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Thor can pinpoint the exact moment Loki joins the fight. He is busy fighting his way through a dozen of armored suits. Not something which should be more than a nuisance, save that they are enchanted to withstand a lot more damage, its metal casing protected by magic not of this realm. Unfortunately, much to Thor’s shame and frustration, its origin is partially Asgardian.

And then, with his mood already growing from foul to dismal, between two intake of breath, Thor feels it – a familiar spark of magic passing across his skin like an electrical current. His heart clenches painfully, a faint hope he has held after Infinity Wars in the deepest recesses of his heart flickering and fading like a candle in the wind. Anger follows swiftly, and, before the thought registers fully, before he has a chance to stop himself, Thor is turning, moving away from the metal nuisances, his teeth clenched and his grip around Mjölnir almost desperate, his focus narrowing to a single objective. A single thought – mine. My enemy, my duty, my burden. My own.

A voice – Stark’s – sounds through his comm, but Thor cannot – will not – concentrate on the rushed spill of words, the only one holding any importance, the only one breaking through the rush of blood in his ears, is a name.

Once the most cherished one of all, now little more than a curse.

Other voices join Stark’s, all holding various shades of alarm and urgency, but Thor ignores all, his eyes scanning the chaotic mess of smoke, upturned cars and moving metal suits, searching for the familiar tall figure. One of the suits stands in his way, but Thor grabs it by the neck and flings it to the side without breaking stride, unable to look away from the flash of green in the distance.

Loki is fighting – the green of his magic – flickering and fading in rapid succession, but whom, he cannot tell. He is too far, the thickness of smoke obscuring his view. Stark flies past him, heading in Loki’s direction, and Thor feels his jaw clench tightly, irritation flaring in his gut.

There are voices still buzzing from his comm – with the notable exception of Stark – asking for a confirmation of his position, and there is even a note of worry in Steve’s voice. With an impatient press of lips, Thor takes off the comm, throwing it down on the ground. Then, spinning Mjölnir fast, he takes off.

It takes him but a few moment to reach the other end of the street, the pavement cracking under his feet. He straightens quickly, frowning when he takes in the scene unfolding before his eyes – Loki holding one hand outstretched toward where Stark kneels down on the ground, his armored hands straining against invisible bonds, but Loki is not even looking in Stark’s direction, his attention resting on the hooded figure standing opposite to him, the fingers of his other hand flickering green, creating a barrier against doom’s attacks.

Thor blinks, his thoughts a scattered mess, Mjölnir half-raised, but Thor finds himself unable to choose a target – his eyes flicking from Loki to Doom and back again.

Stark almost manages to rise, but then, with a casual flick of his wrist, Loki flings him back and through a nearby building.

“Loki.” Thor shouts in warning, taking a step forward, but that is as far as he makes it.

When Loki fell from the Bifrost, it all happened fast and Thor had little time to actually process what was happening – one moment his brother was dangling above the abyss, and then, in the other, he was letting go and falling, far, far beyond Thor’s reach – but on this occasion, time slows down to an excruciating crawl. This time Thor understands exactly what is unfolding before his eyes, but remains equally as helpless to prevent it.

Loki turns his head toward him, a sneer on his face, his mouth opening, but nothing comes out. A flash of something – magic, it has to be – envelops Loki. His eyes widen in almost comical expression of shock. His gaze still stays fixed on Thor, even as he staggers back, his hand falling by his side, then, slowly, almost gracefully, sinks to his knees, revealing a familiar blond-haired figure dressed in green standing a few feet behind Loki, an expression of vicious satisfaction etched on Amora’s face.

Loki blinks, once, a thin trail of red flowing from the corner of his mouth, and then, with an almost fond look in his eyes, he crumples to the ground.

Someone is screaming nearby – a deep, anguished howl – the sound joining with the sounds of familiar voices raised in alarm and gunfire as Steve and Natasha run past him, and then, with an angry growl, Hulk joins the scene.

All of it barely touches Thor’s mind, his thoughts focused only on the figure – not a body, not again, not for the third time – lying on the ground. He takes a step forward, then another, his feet heavy, his throat aching, his chest a hollow, dark chasm, sucking all life and warmth from within him.

Thor moves slowly, every breath leaving a fresh wound in his dry throat, until his feet lead him to where Loki has fallen. A violent shudder shakes his entire body, the sky above darkening rapidly, the sounds of the nearby fighting only a low murmur in Thor’s ears. Thor cares not for it; cannot care for anything but the still – terribly, deathly still – figure of his brother.

Mjölnir falls from Thor’s slack grip a mere moment before Thor’s knees hit the ground beside Loki, his trembling fingers hesitating above the curve Loki’s shoulder. He takes a shaky breath and carefully rolls Loki on his back, his heart growing still in his chest.

Loki looks deathly pale, the slow, steady trickle of blood from Loki’s mouth and right ear turning the breath in Thor’s throat to bile. His fingers move slowly, following a will not Thor’s own, settling on the pulse point on Loki’s neck. It takes his sluggish mind a moment to translate the faint pulse he feels there into what it actually means – Loki yet lives.

A rush of relief which floods his chest finally cuts through the haze of shock and horror wrapped around his mind, spurring him into action. Carefully, he picks up Loki into his arms, and rises to his feet, his hand cradling the back of Loki’s skull, keeping his head resting against the crook of Thor’s neck. He is about to call Mjölnir to his hand when Stark lands a few feet away from them, followed closely by Steve and Natasha.

Thor’s jaw clenches and his hold around Loki tightens instinctively, his eyes scanning the faces of his friends. He does not search for understanding or compassion, he expects none. Nor does he receive either. Their faces are tight with various shades of grim resolve and disappointment. Distantly, he is aware he is nearing an imaginary line. Crossing it would shake the foundation of what he has here, with these people, what tentative camaraderie they have built.

And Thor has every intention of doing so. He merely wishes it would happen without violence. It would pain him to raise Mjölnir against those he accepted as friends.

“Thor, buddy, you’ve been careless with the toy I gave you.”

Thor swallows an impatient growl, tearing his gaze from the darkening look in Steve’s eyes. He has not the time nor the will to debate morals and duty with them and he feels not even the slightest inclination of offering an apology. And Stark expects him to indulge him in empty, childish bantering.

“Loki is gravely injured.” Thor states tersely, his voice just shy of a growl.

“We have hospitals.” Stark offers. He has his faceplate up, giving Thor a clear view of his face. His eyes are serious, even cautious, and still there is an insolent curve to his smile. At the best of times, Thor’s tolerance of Stark and his impetuous and erratic behavior is rather strained. But the man could never be accused of cowardice. Ill-advised as it is sometimes. “You know what else? Even our jails have doctors, which is really convenient in this case.”

Thor’s vision sparks red for a moment as a snarl tears from his throat, Mjölnir flying dutifully to his outstretched hand.

“Stark.” Steve grounds out, not taking his eyes away from Thor. “Shut up. You’re not helping.”

“Why should I?” Stark’s raised voice has Thor’s teeth gritting together, his self-control strained to its limits, as fury builds inside his blood – hot and fierce and not at all interested in rights and wrongs. Stark rolls his eyes, rising his hands in exasperation. “He’s the one who left us to deal with Doom and that witch alone, so he could play a nursemaid to an even greater threat and I am the one who gets sent to the corner?”

“My wish is not to fight against you.” Thor interrupts. His voice is low and strained, and it is struggle to force the words past his lips. He should not be saying them, he should already be far away from here, each moment he wastes on this futile exchange could be a moment Loki cannot afford to lose. He takes a step back, and starts spinning Mjölnir. “But if any of you follows, I will consider it an attack.”

Natasha’s face stays blank, save for a small crease on her forehead, and Stark is yelling something, to him or Steve, Thor cannot tell, nor does he care, the look of grim resignation on Steve’s face the last thing Thor sees as he tightens his grip around Loki and takes off.

***

Thor bursts through the door, slamming it shut with his the heel of his boot, Mjölnir falling with a dull thud down on the wooden floor.

It takes him three long strides to reach the large bed in the far corner of the cabin. Tugging the covers with one hand, while his other still holds Loki tightly against his chest, Thor throws them carelessly on the ground, then, gently, places Loki down on it.

Straightening, Thor’s eyes catch on Loki’s pale face, his heart giving a painful lurch. A laughter wells inside Thor’s throat, sharp and with an edge of despair, its sound ugly and jarring as it cuts through the heavy silence of the cabin. Three times, three miserable, wretched times Loki has done this to him, and each time instead of hurting less, it hurts even more.

Swallowing, Thor forces himself to take a deep, steadying breath. There will be time, later. Time for questions, answers and tomorrows, now he needs to act.

Loki’s skin has turned almost ashen, the red smears of blood standing out glaringly against it, but there is life still coursing through Loki’s motionless body, the beat of his heart faint but present. Once, when they were young and more than a little drunk, Loki had told him he would outlive Thor. Thor still recalls his own loud, amused laughter and Loki’s sly answering smirk. And the words whispered against his lips, Loki’s breath hot and sweet as the mead they had drunk.

“Why, you ask? Well, brother mine, you may be worthy of Mjölnir, but I cheat.”

It is a good memory, a happy one; of lazy, languid touches and soft kisses, each tasting like honey and apples. But it is a memory of another life, life no longer Thor’s. And, in this moment, Thor would trade every single one of his joyous memory of Loki for Loki’s words to hold true.

Thor’s fingers reach for the buckles and hidden clasps of Loki’s armour, but he has no patience for dealing with them. He grips the leather and pulls. It is nothing like the one on Midgard, but is still yields to Thor’s strength, and, soon, Loki is left dressed in noting but black breeches.

There is no trace of a wound anywhere on Loki’s body, Thor’s fingers gliding across wiry muscles and pale skin he knows so well, hesitating only when they reach a jagged, now fading scar in the middle of Loki’s chest.

