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With his fingers closing about the cool metal railing, Thor closes his eyes, inhaling deeply. The crisp, night air tastes fresh, leaving goosebumps along the exposed skin of his arms. But it only makes a sensation of peace this place inspires in him all that stronger. He does not mind the cold. If anything, he has developed a craving for it over the last century.
His lips curve on the edges when a thought occurs to him. Perhaps the secluded location has not been the only reason Loki has chosen this place. During the last century, Thor had visited this place many times, and every time his steps – and his heart, always his heart – have led him here, he was greeted with the scent of frost in the air and thin sheet of ice covering the ground. A reminder of Loki’s true nature. Temptation and accusation both. A sharpened blade sheeted inside a silken cloth. Not at all different from Loki himself. And yet, when Loki called, Thor came. He did not even take a moment to consider his actions. He never did. Not after the first time.
His memory of how they came together is clouded by heated words and blows which preceded their first kiss. And to this day, Thor is uncertain who of the two of them made the first move. Whether it was Loki or himself who crossed the line that was always there between them, but Thor failed to see it until it was too late, and his lips were stained with both his and Loki’s blood, the taste of his brother’s mouth lingering inside his own.
Thor cannot remember who initiated the first kiss, but he remembers with crystal clarity what came next. He was the one who chased Loki’s mouth after Loki pulled away, his trembling hands tore at the leather of Loki’s armour, his teeth closing over the pulse point on Loki’s neck. And it was Thor who spilled himself inside his brother’s body, his teeth firmly clenched as to stop the word ‘brother’ from falling from his lips.
But it was Loki who carded his fingers through Thor’s hair afterwards, as they lay panting on the cold ground in the middle of a forest in Vanaheim. And it was Loki who pulled Thor’s head into an almost chaste kiss, a polar opposite to the wicked, triumphant gleam in his eyes.
“Ashamed, Thor?” Loki asks later, his fingers lightly skimming over his ruined coat, his eyes regarding Thor with a carefully blank expression, a barest note of bitter resignation lacing his words.
Rising from the ground, still fully naked, while Loki already had almost all his clothes on, Thor lowers his head, considering his answer. He does feel ashamed, and horrified by his own actions and lack of self-control, his thoughts a mess of confusion and self-disgust, but that is only part of the truth. The other, much larger one, consists of a possessive thrill of knowing there is a bruise on Loki’s neck, matching perfectly the outline of Thor’s teeth.
“Yes, I am.” Thor says, meeting Loki’s gaze levelly. An expression of hurt twists Loki’s features for the briefest of moments, masked quickly by malicious glee. Centuries ago, it could have fooled Thor, but he has long since learned to see past most of Loki’s masks and illusions. But seeing past masks and illusions does not equate fondness for them. So he smiles; a small, barely there quirk of his lips, and offers Loki the full truth. “That does not mean I regret what has happened between us.”
Loki’s eyes widen in surprise and wonder, the expression making him seem younger and strangely vulnerable, but it slowly morphs into a look that is equal parts triumph and unabashed desire.
“Good.” Loki smiles, his voice low and sultry, and Thor shivers, heat pooling low in the pit of his stomach. “It would have been a tremendous waste if your pesky morality made this a single occurrence.”
“What makes you think there will be a second time?” Thor challenges, but he knows how empty his words are when his own body betrays him even at the thought of a second time. But this – bickering with Loki – at least is familiar ground. Only certainty in their relationship now, when they have broken all the rules, crossing into a foreign ground. There are dozens of questions – why now? how long? what does it mean to you? – burning inside Thor’s throat like hot coal, but he swallows them all, a more urgent fire coursing through Thor’s bloodstream making them seem insignificant compared to the prospect of running his fingers down the inside of Loki’s thighs, and watch him bite his lower lip to hold off a whimper.
Loki’s eyes flick briefly to Thor’s slowly hardening cock, his lips stretching into a wicked grin. “You may be many things, Thor, but temperance is a virtue that will always elude you.” He says, dropping his coat carelessly on the ground. Holding Thor’s gaze, he slowly starts to remove his shirt. “You want this, and so do I. We have already spilled each other’s blood on more than one occasion, what harm could pleasure cause?”
