An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
So uh. That post by @prettiestthor that we were all having fun with the other day, with the stabbing-as-metaphor thing? Proved inspiring to me. I think this works as a bit of a Halloween horror fic, although it is not exactly *spooky* in my usual sense.
It is, however, 3k graphic and explicit words of Loki stabbing Thor and fucking the hole. So, y'know. If you're into that... (we can hang out at the devil's sacrament XD)
Happy Halloween!
(Since AO3 decided to immediately go down, the fic is also under the cut for convenience!)
Thorki, nonspecific comicsverse, potentially disturbing content warning!
*
Rock, Hammer, Dagger
“Do you want to just get it over with?” Thor blurted out in the midst of their latest fight, catching Loki off guard.
There was a look on Thor’s face halfway between resignation and sudden comprehension, with a tinge of worry just in the color coming to his cheeks. It was a fight no different from countless others they’d had on this miserable mortal realm, though, so Loki was not sure—
“What?” he ventured, wary. “Get what over with?”
With a jerk of his chin Thor gestured at Loki’s hand, the one currently concealing one of his daggers. “You’re planning to stab me again.”
Loki’s lips split into a vicious smile, more from anger than mirth, and he began to hiss and spit a furious reply, until Thor once again interrupted.
“What of it? I will defeat you sooner or later, you doltish—”
“Why don’t you just get it over with and fuck the wound this time?” Thor said, the words far cruder than any Loki could recall from his mouth before. “It is clear you want to.”
Loki found himself shocked into silence. Thor stared at him, hard-eyed, but…
He must be joking, surely? And even if he wasn’t, the idea was ridiculous. Why would Loki want such a thing? Oh, of course he enjoyed torturing his brother whenever he managed briefly to capture him, savoring his moans of pain and his uncontrollable writhing under the cleverest torments Loki could devise, but he did not need Thor’s suggestions to do so. And though the gratification Loki felt when he got to drink in his brother’s suffering did have an undeniably salacious thrill about it, his need was not anything so base and simple as sexual lust.
It was about vengeance, Norns curse him. He wanted to hurt his oh-so-perfect, oh-so-heroic brother, not fuck him or his wounds, and he snarled something back at him to that effect before slyly striking forward with his dagger and plunging it deep into Thor’s flesh.
*
An hour later, Thor sucked in a steadying breath while Loki prepared himself, seemingly stalling—or delaying, just to extend Thor’s terrible anticipation. Loki had captured him… well, Thor had allowed it, really, beginning to truly struggle only when Loki gave a disappointed scowl and teased him for being so eager for it, for torment and pain.
He wasn’t. It was just that, well, what he’d blurted so impulsively did truly seem to be what Loki was driving at in their conflicts—the singleminded obsession, the perverse jealousy, the perpetual desire to penetrate Thor’s flesh again and again, in a pattern as repetitive and reflexive as any man rutting into a lover, no matter that his implement was a blade rather than a phallus—and Thor had found himself wondering in the back of his mind whether perhaps letting him slake that cruel desire would allow their relationship to begin to mend. And Thor was a god. It wasn’t like it would kill him, no matter how uncomfortable it might be.
The discomfort was already sharp. He had dodged most of Loki’s blows or parried them with a swing of his hammer. A few had left the blade slipping against his skin, nicking him at the edge of his armor upon his thigh, or slicing a hot, red line along his arm.
Loki had gotten one deft strike in, though, stabbing deep into Thor’s abdomen, just a few inches to the left of his navel and a little below.
When he’d first gotten Thor naked on his bed—arms chained stretched out above his head, ankles bound together and attached to some unseen anchor point below—Loki had approached with a fascinated grin… and plunged a finger into that wound.
“Have to keep this open for me, don’t we?” he murmured while Thor yelped from the shock and sting of it. “Can’t have you healing up before I’ve gotten to have it.”
Thor had felt lightheaded, then, the reality of what he’d offered sinking in. Particularly at the sight of Loki’s red-dipped digit, which he wiped against the bedclothes.
