Chapter Text
Thor sat cross-legged upon his father's bare stone floor and tried to focus on his breathing.
This is me. This is me inhaling and exhaling. These are my lungs filling with air.
In for three, hold for three, out for three. In for three, hold for three, out for three. In for three...
He wondered if Fandral was planning to go to that new tavern again tonight, if he could manage to tag along, see if it was as fun as he said or if he was exaggerating as usual...
A loud thump startled him, followed by a sigh.
"You are letting your mind wander, my son."
Ugh...
"I am trying, Father."
"Well, try harder."
Easier said than done...
Thor rolled his shoulders and did his best to re-focus, his breathing falling into that familiar pattern once more.
It was very important. If he didn't learn to do this, he was at risk of becoming very dangerous. And he didn't want to let that happen; he wouldn't be able to live with the guilt.
The little-known truth was that the crown prince of Asgard had a terrible condition.
It had first manifested a few years ago, starting with an itch beneath his skin, an acute awareness of scent and how delicious certain people smelled, a heat within his very being and a strong desire to be touched, to feel, to be joined with someone in the most intimate and primitive way.
And despite taking no drink that night, he had woken the next day with no memory, lying next to a nude buxom maid with dark hair tumbling in ringlets across his pillow, stretching and moaning and telling him how much she had enjoyed the previous night, how generous and insatiable a lover he was...
His first time, and he had no recollection of it.
That had worried him enough, but embarrassment led him to conceal it from everyone at first. It was the next time that sealed everything, when Sif of all people, a woman he admired and loved as a friend but would never have shared such a private secret with, saw him prowling around the palace with blank eyes, unable to respond to her with words, trying to remove his clothes, and immediately summoned a healer for fear that he had been poisoned.
They'd diagnosed him then. Premature rut. A hormonal change in certain alphas that should not have happened unless he had a long-term partner.
But there was no one. None that he loved like that. Something within him had gone wrong and rendered him barely more than a beast at unpredictable intervals. Without a loving mate, he was lost.
They'd thought it might pass on its own, that he might grow out of it, but if he was going to then it was taking a long time. And it even seemed to be growing worse, sometimes lasting multiple days and nights instead of just one.
He had never taken someone unwilling; at least his brain seemed to cling to that, to something of right and wrong. But he couldn't shake the feeling that the risk was great and that was why he had to learn to control himself, had to be able to remember what happened during that fugue state and eventually to resist it.
And that meant learning to focus...
Loki didn't have to do this, he thought, with some jealousy. Loki was a normal alpha, able to go about his life without fear that he would unwittingly hurt someone. And his brother had countless admirers, no doubt dozens of bed partners, and why not? They were young. This was the time to have fun. He wasn't knotting anyone yet as far as Thor knew.
Maybe he ought to try it himself some time, though he was terrified that sex would trigger one of his episodes in an unsafe environment. Touching himself seemed to be safe, it was just the smell of other people that gave him problems...
Another thud and Odin's increasingly exasperated tone.
"Thor! Focus!"
***
Loki flopped against his sheets in unexpected frustration, sighing out and feeling mild disquiet.
Everything had been normal and good, and yet he'd started to notice that of late seduction and sex had somehow begun to lose their charm for him.
Which was ridiculous... It was one of his favourite games, working out precisely which approach to take, exactly which words would convince someone to join him in bed.
Of course, being a prince tended to help, but he liked to think it was mainly his own charms that drew them in.
But these last few times... Maybe he'd chosen his partners poorly, but despite spilling into willing flesh, he found himself feeling empty and unsatisfied afterwards. Like there was something missing.
He gently but firmly convinced his most recent conquest to leave his chambers with forced charm and sighed again, heavily, throwing himself back onto the bed, trying to work out what was wrong with him. Had the man just not been his type? Was he ill somehow? Everything had been wonderful and fun, his new friend begging for his cock, moaning openly at being breached, thrusting back against him with wanton abandon, like he'd never felt anything so good and he'd taken all Loki could give with only evident pleasure, his whole body rippling around him...