Thor’s fingers curl into a fist, his eyes fluttering closed briefly, a memory of red seeping through green leather rising to the surface of his mind. He puts a stop to this train of thought, turns and strides over to the fireplace. There is a painting hanging over it, one of the rare few personal touches to this remote sanctuary Selvig has purchased on Thor’s behest. There is nothing special to this painting – a single black bird in flight, its dark wings creating a stark contrast against the clear, blue sky in the background. Thor still cannot tell what spurred him to purchase the painting. Perhaps it was a strange ache he felt in the hollow of his chest as he gazed upon the painting. Perhaps the wide-eyed awe in the eyes of the young artist as he recognized Thor. In any case, he bought the painting, paying for it a lot more than the young man blurted as a price. And now it is here, shielding a small, grey vault.

Thor’s fingers graze the surface of the vault, the hidden runes flaring and fading quickly. Then, with a light press, the vault opens, revealing a wooden box, its surface carved with intricate patterns not many would recognize as an ancient writing.

Thor extracts the box, seals the vault shut once again and returns the painting to its proper place. He strides quickly back to Loki’s side and places the box on the small nightstand by the bed. The hidden lid clicks under Thor’s questing fingers, the top of the box splitting in the middle, each end pulling back, allowing Thor’s fingers to close around a large stone, its center pulsating with blue, swirling magic.

Thor kneels on the bed and arranges Loki so he is half-lying, half-sitting, his back leaning against Thor’s chest, Loki’s head cradled in the crook of Thor’s neck. The stone easily cracks in Thor’s grip, the magic swirling around Thor’s fingers as they move over Loki’s body. It is a powerful healing magic, and if there is anything on this realm which could heal Loki it is this. There is another option, but Thor chooses not to dwell upon it – he cannot dwell upon it too long, his will already stretched thin with fear, the certainty Loki would never look upon him with anything but disgust if he were to take him back to Asgard the only thing keeping him from calling out to Heimdall – hoping it would not become a necessity.

When the last flicker of magic leaves Thor’s fingers, latching onto Loki’s skin, Thor moves back, until his back is resting against the headboard. He wraps his right hand around Loki’s middle as tight as he dares, the other pillowing Loki’s head. He squeezes his eyes shut, and does the only thing left to him save praying to deities long gone – he waits.

***

Loki’s reaction to the magic of the healing stone is not something Thor has ever seen. It is volatile, as if something inside his body wages against the healing magic. Loki alternately grows hot, then cold, his skin clammy with sweat, his entire body wracked with shudders. Thor cannot do much but curse his own meager knowledge of magic, everything inside him rebelling against the simple truth: he is helpless against whatever magic is kill… hurting Loki, and, save taking Loki to Asgard, this is a battle in which Thor has no place. No power.

Thor leaves Loki only to shed his armour, his trembling fingers managing to tear two pairs of pants in his haste to get dressed and get back to Loki. Once done, he slips into the bed behind Loki, pulling him tight against his chest.

Loki is mumbling something, a string of nonsensical words falling from his lips, his skin now fever hot. Thor’s chest aches, a knot of dread tightening around his heart with each shiver of Loki’s body, with each low moan that falls from Loki’s lips. Thor has lost count how many times his mouth opened, Heimdall’s name heavy on his lips, but each time he snaps his mouth shut, biting his lower lip until it bleeds. He cards his fingers through Loki’s damp hair and rests his forehead against Loki’s, the words he would never say were Loki lucid – sentimental nonsense, Loki would call them – spilling from his lips. He whispers his love and his regret, his anger and grief, but receives no answer in return. He wonders, fleetingly, if Loki could hear him, would he listen, or would he laugh to his face, mock him for his foolish weakness. And it is weakness, this love he bears for Loki, tainted with anger and mistrust as it is. Sometimes, Thor feels as if it will persist even when he draws his last breath; stubborn and insistent, holding on to hope where there should be none.

Once they were brothers and friends. Even lovers; tied so closely together, it seemed they were one soul in two bodies. Now they stand on opposite sides, despite Loki’s grudging help during the Infinity Wars and his lack of villainous activity lately. And it was with anger in his heart that Thor went to meet Loki earlier today, when he felt his presence in battle, and yet, the moment Loki fell, all lost importance; truths and lies, right and wrong; past fading before one simple truth – the world without Loki in it is not a world Thor wishes to live in.

Thor cannot tell how much time has passed since he brought Loki to this secluded cabin, but daylight is slowly fading, turning to shadows, and Loki still remains unconscious in the cradle of Thor’s arms, Thor’s voice almost hoarse from the constant spill of words, now reduced to a low murmur of mundane, unimportant things, his fingers still combing through Loki’s hair.

Thor cannot tell is what is happening to Loki good or bad, is his body winning or losing the fight, the uncertainty and dread weighing heavily on his heart. He loathes this… loathes the fact that he cannot do anything, and he is furious at himself for it, furious at Loki for tying his hands with his stubbornness and spite, but most of all, he is terrified, more so than he can remember being in what feels like forever, his insides quivering with the sensation.

The sound almost escapes his notice – thin and frail as it is – but Thor hears it anyway; his heart, his lungs, his mind stilling with hope he dares not believe. But then he hears it again, a soft murmur of a single, slurred word, Loki’s voice low and hoarse, and Thor feels like his chest will surely shatter in thousand tiny pieces, for he cannot imagine how his chest could possibly contain the sheer amount of relief building inside him.

“Loki?” Thor whispers, his voice shaking with hope and uncertainty.

Loki’s head moves, his face tilting up. The light is poor in the cabin, though there is enough of it for Thor to see the feverish glint in the green of the eyes squinting up at him, but there is a trace of lucidity there now; a tiny flicker of recognition, confusion and uncertainty melting through the tight grimace of pain on Loki’s face.

“…Thor?” Loki asks in a voice which sounds tiny and unsure, and not at all like the mocking drawl Loki reserves for Thor as of late.

Thor swallows, waits until he is certain his words will not disintegrate into something unintelligible – there is a pressure in his throat, an unusual blend of laughter and sobbing – then, with a strained smile, he reaches out, brushing his knuckles across Loki’s cheek. “Sleep. You are safe here.”

“Safe?” Loki repeats slowly, blinking in confusion, like the word is foreign to him. Then, with a sigh, his lashes flutter closed, his expression relaxing. Thor sucks in a harsh breath, his heart twisting painfully. It is tempting, painfully so, to accept Loki’s demeanor as a sign of hope, but Thor steels himself against it. Not to want Loki dead is not the same as hoping for what they once shared. That… that cannot be. Not anymore. And Loki probably knows not what he is doing. He is barely conscious, his mind must still be muddled from fever and pain. But whatever the reason, Loki draws closer to Thor, his head nestling in the crook of Thor’s neck, Loki’s fingers curling about the thin cotton of Thor’s shirt. “Safe.” He sighs, his lips brushing lightly against the skin of Thor’s neck.

Thor holds himself very, very still, fleetingly entertaining the notion of extracting himself from Loki’s, however loose, hold. But he cannot seem to persuade his own fingers to leave the jut of Loki’s hip, his skin still hot underneath Thor’s callouses, but no longer feverish, his other hand sliding down to the back of Loki’s skull, pulling Loki even closer, instead of pushing himself away.

It is foolish indulgence, this stolen moment, but there is no desire, no hunger thrumming through Thor’s blood. There is no ulterior motive to the soft brush of Thor’s fingers against Loki’s naked skin but the desire to soothe and comfort. Like when they were children and Loki’s dreams were plagued by shadows and monstrous creatures. When he used to sneak into Thor’s chambers and slip into his bed, his fingers cold and shivering.

Thor dips his head, his lips brushing against Loki’s temple. He seems so small now, vulnerable and innocent, trusting his older brother to keep him safe from harm. Like he did in the times long past.

But Thor has learned to discern between the truth and illusion, and the truth is that Loki would never accept Thor’s aid. Oh, he would use lies and manipulations to coax Thor into giving him what he wishes, but he would never accept that what Thor freely offers.

Sighing, Thor shifts a bit, his lips twitching with a mixture of amusement and sadness when Loki follows his movement, intent on keeping close to Thor, his head fitting snugly underneath Thor’s chin.

Thor snorts lightly, his fingers once again finding their way into Loki’s hair. The tension has bleed from his body, along with his fears. Loki will recover, Thor is now certain of it – his body no longer shivering or burning with fever, his chest rising and falling with deep, even breaths.

The peace of the moment will shatter once Loki wakes – fully lucid and aware of his surroundings; Thor holds no false hope of Loki reacting with anything but mistrust and resentment to Thor’s actions. Even if he had done it to save Loki’s life. And then there is the reality outside the cabin – the one in which Loki continues to be a criminal, both on this realm and Asgard. But Thor knows he had already made the decision regarding that. He had made it the second Loki fell unconscious on the ground. It is a selfish decision and he is aware there will come the hour of reckoning. The price he will be forced to pay might be higher than he would like, but if he had to do it all over again, Thor would make the same decision all over again. He will stop Loki from causing harm to innocents, but there is no force in all the Nine Realms which could make him stay back and watch Loki die. He had already been in that position; two times too many.

Time passes quickly – too quickly. It is a foolish notion, but Thor finds himself wishing for time’s slower passage, for the prolonged chance of having Loki sleeping soundly in his arms. But the dawn comes eventually, and with it, the reality.

With one last brush of lips against the crown of Loki’s head, Thor extracts himself out of bed, his fingers grudgingly releasing their hold on Loki. Loki murmurs something and buries his face into the pillow, but he does not wake. With a tight grimace, Thor reaches for the box, still lying on the nightstand. It opens, once again, Thor’s fingers hesitating only a moment before reaching for the only remaining object inside it.

Thor calls to Mjölnir, his eyes grim and resigned. Loki will not understand. Much as he had not the last time they were alone together. But Thor had been the one to offer a choice, instead of shackles.

In retrospect, Thor should not have been surprised when Loki’s choice had been to disappear, instead of returning to Asgard and facing justice. Not that he had been surprised. Merely disappointed. Thor hoped… but that hope was nothing more than foolish indulgence.

