Chapter Text
CHAPTER ONE: A Bar in Windsor
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There is a bar in Windsor that the boys of Eton know all too well. It is there our story begins.
The immaculate grounds of Eton College glittered with evening dew. There was just the slightest hint of autumn’s chill in the air as sixth form student, Loki Laufeyson, stepped outside. He glanced around him, saw that no one was paying him any mind – it was only Thursday after all, and most of the boys were frantically finishing assignments they’d left to the last minute, before going out to party of course – and continued on his way. He had a standing appointment to keep with a contact.
The seedy little bar in Windsor – one might even call it a dive – was almost deserted at that time of night; the middle-aged men all gone home to their wives. There were only two women there in their twenties, who looked like they’d just come from working and were catching up, and Loki’s contact, seated in the bar.
As he walked forward, Loki caught sight of a last, extremely overweight man lounging in a wide chair in one of the darkened corners. Several empty tankards of strong local beer littered the table in front of him, and his face was all in shadow. The head turned to watch as he sauntered to the bar. Loki wore his tightest pair of Calvin Klein jeans today, a sleeveless black t-shirt that clung to his lithe form and a leather jacket. He knew he looked good and, moreover, that his jeans hugged his long legs and tight ass like butter.
Loki wrinkled his nose in distaste at the tacky feel of the counter as he sat down. He shook his hair out of his face – it was getting too long – and ordered the least suspicious thing on the menu, a Tommy’s Margherita.
He could feel those eyes still on him from the corner of the room and almost preened. He did so love to be admired; he always grew wittier and more striking whenever he thought he had an audience. Flicking his hair back again for good measure, he made sure the light fell attractively on the long bones of his face, the green of his eyes, and the deep black of his hair, as he turned to thank the barman for his drink.
He felt the hungry gaze of the man in the corner of the room like a physical touch now, caught by Loki’s graceful movements, and goosebumps of anticipation broke out on his arms. Perhaps this evening wouldn’t be a total wash after all.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could just make out a flash of golden hair, and a sliver of pale skin from where the man’s protruding belly boldly escaped the bottom of his shirt. One thick-fingered hand was splayed across it, just below his belly button, and dipping below the waistband of the man’s pants. The dirty white t-shirt he wore was far too tight for his bulk, and his sagging pecs and rolls of love handles were obvious.
He looked huge and indolent, and perhaps a lush.
Loki licked his lips. He’d always been partial to big men. He hoped the other wasn’t too drunk to perform, for he was clearly drunk enough to sit so wantonly, his goods on display, and ogle lithe young men across a bar. Loki drained his Margherita and then bit his lower lip temptingly as he signaled for another, angling his body invitingly towards the big man in the corner.
His contact, who’d been staring into the bottom of a pint, finally grunted at him in acknowledgement and Loki rolled his eyes in annoyance as he turned himself back to the matter at hand. The report from the Sun paid well for salacious gossip about the overprivileged Eton boys, but he was a boar, with all the personality of a stoat.
Still, a contract was a contract, and as the man slipped him 300 quid, Loki slid on his most charming smile and told him all about how a group of 6th formers recently snuck into Windsor Castle, set off all the alarms, and how the police had to respond to what they thought was a terrorist attack.
“Not even punished.” Loki shook his head, mock-sadly. “Just a slap on the wrist. Probably didn’t want to defend their House of Lords’ fathers. Meanwhile, if anyone else did that…” And here he trailed off suggestively, as the hack of a reporter scribbled furiously on the back of an envelope.
Loki’s smile deepened. He snuck another quick look at the man in the corner. That man had finished off another beer and was slowly stroking the underside of his belly, hand dipping low into his pants, as though he couldn’t help himself. From how he was sprawled low and shameless in his seat, Loki could make out the bulge of his enlarged groin – as big and sagging as the rest of him – pressing against the clinging fabric of his sweatpants.