Now Loki was slowly, casually disrobing.
“I doubt I would ever have come up with this on my own, brother,” he said over his shoulder, treating Thor only to the familiar view of his bare backside. “So where did you get the idea for such perversion? And why did you tell me about it? If this was your idea of reverse psychology, suggesting it in the hopes of spoiling the notion for me and putting me off it forever, I am sorry to disappoint.”
By then he had finished removing the last of his garments, and he turned, a faint smile on his face.
“And if that was your plan… why say anything at all? Does it frighten you, Thor? What I am going to do?”
Thor did not answer, too focused on trying not to let his gaze move anywhere besides his brother’s face, because he could feel the wound starting to heal again. A slightly achey tightness around the edges, beneath the cold wetness where blood had not yet dried. Loki was going to open it up again, whenever he finished his gloating. Thor was not looking forward to that.
Loki did not seem put off by his silence. “You know, the alternative is that you want to get fucked where I’ve stabbed you. So which is it?”
Thor felt unwelcome heat in his cheeks.
They grew hotter when Loki, finally, came to kneel beside him on the bed, cool fingertips tracing along Thor’s chest as gently as a lover. Loki smirked at him.
“It’s funny. I’d never have come up with the idea on my own, but now that you’ve offered it, I think I’m offended at how you said it—to get it over with, like some dreadful chore rather than the culmination of our relationship. Given your usual bleating about reconciliation between us, I’d think you’d be more excited at the chance.”
It was unclear if he meant for Thor to answer this time, because he chose that moment for his wandering touch to find the opening again, and he slipped two fingers in, stretching the cut edges that had indeed started to heal closed.
Thor’s body jolted, and holding back the cry that wanted to spill from his mouth meant biting his lip almost to bleeding. A burst of metal on his tongue.
“Shh, shh,” Loki soothed nonetheless, maneuvering himself to lie at Thor’s side without ever taking his fingers out. He whispered the soft sounds into Thor’s ear, continuing to probe the cut, pressing deeper than merely the first inch or two. “Shh, shh. I’m much bigger than just two fingers, brother, so worse is coming. Much longer, too. But it seems I got you in a good spot for it: nowhere near your diaphragm, so you won’t suffocate. And it seems I managed to slice neither your bladder nor your bowels. So this will be nice and clean,” he mused. “How fortunate for us both.”
*
It was worse. It was worse, watching his brother—vicious enemy on so many battlefields, oldest and most beloved companion, kinsman no matter how Loki denied it—stroking himself briskly to hardness, straddling Thor’s pelvis, then pushing the head of his swollen prick against the raw, bloody hole in Thor’s belly, grinning when Thor went pale from the sight.
It was worse, feeling it, and hearing himself making the most ridiculous and pathetic of sounds. He could not even attempt to stifle them. It wasn’t within his control. It was the push, push, push of Loki entering him and wrenching the wound wider—somehow sharper than the dagger had been. Thor jolted with nausea as delicate tissues ripped and tore at the edges of the wound, and the blood that had nearly stopped flowing began to trickle again down his skin. It was the way Loki’s member, once successfully lodged inside, had to make room for itself among the tight spaces of Thor’s innards by brute force, until his lungs seemed squashed, no matter what Loki claimed about his diaphragm, and the peculiar odor he could now detect—a sour, dank, coppery smell layered atop the scent of his own pooling sweat and the dirt and grime from their earlier battle—though he could not tell the source of it. It was feeling pierced through in a way that should not ever occur. It was having something inside him, as he had never felt before, moving his intestines with every stroke and thrust and pummeling at his organs in ways they were not meant to be moved. And it was the awareness that the cudgel pushing them out of the way was his brother’s invading prick, hard as iron and hot as a brand.
Thor risked a glance upward, at Loki’s face, his expression as he watched himself plundering Thor’s wound. He quickly had to look away again.
