Chapter Text

Go, Thor, Go!

***

"What are you doing here, brother?" Sweat drips off Thor's brow where he leans against the fence sans shirt, beads of perspiration cascading over the carved contours of his body as though this is some beauty and/or workout commercial, and Thor is the star. Well, the former is somewhat true with Thor being the quarterback of their top ten school's football team as well as a plethora of other sporty occupations. Thor doesn't get paid for it yet, but Loki is not stupid enough to not see that he will in the future.

Nor is he stupid enough to not see that his "brother's" eyes are not entirely focused on his face but the pair of precariously short spandex shorts he currently wears. It is a good thing, is it not, that Thor is as much his brother as Loki is the most obvious person in the world since most well-adjusted brothers don't grab their younger brothers asses and drunkenly slur their desire to "tear it in half."

His shorts do little to nothing to cover said ass either which Loki may or may not have worn today with that in mind.

Thor frowns at his silence. "You're not here to-?"

"No, Thor, I am not trying out for your meathead squad," he replies as he crosses his arms. "I have better things to do than throw a pigskin and ram my body into other people's bodies."

No, not "people," but a person who desires the same but is much too self-righteous to ever admit as such though his continual regard of Loki as a brother may play a part. At his 15th birthday dinner over a week ago, he stood and thanked their "parents" as their "adopted, gay son," which was a mercy with how he could have reacted badly to discovering his suspicions held truth after getting his blood typed for a school project.

Thor pushes a lock of wet flaxen hair from his forehead and squints at him, frowning. "Then I see no reason for you to be here really. You don't like football which you've made quite clear, Loki."

The gymnasium doors open at the end of the field, and Coach Hill steps out and beckons him forth.

Loki stands up from the bottom bleacher. "You'll see in time," he says, and he strides away from Thor without an ounce of modesty, chin high and professed long legs strutting.

"You're going to have to wait to get a ride home!"

Science club ends three hours before football practice, but Loki isn't here for Science club.

Miss Hill looks him over with an amused smile. "Mr. Odinson, ready for your try out?"

Perhaps he can get a ride with one of his new fellow cheerleaders.

***

Oh the lengths one will go to in order to seduce their oblivious, self-righteous elder not-brother.

His fellow cheerleaders have long gotten over his membership, especially with him being marginally better than all of them, one of the supposed best cheerleading squads in the country, but they are no less tolerable with their frantic screaming and inflection-laden cheering in the first half. An entire season of this he has subjected himself to just because his not-brother has a gorgeous, gargantuan cock and can be semi-tolerable when he’s not being “Thor Odinson, star whatever,” who is currently doing an astounding job at winning for their team.  

The nylon rubs against his skin as he shifts on his feet, putting his hands to his hips in a mirror of his mother who regards him on the other side of the fence with anxious eyes, looking verily like her true son Thor. He exhales through his nose and nods to her umpteenth repetition of "Are you well?" and tries not to adjust his compression shorts where they ride up his ass in a way most uncomfortable.

Dozens upon dozens of eyes are on him and his cohorts, those of familiars and strangers alike, and he will not fall victim to a case of a “wedgie.” 

He glances over her shoulder toward his crouching not-brother in all of his white and red clad glory, the best quarterback in “like ever” according to many of their peers though quarterback is not the only best position his not-brother holds.

But cheerleading is not amongst the plethora of activities Thor’s engaged in, and just like his not-brother, Loki strives to be the best at whatever he participates in, and while he may not be six foot five or anything so impressive, he hit his growth spurt over the summer, so the epithet “little Loki” no longer applies. It’s not like Thor cared before. He “loved” Loki just as much as he does now.

He falls into line with his fellow cheerleaders as they traverse the sidelines, the crowd of spectators gawking at him like seeing a male in a cheerleading regalia—red and white make-up complete with copious amounts of glitter since everything must shine for their school—is so exceptional and requires their due attention—not that there is much of it to give—in the form of gawking and murmurs in their shoulders. He’s really not that much of a sight to see with the concealment of the windbreaker.

“What are you doing here?” His not-brother’s friend Fandral removes his red helmet, blond coif plastered to his sweaty forehead. “And where are your pants?”

Loki bats his hand away as he tries to touch the glitter stickers adorning his cheekbones. “Fandral, I recall you taking a few hits, but I didn’t know they were to the head,” he replies.   

Miss Hill blows her whistle on the sidelines, and Loki sheds his jacket, leaving it in Fandral’s possession with a, “Watch that for me, will you?” that goes unreplied since Fandral is far too busy ogling Loki’s ass to use any of those flirtatious one-liners from his large arsenal, not that he is alone. Quite far from it and Loki cannot be blamed for the smirk that comes to his lips, especially at the nasty fall Coach Sitwell takes when Loki passes by.

His pompoms swish at his sides as he traverses the downtrodden turf to join the incomplete three group formation of his squad mates, and Loki does not spare an attempt to hide the smirk that curves his lips as he takes his place front-center in a single knee kneel. So, this is what Thor feels like every Friday, blinded by the bright lights of the stadium and flash of dedicated parents’ cameras. How anyone could love such a thing eludes Loki… somewhat.

“And here for our halftime show, the Marvel Academy Marvelettes!”

The opening bars of “Take it to the Hole” ring above, and Loki’s pompoms come to rest on Lorraine’s hips as Gamora’s rest on his, his chin snapping up at the first verse. His bent leg shoving into the turf, he stands up from the kneel with a pop of his ass and moves his pompom-wielding hands to his bare hips as the song segues into a remix of “More.” He’s spins to face the Home side and marches forward with an exaggerated tilt to his hips, various marching band members dropping instruments onto the tartan where they stand in wait and watch, and he holds the eye of drum major Tony Stark as he spreads his legs and thrusts his hips, moving his arms around him in a radial motion.

Tony drops his baton as Loki drops his pompoms and pulls his leg up into a scorpion. It’s not like he doesn’t know just how flexible Loki can be.

But his elder not-brother Thor doesn’t, and the way he gawks at Loki from his huddle of footballers is absolutely perfect, more perfect than anyone of the thousands watching with a look so similar but not with the same electric blue eyes, the ones that burn his chilled skin as he shakes his half-covered ass, claps his hands, and back handsprings in a race with the dance-pop music filled with double entendres about anonymous fucking. When Loki succeeds—which he will—the things he intends to do to Thor and have Thor do to him will be nothing but anonymous for Thor will know that it is Loki sucking his cock as Loki will know it is Thor’s cock he is sucking.

The last bar of “Crown on the Ground,” he places his fists on his hips, head cocked to the left with a hint of teeth shown between his still smirking lips.

“Give it up for the Marvel Academy Marvelettes, our nationally beloved cheerleading squad!”

