This story was written as a gift for my friend Hayden, using his ideas. Thanks to him for letting me share it here.
Part I: The Approach 🔮
The Annual Avengers Foundation Gala was arguably the most expensive headache in New York City.
Held in the penthouse of the Tower, the air crackled with the egos of Earth’s mightiest heroes. Tony Stark was holding court near the ice sculpture, while She-Hulk and Wonder Man were comparing biceps by the buffet.
Billy Kaplan knew he was supposed to be the brooding, magical goth of the team. But secretly? He loved an excuse to dress up. Tonight, he had gone all out: a midnight-blue velvet suit tailored within an inch of its life, silver liner highlighting his eyes, and his hair styled into a new shag cut—a curling modern mullet that brushed his collar.
He looked good. He knew he looked good. The problem was, he was currently looking good alone.
Billy checked his phone for the tenth time, scowling at the text thread. ‘Diplomatic crisis,’ Teddy had texted an hour ago. ‘Start without me.’
"Useless husband," Billy muttered, leaning his elbows against the cool marble of the open bar. He signaled the bartender and snagged a fresh glass of champagne. "What is the point of being married to the Emperor of Space if I have to stand near Tony Stark by myself?"
He was debating teleporting home when the air pressure in the room dropped. The chatter near the entrance died down, replaced by a low, appreciative hum.
Billy looked up in the mirror behind the bar.
Thor Odinson had arrived. And he was walking straight for the booze.
He wasn't wearing the armor. He was wearing a fitted black t-shirt that strained against the sheer density of his chest. He stepped up to the bar right next to Billy.
"Mead," he rumbled to the terrified bartender. "Or whatever passes for it."
The God of Thunder leaned forward, dropping his elbows on the bar top with a thud. As he shifted his weight, the fabric of his sleeves pulled tight, and the muscles in his arms jumped—impossibly dense, dusted with tiny pale hairs that caught the chandelier light.
Billy stared. He swallowed hard. He married a muscular blond space-king for a reason—he had a type. Seeing the original template leaning casually on a bar, flexing without even trying... it did things to his brain chemistry.
Thor turned his head slowly. He caught Billy staring.
The God didn't smile. He just scanned Billy, his blue eyes intense, traveling from the velvet suit up to the face.
"Wiccan," Thor muttered.
"Uh. Hi. Lord… Thor," Billy stammered, gripping his glass a little too tight.
Thor shifted, turning his massive frame to fully block out the rest of the party. He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing as they focused on Billy's neck.
"A wilder look for you," Thor noted. His voice was a low vibration that Billy felt in his teeth.
He reached out. His hand was huge, the fingers calloused and rough as they tangled into the soft brown curls at the nape of Billy’s neck. He gave the new mullet a slow, deliberate tug—not painful, but testing the grip.
"I like it," Thor growled, his voice dropping to a subsonic purr. "It makes for a tempting handle."
Billy froze.
The sensation of those specific fingers in his hair, the way the thumb brushed the sensitive spot behind his ear...
They say when you’re a hammer, every problem looks like a nail. But maybe when you're the hammer wielder, every opportunity looks like a handle.
Billy paused. He squinted.
He didn’t look into the electric blue eyes. He didn’t look at the forearms, or the wall of shoulders—hard as it was not to.
Instead he looked at the posture—the way the God was leaning in slightly, weight shifted to one foot, waiting for approval. He looked at the way the Thunder God’s mouth turned up at the corner.
The nervousness faded from Billy's face, replaced by a playful, wicked smirk. He leaned into the touch, pressing the back of his neck into the large hand.
"A handle?" Billy purred, his voice dropping an octave. He ran his hand boldly up the squared-off bicep. "I knew Hercules liked boys... but I didn't know you were the type."
Thor didn't flinch. He leaned down. His breath was hot against Billy's ear. "For you, Sorcerer? I would cross the line."
Billy shivered, but his grin sharpened.
"You're playing a dangerous game, Odinson," he whispered, his eyes dark and challenging. He leaned in, pressing his body against the granite-hard chest. "My husband will be here any minute. And unless you want to start a war with the Kree-Skrull Alliance, you better make this fast."
"I have secured the Royal Suite," Thor said, not looking back at the party. "We will not be disturbed."
He didn't wait for a reply. His hot hand encompassed Billy’s bicep and steered him away from the bar. As they marched toward the elevators, they cut a path through the crowd.