And then there were the sounds Thor’s body made, or rather the sounds made by his brother’s thrusting inside him and his organs moving under that assault—a wet, slurping glck-glck-glck, enough to turn his stomach, had Loki’s prick not been doing that already. He could see it—Norns, he could see Loki’s sizeable cock moving and shoving around inside him, his belly stretching, bulging with each prod.
He felt he could not breathe, and not merely because it hurt when he tried.
Loki, though, seemed to be enjoying it immensely.
“Loki,” Thor gasped, staring at him, blinking to control the tears that kept welling up in his eyes.
“Yes, dear brother?” Loki said—breathy-voiced with pleasure as he rocked his hips, seeking out new, unexplored angles that would make Thor gasp and writhe in new ways.
He found one.
“Hhgh-hnnnoouughk-nnooo—” Thor tried.
His body was now in full rebellion, and had the chains not been so strong he would surely have freed himself. As it was, he pulled until his arms strained, tried to kick, tried to twist free while Loki held tenaciously onto him like a clinging vine or a constricting serpent, thighs tight around Thor's pelvis, legs wrapping around to pin him more fully, leaning close to hook his arms under Thor's shoulders—and failure only added to the pain, to the dread of what was being done to him.
“Loki plea—hgkk—please stop—”
Loki kept thrusting, ignoring his struggles utterly now that he had found a firm grip. “Why?” he asked, almost lazily.
“Hhgh—hurts…”
Loki laughed. “Did you think getting fucked in a hole I pierced into your belly wouldn’t? Now, quiet. I was just starting to really enjoy it. Surely you’re not going to go through all this and then not let me finish, are you?”
Thor tried to endure. He truly did. He tried to stop struggling and just let it happen—pulling against the chains wasn’t helping him, instead just making his tendons creak, fibers and joints past their peak of strain, until he was afraid he would do himself real damage if he couldn’t calm himself.
It was just that it was uncontrollable. From the point where his brother entered him—the layered wall of muscle trying to tense to repel the invading rod and failing, only to cramp around it, seeping blood from the exertion. It made a hot, sharp spike of agony, like a ring of fire, where Loki’s cock slid into him again and again, and upon that the frightening, unnatural sensation of his guts being moved by each thrust and tug of his brother’s thick, bulbous cockhead, and the way it seemed even to reach his lungs, until he was sputtering for breath. It seemed even to shove against his heart, until his whole chest throbbed in terrifying rhythm.
“Did you know, Thor, that there is a type of snail on Midgard that breeds like this?” Loki mused, his voice somehow steady and untroubled, while Thor panted and wheezed and stuttered. “They make a dagger of their sexual organs and attempt to stab one another in the belly with it to shove their seed inside, so that the loser of the battle must bear the offspring. You should be grateful I can’t do that to you.”
Gratitude was not the emotion that welled up in Thor’s body.
He would be thinking of this, now, every time, wouldn’t he? Whenever they fought, he would be forced to recall the feeling of being bound naked on his back, his brother fucking him, stabbing him again and again until his usually firm, flat belly bulged swollen from the cruel treatment and his innards were a writhing, hot mass of pain and nausea. His wretched, villainous brother spearing him gleefully, hips shifting in sinuous motions, driving a hard blade into his bleeding guts and not caring how he protested—taking joy in it because Thor whimpered and thrashed and begged him to stop.
He was breathing too fast, wasn’t he? That was why his head felt like it was floating away while the rest of him felt too heavy to move.
He tried to focus, but all there was to focus on, aside from the pain, was the sight of his brother’s naked body working above him, the lean muscled chest at his eye level, just beginning to glisten with sweat. Old, faded, jagged scars here and there on Loki’s body that Thor could not help but wonder about—if Thor himself had caused them, and if not, who? And then, if Thor glanced down but a little, he could not help but see the place Loki entered him, stretching the wound wide, and his own blood matting Loki’s dark pubic hair, the slick wetness of it obscene.
