Slave. He twitched at the word, as he could not seem to stop doing, but it did not dissuade him; Loki's tender skin beneath his mouth was what he wanted, and without even opening his eyes to look again at his king's worried face he sucked hotly and wetly until the first flush of a bruise was left marked by the attentions of his mouth. He looked at it in satisfaction, nuzzled Loki's thigh again, moved upwards to bite gently at his hip. All the same attentions he might have paid him if they had lain together this way as youths, without bitterness and long years of enmity between them. Without slavery, without mastery. He drew Loki's thigh higher up over his shoulder as he moved over him. His hand cupped over his brother's spent cock, still sizable in his grasp, thick and substantial in a way that Thor had not expected of him. The memory of it still—it had filled him so—

He looked at Loki then, with a flush in his cheeks. "I wanted to please you again."

His hand rubbed, kneaded gently, as he bent to kiss his belly again. He wondered how easily Loki might be brought again to full desire. Perhaps it could be different between them this time, of Thor was sweet, eager and willing, if there could be affection in this: already Loki looked as though he had been knocked from his lordly pedestal, a hint of uncertainty in the green eyes which were narrowed on him as though he could not imagine what Thor thought he was doing. As though affection was a foreign thing.

Yet Thor had never stopped wanting to love his brother.