Loki bends over to retrieve his pompoms and straightens up with that same gaze on his precariously covered backside, his compression shorts having ridden up too much to offer full coverage. When he turns around to meet Thor’s eyes, they’re shadowed in his helmet where he stands on the edge of the field, an unmovable object that’s just met his irresistible force in his little not-brother who he’s somehow unfortunately not snapped and fucked yet. Rumor has it, Thor’s been through the entire cheerleading squad in years past, only this time it will start and end with Loki.

“All of this work just to let someone into your skirt?” Tony adjusts his golden hat, standing in front of the line of percussionists. “I know Fandral’s hot, but if you ask me, he’s totally not worth it. By the way, if you need a ride tonight, I’m one hundred percent willing to give it.” Stark’s shoulder brushes his as he passes, and Loki purses his lips.

He’s been there, done that, and what he wants is not Tony Stark nor Fandral Dashing.

For all of the caterwauling about “Odinsons do not lose, understood?” during Loki’s youth and the times when Loki came second to not just anyone but Thor—who is an Odinson, a “true” Odinson unlike Loki—an Odinson is precariously close to losing by the last quarter when the score is 30—28, with the opponents in the lead. Of course Thor turns the game around with aid from the team captain, who goes mostly overshadowed with Thor’s success, but that’s what Thor is nearly for the first time in his life, a losing Odinson.

Loki watches him advance on him as he waits in front of Thor’s truck, screams of disconsolate victory and disbelief filling the night around them, with a disapproving look and thrill vibrating every particle of his being. “That was your fault,” is the first thing out of Thor’s mouth, and Loki feigns offense, a hand to his heart and another to his bare stomach.

“I’m sorry for your performance, Thor. I’m sure you know that I cheered hard and fast for you.”

Thor’s hand is large and hot through the cotton of his sleeve, a breath catching in Loki’s throat, and how three inches of a height difference can feel so much larger escapes Loki. “You hate football.”

“I do however I do not completely hate other related… things.” He licks his lips and shifts forward ever so slightly, holding Thor’s darkened eyes. “I don’t blame you for almost losing for the first time ever, Thor, but I don’t see how this is my fault.”

Thor steps backward, shame filling his features, and Loki could just shout that they aren’t brothers so it doesn’t count, but what fun would that be? “Here.” He shrugs off his varsity jacket and shoves it in Loki’s direction, jaw tight. “You’re going to get a cold.”

“But I thought you were going to give me a ride, Thor. We play for the same team now.”

“I really need a drink, and you are not coming with me in that. Er, go with…”

“Fandral?”

“No, no, fucking way, Loki. Sif.” Thor points to his friend where she loads her bag into a truck adjacent. “Sif and you surely have something to talk about now, yes? She’s a girl on a football team, and you’re a boy on a cheerleading squad. Perhaps you won’t hate each other so much now.”

Loki crosses his arms and sighs. “Fine,” he says, pushing away from Thor’s truck. He starts toward Sif who stares at Thor over his shoulder with exasperation but makes no motion to dismiss him and make him catch a ride with another of his not-brother’s many friends. “Don’t get too drunk, Thor!”

Thor’s eyes are on his ass when he glances back.

“I’m not that surprised,” is the only thing Sif says in regard to his new hobby, and Loki loses himself in thoughts of cheering nude with a TO painted on his chest.      

***

Thor tries to avoid him like avoidance is not Loki’s game as it has always been and fails mostly because seven days of Thor’s week are spent in the same house as Loki and four evenings of both of their weeks are spent on the same campus practicing, Loki no longer evading Thor’s grasp now that he knows. He also fails because Loki just happens to need an outside perspective to judge his performance and Thor is in proximity doing nothing for one of the rare moments of his life and cannot say no to Loki, especially when he’s standing in only shorts and touching his massive arm with a small smirk.

Thor doesn’t snap, which makes it so much more thrilling to prance around and play the fool to his not-brother’s long-held desire to “tear” his ass “in half,” and by the next game, Thor’s qualms regarding Loki’s inclusion on the cheerleading squad have lessened enough for him to slip back into his role as star quarterback for the night and decimate the other team even as Loki stands at the sidelines and claps and high kicks with 19 similarly scantily clad girls who do not wear the uniform as well as he does even with their large breasts, thank you very, very much.

At halftime, they perform a medley of “I’m a Slave 4 U,” “Break the Ice,” and “If U Seek Amy” for halftime, and Loki drops into a split that proves to be no less thrilling on turf and in front of thousands sans underwear beneath his compression shorts, his lesson from the previous week learned and heeded. Tony asks if he “cut his pretty dick off” to make it possible when Thor shoves between them, Tony ending up on his ass grumbling after Thor, who pays him no attention but Loki every ounce of it.

The crowd roars when Thor scores the winning touchdown and holds the football above his head like some sort of hammer, and Loki internally congratulates himself for the victory that is sure to follow for him.

He situates himself on the hood of Thor’s truck, one leg bent and the other stretched taut, mouth occupied by chewing mint gum, and skin exposed to the chill of the night, and waits for Thor to surface and be faced with the greatest conflict yet, his beloved not-brother Loki desecrating/enhancing the hood of his precious vehicle.

“What are you—get off of my truck, Loki. Now.” Thor stares at him with wide-eyes, his fists clenched at his sides, and Loki slides down the hood with deliberate slowness, his skirt hiked around his waist when he lands on his own two feet.

“For a newly 17 year old boy, you’re quite selfish with your toys. Didn’t Mother teach you anything?”

Thor averts his eyes to the inky sky. “I didn’t know you could do that, a… split.”

“Do you want to see it again?” Loki bites his lower lip, and Thor looks back down at his face, the apple of his throat bobbing. “I could give you a personal demonstration if that’s what you want. I’m still in uniform, and you’re a winner.”

Thor’s mouth opens and closes, and yes, oh yes, does Loki want that mouth on his cock. He sighs. “And what about what you want?”

Thor, forever the giver, always looking out for Loki’s well-being unless it involves him cumming his brain out of his cockhead. It’s only time before Thor takes one look at Loki in his uniform and decides that his convictions are all bollocks and he deserves to be balls deep inside of his younger not-brother, teaching him every valuable lesson Loki’s not-father Odin is always claiming Loki needs to learn from him.

He hums and tilts his head to the side. “Whatever you can give, Thor. Cheerleaders are support for the football team, correct? If you happen to notice, I’m a cheerleader, and you’re a football player, the best if I might say.”

“You’re also my younger brother, Loki,” says Thor with a huff, and he sheds his varsity jacket to drape it over Loki’s shoulder with the gentleness he only shows to Loki, his younger not-brother he either treats like a forbidden apple or a sibling that requires all of his protection. Both couldn’t be more wrong, but Loki only crosses his arms and glares up at Thor. “Come on, I have history homework for us to finish anyway.”

