Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/ works/431363. Rating: Explicit Archive Warning: Underage Category: F/M Fandom: Thor_(2011), The_Avengers_(2012) Relationship: Loki/Thor Character: Loki, Thor Additional Tags: Genderswap, well_sort_of, Alternate_Universe_-_Modern_Setting, alternate universe_-_secondary_school, Again_sort_of, I'm_saying_sort_of_a_lot_in these, Pseudo-Incest, wall!sex, Well_Door!sex, Loki_is_fond_of_avoiding emotions, the_underage_isn't_even_technically_underage_where_this_is vaguely_set, The_UK, Loki_is_seventeen_and_Thor_is_eighteen, Yes_Loki_is a_teenage_girl_in_this Stats: Published: 2012-06-11 Words: 1813 ****** Electric Tonight ****** by DoreyG Summary Okay, so, um: He doesn’t actually remember when he started sleeping with his adopted sister (his adopted little sister, on days when he’s feeling particularly miserable). He’s pretty sure that it happened after her sixteenth birthday, one year and two months ago, but other than that… Well. He only knows that it happened, and has kept happening ever since. Notes Vaguely (very vaguely) set in the UK. Loki is seventeen, and thus a teenage girl, and Thor is eighteen. “Thor.” Okay, so, um: He doesn’t actually remember when he started sleeping with his adopted sister (his adopted little sister, on days when he’s feeling particularly miserable). He’s pretty sure that it happened after her sixteenth birthday, one year and two months ago, but other than that… Well. He only knows that it happened, and has kept happening ever since. …Which explains why Loki is currently leaning (sprawling) in his doorway, and favouring him with a smirk that could probably make even Mr. Heimdall lose his shit and fall helplessly to his knees. A good thing he has a bit more strength than the imaginary Mr. Heimdall. “Loki, I’m doing homework.” …A good thing he’s sitting down. “No you’re not, Thor,” his adopted sister informs him cheerfully, swaying a little further into his room with her absurdly short skirt and hair somehow tumbling gracefully out of its ponytail (‘How does she manage it?’ Sif has marveled often, over beer that they’ve stolen from her father’s secret stash ‘whenever I undo my hair after school I end up looking like some disgusting swamp creature’), “You never do your homework. It’s one of your fatal flaws.” “I do too!” He protests weakly, maybe a touch fascinated by those long legs under that short skirt “…Besides, I thought that I already had a fatal flaw.” “You’re allowed to have multiple fatal flaws, Thor,” those long legs that are moving closer to him, and he swears that Loki is doing it on purpose (the showing off her legs, not just the walking because that’s quite obviously on purpose), “it’s unavoidable in your case, I’m afraid.” “…Hey!” He briefly considers rising to his feet, remembers (oh, so he can remember that but not the first time Loki crept into his room at night and straddled him) why that’d be a bad idea just before he makes a fool of himself, “that’s unfair, sister.” “But true,” though he’s probably already made a fool of himself, judging by her actually audible smirk “…If you aren’t doing your homework then you’re free to do other things, yes?” …He huffs, for he’s never been entirely fond of being made the fool- “Thor…” -But soon smiles, for you have to learn to take such things when you have an adopted sister (an undefined thing) such as Loki, “what do you want, sister?” “For you to stop calling me sister, Thor: it’s faintly disturbing in this situation,” her legs come closer still… He drags his gaze from her legs, up to her smirking (half smiling) eyes, “and for you to strip. You look so, so much prettier when you’re naked.” “Loki!” he hisses, that actual smile on her lips almost convincing him to obey even as he thinks that he should be slamming his head into the desk, “the door is open-“ “Your father is out.” “Loki…” “And mother too,” that actual smile fades a little, he finds himself rising and hurrying a step forwards just to coax it back into life, “nobody will hear us, Thor. Unless you start screaming again and I trust that you’ve learnt after last time.” He shudders at the very mention of last time. Takes another step, “they might come back-“ “They won’t.” Another, “they might-“ “They won’t.” Another- “Fine,” and Loki steps back from him, kicks the door shut with the heel of her non-regulation boot (that she somehow gets away with, every single time) and leans grumpily back against it, “better, my paranoid Thor who can’t take yes for an answer?” …That actual smile is still fading, despite his best efforts. “I just don’t want you to get hurt,” and he has to run those final few steps towards her, gather her slim (verging on bony) body into his arms and hold her there so tightly that he might never have to let go, “that’s all, si- Loki. Maybe one day we can move to some far distant city and live as husband and wife, but until then-“ She elbows him in the stomach. She elbows him in the stomach. And when he can finally look up again, when he’s finally got his breath back for Loki’s elbows are painful… She’s laughing – loud and free and with that actual smile spreading gleefully across her face, “you’re a fool, my dearest Thor.” …He pouts at her, still with a hand on his poor stomach. “But an adorable one,” and she, stunningly, relents. Wraps her long arms around his neck, slides her talented fingers into his hair and arches shamelessly up into him, “with nice enough eyes. And a nice enough smile. And nice enough lips, I suppose.” And he- …He relents in turn. Gathers her properly back into his arms, with the slightest wince which she giggles at, and delivers