And now he is treading the same foolish path, knowing that absence of news of Loki’s misgivings does not innocence make.

Thor’s gaze flickers toward Loki’s sleeping form, his eyes catching on the sight of one bare shoulder, trails higher, up the delicate curve of neck, partially hidden by dark curls.

Thor sighs, tears his eyes away, his fist closing tighter around the metal in his hand. He takes a step closer, his movements precise and quick as he clicks one silvered manacle around Mjölnir’s handle and places the hammer on the ground next to the bed, the clinking of chains loud, mocking sound in the stillness of the cabin, disturbed only by Loki’s soft, steady breathing. Then, he grasps Loki’s right wrist and clicks the other manacle around it. Thor does not see the engraved runes working their enchantment, but he knows them to be effective. This is not the first time Thor has placed them around Loki’s wrists, and each time he does it, it never brings him even a step closer to reaching a closure to the tumultuous relationship he has with Loki. No matter how far they drift apart, something always pulls them back into each other’s orbits. It is like the Norns cannot set their minds to how their tale ends.

Loki shifts in his sleep, moves so he now lies on his back, a small grimace appearing on his face. Thor tenses, conflicted desires waging war inside his chest, but Loki does not wake. His face relaxes once again, and he turns on his side, the chain rattling against the bedframe as he does so.

Thor’s eyes linger on the empty space behind Loki on the bed, but he is not as foolishly optimistic to chance drifting to sleep next to Loki. Chained or no. Instead, he drags a heavy chair closer to the bed – closer, yes, but not within Loki’s reach – and settles into it, resigned to waiting, but it takes little – no more than a few moments – before his eyelids flutter closed, drowsiness settling heavily upon him, dragging him into a pitiful slumber.

***

Thor drags himself from a dream of red stains upon his fingers, with the scent of blood and the taste of dirt in his mouth lingering even after he opens his eyes, the ache in his neck the price for falling asleep in a chair not fit to accommodate his bulk.

He straightens with a groan, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes; the memories of his dream fading fast, until only an echo of a scream remains.

“Bad dream?”

Thor freezes. For a brief moment he is certain the voice – Loki’s voice – is no more than a construct of his mind. Then the events of the past day come rushing back – the fight, Loki falling, holding Loki’s shivering body against his own, fear and helplessness clawing at his insides – and the intensity of the memories all but steals his breath.

Slowly, Thor pulls his hands away, his eyes drawn toward the bed. And Loki.

Loki looks… not well – his skin still holds an almost ashen pallor, there are dark circles around his eyes, and the expression on his face speaks of bone-deep weariness not even Loki can mask. But what takes Thor’s gaze captive is the calm and controlled look in Loki’s eyes. Thor had expected anger and insults dripping with venom. Not this.

“Everyone has them.” Thor says, his voice low and careful. As if by simply raising his voice, he will shatter this unexpected illusion of peace. “On occasion.”

“Not you.” Loki states, calmly. Then, he cocks his head, studying Thor thoughtfully. “Not even as a child.”

Thor’s lips twist briefly. “I had less cause for bad dreams back then.”

Loki’s mouth twitches into a shadow of a smile, but it disappears before it fully forms.

“Speaking of dreams. I am certain I am fully awake, but this appears not to be Asgard.”

Thor’s gaze flicks toward his hands briefly. He allows them to curl into a fist, then slowly uncurl. And this is how the peace ends. He lifts his gaze, meeting Loki’s steadily.

“It is not.”

“It also looks nothing like a Midgardian holding facility.” Loki states; still calm, still controlled. Thor does not know what to make of it. They have not parted ways as enemies, nor as friends. But the line had been drawn and Loki did not stay on the same side with Thor. “It lacks their usual blend of soulless sterility.” Then, with a sardonic quirk of his lips. “Not to mention actual presence of a cage. But, I suppose this,” Loki lifts his shackled wrist, clanking the chain deliberately. “Is by far more efficient in keeping me prisoner.”

“You are not a prisoner.”

“Is there another way to interpret the shackles, Thor?” Loki arches an eyebrow. Thor feels a surge of agitation well inside him. He does not wish to fall into yet another argument with Loki – they never accomplish a thing, always and forever spinning in an endless loop of reliving past slights. “Feel free to enlighten me.”

“You were injured yesterday.” Thor states, forcing himself to stay calm and not give in to the need to shake some semblance of sense into Loki. “Gravely so. I feared-” Thor’s voice breaks off and he rises from the chair abruptly. He resists the urge to pace, the muscle in his jaw twitching. He takes a deep, calming breath. The memory of holding Loki’s still body is still fresh, still cutting sharply, despite having Loki living, breathing and looking at him with a strange blend of resignation and accusation only a few feet away. “I thought you dead, Loki.”

Loki regards him silently a moment, then bursts into laughter. It is a hollow, mirthless sound. “But I live. Thanks to you, no less. Tell me, Thor, has it not occurred to you to simply leave well enough alone?”

Thor blinks, then frowns. The words convey meaning clearly. But it is warped, flawed logic upon which it sits.

“You are speaking nonsense now. Unbecoming of either of us.” Thor rumbles in warning, his fingers twitching with the desire to stop the flow of any further words from Loki’s mouth. “You should stop.”

“Why nonsense?” Loki pushes further, because that is what they do, what they have always done. Even before Thor knew the shape of the scars they have left on each other. “You could have had one nuisance less to worry about and do so without having to dirty your hands.”

It would be easy to give in to anger and frustration. Easier still to call to Heimdall and wash his hands clean of any further involvement in Loki’s fate. But Thor will not do it. Even without Loki looking as he does – fragile and small, as if he is using all his strength to sit up straight, his knuckles white where his fingers are gripping the covers tightly.

The anger leaves Thor in one long exhale, leaving only weariness and sorrow. “Your life is not a nuisance and your death would bring me neither joy nor relief, Loki.”

“And what makes you think I would prefer being locked up forever in Asgard’s dungeons?”

“If it were my intent to take you back to Asgard, we would not be here now.”

Loki snorts, his mouth twisting into a sneer, but it holds little of its usual intensity, Loki’s body sagging against the headboard.

“Then what is to be my fate? I am to be delivered to your mortal pets?” Loki snorts, but there is a hint something which looks similar to betrayed trust in his eyes. “I would prefer Odin’s brand of mercy compared to the indignity of that future.”

“I have already said it. You are not a prisoner.”

“And yet I am still chained.”

“Tell me, Loki, how many dared to question the integrity of my word?”

A flicker of a smile flashes across Loki’s face. “Not a soul since the first fool who had done it to your face. But the question of my shackles still remains.”

“I will free you.” Thor says, holding Loki’s gaze steadily. “You have my word.”

Loki studies his face, a frown creasing his forehead. Thor’s lips twitch into an involuntary smile.

“Cease searching for a trick, there is none.”

Loki snorts, softly. “There is always a trick, or a price to be paid, Thor. To everything.” Loki says, but there is no venom to his words. He sounds almost fond. “You are a fool if you think otherwise.”

Thor thinks of his father – alone and worn down by the stretch of centuries and recent loss – and of the look of disappointment on the faces of his mortal friends. Even the way Loki almost smiled at him the moment before he sank on the ground yesterday.

“You always were the cleverer of the two.” Thor says, a hint of a smile tugging his lips up.

“And you always had a bigger heart.” Loki says with a small half-shrug. It draws Thor’s eyes toward Loki’s naked chest. He knows Loki’s origin, but that knowledge does nothing to erase the urge Thor has to wrap a blanket around Loki’s shoulders and keep him warm. It almost makes him laugh. Perhaps he has been too long here; the notion people of Earth have where they equate warmth with safety taking hold in his mind. “I do not think either has served us well.”

An unusual concession on Loki’s part, but Thor knows better than to push further. A year or two ago, he would have, but some obstacles cannot be shattered by force. Some call for patience.

“Do you require anything?” Thor asks after a moment of silence.

Loki lifts his wrist. “Removing this would be most welcome.” He says with a wry grin.

“Besides that?” Thor says evenly, not missing a beat.

“A glass of water.” Loki concedes, sighing.

Thor turns and strides to the small kitchen. He rarely remembers to resupply, but manages to find unopened bottle of sparkling water in the freezer. He fills a glass with it, but when he returns, he finds Loki has fallen asleep – his head lolled to the side, his lips slightly parted.

An involuntary smile tugs at his lips as he places the glass on the nightstand. Asleep, Loki almost seems at peace, content. Vulnerable. Thor cannot help but wonder would Loki allow himself to fall asleep in Thor’s company should he have a choice in the matter.

Reaching out, Thor brushes a stray lock of hair from Loki’s face, tucking it behind his ear. Loki would loathe the current state of his hair, but Thor has always preferred it this way – mussed and curling against Loki’s face. He used to love running his fingers through Loki’s hair and making a disarray of it slicked perfection. It was both a source of pleasure and a way to annoy Loki.

Thor’s fingers slide down to Loki’s cheek, lingering on a sharp cheekbone before sliding even lower and tracing the familiar line of jaw. His fingers are nearing the outline of Loki’s lower lip when Thor finally notices their intent and pulls his hand away. It is a temptation, to have Loki near, without the danger of physical conflict and keep his hands away. They have not touched each other without meaning to hurt and draw blood ever since Svartalfheim.

Sighing, Thor slides one of his hands under Loki’s neck, wrapping the other around Loki’s waist. He moves him as gently as possible, until Loki is once again lying on his back. Loki does not stir, save to release a deep sigh of content. A soft, low sound which tugs at Thor’s heart and closes around Thor’s throat. Before, he paid little notice to mundane things such as casual glance, a quirk of a smile or a stolen caress. But he never entertained possibility of being robbed of them.

***

“I need to bathe.” Loki announces when he opens his eyes. He had been sleeping for the bigger part of the day. Thor spent that time preparing a meal, and despite the noise he made, he felt reluctant to shut the bedroom door. He tried keeping it shut for a while, but his gaze kept wandering toward the polished wood, resulting in quite a mess in the kitchen. In any case, Loki slept through it, not stirring once.