“’Us?’” Loki meets Thor’s unrelenting gaze and sighs because they both know that both of them will finish it together instead of doing other, more exciting things together. “You aren’t taking a cheerleader home then?”

Thor’s warm hand touches his knee, a glint to his eyes. “I thought I was.” When Thor adjusts Loki’s skirt in one yank, Loki gasps, squeezing his knees together and attempting to not become a 12 year old boy again. “You are wearing the uniform.”

They only do history homework, and Loki reconsiders the nude cheering again.

***

If Thor were not amazingly attractive, did not have the personality of a golden retriever, or possess a dick surely to rip Loki in half, he would be the most taken advantage of person in the 50 states for his extraordinary lack of tact in regard to his desires, the greatest one happening to be Loki. Yes, Loki may make it a habit to waltz around in clothes that leave little to the imagination—just enough to ramp up Thor’s want and chip off pieces of his self-control—and take every conversation and turn it into a listing of the many feats his body is capable of, but Thor doesn’t have to outright stare or press Loki harder for answers. For someone renowned for their sexy yet effective “game face,” Loki’s seen little of it as of recent.

Loki quite likes the Away game uniform if not only for the lack of sleeves on his shirt and pleats in his skirt, and so does Thor, which Thor accidentally says when Loki descends the stairs and rhetorically asks him why he’s staring. Thor then stumbles over himself to try to talk about anything but Loki’s uniform or cheerleading on the ride to the high school, but Loki cannot just let him get away with that so easily, so he works to keep his uniform at the forefront of the conversation.

“I don’t see underwear lines.”

Loki pauses where he’s bent over and reaching for his duffle in the back seat of Thor’s truck and thanks the gods that Thor knows when to keep his thoughts in his head when there are others around. He stands up and shuts the door. “Possibly because I am not wearing any,” he says, and he leaves Thor to go check in for the bus ride.

He sits in an unoccupied seat in the back of the bus filled with other members of his squad and stretches his legs out on the rest of the seat to reinforce his intent to any girl who may get the idea that he could use some company to talk whatever inanity she has in mind for he does not cheerlead to make friends but to seduce his idiot not-brother.

The same not-brother who pushes his legs off the seat and sits down beside him with a broad grin.

“What are you doing here? There’s a bus specifically for the football players, Thor.”

“But, Brother, what if I don’t want to ride the football bus today?”

“I’m not your brother, Thor,” he murmurs, waving his hand dismissively.

Thor slides closer, and the corners of Loki’s mouth start to stretch into a smile. He leans in close, his breath hot against the shell of Loki’s ear, and over a dozen eyes watch them with curiosity and envy. “I thought you wanted what I wanted.”

Loki sucks his teeth. “Oh, you remember.”

“I remember everything.”

“So do I,” he replies, and he looks away from Thor, reaching up to adjust the ribbon on his ponytail.

“I also want to win with a clear head, so what routine do you have planned for tonight?”

He chuckles. “Tonight? Mm, I have lots of routines planned for tonight, Thor. It’s just a matter of what becomes reality.”

“Loki.”

“Thor,” he sing-songs. “It’s a surprise. You’re going to have to win either way because I want you to win too.”

Thor prods him for an answer every so often during the four hour travel but never gets it, not that he actually needs it with their team demolishing the opponents before and after the halftime routine of a mash-up of several Justin Timberlake songs and copious amounts of suggestive hip shaking.

Loki’s blood is hot and heart thrums as he sits in the back of the idle bus, his fellow cheerleaders only recognized in the darkness by the light of their cellphones and the glistening of the crimson ribbons in their hair. Replaying the routine in his head with the songs playing in his ears increase the speed of his heart and urgency of his thoughts so when Thor falls into the seat beside him running high on his own postgame high, he can only be partially annoyed.

“Loki, how glad am I to see you. The darkness does your uniform injustice though let’s not pretend the uniform actually matters when it is on you.” Thor slips an arm around Loki’s shoulder and presses himself close, the smell of wet grass, earth, and his ozone cologne filing Loki’s nostrils, and Loki rests his cheek on Thor’s shoulder, taking a deep inhale. He only makes a sound in the back of his throat when Loki slides a leg over his thigh and shifts even closer. “You should ask me what I want.”

“But what if I know already?” he nearly responds, but no, that would be practical to letting Thor know that this is a game, a very fun game. Instead, he asks, “Thor, what do you want?”

Him, Thor wants him.

Thor’s chuckle tapers off as Loki slides the rest of the way into Thor’s lap, Loki bending his legs to fit comfortably where he so obviously belongs. His arm slides from Loki’s shoulders down his back to rest at the top of his ass, fingers warm on the bare skin of Loki’s hip. “When we were younger, I used to think that… that you were a girl, right? I knew that you were a boy, but you being a girl would make it somehow alright. I know that it was rather foolish, but I wanted to… believe that everything was excusable if you were.” He sighs, a puff of warmth over Loki’s shoulder. “It is not the least excusable, is it?”

“If you’re referring to the ‘girl’ thing, no, not at all and you should be happy that I don’t use my boy hands to punch you, Odinson.” He tilts his head back against Thor’s shoulder and bends his neck to take in Thor’s suddenly somber expression. “Thor,” he says, his not-brother’s eyes meeting his, “I’m not your brother nor have I ever been.”

He sighs with relief when Thor’s eyes fall to his lips and shifts around to meet Thor halfway in a kiss when something hard pokes into his ass, hard, fucking massive, and warm. He bites the tip of his tongue and raises his brow because Thor seems to not care if he is a girl or a boy, his brother or not his brother, which is a sentiment Loki has wholeheartedly shared for several months now.

Thor’s eyes widen, and Loki is pushed from his lap onto the side beside him. “I know you’re not wearing underwear,” Is all Thor says before he shoves his oversized Beats headphones on his ears and grabs Loki’s pompoms and uses them to cover his hard-on, continuing even in the cover of the night to hold them to his crotch in the walk from the bus to his truck.

At some point past midnight, Thor stops into Loki’s room to return his pompoms, and Loki picks them up to only find them sticky and smeared with a desperate attempt to rid them of any out of place substances. One would think Thor would learn that white streaks red with all of the pompoms he’s probably cum on in the past.

Loki doesn’t wash them.

***

“Ugh, see this is the problem with having a boy on our team.” Pepper Potts frowns in distaste at Loki’s pompoms which she shouldn’t have been touching in the first place but simply had to put in his bag as if he wasn’t going to do so himself. “They cum on everything and never even have the brain to clean it up.”