Billy caught Aaron Fischer near the buffet, the Captain America of the Railways. He paused mid-conversation to give Billy a slow, impressed nod. Further down the hall, Bobby Drake leaning against a pillar, nearly choked on his cocktail. Iceman’s eyes went wide, his drink froze over in his hand as he tracked the pair. He flashed Billy a double-thumbs-up and a silent, mouthed ‘Get it, Kaplan.’
Before the doors could slide shut, Billy reached up, his fists tangling violently in the long golden mane. He yanked Thor’s head down, crashing their mouths together in a messy, devouring kiss that tasted of lightning and adrenaline.
Billy didn't just lean in; he conquered. His leg hitched up, hooking his calf high around Thor’s massive thigh, his midnight-blue velvet trousers grinding shamelessly against the God’s hip.
The last thing the guests in the hallway saw—including a stunned Bobby Drake who was already reaching for his phone to text the group chat—was Wiccan climbing the God of Thunder like a tree, his fingers buried deep in that golden hair, before the steel doors slid shut and sealed them into the dark.
Part II: The Storm ⚡
The polished steel doors slid shut, sealing them in.
As their lips smacked and they ground against each other, Thor reached blindly for the control panel, his thick fingers sliding over the buttons, feeling for the Penthouse level.
"The Royal… Suite," Thor gasped, his voice thick with need. "I would have thee on a proper—"
Billy wasn't just kissing him. Against the God’s lips, he was whispering, a breathless chant that vibrated with blue energy.
"Stuckbetweenfloors... stuckbetweenfloors... stuck between floors..."
Thor’s eyes widened as he felt the static charge build in the air. "Sorcerer, wait—"
Billy bit down on Thor’s lower lip. "Stuckbetweenfloors!"
KA-CHUNK.
The elevator gave a violent shudder—the car ground to a halt, suspended forty stories up. The overhead lights flickered and died, leaving them illuminated only by the glow of the Manhattan skyline through the floor-to-ceiling glass walls.
Billy pulled back, his lips swollen and wet, his eyes glowing with fading blue light.
"Oops," he whispered. "Guess we’re stuck."
Thor looked at the dark control panel, then back at Billy. He grabbed Billy’s hips, bruising the velvet. "Thou art a brat, Wiccan. I intended to bed thee on silk."
"I don't want silk," Billy teased, backing up until his spine pressed against the cold glass, sizing up his partner. "And you have a pattern, Odinson. Brats with dark hair. Magic... do you have a thing for sorcerers or are we working out some family issues?"
Thor’s jaw tightened. He stepped forward, his bulk pinning Billy against the view.
"Thou speakest too much."
"Make me stop."
Thor growled. He didn't bother with zippers. He grabbed the waistband of Billy’s expensive trousers and ripped. The sound of tearing fabric was loud in the small space, buttons pinging off the glass as the velvet gave way.
He hooked his thumbs under the hem of his own tight black t-shirt and yanked it over his head in one violent motion, discarding it to reveal the massive, hair-dusted slabs of his chest, leaving Billy near drooling.
He shoved his breeches down past his thighs, leaving his heavy boots on. The cock that sprang free wasn't just big; it was a fantasy made flesh, a biological impossibility, thick as a wrist, heavy, and swaying. It was leaking clear fluid from the slit, dribbling.
"Turn," Thor ordered.
He spun Billy around, pressing his face and chest against the glass. The city sprawled out below them, a sea of lights.
Thor gathered a heavy amount of saliva in his mouth and spat into his broad palm. The sound was wet and lewd. He slapped the slick hand against Billy’s rear, then found his entrance, coating him, before shoving two calloused fingers inside.
Billy gasped, his knees trembling, his breath fogging the glass. "Thor..."
Suddenly, a blurred shape swooped past the window—crimson wings cutting through the night air. It was The Falcon, banking hard for a landing on the helipad just above them.
Billy’s heart stopped. He stared out at the streak of red and silver, the thrill of being caught sending a jolt of electricity through him. "Oh god... The Falcon... is right there..."
"Let him look," Thor grunted, scissoring his fingers deep inside, stretching Billy ruthlessly to make room. "Let him see who claim…eth thee."
He withdrew his fingers, leaving an aching void in Billy.
"Turn," Thor commanded again, his voice leaving no room for argument.
He took Billy by the waist and spun him back around. Billy was flushed, his eyes wide with the adrenaline of the near-sighting.