Thor takes a long, assessing gaze of Loki’s face, now looking healthier, still pale, but without that ashen pallor of before. It is a relief, but it also means Loki would be less easy to deal with, more willing to taunt and defy, to push Thor if for no other reason than to see how far Thor is willing to allow him to go.

“Surely even a prisoner would be granted such basic courtesy.” Loki points out. “And you claim you do not regard me as such.”

“I do not.” Thor says flatly, fixing Loki with a weary gaze. “But that does not mean I trust you with your own safety.”

Loki’s eyes widen, and, for a moment, he looks startled, off balance, but he masks it quickly. “So the shackles are for my protection. Usually they are to ensure the safety of others.” Loki shrugs, sounding more amused than biting. “But they will be a nuisance.”

Thor swallows a snort, shakes his head. “The shackles stay.” He says lightly. Loki’s lips press into a tight line, but he stays silent, watching Thor as he strides over to the bed and extends his hand.

Loki glances at Thor’s outstretched hand. For the briefest of moments, Thor is certain Loki will accept his aid, but Loki pulls the covers to the side and, ignoring Thor’s hand, pushes himself onto his feet. He sways minutely as he straightens. Thor does not question his impulse, he takes a step forward, his hands wrapping around Loki’s upper hands and pulling him closer.

Loki tenses, his eyes darkening, but he gathers himself, his lips curving into a sharp smile. “I am able to stand on my own, Thor.” He says in a blank voice.

Thor slowly pulls his hands away, but the words of an apology stay locked inside his throat; they are a lie in any case. But he does not say ‘you do not need to’; he allows himself a small half-smile, and says: “I know.”

Loki tilts his head, his eyes narrowed; searching for something on Thor’s face. Thor does not know what, cares little for it. But whatever it is, Loki does not find it, his eyes flaring with frustration a second, then, with an impatient wave toward Mjölnir, Loki arches an eyebrow: “Well, shall we? It is not I can move it myself.”

Thor makes to pick up Mjölnir, but then his eyes catch on Loki’s bare chest and light breeches.

“Wait here.” Thor says, already turning away. “There is something- I will not tardy.”

Loki snorts, sounding amused. Lifting his shackled wrist, he pointedly glances toward Mjölnir. “Do not worry, Thor. Something tells me I am not going anywhere.”

There are only a few items of clothing in the small wardrobe on the other side of the room, but Thor manages to find a pair of dark sweatpants and a grey cotton T-shirt. He frowns at them a moment, knowing they will be too large for Loki’s slender figure, but they will have to do.

When he strides back, Loki is standing still beside the bed, a frown creasing his forehead. It deepens when Thor comes close, his gaze flickering briefly toward the bundle of clothes in Thor’s hands, before returning back to Thor’s face. His expression shifts into a blend of annoyance, frustration and something almost fond, his mouth opening, but no sound comes out.

Thor grants Loki the courtesy of pretending not to notice his uncertainty. An exasperated sigh fights to leave his throat; Thor swallows it back. Loki must still be contemplating the nature of the hidden motive he believes Thor has for his actions. Or he is trying to evaluate the price he expects to be made to pay.

Leaning, Thor picks up Mjölnir, curling the fingers of his other hand into fist to stop them from reaching toward Loki’s waist and settling there.

It is an awkward and tension filled walk toward the bathroom, the silence disturbed only by the clinking of chains. Thor carefully avoids looking at Loki’s face, and trying to be simultaneously near and as far away from Loki proves to be somewhat a challenge, but they make it.

The bathroom is the only place in the cabin where Thor misses the opulence and spaciousness of Asgard. He misses stretching in a large pool as hot water takes away the burn and ache in his muscles, instead of standing in a limited space of a shower stall. And he misses the soft patter of bare feet on the marble floor, followed by a soft, knowing touch of strong, deft fingers kneading the muscles of his back.

“Thor? The hammer?”

Thor blinks, dragging himself forcibly out of memories of past and back to the present. And to Loki, looking at him pointedly with raised eyebrows. He leans down, placing Mjölnir at the foot of the shower stall. He straightens, shifting his stance awkwardly.

“I can manage alone from here.” Loki says, his face carefully guarded.

“I have seen you nude before, Loki.” Thor points out, the corner of his mouth curving up. He glances at the manacle on Loki’s wrist. “At least allow me to-”

“What we shared is no more, Thor.” Loki interrupts, his voice flat. His eyes are holding Thor’s steadily, and Thor finds himself unable to glance away. “It is for the best not to make this situation even more a mess than it already is.”

Thor frowns, his gaze flicking down to his hands. He watches with rapt attention the way his fingers squeeze the clothes, Loki’s words a soft echo inside his mind, stirring to life memories of a life which now seems as if it belonged to someone else. He forces his fingers to relax, and drags his eyes back to Loki’s face. “That was not- We were brothers first. Before we became more.”

“And now we are neither.”

Thor considers denying the words, calling them a lie. It used to be an instinctive reaction before, like pulling away from an open flame. He does not. Perhaps the cause is the weariness in Loki’s eyes which is starting to seep through the impassiveness. Or it could be the even tone of Loki’s voice. As if he is stating a commonly known fact, not denying centuries worth of memories. In truth, Thor would prefer venom and fury.

But Thor stays silent and nods instead, placing the clothes on a hanger near the shower, Loki’s eyes watching his every move.

“Call if you need assistance. I will be near.”

Loki’s lips twitch briefly, the smile disappearing almost the moment it forms. “I think I will be able to find my way around the intricate workings of a Midgardian shower.”

Thor’s lips curve briefly, then, with a slightly more force than necessary, Thor wrenches the door open and leaves Loki alone.

Thor hesitates in front of the bathroom, pacing like a caged beast until he hears the water running. He drags his fingers through his hair, a sharp bark of laughter tearing from his throat. He is behaving irrationally, a bigger fool than even Loki ever thought him to be, but the knowledge of his own idiocy does not make it lessen in the least. If he could, he would keep Loki chained in this remote place for all eternity, or until Loki finally came to his senses. Safe. Unable to cause damage either to himself or others. Unable to force Thor to meet him in battle. But that cannot be done; he cannot be Loki’s captor and guardian at the same time.

Clenching his jaw, Thor turns and strides toward the small kitchen, busying himself with reheating the meal he prepared earlier, but his attention remains focused on the sounds coming from the other side of the bathroom door.

Thor is unsure how long it has been since he left Loki alone in the bathroom, it is probably less than half an hour, but his patience is at its end. He is not even sure what is it that sets his nerves alight and makes his fingers twitching with the urge to grab on to something. Is it the thought of Loki somehow – Thor knows he cannot, should not, but Loki has ever defied expectations and odds – escaping, or that he is still weak from yesterday and better not left unattended.

But the nature of his agitation loses meaning when he hears a soft call of his name. Thor does not even remember moving, but, in the space between two heartbeats, he is standing in the bathroom, now fogged by steam and smelling of citrus, his thoughts, up to this moment a whirlwind of images and possibilities, staggering to a halt at the sight of Loki – hair still wet and curling about his face, dressed only in Thor’s too large sweatpants, holding Thor’s shirt in his unshackled hand.

“It appears I am in need of assistance.” Loki says wryly. “Dressing while chained to a hammer with even worse disposition than its master is beyond my skill at the moment.”

Thor blinks, then swallows, his throat sandpaper dry. He closes the distance between them with slow, hesitant steps. He does not attempt speaking, there is little he could say, even if he trusted his own voice at the moment. He takes the shirt from Loki’s hand, noting the focused attention in Loki’s eyes. Thinking, always, scheming even when he ought not; but Thor cannot concentrate on that now; there is something in the way Loki smells of Thor’s shampoo and the fact he is wearing Thor’s clothes which touches Thor in a way it should not – fiercely possessive.

Thor leans down, taking more time than necessary to remove the manacle from Mjölnir’s handle. It has been long since they touched each other like lovers. It has been almost as long since Thor indulged in the memories of having Loki in such a way. But after Jotunheim and all that followed, the wound of losing a brother far eclipsed their youthful indiscretion, when they were too arrogant and too selfish in their desires to shy from temptation. Now, it seems, it is all Thor can think about, memories of lazy touches, of fumbling hands and heated kisses flooding Thor’s mind. Thor does not understand why; why now. Nothing has changed; Loki, albeit not proclaiming himself Thor’s enemy with venom and fury, reuses to take a step forward, toward Thor and what was once his home.

His fingers closing around the metal, Thor shuts his eyes briefly, wills the memories away. Despite Loki’s somewhat placid demeanor, this is not a weapon Thor can afford to grant Loki.

Straightening, Thor offers the shirt back to Loki, but he does not let go of the chain. “You should manage now.”

Loki blinks once, tilts his head to the side, his gaze not even for a moment moving from Thor’s face. There is a glint in his eyes now, mischievous and knowing, but lacking the sharp edge of cruelty Thor has grown to expect. “You seem terribly fond of playing my nursemaid, Thor.” Loki teases – challenges – and Thor feels his eyes narrow, his jaw tightening. “Why don’t you do it for me?”

Thor knows Loki is provoking him, he is not even subtle about it, but despite that, he is moving forward, until there is but an inch of space between their bodies, his jaw set and his shoulders tense.

It is a small challenge to pull the shirt over Loki’s head while holding on to the chain, but Thor manages it, even with the added distraction of his gaze trying to follow a stray droplet of water, sliding down Loki’s neck. Loki stands utterly still, not exactly hindering Thor’s efforts, but not trying to make this easier.

Thor glares at him, but Loki merely smiles, all sweetness and false innocence. Compared to their formal Asgardian regalia, helping Loki into this simple shirt should be a trivial task. Should, but it is not. Due to the chain, Loki’s childish spite, but mostly Thor’s own divided attention which is making his fingers clumsy and very close to tearing the fabric in his haste to end this.