Agreements come from several of their fellow cheerleaders, and Loki pushes himself to stand with an amused look on his face just for Pepper Potts’ detriment and disdain. For all of the accusations of Loki being too “straight edge” from their peers, Pepper “I am more neurotic than thou” Potts has him bested in an area he has no desire in taking the prize in.

“I see not why you’re so surprised, Potts, since it’s well known that we boys think with our other head,” he replies, “which is why ‘girls rule, boys drool,’ correct?”

She scoffs and douses her hands in hand sanitizer. “You are a lot more like your brother than I thought,” she says, and as Loki frowns, aforementioned not-brother’s laugh rings around the gymnasium as he descends the bleachers. Pepper purses her lips as Loki does the same. “Speak of the god.”

Thor smiles sweetly and seats himself next to Loki’s duffle bag and Pepper-scorned pompoms. “Hello, my loyal supporters and ladies.”

“Hi, Thor,” they chorus where they bat their lashes in search of a second chance with Thor they will never get.

He turns a grin on Loki. “Hello, brother. I've decided to take your offer to come and watch,” he says, and he picks up a pompom, face contorting into a grimace. “Why are these—oh.” He pales and drops the pompom, looking at Loki with a furrowed brow. “You should… wash those.”

“That is just what I said,” says Pepper.

Loki cocks his head to the side and aims a patronizing smile at her. “Potts, let us not forget that what you say no longer holds the weight of head cheerleader.” His smile widens at the responding dirty look and murmurings of dissent amongst the ranks for Loki isn’t a cheerleader to make friends or earn popularity but to get the boy that’s watching to shove his cock inside of him repeatedly, resulting in a happy ending for them both.

As they move up through the basic cheers, Thor’s relaxed stare intensifies accordingly to Loki’s increasingly sensual movements, and he’s a hawk by the time they get to their newest routine, something unapologetically sexual set to Pop music Loki would not dare listen to unless he intended to seduce someone without sparing artistic complexity.

He drops into a low squat and rolls his hips for three beats in which Thor scratches the back of his neck and focuses on the gymnasium floor centimeters below Loki’s ass, and on the fourth beat, he straightens out and bends over with his fists at the small of his back, popping his ass thrice, sure to emphasize each one for Thor. Taking in a short breath, he performs a back tuck that could be better even if Thor doesn’t notice and clasps his hands as he shouts along to the spoken word part of the song, holding Thor’s eyes. With little fanfare, his legs part, and he slips into a split that is not as flawless as he would like but still enough to make Thor’s jaw drop.

Jarvis sends Loki a thumbs up through the glass, but it’s Thor’s opinion that matters.

He waits until after practice when Thor looks less prone to blurt out his true feelings and run far away, holding the strap of his bag tight as he walks alongside Thor. After Thor has unlocked the passenger side of his truck, Loki stops him from leaving with a hand on his forearm. “So, do you deem it good enough?”

Thor briefly glances at him and clears his throat. “That was, uh, perfect… much like everything else you do when you don’t ruin it with your little tricks.” He takes a breath in through his nose, nostrils flaring, and focuses solely on Loki as he should instead of denying what he feels when he looks at him by avoiding looking at him. “Loki, I’m happy that you’ve decided that living the secluded life wasn’t for you. I really… enjoy you like this, not that I didn’t before…”

Standing on his toes, he presses a chaste kiss to Thor’s lips that deepens when Thor’s hands fist in Loki’s hair and keep him from retreating not that he's complaining at all because Thor, he’s kissing Thor, his outstandingly beautiful not-brother, whose spit-slick lips taste of mint gum likely stolen from Loki’s backpack and coarse stubble brushes Loki’s hairless chin. A hand on Thor’s shoulder ends the kiss, Loki falling back onto his heels and dropping his hand to his side.

Thor’s eyes are large and panicked as if he expects Loki to insult him and call him a pervert.

Loki merely slides into the passenger seat and turns the topic toward Thor’s opinion of the other, less-skilled cheerleaders. He catches Thor touching his lips.

***

With the 6-0 record they amass, the next two wins come quite easily and with little flourish because that is what any team Thor Odinson is on does, wins. No more kisses occur in the intervening weeks which Loki would be incredibly annoyed with if Thor were expending his energy with girls in some attempt to clear his conscience or if Thor were not pilfering his pompoms from his bag after every game and practice and returning them haphazardly wiped and dulled by the streaks of white.

It’s good masturbation material to have concrete evidence of his not-brother’s want of him, but cheerleading with sticky pompoms is not only inconvenient but distracting as in he gets a hard-on mid-cheer if he thinks too long on the source of the stickiness and specks of drying white.

“You have to buy me new pompoms,” Loki says as Thor takes his seat at the breakfast table, and Thor’s carefree smile fades fast, a flush coloring his cheeks.

Loki’s not-father Odin slams his newspaper on the table. “And what of me, Loki? As your father, it is my duty to buy you such things. Have I not repeatedly reminded you in the past four months of that fact?”

He rolls his eyes. “I would be asking you, Odin, if you were the one who ruined them.”

Odin sniffs and lifts his newspaper, and Loki prepares himself for the oncoming speech so like the ones his not-father delivers to his constituents as governor. Thank the gods he’s not American, so he cannot be president and irritate the populace into agreement. “Loki, I prefer it—no, demand that you call me Father as you have until recent. Do we have to have this conversation every morning until you relent, or will I have your mother, who you continue to address as such for whatever reason, speak to you?”

“Speak to me about what?” His mother places a gentle hand on his shoulder and pours more orange juice into his glass before taking her seat.

Loki meets Thor’s flustered gaze. “Thor has to buy me new pompoms.”

She cocks an elegant brow. “Thor, you know that if what Loki says is true, you must replace his pompoms.”

“Frigga, I see not why when I can do so,” says Odin with a sweeping gesture of his hand. “For Loki’s pranks, I do the same if it is reasonable. Also, Frigga, the boy refuses to address me as he should even now.”

He doesn’t call his not-father “Father,” and his not-brother replaces his pompoms by the end of the day.

“Wait, Thor, I have something for you as well.” Loki retrieves his old pompoms and holds them out to Thor with a smirk. “Now you don’t have to touch my things and return them with a little something extra. I would prefer it if you at least tried to adhere to my policy of not touching my things unless I explicitly give you permission.”

Thor takes them. “I’m sorry about taking them,” he says, but they both know that Thor is not really sorry deep down inside.

Even so, Loki merely sighs and makes a threat that sounds empty even to his own ears.

Sealed in Plexiglas boxes in his closet is the football from the first game Thor won when he was seven and another the ball from Thor’s first state championship win, which he promised to throw away when Thor set them in his hands with a bright grin.

Loki doesn’t like these new pompoms all that much.

