
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/2556392.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Marvel_Cinematic_Universe, Thor_(Movies), The_Avengers_(Marvel_Movies)
  Relationship:
      Loki/Thor_(Marvel), Thor/Others, Loki/others
  Character:
      Thor, Loki, Odin, Frigga, Tony_Stark, Steve_Rogers, Phil_Coulson, OMCs,
      OFCs, i'll_keep_adding_them_as_they_appear, Jane_Foster, Maria_Hill, Nick
      Fury, Algrim, Malekith, Sif, Sigyn, Bruce_Banner, Sam_Wilson, Peggy
      Carter, James_"Bucky"_Barnes, Clint_Barton, Natasha_Romanov, Erik
      Lensherr, Heimdall, Fandral, Volstagg, Hogun, Pepper_Potts
  Additional Tags:
      Sibling_Incest, Alternate_Universe_-_Human, This_is_the_one_where_they
      are_ACTORS, a_love_greater_than_the_fucking_sea_(and_a_lust_to_match),
      Canonical_Character_Death, Loki_does_ballet_deal_with_it, bullying_
      (past), Flashbacks, Mental_Health_Issues, Substance_Abuse, Prostitution,
      Suicidal_Thoughts, Suicide_Attempts, Angst._A_lot_of_angst., yes_it
      starts_dark_but_it_gets_better, happy_ending_i_swear, GOOD_FLUFFY_SMUTTY
      THORKI_HAPPINESS_COMES_TO_THOSE_WHO_put_up_with_me_a_liiiittle_bit
      longer, Hurt/Comfort_(behold_that_tag!_I_was_waiting_for_that_tag!), a
      hint_of_Ironfrost, a_dash_of_Winterfrost, Thor_and_his_ladies, Lots_and
      lots_of_movie_references, Loki_is_a_brilliant_crooner, The_Rocky_Horror
      Show, M.Butterfly, Master_&_Commander_-_Freeform, Blood_Meridian, Edward
      Scissorhands_-_Freeform
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-11-02 Completed: 2017-02-03 Chapters: 38/38 Words: 327476
****** Dog inside the heart ******
by thebookhunter
Summary
     Thor and Loki are the children of a dynasty of great actors. Their
     mother Frigga is a grande dame of the stage and muse of the finest
     European movie directors, their father Odin is going down in history
     as the Lawrence Olivier of his time.
     Thor and Loki are following on their steps, with everything to prove,
     to themselves and to the world.
     But as they become dragged under the public eye, so does their past,
     full of secrets and lies.
     There are things that not even Thor can protect Loki from.
Notes
     In this story, Thor and Loki have been in love all their lives, and
     they become lovers in their teens. Utterly and enthusiastically
     consensual, but still underage.
See the end of the work for more notes
***** Chapter 1 *****
Chapter Summary
     Revelations, Book 1.
Chapter Notes
     This chapter has been re-written from scratch. It was bugging me.
     There were little things that didn't feel right, now that I know
     these kids better. There are no changes really, just their inner
     voices are more on-point. This may happen in other chapters...
     (squinty eyes at garden scene in ch 2) Ok back to work.
 
(The past)
 
 
Loki was late. Later than usual. Thor never rushed to get showered and changed
after his work out session at the gym, because he knew he was going to have to
wait, but this was a fucking piss-take.
Huffing and puffing, he went back into the sports centre, headed for the kids’
changing room —where he technically had not been allowed for more than a year
now, since his fourteenth birthday. Loki was not there, but that kid Thor knew
from Loki’s class was. (What was his name again?) 
“Well, look who’s here,” said the kid, batting his eyelids, as he picked up his
gear and stuffed it into a duffle bag. 
Loki’s classmates knew his big brother well by now. Thor might look like
any other bully, but he wasn’t one. And this kid was always flirting with him,
safe in the knowledge that it wouldn’t get him a beating.
“Hey, have you seen Loki?” asked Thor.
“Mr. Fouché dared criticise his attitude dèrriereand he’s probably still in the
ballet hall, practicing.”
Thor rolled his eyes. That sounded like Loki, alright.
“Thanks.”
“Anything else I can do for you?” said the kid, cocking his hip.
With a little grin to himself, Thor wondered what the kid would do if Thor said
actually, there is. Run for the hills screaming, right? He couldn't be more
than what, thirteen? Fourteen? He was bluffing.
So Thor shook his head in dismay and sighed. And when he walked out, he made
sure the door was well shut behind him. 
 
 
He grumbled to himself all the way down the corridor towards the ballet hall,
thinking about the moan he would be having later about this to his mum.
“He’s old enough to go by himself,”he would tell her.
“But darling, doesn’t it make sense that, since you’re both at the same sports
centre, you take the bus home together?” she would reply, if Loki was within
earshot. 
If he wasn’t, she would ruffle Thor’s hair and whisper, “He’s only thirteen. I
don’t want him running around town on his own.”
Yeah, god knows what kind of trouble Loki would get himself into if he was ever
unleashed without supervision upon the London streets. For such a quiet,
reserved kid, he could really cause a lot of mischief. He was way too pretty
for his own good, and too clever and well-spoken, and had a way about him, full
of arrogance and contempt, as if everyone was beneath him, which was a bully
magnet the size of bloody Warwickshire. And no matter how often he was advised
to “just ignore them”, Loki’s preferred method of dealing with his bullies was
to humiliate them with carefully aimed, pointed jabs; if he was feeling
particularly Loki that day, he would also flirt at them. And, oh, he had a
mouth on him, his baby brother, and some razor-sharp wits, and a way with
words. Good job he was a fast runner. Even so, when bored and unsupervised for
too long, Loki could quickly become a full-time job, and full-on headache, for
his big brother.
And so, big brother had to sit around the front stairs of the sports centre
every bloody Thursday afternoon, and wait on his arse for his royal highness to
finish drying his fucking hair. As if Thor didn’t have homework to do and World
of Warcraft to catch up on before dinner. 
He pushed in the door to the ballet hall, mirrors wall to wall, the incongruous
grand piano in the corner, with every intention of having it all out on his
brother. 
And there Loki was, indeed, doing the whatever it was the kid in the changing
room had said, standing on his toes on a straight leg, while lifting the other
one behind him, higher than his head, his back arched, arms decoratively held
front and side, hands tense, his face serious, raven black hair slicked back,
his long neck showing every relief. Thor froze and stared.
Loki took his sweet time before he even acknowledged Thor’s presence. When he
did, it was with his back to Thor, casting a glance through the mirror that
caught Thor ogling his long, beautifully shaped legs and his tight,
motherfucking perfect arse under that lick of paint they called ballet
leggings, which left nothing to the imagination. 
Loki put his leg down and turned; Thor's eyes flickered up, down, and away,
with a fluster. (Yes, fuck, couldn’t he be curious? They used to have baths
together and everything but not for, like, ages, and Loki had grown since then,
ok? And you could fucking see everything through those ridiculous lycra pants.
How the fuck did anyone get anything done in that class?)
Loki walked over, silent and graceful. Thor leveled him with a glower.
“Half an hour late, Loki,” he grunted.
“I’m finished now,” Loki said, in a purr. 
“If you do this again, I’m fucking leaving without you,” said Thor.
“Fair enough. I’ll enjoy hearing you tell mum,” countered Loki, a towel around
his shoulders. “I’m going for a shower. Why don’t you wait in the changing
room? It will be empty now. And it's warmer.”
Thor stared into Loki’s sweet green eyes. There was no malice there, at first
glance. But with Loki, Thor knew better. And of course, Thor blinked first.
Loki was a bloody basilisk.
Thor's eyes kept dipping to his brother's crotch out of their own bloody
accord. He should really wait outside.
 
 
Loki strutted out of the shower with a towel around his slender hips. Thor
pretended to be checking his phone.
Of course, he wasn’t really, and when Loki turned his back to him, that’s when
Thor spotted it. 
“What the fuck is that, Loki?” he said, rushing to his baby brother.
“What do you think?” grumbled Loki.
“Someone hit you?”
“I ran into a wall." He sounded bored.
“Who was it?” said Thor.
“The usual suspects, Thor." 
And he was irritated. At him. How fucking dare he...?
Loki shrugged off his brother's hand and dropped the towel to put his clothes
on. Thor looked away, with the quick flash of Loki’s muscular, pale, smooth
arse burned in his retinas.
The usual suspects. Someone at the rugby team. Or everybody at the rugby team.
Shit.
“Was it at school?” said Thor, teeth gritted in anger.
“Why does it matter?”
“Because you have to report it! Mum and dad will have their heads on a pike
if…!”
“Do not tell them, Thor!” cut Loki, with a shriek of panic. When he spoke next,
he was calmer. “It will only make it worse. It was my fault, alright? I should
just ignore them. Blame my big mouth.”
And for a horrible second, Thor did.
“I’m taking care of this,” he said, clenching his fists.
Loki raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. He combed his wet hair back and
put on a black knitted cap. It was chilly out there. 
“It’s nothing. Seriously,” said Loki, slinging the backpack on one shoulder. “I
don’t care. They’re scum. Ignorant jerks.”
“Ignorant jerks twice your fucking size, Loki,” countered Thor, sizzling with
wrath. “I’m not going to let them get away with it.”
“And what are you going to do, then?” said Loki sweetly, poison underneath.
“Beat the shit out of them and fuck up your place in the rugby team? Over
this?”
Thor opened his mouth to protest, then it hit. Damn. He never thought far
enough ahead, did he?
His brother stared with coldness, eyed him head to toe, full of contempt. Then
he turned his back and walked out. He had not looked very disappointed. He had
not expected any different.
 
On the way home, they both had their earbuds on and walked without touching or
talking, like strangers. Except when they were about to cross Edgware Road; a
black cab turned up out of nowhere, and Thor stopped suddenly, a protective
hand in front of Loki.
“I’m not fucking blind,” snapped Loki. “I wasn’t going to cross.”
It was the way he looked at him.
“Well, fuck you then,” snapped Thor.
“Fuck you." 
They walked the rest of the way ignoring each other.
 
When they got to the house, there was a unison “fine” to their mum’s “How was
your day?”, as they both made for their rooms and slammed their doors.
 
The next week, Thor got home after rugby practice with a black eye, a split
lip, bruised, bloody knuckles, and a letter of suspension from the school for
two months. Dad shouted at him for half an hour and grounded him until further
notice. 
Dinner was tense that evening. But every now and then, Thor caught his baby
brother looking at him as if he was made of pure, shining light. 
 
That night, Loki slipped into his bed. He had not done that in years. He
burrowed into the arch of his big brother’s body, and Thor held him tight. They
didn’t say a word. There was lots to say, but neither had the guts.
Didn't matter. He had him now. It was all right. 
 
                                 ____________
                                        
 
(The present)
 
The moment the door of the limo opened, the circus started. Thor stepped out
and he was met with an explosion of shouting, screaming and whooping, a
lightning storm of flashes, his name called out from every direction, everybody
trying to tear a piece of him. Half blinded, he waved and smiled at the beast,
a crowd amassed behind the security fences, holding up signs and photos for the
stars to autograph. The noise was deafening, the buzz electrifying. Would he
ever get used to it? Did he want to?
Amora's legs appeared from the car, and for a while they kept on appearing,
they were that long. Thor gentlemanly helped her out and up, the girl virtually
disabled by those vertigo-inducing heels she favoured. Amora shook her head and
her blond, wavy hair cascaded down her back. She clasped a possessive hand
around the crook of Thor’s elbow and flashed him a grin. The photographers went
nuclear. She was very beautiful, not cultured but not dumb, an OK fuck, and
liked to laugh. They had been together for four months. The journalists had
started to ask if they were getting serious. Thor could hardly answer that he
was already looking for his next.
Through the white dots in his retinas, he spied Loki climbing down out of the
other side of the limo, unfolding to his full height and tugging at his suit to
tidy it up, before making his way around and coming to a stop a couple of steps
away from where Thor and Amora were posing for the photographers.
The publicist nudged Thor along, and he turned to his brother, to see if he was
following. Loki flickered his green eyes to him, piercing and sharp, and
winked. He cut quite a figure, strolling down the red carpet, hands in his
pockets, as if he was having a walk in the park, without a care in the world.
Such a fine actor he was. Loki hated these things. Terrified him. But nobody,
and he meant nobody, would thank Thor for it if he tried to lend a hand
somehow, so he turned his mind to the task at hand.
It came so easy. He inhabited this world like a second skin. His smile was made
to dazzle the cameras, his swag to burn red carpets with a 6-feet-tall model by
his side. So on he went, lead by Coulson’s nudges and whispers, on to charm the
interviewers, sign across countless images of himself, pose for dozens of
selfies that would be on Twitter within the minute, and almost, almost managed
to shut down his father’s voice in his head, with that sarcastic lilt, “of
course, son, you must do whatever makes you happy.”
 
“What are you wearing, Amora? Amora!” shouted the photographers. She disengaged
to pose on her own in front of a white board covered in luxury brand logos. 
“Thor! Thor!” One of the reporters stationed along the fence was waving at him,
his camera turning to aim at Thor, like one of those machine-gun posts in a
World War 2 movie.
“MTV” whispered Coulson in his ear, as he lead him towards the reporter.
“Michael.”
“We’re here with Thor Odinson, hot rising star of The Vikings,” introduced
Michael, bubbly, full of enthusiasm, mouth full of teeth. "You’re up for Best
Hero, how lucky are you feeling tonight?”
Thor gave him his stock answer about the tough competition and the honour that
blah blah blah blah, lines he knew by heart and would probably be able to
repeat verbatim in fifty years time. Of course, he always managed to make it
sound as if these words had never been spoken before, because that was what he
excelled at. Appearing spontaneous and fresh even after a dozen takes was Chez
Odinson's specialty, so he was able to breeze through the interview without a
glitch. He came across as enthusiastic, self-assured, and appropriately humble,
and didn't fail to drop in a few jokes and a few names. A consummate
professional already.
“You’re here with your brother Loki,” said the interviewer, taking Thor by
surprise. Now, that was a new line in the repertoire. “Loki, please! Can we
talk to you?”
Loki turned graciously on his toes and walked over, with the elegant
weightlessness of his many years of ballet. His hands were still in his
pockets, his stance nonchalant, his naturally aristocratic posture relaxed into
something a bit more informal, a bit more ‘Hollywood.’ It was an act, of
course, designed to help him blend in, after all those run-ins at school had
finally taught him that it was hard, and a hell of a lot of a bother, to live
in this world without filtering and subduing somewhat his princely ways. 
“Loki, you’ve just finished your run in England playing Hamlet. You’ve received
rave reviews, and you’re up for an Odin Borson European Theatrical Award. It
must be strange to be nominated for an award that bears your father’s name. How
do you feel about that?”
Loki's big green eyes looked perfectly innocent when he deadpanned, 
“Incestuous.”
Thor's stomach dropped to his knees. As for MTV Michael, he was white. Could
you even say that on TV? His expression was so ridiculous, if Thor wasn’t
feeling an ominous ball of lead in his stomach, he might have laughed. As for
Loki, he was was evidently enjoying too much tormenting the poor guy, or he'd
be laughing himself.
Coulson just cleared his throat —the man was unflappable— and he subtly tapped
his watch. MTV Michael finally snapped out of it. 
“So, Loki, you have your own movie coming in Spring. Are you excited? How was
it to work with Tim Burton?”
“Which question would you like me to answer first?” said Loki, politely,
exquisitely offensive. “It was a delight,” he cut with a honeyed tone, just
when the reporter was getting his voice back, “and I am very excited.”
The interviewer had lost his bearings. Thor saw the camera guy looking away
from the eyepiece with a raised eyebrow. MTV Michael scrambled for something to
fill the silence.
“You’ve said before that you prefer to work in the theatre, but is this the
beginning of a big Hollywood adventure? Are you going to be up for Best Hero
next year?”
“God forbid,” smiled Loki. “Best Villain, maybe.”
Used to longer answers, with lots of waffling, MTV Michael gaped like an idiot.
“You guys come from a family of great actors,” he said, this time addressing
Thor. Much safer. “Your mother was a great muse of European cinema in the
seventies, has won two Oscars for her acting, and has been the queen of the
London stage for thirty years. Your father directed the Royal Shakespeare
Company for two decades, has received Oscars for acting and directing, has run
national company theatres in Russia, Norway and Sweden, and is still one of the
most respected figures in the industry today. How do you cope with the pressure
of expectations when it comes to your own career?”
Thor stepped in before Loki could say something outrageous.
“We try to make our own way. We’re very proud of our parents, and we’re lucky
and grateful to have grown up in a very creative environment. They have always
been sincere and open about both the ups and downs of the profession, and they
have always been supportive of us. We’ve always been told that the only people
we have something to prove to is ourselves.”
Good answer, thought Thor to himself. He saw Loki turn his face away and do a
quick, minute eye-roll the camera hopefully did not catch.
There were a couple more questions about Thor’s co-stars, about the other
nominees, and then they let them go. Thor would need to stop and repeat a
slightly different variation of the same babble to a dozen more interviewers
before he even made it through the door, but with some luck, Loki would find
his way inside the building without further interruptions.
Because Thor was well on his way to the A-list now —and if he won tonight, he
was as good as in—, but Loki was still lurking in the shadows on this side of
the Atlantic. The buzz around him was not inconsiderable within the industry
—his Hamlet was really that special—, but at the moment he was a name only
familiar to the initiated, so to speak, while the public at large still didn’t
know who he was. 
Thor feared the day when Loki would have to run this treadmill of inane
interviews and autographs. If tonight was an indication of his future attitude,
Thor had every reason to be concerned. While Loki could be charming and
perfectly diplomatic if he put his mind to it, he was not generous with his
time, and he had a very limited tolerance for shallowness and stupidity. And
there was just so much of it in this business. And big bro wouldn’t always be
there to rescue the poor interviewers from Loki’s playful paws, and he
certainly would not be able to be there to ease their hurt prides and protect
Loki from their petty revenges. The whole thing was a disaster waiting to
happen, thought Thor with a shudder.
As he walked into the hall, he caught up with his brother and grabbed his
forearm, a fake smile for the cameras plastered over his face.
“Incestuous?” he hissed through his teeth, for Loki’s ears only.
Loki smirked, mischievous.
“Just a bit of fun.”
 