It takes Thor some maneuvering – fitting Loki’s manacled hand through the shirtsleeve proves especially taxing – and a lot of teeth grinding, but, in the end, he succeeds in tugging the shirt down Loki’s hips. He straightens with a grin, turning a triumphant gaze toward Loki’s eyes, but the grin freezes on his lips when he becomes fully aware of their current position – fingers of Thor’s left hand still wrapped around Loki’s manacled one, while his right hand is splayed against Loki’s back.

Loki’s eyebrow arches, the corner of his lips quirking into a smirk. His face is so close, Thor notes with sudden startling clarity. It would not take much; only a minute tilt of his head and the next Loki’s breath would be Thor’s.

Thor blinks, his eyes drawn to the soft curve of Loki’s lips. It would be so easy. It is infinitely harder to take a step back and pick up Mjölnir, placing the manacle once again around its handle.

“There.” Thor says, his voice steady despite the ache inside his chest. “Is there anything else you require of me?”

An expression of annoyance flicks across Loki’s features. Loki masks it quickly behind a lazy, insolent grin. “Many things, Thor, but I am not quite sure it would be prudent to disclose any while in my current predicament.”

Thor shakes his head, snorting; the sharp ache inside his chest paling to a dull throb. Loki will never cease being Loki – stubborn and contrary – and Thor will never stop loving him. Even if death and shackles seem to be what allows them to establish a semblance of peace.

“Some of it might even be true.” Thor says, a note of resignation seeping into his voice.

Loki frowns, the grin slipping from his lips. “I have not always lied to you, Thor.”

“Yes, once you told me I should not trust you.”

The frown on Loki’s face deepens, his lips pressing into a tight line. “If that is true, what is the point of this?” Loki tugs at his chain, his eyes sparking with agitation. “Why hold me here instead of delivering me to Odin or your Avenger friends? Why save me?”

Thor smiles – a sad, small smile – considers brushing a stray lock of hair falling across Loki’s forehead. Decides against it. He has no great desire to see Loki flinch away from his touch.

“You have also called me a sentimental fool.” Thor answers simply, receiving stunned silence in response, Loki’s eyes widening, then narrowing in suspicion and disbelief.

The silence lasts all the way back to the bedroom, Loki deliberately trailing a step behind, Thor pretending not to feel the weight of Loki’s gaze on the back of his neck. It persists even when Loki, with a scowl on his face, settles back into bed, and Thor draws the covers over him. Thor pauses a moment, but Loki ignores him, shutting his eyes. With a sigh, Thor places Mjölnir by the bed and turns to leave.

Thor halts his steps when he reaches the door. He is not entirely certain what he wishes Loki to say. There is not much Loki could say which Thor would allow himself to believe. The contrary nature of his own actions does not escape Thor – he would save Loki, even allow him freedom, but trusting Loki has brought him nothing but shattered hope and a collection of scars.

Still, he would welcome a word; any word. Even be it an insult, or a sweet lie, but he receives none. Thor waits a moment, two, three, his breath suspended in his throat, until the silence becomes heavy and stifling.

When Thor exits the room it feels, absurdly, like defeat.

***

The look of incredulity on Loki’s face as his gaze keeps alternating between the bowl in Thor’s hands and Thor’s face would be amusing, were it not a precursor to yet another battle of wills.

“I truly hope I am mistaken and you are not attempting what I think you are.”

Thor sighs, shifting on his feet. He had re-heated the – he always forgets its name, even if it was the first meal Jane taught him to prepare – meal he made three times already, reluctant to go back to Loki.

“You need to eat, Loki.” Thor says, trying to keep his voice even. Calm.

The look of distaste on Loki’s face deepens. “I am not eating that. Whatever it is.” Loki says flatly. Then, blinking, he tilts his head, the look of disbelief drawing across his face. “Oh. I cannot- you made this?”

“You have seen me prepare food more than once, Loki.” Thor rumbles, a touch of impatience seeping into his voice. “If memory serves me, you even enjoyed eating it.”

“Roasting a hare over campfire is vastly different from” with a dismissive wave of his hand toward the bowl, Loki finishes with unmasked disgust: “…this.”

Thor exhales deeply, forcing his fingers to loosen their grip on the bowl before it shatters. “You need sustenance.” Thor repeats, slowly, but he is well aware how little impact his appeal to reason will have on Loki. “It will help you recover your strength.”

“I am not refusing to eat altogether.” Loki says, with a stubborn set of his shoulders. “I am merely refusing to eat that swill. It looks worse than what they feed horses on Asgard.”

“We are not on Asgard, and there is nothing else.” Thor snaps. Loki merely arches an eyebrow in response. Thor forces his voice to calm, his lips curving into a mirthless smile. “Think of it this way, Loki. The sooner you are well, the sooner you are to be free of the chain.”

And me, remains unsaid, but quite clear in the ensuing silence.

Loki tilts his head, his gaze turning calculating.

“So. You still claim I am not a prisoner.” Loki drawls, but the insolence and vitriol of his smile stays clear of his eyes. Thor’s eyes narrow fractionally at the unmasked suspicion in Loki’s eyes, but does not rise to the bait. Loki snorts softly, extending his free hand. “Very well, then. Give it to me.”

Thor obeys silently. Loki’s brow creases in disgust as he studies the content of the bowl. “What is this… thing called?”

“Cheese and pasta, I cannot recall the full name presently.” Thor says with a half-shrug. “I believe it is rather well-loved meal here.”

Loki takes a tentative stab at the food with his fork. Thor stifles a chuckle at the truly mortified expression on Loki’s face. “The mortals have an excuse of not knowing better, but you, Thor?

“You have been here almost as long as I.” Thor points out, amused and not a little curious. “What exactly have you been eating all this time?”

“They have restaurants here, Thor. Where they serve somewhat passable food.”

Thor almost laughs, accuses Loki of still being spoiled rotten, but he bites back the words. Asgard is a forbidden subject; Asgard and the memories they share. Even if their memory seems to differ greatly.

“Learning to cook seemed more sensible solution.”

Loki glances at him – looking annoyed and uncertain in equal measure – then, with a resigned sigh, he lifts the fork to his mouth and takes a tentative bite. He dislikes it, that much is quite clear by the grimace of distaste on his face, but he continues eating – slowly and methodically – until there is nothing left.

“You are an awful cook, Thor.” Loki announces flatly, handing the bowl back to Thor. Thor takes it without a word, managing to hold back a smile. Barely.

“I’m afraid you will have to make do with my awful skills, Loki.”

A smile flicks across Loki’s face, but it is gone in an instant; an almost challenging glint sparking in his eyes. “Fortunately, it will be only for a short time.” Loki says.

“Fortunately.” Thor repeats, his voice hollow, the lightness in his chest flickering and fading.

Placing the bowl on the nightstand, Thor settles himself into a chair where he slept the night prior, Loki’s inquiring gaze following his every move.

“You need not watch over me, we both know I am not going anywhere.” Loki’s voice is even, but there is something almost like apprehension in his eyes. “Should you not be with your mortal pets? Fighting evildoers? Instead of nursing one to health.”

Thor ignores Loki’s words, the question tumbling out of his mouth. “What happened yesterday?”

Loki’s face closes off immediately, his eyes hardening. “I made an error in judgment.” He says blankly after a moment’s hesitation. “You saved me. Now I am here.” Tilting his head to the side, Loki quirks his lips into a semblance of a smile. “You poses more information than I do, I am afraid. I have been unconscious for most of the encounter.”

Thor grits his teeth, gathers all the patience he can muster. “I seem to recall you and Amora being amiable.”

Loki snorts. “Allies by convenience, Thor, nothing else.”

“Strange allies when you cannot turn your back on them.”

“An error in judgment, as I said, Thor.”

“Not one you are prone to making.” Thor insists because this question has been burning in the back of his mind ever since it happened. “It presumes trust.”

Loki’s eyes narrow, his fingers tightening around the covers. “Or, as the case might be on this particular occasion, idiocy.” Loki says, his voice cold and harsh. “And do not think I did not notice your lack of response to my question.”

“Then we are even.” Thor retorts, his voice holding more bitterness than he intended. “Considering your response to my question.”

Loki’s throws him an annoyed glare, but stays silent. But the silence last barely a few moments.

“Your manners as a host are sorely lacking, Thor.” Loki drawls. “At this rate I am more likely to perish from sheer boredom than Amora’s wretched spell.”

“We could always continue our conversation.”

“That was interrogation, not a conversation. And, as you have claimed, repeatedly, I am not a prisoner.”

Thor swallows a sigh. “You truly ought to cease testing my patience on this, Loki.”

“So far your actions have been rather contradictory.” Loki says, his tone wry.

“What is it you wish of me?” Thor says, throwing Loki a weary glance. “I do not perform tricks. For anyone’s amusement.”

“You have spent most of your life surrounded by people, I am sure you could think of something passingly entertaining to say.”

Thor grits his teeth, trying to hold off agitation rising in his chest. “There is a vast difference between casual jest and trying to entertain you. Mostly to my expense.”

“Then is this how I am to spend my time here? However long that might last. Chained, unable to rise from a bed, while you keep gawking at me?” Loki says, voice thick with impatience and rising agitation.

It would be so easy to snap back; Thor wishes to do so, harsh words hanging precariously on the tip of his tongue. He bites them back, takes a deep, steadying breath; his gaze flicking down, to where his fingers are tightly coiled into fists. It takes him a moment, but he wills his fingers to loosen. Loki is provoking him, he knows this, but the time when Thor allowed himself to be manipulated through his volatile temper is over.

Thor exhales slowly, his eyes drifting back toward Loki’s face. Only a few years back, he might not have recognized the tension in Loki’s shoulders or the twitch of his fingers as a sign of how much effort Loki is making to keep up pretense, but Thor sees through the mask now. Sees the growing paleness of his face and the tight press of lips signaling weariness and discomfort. Loki is still far from being well, no matter how much he strives to hide it.

Trust, it seems, is lacking on both sides.

The realization calms his anger, leaving Thor with the familiar dull ache of regret and sorrow. He rises from the chair, noting the frown on Loki’s face, but he says nothing, merely strides out of the room, spurred by a sudden inspiration.