***

Loki once hated Thor. Yes, he hated the embodiment of human perfection who he then thought was his brother, and he did so with icy passion, taking every opportunity to make Thor’s perfect life a little harder because as far as he was concerned, Thor deserved it and more but none of the good things that ran abundant in his life, the renown, the popularity, the admiration, the love, the horde of friends, the amazing looks, the godly athleticism, the ability to somehow beat Loki at every single fucking thing.

That is until Loki pushed a bit too far and ended pinned against a wall, face to face with a tearful Thor who wanted to know why Loki hated him when he was “so, so in love” with Loki—love is a strong word but if it gets Thor to fuck Loki, who is he to complain? “No, love, not ‘in love’” because Thor claimed to not have meant that even if Loki saw past the charismatic façade to the confused boy beneath. At 14, everyone is confused, but Thor was very confused, confused enough to think that kissing Loki and running was the proper course of action.

Thor may not be 14, and Loki may not be 12 and not despise his older not-brother, but Thor is still confused enough to run if driven. So, the clear course of action is to get rid of any possibility of him being driven.

His peers titter in their places around the courtyard, their wariness showing for Loki Odinson who may have or may have not replaced the gummy worms with color-dyed earth worms in the school kitchen, glued and screwed their one-eyed Headmaster Fury’s computers in place so he had to turn and stand to use them, and used a near identical looking fresh cadaver in a talent show demonstration “gone wrong.” Yes, he did perpetrate those jokes, but such is the past and it was just a bit of fun. He’s different now.

“As head cheerleader, it is my duty to remind you all to make the trip to Pleasanton for tonight’s game because I have quite the feeling that it will be a hilarious loss on their part,” he says, megaphone at his mouth. He finds Thor lounging against a tree with his friends Volstagg and Hogun, their white football jerseys bright in the sea of red. “Also, I just wanted to notify you all that I am adopted and in no way related to Thor. Thank you for your time.”

Low chatter erupts, and Loki steps down from the stone table. The entire school will be aware by the end of day bell.

“Loki! Loki, what the hell were you thinking?”

Walking down the hallways in a cheerleading uniform is quite like being in a teenage film where everyone either despises him or rather wishes for his existence to cease, but doing so next to Thor, who glares at anyone not smiling at Loki, is some fantasy most people have probably held.

“Were you not going to tell me you were planning something like that?” Thor asks.

Loki touches his shoulder and slides his hand to rest at the juncture of Thor’s neck, and no one gives them a second look. “No, I wasn’t, Thor, because it’s just something that needed to be done.” He grins, tempted to do something stupid like break into cheer, and moves in front of Thor. “They all know now, Thor. They know we’re not related, that no blood binds us.”

He scowls. “Is that what you really want?”

Of course Thor would take offense.

He leans up on his toes to whisper into Thor’s ear. “I want whatever you want, Thor. Remember?”

When he falls back onto his feet, Thor stares at him with a furrowed brow, which is exactly as Loki leaves him.

Better a confused Thor than a fleeing one.

***

“So, who is your date for the old Homecoming?” asks Tony as Loki stands at the top of the bleachers and watches their Homecoming halftime routine. He whistles and taps his sneakers in rhythm to the Traditional Pop music playing over the field, and Loki has to not shove him down the stairs to shut him up.

“I would prefer to not go,” he replies. “Being a cheerleader does not change my opinion for any of these people, Stark.”

“Yeah, yeah, I understand that, but what about me? I’ve got my harem, and well, I could use a little variation among the girls. You know what’s definitely different than a girl? A guy!” Tony follows noisily behind him as he descends the stairs. “You don’t even need a date, you know? You can ride solo. You’re not exactly known for being a lover of other human people.”

He halts at the sight of his not-brother talking to Natalie Rushman, Tony’s unofficial assistant and all around elusive girl with undoubtedly the best female physique in the school, and grits his teeth at the way Thor waves his arms around like an idiot and she regards him with amusement.

“Loki, we were fine, were we not?” asks Gamora, purple hair flowing in the wind, and he gives a curt nod before turning around to gesture to Jarvis in the announcer’s booth.

“You treat my friend like a slave, Odinson. The twink doesn’t have the heart to tell you to shove it though,” Tony says though Loki is far too occupied undoing the ties and zips of his athletic wear to actually grace him with a reply, not that Tony is lying and Loki doesn’t treat Jarvis like a tool in his game rather than a person. “Hey, um, not that I mind, but can I ask why you’re getting down to your skivvies?”

“Because Thor is going to absolutely hate it.” Loki grins, the autumn breeze cool against his more exposed than covered skin, and steps onto the turf.

The football team descends the opposite bleachers thus marking over a hundred people having seen Loki in his tight green briefs and matching Adidas sneakers.

Thor’s attention is no longer held by Natalie, who stands beside him and watches across the field.

Loki may not have excelled at the same sports as Thor, football, baseball, soccer, rugby, or whatever strength-focused sport, but what he did shift his focus to was not something he was terrible at. His then small stature made him agile, light on his feet, unlike Thor’s sheer bulk and power. What need is strength when agility and intelligence prove to be excellent substitutes.

Four step running start from the corner of the field, right hand plants on the ground a split second before the left, legs swing over his body and push back onto the ground, back handspring, back tuck, aerial cartwheel, round-off, two front handsprings, another cartwheel, and an aerial twist onto the sidelines. He takes a deep breath and drops his arms to his sides. It could have been better but Thor is advancing on him with fury painted in every tensed muscle, so it served its purpose.

“Where are your clothes?” Thor shouts, and oh yes, the California sun is warmer than usual on the skin of Loki’s back. His hand is hotter than the sun on the bare skin of Loki’s shoulder. “You could have gotten hurt doing all of that, Loki. You’re supposed to be the smart one.”

He blinks and projects enough indifference for Thor to stop glaring at him. “Did you like it?”

“What—Loki, is that all you care about, what your older—what I think, what I want?” His eyes shut, and Loki can only stare at the glow of his skin in the setting sunlight, hair waves of wheat falling loose around his shoulders. “I saw you and Tony Stark talking, about Homecoming I presume?” Thor’s eyes open, pupils instantly shrinking. “He wants you to join his harem of dates, doesn’t he?”

Loki bites his lower lip. “I wasn’t going to go either way.”

“What if I want you there with me?”

No, he does not want his plan to come to fruition after Homecoming for his life is not a teenage drama, but he does not want there to be any chance of Thor seeking distraction from his confusion in the arms of some fawning girl. “I have to study for the SATs next month,” he replies, putting on an apologetic expression. “Such is the woes of skipping a grade.”

Thor divests himself of his shirt, and Loki outright stares as Thor slides it on him, verbally protesting but relishing the brush of Thor’s worn fingers against his skin. “There’s always next year for us to go,” he says with a shrug. “Maybe we could win… together.”