his very sweetest kiss – the one which he saves for her and only her, the one that she always seems to melt at like she just can’t help herself. The kiss remains chaste, well: as chaste as they can get, for only a minute before she starts clawing at his shoulders – demanding more in the way that only Loki can. She’s always been tall for a woman, almost able to meet his eyes despite him being way over six foot, and yet she’s also always been easy enough to lift (when she wants it, the last time she didn’t want it he ended up unable to play football for half a year): he hitches his hands under her thighs, under her absurdly short skirt. Waits for her pleased rumble against his lips before hiking her up the door and allowing her to wrap those long legs around his waist. They kiss for another minute in this new position: deep, slow, with tongues moving against each other and bodies slowly swaying… Before Loki gets impatient again, and digs her nails into the back of his neck. “Fuck-!” “Please tell me that you have condoms in here,” she simply ignores him, and ignores the way that her nails are still slowly tearing skin off the back of his neck, “and that I won’t have to wait against this door forever while you clomp your way to the bathroom and have a good flail.” …It occurs to him to take offence at the ‘clomping.’ But, then, if he hasn’t taken offence at the loss of half of his neck he has no business taking offence to anything else. Especially when condoms are being mentioned. Especially when Loki is looking at him through her eyelashes and somehow managing to make it look sexy. Especially when getting laid is quite obviously at stake. So he, none too gently, lowers his adopted sister back to the floor. And, none too regally, scrambles over to his recently vacated desk: tearing the chair aside, ripping the second drawer open, tossing aside pens and paper clips and one incredibly mysterious sock that he’ll probably end up blaming Loki for once his brain has slipped back inside his head… Ah. When he gets back to Loki, fumbling desperately with the wrapper all the way, it’s to find that she’s already eased her underwear down her legs and flipped her skirt up even higher. She stares at him, still from under her dark eyelashes, reaches for his belt almost urgently. (…Not that she’d ever admit it.) Between the both of them (well, mainly Loki with her habit of sharply slapping his oversized fingers aside) they get his belt undone, his jeans thrown across the floor and his briefs following soon after. His shirt, somehow, also ends up on the floor in the fray – he supposes that she’s always liked to see his bare chest. Always… Loki’s eyes are concealed as she rolls the condom on, her dark hair fully free now and tumbling around her face in chaotic waves, “ready?” “Ready,” he confirms, on a breathless choke, and lifts her up again – waiting for her hands on his shoulders and her legs around his thighs and her very slightest nod before he dares to slowly push in. And- …Fuck. He’ll never get used to being inside Loki, no matter how many times he may have done it (and he has no chance of remembering as he buries himself in as far as he can go). The heat, the tightness, the way her eyes flutter shut when he finally has to grip her waist at the sheer sensation. The darkness of her hair as it tumbles around her face, the way her chest hitches, the way she gnaws at her lip when he brushes their mouths together. It all combines into a beautiful kind of perfection that he couldn’t drag himself away from if he tried for a million years. “Move, you idiot, move!” …Not that he’d ever want to. For Loki, his adopted little sister and he doesn’t even care, is spellbinding as he obeys: tilted right back against the door, her throat working around choked back moans, her legs clenching around his thighs. And Loki, his adopted sister, is even more enchanting when she opens her eyes: starts digging in her nails again, growling, turning the dazed presses of his mouth into proper kisses: fast and sloppy and like she just can’t restrain herself with him inside her. And Loki, his Loki, is downright captivating as he bends to hit that perfect spot: as she screeches, and whines, and begs in a high babble. Digs her nails in so hard that she practically draws blood, tightens her thighs and bites at his mouth like she can claw her way inside him. Urges him faster and faster and faster- And Loki, his, is beautiful. Is beautiful. Is beautiful- As she comes, narrowly avoiding braining herself against the rough wood of the door and wouldn’t that be something to explain to father. And as he follows a second after, groaning and shuddering and barely managing to keep himself upright. …They stay like that for a second. The sweat cooling slowly between them, their mouths lazily moving together in the afterglow, her hands easing from his shoulders with a slow stroke almost like an apology. Before that stroke turns into a brisk shove. And he immediately lets her down, gently lowering her to the ground as she eases her skirt back down her thighs and strokes down her hair. Looking, within but moments, like she’s never been pinned up against any doors or wrapped her legs around any adopted brothers. They stare at each other for another second. “I love you,” he blurts, not daring to reach out again as she does up the top button of her shirt and draws herself to her full height. …She doesn’t look at him for a long few seconds before she replies, and even then she manages to duck her head and cover her eyes, “how long before you’re ready to go again?” Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed their work!