There are not many of Thor’s belongings in the cabin, Thor never saw a valid reason for hoarding personal effects here, when he came to this place rarely. He cannot even recall what prompted his decision to store his small collection of books here. All gifts, some thoughtful, some less so, but each dear to his heart.

Frowning, Thor studies the covers, his fingers hovering over the collection of Norse myths – courtesy of Stark – but he draws them back, choosing a slim book with a boyish figure with a long scarf on the front page.

Thor’s lips curl into a wistful smile. This book had been Jane’s parting gift.

“It was my favorite when I was little.” She said with a small quirk of her lips as Thor’s hand closed over her gift. ‘The Little Prince’ the title read. Thor frowned, but her smile only widened as she stood on her toes so she could kiss him on the cheek. Thor’s free hand wrapped around her waist. They stood like that one moment, before she pulled back, Thor’s fingers reluctantly unwrapping from her waist. “I hope you’ll like it too.”

The look on Loki’s face when Thor returns with the book is that of wide-eyed disbelief.

“Here.” Thor says, offering the book to Loki. “Perhaps this could shorten your hours.”

Loki slowly drags his eyes away from the book and up to Thor’s face.

“Surely you are jesting?”

“There was a time when you used to all but live in the palace library.” Thor points out, softly.

A frown creases Loki’s brow, his lips tightening minutely. “When I felt it would serve me to gain knowledge I could find there.” He says, his eyes fixed unblinkingly on Thor’s. “What you are offering appears to be something fit for a child.”

“You would claim the same were on these pages contained combined knowledge of Earth’s wisest scholars.”

“I suppose that is true.” Loki concedes with a small smile. Eyes narrowing, Loki tilts his head, studying Thor’s face with a thoughtful expression. “How did you come to be in possession of it?”

Thor hesitates only a brief moment, but it does not go unnoticed – Loki’s eyes narrow further, something almost calculating entering his gaze. “It was a gift.”

Loki arches an eyebrow, but his gaze stays unwavering on Thor’s. “From someone who obviously knows little of your tastes.”

Thor straightens his shoulders. “It was given to me in good faith.” Thor says, voice growing sharper.

“So. You have read it, then?” Loki smirks, a glint of mockery entering his eyes. “Was it enjoyable?”

“No, I haven’t.” Thor says, his voice cool. “That hardly devalues its worth.”

“Well, that is fortunate for what I have in mind.” Loki announces, the beginning of a self-satisfied smirk forming on his lips. Thor knows that smirk, knows it enough to be wary of it.

Thor shakes his head, sighs. “Must you make a battle even out of something as simple as this?”

Loki blinks, his expression that of mock surprise. “There is no battle here, Thor.” He states, settling more comfortably against the headboard, making sure the chain rattles as he does so. The sound makes Thor grit his teeth. “You seem intent on tending to me, and I have decided not to oppose you.”

Thor snorts, narrows his eyes. “Have you?” He says, not bothering to mask the sarcasm.

“Midgard has made you so suspicious, Thor.” Loki drawls in a soft voice. “I am not quite certain I like it.”

Thor chuckles, but there is no mirth in it. “Not Midgard. Life.” A small pause, then: “You.”

Something flickers behind the glint of malice in the green eyes fixed on Thor’s, but it is gone before Thor can be certain it was there. “The chain has made that quite clear. Even if it is here for my own good.”

Thor swallows a sigh, feeling a pressure build behind his temples. Leave it to Loki to drain him of his strength even while chained and recovering. “Do you want the book or not?”

“Yes, I do.” Loki says in a low voice, but makes no move to reach for the book. “But I want you to read it to me.”

For a moment Thor feels baffled, his brow creasing into a frown. But the poorly contained smugness on Loki’s face makes it quite clear that Loki expects to be denied. It almost makes Thor burst into laughter. As if after everything that has happened between them, this is where Thor would draw the line.

His lips curving upwards, Thor nods. “Very well.” He says, his voice light. He strides over to the chair, sits down, careful not to show his amusement at the way Loki tries, but not quite, succeeds in keeping his displeasure evident. “If that is your wish.”

Loki keeps his sullen silence, and it is all Thor can do not to laugh out loud.

Opening the book, Thor glances at Loki, a sudden surge of memories filling his mind – of Loki’s voice spinning tales for Thor’s amusement, of green eyes alight with warmth and excitement. So much different from the poorly masked scowl presently on Loki’s face.

Drawing his eyes away from Loki, a low ache tugging at his heartstrings, Thor starts reading.

***

It becomes their routine.

Loki takes a shower after resting, insults the meal Thor has prepared for them – but not before eating all, anyway – then he listens to Thor reading.

The story, Thor realizes soon, despite its youthful hero, is not a tale for children. It merely aims for the innocent, unspoiled part of the reader’s soul most equate with childhood.

And yet, Loki listens without complaints or venom, his face impassive when Thor steals a glance. Except once. After the Prince meets the Fox. A sound – blend of disdain and exasperation – escapes Loki’s throat. Thor pauses, lifts his gaze.

“Shall I stop?” He asks, his voice even, almost disinterested.

Loki frowns, his eyes narrowing fractionally. For a moment, Thor believes Loki will call to a halt this strange ritual they have developed. Surprisingly, he does not.

“No, do continue.” Loki says, with a casual wave of his hand. But his eyes tell a different tale. “I am actually somewhat interested how much naiveté and sentimentality can one fit in so little.”

Thor’s lips twitch, but he forces himself not to smile. Loki used to be better at masking what he wished to hide. Or, perhaps, Thor simply grew better at seeing past illusion. “On first glance, you called this book fit for a child.” Thor says, shrugging. It earns him a glare. “Are naiveté and sentimentality not required for such a tale?”

“Cease trying to be witty. It suits you ill and it bores me.”

“I was merely agreeing with you.”

Loki’s eyes narrow further. “I like the sound of your voice far better when you are using someone else’s words.”

Thor arches an eyebrow, his lips quirking minutely. “Careful, Loki. That could be almost misconstrued as a compliment.”

“Just read.” Loki commands, sounding annoyed.

Thor obliges.

Two more days pass thus. Thor is aware this peace between them rests on fragile foundation. One which ignores past and the world outside the cabin. One in which they do not really talk. And Loki is getting better and stronger by the moment. Soon it will come the time for Thor to keep his word and release Loki. Thor does not need the power of foretelling to know that, eventually, Loki will do something, as he always does, foolish or petty which will place them on opposite sides. It is a vicious circle of lies, betrayal and foolish hopes in which they seem to be trapped.

For both their sakes – and others’ as well – Thor should keep Loki in chains and end it once and for all. Thor knows this, but the knowledge does nothing to extinguish the hope stubbornly clinging to his heart that maybe there is still a chance that Loki will reconsider. And once free, will return of his own volition.

But no matter how much Thor wishes to take responsibility for Loki, to care for him, Loki is not like the Fox from the book. He does not want to be tamed.

***

“That Prince was a foolish boy.”

Thor closes the book, looks up. The last words of the tale were still lingering in the silence of the room, all the more accentuated be the lengthening evening shadows.

Thor half-shrugs, pretending not to notice a small frown of – confusion? disappointment? – on Loki’s face. “He knew where his heart dwelt. Many do not.” Then with a shadow of a smile, Thor rises from the chair. “But it is merely a tale, and you of all people know that tales affect everyone differently.”

Loki opens his mouth, the frown on his face deepening, but he says nothing – presses his lips tightly together, turns his head to the side.

Thor sighs, shakes his head. Loki is all but recovered fully, and soon – tomorrow? the day after tomorrow? – Thor would have to either go back on his word – but he will not, even if he should – or release Loki.

And after four days in each other’s company, they have barely spoken past empty, meaningless phrases.

That thought makes Thor linger, his eyes studying Loki’s profile – the sharp edge of a cheekbone and the familiar line of a jaw that Thor’s fingers had traced so many times in the past – but Loki keeps his head turned. Thor could insist, but he already knows where that particular path leads.

“Sleep well, Loki.” Thor says finally, only a hint of the resignation he feels seeping into his voice.

But he only makes two steps before he is stopped by an almost equally resigned command: “Stay.”

Slowly, Thor turns, a frown etched onto his face. “You should sleep. And I wish not to disturb you.”

“No, I should not, and you know it as well.” Loki says, impatient. “I feel well, Thor.”

“I- that is good to know.”

The silence after Thor’s rather fumbling words grows decidedly awkward, and Thor find himself feeling exposed under the scrutiny of Loki’s gaze even in the dim light of the room.

“There is no need for you to sleep elsewhere.” Loki says finally, his voice even. “This bed is large enough for us both.”

Thor’s eyes narrow in suspicion, but no matter how much he wishes to deny the stirring of hope inside his chest, he cannot.

Loki’s lips curve slightly on the edges. “Cease searching for a trick, there is none.”

Thor blinks, the memory of him saying the exact same words to Loki tugging the corners of his mouth upwards. “There is always a trick. Or a price to be paid.”

“And you have paid it already. I am alive, am I not?”

Thor’s lips press tightly together. “I have no desire to see you dead, Loki.” Thor forces the words past his lips, but only just. It is frustrating, to keep saying the same words over and over again, and have Loki deliberately ignore or twist their meaning. “And there is no payment I require for saving your life.”

“Odin’s lie is no more, Thor.” Loki says, softly, almost tenderly. There is no vitriol in his voice, but the words still hit their mark. They are speaking now, of things that matter, the reality slowly creeping inside the walls of the cabin. It is what Thor wanted, but Loki still speaks the same words he has ever since Thor’s banishment. Even if this time they are not drenched in fury and resentment. “I have wronged you, many times. And I will most likely do so again.”

“We do not share blood. That does not make centuries we spent growing up side by side a lie.” Thor states firmly, his gaze fixed steadily on Loki’s eyes. “I have called you brother as long as my memories reach in the past. And I have called you mine. It is not something easily destroyed.” Thor says. Then, with a small half-smile, he adds softly: “Although, you gave it a valiant try.”