His refusal to stop even when Thor pleaded—the thought ran up and down Thor’s spine in cold, trembling waves.
This wouldn’t kill him, of course. Nowhere near it. But it felt like it would, enough that genuine fear gripped him.
In all the years of their estrangement, he had never been sure if Loki would. Now he had his brother’s erect cock straining inside him in a cruel parody of lovemaking, and through the searing pain Thor’s breath caught at the sensation of being laid bare.
His consciousness began to blur around the edges. The fear was worse than the pain. The doubt and confusion were worse than the fear.
Somehow Loki sensed it and grasped him by the hair, yanking in such a way that stunned Thor back into the moment and forced his head up to gaze into his brother’s eyes.
What he saw there made him squirm.
He couldn’t endure another moment of this.
He made himself speak, despite the difficulty of forming words and pushing them through his throat. “You can… I’ll let you… finish some other way… anywhere else, I’ll…”
His mouth? His thoughts roiled. He could endure the taste of his own blood, surely, he could do that—or he could let Loki bugger him, could let Loki between his legs to fuck him in the ass, it surely could not hurt as much as this, it surely could not degrade him any more either. What dignity could he claim to have, after letting his brother do this to him?
Loki’s strokes slowed just a little as his hand tangled tighter in Thor’s hair, seeming to consider it.
“Oh, but, brother, the feel of your guts around my cock is sweeter than any cunt I’ve ever had. Or any other hole, for that matter,” Loki murmured, the look in his eyes oddly tender for the filthiness of his words and the cruel smirk on his lips. “I gave up on such pleasures too soon, I suppose. But how was I to know how soft and hot you are inside? How was I to know how delicious it would feel when your innards clench and squirm around me in your pain? No one else has ever had you like this…”
The way Loki began to grind hard against him, wrenching his prick around in brutal circles inside Thor’s wound—that was clearly meant to make him yell and thrash and nearly convulse, and he did.
“Yes, just like that,” Loki hissed, dark-eyed with delight. “Yes, scream for me, brother, it pleases me so when you do.”
It was agony, the breathless jolting of his organs being battered, and Thor was nearly delirious by the time Loki came, the heavy pulsing of his cock in Thor’s wound yet another stab of impossible pain. Hot jets of semen slicking him (Thor thought of snails) where such fluid was never meant to be. His brother orgasming inside him—inside him, utterly and terribly—with a satisfied groan.
It should have felt like a relief, to have the dreadful ordeal finally finished.
The worst, however, was still ahead. Because Loki softened and pulled out—a pink froth of fluids bubbling out from the wound, Thor's blood smearing his skin from belly to balls—and rolled away from him with an equally satisfied sigh. And with the pain at last receding, and with his guts settling back into their rightful places, Thor could no longer ignore the other sensation that had been hiding beneath it all, the swollen hot ache. And he was still chained and unable to do anything about it.
He rubbed his thighs together as Loki turned to look at him in confusion. All the motion achieved was a little pleasant friction.
He would go mad. Perhaps he already was.
“Brother,” Thor gasped out. “Help me…”
His cock, after all that sharp misery, was quickly growing hot, filling and thickening, no matter what his mind thought of the situation, until it stood up, straining. And even had he not been chained, he was far too sore to try to tend to it himself. Even the subtlest rocking of his hips made the ache in his abdomen flare into agony again.
Loki stared, then—curious, tentative—knelt again at his side, wrapping fingers around Thor’s desperate erection.
A tight and sensuous constriction, his brother’s hand, gripping him and gliding. The perfection of it, his nerves, every nerve in his body, sensitive in a way he’d never felt before, the keenness of it shooting through him in bright bolts as he lay limp and helpless. His brother’s fascinated stare, not even bothering to taunt him over this—what would have been the point? His brother’s gaze piercing into him as surely as any dagger ever could.
In mere moments, Thor climaxed, shouting, shaking, his heartbeat racing—and the open, bloody wound aching and throbbing in time.