Thor wants to laugh at Loki’s careless words, but his throat is too dry, too tight with all the conflicted feelings welling up inside it. What harm could this cause? It could ruin them both, more thoroughly and painfully than blows and spells ever could. Judging by the faint tremor in Loki’s usually deft fingers, he understands it as well. Somehow, that minute show of weakness, a trace of uncertainty and vulnerability on Loki’s part, is what finally prompts Thor’s decision.
Swallowing, his heartbeat a thundering noise in his ears, Thor wonders is this how Loki felt when he uncurled his hand from around Gungnir’s shaft centuries ago, and takes a step forward.
The sound of soft footsteps jolts Thor, snapping his thoughts back to the present. He allows himself a small smile, but otherwise stays still, keeping his eyes closed. There are no enemies to be found here, for, between these walls, he is not the king of Asgard, nor is he defender of the realms, only Thor. Only a man whose spirit is growing increasingly weary after every visit to this secluded haven, his heart slowly being hollowed by longing and foolish desires his rational mind knows are impossible.
A soft, feather light touch of fingers gliding along his bare arms makes it almost impossible to stand still and keep his breathing even, but he manages at the cost of not a small amount of willpower.
A low chuckle precedes another body moulding itself against Thor’s back as another hand wraps around Thor’s waist. “You should not keep your back exposed, Thor.” Loki whispers, each word a soft, warm caress against the shell of Thor’s ear. “Was that not among the first rules of combat you were taught?”
Thor opens his eyes, but does not move otherwise. “But I have no need to guard myself here.” Thor says softly. Both a truth and a lie, that. “I have no enemies in this place.”
Another chuckle, followed by teeth closing over Thor’s earlobe. Thor’s body shivers and a low gasp escapes his lips, his fingers tightening their hold on the railing. “That is either a grave insult to me or you have finally begun trusting me.” Loki says, low and husky, the hand on Thor’s waist dipping lower, but stopping a few inches short of where Thor wants it with increasing urgency. “I cannot decide what would make you a greater fool.”
Thor chuckles at that and turns around. Loki takes a step back, moving to pull away, but Thor catches his right wrist and stops him. They stand like that, both assessing the other in silence, Loki’s left hand still lingering on Thor’s arm. Loki looks weary, his face even paler than usual, and there is a paling bruise above his right eyebrow. Thor’s chest tightens uncomfortably under an onslaught of anger and worry, but he does not voice either. Instead he pulls Loki closer, until they are standing with barely an inch of space between them, and rises his eyebrows questioningly. “Does it matter? I am here, am I not?”
Loki’s lips quirk on the edges, forming a wistful smile. “So it would seem.”
“You doubted I would come?” Thor asks, incredulous.
Loki looks startled for a moment, his eyes wide and open, allowing Thor to catch a glimpse of the raw, naked vulnerability, usually masked by lust or wry amusement. Loki recovers quickly, his lips curving into a sardonic smile. “There is a fairly decent chance that one of these days your sense of honour and propriety will outweigh your lust.”
Thor is momentarily struck speechless, caught between two equally strong impulses – to grab Loki by the shoulders and shake him for presuming lust is what guides his steps to this place time and time again, and to wrap his hands around him and whisper all the things he dares not, knowing Loki would not welcome them. In the end, he settles for a compromise. He wraps his hand around the back of Loki’s neck and brings him closer. Loki goes willingly, wrapping his hands around Thor’s biceps as his lips curve into a wicked grin. Thor does not try to resist the impulse to bite on Loki’s lower lip, swallowing his gasp of surprise. He tightens his grip on Loki’s neck angling his head and deepening the kiss, pouring all his frustration and yearning into it, hoping Loki would recognize its meaning.
I have missed you. I love you.