                                       *
 
Once inside the hall, a throng of adorers and well-wishers crowded around Thor
and the other men of the minute. Thor patted backs with Steve Rogers, the only
other real contender for the Best Hero award, according to the bookies, and
crushed Tony Stark, the big star producer, in his signature bear hug. After
that, Thor doled some more greetings, hand-shakes, kisses, one-arm hugs and
hearty back pats, warm and charming and charismatic.
Loki observed from a distance the expressions of the lucky mortals who had
succeeded in securing the attention of his god-like brother for an instant,
their faces brightening up, infused with elation and pride and a kind of
nirvanic contentment that Loki could relate to, easily and painfully. He kept
his eye on them after Thor moved on to the next person, and he recognised that
expression too —a soft resignation, gratitude tinged with sadness, and always,
always, that glimmer of hope that, at any time now, Thor would look at them
again, single them out again, and smile for them alone, and they would be, for
another second or two, the envy of the world.
If Loki wasn’t so happily married to his own misery, he’d spare a thought for
those poor devils. But he had enough with his own burden. Loki had had a whole
lifetime of what they were to endure for one evening. They could suck it up.
He knew, on a purely intellectual level, that there was no-one dearer than him
in Thor’s heart. But Thor loved so many, and Loki so few, and so very much. The
imbalance was soul-wrenching. It crushed him, it angered him, it terrified him.
Loki’s struggle to make his own way in the world was about more than just
succeeding as an actor and stepping out of his family’s long shadow. He had
made his resolve some time ago to cut Thor out of his life completely, fearing
that, if he didn’t, he would waste his days just waiting for Thor to spare him
a thought. He knew he didn’t have it within himself to bounce back indefinitely
from the feeling of emptiness and loss whenever Thor pushed him away and moved
on from him.
He knew well that it would not be any warmer out of Thor’s shadow but, lonesome
and cold as it was, at least this new path would be Loki’s own. He would
treasure it. After all, he had never really believed he would grow up to live a
happy life, and had settled long ago for a busy one.
He watched his brother tend to his court, girlfriend of the week on his arm,
dazzling, electric, magnificent. He schooled his face to remain blank over the
seething anger, the jealousy, the longing.
 
 
                                       *
 
 
A girl with an earpiece approached Thor in his seat during the ad break, to
warn him that he had twenty-five minutes before he was up for presenting, and
would he kindly make his way backstage to get ready.
Thor kissed Amora and followed the girl, noticing only then that Loki’s seat,
in the row behind theirs, was empty. He had not even heard him leaving. Where
the hell was he?
He had the drill explained to him once again, and then he was told he had time
for a breather. He bumped into Tony, who had just presented an award himself. 
“Hey, I’ve just seen Loki out there,” he said to him.
Thor made it to the outside by an emergency door and into an alley, flanked
with fire exits and dotted with the flicker of half a dozen solitary
cigarettes. Where was he. 
He tugged at the neck of his tux. It was suffocating him.
“Nervous, brother?” rumbled Loki’s voice behind his back.
Thor smirked and turned to the voice. Loki was under the fire stairs, having a
fag, his eyes glinting in the dim light.
“Have you ever known me to be nervous?” laughed Thor, slipping easily into
their usual banter. 
“Whenever you have to read in public,” said Loki, puffing smoke. “There’s
nominees from Poland and from New Zealand. Did you know the Polish have accents
on their consonants? Good luck with that.”
Thor threw him a dark look, but he wasn’t angry. And he was nervous, but not
over any complicated surnames.
“Do you think he’s watching?”
“Of course they are watching, Thor,” said Loki, with a little grin of
endearment. “They wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Thor closed his fists because his hands were trembling. The thought of their
parents watching the award ceremony, that three-ringed circus their eldest son
was riding and courting, that was more terrifying than any number of accents on
the surnames he'd have to read out for the world to see and the internet to
immortalize.
“He’s proud of you,” said Loki, a puff of smoke. “You’re his golden son and
you’re going to storm Hollywood at twenty-one. He just doesn’t like to make it
too easy for you. You know dad.” His cheeks hollowed around the filter of the
cigarette. 
“He’s proud of you too,” said Thor, looking away. “How could he not be. You
were awesome in Stratford.”
Loki smiled without mirth, and said nothing.
“And this… It will be you next, you will see,” insisted Thor.
Loki still had nothing to say. He smiled sweetly, and gave his brother a quick
once-over.
“Nice suit,” he said.
The change of subjects was not lost on Thor, but he played along. 
“You don’t want to start this again, do you, Plastic Tie?” Loki had already
commented today on his choice of outfit (hey, it's not red, it's dark rust,
alright? And very fucking classy and distinctive, if you asked Thor).
“It’s patent leather,” said Loki. “And I'm being sincere.”
“You're incapable of sincerity," laughed Thor.
“Am I." Loki smoked quietly for a moment. Then the smile, and the mischief too,
melted from his face. He stared at Thor intently, as if he meant every word he
was going to say. "I’ve looked forward to this day as long as you have. You’re
my brother, and my friend. Sometimes I’m envious, but never doubt that I love
you.”
Thor stared back at him. The intensity of the moment had taken him by surprise.
He found himself searching Loki’s expression for hints of mockery or irony.
There wasn't any. Well, that was... Well. Feeling it, he hooked a hand around
his brother’s neck.
“Thank you."
“Now give us a kiss,” said Loki.
Thor tensed up. He interrogated Loki's expression again. It revealed
nothing. His tone was light, nothing but a joke, but with Loki, one never
knew. 
They had never talked about it. Nobody had ever said "it's over." And Thor had
no idea what Loki was getting at right now. So he did what he always did -
pretend he hadn't noticed a thing.
“Stop it,” he said, wagging a finger playfully.  
He did not miss the cold, dark metal flashing in his brother's eye.
“They’re waiting for you,” said Loki.
“Aren’t you coming in?”
“I have seen you present awards before, thanks. And you really don’t want me
anywhere near a camera when you start to grapple your way with the Polish
surnames. Not even I am that good an actor.”
His tone was bright, but his eyes were dull. Thor feared that look.
“But you’ll be in soon, right?” he asked, anxious. “I mean… you’re not going to
run away on me, are you?”
“Of course not,” said Loki, still brightly. “I’ll be there to see you win.”
Thor beamed, with full force this time. He moved to hug his brother.
“Go on,” urged Loki, flinching away from him, avoiding his eyes. “Go.”
 
                                       *
 
Loki watched him go back inside, and lit up a fag with the butt of the previous
one. He checked his hand, how badly it shook. He cursed between his teeth.
He should not have come tonight. Avoid triggering situations, his therapists
always said. Well, Loki could think of very few situations more triggering than
this one he found himself in right now. Thor had been a selfish bastard for
asking him, but Loki had been a downright imbecile for accepting. It would mean
so much to me, Thor had said. Oh, the bastard. He wore his stupid heart in his
fucking sleeve, which was a virtue, surely, but translated into never fucking
thinking, never fucking stopping to consider what came out of his big dumb
mouth. It would mean so much to you, brother? What about what it would mean to
me?
Ah, his oblivious, unwittingly cruel brother, marching down glory lane and
trampling and crushing everything and everyone in his path, while receiving
only praise and adoration in return. How must it feel to be him?
It would mean so much to me...How bloody dare he. Oh, it meant a hell of a lot
to Loki too, though apparently, not the same thing. It's not like Loki
suspected that Thor had forgotten the last time they had attended an award
ceremony together. Oh no, it was vastly, vastly worse than that. Of courseThor
remembered, he just did not fucking care, did he? He was over it, thought Loki
bitterly, tasting bile. On Thor sailed, ravishing and radiant, and didn't even
notice that Loki was staying behind, retreating more and more into the
distance. Oh, Thor had not had time for this, for Loki, for years now.
But Thor was not Loki’s only contentious issue tonight. That interviewer had
not been the first, and would not be the last tonight, to mention the Odin
Borson Award. 
“I can’t believe an award in my name will be going to a bloody teenage Hamlet,”
he had heard his father grumble in the background, while Loki was on the phone
to his mum. Dad had wanted it to sound like a tease, but it fucking wasn’t.
Loki was not an idiot. And nobody had laughed.
Furious tears were swelling up again. He tried to push them down with a long
drag. The tears receded, but the darkness didn't go anywhere. It was a special
kind of darkness, Loki had met it before. He could feel his thoughts becoming
darker and more obsessive by the day, spiralling ever downwards, anxiety
gnawing at him relentlessly, taking one rodent-sized bite off his sanity at a
time. He should not have dropped his meds, right? 
Loki wasn’t an idiot, if he may say so himself. He knew not to screw around
with his meds. But he had managed to make himself believe that, since he was
now a prosperous young man on his way up, with exciting professional prospects
and growing recognition for his many artistic talents, he would have enough
good in his life to fend off the black thoughts all by his little old self,
without the chemical crutches. He did not want to be a lifer.
And for a few months, he had not missed his pills. He had fought, he had kept
busy, and he thought he was staying strong. No, Loki was not stupid, but he had
been on the things for five years, and he had wanted to try and make do
without, so sue him. He had wanted so badly just to be normal.
Well, he sure as fuck wasn’t feeling normal now.
He chain-smoked another two fags, and tried a few breathing exercises he had
learned in therapy, as he psyched himself up. No, you can’t stay out here and
you can’t run away and hide under a rock. How would you explain it to Thor?
You've come all this way. You can do this. Don’t think. Just walk. One foot in
front of the other, chop-chop. That’s it, Loki-boy, you’re not a complete and
utterly useless mess just yet, not just yet. Atta boy. (Oh, he could talk
himself into whatever he had to. He had been told he ought to be kinder,
though. I don't work like that, he had said.)
 
                                        
 
Thor had thanked his mum and dad, the people who had voted for him, and his
brother. 
“For always being there for me. I love you, man."
Loki had smiled and nodded, as he was supposed to, but inside he was fuming. Is
that all?, that voice had hissed inside him. He should have not bothered at
all. He could have fucking saved it.
It would not shut up. Loki recognised that voice for what it was, and feared
it. The sign that he needed to get back to his meds, is what it was, and very
fucking quickly.
 
 
                                       *
 
 
The party at Chez Stark’s was in full swing, and Thor should probably mind his
drinking, but he was fucking celebrating, goddammit! He was in! King of the
world! He intended to get massively pissed tonight, laugh, fuck, and make
merry. He could regret his life and his choices tomorrow.
Loki had only just left.
“Oh, come on, brother!” Thor had said, words slurring. “Hasn’t Coulson told you
that you need to work on building up your contacts?”
“I’m tired and I want to stop seeing people,” Loki had replied, sounding
irritated. “Any contacts I make tonight would not be helping my career. Or
yours, for that matter.”
Thor had been more disappointed than he cared to show. It showed anyway. He was
on his fifth glass of champagne after all.
“I was looking forwards to spending some time with you, brother,” he said, his
tongue loose. “All these months, me here, you in England… I miss you.”
That dark, cold metal glinted in Loki's eyes again.
“You’re a slobber when you’re drunk,” he said, cutting. “I’ll see you at mum
and dad’s next week.”
Thor had watched him leave, graceful and slender, his posture slowly
straightening up from his artificial Hollywood slump to his true, proud
aristocratic self. He was a prince among commoners, beautiful like some gems
and some animals are beautiful, sharp as a razor blade. He saluted him.
Then he sighed, resigned, and let him go. 
 
 
“Hey, Thor, Variety is out” shouted that mousy little guy who fancied himself
his new best friend tonight (Thor could not for the life of him remember the
guy’s name.) He was waving his smartphone at him. Thor took it. “You’re on the
cover! Had you seen it yet?”
Thor squinted to try and read the small print. They had done an in-depth
article on him, and had requested some family photos. He smiled at the old
pictures. Mum, so young, as Ginny in Camelot, in man’s clothes in Victor or
Victoria, on set with François Truffaut and with Ken Loach, and more recently,
in a still from her latest movie with Kenneth Brannagh. There was dad, majestic
as Hamlet in the Sixties, directing his celebrated Death of a Salesman, lifting
his three Oscars —best actor, best director, best movie for his adaptation of
Henry V. And ruddy-cheeked Thor at twelve as Jem in a theatrical version of To
Kill a Mockingbird,and as a teenage heartthrob in a Channel 4 soap (yes, so
what? Where did people think the fan base that had landed him this award
tonight came from?). Then in his more serious parts for the BBC, and a few
recent stills from his three Hollywood movies (the third one still unreleased.)
And look at that, Loki in Hamlet —those huge, crazy, bottomless eyes of his,
that had scared the shit out of his brother, both times he had attended a
performance. And Loki and him, at nine and eleven, in The Secret Garden. The
only time they had worked together, apart from their amateur shenanigans around
the house. Their first kiss.
Over his shoulder, the guy said, “I didn’t know Loki was adopted.”
Thor tensed, and turned slowly, very slowly, to face him.
“Excuse me?”
The guy shrunk.
“He isn’t?” he said, voice weak, sensing he had screwed up with a man who was
one foot taller, and forty pounds of pure muscle heavier than him. “It says
here…” 
He scrolled frantically, and showed Thor the phone.
Thor snatched it. There it was. In a fucking caption. “Upon returning from
Moscow with his adopted brother Loki…”
What the fuck was that. He was used to crazy shit being printed about him, but
not about…
My god. Loki.
Thor stood up so vigorously he toppled the chair, and dashed out, leaving it
there. He had to dodge, nudge and push to get through the crowd. He could only
hope that they would have got in Loki's way too. If he was lucky, he could
still catch him.
 