Loki tilts his head, his lips curving into a smile. “Oh. Does that mean your intent is to tame me, Prince?”

Thor’s eyes widen, a short, startled laughter falling from his lips. “The Fox from the tale is far more amenable to the idea than you are.”

“So I am the Fox, not the Rose?” Loki asks, arching an eyebrow. “Or the Snake.”

“You are Loki.” Thor says after a moment of silence, watching as the smile on Loki’s face fades into a shadow of itself. “And you know well enough the answer to that question.”

You are all three.

Loki does not say a thing for one moment, then: “I know you were in the bed with me that first day.”

Thor blinks, swallows. He has no particular desire to either lie or explain his actions. “You were unconscious. And delirious.”

“Mostly, yes. But I did regain consciousness for a few moments. Only to find myself in your arms.” Loki says, his lips twisting into a bitter smile. “Do you wish to know how it felt?”

“Do I have a choice in the matter?” Thor asks, his voice strong despite the anxiety welling inside his throat.

“Safe.” Loki says, ignoring Thor’s words, his face drawn into a grimace of bitter resignation. “After everything, that was my first thought.”

Thor stands rooted to the spot, a thousand thoughts – hopeful and suspicious alike – swirling inside his mind. He cannot recall the last time Loki had been honest with him. Without it being a necessity. Svartalfheim comes close, but after what came afterwards, Thor cannot – will never be able to – be certain.

“You doubt my words.” Loki states, sounding amused. Even if the look in his eyes seems wrong, void of malice and cruelty, and filled with something Thor would call sadness. Were the eyes anyone else’s.

“Can you blame me? You have offered me truth freely only when it hurt.”

A short bark of laughter spills from Loki’s throat. “And you think this does not? You truly are a fool.” A pause, followed by a grimace of disdain. “But, then again, so am I.”

“I think you should rest now.” Thor says, his voice a soft whisper compared to the drumming beat of his heart. “And I should leave so that you could.”

“No, I should not. It is all I have been doing since Amora’s spell.” Loki snaps, his eyes glinting ominously in the growing darkness. Then, tilting his head to the side, Loki adds in a deceptively soft voice: “You have never before run away from me. And you aim to do so now.” Rising his manacled hand, he arches an eyebrow. There is still enough light in the room for Thor to discern the challenge in Loki’s eyes. “When I am truly helpless.”

“The day I believe you to be helpless, Loki, is the day the World Tree crumbles in on itself.”

“Why do you hesitate, then?” Loki asks, pulling the covers with his free hand. “Surely it is not fear that holds you back.”

“Perhaps I am not willing to pay the price indulging you in your whim will eventually cost me.”

Loki’s eyes narrow minutely, and Thor can see a spark of anger flicker inside their depths, but it is gone as quickly as it came, replaced by a thoughtful, almost calculating, expression. “It is your choice, of course.” Loki says, his voice light – too light for it not to be false. “But this is, as they say it here, a one-time offer.”

A laugh – bitter and fond alike – bubbles inside Thor’s chest, but stays locked inside Thor’s throat. Loki is manipulating him, and he is not even making an attempt at subtlety, but – and damn his foolish, reckless heart – Thor takes a step forward, then another. And another.

Loki watches him carefully, head tilted to one side. Thor expects to see a glimmer of triumph or a hint of a smirk when he lowers the book on the nightstand, but all he receives is silent, careful consideration.

There is still time to turn and leave, Thor knows this, but instead of turning, he lowers himself carefully down on the bed, his eyes staying on Loki’s all the time. Thor still awaits some reaction – a word, a twitch of lips, anything – but he receives none. Loki stays silent and still. Then, with a tight press of lips, Thor lies down on his side, facing Loki, and tugs the covers over himself.

Loki blinks, once, for a fleeting moment looking startled, uncertain, but he masks it quickly, his lips turning up into a smile, as he too, lies down, only a few inches of space separating their bodies.

Thor keeps his breathing even, but there is little he can do about the warmth that is starting to heat up his blood. He has not lain with anyone in a long time, and his body is starting to react to the warmth and scent of another body so close to his own. The fact it is Loki’s body makes everything better. And worse.

Thor manages not to flinch when Loki brings his arm – the manacled one – up, resting his palm against Thor’s chest.

“Take this wretched thing off.” Loki says in a soft voice, but there is no mistaking it for anything but what it is – a demand.

Thor snorts, closing his eyes for a moment. He is not angry, he cannot even claim disappointment, but the feeling of low, dull ache in the middle of his chest could not be considered as an improvement even by the foolish of all optimists.

“Tell, me, Loki.” Thor says when he opens his eyes, not trying to keep his voice void of bitterness. “Is this a trick or a price? I cannot seem to decide.”

“Neither.” Loki says flatly, without taking a pause. “It is you making good on your word.”

Thor’s eyes narrow, the muscle in his jaw twitching. “Loki.” He growls out a warning. “I am not about to allow you of all people doubt my word.”

Loki only arches an eyebrow in response. “I am well. We both know it. So either cease claiming I am free, or prove it by releasing me.”

Thor clenches his jaw, a faint echo of anger twisting around his heart. If this is a trap, then it is one of Thor’s making, because, for once, Loki’s words hold nothing but the truth.

Slowly, without taking his eyes off Loki’s face, Thor’s hand moves, his fingers curling around the manacle. He fingers hesitate only a moment. He is not even sure what stays his hand, awareness that he is, most certainly, making a mistake, or a foolish need to prolong this moment, for Thor knows Loki will be gone as soon as Thor removes the manacle. And Loki does nothing, merely waits, his face a pale, impassive mask. If it were not for the heat of the skin underneath Thor’s fingers and the soft sound of Loki’s breathing, it would not be difficult to mistake him for a lifelike statue – still, silent and ethereal in the dimming light.

Swallowing a sigh, Thor forces his fingers to finally move, to trace the well-known pattern against the smooth metal surface. Once done, Thor pulls his hand away, allowing it to rest in the small space between their bodies, careful not to touch Loki. A moment passes, then, with a soft click, the manacle slips off Loki’s wrist.

Thor’s body tenses, his eyes unable to move from Loki’s face. Thor does not expect an attack – it is a possibility, but so insignificant, he does not dwell upon it – but Loki’s departure.

A moment passes, then another, but Loki remains still, his hand, now free, still resting against Thor’s chest. Right over Thor’s heart. Loki blinks, slowly, the impassiveness of his face turning to wide-eyed wonder and relief.

Another moment passes in silence. Thor wonders can Loki feel the wild drumming of his heart, but has no will to spare to force his body to move away from Loki’s light touch. Instead, he remains still, waiting for Loki’s inevitable departure. But it does not come.

Releasing a deep breath, Loki draws near, so near their foreheads are almost touching.

“This is a relief. For future reference, I do not enjoy being chained.” He breathes the words, his mouth quirking into a small smile. Thor tenses further when he feels Loki’s fingers gliding down his chest, until they come to rest on the exposed patch of skin on Thor’s hip where his shirt has ridden up. Thor frowns, suspicion and caution warring with the more primal reaction to that soft, teasing touch. It is a game, but as to what end, Thor cannot even begin to divine. He already gave Loki what he had asked for. “For my own good or otherwise.”

Thor’s breath leaves his throat in one harsh exhale. “I tried reasoning before. It does not work on you.”

Loki makes a noncommittal noise and draws nearer, closing the distance between their bodies, his other hand tangling in Thor’s hair.

“Your magic has returned, has it not?” Thor asks after a moment, confusion and frustration making each breath a struggle.

Loki only hums something, his eyes half-closed, his fingers combing softly through Thor’s hair.

With a growl of impatience, Thor closes his fingers around Loki’s wrist, stilling his movements. “Enough.” He grits out. “I will not tolerate your mockery, Loki.”

Loki rolls his eyes, sighs, the warmth of his breath a soft caress on the skin of Thor’s cheek. “I am not mocking you, Thor.”

“Then what is this?” Thor demands, his fingers tightening around the bones of Loki’s wrist. “Payment?”

Loki’s face grows serious, his eyes narrow minutely. “I am not a whore, Thor, and besides, I owe you nothing.”

Thor swallows a growl, releases Loki’s wrist and turns on his back, squeezing his eyes shut. There is a faint voice in his mind which suggest caution, but he ignores it. He is angry, angry enough to be forsake caution – not so much at Loki, but at himself – and confused, but the worst is that, despite everything he has learned from the past, he still wishes to believe Loki is doing this not out of mockery and malice, but because it is what he wishes.

As much as Thor does.

Thor brings his forearm up, covering his eyes as he waits for the inevitable. But there is no flare of magic, no rustling of sheets to suggest movement. Nothing.

“You doubt me.” Loki’s voice is barely above a whisper, but it sounds louder in the silence of the room. “But you kept your word. That makes little sense.”

Thor does not want to look at Loki, does not want to wage another battle of words with him. Does not understand why Loki insist on this, why is he even still here, instead of far, far away.

Thor pulls his hand away, allows it to fall by his side. He opens his eyes, but does not turn for a moment, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. He feels exhausted, like after a challenging battle, his thoughts a jarring cacophony of conflicted voices inside his head.

“You know the reason, Loki.” Thor says, his voice weary. He sits up, draws his fingers through his hair, and only then he finally glances toward Loki, who, too, has pulled himself into a sitting position. “You have used it many times as an insult.”

There is a frown on Loki’s face, his expression that of frustration and confusion. He looks at Thor as this is the first time he sees him, like he is a particularly stubborn puzzle piece Loki cannot fit anywhere. Thor feels faintly pleased by that, but it is no victory. Only a different way to lose.

Loki blinks, and Thor can see change on his face, the slow shift into blank, carefully guarded mask.

“You should watch your back, Thor.” Loki announces, his voice flat. Thor blinks at the sudden change in conversation, his muscles tensing instinctively. “Amora has been busy since her banishment. She has come in possession of a knowledge which can cause a serious damage. Even to an Aesir. And she holds you responsible for her current state of homelessness.”