Thor didn't wait. He grabbed Billy’s hips and lifted him effortlessly off the floor.
Billy hooked his ankles behind the rock-hard back, leaving him suspended, his back now pressed against the cold glass.
Thor positioned the blunt hammer-head of his cock, and pushed upward in one long, heavy thrust.
Billy yelped at the invasion, the sound reverberating in the enclosed space. The sheer girth filled him completely as he bit his lips, in a storm of sensation.
"God," he choked out, clutching Thor's shoulders. "You're... huge."
Thor pulled back almost all the way, leaving Billy empty and aching for a split second, before slamming back in.
"I am the God of Thunder!" Thor growled.
He bent at the knees and began to pound upward. Billy’s back slammed against the glass with every upward thrust, the vibration shuddering through his bones.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
The air in the sealed car turned heavy and stiflingly humid. Condensation slicked the glass around Billy’s back as Thor rested one huge hand against the pane, the other at Billy’s back. He buried his face in the crook of Billy’s neck, never missing a thrust.
His beard burned and scratched as he groaned, "By Odin… thou art tight."
Billy’s fingers clawed at the God’s back. He bit down hard into the sturdy muscle of Thor’s shoulder, muffling his own desperate noise as the God ground against him.
Thor’s hand at Billy’s back reached up, tangling in the mullet at the nape of Billy’s neck—the very hair he’d toyed with at the bar. He yanked Billy’s head back, forcing his spine to arch, to take the cock deeper, sending a jagged bolt through the boy witch, nearly losing his grip on the Thunder God.
"Answer me, Sorcerer," Thor growled, his voice a low vibration against Billy’s skin. "Does thy useless husband ever do thee like this? Does the Emperor ever make thee cry out to the heavens, or have I ruined thee for his soft, Kree touch?"
Billy’s fingers clawed at the God’s back, his breath hitching. "He... he's never..." Billy gasped, playing along, his voice breaking as the glass rattled behind him. "He's never been this... rough."
Thor let out a low, victorious sound.
"Then let him remain in the stars," Thor rumbled, his eyes flashing with a blue light that seemed to fill the entire car. "Tonight, thou art the God’s plaything."
Thor humped upward, fast and hard—the rhythm was punishing, and Thor was relentless. He held Billy’s weight like it was nothing, his hips cracking, his erection hitting the deepest spot inside Billy over and over.
Billy’s own eyes were filled with flashes, like lightning, never stopping.
The atmosphere in the box shifted—the air tasting sharp and metallic, ozone mixing with the musk of their bodies—like the heavy pressure of a storm about to break.
The friction, the fear of the open window, and the sheer size were too much. Billy felt the coil tightening in his gut. His prostate rebelled, overwhelmed. He shot his load without ever touching his cock, grinding against Thor—a hands-free release that spurted messy and hard between their bodies. Streaks hit Thor’s heaving chest, clinging to the tiny hairs that cupped the underside of his swollen pecs.
The spasms around his cock hit Thor, snapping his control.
"My husband," Billy gasped, as he felt Thor’s hips stutter. "He's coming..."
Thor drove deep, burying himself to the hilt. Billy felt the cock swell, stretching him to the limit—and a hot, heavy flood erupted deep inside him. It was an endless, hot volume, overflowing his insides.
"Thou art mine!" Thor bellowed as he gasped for air, sweat dripping and his knees buckling.
Billy rode out the aftershocks, his legs tightened around Thor’s steely core as their mouths met, stealing the last hungry kisses from the secret liaison.
Part III: The Calm 🌆
With a wet slide and a heavy sigh, Thor withdrew. Gravity eventually reasserted itself.
Thor’s knees buckled, and he slid down the brushed steel doors, carrying Billy with him. They collapsed onto the floor in a heap of tangled limbs, sweat, and pheromones, landing on the pile of Billy’s ruined midnight-blue velvet suit.
They sat there for a long time, leaning back against the steel doors. Their legs were splayed out, chests rising and falling, staring out at the Manhattan skyline through the condensation-streaked glass.
The air in the car was cooling, the heavy smell of ozone and sex settling around them.
Thor took a deep breath, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He turned his head, looking down at Billy with a smug, heavy-lidded satisfaction.
"Tell me, Sorcerer," he rumbled, his voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial whisper. "Does that husband of thine... does the Emperor make thee scream like that? Or have I ruined thee for him?"
