Written for the Thor kink meme on livejournal.

The Wild, Inhospitable Shore

"He's doing it again," Fandral growled.

"Nonsense," said Thor. "You're imagining it."

There were no showers in Asgard. Bathing was a communal activity, unless you were a member of the royal family, in which case you were granted a sumptuous tub large enough to drown a regiment. Or unless you were Heimdal in which case, who knew where you bathed? Bifrost was not equipped with many ablution facilities, and speculation orbiting the topic of 'where does Heimdal go for a wee' was the bread and butter of table humour among raw recruits (until such time as they actually met Heimdal, after which they never, ever joked about him again. Until then, the phrase drifted about the vernacular, and it was common for one to describe bad beer as having 'tasted like the Watchman pissed in it,' or to describe an item you had long lost as being located in 'the same place Heimdal goes for a piss.')

Thor, as a general rule, bathed among his fellows, and had done so since they were children. The warriors' bath was as large as a small lake, and located in a leafy glen cunningly built into one of the high palace spires that overlooked the public square and the library. Mosaics lining the bottom of the bath depicted scenes from Asgard's past, the conquest of Jotunheim and the, more recently added, a depiction of Thor's first kill- a huge brute of a frost giant whose death was tastefully rendered as a far cleaner event than it had actually been. Fandral remembered the day well; Thor had killed Byleistr easily, but removing his head had been a trial through all those layers of fat. Three hours of dedicated hacking it had taken, by which time they were all stinking of dead giant and thoroughly disenchanted with the entire exercise.

The water was warm, soft, like silk flowing over his muscles as Fandral slipped in. Hogun lounged on one side of the bath, a jug of mead in his hand, and Volstagg was threatening to belly flop onto Sif if she didn't stop splashing him, which made Thor laugh, which prompted Volstagg to belly-flop onto him instead.

The sound of his comrades' laughter was almost enough to drag Fandral's attention away from…

Thor, Sif and the Warriors Three had bathed together since they were youths, and nudity had become as natural among them as horseplay or sparring.

Loki had always preferred to bath in his private quarters.

Until recently.

Fandral huffed, blowing cross bubbles beneath his moustache.

On the far side of the pool, through clouds of steam, far removed from Volstagg's belly flops and Sif's raucous threats of bloody murder, Loki washed his feet. He was seated on the edge of the pool… no, perched was a better word. Pretty little bottom with the tops of his thighs being bitten into by the gold brim of the pool, one dainty foot dangling in the water, the other resting on his knee as he meticulously scrubbed between his toes, an expression of intense concentration on his face.

He was doing it on purpose. Fandral was sure.

Dirty little thing.

Thor caught him looking and rolled his eyes. "If he is doing it on purpose," he pointed out, "you're only encouraging him by paying attention. Ignore him and he'll go away."

That was what Thor always said, when Loki got into one of these moods. No one listened anymore, because it had become blatantly apparent to everyone but Thor that Loki did not go away if you ignored him.

Fandral squeezed his eyes shut and sunk below the water again, removing the soap from his hair.

He wasn't used to seeing Loki naked. Until Loki had appeared at the end of the bath one day while they were in it, uninvited and offering no explanation for his presence, he hadn't even seen Loki shirtless. He hadn't even seen Loki with his top button undone or his boots unlaced. Thor's brother had a reputation for privacy as much as for trouble-making.

And today he was singing. He'd been singing, softly, under his breath for ten minutes as he oiled and scrubbed those lovely legs, and Fandral had slowly realised that he was the only one in the room who could hear it.

Vile sorcery.

Sweet, lilting voice like a wild bird's, only for his ears.

And the lyrics, when he strained his ears sufficiently to make them out, were pornographic.

Damn the man. Damn the man's toes. Pink, clean, wriggling, kissable toes, muscled calves, dark hair that curled as the steam made them wet…

It really was the height of poor form to ejaculate into a public bath, Fandral thought morosely. He checked to see that the others weren't looking, and set out to the other side of the pool with wide breast strokes.

When he arrived, Loki had both feet dangling in the water, and was looking at him with no surprise at all. And... oh. Huh. He'd never seen Loki hard before, either.

He was bigger than Fandral. That was hardly fair. Every other part of him was smaller.

Fandral scowled at the man's cock, then scowled at the man. Loki regarded him, eyes big and blank and green.

Fandral reached out and pinched one of his toes.

"Ouch," said Loki.

Fandral smiled, cruelly. "No more than you deserve," he muttered. "Trollop that you are."

Loki pouted down at him, a perfectly contrived expression, and then extended his foot across the water. "Kiss it better?" he murmured.

Fandral realised that he was about to cum, and cursed below his breath. His hand shook as he took hold of Loki's foot by the ankle, harder than he needed to. Drew it up to his mouth, feeling the steady, unstoppable throb of blood to his cock as the smell of Loki's skin entered his nostrils. Took a deep breath.

Yanked Loki into the water.

He made a delightful blubbering, yelping sound, which served to conveniently mask Fandral's gasp as the image of that round, pert backside sliding off the brim of the bath burned itself into his mind and he came.

"What was that all about?" Thor enquired when he had swum back to his side of the pool, pausing only to watch Loki storm from the room, steaming, pink and gloriously naked.

Fandral grinned, and grinned, and grinned.