When they part, Thor does not loosen his hold on Loki’s neck, using it to bring their foreheads together, his fingers tangling in the soft hair on the nape of Loki’s neck. Loki is keeping it shoulder length lately, a reminder of a boy he once was. Long time ago. Thor prefers his hair this length, for precisely that reason even if it condemns him, considering what they have become to each other. He wonders sometimes, is Loki’s decision to indulge Thor’s unspoken whim a boon or a slight. Knowing Loki, it is probably both.
Tilting his head slightly, Thor places a gentle kiss on the bruise on Loki’s forehead. He yearns to know its origin, and wishes to punish whoever is responsible for it, but the chances are Loki has done something to deserve it.
Snorting, Loki extracts himself out of Thor’s grip, but his eyes are alight with fondness and only the barest flicker of annoyance. A sudden gust of wind sends a faint tremor through Thor, making the annoyance in Loki’s eyes rise. “Come inside, you fool, before you freeze.”
“Concerned, Loki?”
“Hardly.” Loki snorts. A positively sinful smirk stretches his lips wide as he leans closer so he could whisper into Thor’s ear. “I want you on your back on the bed, Thor, but not so I could nurse you back to health.”
Another shudder runs through Thor’s body, this one having nothing to do with the harsh wind. Loki places a soft kiss on the edge of Thor’s lips then takes a step back, a dozen wicked promises contained in his eyes, leaving Thor no choice but to follow.
******
Leaning more comfortably against the headboard, Thor smiles as his eyes catch sight of his and Loki’s discarded clothing, leaving a trail from the door to the bed, but, at least this time, they have managed not to ruin any article of clothing in their impatience to reach the bare skin underneath. Thor used to believe that time will calm the fire that burns between them, but he had been wrong. If anything, years have only stoked the flames, until they turned into a raging inferno, consuming them both slowly.
Sighing, Thor pushes those thoughts to the back of his mind. He knows it is not the right thing to do, a sign of weakness and cowardice, but he is selfish and wants this feeling of momentary content to last. Shame and guilt will inevitably come, but no matter the corrosive nature of this relationship, it has also gifted Thor with moments of happiness – small and seemingly insignificant; like the knowledge how fond Loki is of his long hair, how mesmerized with it he sometimes tends to become, content to run his fingers through it, seemingly forever – that, in the end, outweigh the protest of Thor’s conscience and rational mind.
Thor flexes his shoulders, a pleasant ache spreading through his entire body, now adorned with finger-shaped bruises and bite marks. They are rarely gentle with each other, unspoken awareness of the doomed nature of their relationship making their couplings almost desperate, as if every possessive touch and every greedy kiss could be the last.
A clink of glass draws his attention toward Loki, standing next to a small table on the other side of the room, pouring wine in two goblets, dressed only in light breeches. Long time ago, Loki would never be at ease with exposing himself thus, always wrapping himself in layers of clothing. But this is not the boy Thor remembers with deep fondness and aching longing, no matter how much he resembles him – with his hair curling about his face, his expression softened by the low light in the room and their coupling from only moments before. Thor knows he should be more disgusted with himself. With how not even this startling reminder of who exactly Thor is bedding does nothing to quench his thirst.
After their first time, when Thor returned to Asgard, his mind full of images of pale skin and green eyes glinting with lust and dark triumph alike, he closed himself for an entire day in his old room. He spent the entire day recalling his youth, trying to find a trace of this new sickness in his memories, analysing every brotherly hug and caress, every smile and every display of affection, searching for something that could incriminate him, but finding only a bitter reminder of a happier life that is forever lost to him. He had always loved Loki, but it was only brotherly love. If there was a seed of lust inside his heart even then, Thor could not see it. If there was even a shadow of his deviant desire to have Loki writhe under him as he drives deep into his brother’s body lurking somewhere deep inside his mind, Thor was not aware of its existence. Despite that, when he thinks about everything that has happened between them, from their childhood together to their conversion to bitter enemies, their violent coupling on the leaf covered ground in Vanaheim seemed inevitable somehow. Will it ultimately be their mutual doom, Thor knows not. But even that possibility makes little difference to him. He is where he wishes to be. Where his heart resides. Even if his life, honour and duty reside somewhere far, far away from here.