The front yard of Stark Mansion was full of black limos, all looking the bloody
same. How to tell them apart.
There. A slim figure standing by the car, pale face turned towards him.
“Loki!” he shouted.
Loki stood there, his expression difficult to make out in the dim clarity of
the yellow lamplights. 
Had Loki seen the article? Had he read it? Had somebody stopped him while he
was making his way through the crowd, had they showed him the screen, had
anyone poked their nose over his shoulder as he scrolled down, and casually let
it drop just like that, “I didn’t know you were adopted?”
Thor ran. He wasn't fast enough, all those fucking limos.
Loki got inside the car. The door slammed shut. The engine started. The tail
lights shrank and disappeared into the night. Thor's heart was beating in his
mouth. He tasted metal.
Shaking, he tried Loki’s phone. It was off. Shit, he didn’t have a clue where
in L.A. Loki was staying.
“Loki,” he muttered, breathless. “Baby…”
 
 
 
 
 
 
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Summary
     “I love you” said Thor.
     Loki looked up at him, brow scrunching, lips thinning, and then he
     looked quickly away again as his eyes started to well up. His
     expression was vulnerable, confused, a little boy lost in a crowd.
     Thor could not endure it. He wrapped his arms around him and hugged
     him close. Loki’s slender frame was shaking with quiet sobs. Thor
     tangled his hands in Loki’s hair, pressed his lips against his
     forehead, and squeezed him tight.
     After a long while, Loki mumbled against his neck,
     “I can’t breathe, Thor.”
     “How can you talk then” said Thor, still squeezing.
Chapter Notes
     I'm a huge fan of Rynfinity's Out of the Mouth of Babes and The March
     of the Damned, and I realise, the more I write, that my Thor and Loki
     are heavily influenced by hers. If you don't know this author and
     this series, I don't know what you've been doing with your lives. Go
     find it!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
Loki scrambled up the stairs. He couldn’t breathe. He struggled for oxygen but
his chest did not cooperate, and when he inhaled, it felt like breathing fire.
His mind was clouding and his sight was turning black. It was a full-on panic
attack, and half-way up the stairs wasn’t the place to have it. He rushed the
last few steps and ran down the corridor, slamming the door to the bathroom. He
retched painfully for a long time before he could finally let anything out. His
poetic temperament popped up, even then, to supply the metaphor that what his
body was rejecting was a whole life of lies.
He thought he had already dealt with the mandatory acute anxiety episode alone,
in his hotel back in L.A. He had phoned home as soon as the time zone allowed
it, to ask whether it was true. Mum had been as sweet and reassuring as she
could with all that anguish and worry in her voice, and had promised to tell
him the whole story when he got home.
“Come home now, darling,” she had implored him.
Loki had made up an excuse (he was full of them), promised he would be there as
planned, and proceeded to have his panic attack discreetly in his room. He
cried for four hours straight, flew back to London, started taking his pills
again, and stayed indoors, waiting for the meds to kick in and for everything
to get better, manageable, reasonable.
Meanwhile, he had scrupulously ignored each and every phone call, just sending
a text now and then to prove he was alive, and thus preventing unwanted visits
to check up on him. He made sure to let it be known that he wanted to be left
in peace. He was hoping that, in a few days, when they were all to meet up at
Asgard Hall, the worst of the crisis would be over, and that he would be able
to face this like a normal human being, and not like the fucking lunatic he
actually was.
Well, how wrong can you get.
They had sat in Odin's study. Thor still hadn't arrived. As his father smoked
quietly and mum slowly told him his life story, Loki could feel the ground
crumbling under his feet, and himself tumbling down, faster and faster, down a
rabbit hole lined with fucking spikes and thorns that tore away at his flesh as
he descended, layer after layer. By the time he hit the bottom, he’d be raw
bone.
Who the fuck is this boy they’re talking about. Russia. Date of birth unknown.
An orphanage in Moscow. Dumped there by a man who signed “Laufey” on the
registry, not a whisper heard from him before or since.
And nothing else. That was all. That was all that was true about Loki
Laufeyson.
His family was not his family. He was not himself.
Numberless tiny details spanning his whole life that didn’t seem to fit, and
bothered him, now fitted and started to make sense. Every spite from his
father, every unaccountable sorrow and pity and favour from his mother. Why his
father did not love him. He had always fucking wondered what the fuck was he
doing wrong. Well, now he had answers. He wished he could unhear and unsee and
unknow them. He fucking wished they had kept him guessing. Because nothing he
did now, no matter how hard he tried, would get him his father’s love. Because
Loki was not his son.
And Thor.
God help me.
He was shaking when he managed to stop the nausea, his legs weak when he
brought himself up to a wobbly standing.
He rinsed his mouth while sobbing, and it tasted foul. Everything tasted foul.
The very air he breathed.
He listened for a long time to make sure there was nobody waiting outside, and
then he darted as quick as he could to his bedroom and locked himself in, his
back flat against the door, his chest heaving.
The moment his eyes set on the things of his childhood, his toys, his books,
the wall paper with a design of wizard hats and wands and moons and stars, he
broke down crying again. With his sight blurred, he found his way into the nook
between the wardrobe and the wall, on the other side of the bed, where he used
to curl up and cry not so many years ago. Back against the wall, he covered his
face, and he did just that.
 
                                       *
 
The drive up to the old place felt like a trip back in time. The winding road
between the fields, tall hedgerows of bramble, bright with rain, laden with
berries, the crowns of the trees interweaving overhead, starting to shed their
leaves -it was a different world altogether from the place of eternal summer
Thor was hanging his hat in nowadays.
The old country house, isolated in a sloping meadow that a small herd of sheep
and goats kept trimmed, was a handsome building of golden Cotswalds stone,
spreading outwards into outhouses, a walled garden, a barn, and a stout little
tower Loki and him used to hide in to play wizards and knights. Although for
all intents and purposes they had grown up in London, and only came here for
the holidays, half-terms and some weekends, Asgard Hall was the place they
called home.
Thor thought he would find the sight of it reassuring. Instead, his stomach was
churning worse and worse the closer he got, dreading what lay ahead.
He had phoned home the very next day, after finally having tracked down Loki's
hotel to find him already gone, and still impossible to reach on any phone
number or by any other means Thor could think of.
“Is it true?” he had asked.
Frigga had told him she would really prefer to talk about this face to face.
Thor couldn’t fly home now, he was contractually bound to do the press tour,
and he sure as fuck couldn’t wait one week to know what everybody in the
business seemed to know already.
“Yes, it’s true,” Frigga’s voice soft, the finality in it still cutting.
Thor had heard his own breathing, laboured and painful, on the phone.
“Why...? Why didn’t you tell us?”
“Loki never seemed stable enough” Frigga had said, her tone guarded, tactful.
“We knew it would be difficult for him. We just never found the right moment.
We made a terrible mistake.”
“Come, come,” Thor had heard Odin grumble in the background, as was his custom.
“It’s as if we committed some horrible crime! All we did was rescue him from
that craphole orphanage in Moscow and give him a better life. Would it have
been preferable that we had left him there to die?”
“Is that where he…?” started to say Thor. He couldn’t finish the question. He
didn't even know what he was feeling. Essential things, the very basic
things, things he had always taken for granted, that had felt unquestionable
and unmovable and solid as planets, shattered in a million pieces at his feet.
He just did not know how to fucking feel.
Worst of all, he shuddered to think what was in Loki’s head right now. Loki,
who was virtually unreachable, who had already made for London before the break
of dawn, Loki alone and scared and ill and lost, and so far away from Thor’s
side, where he belonged, more than ever. Jesus Christ.
“Thor, darling,” said Frigga after a beat, all the warmth she could not convey
with hugs and kisses glowing in her voice, “come home, we’ll tell you the whole
story…”
 
 
Thor drove around the back, to the walled-in drive they used for parking, and
immediately sought with his eyes the top-floor windows, because that one on the
far right was Loki’s room. Of course, he saw no movement there. He had not
expected it, but he still felt disappointed and anxious for it anyway.
He rung the bell to be let in. Frigga was there in seconds, pulling him into
her arms for a strong kiss and a hug. Thor hugged her back, overwhelmed by how
much he had managed to miss her without realising. 
Odin appeared ambling at the end of the corridor, one hand in his pocket, one
of his thin cigars in the other, comfortable in his old country squire
personna.
“Where’s Loki?” Thor said, the edge showing in his voice.
His parents shared a look that put Thor on high alert. He set his bag down.
“We had a chat earlier,” said Odin, approaching. “He will be fine.”
“Where’s Loki?!” repeated Thor, even shorter.
“Thor, darling…” began Frigga.
“He is upstairs, son,” cut Odin. And, stepping in front of Thor when he was
dashing for the stairs, he urged, “Give him time.”
Frigga's hands were shaking. His mum, his rock, was anxious and afraid. Thor
was going to be sick.
“Let me through."
“Darling,” said Frigga.
Odin would not budge, and stood resolutely there, blocking the corridor. Thor
wondered whether he would really be forced to manhandle his old father out of
the fucking way.
“He will not want you to see him cry, son” said his father then, his hand a
clamp of steel on Thor’s forearm. “What he needs now is time. Give him time.”
Impotent tears welled in his eyes. That's bullshit, he wanted to cry. All he
wanted was to take his baby brother in his arms and cradle him and save him, as
he always had. But this was not some schoolyard bully Thor could threaten to
smash his face in if he didn’t leave Loki alone, and this was not his mates in
the rugby team calling Loki a faggot because he took ballet. This was the other
thing, the demon against which Thor had always been powerless against, always
lurking in the shadows somewhere deep inside Loki's mind, always threatening to
rise and poison it all. And the one thing Thor had learned about it, after
years of living next to it, was that nothing he ever did made things any
better.
He looked yearningly towards the stairs, but as much as he hated it, his father
was right. He walked out of the house, suffocated, and made for the fields,
wiping his eyes furiously, wanting to kick things, break things, hurt himself,
bleed.
 
 
 
It was three hours before Loki emerged from his room, red-rimmed, puffy eyes,
and a face like thunder. Enough time for Thor to calm down, and worry himself
sick again, waiting. From his spot on the sofa by the fire, Thor saw his
brother walk by, on his way to the kitchen. Loki threw him a glance, but
avoided their parents' eyes. Ignoring his father’s pointed stare and his
mother’s little concerned pout, Thor stood up and followed him. 
Loki gave him a quick look over the shoulder, as he put the kettle on and
rummaged in the medicine cabinet for painkillers. When he went to reach for the
tea bags, next to him, Thor rushed to help.
“I’m adopted, Thor, not an invalid,” snapped Loki. His voice was hoarse.
“Sorry,” mumbled Thor, stepping out of his way.
A thin cloud rose from the mug when Loki poured the water, a waft of scalded
tea leaves filled the air.
“Are you alright?” asked Thor, and he immediately wished he had bitten his
tongue.
“Peachy,” answered Loki, caustic, stirring the brew.
They stood in silence for a while, Loki’s eyes looking empty, dead as a doll’s.
Thor felt a cold shiver at that thought. He timidly reached for Loki. His
brother flinched, and Thor's heart fell a little. Even if he should have been
used to it by now, Loki recoiling away from his touch never failed to hurt. But
he had meant to make a point by it, and he was going to make it.
“I love you,” he said.
Loki looked up at him, eyes big as if this came as a big surprise. His brow
scrunched up, lips thinning, he looked quickly away again as tears started to
well up. He looked small and confused, a little boy lost in a crowd. It was
unbearable. Thor pushed through the preventions and the rust that had built
between them over the years, threw his arms around his brother, and hugged him
tight. Very soon, Loki’s slender frame began to shake with quiet sobs, and his
body became pliant, the tension in his posture softening, melting away in his
brother's arms. Such a simple thing. Why was it so hard, why did they so often
manage to make it seem impossible? Loki, Loki... Thor kissed his hair and
rocked him gently.
After a long while, Loki mumbled against his neck,
“I can’t breathe, Thor.” 
“How can you talk then,” said Thor, still squeezing.
Tired and worn out as this exchange had got between them, it still got a small,
cheerless chuckle from his brother. 
“Get off me, you big oaf," he grumbled, pushing him away.
Thor slowly let him go, but one hand delayed around his brother's neck. Loki
shook him off.
The tea was still too hot to drink, so Loki cradled his mug, eyes vacant.
 
 
                                       *
                                        
 
The table was still covered with the remains of the Sunday roast. Loki and
Frigga were in the kitchen, sorting out pudding. Odin sat at the head of the
table with a thin cigar, while Thor sat on one of the long sides, playing with
the wine cork, for something to do with his hands.
“So this is the… Best Hero Award,” said Odin, examining with his one good eye
the black and gold metal bag of popcorn in the middle of the table, that lilt
in his tone that never failed to get under Thor’s skin. “Remarkable.”
Thor was now wishing very badly he had left the thing back in L.A. He had
thought it would be fun to have it here. The thing was so tacky. Well, he'd
been wrong; it wasn't funny.
“Now, this is one you won’t find on the mantelpiece here,” added Odin, and took
a sip of wine.
“It’s a popularity thing,” said Thor. It's not that he did not know what his
father thought about popularity. He had intended to have a good-humoured laugh
about this, not fucking defend it. But he shouldn't be fucking ashamed of
having won it either, goddammit, they didn’t fucking give these things away! He
had had to earn it! “It gets doors opened," he added.
“Yes, but where do they open to,” said Odin, his musical, theatrically trained
voice delivering the line with panache.
How Thor hated it when he did that thing, when Odin the Great Man addressed him
instead of his dad.
“You know, son, Richard Burton at your age…” his father carried on
relentlessly.
Thor stood up in a fury, the chair screeching on the thick oak floor, and
stayed there, clenching and unclenching his fists, struggling to reign in his
temper. Not this shit again. His father did not even flinch.
After a long moment, Thor sat down again. Odin's only eye was still glinting on
him, smoke from his cigar snaking in the air in front of his face. He ashed it
with a quick, practiced flourish.
“Is it such a terrible sin for a father to want to see his son become the best
he can be?”
Thor’s nostrils flared at that, his jaw tight.
“You could be Henry V one day, and Hamlet, and all the greats, but you will
never get there by squandering your time and your talent in… Dawn of the
RobotsandReturn to Dinosaur Island or whatever the hell they're called. This,”
he gestured to the trophy, “is unworthy of you. If only you were less concerned
with easy fame and easy work, how great you could be.” Odin sighed. “You’re
much too talented to waste your life selling popcorn to teenagers.”
Thor counted to ten really, really slowly. With only the slightest choke in his
voice, he made himself be reasonable and polite.
“That’s great for you, dad, but…”
“Yes, of course, you have to make your own choices and your own way in the
world,” interrupted Odin, insincerely, and not shy about it. He had made his
point, and was not really interested in hearing anyone else’s, as usual.
Thor clenched his jaw even tighter. Every single fucking time, dad.
 
Frigga appeared from the kitchen with a bowl of trifle. Loki was following with
saucers and spoons. His eyes were still puffy and red.
Odin threw a look at them both, from his wife to his son, and back to his wife.
“You took long enough,” he said.
Of course, Frigga and Loki had been having a quiet talk, and Odin surely knew
it.
Frigga ignored her husband and started dishing up. Thor and Loki took their
seats on opposite sides of the table. Thor sought his eyes but his brother kept
them low. He seemed very far away.
They all made some lustreless noises of appreciation, but otherwise everyone
ate quietly for a few minutes.
“So it will be the Borson Award on this table next!” said Odin, turning to
Loki.
Thor saw his mother cringe, and a small, forced smile on Loki’s face.
“Perhaps,” he said.
“Oh, be optimistic, son. The way the board has been veering these last few
years, they obviously adore fringe productions, the wackier the better. And
your Hamlet was that and a lot more.” He raised his glass to Loki.
Loki glowered at his father.
“It wasn’t wacky, dad,” he said.
“You made him a Goth teenager in chains and leather. I don’t know what company
you keep, son, but it certainly counted as wacky to this foolish old man.”
“Dear,” snapped Frigga with severity, glaring at his husband in a way both
brothers found both satisfying and unsettling at the same time.
“Anyway, what do I know,” grumbled Odin. He pushed himself off the table and
walked out of the dining room, probably headed for his study.
Frigga sighed. She stood up and started to pile the dirty plates up. Her boys
jumped up to do their share.
“Don’t pay him any mind when he is in this mood, darlings,” she said, sounding
quite short of patience herself. “He’s gotten old.”
 
 
It was dark outside, the light warm and yellow in the music room. Loki and
Frigga were at the piano, sitting side by side on the little bench, playing
four hands and singing.
“Some day, when I’m awfully low, and the world is cold, I will feel aglow just
thinking of you, and the way you look tonight…”
Thor was stood up, leaning on the piano next to Frigga, watching them. He had
always thought, seeing them both together like that, that they looked so much
alike. He suddenly felt like crying.
“With each word your tenderness grows, tearing my fears apart. And each laugh
that wrinkles your nose touches my foolish heart…”
Loki was singing alone now, his voice a mellow, warm purr, his long, delicate
hands dancing effortlessly on the keys, his eyes closed. Thor stole nearer,
standing behind them, and put a hand on his mother’s shoulder. Then carefully,
slowly, another hand on his brother’s head, stroking his hair. Loki sighed and
nudged into it. Thor leaned close and kissed the tops of both their heads. He
tried to inhale quietly, because he could feel his breathing getting shaky.
"...Just the way you look tonight."
He clapped quietly when the last note twinkled under Loki’s hand.
“How about…?” said Frigga softly, and she played a couple of chords. Both her
boys smiled. “What do simple folk do to help them escape when they’re blue…?”
 Frigga and Loki traded the lines of the song, chuckling when they forgot the
words, helping each other to remember. Thor sat down on the couch and picked
his wine glass again. Now Frigga was hugging Loki’s waist while he played,
looking at him adoringly, her eyes bright and full of humour. She put a long,
strong kiss on his shoulder. Loki tilted his head towards her and Frigga put a
kiss there too.
Then the piano fell quiet. Loki’s shoulders slumped, his head lowered, and Thor
heard his hushed sobbing. Frigga held him close through it, rocking him. She
began to hum a tune Thor didn’t know.
He wanted to go there and crush Loki in his arms, but he knew it was not his
time. He waited, swallowing thickly around the burning lump in his throat,
trying to blink away the sting in his eyes
After a while, Loki stood up, rubbing his face, and excused himself. Thor got
up too. His mum shook her head softly to him and mouthed "no". 
Frigga took Loki's hand in hers and brushed it on her own face, and put one
last kiss on his palm.  
“We’ll be waiting, darling” she said.
Loki didn’t meet Thor’s eyes as he walked out.
 