“Why because I’m a ‘girl?’” He gives an undignified shriek when Thor puts him over his shoulder.

“No, you’re not a girl, which everyone now knows for sure. You should have heard the filth Fandral spouted.” He lands a hard slap on Loki’s ass, and yet another shriek leaves his mouth. “I want you to keep your clothes on around other people, Loki.”  

For that, he strips his briefs off the second they are in Thor’s car and slips them into Thor’s duffle bag and wears only his tee shirt around until his mother and not-father arrive home.

***

Both arms extended away from the body to form a T, right hip pop, both arms extended above the head and curved to touch at the fingertips to form an O, left hip pop, arms extended straight above the head whilst shouting “Touchdown” and performing a Herkie. Repeat ad infinitum as Thor Odinson scores touchdown after touchdown.

Loki drops his pompoms into his bag after the game that guaranteed their place in the championships and almost considers quitting altogether and retreating back to his life as the introverted nerd kid not-brother of Thor Odinson, the one prone to turning any conversation into a display of his superior wits against peer and instructor alike and quite addicted to successfully pranking the unsuspecting student body. Those times were when he did not have to utilize his innate charisma and spend hours on end with people he despises and despise him in turn.

That is until snippets of Christine Everhart and Potts’ conversation drifts to him. The state football championships, a display of not only athletic superiority but scholastic fortitude and student solidarity, where the cheerleaders make a massive effort to display their support and devotion to the football players. Loki’s only been to one game when his mother and not-father dragged him there to support Thor as if Thor needed it, but he didn’t miss the skimpy uniforms concealed by oversized varsity jackets.

So, no, Loki does not quit, which he wouldn’t really have since he is no quitter.

Potts gets her long-time beau Happy Hogan’s, Gamora gets Peter Quill’s, Everhart gets Justin Hammer’s, Sharon Carter gets the football captain Steve Rogers’, and so forth, but never has Thor given a cheerleader his jacket to wear for the last two games.

The day of the game, he finds his not-brother’s friend Hogun playing croquet on the school’s golf course, Volstagg lounging on a lawn chair nearby with a cooler of food, and puts on a polite smile whilst he watches him hit the ball through the hoop, Hogun not bothering to pay him a glance. Of his not-brother’s closest friends, Hogun is the least annoying when he isn’t staring Loki down.

“Little Loki, what have you come to bother us with this time?” asks Volstagg, mouth full of a half-chewed sandwich that’s more in his auburn beard than in his mouth. “Don’t you see Hogun would rather watch the grass grow than hear whatever scheme you’re going to try to rope us into? Do you want our team to lose tonight?”

Loki rolls his eyes. “Do you think Thor would lose even if the field collapsed under your weight?” He takes a step toward Hogun, and the boy finally looks up, expression blank. “Hogun, I want you to give me your varsity jacket to wear for the next two games.”

“No.” He walks around Loki to the next hoop, and Volstagg guffaws. “I would not bother asking Volstagg either, Loki.”

He doesn’t but instead spends his Saturday at Science club which has taken a backseat to his new activity, and the response to his entrance into the laboratory is an attestation to Loki’s dedication to fuck his not-brother.

“Wow, Mr. Cheerleader, thought you forgot about us freaks and geeks,” says Bruce Banner, eye pressed to the lens of a microscope, and Samuel Sterns peering over his shoulder. The contempt in his voice is obvious though that’s not anything new with Bruce being prone to psychotic breakdowns and Loki having a little habit of goading him into violence, sometimes against him. He and Loki’s not-brother hate each other for a reason, and he is it. “Are you here to try to get us to vote you for homecoming queen or something?”

“As if you wouldn’t do that without me needing to tell you, Banner, though homecoming was a few weeks ago. I’m sure you’re a fan of the uniform with it being so easy to tear off. Sexual violence is more than often a product of power seeking.” He turns the page of an open textbook with a smirk, not looking up to meet Bruce’s glare. “I’m here because I don’t actually need practice.”

“Oh, do I hear a cocky British bastard?” Darcy Lewis waltzes into the room with a grin. “Loki, I knew it was you. By the way, the cheerleading thing is so hot. Can’t tell you how many dreams I’ve had involving you, pompoms, and a ‘spirit stick.’”

Loki chuckles and pats her head affectionately. “And that’s how you knew it was a dream, correct?”

A few hours pass before Jane Foster is leaping out of her seat next to the door because it’s thrown open by Loki’s ever so charming not-brother.

“Thor, oh my god, you completely scared me,” Jane says, regarding Thor with a warm look he doesn’t return, too busy glaring at Loki.

Loki follows him out into the hallway, and nearly breaks out into a grin when Thor rounds on him and shoves his varsity jacket into his hands.

“Here, since you feel the need to ask my friends! For someone so smart, your lack of common sense is shocking. How could you not know you were going to wear mine? I explicitly told my team mates not to give you their jackets for a reason.” Thor puts a finger underneath Loki’s chin and leans in close, their noses bumping. “You cheer for me.”

“But what if I didn’t? What if I didn’t cheer at all? Who would wear your jacket then?”

Thor exhales. “I… only you, Loki. I only want you… to cheer for me.”

His fellow cheerleaders look at him in disbelief when he boards the bus wearing the jacket of the boy behind him, his not-brother Thor.

***

They’re going to win the championships, a fact everyone including their opponents know. Marvel Academy has been ranked number one in the nation since the school establishment in 2008 and has won every single game since then in every single sport. Really, it’s almost unfair like their student body is in possession of superpowers or something of that sort.

“Strawberry pop tarts are the source of my strength,” Thor says as he drops them into the basket. “I will surely lose if I go without them.”

Loki offers him a bemused smile which breaks into a grin when a little boy taps his mother’s shoulder and asks if that’s true.

Tonight in preparation for their win, a massive celebration is to be thrown on the floor of their hotel which will likely end in complete chaos on the roof and explorations of Downtown Los Angeles by drunken hordes of their peers. However, partying has not suddenly become Loki’s “thing” even if it is supposedly a part of the cheerleader lifestyle.

He goes to stand at the end of the aisle to watch the crowd of football players waiting, civilians stopping to ask for autographs and offer their congratulations on making it this far like it’s some huge surprise, and hot breath on his neck makes him jolt, a large hand on his hip and an arm braced against the window keeping him in place.

“Instead of these sweatshirts, I think we should be allowed to wear our uniforms around town. Los Angeles would come to a halt to see you in that teeny tiny skirt of yours,” Thor whispers, and Loki takes a totally accidental step backward so his ass is pressed flush against the front of Thor’s basketball shorts.

“Who says I need the skirt? I could just drop my pants and walk around in only your sweatshirt.” He ducks underneath Thor’s arm and struts away, leaving Thor to gather his wits.