Billy looked up. He saw the feigned arrogance in the jawline, but he caught the tiny flicker of anxiety in the blue eyes. Thor wasn't gloating; he was fishing. He was worried that he might have actually done too good a job.
Billy bit his lip to hide his smile. He decided to give the God exactly what he wanted.
"You are incredible, Lord Thor," Billy whispered, running his hand over the steely chest. "Truly. A force of nature. And you moved... exactly how I like it."
The God preened, his chest puffing out.
"But..." Billy sighed theatrically.
The God froze. "But?"
"My husband? He has... a sweetness," Billy murmured, his eyes softening. "Even when he's wrecking me, there's a warmth to him. You're a storm, Odinson. You were a close second... but no Teddy. Teddy is my home."
The God leaned forward instantly, the heavy-lidded smugness vanishing, replaced by wide-eyed, boyish eagerness.
"Really?"
The voice wasn't a rumble this time; it was a hopeful squeak.
Billy smirked, tracing a vein on the block of bicep. "You know," he whispered. "For a God... you have a very familiar tell."
The godly body next to him froze. The heavy breathing stopped.
"A... what?" The deep baritone sounded suddenly uncertain.
"Most Gods don't care about a haircut," Billy teased. "But my husband? He plays with the curls at the back of my neck exactly like that when he wants something."
The "God" let out a long, defeated groan. He dropped his head back against the steel door with a clunk.
"Damn it."
There was a wet, squelching sound. The golden mane retracted, darkening to a messy sandy blonde. The towering height and granite density melted down—shrinking from titan to merely a Kree-Skrull warrior. The peach skin deepened to emerald and then mossy green.
Teddy Altman—Emperor Hulkling—slumped against the door, looking disheveled, sweat-slicked, and incredibly pleased with himself despite being busted.
"I thought I was being so subtle," Teddy mumbled, his voice back to its normal, younger pitch. "I saw the mullet and I just... I forgot I was supposed to be Thor for a second. I just wanted to touch it."
Billy laughed, rolling over to face his husband. He reached out, smoothing the sweaty hair back from Teddy’s forehead.
"You were plenty subtle," Billy assured him. "You had me going until you touched the hair. Thor wouldn't have looked at me like that."
Teddy looked up, his green eyes soft. "Like what?"
"Like I was the only person in the room," Billy whispered. "That’s all you, Kermit."
Teddy flushed a dark green, looking embarrassed but pleased. "I just... I felt bad about being late. I wanted to make it up to you. And I know you have that Hall Pass crush on him."
"I do," Billy admitted, kissing Teddy’s nose. "But Thor wouldn't have known exactly how to hit that spot on the left."
Teddy grinned, looking proud. "I did calculate the angle."
"You giant nerd." Billy laughed, leaning over to kiss his husband’s sweaty shoulder. "You win. You successfully cuckolded yourself."
Teddy grinned, looking relieved. "Good. Because that beard was itchy as hell."
"Tell me about it," Billy winced, touching his neck. "My neck’s going to be red for a week."
Teddy laughed, pressing a soft, authentic kiss to Billy’s bruised lips. "Noted. Next time, I'll be Captain America. No beard." He paused, looking Billy up and down. "You be Bucky."
Billy raised an eyebrow, a wicked glint in his eyes. "Ohhhh… a little Stucky roleplay? You'd do the shield and everything?"
Teddy smirked, stretching his legs out among the ruined clothes. "I was thinking less about the shield..." He nudged Billy’s hip with his own. "...and more about America's Ass."
"Shut up," Billy smiled.
There was a sudden, metallic rattling from the ceiling hatch above them. Muffled voices—Tony and Reed—arguing about hydraulic overrides filtered down. The Avengers were trying to rescue them.
Billy looked up at the hatch, then back at his husband. He raised a hand, his fingers glowing with blue light.
"Stuckbetweenfloors," Billy whispered.
A wave of blue magic pulsed upward, fusing the lock mechanism tight. The rescue would have to wait.
“You don’t want to go to the party?” Teddy asked, looking amused.
Billy’s eyes traced the constellation of freckles dusting his husband's mossy green cheeks.
“In a minute,” Billy murmured, settling back down into the ruin of the velvet suit. “Or three.”
The heroes were banging on the door above, but down there, suspended in the dark between earth and sky, all that mattered was resting his head against Teddy’s shoulder, watching the city lights blur beneath them.
For tonight, the rest of the world could stay stuck.
END
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