Thor's mouth was hot, and wet, and when he looked up at Loki, his gaze was soft-eyed. Ballads had once been written about Thor's bedroom eyes; Loki had always suspected he could turn them on at will. Now he was vindicated, but it didn't seem to matter--for between Thor's mouth and Thor's eyes, he came within a minute, after having lingered at the edge for nearly twenty.

Thor swallowed around him, and when Loki began to stiffen again, he chuckled, and the vibration was new and unexpected enough to make Loki come again immediately.

This time, Thor didn't chuckle. When he had finished choking, he came off of Loki's cock long enough to glower and say, "That was spite, wasn't it?"

"Believe what you will," Loki said, already stiffening again, and already beginning to ache, now that Thor wasn't touching him. "Now, get back to it, why don't you. We're going to be here for a while."

"I should leave you to suffer," Thor said, but did as Loki had bidden him soon enough.