 
“How are you, dear?” she asked Thor.
He took a deep, shuddering breath.
“I just…” He shook his head, teetering on the edge of a crying fit. He scrubbed
his face, trying to appear exhausted rather than crumbling.
“Let’s sit here. I’ll tell you the story” she said, moving to the couch,
patting the spot next to her. Thor let himself take comfort in her tone, which
would not take no for an answer.
He shuffled over and sat down. What he really wanted was to curl on his side
and rest his head on her lap. He settled for reclining his head on the backrest
and for her soft strokes on his hair.
His mother spun a tale of a mature couple who have been rendered incapable of
having more children after their first born. They are living and working in
Moscow at the time, and she is stricken and horrified by the tales of Russian
post-communist orphanages. She had always wanted to have lots of children. Her
husband makes it happen, quickly and quietly, thanks to his contacts in high
places acquired through his position as guest director with the Bolshoi. He
returns one evening with a pale, dark-haired little bundle, about one and a
half years old -his age uncertain by a few months-, so small, his growth
stunted by malnutrition and neglect. They're not sure his brain is not
impaired; he's so quiet, never even cries, doesn't know how to smile. The
couple’s son, not yet three, adores him from the first minute, and wants to
help take care of him. He’s so gentle and patient with him. The first time the
baby smiles is for his brother. And one afternoon, soon after that, their
mother stumbles upon them both, and the baby is laughing, cackling at his
brother’s funny faces and sounds, shrieking with delight at the tickles. He
keeps saying "Thow". She breaks down crying, and before she knows it, both
toddlers are confused and crying too.
And by now Thor was smiling between tears. He rested his elbows on his knees,
scrubbed his face and tried to hold back the storm raging in his chest.
“The press wasn’t how it is nowadays; there was no internet, no instant news,”
added Frigga, almost absently now, lost in her memories. “We returned from
Russia in time for you to start school, with another child. The time frame
happened to fit, and we didn’t even have to tell anyone. Nobody questioned us,
nobody suspected. We never intended to keep it a secret, we were just waiting
for the right time, and of course we were not about to tell everyone before we
told you. By the time you were both reaching the right age to know, your
brother started to suffer. Their therapists considered that being told the
truth at that point would only unsettle him and make the situation worse. We
decided to keep waiting… I was going to tell him when he turned fifteen, but
before that he had that… crisis, and I postponed it again…”
Thor flinched. The crisis. A flood of memories he could not share.
Her mother cast him an odd look, as if she could not make sense of all that was
on Thor's expression at this minute. Or perhaps she could... Thor could swear
sometimes that their mum fucking knew what had happened that summer, before
Loki’s worst crash down, the one that ended up in hospital. Thor felt the need
to clear his throat for no physical reason whatsoever.
“He feels old, your father” said Frigga then, idly stroking Thor's long hair.
“He can see his star setting and yours rising, and he’s jealous. It’s hard for
him, to lose relevance, to face the end of his career and of his life. I’m not
saying that because I want you to let him get away with it. I just want you to
know where he is coming from. Because he is proud of you both. And so am I.”
She regarded him fondly and kissed him. “Don’t ever compare yourself to him,
Thor. You’re your own person, and you have your own path to walk. And the only
one who can judge how worthy this path is, it’s you.”
Thor was really struggling with his breathing now. He stood up.
“I’ll go to find Loki.”
His mum gave his hand a quick squeeze and let him go. Before he shut the door
behind himself, Thor heard the light twinkles of the piano.
 
He went into the garden. On this side of the house, there was an extensive lawn
surrounded by cedars and rhododendron bushes. The yellow light from the windows
of the house painted the lawn with pools of glow and seemed to render the rest
darker still.
A thin tendril of smoke was curling up in the air, raising from the arbor bench
under the big oak to the right.
“There you are!” said Thor, when he came to a stop in front of his brother.
“Where else would I be?” muttered Loki, and took a long drag.
Thor swallowed, closed the last few steps.
“…Are you alright?” he asked, hesitating to take a seat next to him.
“Jesus, fuck, Thor, you’re worse than a fucking junket!” snarled Loki. “How
many times do I have to answer the same question tonight?”
“Alright, ok, sorry… Jesus, Loki.” He sighed deeply. “Calm down. I just…” He
shifted on his feet and took yet another deep breath. “All I want to say is,
this changes nothing, ok?” And because Loki was keeping his eyes low,
Thor crouched in front of him, so that they could see each other's faces.
“You’re still my brother,” he said. “You’ll always be my brother, blood or no
blood, no matter what.”
Loki butted the cigarette, the slightest pinch in his brow. 
“And here’s me, thinking you would be happy about this," he said cooly. "Or at
the very least relieved, seeing as we’ve never been very… brotherly.”
Thor shifted, uncomfortable.
Loki took a second and sunk the dagger in. “Or was that the fun of it.”
“Loki, that’s not…!” Thor surged to his feet in a fury, or whatever. His heart
was beating hard. “Don’t... fucking say that,” he groaned.  
Loki lit up another fag.
“So what was it then.”
“Why the fuck are you bringing this up now?” Thor tried to compose himself.
“You know what it was.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Fucking hell, Loki,” Thor grumbled and started to walk away.
And then stopped, willing himself to calm down. Do not fall into his fucking
trap, man, he provokes you to push you away and avoid facing the things that
are hard for him. Jesus, hadn’t Thor heard that enough in family therapy.
Deep breaths. Ten Mississippies.
Thor heard the rustle of Loki’s clothes as he stood up and closed the distance
between them. Loki’s arms around his waist, his brother’s grip around him so
familiar and so thrilling at the same time. Damn. He reached to ruffle Loki’s
hair and heard him sigh. There was nothing brotherly about any of it.
Loki’s voice was small when he spoke next, almost as if he didn’t wish to be
heard.
“We could now, you know. We could be together now.”
Oh, shit. The knot in Thor’s throat started to burn. He turned around within
the circle of Loki’s arms and held him close, but he couldn't look at him.
Loki’s face burrowed into his neck, and Thor shivered. He pushed him away
gently and kissed his forehead.
“Yes, sure. It would spice up our interviews no end,” he muttered quietly.
Loki shoved him off. “Is that all you think about?” he hissed.
“That’s not fucking fair and you know it. But we have to be real!” He was
furious, because it was unfair, and because it was fair. Because it was a lie,
and because it wasn’t the whole truth. Because that was not the fucking point
anyway, because Loki never fucking gave him an inch to breathe.
“Of course. It would wreck your career," said Loki, contempt in his eyes and in
his tone.
That was rich.
“Oh, I’m sure it would do wonders for yours," countered Thor.
“I would throw it all away, damn it all to hell, in a blink," said Loki, full
of defiance. There was a glitch in the delivery, and Thor hated himself for
wondering whether it was an act.
As always, he opted to believe him. He'd go fucking mad if he didn't.
“I know you would,” he said softly. He hooked one hand around Loki's neck, his
thumb stroking his brother’s strong, sharp jaw. “And after three days you would
miss it, and you would start to regret it, and then you would hate me for the
rest of our lives.”
Loki looked so vacant, so remote.
“…Try as I might, I can’t hate you, brother,” he whispered.
Thor’s felt a claw of iron squeezing his heart. He pulled him into his arms,
and wrapped him tight, with his eyes closed. And when Loki kissed him, he
didn’t have it in him to reject them. It was only their lips, like when they'd
been children. He heard Loki’s soft sigh -there was peace there, a quiet
murmuration of joy. 
No, said the voice of reason inside Thor, it fucks with his head. No.
Thor started to pull back, as gently as he could.
“Please,” whispered Loki, clinging, his voice barely louder than a breath. “I'm
lost.”
Thor could not bloody deal with his brother begging him. He kissed him deeply,
and god, he was home, Loki said his name so softly, his hands in Thor's
hair, his whole body awakening to it. Nobody had ever felt this good. Nobody
ever would. Thor had had to make his peace with that, and learn to do without.
He'd thought he'd never feel it again. 
They were startled apart by the soft thump of an old wooden door that sticks,
relenting suddenly to open up. Thor whipped his head to the back door, his
heart beating madly, the burning prickling of adrenaline under his skin.
Through the trellis and the bare branches of the climbing rose that shielded
them from the house, he saw his mum standing at the door, hugging a wool
cardigan around her, turning her head this way and that, searching for her
sons. They were both still and quiet, tangled in each other, afraid to even
breathe. Thor's heart was beating madly fast, like a cornered animal.
After what felt like fucking years, Frigga gave up and went back inside. Thor
exhaled with relief. 
The moment was gone. His mind was clear. He slowly stepped away from Loki, who
didn’t fight it. This was madness, and they both knew it. He fumbled with
himself to accommodate the hard-on in his jeans.
He looked up to find his brother’s eyes cold and spiteful on him. He really
didn’t know what to do for the best, or what to say. All he knew was that it
was impossible between them, that it did bad things to Loki’s head, and that it
could only end up in tears, and all forms of hell. That he should be able to
love, comfort, and reassure his little brother without…
“I better go back inside,” he mumbled.
“Yes. Before you do something you regret,” said Loki, razor-sharp.
That made Thor wince, and beseech with his eyes, trying to say that... Shit.
I've never regretted it, brother.
He had not planned for this to be their parting words tonight. All he'd wanted
was to tell Loki that he loved him, and to hear the same words in return. No
chance of that now. Always count on Thor Odinson to fuck it up with his baby
brother.
He reached to stroke his face, an olive branch; Loki shrank away from his
touch. Thor let his hand drop.
“Good night, brother,” he said softly.
Loki did not return his gaze, and he did not reply.
 
                                       *
 
 
The next morning, Thor let out a quiet sigh of relief when he heard Loki's
steps on the stairs. He looked pale and sallow around the kitchen, and did not
meet Thor’s eyes once, as he fixed the black coffee with way too much sugar
that had been his morning staple for years. He sat across the table opposite
Thor to drink it, but acted as if his brother wasn't there.
Thor didn’t attempt conversation, knowing it was pointless. He was chewing his
toast when he observed a little grimace on his brother’s face. Thor smirked and
continued to chew, noisily, opening his mouth. And that, as he had predicted,
earned him one of his brother’s epic scowls.
“You’re disgusting,” said Loki.
Thor was almost beginning to smile smugly and exclaim “hey! you talked!”, but
an expression of heartbreak rose to Loki's face then, there and gone in a
blink. No matter how blank and composed his façade, the grief was just there,
skin deep. Thor was not in a jesting mood anymore. He was desperate for words
that could get through to Loki and make it all better, but he didn't have them,
he never had. Frigga was the one with the words. Thor was physical. He hugged,
he shoved, he pulled, he ruffled hair, he kissed, he… What good would any of
that do. He cursed his impotence. 
The door burst open and Odin walked in like a hurricane.
“Morning, children!” he boomed.
As he made his way around the big farm table to get to the kettle, he pinched
the scruff of Thor’s neck first, then Loki’s. Thor heard his brother huff
quietly, irritated. He had always been moody in the mornings, and there was
nothing that got on his nerves more quickly than their dad at full blast.
They all remained quiet between the clatter of the kitchen things, the low hum
of the stove. Odin took the header seat at the table, as always. He eyed both
of his boys for a second.
“Anyone would say somebody has died!" he boomed then.
His kids didn't say a thing.
"Don’t you think you’re making a big deal out of nothing, son?” he told Loki.
He was trying for kind and compassionate, Thor was sure, and being the fine
actor he was, he had certainly got the pitch just right. But that was all he
was getting right, because everything else was wrong, the line, the timing, and
he was certainly fucking missing each and every one of Thor’s cues.
“Dad…”
“Think about it, son,” said Odin over him. “You’ve had it good, haven’t you?
Would you have prefered we left you there? There are worse tragedies in the
world, surely!” Odin reached to squeeze Loki’s hand, Loki’s scowl getting more
and more bitter, nostrils flaring. “You’ve been lucky.”
Loki surged up with fury and stormed off. Odin watched him, looking
mostly disappointed.
Thor rushed to follow his brother.
“Loki, wait,” said Thor, at the foot of the stairs, grabbing Loki's arm.
Loki hissed “Leave me alone,” and shook him off. He took the steps in two's.
Every fibre of Thor's being was aching to follow, as always. His mum was
forever telling him to give Loki some air and obey his wish to be left in
peace, when Thor couldn’t stop chasing and prodding and urging Loki to come out
of it, open up to him, listen, talk, come, stay, let Thor in.
The urgent wail of the kettle shook him back to himself. 
Okay, that was fucking it. He was going to have it out with his dad this
time. He went into the kitchen and stood at the other end of the table, fists
clenching.
“You can’t talk to him like this, dad,” he said. He wished his voice didn't
sound so weak -even his fucking knees were weak, for that matter.
Odin darted his penetrant, cold blue eye to him.
“He’s a drama queen," he declared. "He always has been. We’ve all indulged that
side of him and what a fat load of good it has done him.”
Deep breaths.
“He’s not a drama queen, dad, he has a fucking illness.”
“Don’t swear at me, boy.”
Thor brought his eyes down. This was taking every fiber of courage in his body.
“All I’m saying is,” said Thor, squaring his jaw, trying to stand his ground,
“that he doesn’t feel things like other people, I mean…Things affect him
differently and...” He rubbed his forehead. “Just…”
“I've sometimes wondered whether it would not have been better for him and for
all of us if I had just picked another one,” cut Odin.
Colour drained from Thor's face.
“...What?”
“I let my weakness get the better of me. There were others that looked
healthier and stronger. I suppose I thought I could do some good and give the
weaker one a chance. I guess I did what I thought your mother would want. I
haven’t been sure that I did the right thing for anybody for many years now.
Well, at least the world will know that, whatever is wrong with him, it’s not
something that runs in the family.” Odin scrunched his brow and his face as if
he had smelled something foul. “Oh, dear. Must you really cry, son.”
Tears streaming down Thor’s face. There were no words for the pain and the
disappointment he was feeling at that moment. And in spite of it, through the
whirlwind inside him, he realised that all he wanted, even then, was a smile
and a kind word and reassurance from his dad that everything would be alright.
It was ripping him apart.
The floor squeaked behind the door and they heard steps rushing away.
“Damn,” muttered Odin.
Thor's breathing cut off. He ran after Loki.
He saw him crossing the back door, bag in his hand. He caught up with him on
the drive, making for his car.
“Loki, wait! Where are you going?”
Loki didn’t stop, didn’t slow down, and didn’t answer.
“Loki!” Thor reached and grabbed his hand.
Loki stopped. He looked so cold, so poised.
“What,” he said, voice hollow.
Thor didn’t have a clue what to say. He held Loki’s hand with both of his,
grappling for words.
“Please, don’t go like this,” he choked out, after some effort.
“How am I to go, then.”
“Wait for mum," begged Thor.
Loki looked up to him, his eyes made of cold hard ice.
“She’s not my mum.”
“Oh, Loki…” muttered Thor, the choke in his voice tightening to a strangle
hold.
Loki peered over Thor’s shoulder. Thor turned his head. Odin was there at the
door, a thin cigar in his mouth, his only eye gleaming. He offered no apologies
and he called no one back.
Loki pulled his hand away from Thor’s with a sharp tug and got into his car.
“Let him, son,” said Odin. “Just let him.”
Thor looked on impotently as the car drove away. The woods swallowed it up. His
hands were still throbbing from having held his brother’s so tight.
 