“You are brooding, Thor. Not one of your more appealing moods.”
Blinking, Thor looks up. Loki is standing next to the bed, holding two goblets. There is a smirk on his lips but it does not reach his eyes which are fixed on Thor with an expression of weariness and warning.
Thor takes the offered goblet, tipping it in Loki’s direction. “According to you I have no appealing moods.”
“I might have re-evaluated my opinion on that matter.” Loki drawls, his eyes flicking briefly toward Thor’s crotch.
Thor snorts and brings his goblet to his lips. He is not particularly fond of wine, but Loki has always favoured it over mead and other spirits, enjoying its sweet and heady taste.
Loki chooses to settle himself into a chair next to the bed. He only takes a small sip of the wine, twirling the goblet in both hands. Thor empties the content of his goblet in two greedy gulps, setting it aside. The wine flows smoothly down his throat, leaving a sweet aftertaste in his mouth. If anything, Loki had always had an impeccable taste, craving only the rarest and most expensive things. His preferences aside, Thor could get drunk of this wine. It has been a long time since he indulged himself thus. And an entire eternity since he had done it in Loki’s company. Perhaps he should. Then he would have drunkenness as an excuse for shattering this illusion of domesticity.
“Where have you been since I last saw you?” Thor asks, words falling from his lips seemingly of their own volition. But they were wedged in his throat since the moment he laid his eyes on the bruise on Loki’s face, almost chocking him earlier when he tugged Loki’s shirt off, his roaming fingers stilling on the thin scar on Loki’s right side. Still fresh, barely starting to heal; the ragged, red edges forming a startling contrast against the pale, smooth skin.
Loki stops twirling his goblet but does not look up from it one long moment. When he finally meets Thor’s gaze, his expression is carefully blank, his eyes guarded. “I could tell you. It could even be the truth.” He says softly. “But you will not enjoy the answer.”
Thor’s eyes narrow slightly. “I would not have asked were I not willing to hear the answer.” At Loki’s pointed look, he smiles, albeit bitterly. “No matter its nature.”
Loki’s eyes flash challengingly, his lips curving into a smirk. “Recently, Alfheim. A certain dwarf who dwells there was in possession of an item I needed. We… disagreed on the terms of its purchase, but, after a brief persuasion, I made him accept my offer.” Thor’s smile fades as Loki’s smirk grows wider. “Is that a sufficient answer, or are you interested in details?”
Thor can recognize a challenge when he sees one. And he can also see where this is leading – to a shouting match that will resolve nothing, ending with one of them storming out in a fit of fury, or, less likely, to a violent coupling against the nearest flat surface. In any case, they will remain exactly where they are now – caught living a fragile illusion which can shatter at the slightest mention of the outside world.
“No, I have heard enough.” Thor says finally, not bothering to hide the resignation he feels. He knows who Loki is. Has seen him at his worst. After they turned into lovers, Loki never made any pretense about his chosen path in life, and Thor has learned early on it is best not to dwell on it. Not if he wishes to keep both his sanity and Loki in his life. No matter how fleetingly. Thor knows there is an entire abyss between what he yearns after and what could be, but the knowledge does nothing to keep his heart from hoping, and hope, as he had learned, can be the cruelest of emotions sometimes.
Loki’s eyes widen in surprise only to narrow in annoyance. “Since we are exchanging information.” Loki’s voice is light, and Thor tenses instinctively. He has heard that exact tone of voice far too many times not to recognize it for what it is – a prelude to a blow. “When are you planning to wed?”
Thor only stares at Loki one long moment, unexpectedness of Loki’s query robbing him of any immediate response. Shock turns quickly to hurt, then to anger, but Thor reins himself in. For some reason, Loki is spoiling for a fight. A fight Thor stands to win only if he avoids it entirely.