Loki tilted his head to one side, letting his hair tumble down like silk, and exposing the long, elegant lines of his neck. He raised the glass of his third Margherita and stared directly at the man in the corner, before tossing his head back and letting the drunk, besotted fool see his throat work as he swallowed the burning alcohol. His hands, with their long, delicate fingers, flutter in the air as he launched into another scandalous story for the report.
He wasn’t aware any longer what he was saying, his attention on the man in the corner as his gaze seemed hot enough to bore a hole into Loki’s head and he sifted on his chair, attempting to close his twitching thighs under his big belly.
Loki’s trousers were uncomfortably tight, and the alcohol sat warm in his belly, next to his growing arousal.
He had another Margherita – how many was that now? – and laughed, low and dark and amused, at something the reporter said that probably wasn’t even funny; but he’d been told he had a smokey, husky voice – like silk and steel – and hoped it went right to the huge man’s groin.
A sudden squeal of straining furniture caused everyone in the bar to look over as the large man hauled himself ponderously to his feet. When he finally made it, he swayed slightly from drink and his shirt had rucked up even further, exposing more of his big belly.
The bar was dark, but Loki greedily made out long, messy blond hair, a thick, dark-blonde beard, flushed cheeks and glassy eyes, dark with arousal as they fixed on Loki.
He averted his gaze demurely as the other man began to walk unsteadily in his direction. Despite his girth and drunken state, there was something graceful about him and he only waddled a little. Loki’s gaze was caught by the thin line of hair that ran down that huge belly, over his overhang, and disappearing underneath and into his pants. He swallowed, throat dry, and had another drink.
Loki returned to his conversation, but all his attention was fixed on the man swaying closer and closer in his direction. He had to squeeze himself between the bar stools and the tables, turning his heavy body towards Loki, and thus he passed close enough that Loki’s fingers could stroke, teasing and unseen, across the underside of the man’s prominent chub and following that trail of hair down towards his groin.
It was a bold move that sober Loki might not have contemplated with so many witnesses present, but he was feeling hot and reckless, and desperately hoped his growing erection wasn’t noticeable to the nosy reporter.
That big belly under his fingers quivered at Loki’s touch and a strangled gasp was just audible over the reporter’s droning.
And then he was gone, swaying in the direction of the lavatories, and Loki was left to finish interminable conversation without any more delightful distractions, and having to cross his legs to hide his excitement.
The reporter left some ten minutes later; long enough for Loki to finish another Margherita and for the room to turn slightly fuzzy, but not long enough for the deliciously fat man to return from the loos.
A sudden, rather naughty thought took hold of Loki then, and he paid his bill before wandering over towards the side hallway, only slightly unsteady on his feet.
The men’s room was at the very back of the bar, down a narrowed, darkened hallway that didn’t look much frequented. Loki pushed open the door to the old-fashioned-looking gents, half expecting a scene of debauchery, and was not in the least disappointed.
The man he’d been flirting with so shamelessly was half-collapsed, half-sprawled across the only bench in the room. His double chins were sunk down on his chest, his huge belly exposed and wobbling, and his legs spread wide to accommodate the hand shoved down his pants as he drunkenly touched himself. He moaned, low and shaky, when he saw Loki in the doorway.
The grey sweatpants grew wet with pre-cum and were so tight Loki could clearly see the man’s hand as he rubbed his prick beneath the fabric. The pants clung to the man’s swollen balls, and he had to use his other hand to hold up the heft of his belly.
Loki felt a stab of arousal slide down his spine so fast, he grew dizzy with want, and his half-hard cock filled in his pants. Fuck, he thought, breathlessly.
Suddenly boneless, he leaned against the now-closed door and hoped his voice was cool as he drawled: “My, my, what have we here?” He ‘tsked’ like a schoolmarm. “Such lewd and wanton behavior,” he assessed, his voice going all hoarse and gravelly as the man’s belly wobbled.