 
 
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     Several things:
     On Loki's choice of words on his own mental health: that's Loki's
     inner voice, not this author's.
     The songs are "The way you look tonight" (lyrics by Dorothy Fields,
     music by Jerome Kern) and "What do simple folk do" from the musical
     "Camelot" (lyrics by Alan Jay Lerner, music by Frederic Loewe.)
***** Chapter 3 *****
Chapter Summary
     “Did you find anything, sir?” asked the landlady, when he emerged
     from the bedroom.
     Thor shook his head. He didn’t trust the strength of his own voice.
     “Will he be coming back?”
     Thor shrugged, shook his head again. He was really close to breaking
     down in tears.
Chapter Notes
     I've decided to opt for shorter chapters and more regular updates.
     Let's just say chapters 1 and 2 were the long opening sequences at
     the beginning of Touch of Evil, or the overture of the opera. Human-
     size scenes from now on. It was either that, or more 15k chapters
     once every month and a half. Hope that's fine with y'all.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
INT. DAY. Loki’s apartment.
Thor took one step inside, then another. The landlady waited in the corridor.
He felt a chill in his spine. It seemed like Loki had left everything behind.
There were jackets and coats still hanging from the hooks on the hall, several
pairs of shoes, handbags, scarves.
The kitchen was untouched. There was food in the fridge. His awards were still
on the window sill, posters of his plays and his movies on the walls, his music
and DVD collection spanning a whole wall, his books covering the other and
stacked up pretty much on every flat surface.
The first place where Thor found serious signs of disturbance was the bedroom:
drawers upturned, the wardrobe doors hanging open, a dozen clothes hangers
askew, tangled with each other, clothes missing. Not many, a few days’ worth,
Thor guessed.
What the fuck was Loki up to? What was his plan? Did he have any?
The bathroom next. Again, a small hurricane had been there. Well, Loki wouldn’t
go anywhere without his toiletries. Even at his worse, he was always
scrupulously clean. But what was that smell? Thor drew back the bath curtain,
and saw the pile of half-burned remains on the bottom of the tub. He kneeled to
examine them. From what he could tell from the fragments that had not been
utterly consumed into soot and ash, it seemed a haphazard collection: a few
pages of a script Thor did not recognise, a notebook scribbled with meaningless
numbers, some grocery bills, old high school portraits, copies of medical
prescriptions, his diary. As if he had just dumped assorted stuff there for the
need to see things burn, didn’t matter what. Why it was making Thor's stomach
heave, he could not say.
Loki’s office was pretty much the usual organised chaos that only his brother
was able to navigate. And may god have mercy upon your soul if you so much as
breathed on a paper, Loki could always tell someone had been there, and he was
never happy about it.
There was a note board taking up half the wall to the right, with all sorts
pinned on it. Cast photos, negatives, lists of books, cryptic to-do lists,
telephone numbers. There were two things disturbing Thor about that board.
First, the painful realisation that he didn’t have a clue about Loki’s present
life. These were Loki’s daily comings and goings pinned there, and he just
didn’t know where to start making sense of them.
The second thing that put a coil of worry in his belly were the empty spaces on
the board. Loki had taken his time to take down things that had been there and
then… what? burned them? taken them away? Were they the phone numbers and
addresses of the people he was going to go to now for help? Were they things he
didn’t want anyone to see? Thor just could not know. Too many pieces missing,
pieces Thor would have had, if he had not spent the last two years purposely
pulling himself away from London, from his parents, and more than anything,
from his brother.
He returned to the bedroom and sat on the bed, scrubbing his face. He looked
around with a churn of nerves in his stomach. Where are you, baby. Where are
you going.
He checked the drawers of the bedside table. They had been disturbed as well.
There were bills and other official-looking papers there, and some knickknacks
(a set of keys without markings, two old, clunky mobile phones, a handful of
friendship bracelets —Loki had woven them obsessively one summer, Thor had both
wrists covered in them—, bookmarks of different types —everybody was forever
giving them to Loki as gifts-, three old broken watches Loki had had since he
was a little boy. There was a couple of handwritten letters as well. He read
them. One was from a fan raving about his Hamlet, thanking him for his
“heartbreaking, honest portrayal of mental breakdown”, swearing to owe Loki her
life. Another was from a second-hand book dealer, informing him that they had
found a copy of the book he had asked about, didn’t say which. There was also
an old letter from mum, yellowing on the edges. When was that from? Oh, must
have been when mum and dad were playing Robin and Marian in New York. Loki had
been ten or eleven then, he must have been missing them. Mum had left her hair
gray for that play. It had scared them both, how she had seemed to age all of a
sudden. Thor had found Loki crying alone one night in a corner. Thor had asked
what was wrong. “Mum is going to die one day” is all he said, and carried on
crying.
 
“Did you find anything, sir?” asked the landlady, when he emerged from the
bedroom.
Thor shook his head. He didn’t trust the strength of his own voice.
“Will he be coming back?”
Thor shrugged, shook his head again. He was really close to breaking down in
tears.
“Listen, Mr. Odinson…” The landlady was wringing her hands, struggling to look
him in the eye. Money, then. Thor swallowed thickly.
“Whatever he owes you, I’ll cover,” said Thor.
“He left enough to pay the rest of the month.”
“The damage in the bathroom, then.”
“Hm. Well, I still have the deposit, and he left extra for that too. I suppose
I owe you some money.”
“Keep it. Loki wanted you to have it.”
She cleared her throat.
“My problem, Mr. Odinson, is what do I do with his things. Are you coming for
them or…”
Thor had a sinking feeling inside.
“…Can’t we keep them here…? For a while at least.”
“But Mr. Odinson, I need to rent the apartment…”
“I’ll keep paying the rent. Please. He might come back.”
She bit his lip.
“I can’t hold it indefinitely.”
“How much do you want,” said Thor, a note of despair in his voice. “Just…
Please.” Staring intently, begging. “Please.”
She sighed softly and nodded. “If you insist.”
He gave her Coulson’s details. “He’ll handle it all,” he said. “Can I stay a
bit longer?”
She shrugged. “…It’s your apartment now, I guess.”
She left Loki’s set of keys with him and left.
 
Thor ambled aimlessly around the sitting room first. He didn’t know why was he
there for. Was he really hoping for a note, or a clue, or a bloody treasure map
with a dotted line and an x? And the thing was, there must be things there he
could use to try and track him down. He just didn’t know where to start.
He could regret it all as much as he wished, but the fact didn’t change that he
had been drifting away and putting distance between him and Loki deliberately,
hoping they would outgrow whatever it was between them. He had wanted for them
to forget that madness and just be brothers. Without the drama, without the
constant tension, without the hurt.  
And Loki wasn’t all wrong; there was the other issue there, too. There were so
many eyes on Thor all the time now, one slip and… God, he couldn’t begin to
imagine the scandal. It would wreck their careers, taint their parents’ names,
and everything they had worked so hard for.
Did Loki think that it was easy for Thor? Did he think he was the only one
suffering, the only one ripping himself apart over this? Did he think Thor was
proud of himself, of how he was handling things?
God, fuck, Loki’s eyes when he said goodnight yesterday. Would everything had
changed if he had taken him to bed last night? Would it have made it all right?
Would Loki be here now, carrying on with his life? Or would it have screwed
everything even worse, as it always had?
Thor had been trying not to cry, because he knew that, if he started, he would
never fucking stop. It was probably a mistake, then, to grab the pillow in his
hands and press it to his face, to breathe in Loki’s scent.
 
 
                                      ---
 
“But I don’t understand why I have to kiss her if it’s not in the book,” pouted
Loki, nine years old.
“Because it’s in the script,” laughed Thor, eleven.
“But in the book they don’t kiss!” countered Loki, indignant. “You would know
it if you had bothered reading it.”
Thor shrugged. “Look, Loki, it’ doesn’t matter what’s in the book, it only
matters what’s on the script, because we’re not doing the book, we’re doing the
movie.”
Loki was sulking, rubbing the offending line in the paper (“Colin kisses Mary”)
with his thumb, as if he could erase it from existence like that.
“But I don’t want to kiss her,” he muttered after a while, looking sorry for
himself, and stubborn. And quite adorable, if you asked his brother.
”Why not?”
“Because… she’s…” Loki frowned, actually trying to work out the reason.
“Don’t you like her?” asked Thor.
“No,” said Loki instantly.
Thor scratched his hair. He was growing it longer for the movie. Dad said he
had to look a bit wild, because his character was a boy who roamed the fields
alone and was friends with the animals. Loki’s character was frail and sickly
and never saw the light of day, until his little cousin Mary arrives to the old
house where Loki lives, and at first she thinks Loki is a ghost, and becomes
friends with Thor, who helps her bring to life an old garden, and then she
discovers Loki, and the girl brings Loki out into the sunlight, and into the
garden, and he gets better and happier and healthy, and then Loki’s dad comes
back and loves them all.
Loki had said “Why can’t Thor be the one who saves the sickly boy?”
His dad had smiled.“Because that’s not how the story goes.” Sentence passed.
Loki had looked at Thor imploringly. Thor had shrugged.
“She’s quite pretty,” Thor said, after a while, about the actress playing Mary.
“She thinks she’s the queen or something,” snapped Loki, with a scowl.
Thor laughed. “She does a bit.”
Loki bit his lip.
“So... do you think she’s pretty?” he asked, after a beat.
“She’s alright,” said Thor, without much thought.
Loki took a few seconds before he asked the next one.
“Do you like her?”
“I don’t know. Yes, I guess.” Again, Thor hadn’t really thought about it.
Loki’s frown turned deeper, his nose scrunching.
“You don’t have to like her though,” said Thor. “I mean, actors do it all the
time, they kiss and all, but they don’t have to like each other. Like when mum
kissed King Claudius on the lips. It’s not like she doesn’t like dad anymore.
She’s just pretending. You’ll have to do it all the time when you’re older.”
Loki had never thought of that before. He was not sure how he felt about it. In
any case, it didn’t solve his present predicament.
“But I’ve never kissed anyone before,” he said, whiny. “Isn’t your first kiss
supposed to mean something?”
“Only if you’re a Disney Princess, doofus,” laughed Thor, giving his brother a
light shove.
Loki looked miserable, not one bit amused.
“Have you kissed a girl before? On the lips?” he asked then.
“I kissed Juliette,” answered Thor.
Loki's eyes widened in shock. Juliette their cousin, a bit older that Thor and
an absolute nag, in Loki’s opinion.
"When?" asked Loki, in dismay. How was it possible that he did not know? Why
hadn't Thor told him? He told him everything. Right? 
"Christmas," said Thor, as if it was nothing.
Loki took a long time to process that. It didn't feel nice at all.
“Did you like it?” he asked eventually, a panicky edge in his tone that
completely flew over Thor's head.
“I don’t know,” said Thor, with a shrug. “It was ok I guess.”
Loki bit the corner of his bottom lip then, looking down, and blushed.
“I don’t want my first kiss to be with her," he said, voice thin. He meant with
the girl who played Mary in the movie. “I want it to be someone I like.”
Thor scratched the back of his head again. That could be a problem. Loki didn’t
like anyone most of the time.
”Like who,” he asked.
It took forever for Loki to answer.
”Like you,” he said, at long last, a mere whisper.
Thor's eyebrows raised in perplexity.
“But Loki, we’re brothers,” he said.
“So? I like you!” countered Loki, his eyes bright now, brave, defiant. Thor
liked that look on Loki’s face. “Don’t you like me?” 
Thor opened his mouth, nothing came out.
“Don’t you think I’m pretty?” insisted Loki, relentless.
“…But you’re my brother,” said Thor again, as if that answered it all, which it
didn’t.
“So? I like you and I think you’re very handsome,” declared Loki, his chin up
proud, although his ears were flaming red.
To be fair, there was nobody in the world Thor liked more than his brother, and
he had never seen anyone prettier, so he guessed Loki had a point. Of course,
he couldn’t say that out loud, because boys don’t say this kind of things.
(Except Loki, but Loki was Loki. He said what he wanted. Thor liked that too.)
“And then you’ll be alright and you’ll kiss her?” Thor said, as if it was a
great concession, granted out of his generosity of heart.
“Yes,” said Loki, all determination.
Thor shook his head, because Loki was so little and so serious all the time. He
leaned over, his heart pumping hard.
“But not…” Loki said, flinching back, scaring Thor for a second, worried that
he may have changed his mind. “I mean, a proper kiss. Like mum and dad,” he
muttered.
Thor smiled at his very shy, very cute, very grave baby brother. He cradled
Loki’s head, tilting it up, and examined his pale, delicate face for an
instant. Loki looked nervous and worried and hopeful, his mouth already pursing
for the kiss. Still smiling, Thor put his lips on Loki’s, and left them there
for a beat. He even closed his eyes. When he pulled apart with a soft smack, he
saw that Loki’s eyes were shut tight. When he opened them again, a deep pink
blush was blossoming on his cheeks and neck, and he couldn’t raise his eyes
from his shoes. Thor smiled for all he was worth, because Loki looked so cute
like that, and ruffled his hair.
“Happy now?” he said.
 
He had thought about it more than he thought he would in the days and months
that followed.
 
When they shot the kiss with the girl that played Mary, Thor watched from a
corner, and as his father shouted “action!” and Loki said his lines and leaned
over to kiss the girl, Thor felt himself blush. He remembered the sensation
vividly to that day, though he still didn’t know what it was.
 
                                       *
 
He phoned Frigga from the apartment when he felt calmer. He did not have much
to report, or much voice to report it with. He really tried to sound even and
collected, because he didn’t want to add to his mum's worries, but he didn’t
fool himself about how successful he was being with that. She ended up
reassuring him.
“Loki is clever and resourceful,” she told him. “We need to have faith in him.”
Thor sighed, but didn’t say what was on his mind. That Loki was ill, and
unstable, and when untreated, he had self-destructive tendencies, and that he
had tried to kill himself once before. He felt a claw around his throat.
“Yes, mum,” he choked out, and ended the conversation as quick as he could, and
barely just made it before he broke down crying once more, this time in fear.
 
 
“Listen, if you see him…” he told the landlady, just before he left. But he
didn’t really know what he wanted to say.
“Would you like to leave a message, or…?”
Thor tried to think of something. That I love him. That I want him to come
home. That we’ll figure it out between the two of us.
“Forget it” said Thor. “Just, please, make sure he can always come back in.”
She nodded.
Thor lifted his collar up, and stepped outside into the chilly Autumn breeze.
Everywhere he looked, he saw things withering and dying.
 
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     The movie Thor and Loki are talking about is The Secret Garden, based
     on a book by Frances Hodgson Burnett. Agnieszka Holland (NOT Mira
     Nair, thanks missdorothysnarker) directed a movie adaptation in 1993.
     It's obviously not Thor and Loki's. In this verse, Odin directs a
     mini-series produced by the BBC, for example, casting his two sons
     and his wife as Mrs. Medlock (that's Maggie Smith's character in
     Holland's adaptation.)
     Just so you know, I intend to cast Thor and Loki, Odin and Frigga in
     dozens of imaginary productions of books and movies. I'm going to
     have an insane lot of fun with it.
***** Chapter 4 *****
Chapter Summary
     A road trip to clear Thor's mind. The search for Loki goes full
     circle.
Chapter Notes
     You know when I said shorter chapters? yeah, well, forget it. I do
     what I want, Thor!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
INT. DAY. A roadside diner. Big windows facing the desert, clay-coloured hills
in the distance, a stretch of road that seemed to go from nowhere to nowhere.
Dull white sky. There were only a couple more patrons, truck driver type.
Nobody had flinched when he had come in. Nobody recognised him. Nobody cared.
One year ago that would have been a worry, and Coulson could have used it as
leverage to convince him into taking on a few more talk shows, do a few more
interviews, maybe even do some panel shows in the UK. Right now, Thor was just
grateful he wasn’t that big a deal after all. He took a seat by the window, his
back and legs cringing unhappily after so many hours on the road. He was aching
for a run. Maybe later.
“Alright, hon? What can I getcha?” asked the waitress, a middle aged woman with
garishly dyed red hair, sweet brown eyes, ruddy red cheeks, smiling like she
was impressed with what she had before her eyes.
“Coffee, please.”
She returned a second later with the coffee pot. The brew was slightly burnt,
and weak even for English standards. But it was too early for anything else, so
Thor drank it down, with a grimace.
He let his eyes drift away into the horizon, scorched, bare, baked dry. Back
home, it would be trees in bloom and fresh green leaves, newborn lambs skipping
in the greens, the sun starting to become warm and the ground dry, for the
first time in months. He was glad he wasn’t there. The desert seemed a better
match for his state of mind these days, less jarring.
These were the first proper holidays he had in almost three years. He had never
needed them more. He felt he had been hanging on by a thread, struggling more
and more  to put on a smile and the movie star act, and to be civilised,
nevermind engaging, at interviews and events and related publicity fuckery. Oh,
it had been a close call. He very nearly lost it several times, whenever the
questions went anywhere near the revelation of Loki’s adoption. Coulson had
been there to step in and defuse things, but it was obvious to those who knew
him that Thor wasn’t doing well at all.
A while ago, looking forward to these precious three weeks off, he had pictured
himself somewhere tropical, not necessarily with Amora -he had never thought
they would make it that far, and they hadn’t-, snorkeling and scuba diving and
surfing and drinking caipirinha and piña coladas, dancing and fucking on the
beach. Instead, when the time had come, he had rented a car and headed south,
into the desert. Life, eh?
He had been driving for a week now. He had slept in motels and, occasionally,
in the car. He had eaten at diners pretty much like this one, had talked to a
few interesting characters, had seen some beautiful things, and he had tried
both thinking and not thinking. Still, no healing for him, and no peace.
It was six months today since Loki had run away. For the first three, Thor had
kept it to himself. Not only because he didn’t want to talk about it, but
because Loki had a big opening night coming and a big publicity tour leading up
to it, and there were people who would start to fret if they heard he had just
upped and vanished. In those early days, Thor was still hoping Loki would come
back.
That was over now, the cat had been out of the bag for a few weeks, and the
movie was going to open without Loki. His agency had dropped him, the studio
had blacklisted him, and it was taking some serious lawyering, provided by
their parents', their friends and collaborators, to avoid a lawsuit for breach
of contract. His brother's career in Hollywood seemed to have finished before
it even started. And there was not one single fucking thing that Thor could do.
One evening three months ago, Tony Stark had taken Thor out for drinks, to coax
out of him the truth to his silent misery. He was a good guy, not a lot of
people seemed to realise that, and more perceptive than Thor had given him
credit for -before this, Thor had thought that the man saw nothing past his own
navel. He was also, and simultaneously, a massive jerk, but he wasn’t the only
highly contradictory character in Thor’s life, and Thor was used to taking
people as they came.
Now, Tony wasn’t the sort to content himself with paying a sympathetic ear and
sit still to offer a shoulder to cry on. The moment he had understood the
nature of the problem, he had made a phone call, that same night, from the
club.
“A guy called Fury is going to call you tomorrow” he said.
He had indeed, way too early for hungover Thor to process. He had put down the
phone with an appointment for later in the day.
Fury didn’t tell him exactly what it was that he did. The guy looked like a
pirate, and had a mouth worthy of one too. Thor deduced he was some kind of
private detective. He told Thor that they would have to debrief him and see
Loki’s apartment.
“I can’t make promises without more data but, from what you have said, he
shouldn’t be difficult to find,” he said.
“Why is that?” Thor had asked.
“Sheltered upbringing, limited money, limited experience of the world.”
“Loki is resourceful,” Thor had said, echoing his mother’s words.
“We’ll find him,” Fury had said.
Dead or alive, Thor’s mind had supplied, in the husky voice of the villainous
sheriff in a Western movie.
Tony pulled some strings to get him a couple of days off. Thor flew to London,
showed Fury’s people the apartment, and while two guys combed the place,
rummaging in every drawer and under every piece of furniture, taking
photographs of absolutely everything, and scanning every piece of paper they
could find (Loki would skin him alive for the intrusion if he ever found out),
Thor sat down on Loki’s couch for debriefing.
They wanted to know all there was to know about his brother, to piece out his
mind and have an idea about where to start looking. It was grueling. There was
a woman called Hill who was particularly ruthless and insightful. She sensed
Thor was hiding something straight away. Thor had felt naked and exposed under
her relentless questioning, and flat-out exhausted by the time they were done,
hours later. It's what comes from raking your brains, trying to supply every
shred of information you think can help in finding your brother, while doing
all you can to hide the biggest fucking bit of data of them all.
“I will have to have a thorough look at all that we’ve gathered today,” said
Hill, “but I’m pretty sure we’ll be starting in Russia.”
Well, fuck. Thor felt an idiot for not thinking about that straight away. It
did sound like such a Loki thing to do; when mortally wounded by one of your
fathers, go and see if you can get yourself rejected again by the other one,
too.
A few weeks later, he got a phone call from Hill. Loki’s trail had been sniffed
out in Moscow. His brother had managed to locate the orphanage where Odin had
found him (clever, clever Loki), and had spoken to people there, apparently in
basic, yet spotless Russian with an impeccable southern accent (now, of course
Loki would manage to teach himself to speak Russian in under two months! And
kill the accent too, because d’uh, fucking brilliant actor and mimic.)  He had
inquired about Laufey, and had met with the same wall as Hill; there was
nothing to go on, nothing to narrow down the search. It was next to impossible
to find a nondescript man nobody remembered, that could also have been using a
fake name. Loki, Hill was sure, would not find him either.
“That doesn’t mean he won’t try. Laufey is a female name in most of
Scandinavia, but male in Norway. It’s relatively rare. He might try there
next.”
And off to Norway Maria Hill had gone, with photos of Loki and a bundle of
Thor’s cash. He was spending a fortune on this mad quest for his brother, most
of it on buttering civil servants, to get them interested in being a bit more
helpful. Loki had emptied his bank account before he had left the country, but
whatever he took out, it couldn’t have been that much. If Loki had had to bribe
the information to track down his origins as well, and there was no reason to
doubt it, he might be running out of money by now. And what would happen then,
thought Thor with a shudder. 
And money was only half the problem. Thor never forgot for one second that
there was a time bomb in his brother’s brain, that started ticking the moment
he ran out of his meds. And that must have been months ago. Loki had been known
to become suicidal when not under treatment. Loki felt lost. He had told him so
himself, in these very same words, just before Thor pushed him away.
And then he had let him run. He had just stood there and watched him go,
heartbroken and lost and aching, and then sat on his hands like a lemon, doing
nothing to get him back for months. No wonder Thor could not sleep. He didn’t
fucking deserve a minute of peace after how much he had managed to fuck up with
his baby brother.
He had not told his parents about Fury. First, because he wasn’t sure Frigga
would approve. But more than anything, because he was afraid of what they would
find and, before he was made to face some tough questions, he wanted to make
sure he could deal with the answers.
 