“That is a poor jest, Loki. Even for you.” Thor manages finally, his jaw twitching with the effort of forcing back the words he is longing to say. Words Loki is trying to draw out from him.
“It is a valid question, not a jest.” Loki says, shrugging. “You have a duty, do you not? To secure an heir for the throne?”
“I am well aware of my duty, Loki.” Thor forces through gritted teeth, his hands clenching into fists. “I have little need of being reminded of it.”
Especially by you.
“Perhaps you are, but obviously not enough. Your advisors must be growing increasingly worried. I can almost see their faces, worry and suspicion poorly hidden behind servile smiles.” Thor shoots Loki a warning glare, but Loki only settles more comfortably in his chair, the malicious glint in his eyes sparking brighter. “What is holding you back? Surely it cannot be the lack of interested parties?” Releasing an amused snort, Loki takes an assessing look of Thor. Thor feels his face heat up, his jaw clenching tightly. “Well, if all else fails, you can always wed Sif.”
Anger, white-hot and blinding surges through Thor and he is out of the bed before he is aware he thought of moving, his entire body trembling with fury. “Enough!” He all but roars, his vision tinted red, his breathing coming out shallow. A triumphant gleam lights up the green of Loki’s eyes as he lifts the goblet to his lips, never taking his eyes off Thor. He is pulling Thor’s strings, Thor is aware of it. For some unfathomable reason, Loki wants Thor to respond with anger. Wants him furious enough to answer to an attack with one of his own. Loki’s smug calmness only adds to Thor’s anger, but Thor knows this game, has played it far too many times. And no matter who wins, the outcome is nothing but misery. “Enough.” He repeats, quieter this time. Loki’s forehead creases, a look of annoyance flashing across his face for a brief moment. “I know not why you wish us to fight, Loki, but I am not interested in indulging your whim.”
“Do not be overly melodramatic, Thor. I have done nothing but ask a simple question. I even gave you a sound advice.” Loki says, but Thor can see past the mask of bored indifference, to the tangled web of frustration, anger and hurt simmering just underneath. “Just think about all the golden heirs you two would sire. Running around the palace, creating chaos, and being loud and annoyingly cheerful.”
Thor keeps his jaw tightly clenched, his eyes boring into Loki’s, and, for a fleeting moment, he can see the picture Loki described, but he does not see his and Sif’s imaginary children but two boys – one dark-haired, the other blonde, their laughter echoing as they run through the winding corridor, the blonde one holding out his hand and the dark-haired one taking it without a moments hesitation.
The memory cuts worse than a knife – stilling his lungs and making his chest seem tight, becoming tighter with every beat of his heart. Thor cannot tell how much of his inner turmoil is visible on his face, not does he particularly care, but he supposes a fair amount, since Loki straightens in his chair, the smug smirk fading slowly from his lips. Thor does not wait to see what will take its place. Instead, he picks up his discarded breeches and tunic off the floor, and silently turns on his heel, dressing as he goes.
The shadows have grown longer, the light of day fading into dusk when Thor steps out onto the small balcony. The temperature has decreased significantly in just a few hours, the cold air making Thor draw in a harsh breath as a shudder shakes his entire body. Wrapping his fingers around the metal railing, Thor leans forward and closes his eyes.
Too many thoughts swirl inside his mind, too may conflicted desires waging war inside his chest. It feels like he is stretched thin, pulled in too many directions all at once and there is nothing he can do to make it stop.
He does not hear Loki approaching, his harsh breaths drowning all other sound, and he almost winces when he feels a light touch on his shoulder.
“Honestly, Thor, this is behaviour fit for a child not a grown man who is also the king of Asgard.” Loki sounds exasperated, but Thor can feel a slight tremble of the fingers on his shoulder through the light fabric of his tunic. “Come back inside. You can brood there to your heart’s content.”
A mirthless chuckle escapes Thor’s lips. Loki is worried. Any other day Thor would embrace it, use it to fuel his foolish hopes, but he feels empty and tired now, the coldness seeping through him having nothing to do with the weather.