The other man panted, mouth open dark and wide, and his heavy-lidded gaze fixed on the bulge in Loki’s pants as he continued to touch himself. He was too fat, when seated, to get a firm grip on his prick over the swell of his belly; and his fingers fumbled in his pants as it apparently slid out of his grip.
“Tryn’…tryn’a…have a…have a…piss –” He explained.
He moaned again as he apparently found his leaking prick again and rubbed the swollen tip. The wet spot on his pants grew larger and Loki licked suddenly dry lips.
Loki hadn’t looked away from that belly and leaking cock since he’d walked in. He couldn’t see beyond those accursed sweatpants to watch him, but he could well-imagine those heavy balls, the rolls of fat that made of that swollen groin, all resting between huge thighs and a thick overhanging belly. And protruding from its nest of soft fat, the reddened tip of a prick, hard and full, and erect enough to just peak out of his groin.
Loki pressed a hand hard to his own crotch, felt his prick jump against the heal of his hand, and swallowed a groan.
It was no wonder the other man had trouble locating his cock to take a piss. As drunk and fat as he was, with that big, full belly of his…
Loki might have laughed at him, sharp and unkind, if he hadn’t been so turned on by the man’s shameless enjoyment of his own body, the gluttony that he wantonly indulged in. He already knew he was going to run his hands all over that body and squeeze the man’s prick as he pissed.
And then he finally wrenched his gaze upwards and got his first good look at the man’s face, now illuminated by the bathroom lights.
Fuck, he thought again. This man – younger than Loki had thought – was Thor Odinson: the most popular boy in school, the Adonis half the school wouldn’t mind getting fucked by. He was captain of the Rugby team, the debate team, the Shakespeare Appreciation Society, and the Polo club. He was a bronze god, with rock-hard abs, luscious golden hair that floated in the air behind him as he walked, and a daddy only eight degrees away from inheriting the English throne.
He was in Loki’s year yet had never said a single word to him or even seemed to notice Loki existed; and Loki hated him with every fiber of his existence.
What in the seven hells was Thor Odinson doing, drunk and fat and so pathetic he couldn’t even piss straight, in the bathroom of Loki’s least-favorite bar?
Thor’s hand continued to move slowly beneath his pants.
“You just’ – jus’ –”
He shifted as he tried to push himself up into his own hand, the aureoles of his pecs visibly hard and pebbled beneath his rucked-up shirt. His belly jiggled as he moved, and he groaned softly again. “- jus’ gonna watch,” he slurred at Loki, accusingly, “Or hel’me fin’ it?” His heavy gaze held challenge and triumph. Or as much as a man could when fat and hard and barely holding onto one’s own prick.
Loki sneered.
“It might help if you actually went over to the urinal and pulled your cock out, you fool.”
He squeezed his crotch, felt the growing wetness there, and he cursed himself for not leaving and dealing with the problem on his own, but his cock was hard and aching and this was Thor fucking Odinson before him.
He tried to remember when he’d last seen the other man. It must have been two terms ago now, back before summer break. There’d been rumors floating around about the death of Thor’s mother – cancer – and of his girlfriend, lost to a drunk driver, and a much older half-sister who’d committed suicide…
Loki felt an unwilling stab of sympathy and hissed in displeasure. Then he crossed the small space in two, long strides and hoisted the other man up with a huge heave under his arm pits.
Thor swayed a bit on his feet, his belly flopping down to smack his groin, and he blinked in bemusement at Loki. They were much of a height and from this close, Loki could see how blown black his eyes were, watch the asinine smile he wore on his florid face, and smell the stale beer on his breath. Thor’s belly brushed against Loki’s hardened prick, and sent prickles of pleasure through him.
Loki tried to tell himself to step back, let go, leave, but he found his hands helplessly wandering down to Thor’s front: stroking that big belly, the love handles on his sides, and watching Thor twitch and press his thighs hard together.
The other man seemed particularly responsive whenever Loki touched the swell of his belly, like it had a direct line to his cock.