He took a room in the motel, had a shower, tried to have a nap. He laid on his
back in his t-shirt and boxers, tracing the cracks in the ceiling with his
eyes. He prayed. To Loki. Baby, come back. Please, come back. We’ll sort it
out. We’ll find a way. This can’t be the end. It was never meant to end at all.
His mind just spun and churned and found no rest. This thing with Loki, was it
the root of all their present evils? Would everything had been different if...
if it had not happened? Perhaps Loki would never have gone to hospital then,
and mum would have been able to tell him about his origins in a way that he
could handle, and he would be home today, carrying on with his life.
But had it ever really been a choice, a decision they made? At the time it had
felt inevitable, the final, unavoidable flare that followed years of a slow-
burn simmering permanently under both their skins. And Thor could not tell when
it had started. It had been a part of them since he could remember. In the
stares that got longer and longer as they grew up. In the blush on Loki’s
cheeks when Thor hugged him and kissed him. In the nights they would sneak into
the other’s bed, rub their feet together for warmth, spoon before they had ever
heard of spooning, and giggle under the covers until they fell asleep. In the
times Loki was scared or sad or happy or excited and always ran to Thor first.
And when they grew older, it was there walking to school together, not talking,
earbuds on, Loki mouthing the words to whatever pretentious indie rock group
with artsy fartsy lyrics he was favouring that month, and Thor stealing
glimpses of his mouth and thinking how soft it looked. It was there whenever he
spotted Loki in the schoolyard by himself, picking at his food with delicate,
pale hands, and reading. And everytime Loki noticed him staring, and gave him
the flip, and Thor smiled, and Loki rolled his eyes but smiled too. It was
there watching a movie together, the light of the screen dancing on Loki’s
face, and Thor realising with absolute certainty that he would never tire of
looking at him.
And when the mood swings of puberty had began, and they couldn’t stop bickering
and jabbing at each other, it was still there, worse than ever, under every
“fuck you” and every “I hate you” and every “leave me alone.” It was there when
they couldn’t say three words to each other without starting a fight, during
every silent treatment, and in every short truce, and it was there all the
times that Thor was aching to hug his brother and shouted and barked at him
instead, out of sheer frustration and confusion. And it was there all the times
Thor listened to Loki jerking off in the shower and his body reacted to it, and
it was those sounds that Thor would wank to, and come with his brother's name
on his lips.
 
Thor understood even then that this was weird, and knew by instinct not to talk
about it with anyone. But it didn’t feel weird, and it didn’t feel wrong. It
just was. Thor and Loki, Loki and Thor. Some things you just don't question.
Some things you just know, here, in your gut.
 
 _________________
 
(The past)
                                        
Thor is not yet sixteen, Loki has just turned fourteen. It’s been a decent
Saturday, civilised. Mum and dad are doing a play, and they don’t bother coming
back home for lunch. Loki has spent all day shut up in his room, so there has
been no interaction and so, no fighting. Thor brought him a sandwich at
lunchtime and Loki even said thanks.
In the evening they order take-away.
“I’m not going to get it.”
“I’m not going either.”
In the end, they both go. Changing from scruffs into street clothes, Thor finds
himself picking the new jeans that are kind of snug, and the old, fitted red t-
shirt that shows off his muscles. He ruffles his hair, and takes a look in the
hall mirror. He looks pretty damned good. What the fuck are you doing man, it’s
just Loki.
Loki turns up in one of his ballet sweatshirts, which shows off his neck and
collarbones (and a slice of his belly when he raises his arms, and if that
isn't the beginnings of a happy trail under his navel...), and that pair of
black, skin-tight jeans that make his dancer's arse and legs look fucking
incredible. Thor just can't help the once-over.
“Can you even breathe in those?” he teases.
“Why do you think the world needs to see what brand your pants are?” counters
Loki.
Thor flusters, laughs it off.
“Are you checking me out?” He tells himself he is just kidding.
Loki stares straight into his eyes.
“Are you?”
 
On the way to the Chinese place they’re quiet. Waiting for their food, they get
giggly, The woman at the till is incredibly rude, and it’s sort of a family
tradition to compete over who gets the curtest response while being the most
polite. Loki tends to win at that.
Walking back, they’re in a playful mood. They hopscotch on the tiles, dodge the
cracks on the pavement, walk on the edge, and badger each other, laughing. It’s
like being on a date, Thor thinks, a brilliant one that’s going swimmingly and
makes you really think you’re getting lucky tonight. And he guesses he should
be squeaked, and instead all he feels is butterflies. They’re having so much
fun, and Loki looks so happy he sparkles. What could possibly be wrong about
that.
They eat in Thor’s room, on the old sofa, find a Mel Brooks film to watch,
laugh like they haven’t laughed in ages, throw prawn crackers at each other.
They’re only having a beer between the two of them, and still Thor feels like
drunk.
After dinner they play Mario Kart. Loki is lying on his back, head on the
armrest, legs on Thor’s lap. Thor is creaming him. Loki kicks his arm and his
side to sabotage him. It doesn’t work. He tickles Thor’s side with his toes.
“Fuck off, that’s disgusting,” grumbles Thor, but that’s not the first word
that came to mind.
Anyhow, that seems to work a bit better at dulling Thor’s reflexes, and it
gives Loki ideas. He starts playing footsies. Thor kicks him, but he’s not
really trying to make him stop.
He can’t keep a straight face. Loki insists. The tickles go all the way up to
Thor’s crotch. Now Thor is missing almost every box and his turns are anything
but sharp.
Loki starts stroking his foot slowly up and down the back of Thor’s calf. Thor
stays quiet and still, eyes on the game, brain utterly elsewhere. Now Loki
slithers his toes under the hem of Thor’s jeans, and rubs slowly. Thor swallows
dry, shifts in his seat and falls off Rainbow Road for the third time, his
heart hammering in his chest.
With a smirk, he snaps his calves around Loki’s. Loki squirms and pulls, trying
to get free, cursing and laughing, but good luck with that, Thor holds back
melées with those legs.
Loki plays dirty. He drops the controller, sits up and starts tickling Thor
under his arms, on his sides, his neck, all the places he knows are Thor’s
undoing. Thor laughs, writhes, curses, his cock stirring and filling. Get off
me! Stop it! He struggles to grip Loki’s hands, his wrists, he wrestles to
control him, but the little bitch kicks, scratches and bites. Thor throws
himself on top of him, laughing. Loki shrieks and laughs too when Thor starts
tickling him in turn.
Loki’s hard under him, and Thor is hard, and there is no pretending now, no
hiding. They’re still, panting, staring at each other, Loki’s eyes dipping to
Thor’s mouth, trembling under his weight. The blush on Loki’s cheeks, the glaze
on his eyes, his chest heaving. Thor has never seen anything lovelier, he has
never wanted anyone or anything more.
Thor kisses him. Loki parts his lips and closes his eyes, and stays very still
for a beat, overwhelmed. Then he starts kissing back. He has no idea what he’s
doing, and he’s so eager, he wants to do everything at once, what he’s seen in
the movies. Thor lets go of his wrists to cradle his face and still him, and
teach him what little he knows. Loki’s hands weave in his hair, his breathing
quick, heartbeat fast as a rodent’s, his little whimpers under the feel of
Thor’s mouth.
Loki pushes his hips up against his brother’s, with a shuddery gasp and a
surprised, almost pained expression. Thor pushes back, rutting, moaning. Loki
wraps his long, spindly limbs around him, squeezes tight. They grind their hips
together, kissing.
Thor watches him, his face tense, a frown, his eyes hooded, his mouth a perfect
O. The noises he makes, his breathing. He smells so fucking good. Thor strokes
his hair, kisses his face, his neck, ruts harder between Loki’s legs, against
his arse. Loki grinds frantically now, short little moans. Thor rears his head
up to see him, feels his body writhing under him, Loki’s arms wrapped tight
around him, like a drowning man. Then Loki goes rigid and jolts, his eyes shut,
a broken moan, and Thor knows what has happened, and Loki looks so fucking
beautiful like that it takes his breath away. He kisses his mouth, and Loki
kisses him back, in a haze.
Thor starts grinding harder against Loki’s arse, and he thinks of fucking him,
and it’s too fucking much, the bolt of lightning that hits him when he imagines
Loki naked under him, of being inside him, of rutting and fucking and tearing
his brother apart like that, and he comes, groaning, jaws clenched tight,
panting.
The expression on Loki’s face when Thor finally opens his eyes, awe and wonder
and love. He buries his face in Loki’s neck, panting against his skin, for a
long time. He doesn’t want to let go, he doesn’t want to untangle. He’s afraid
of what will happen next.
“I can’t breathe, Thor,” says Loki, after a while.
“How can you talk then,” says Thor.
But he pulls away and sits up, reluctantly. He’s wet, his cock throbs from the
rough treatment against the ridges of two tough crotch seams.
Loki sits up too, he tidies his hair with a trembling hand. His mouth swollen,
pink, his cheeks flush, his eyes bright, his beauty like a punch in Thor’s gut.
They don’t speak. Their breathing quiets down while the music from the game
goes on and on in a loop. Loki grabs the controller, drives straight into
Thor’s kart and pushes him off the edge.
Thor laughs, probably louder than it warrants, but his heart is pounding so
hard, his hands are shaking, steam had to come out somehow.
They play. Thor keeps throwing quick glances at his brother. Loki looks
thoughtful, placid, and his mouth so lovely. Thor takes a deep breath, turns to
him, and kisses his lips. Loki’s long eyelashes flutter. When Thor pulls back,
Loki bites his own lip. He remains quiet, and becomes especially vicious with
his shell attacks. They will play until it’s not weird anymore.
After a few races, Loki gets up.
“Where are you going?” jumps Thor, with an anxious shiver.
“Bathroom,” says Loki. “I’m all… sticky.”
Thor makes to follow him.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” snaps Loki, plastering snark over
his nerves.
Thor shifts his weight from one foot to the other. He is terrified that, the
moment he loses sight of Loki, his brother will freak out, or he will freak
out, or both, and the pale illusion of comfort and complicity they are sharing
will shatter into something horrible. He strokes Loki’s hair out of his face.
“Just… are you alright?”
Loki nods, his eyes low.
“Are you coming back?”
Loki nods again.
It strikes Thor all of a sudden that this might be Loki’s first time.
Loki does come back, in his pyjamas, and then it’s Thor who goes for a wash.
When he returns, Loki’s stare is lost in space, the controller unused in his
hands. Thor shuffles over, takes it off from him.
“Let’s go to sleep,” he says.
Loki looks up anxiously, expecting to be kicked out perhaps.
“Stay here?” says Thor.
 
They snuggle up on the sofa, spooning, Thor pulls a blanket over both of them,
their fingers tangled under the cover, gripping tight.
 
Thor thinks it’s his dad poking his head to check on them at 1 a.m., hesitating
at the door for a long time. Thor tries so hard to be still and pretend he is
asleep that he forgets to breathe. He hears the door click shut, and takes a
deep breath to try and calm his pulse.
What the fuck have they done.
 
_________________
 
(The present.)
 
When the twilight fell over the desert, Thor went out for a run. He pounded
furiously with his feet, seeking the prickling sensation under his skin, the
taste of iron in his mouth. He wanted to punish his muscles and exhaust himself
and then collapse on the bed and sleep for a whole week. He wanted to stop
thinking.
He hadn’t thought of how dark the night got in the desert, even with the glow
of the stars. He could see the lights of the motel far away in the distance,
but he struggled to see his own feet and where he was treading on. He sighed
and started to jog back, carefully. With luck, he would not step into a hole
and break his ankle.
He heard the humdrum of a car getting louder at his back. He kept jogging,
turning his head now and then, watching it approach him head on. It was a
massive, clunky jeep, and it wasn't slowing down or altering its course. It was
heading straight for him. Bloody hell, it was going to run him over! Thor
jumped to one side, tripped on something he could not see, staggered. He stood
there panting, pumped up on adrenaline. A dozen yards ahead, the jeep had
screeched to a halt, raising a cloud of dust that shone grey in the headlights.
A small figure jumped off and started to run towards him.
“Oh my god, are you ok?” It was a girl, short and slight, almost lost in
clothes much too big for her.
“Yeah, I’m ok,” snapped Thor, grumpy, keyed-up. “Didn’t you see me?”
“God, no, I feel so bad. I was checking my instruments. We’re in the middle of
the desert, I just… Sorry. Are you sure you’re alright?”
She was so tiny, her concern so genuine. Thor loosened up, in spite of
himself. 
“It’s alright. I’m fine. No harm done.”
There was an awkward silence. The jeep rumbled.
“So, are you lost, or…?” she asked, tugging her hair behind her ear.
“No, I was running. I’m staying at that motel there." He pointed towards the
dots of light.
“Oh my god, how long have you been running for? That’s like, miles away!” She
didn’t give Thor time to answer. “You’re not from around here, are you?”
 