Opening his eyes, he releases his hold on the railing and turns to face Loki. Despite the fading light, Loki’s face remains clear, tight press of lips and green eyes darkened with apprehension plain for Thor to see. Lifting his right hand, Thor curls his fingers around the back of Loki’s neck. “Will you never come home?” Thor whispers softly. It is a question he never intended to ask. It is also the question that was always somewhere in the back of Thor’s mind, no matter where he was, or with whom.
Loki’s entire body grows deathly still, his expression closing off entirely. Loki’s hand, still resting on Thor’s shoulder, twitches but does not pull away.
“I seem to recall already having this discussion with you, Thor. A long time ago.” Loki says in a low voice. And completely void of emotion. “What I said then still applies.”
“Asgard, then. Call it Asgard until it becomes your home again.” Thor insists, a trace of impatience seeping into his voice. Impatience and desperation. His fingers flex on the back of Loki’s neck, curling tighter. “Have you not grown tired of wandering across realms? Of not having a place to call home?”
Hurt flashes in Loki’s eyes but it is gone almost immediately, replaced by bitterness and spite. “Asgard has never been my home, Thor, not truly. Were I desperate enough to demean myself in order to placate a group of hypocrites who have ever looked at me with nothing but contempt and suspicion, it would still not be enough.”
“I am the king of Asgard. My word is law.” Thor states forcefully. He has never thought of abusing his power, and, strictly speaking, pardoning Loki would not count as abuse of power. It has been done countless times by his predecessors, his father included. But it would stem from his selfish desire to have Loki near, and not only for few stolen days in this secluded place, away from prying eyes and their own lives alike, not good of the realm. “I decide what is enough.”
Loki’s mouth twists into a sardonic smile. “Not even you can sway the minds of an entire realm.”
“I do not need to sway the minds of an entire realm. I need only to sway one.”
Loki’s eyes harden and he takes a step back, his hand falling from Thor’s shoulder. Thor’s fingers tighten instinctively around Loki’s neck, but Thor forces them to relax, allowing Loki to move away. “You are an accomplished lover, Thor, but you are not that accomplished.”
Thor swallows a growl, Loki’s casual, mocking disregard stinging worse than a slap to the face. “I am trying to make things right between us, Loki. For both of us.” Thor’s voice comes out pleading despite the anger and frustration swelling inside his chest. “Do not disregard my words out of petty spite.”
It is a wrong thing to say, Thor knows it the moment the words leave his lips. Loki’s eyes widen, out of hurt or surprise, Thor is not certain, but it lasts but a moment. Loki inclines his head, regarding Thor with eyes as cool as the wind which is picking up in strength, playing with loose strands of their hair and chilling Thor’s exposed skin.
“And what would I be to you were I to return to Asgard?” Loki asks, voice soft as honey but dripping with venom. “A servant? Advisor? Consort? Brother?”
Thor grows still, each word falling from Loki’s lips another blow to his heart. But the truth, the bitter, hard truth, is that Loki’s words are valid. Even if all of Asgard bows before Thor’s will, he cannot undo the past. Nor can he ignore the desire which burns in his blood even when he looks at Loki and thinks ‘brother’.
A shiver runs down his spine, and like a wave, it spreads, Thor’s entire body shaking. It has the strangest effect. Loki’s face draws into a grimace, then relaxes into a resigned exasperation as he takes a step forward, placing his palm over Thor’s heart.
“Stubborn fool.” Loki grumbles, but there is fondness underneath the frustration in his tone. Before Thor has a chance to say or do anything, Loki’s hand flashes green and a wave of warmth spreads from his palm through Thor’s body. Neither of the two moves one long moment, the howl of wind the only sound disturbing the heavy silence. Even if he wanted to say something, Thor would not be able to force the words past the lump of feelings in his throat, and Loki keeps his attention on the spell with which he is warming Thor.