“Have you been on some sort of eating binge all year?” He asked, despite himself. His voice was softer than he would’ve liked, and if he’d been more observant, he would have heard the slight slurring in it from the many drinks he’d consumed earlier. He was no more sober than Thor.
He leaned closer. “A food binge. Drinking. Sex,” he hissed, provocatively, before reaching up and rubbing the pad of his thumb roughly over Thor’s hardened nipple.
Thor’s eyes fluttered closed and he tried to swallow a groan. His belly quivered.
All Loki was aware of was the heat and satiny-feel of Thor’s fat, the rolls of golden skin his hands were kneading and stroking.
“Doesn’ mat’er,” Thor mumbled, his chins dropping down onto his chest again as he gripped Loki’s ass and hauled him closer. He seemed more concerned with Loki touching him than his original quest to take a piss or Loki’s questions.
Loki dropped his fingers to trust them slowly in and out of Thor’s huge bellybutton and rubbed his cloth-covered prick against Thor’s overhang again and was rewarded with another cut-off groan.
He wondered what it would be like to wank himself and come all over that fat belly, and his prick twitched in his pants at the thought. Next time, he told himself.
He swallowed and tried to focus. There’s not even going to be a first time, he reproved himself firmly. You despise everything about this man.
The traitorous thought that he was horribly turned on by this man’s body was firmly squashed.
“Move,” he grunted to Thor, pulling and pushing the larger man over to the nearest urinal.
He pulled those sweatpants down just enough to expose Thor’s buttocks and free his groin. Then he turned Thor around to face the urinal, positioning him over it so he wouldn’t even have to aim.
“Ok, big boy, piss away,” he commanded.
But Thor was more interested in leaning heavily back against Loki, feeling the slender man pressed all up against his back, and then grinding his ass against Loki’s crotch.
Loki swore, hips jerking.
One thick arm came up to clasp the back of Loki’s neck and hold him close, as Thor moved his hips, belly and pecs bouncing.
And then Loki’s arms were around him, encircling that huge belly, and he thrust between the cleft of Thor’s ass. Even through the fabric of his jeans, he could feel the Thor’s walls fluttering against him, and knew he was close.
They were moving together now, both groaning at the sensation as they hurtled towards some unseen precipice.
Loki kneaded the underside of Thor’s chub, his other hand drawing out Thor’s cock and stroking it in time with his increasingly erratic thrusts.
Thor moaned and squirmed against him.
“’m gonna – ” he tried to warn.
Loki jiggled that big belly and squeezed his cock, grinding hard into that huge ass. “Let go, big boy,” he breathed, hot and wet against the shell of Thor’s ear.
And Thor’s head fell back, his huge body arching back in Loki’s arms and thrusting himself into that tight grip on his prick as he came all over Loki’s hand – and pissed himself at the same time.
His belly and thighs shook and he groaned in relief, and the feel of Thor’s release was enough to trigger Loki’s own. He sucked in an anguished breath and came in his pants, buried between the swells of Thor’s ass, like a boy first discovering his right hand.
For a few minutes there was only the sounds of their frantic breathing coming down. Then, shaking, half in aftershock and half in disgust at himself, Loki dropped his arms and let Thor slumped boneless against the white porcelain.
Thor, apparently dazed and utterly sated, looked like he might fall asleep standing up.
His belly swelled with his deep breaths, still fully on display, and his pants had fallen around his ankles. His ass still glistened wetly with the cum that had soaked through Loki’s pants, and his reddened prick still jutted half out from the surrounding fat of Thor’s groin.
He was still hard.
Loki flushed the urinal. “Clean yourself up,” he snapped, his voice ugly.
He reached out one hand and lightly slapped Thor’s ass, watching as Thor twitched and his belly jiggled. His cock twitched in renewed interest, and he gritted his teeth as he turned away. He left Thor where he was; all-but naked, drunk out of his mind, well-shagged, and still hard.
It should have been his greatest victory.
His head throbbed from drink, and he felt vaguely nauseas as he slunk out the back door and walked home.
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