Thor took Jane Foster’s offer of a lift. She talked a lot in the car, just
trying to answer Thor’s question about what she was doing in the middle of the
desert at night. Half-way through her explanation, they stopped so that she
could show him the instruments and the notes and, after that, the stars. Soon
after, the coffee thermos popped out and they sat on fold-away chairs under the
night sky, and Thor, who had been good at physics quite a while ago, but not
astrophysics good, tried to follow her words basically on faith. Whenever a
silence fell, it was comfortable.
“So what are you doing in the middle of the desert, Thor?” asked Jane. “Apart
from running.”
“Holidays,” said Thor.
“Holidays from what? I mean, what do you do?”
“I’m an actor.”
“Wow, really? Are you famous?”
“Not very much, since you don’t know me.”
“Oh, no, don’t pay me any mind. I’m a bit of a disaster with these things. I
haven’t been to the movies in, like, years. Sorry. I mean, it's not that I
don't like them, but I'm so busy, and movies last for ever nowadays, and
frankly all you get in these parts is really idiotic stuff, transformers and
superheroes and all that."
Thor gave her half a smile and an eyebrow. Her eyes went wide with alarm.
"Oh. You don't do superhero movies, do you? Oh god, you do. Sorry, sorry,
sorry. Please don’t be offended. I'll shut up now. Sorry.”
Thor laughed.
“I’m not offended," he said. "It's fine.”
She bit her lip, and as he kept beaming at her, her smile overflowed the catch.
Her eyes were bright in the starlight. There was a comfortable silence.
“Anyway, it’s getting late,” said Thor. “I don’t want to keep you.”
“Yeah, I guess you must be getting cold, right?”
Thor was wearing shorts and a hoodie. He had already caught Jane's eyes
involuntarily drawn to his thighs and butt several times.
 
She drove him back. They laughed on the way there, talking about the crazy
wonders of New Mexico. They traded glances. They stalled at the parking lot. He
could see her better now, with more light. Her brown eyes were so big and warm,
her neck so long. She was lovely. And nice, and sweet, and she sounded so
normal, so grounded, so uncomplicated. She was attracted too, he didn’t need
anyone spelling it out for him. Her skin was smooth as a mirror, with a soft
glow. He thought how nice it would feel to kiss her.
“So, Thor…” she said. And she didn’t say any more.
“I had a lovely time,” he said. “Thank you, Jane Foster.” And he had. For a
couple of hours, he had forgotten.
“Thank you,” she said. She gathered some courage, and got on her tip-toes for a
kiss.
Her mouth was just as soft and delicate as it looked, her kiss like the stroke
of flower petals. She smelled of cold night air.
He pulled back.
“I would love to ask you to come inside,” he said, “but I lost someone very
dear to me recently and I’m… I’m not ready yet.”
A kind frown darkened Jane’s sweet face.
“I’m so sorry.”
Thor nodded.
She pursed her mouth, overcoming her disappointment. Gave his arm a squeeze.
“Anyway. If you ever come around again… Anyway.”
“I’ll look for you,” he said.
“That would be nice.” The sweetest, warmest smile. “Good night, Thor.”
He nodded. “Good night, Jane.”
She waved from the cabin before driving into the darkness.
 
Thor walked into his room to a text from Hill, sent a couple of hours ago. She
had sent blurry CCTV footage caps of someone who could be Loki in an airport in
Norway, where his trace was lost again.
Thor phoned her straight away.
“I’m not even sure he was here looking for Laufey now,” she said. “Anyway, he’s
getting clever.” Thor didn’t say Loki always was clever. “Any ideas where he
might be headed?” She hung up to let him think about it, and linked him a map
of the area.
Thor felt an ice cold shiver down his spine. He was suddenly full of
foreboding. As far as he knew, Loki could very well be suicidal now. He
swallowed around the knot in his throat. With a shaky hand, he texted.
Iceland.
 
_______________
 
(The past)
 
Things get just as weird as Thor had feared the moment they wake up. He can’t
look at Loki. At breakfast, he can’t look at his parents. Loki’s expression is
guarded and suspicious and, underneath, scared and hurt.
He flinches when Loki tries to kiss him in the corridor while mum and dad are
in the living room. He kicks Loki off without even looking at him when his
brother starts playing footsies at dinner (Is he barking mad?). Loki’s face is
pure spite. It  screams in big flashy neon letters “I fucking knew it.”
When they’re home alone again that evening, and Thor knocks on Loki’s door, his
brother snarls “Fuck off!” at him. His voice is thick and weak. Loki has been
crying.
They stop talking except to bark at each other. It’s worse than ever. Frigga
ends up asking him what’s wrong.
Thor has always been able to talk frankly to his mum about Loki, and she has
always helped him to understand Loki’s point of view and see things the way
Loki sees them, and Thor always feels better for it, more capable of empathy
and tolerance. This time, he can’t.
“He’s being a jerk,” he shrugs.
She sighs. Oh, here we go.
“I know it’s hard and I know it’s a lot to ask, but you have to be patient,
Thor. I know a lot of the time it feels that Loki is in a bad mood for no
reason, but never forget how hard it is inside his head. Imagine what it would
be to have a voice inside constantly telling you that you’re worthless, that
nobody likes you and nobody loves you, and that you don’t deserve to be loved
or to feel good. I know sometimes it doesn’t feel like it, but Loki loves you
with all his heart, and he looks up to you. Be compassionate. He needs you.”
Thor cries in bed that night, out of sheer despair. He wants to talk to Loki.
Problem is, he has no idea what to say. He still hasn’t got his head wrapped
around what happened, to what they did. It's his baby brother, for fuck's
sake. He guesses he should put a stop to this madness. It’s a mess, and it's
making everybody unhappy, and Thor should not get himself into shit as serious
as this without at least clearing his mind somewhat and have some idea of what
the fuck he is doing. And Loki is so vulnerable, so frail. He should end it,
stop it right here, before it gets even worse, and stop thinking with his cock
and focus instead on looking after Loki. It’s what a good brother would do.
But it had felt so right at the time. He wasn’t overcome by guilt and remorse
the moment his lust was sated and his brain had cleared. With Loki in his arms
like that, all he felt was peace and warmth and content.
He understands what he feels now, what he’s felt for a long time. He is in
love, that’s what it fucking is. It’s insane, and probably sick, but it just
fucking is, and he can’t think of anything else but having Loki again.
He lies awake all night. When morning comes, he knows he won’t be a good
brother.
 
Next Thursday, when his time at the gym is done, he doesn’t wait outside. He
heads straight for the ballet hall. Something tells him that Loki intends to
keep him waiting for the rest of the afternoon if he can.
Indeed, Loki has stayed behind after his class and is practicing a whole
choreography, without music. Thor falls into a sort of trance watching him.
Loki seems to float, jumping impossibly high in the air, without a sound, and
falling just as silently and weightlessly as a cat, every minute movement under
control, every muscle. Thor wonders if this is how his dad fell in love with
his mum. They met at drama school, and she was a dancer there too -that’s why
Loki first became interested in ballet, because of mum. God, it’s as if Loki
was made of a different matter, so powerful yet so delicate, both swift and
capable of movements unnaturally slow and flowing, like an underwater creature,
pure grace.
When Loki is done, he ignores Thor and avoids his eyes as he makes for the
changing room without a word. Thor follows him there, and he watches him strip
obliviously and step into the shower. He has never been able to look at him
like that, directly and openly. When Loki walks back, towelling his hair,
trying to seem uninterested, Thor runs his eyes all over him, head to toe, no
bashfulness, no pretence. Loki is still striving for the nonchalant stance, but
he is blushing.
“You’re beautiful,” Thor says.
“You’re an arsehole,” says Loki.
“I love you,” says Thor.
“Sod off,” says Loki, looking down, cheeks bright red.
When Thor knocks on Loki’s door that evening, Loki says come in.
 
The truce doesn’t last. Loki pulls and pulls and pulls, nothing is ever
enough. 
They go to the movies and Loki wants to make out there.
“Nobody fucking knows us, Thor,” he grumbles when Thor pushes him off for the
third time. And he sulks the rest of the evening.
“Is it because I’m a boy?” Loki asks one day, after he has tried to hold Thor’s
hand down the street and Thor has shaken him off. “You fucking coward!” snarls
Loki, when Thor offers no reply. And he doesn’t let Thor near for a whole
week. 
“What do you fucking want from me, a diamond ring?” shouts Thor when Loki slams
his bedroom door in front of Thor’s face, after the umpteenth fight that week.
“I hate you!” screams Loki at the top of his lungs.
It’s fucking impossible, a roller coaster. Thor is permanently horny,
permanently hopeful, permanently unhappy.
 
Summer break is approaching. Mum is doing a play on Broadway. Odin will be
shooting a movie in Iceland. Mum decrees that it will do the men in her life a
lot of good to spend some time together and bond.
Thor dreads this trip with all his heart. Being trapped in a cabin in the
middle of nowhere with his dad and Loki for six weeks, with a tiny crew of
thirty, four actors, lots of dialogue, and fuck all going on. He is going to
fucking die, or kill someone, or both, and he tells Frigga so, but she won't
hear a word. They're going. It's final.
 
Well, it’s not a cabin, but a tiny house on the edge of what in Iceland passes
for a suburb, with views to a whole lot of green, flat nothing. A beautiful lot
of nothing, without night, the air crisp and pure, muffled and quiet as it is
after a snowfall. It’s like another planet.
Good news is, Odin has no intention of playing dad and doing any bonding this
summer. He has a movie to make. He gets a few tips from one of the local crew
members, gives his children money, a phone, and his blessing to do whatever
they feel like. Thor pounces on the chance of trying kayaking, quad tours,
river rafting. Eventually, he gets Loki out of the house. They go whale
spotting, horse riding, and trekking. Thor is having the time of his life, and
now all that’s missing for complete happiness is for that scowl to leave Loki’s
face. Thor suggests a little adventure. Odin is engrossed in the shoot, and
decides that whatever manly outdoorsy pursuits his children undertake can only
do them good. He offers to cover with mum. Thor and Loki pack a tent, some
supplies, rent bicycles and ride into the wilderness.
They set up camp right at the edge of a camping site, as far away from
everything as legal, cook their dinner under the white twilight, and stay up
for the magical hour in which the sky lights up on fire, with clouds of pink
and orange and red, before drifting back into gold, white, and blue again,
never once getting darker than a summer dusk in England. They lay a blanket in
a gravelly recess between some volcanic rocks, and make out for ages, before
Loki asks him to fuck him.
It doesn’t happen -technical glitches; it’s not as easy as it seems. In fact,
it’s not easy at all-, but they still bring each other off under the sky, and
walk back giddy to the tent, sleeping naked in the same sleeping bag, fucking
bliss. And in the morning, before they set out on their bikes, Thor kisses his
brother, slow and messy, in the sunlight, for the world to see, and Loki’s eyes
are blindingly bright.
They follow the main road to the next town. Thor stays outside shifting his
weight from one foot to the other while Loki goes inside the chemist, and
blushes bright red when his brother returns triumphant, exhibiting two pots of
lube. Well, of course he would get two. He probably has more in his pockets.
Later that day, they fuck. In the middle of nowhere, only barely camouflaged
from the road, for decency, behind a slope. It’s awkward, and intense, and it’s
over embarrassingly soon, and Thor is pretty sure Loki hasn’t enjoyed it, but
afterwards they look at each other as if the earth had been displaced from its
axis by what they’ve just done.
They persevere (try and stop them), and soon enough Thor can say with
conviction that Loki is indeed enjoying it now. The weather in the daytime is
mild enough that they can fuck naked in the open air, and in fact Loki insists
upon it. He wants the sky to see. His skin so pale in the sunlight, ethereal.
Not since they were kids has Thor seen him smile so much.
They check in with Odin a couple of times a day, and phone Frigga every
evening, but otherwise they’re free, unburdened, happy. They hold hands down
the street, kiss over ice cream -they even get a couple of “awwws” that set
their cheeks on fire-, and there is nothing wrong, nothing to hide, nothing
ugly about being together like that.
Thor understands intuitively that they will never be as happy again. The only
boundaries, the only limits to their joy here are the ones they brought with
them from home, and they have succeeded in blowing those out of the water. They
are together, as it should be, and that is all that matters.
Promises are made, oaths even, getting more and more fervent the closer it gets
to the time to go home. Thor believes them with all his heart. Always together,
no matter what. Do whatever it takes. Fuck the world. Only you and me, that is
all. Come to think of it, he is the one doing most of the vowing. Loki just
gets quieter, and sadder, and clingier.
 
Six weeks go by very bloody quickly when you’re happy.
 
Loki’s face on the plane is at best melancholy, at worst empty, all the light
gone, all the courage and the fight and the hope gone. Before all of this, Thor
would have just given him a big hug and a kiss, and Loki would have moaned
about it but his face would have softened. Now, Thor doesn’t dare touch him. He
doesn’t even dare look at him straight. The pages of Odin’s newspaper rustle.
Thor’s sigh goes unheard under the low rumble of the plane.
 
Everything that was right in Iceland is wrong in England. Reality reasserts
itself without giving them a second to adjust. They’re back in school, back to
routine, back to sneaking and bickering, with the added mess of fucking now.
But it’s not the beautiful, liberating act on the primal volcanic grounds,
under the eternal sunlight, that made them feel like angels or gods or both.
Now it feels dirty, shameful, necessarily furtive and rushed. Flirting and
joking have been banished, and they don’t laugh together, and everyday life
feels petty and insignificant, inconsequential, simply not worth bothering
with. And that’s just Thor. Imagine what it must be like in Loki’s head.
In November Thor gets a part in a Channel 5 high school show, playing a teenage
heartthrob. Odin huff and puffs, mumbles and grumbles, but all Thor can think
of is having his own money. And popularity, yes, And interviews for teenage
magazines. And fan mail. And TV galas. And getting out of his own fucking head
for a few hours a day. It’s a lot of work too, and being so tired dims his
lust, which can only be a good thing, right? Less worries. Sometimes, whole
weeks go by without them touching each other. Of course Thor fucking misses it,
but he doesn’t miss the angst that came with it. And there seems to be less
anger between them now, surely that's a good sign, right? So why does he feel
so guilty all the time? Why does he feel like he is abandoning Loki?
He knows Loki isn't happy. He knows he cries a lot. At times, he sees him so
blank and withdrawn it gives him the creeps. He tells himself that his brother
must be just as knackered as he is, taking afterschool drama, more dancing,
really pushing it with his piano and singing, and still keeping his grades
excellent. He thinks they're both just plodding on, trying to cope, getting
used to this new reality. Reality being that they're drifting apart. Thor
hasn't said so, he hasn't said it's over, he can't. He thinks Loki knows too.
Of course they would be sad. Fucking miserable, even. There's nothing he can
do. 
How could he not have seen it coming. How the fuck could he have missed
something like that. It wasn’t resignation, it was apathy. It wasn’t quiet
melancholy, it was silent despair, utter hopelessness. It all blows in his face
in February, when he gets home to find his dad at the door, one heavy hand on
his son's face, then on his shoulder, Odin's eyes red, telling him, “Thor,
there has been an accident…”
Loki looks greenish white and so tiny in the hospital bed, only a child. Thor
approaches him slowly, as if he was a wild animal that could bolt at any
second. He kisses Loki’s forehead and does all he can not to start crying.
An accident, he tells himself. How the fuck do you swallow three fucking boxes
of paracetamol by accident.
“They’ll keep him for a while,” says Frigga, when Thor asks when is Loki coming
home. “Then he’ll stay at a clinic for a few weeks, so that they can adjust his
medication and see how he is doing with it. We can come and see him everyday,”
she adds when Thor starts crying like a big baby.
And like a big baby she hugs him and cradles him in her arms and hums a
lullaby, and eventually Thor will stop crying, but that throbbing ache deep
inside, that feels as if it will never stop hurting. And he is right.
 
______________
 
(The present.)
He woke up at dawn, and knew he wouldn’t get back to sleep no matter how hard
he tried. His mind was already scrambling in every direction. He packed up the
few things he had got out yesterday, signed off, paid and left. The red-haired
waitress wasn’t there so early in the morning. Thor had his burnt coffee, some
eggs on toast, and drove away.
He might stop for a nap by the roadside later, if he could find a spot in the
shade, or perhaps another motel, he didn’t know. He liked not knowing. With the
road stretching behind him and ahead of him, he would soon fall into a sort of
trance, his thoughts melding together into one long litany without beginning or
end. It was peaceful. That was how he was surviving these days. 
He had not told Coulson outright, and he had not told himself outright, but he
was going to let the projects he had on the line just drop. After five more
weeks publicity tour with “Stargazer”, he was out of a job, and with no
intentions to look for another in the immediate future. He would have to speak
to Coulson about it at some point. Acting he liked, acting was fine, it was the
whole Hollywood circus he couldn’t face. He had hated every minute of it for
months now. It was as if Loki’s last act had been to throw a curse upon Thor’s
glory, the very thing Thor had betrayed them both for. He even heard it in his
head in Loki’s voice, mellifluous. Well, brother, since you like your precious
celebrity so much, have it. But let it turn to ashes in your mouth and weigh
like a stone yoke around your neck, and sink you. 
Thor did not know what the fuck was he going to do with his life from now on.
He had had one job after another since he was sixteen, each one bigger than the
last, and he had not stopped to doubt himself or his future for one minute in
all that time. He was simply out of fucking practice. Loki was lost, but so was
he. 
 