“I meant it, you know.” Loki’s words are soft, barely above a whisper, and, for a moment, Thor is unsure whether Loki even spoke. But then Loki looks up, meeting Thor’s gaze, and, for once, he is not even attempting to mask the emotions plain on his face. It is almost like looking at a mirror, seeing his own sadness, regret and resignation reflect back at him from Loki’s eyes.
“What did you mean?”
“What I said to you a long time ago. I never wanted the throne.” At Thor’s raised eyebrows, Loki releases a sound that resembles laughter, but there is not even a smallest trace of joy in it. “Oh, I would not say no to it.” Growing serious, he fixes Thor with a level gaze, pulling his hand away. Thor is viscerally aware of its absence, even if the effect of Loki’s spell remains. “I have always wanted only one thing. To be your equal, and now you want me to crawl back to Asgard, only to stand in your shadow once again.”
Thor feels almost overwhelming need to grab Loki and shake some sense into him, but he quenches the impulse, clenching his hands into fists instead. “I do not need you kneeling at my feet or in my shadow, but by my side. Where you always should have been.”
“No.” Loki says, straightening his shoulders. And he does it without hesitation or regret. A softly spoken word, but with a finality of a mortal strike. And almost as painful. “I will never return to Asgard. Especially now when I have finally found a place where we are equal.”
“And where is that place?” Thor asks hoarsely, surprised that his voice is only slightly trembling.
“Do you truly need to ask?” Loki says, his lips quirking into a smile which is both mischievous and uncertain, the sight of it shattering something inside Thor’s chest.
Thor does not need to ask. He knows the answer. Possibly has always know it. There is only one place where they are both equally happy and equally miserable. Both prisoners of their desires and fears. Thor that Loki will grow bored of him, Loki that Thor will put his duty and honour before his feelings. In a way it is fitting. That their mutual ground should be a combination of Valhalla and Hel both.
An anguished sound escapes his throat as he crosses the small distance that separates them, leaning his forehead against Loki’s, his fingers digging deep into the flesh of Loki’s bare shoulders. “It is not enough.” Thor half growls and half pleads. He does not want to settle for so little when there is so much he yearns after.
Loki sighs, his hands mirroring Thor’s as they come to rest on Thor’s shoulders. “It is all we can have, Thor.” He says, but there is nothing cruel or vicious in his voice, only resignation and not a small amount of sadness. “Accept it. Or leave. There is no third option.”
He should leave. End this once and for all. It may hurt him, tear a large piece of his heart once again, but he will live. It is what he does – he survives and keeps fighting. He will keep doing it as long as his heart still beats. After all, surrender is not a part of his nature. Only, when Loki is involved, Thor very rarely does what he should. But if this is all he will ever have of Loki, then he will have him on his terms. No more hurried and rough couplings, which leave his body sated, but always come at the price of shame and guilt.
Cupping Loki’s chin, Thor tilts his head to the side, a small smile ghosting over his lips as Loki’s eyelashes flutter, his face drawing into a frown of confusion. Leaning down, he places a light kiss on the corner of Loki’s mouth, his other hand slowly sliding up Loki’s neck, his fingers lingering on the pulse point there, feeling the almost frantic beat underneath.
Loki’s grip on his shoulders turns painful, his body growing rigid with each soft kiss Thor bestows on his brow, on his jaw, everywhere on his face but his mouth.
“Thor, what are-”
“Shh.” Thor interrupts Loki by placing two fingers against his lips. Their faces are only inches apart, and Thor can feel every Loki’s harsh exhale on his face. Loki’s eyes are wide, almost panicked, and Thor resist the urge to tighten his grip on his brother, knowing that if Loki chooses to flee, Thor cannot do anything to stop him. “Don’t speak.”
Just let me have this. Let me love you.
Thor does not say the words, keeping them tightly locked inside his throat, but the sentiment is clear in his eyes, if Loki chooses to look. And perhaps he does, because his hands slide from Thor’s shoulders to his chest as if to push him away, his eyes a swirling maelstrom of conflicted feelings. Thor leans slowly, holding Loki’s gaze as he finally brings their mouths together. It is but a soft press of lips – more a test than an actual kiss. Loki’s head jerks back almost imperceptibly, but enough to break the kiss, the hands on Thor’s chest flexing as if Loki cannot decide what to do. Thor stays still, a breath away from Loki’s lips. Waiting. It is like standing on the edge of the precipice, and, much like a lifetime ago, when he was dangling from the shattered edge of the Bifrost, Thor can do nothing but wait Loki’s decision.