Thor frowns, his throat suddenly, painfully dry. He commits the information to memory, but Amora is the last person he can concentrate now, his mind focused on the implications of Loki’s warning. There is a truth hidden behind Loki’s words, truth which twists around Thor’s chest and squeezes, and squeezes until it hurts to breathe.

Loki tilts his head, his lips curved into a semblance of a smile as he regards Thor with unblinking eyes. Almost as if he intends to commit his face to memory.

“This is not a lie, Thor.” Loki says, his voice thick with something that could be bitter resignation. Or regret. “Nor was it a lie what I told you about that first night.” His lips twist into something bitter and sharp and angry. “But I wish it were.”

Thor blinks, tries to swallow. He attempts to think, to gather himself before he does something reckless and foolish, but his thoughts are blurred, and the drumming beat of his heart makes it almost impossible.

A sound shaped like Loki’s name, low and wrecked, breaks the silence, and it takes Thor by surprise when he realizes it came from his throat. Loki looks at him, and in that moment Thor does not doubt the yearning and ache he sees in his eyes. He does not doubt, because what he sees is exactly the same as the tangled mess of emotions clawing at his chest.

Thor cannot tell who makes the first move. Is it Loki, or he, possibly they both move at the same time, but it does not matter. What does matter is soft hair on Loki’s neck, tangled between Thor’s desperate fingers, the warmth of skin under the borrowed shirt that Loki still wears, and the way Loki’s mouth open under Thor’s, the bruising grip Loki’s own fingers have on Thor’s biceps.

They kiss softly, almost tenderly, despite the desperation with which they cling to each other, moaning into each other’s mouths. Thor’s head feels light, his thoughts scattered, and only sensations Thor is aware of are the warmth and scent of the body pressed against his.

Sanity returns with the feel of deft fingers busying themselves with the button and zipper of Thor’s pants. Thor pulls away, panting, his fingers wrapping around Loki’s wrist.

“No. That- stop.” Thor’s voice breaks, and he leans his forehead against Loki’s. He is already half-hard, embarrassingly, just from kissing, and despite the death grip he has on Loki’s wrist, he wants more. His entire body aches for the feel of naked skin under his fingers. But there is still a part of him which cannot trust Loki. Cannot believe there is no hidden motive or a trick behind this. He is a fool, but there are lines he would not cross. Especially not for Loki’s amusement.

“This is not payment, Thor.” Loki states, the exasperation in his voice lessened by the breathless quality of his voice. Loki tugs at Thor’s hair, not harshly, just enough to make Thor look at him. Thor does, reluctantly, slowly, his jaw clenched tightly with the strain of holding himself under control. “Nor is it a trick. I want this.”

Thor sucks in a harsh breath. Loki looks sincere, his eyes hazy and clouded by desire, his lips reddened by their kisses, his breathing shallow and uneven, almost as uneven as the heartbeat Thor can feel underneath his fingers.

Loki tilts his head to the side, his nose brushing against Thor’s. “Please.” He breathes against Thor’s lips.

And that is it. Thor’s control shatters, his fingers unwrapping from around Loki’s wrist, curling instead around the back of Loki’s neck. A wicked little smile curves on Loki’s lips as he brings his hand up to his face, his eyes holding Thor’s gaze as he licks a wet stripe across his palm.

A low groan tears from Thor’s throat, the sight going straight to Thor’s groin. Loki’s eyes twinkle mischievously in the semi-darkness of the room, like those of a particularly smug cat. Thor is fully hard now, his cock throbbing painfully in the confines of his pants, and Thor is not sure from where he is drawing strength not to tip Loki back on his back and take him.

A sigh of relief leaves Thor’s mouth when Loki finally tugs the zipper of his pants down. He buries his forehead against the crook of Loki’s neck, the fingers of his other hand leaving bruises on Loki’s waist. He shuts his eyes, a groan falling from his lips when Loki’s fingers wrap around his shaft.

Loki teases him with slow, careful strokes, eliciting a growl and a scrape of teeth against a pale neck from Thor. A chuckle – low and amused – falls from Loki’s lips, but his grip tightens, his strokes faster.

The pressure starts to build inside Thor, and he becomes aware he is not going to last long. It has been too long since he shared his bed with someone, and the knowledge these are Loki’s fingers wrapped around his flesh, Loki’s thumb brushing against the head of his cock, Loki’s skin which will have bruises in the shape of Thor’s fingers.

Thor bites on his lower lip, fighting against the orgasm building inside him. But then he feels a brush of lips against the shell of his ear.

“Stop fighting.” Loki whispers, his voice low and husky. “Come for me, Thor.”

And with a choked off moan, Thor does, spilling across Loki’s finger’s and his stomach.

The sound of Thor’s harsh breathing fills the silence of the room, the languid drowsiness settling underneath Thor’s skin, the heat and urgency of desire now dulled to a low flame instead of a raging inferno.

Slowly, reluctantly, Thor lifts his head from Loki’s neck, meeting Loki’s gaze. His breath hitches at the open, almost vulnerable look he finds there. He tightens his grip on the back of Loki’s neck and tilts his head to the side, sealing their mouths together.

When they part, Thor quirks his lips into a grin, his fingers slowly drifting down from their place on Loki’s waist, but before they can reach the waistband of Loki’s pants, Loki stops him much the same as Thor had done it only a few moments prior.

“No.” Loki says, his voice steely, but the look in his eyes stays soft, fond, invoking memories of past times; happier times.

Thor frowns, the warm and easy feeling inside his chest morphing into something cold and heavy.

As if reading Thor’s thoughts, Loki shakes his head, nips at Thor’s bottom lip. “Next time.”

Thor blinks, swallows. “Next time?” He repeats, and he does not even mind how hopeful his voice sounds.

Loki nods, smiles, drags his fingers across the outline of Thor’s mouth deliberately. “Next time.”

Thor sighs, a shadow of doubt lingering in the back of his mind, but he ignores it for the moment. Instead, he leans for a quick kiss, his thumb brushing gently across Loki’s jaw, but when he moves to get out of bed, Loki stops him.

“Stay.” He demands, stretching onto his back, the sultry tone of his voice sending a wave of warmth low in Thor’s groin, his spent cock giving an interested twitch.

“If I stay, not long from now we are both going to regret that decision.” Thor grins, glancing pointedly down at himself, then at his release smeared across Loki’s hand. “We have made quite a mess of each other.”

Loki grins, and flicks his wrist. A moment later, Thor feels a warm sensation washing over him, like a soft touch of invisible fingers, taking away all traces of what has happened only moments ago. When Thor glances down, even his pants are set to right.

Thor’s brow creases into a frown, an irrational sense of loss filling his chest. But Loki still remains here, in his bed, looking at Thor with hooded eyes and a lazy half-smile. Even if he wanted to, Thor would not have been able to resist the clear invitation.

Thor lies down on his side, and it takes Loki but a moment to curl around Thor, his hands settling against Thor’s chest, Loki’s soft sigh of content muffled by the fabric of Thor’s shirt. Thor pulls the covers over them, his hand wrapping around Loki’s waist, instinctively trying to draw him near, even if there is no space between their bodies.

Thor releases a deep breath, brushes his lips against Loki’s temple, fighting against the drowsiness spreading through his body and tugging at his eyelids. There are so many questions which still remain unanswered, swirling inside Thor’s mind, demanding attention, but beneath all of that, there is a far simpler reason for Thor’s reluctance to shut his eyes and drift into slumber.

“Stop thinking so loudly and go to sleep, Thor.” Loki grumbles against Thor’s chest, the lazy drag of his fingers above Thor’s heart stopping for a moment.

“I am not tired.”

Loki lifts his head, arching an eyebrow. He tilts his head just so, his lips brushing against Thor’s. “Liar.” He states softly, then he nestles his head underneath Thor’s jaw. “I will be here when you wake up.”

Thor’s eyes drift shut for a moment, his mouth pressing into a tight line. He does not call Loki a liar, not out loud, he mouths the word against the crown of Loki’s head. Then he tightens his grip around Loki and shuts his eyes.

The last thing he recalls before sleep overtakes him is the soft press of lips against his jaw.

***

Thor wakes alone.

He wakes slowly, his thoughts still caught between sleep and waking, a lazy smile stretching his lips when he moves his hand, somehow certain there should be warmth of another body beside his own.

There is not.

His breath leaves his mouth in one long exhale, the languid, warm feeling with which he woke turning to a low ache of disappointment and hurt. Thor lifts his hand, presses his forearm against his eyes. He knew he will wake to an empty bed, he knew it before he fell asleep, but still he hoped.

Thor waits a moment, and then another, but regret stays absent from the heavy tangle of emotions nestled in the hollow of his chest. With a heavy sigh, he lifts his hand and opens his eyes. For a moment he merely lies there, staring at the ceiling. He does not know when Loki left, but the other side of the bed still feels warm, Loki’s scent lingering on the pillow and the sheets, his absence making this place seem bigger and colder.

Taking a long breath, Thor swings his legs on the side of the bed, frowning when his feet come in contact with something cold and hard. He glances down, his heart clenching a little when he recognizes the object – the manacles.

With a sigh, Thor leans down, but stops before his fingers can close around the enchanted metal, his eyes catching sight of a folded piece of paper, resting on the nightstand. On the exact place where he left the book yesterday. Book which is no longer there.

Slowly, his heart speeding its rhythm, Thor rises from the bed. He eyes the note for a moment, unsure whether the hope stirring in the pit of his belly deems him a fool or a glutton for punishment.

Thor picks up the note, unfolds it gently, recognizes Loki’s sharp, winding penmanship.

Thor,

Heed my warning about Amora. I was not lying about that, but I was lying about something else. I do owe you. Many things. And, next time we meet, we shall begin with a decent meal.

L.

Thor looks at the familiar writing, the letters blurring before his eyes, as something, an emotion – warm and light – builds and builds inside him, until he is certain his chest will shatter from the force of it, his laughter loud and startling in the silence of the cabin.