It’s funny that them being “brothers” has finally benefitted Loki. He and Thor share a room which doesn’t happen between cheerleaders and football players, but they’re “brothers” so it’s not like they haven’t shared a room before. If only they knew just why Loki is perusing the “Personal Comfort” section for lubrication and condoms.

Thor gives him a playful shove when they meet at the self-checkout line and is too busy tapping in the double digit amount of pop tarts to notice Loki slipping a few packs of condoms and several different types of lube into the basket. He glances at Loki with a small smile and starts talking about the time Loki shaved Sif’s head and it came in all black.

“You must admit she looks far prettier now with dark hair.”

He shrugs and scans the bag of bird feed Clint Barton request to feed the seagulls. “I suppose I’m biased since black hair is my favored…” His eyes narrow on the last few items, and Loki bites the inside of his lip to stop from laughing. “Extra, extra large latex condoms, strawberry water-based lube, temperature-adjusting lube. Loki, what is all of this for?”

Loki scans them. “Sex, Thor.”

Chords of muscle in his not-brother’s neck flex. “Go wait outside. No, stay here, right here.” Thor blows out a breath. “Just tell me it’s not Fandral.”

“Of course not,” he replies, “but close.”

Thor keeps one arm around his waist when they rejoin the others and go back to their hotel and remains close throughout the evening, going so far as to scold Loki when he slips away to go use the restroom. He’s a solid heat beside Loki when they’re called to the lobby by the coaches, one Loki is no averse to like the unrelenting heat of the West coast.

“We all know you’re going to throw a party tonight because we were not born yesterday!” shouts Coach Coulson, his ubiquitous black suit on. “We just ask that you be in best form tomorrow whether that means you must go sleep at 9:00 or do a few lines of cocaine you bought from the guy on the corner. We are gonna win tomorrow, and DC Preparatory knows this as well as I do. If there are any accidents, handle them quietly, and that means you, Stark. No more banging your bass drum at 3:00 in the morning. Marvel, disperse!”

He shakes Thor off easily and sets off for a shower and costume change. Maybe he will adapt certain aspects of the cheerleading lifestyle.

***

Thor’s jersey is tied below his ribcage, Loki’s skirt set below the sharp jut of his hip bones with only red briefs beneath. His white knee-high socks bear a T on one leg and an O on the other, Thor’s number 86 in red on the back of each calf. His hair falls loose around his shoulders, just as Thor drunkenly told him before he grabbed his ass and told him he wanted to fuck him.

“Ah, pseudo-incest,” Clint Barton says when they encounter each other in the elevator, the bag of bird feed tucked under his arm, and Loki only tilts his head back and laughs until the doors open onto the roof and he gets out, leaving bird boy to go about his way.

Pepper Potts’ brows shoot up to her hairline. “Wow, I would have never thought to do that for my boy—brother.”

“He’s not my brother,” Loki replies as she stares at him with shock. “I trust you know what to do when he asks where I am, yes?” He sits himself in a corner and stares out over the city, but his solitude is short-lived since people think his appearance is an invitation to make conversation. He ignores them for the most part which they don’t care about, continuing to talk to him anyway, that is until Loki stands up and walks away from their inanity.

Fandral finds and him and starts talking about what he could do to Loki if given the chance, and Loki simply leans against the railing and lets him make a fool of himself.

“Loki.” Jarvis, his freckled face eager, moves in between him and Fandral. “Sir—Tony told me to inform you that he immensely enjoys your choice of attire. Also, your, and I quote, ‘not-brother but soon-to-be lover,’ is currently on path to retrieve you.”

“Loki!”

“Good luck.” Jarvis inclines his head and flees as Thor emerges from the crowd.

Thor’s mouth falls open as Loki stretches his arms above his head, extending his body to its full length.

“Loki, you should do that again,” says Fandral.

He pushes away from the railing and approaches Thor with slinky steps, his heart hammering in his chest as Thor remains motionless and utterly flabbergasted. “Yes, Thor, you’re looking for me?” he asks, licking his lips slow enough for Thor to track his tongue.

Thor grits out something before proceeding to drag him to their room with an unrelenting grip around Loki’s waist, and he doesn’t spare him as much as a single glance till he shoves Loki ahead of him into their room. Any attempt to move any farther than the entrance is lost when Thor pins him hard against the wall with two firm hands on Loki’s shoulders, and Loki realizes that if he wants to turn back, now is the time to stop anything before it escalates.

Loki doesn’t move. “Thor, I knew you would find me,” he says, the back of his knuckles brushing the jersey covering Thor’s thighs.

“I always do, always will,” he replies, half of his face cast in shadow and the other lit with the moonlight. “I like the way my number looks on you, the way anything and everything looks on you, Loki. Gods, you’re going to drive me insane with these skirts. They cover nothing.”

“Oh, I know, but what I don’t know is what you want.” He shoves Thor back and leers up at him. He steps forward and places his hands at the juncture of Thor’s neck, muscle working beneath the skin as Thor swallows. “What do you need, Thor?” He hums when Thor is silent. “Me? Thor, you have no idea how many times I’ve cum thinking about you tearing my ass in half.”

Thor’s lips are merciless and hard, almost as hard as the cock pressed against his own, and Loki kisses back with the pent up want and need held back by years and years of honed self-control and self-restraint, the desire to kiss his irritating, stupid, endearing, sexy not-brother fulfilled in its fullest. This kiss is different, more careless than careful and in no way forgettable. Their first real kiss, not the childhood experiments, the prepubescent confusion, or even what they shared two months ago.

His back meets the wall again, and the kiss is broken.

Loki reaches out and feels Thor’s hard-on because he can and moans at how fucking huge it is. Looking but not touching is no longer an option after tonight, not when Loki’s touched Thor’s dick, felt how warm it is even through his basketball shorts.

Thor rolls his hips into Loki’s hand and groans, a low rumble that shakes Loki to the marrow. “Loki, I’m—gods, I’m going to cum if you keep touching me. Just… let me taste you. Gods, I’ve always wanted to taste you.”

He nods and murmurs an, “okay,” as Thor drops to his haunches in front of him, dragging Loki’s briefs down his hips as goes, the nylon of his skirt brushing his freed cock, but having Thor looking up at him like that, like he intends to do everything and more to look, is what renders him absolutely speechless for the first time in… ever. No, he cannot form words, but he can moan, and when Thor’s thumb swipes over the slit and smears the bead of gathered precum, he almost does so loudly but restrains himself, his chest heaving beneath Thor’s jersey. Thor’s not going to completely break him apart with relatively nothing.