But patience has never been his strong suit. Closing his eyes, Thor abandons his hold on Loki’s jaw, wrapping his fingers around the back of Loki’s neck, and covers Loki’s mouth with his own. If this is the end, Thor is determined to at least make it a memorable one. But then he feels a tentative slide of Loki’s tongue against his own, his heart soaring as the hands against his chest relax and slowly slide up his shoulders and neck, tangling in his hair.
******
A low rustling sound rouses Thor from sleep.
Without opening his eyes, a lazy, content smile lifting the corners of his lips, he reaches after Loki, but his searching hand finds only empty space instead of naked skin. His eyes snap open, the smile freezing on his lips. He pushes himself up into a sitting position, his heat starting to race, its frantic beat fuelled by Thor’s rising panic and confusion. His bewildered gaze searches the room, a coldness starting to seep into his heart at the frightening thought which is beginning to form inside his mind. That it is already too late. That the one Thor’s eyes are desperate to find is realms away and out of Thor’s reach.
But then his eyes catch sight of a silhouette, outlined by soft, grey light coming from the outside, and the sheer amount of relief which floods his chest could drown entire countries. He opens his mouth to call out to him, but then Loki moves, stepping into the light, and the warmth of relief turns to cold and harsh disappointment.
Loki may not be gone yet, but it seems it is only a matter of moments. He is fully dressed, and even if Thor cannot see Loki’s face, there is nothing unclear about the straight, determinate line of his shoulders.
Closing his eyes, Thor allows his back to sag against the headboard. The word ‘stay’ is wedged inside his throat like a jagged piece of glass, but Thor does not even think about saying it out loud. He had already said it – with his hands and lips, only a few hours ago, and when he fell asleep, curled around Loki, with Loki’s wandering fingers drawing lazy circles against his naked back, he was sure of Loki’s answer.
And yet, he woke to an empty bed.
Forcing his eyes to open, Thor smiles bitterly. Loki still remains rooted to the same spot – a statue made of ice and shadows; silent and still. Thor wonders what is keeping him from fleeing. Perhaps the same stubborn feeling which demands of Thor to keep his eyes open and watch him leave.
Some say that happiness can be found in little things. And, despite everything, Thor had found it to be true between these walls. He found it in the giggle Loki could not contain when Thor dragged his fingers along a spot on his lower back, in the exasperated frown he made when Thor would not allow him to sleep past morning, in his dry humour, in the way he would bite his lower lip to stop himself from making little whimpering noises Thor relished in. All little, silly, inconsequential things, but now, a step away from losing them, Thor becomes painfully aware of their worth.
“Why must you always make everything so wretchedly complicated?” Loki asks, his voice low and pained. Wrecked. “You cannot think this… this foolish sentimentality would make everything right between us.”
Thor shakes his head, a small, sad smile ghosting across his face. “I will not have this place turned into another battlefield. I am weary of us fighting, Loki. You are my brother… and my lover, and I wish to treat you as such.” He says softly, but his voice does not waver in the slightest. He has been longing to say this for what seems forever, and, no matter the outcome, with every word that passes his lips, he feels his chest growing lighter. Loki, still keeping his back turned, winces as if hit, but otherwise stays still and silent. “Accept it. Or leave. There is no third option.”
Silence which descends in the room after even the last echo of Thor’s words dies down, is stifling, almost suffocating, but Thor has done what he could. Said what he should. All that remains for him is to wait.
Seconds stretch into years, minutes into centuries, and, when Thor begins to think his chest will shatter from the way his heart is beating against it, Loki turns and takes a small, hesitant step forward. Toward Thor.
And Thor smiles.