A darkness, a sign of hope. The sun slipped below the horizon and his brother's golden head slipped lower along Loki's thigh and sucked at his flesh in a way that stole his breath. Whether or not he liked it, he could not say; it froze him. Certainly he had not ordered it. He twitched under Thor's grasp but his thrall's strength held or at least it would not be undone by such an uncommitted effort.

He looked worried. Rising up on his elbows to look down upon Thor and his own lean body, he struggled to retain his lordly, mocking tone.

"What do you imagine you are doing, slave?"

It was not Thor's proximity to his limp, dark cock that bothered him so much as he could not imagine a reason why Thor would willingly put himself there. His thoughts raced to determine the nature of this engagement: a trick, meant to put him off his guard? But he was more guarded than ever. A trap of some kind. A way to prove his dominance. Thor, dominant, kneeling between Loki's thighs, the sum of his rebellion concentrated on disobediently licking? And if he meant to illustrate his physical superiority and thereby generate unease in Loki's heart, he should have done so with kisses less tender, hands less wholesomely engulfing; there was no contempt in Thor's touch.

There was not nearly so much contempt as there ought to be.