“Gods, Loki, if only you could see how beautiful you look right now, so, so fucking beautiful.” Thor’s mouth encloses around the tip, and Loki sees plaid, his teeth breaking the skin of his tongue and copper flooding his taste buds. Then Thor takes him halfway in, his well-worn hands wrapping around the rest, and gods, the warmth, like the sun, like his not-brother, who is the one sucking him off. Thor, Atlas who holds the world on his massive shoulders and still manages to annoy Loki, unmarred golden perfection, kneels before him.

A hand splayed over his stomach holds his hips to the wall, the unsatisfied urge to thrust forward into the wondrous suction as maddening as the rough calluses of Thor’s palms brushing his shaft as Thor strokes in near time with the bob of his head. He scrabbles at Thor’s silk locks for relief, toes curling in his sneakers, but does not allow himself to make any sound but the occasional gasp and hitch in his breath.

Thor pulls off with an obscene sound, and the heels of his hands lift Loki’s legs onto his shoulders, spine scraping the wallpaper. He presses a kiss to the inside of Loki’s thigh before surging between Loki’s spread legs, and at the slow drag of his sopping tongue from perineum edge to sac top, Loki’s back arches, breath leaving his throat in ragged pants. Thor’s tongue dips further below, and Loki stills at the rigid wet where only his fingers have touched.

His tongue slips inside, and Loki keens, eyes close to falling from their sockets and his heart skipping a beat.

Two fingers replace Thor’s tongue, large fingers that burn more and more with each knuckle slipped inside. “Yes, Loki, scream for me. You taste exquisite, better than I ever imagined.” His hand rests flush against Loki’s ass, fingers bending inside and eliciting a moan from him unbidden. His fingers slip out and circle, teasing, wet against his asshole, and he rises to his full height, Loki’s body folding in half with little issue. “Look at this little skirt.”

Loki gulps. “If you like them so much, you should have cum on it too,” he says, voice shaking. “Like you came all over my pompoms. Though I do like the old ones so much better.”

The tip of Thor’s cock presses against him, an alarming pressure assuring agony for Loki, and Thor’s gaze wavers. He’s never done this with a boy before, a revolving door of girls compromising his experience, but Loki isn’t afraid of Thor hurting him, can only find unending trust where there should be mistrust.

Thor impales him in one sharp thrust of his hips, and Loki forgets how to breathe, the hurt like a punch to the lower back and spreading up to the top of his spine, but the comforting warmth of Thor’s hands on his skin, his body pressing his into the wall, blankets it, tears a scream of yes, yes finally from his throat instead of one of excruciating pain. Thor’s forehead presses into the curve of Loki’s throat, wet with sweat. “Loki, I’m not going to last long.”

He inhales. “Then make it good.”

His hands around Loki’s thighs, splayed fingers spreading him around him wide, Thor slips out, Loki whimpering at the ache of emptiness, and Thor thrusts back in to fill Loki again, gritting out a, “Loki,” that makes Loki sigh. He obtains a ragged pace of shallow rocks of his hips, his cock slipping a bit deeper inside of Loki until their skin comes flush again, the thrill of being stretched by Thor building the pressure in his own, balls practically pulsing with the need to cum and cockhead leaving a trail on his stomach.

Thor wraps a hand around him and strokes in powerful tugs as he reams into him, and Loki’s helpless to only writhe against his not-brother and moan his gratification against his not-brother’s lips. Thor’s hand tightens on his ass and cock, almost painfully so. “Fuck, Loki—Brother, I’m—“

“Brother.”

Loki clings to Thor as he cums over his not-brother’s hand and around his cock, and his mind alights with so many untapped thoughts and feelings and emotions, and Thor says something like, “Mine,” as he shoots his hot, hot seed deep inside of Loki over and over, and Loki might say the same back before they press against each other and kiss, wet, sticky, uncomfortable, salty, hot.

“Let’s do it again,” Thor says, and Loki nods, and they do, again and again and again and again until Loki can barely move and neither of them have the energy to get hard again. Sticky and pressed against Loki’s back, Thor whispers, “I love you,” and Loki forces himself not to stiffen and move away because sex he can do but love and sex with Thor?

He’s quitting the cheerleading squad after the game.

***

“Hey, fancy seeing you at this hour.” Tony grins at him over the lid of his Starbucks cup, and why Loki ever decided that fucking Tony Stark was a good idea currently eludes him. “You look well-rested. A nice glow about you and such.”

Oh yes, he wanted to have sex with a boy after having incomplete sex with a girl and finding it as appetizing as the girl in the first place, and Tony just happened to be unshy with his attraction to Loki. Maybe if Loki had done that with Thor, he would’ve not wasted time playing a game he shouldn’t have wanted to win. Loki sighs and sips his black coffee, relishing the burn of coffee down his throat.

Does he even love Thor, his older not-brother who would sit with him for hours in the snow to build igloos, Thor’s low tolerance of subzero weather turning his face red and numbing his extremities, who dragged Loki along for “adventures” with his friends even when Loki was small and despised the sun, who slipped into his room after bedtime with unfinished homework and a pleading smile even Loki had a weakness for?

What a preposterous question, one that doesn’t even need to be answered. If someone hates someone, they don’t blow on their numb fingers, help them solve mysteries, or help them finish their homework and sleep in the game bed. Even before Loki knew that they are not brothers, he stared at Thor’s ass and spent nights jerking off to the memory of him shirtless.

He loves Thor. Thor loves him. End of that melodramatic story.

Well, not exactly.

No one and absolutely no one, not the DC Prep players or their younger siblings in the audience, is surprised that Marvel wins. No one. But that doesn’t stop everyone from howling cheers and exchanging congratulatory hand gestures and hugs.

Loki drops his pompoms and slips into the crowd gathered on the turf, maneuvering between everyone to the star quarterback at the center.

Thor shoves the trophy into Steve’s arms and meets Loki, face pensive. “I surprisingly woke up alone this morning.”

He touches Thor’s bicep. “I needed coffee, and I didn’t trust either of us to not miss the game and spend it locked in our hotel room,” he replies with a small smile which turns into a smirk when Thor plants a gloved below his ass. “We don’t check out until tomorrow morning however. That is unless you have plans to celebrate.”

With his single hand, Thor hefts him onto his shoulders, Loki fisting his hands into Thor’s still-knotted hair as he slips his leg around Thor’s neck, and Loki presses his hardening cock flush against the back of Thor’s neck. “I have many things I want to do tonight, and they include you and that skirt of yours. Gods, it’s like you became a cheerleader only to distract me with thoughts of your cock in those shorts and your ass in that skirt.”

His mother waves at them from her seat while his not-father’s one eye stares them down.

“One game I am going to lose and it will really be your fault as it was your fault I almost lost that first game. I would have had a hard on if I hadn’t taken a look at Volstagg.”

“Don’t, Thor.” Loki slightly rolls his hips and tightens his grip in Thor’s hair. “I don’t let losers cum in my pompoms.”