So why hadn't it pleased him afterwards? Why was he so unsatisfied? It had seemed genuine enough, not the pretend cries that he despised...
He rolled onto his back, a little aroused by the memory despite how recent it had been. Those firm cheeks parting for him, watching himself disappear within a warm, beautiful body. It had been good. He knew it had.
He wrapped a hand around his cock, hardening up, stroking idly. Maybe he was just growing a little insatiable, maybe he just had to go twice or even three times. He could satisfy three times in a row, probably, draw out another orgasm when it seemed impossible.
After all, surely that was what happened during a knot, a real one. Being all full, sensitive and desperate, willingly trapped by such a thick, hot...
Hm.
He hardly noticed spilling over his hand, more confused than anything. Where had his brain gone? He would be the one doing the knotting in that situation; he ought to have been imagining the tight, wet heat of his mate's body, feeling his spill pulse inside, not the details of how it would feel for them.
Beyond wondrously pleasurable, no doubt, or so he'd heard...
It was certainly not a fantasy he had ever entertained before.
Hmm.
He didn't have much time to think about it, a familiar knock on the door telling him Thor had arrived. He summoned a robe, trying to look like he was just preparing for bed as usual.
Thor's nostrils twitched as he entered, like he could smell Loki's recent activities, but he didn't say anything, just settled himself on Loki's couch, sighing. Looking for sympathy.
"Father working you hard?" Loki asked.
"No more than usual. It's just that I don't seem to be making any progress. It's very frustrating."
He'd had his eyes closed as he spoke, clearly tired. There was an obvious joke here about how exhausting just focusing must be for him, but Loki didn't make it. He seemed too sad.
"I should have mastered this by now," Thor said miserably. "It shouldn't be this difficult."
"Who exactly are you measuring yourself against? Do you know anyone else who has been through this?"
A moment's pause, grumpy reflection.
"No. Never even heard of it happening to anyone else. Even paired alphas, they're single-minded when the time comes, but they're not mindless. They can control themselves and go about their business. They don't have to be locked up. They can still talk and see reason."
At first, Loki had been a little jealous of Thor when he first heard that he could knot, that he was already experiencing ruts. It had seemed like yet another example of how Thor was stronger, more virile, more alpha than him.
Until he understood that Thor had no memory of what occurred. All that pleasure and no recollection, no control... There hardly seemed a point.
The palace paid discreet concubines to help him through it, and by hiding in the shadows as they left, Loki had overheard that it was an intense but enjoyable experience, a little rough perhaps but never painful and that the prince always seemed grateful for all that he couldn't speak.
That ought to be comforting to know, but Loki was unsure whether they'd ever told him.
"Do you know when you're due?" he asked.
"It's been a while so probably soon. But you never know; it's not terribly regular."
"Well, then that will be a chance to really test your skills in the real environment."
Thor sighed and opened his eyes.
"What if... What if I never learn?"
Loki joined him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.
"You will. Or maybe you'll meet someone and it will calm down when you're with them."
"Is that how it works?"
"I've no idea. It is your condition, not mine."
He had tried to look into it, but there was very little information that he could find. It really was an extraordinarily rare situation.
In fact, he was rather curious about the whole thing, if he was honest, but he got the impression that Thor didn't want to talk about the details, even if he remembered them.
"You're very tired," he said gently. "Get some rest and try again in the morning."
Thor smiled at him gratefully, squeezing his hand briefly and bidding him goodnight.
Loki was left alone, that strange unsatisfied sensation making itself known again. It reminded him of touching himself in his adolescence and being interrupted, summoned out of his room before he was finished, an itchy, impatient feeling.
He brushed his hair and returned to bed, trying to imagine how it would feel to be in Thor's position with a parade of waiting bed mates, if he was in a state to properly enjoy it, of course.
Did they enter one at a time, or did they lie down side by side, chatting and preparing for their turn?
He imagined a whole row, men and women, smiling and excited, arching up to Thor's touch, moaning as the bed shook...
No wonder he was a little envious, really.