 
The next months he lived going through the motions, in a limbo, caught between
yearning to find Loki and hoping they never did. As long as they didn't find
him, to Thor it meant that he was alive and on the move. He had so very little
hope left to cling on to by then. 
 
Then he got a text from Maria Hill.
“He’s back in England,” she had written. “You won’t like this.”
 
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     The Mario Kart. Yes, I know. Timewise it wouldn't work. Just bear
     with me, yeah?
***** Chapter 5 *****
Chapter Summary
     In which we finally get a glimpse into Loki’s troubled mind.
Chapter Notes
     Well, as we say in the Sherlock fandom, this just sort of happened.
     Kinda worried it's a bit much. But I can explain. LOKI MADE ME DO
     IT!!
     Anyway, I go where the story takes me. I regret nothing (ehem.)
     *shakingly hits on "post chapter"...*
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
 
(Iceland. The past)
 
 
They’ve lit a fire. They’re ridiculously proud of themselves. They heat up some
soup. They’re starving, and it’s getting cooler. They stuff themselves on candy
bars and stare at the tiny flames.
“Stop poking it, you’ll put it out,” says Loki. Thor won’t stop prodding at the
logs with a stick. 
“You have to keep stoking it,” Thor says.
“Will you just leave it alone?” 
Thor puts the stick down, finally. He is lying on his side, propped on one
elbow, one knee up, his mighty legs parted, sprawling like a whore. He’s made
of sunlight and joy and sex and Loki wants to… God, there isn’t anything Loki
doesn’t want from his brother. He looks away into the hazy horizon.
“What are you looking at,” he snaps at Thor after some time, when his brother
won’t stop staring.
“You,” says his golden brother, eyes intense on his. “You’re so beautiful.”
Loki glowers at him. So that’s where this is going. All he has to do is drop a
couple of well-worn lines and Loki is putty in his hands, right? And Thor
fucking knows it.
Loki turns his eyes back into the distance, where the midnight sun flares red
between shreds of pink and orange clouds, the sky a hundred different shades of
purple into blue. There are people not too far, other campers. They can hear
their muffled voices. This strange hour seems to make everyone quiet, as if the
sun that never sets is an odd miracle they don’t want to disturb. 
Thor’s gaze is unwavering, it makes Loki’s pulse ramp up.
His brother has not been an arsehole these last few days. He has been kind and
attentive and cheerful, accommodating, generous, and so bloody happy. Joy
radiates through him like some sort of calm, bright fire that makes even Loki
warm. He laughs easily at lots of little things, and he’s back to stroking and
kissing and ruffling Loki’s hair casually, freely, just an affectionate older
brother with no worries on his mind. And Loki has been burning for him, aching
with love, starved, and has denied himself, punishing himself for god knows
what crime. For wanting him. For needing him so badly.
“Want to make out?” says Loki then, as if it’s nothing. He knows Thor doesn’t
like it when he makes it sound cheap and unimportant. To Thor, what they have
is some sort of sublime communion of the souls. Loki tells himself this has
nothing to do with their souls.
And still, in his brother’s insanely muscled arms, their legs tangled, their
bodies pressed together, Thor’s big, strong hand raking deep in Loki’s hair,
kissing each other within an inch of their lives… well, no matter what Loki
tells himself, there’s nothing cheap about it, nothing. 
“I want you to fuck me,” he murmurs against Thor’s mouth. 
Thor’s breath glitches. 
“Are you sure?”
He is and he isn’t. Thor is so big, it scares the fuck out of him. But he’s
been dreaming of it for years, his brother, so beautiful and so strong, desired
and wanted by all, taking him, taking everything, leaving nothing left for
anyone else to claim. Yeah, he guesses he is sure after all.
They try it half a dozen times. Im-fucking-possible. The only time Thor
actually breaches him, Loki squeals in pain, and after that he clenches so
tight there is no way. Damn. 
In the end, Thor gets off between Loki's thighs as he jerks Loki off, which
they’ve done before. But never under the sun. And that’s a big fat fucking
novelty. And never while not trying to be totally quiet. And it turns out, Loki
is naturally vocal and quite loud, who’d knew. But Thor, Thor’s moaning, so
husky, so desperate, it makes things inside Loki crumble and burn, and it
leaves him feeling raw, and somewhat purer, if that makes any sense. 
Getting their breaths back, the golden white vault of the sky over their heads,
Loki thinks he could get used to this very quickly. Which is a worry in an of
itself. 
“Have you fucked anyone before?” asks Loki after a while, back in the tent,
naked together in the same sleeping bag, which might be a mistake, because Thor
is a fucking furnace.
Thor takes a second too long and Loki knows the answer is yes. He tries to
sound cool.
“Who?”
“Juliette,” says Thor, his breath in Loki’s hair. “Christmas time. You were out
shopping with mum.”
Loki doesn’t say anything for a while. He thinks he knows which afternoon Thor
is referring to. Fuck. They were christmas shopping for dad and Thor. Loki
bought that creamy, cosy, chunky knitted jumper with lots of cables and a big
collar, thinking how gorgeous it would look with Thor’s fair hair and golden
skin. He knew he was fucking right for hating it when the relatives came to
stay at Asgard House for the holidays. 
Thor’s bulky chest pushes against Loki’s scrawny back with his breathing.
“Was it good?” asks Loki.
Thor doesn’t answer.
“What, you kiss and tell, but only up to a point?”
“I just… I don’t know, Loki,” sighs Thor.
“Did you think about me?” asks Loki suddenly, taking even himself by surprise.
Thor is silent and tense at his back. 
“Because I always think about you. Always.” And where the fuck did that come
from, you needy idiot.
Thor hugs him tight. “Me too, baby,” he says, with a deep exhale. “Me too.”
Loki feels a shiver. Baby. Damn, he’s melting. He burrows against his brother’s
body and is rewarded with a long kiss to the nape of his neck. Fucking putty in
Thor’s hands.
 
Loki is on his back and Thor is completely inside him. He’s used to the
sensation now, they’ve been fucking at least once a day for a week, leaving his
brother panting and sweaty and undone, and Loki throbbing and frustrated, even
after Thor has brought him to release with his hand. Loki doesn't enjoy the
physical sensation, but he can't get enough of feeling Thor fall apart between
his legs and knowing it's his body doing that to him.
This time, though, for some reason, when Thor starts moving, there is a hot
murmur of a sensation low in his underbelly, which is neither pain nor
discomfort, nor awkward fullness, but something else, and his hard-on is not
flagging at all. Thor seems encouraged by that, and therefore he doesn’t seem
affected by the need to keep asking Loki constantly if he’s alright. Loki can’t
blame him for saving it now, all it has got Thor before is snappy retorts to
the tune of “just get on with it,” “can you fucking move already,” and “shut
up, Thor.” No, this time Thor goes on empirical observation alone, and decides
he can pump a bit faster. Loki’s mouth falls unhinged. His toes are curling,
he’ll get a cramp. This is fucking maddening, this remote, simmering sensation
somewhere deep within. But Thor is so slow and careful. This won’t do at all.
“Get off,” Loki says. 
His brother pulls out carefully, and climbs off him, looking confused. And sure
enough, here it comes. 
“Are you alright?”
“Shut up,” says Loki, pushing Thor on his back, straddling him. He lowers
himself onto Thor’s cock easily, relaxed as he is, open and well lubed,
although Thor seems even bigger than usual. Thor exhales with a shaky moan as
Loki’s body takes him in. And Loki starts fucking himself on him, trying to get
to what he feels is just there, barely out of reach. He whimpers, he whines.
It’s not that, not that, almost, but not quite. It’s irritating, annoying.
Meanwhile, Thor is arching and panting and moaning under him, his expression
almost pained. Loki clenches his jaw, thighs getting tired, and still nowhere
near to where he is trying to get. 
Thor’s reaches for his face, pulls him down for a kiss. Loki stops bouncing and
gives himself a second to breathe. He doesn’t have that much to compare it
with, but he thinks Thor is a damned good kisser, sensual, demanding, with just
the right balance of gentle and rough. 
Hands on his hips, his brother raises him up, and fucks up into him.
Ah. Ah. Loki’s eyes shut tight and he whimpers. Thor fucks faster. Ah, there.
God, right there. Fuck, this is good. This is good. The murmur becomes and
itch, tangible and immediate, and Thor is scratching it so damn well. Loki
hears himself moan like it was someone else, and looks down to his brother’s
face, where there is a mixture of awe and hunger. 
“Fuck, yes...” sighs Loki.
That drives Thor wild. He pistons frantically into him, snapping his hips, with
sharp gasps, face contorted with pleasure and effort. 
“Oh god,” moans Loki, the air pushed out of his lungs with Thor’s strong
thrusts. 
It's overwhelming. Loki arches his back, stays as still as he can for Thor to
fuck him.
“Harder, harder…” he whimpers.
“Fuck Loki I…” 
“God, Thor…”
Thor’s hand is on him, jerking him fast. He loses pace and coordination as he
comes with jagged moans. He keeps fucking though, while Loki finishes himself,
stripping frantically, biting so hard into his bottom lip he’ll leave a mark. 
Sweaty and spent, he crumbles on his brother’s heaving chest, slick, skin
prickly, sated. Thor’s arms wrap around him, his breath on Loki’s cheek.
Nobody says “that was awesome”, nobody says “I love you”, nobody says “are you
alright”. But in each other’s arms like that, Loki still hears it, and he still
feels it.
 
________
 
 
 
(Iceland. The present.)
 
 
The smoke of Loki’s fag snaked up into the twilight, in a hypnotic column that
twisted and turned and twirled and curlicued. He did swear once that he would
get back here one day, but this is not how he had imagined it would be. Thor
should have been here, for one. And Loki should be naked on a blanket under the
sky, and not sitting on the edge of this cliff, for another. Anyway, life. It
is what it is.
The fact was, he was tired, bodily and mentally exhausted. He had been on the
run for… (he counted in his head) six months now. Out of meds for five. He had
done better than he thought. Being dead-set on a purpose, it turned out, went a
long way in keeping a stumbling mind in focus. He had self-medicated now and
then, with stuff that took the edge off and you bought in shady alleys rather
than chemists, but apart from that, he had endured on determination alone.
He never really expected he would find Laufey, this blurry figure that had
acquired a mythical aura in his romantic imagination. For all he knew, he might
have never existed. For all he knew, Loki had crawled out of a hole in the
earth. Whenever he thought of a faceless womb that nurtured him, perhaps a
breast that fed him, and then abandoned him, he felt the ground getting soft
under his feet, threatening to suck him in. He tried to stay away from it. He
had just needed to run, get away, cut himself off from all that had been so
reluctantly given. He wouldn’t take another second of Odin’s pity, or his
money, or his name, or anything that came with it. Like Frigga. Like Thor.
Because the bastard had a point. None of it belonged to Loki, he had no right
to take it. He had lived on borrowed compassion far too long. He hadn’t done
anything to deserve any of it. He was just as weak and sickly as Odin had said,
and yes, he had gifts, but in Loki’s hands even the best things became twisted
and black, from fucking Shakespeare to his brother's love. And after running so
far, and realising nobody was chasing after, he had lost all his impetus, and
yes, he had come to Iceland to die. Funny thing was, he had saved himself some
money for the trip back (thank goodness for low-cost airlines.) What did that
mean?
So here he was, literally and metaphorically teetering on the edge. He had
always hated cowardice, and that had been a deciding factor the first time he
had tried to kill himself. As in “stop thinking about it so much and just
fucking do it.” (He did remember as well, after he got better later on,
adjusted, that he had felt gratitude for being alive. Which should be telling
him something, he guessed, but right now it wasn’t coming through.)
Now, the last few days, as he approached the spot where he had decided to end
it all, another thought had started nagging at him and wouldn’t leave him
alone. To wit, that Loki disappearing quietly and discreetly, and more than
anything, quickly, might have been exactly what Odin was wishing for. 
I should have picked another one. I should have chosen a stronger one.  It
would have been better for all of us. 
Now people will know that, whatever is wrong with him, it doesn’t run in the
family.
Basically, his dad wished he had left him there to die.
Well, it might just be possible that Loki hated Odin even more than he hated
himself. Or maybe not more, but certainly with a viciousness that refused to
ease, and refused to let him just drift into oblivion and disappear, unheard of
and unknown. How about that, apparently Loki was too full of hate to die.
So, the old bastard was ashamed of him, yeah? Because he was a nutcase. Because
he was an embarrassment. Because he was girly and gay and weak. Because he was
no son of his, and still bore his august name. Was that it?
Loki smirked. Oh, Odin thought he was ashamed now? Just you fucking wait,
father. If there was any doubt left in that motherfucker’s mind that he should
have left Loki to die, by the time Loki was finished, there would be none.
Loki’s only fear is that the old goat would die of shame. Here’s hoping he
would wallow in it for quite a while yet.
 
Loki took the last drag and chucked the cigarette into the sea. He stood up,
dusted his arse and legs, put his hands in his pockets, took in the view. Even
leaned over the edge, carefully, to examine for the last time the deadly drop
at his feet that would have been the easy, painless way out. Then he turned on
his feet and walked away.
He had never liked things that came easy anyway.
 
 
                                       *
 
 
 
(London. Five months later)
 
 
Maria Hill stopped the car at the kerb and nodded towards the building across
the street. It had a red marquee and a kind of Moulin Rouge feel to it, with
black and white posters on the outside walls and old-fashioned lettering. The
sign on the door said “The Dark World Night Club” and then the flashy signs on
either side of the marquee screamed “GIRLS! GIRLS! GIRLS!” and “BOYS! BOYS!
BOYS!” 
Thor was frowning deeply, trying to work out what the fuck he was seeing. He
turned to Hill.
“What are we doing here?”
“Loki is inside,” she said.
Thor wasn’t getting it. It came through clear as day in his scrunched up
expression.
“He works here,” explained Hill. 
“Works here?” said Thor obtusely.
“Pole dancing. Stripping. Lap dancing.”
Thor mouthed silently “What?” and for a while he couldn’t do more. 
Hill cleared her throat. Thor blanched out. There was more?
“What?” snapped Thor, afraid of the answer. "What else?"
“He takes clients in the alleyway.”
“Cl-clients?”
Hill nodded. 
“He is using his real name. And he is the main attraction,” added Hill, who
seemed to have decided that Thor needed all the facts.
Thor was struggling for breath, reeling, in shock. Which is when the other side
of him usually struck and took over. He bursted out of the car.
“These guys are serious!” shouted Hill to his back. “Be careful!”
 
 
The place was shady and busy. Thor saw tits everywhere, all the staff seemed to
be top-less. And bottom-less, now that he had a proper look, just thongs and
nipple tassels and high heels for the girls, flat shoes for the boys, but not
much else. Two girls were on a bar, putting on a mock sex act with each other
around the pole. Men were crowding at their feet, waving bank notes. Thor’s
stomach heaved. Loki, baby,he thought, feeling a knot in his throat. It can’t
possibly be. It has to be a mistake. Not here. Not here.
A pair of eyes he knew well were staring at him from a big, black and white
poster on the wall. Loki, posing naked except for a few strips of strategically
positioned, metal-studded leather, one of them around his neck, daring the on-
looker to hold his stare, if they could. Next to it, smaller photos of… fuck,
Loki again, wrapped around a pole in fucking lingerie, in a torn-up suit, in
drag. Loki on his knees in chains, while a big, muscled guy was leaning over
him menacingly and yanking his head back by a handful of hair -god, his neck. 
Thor was struggling to breathe through the burn in his throat. His brother was
gorgeous, even like that. And he wanted to be repulsed, but he couldn’t. Oh,
but he was angry, and sickened. Loki…
The place fell quiet. The sudden silence shook Thor away from his haze. He
turned to the stage. His knees went weak. 
A slender, white figure was standing by the pole in black, skin-tight leather
trousers and braces, and nothing else, hair slicked back, heavy black mascara,
black lips, his feet bare, a powerful spotlight on him. And then, as he slowly,
slowly swayed his hips, he started singing, slurring the words, purring them
low, gravely, whispery.
 
"Bye-Bye, Mein Lieber Herr.
Farewell, mein Lieber Herr.
It was a fine affair,
But now it's over.
And though I used to care,
I need the open air.
You're better off without me,
Mein Herr."
 
The men and women at his feet were stretching their hands, waving bundles of
cash. Loki started a much quicker, much vigorous dance, sharp turns, mighty
kicks, wrapping around the pole, so strong and flexible. He bent double, head
upside down, for one of the men to slip some cash inside his trousers, just
behind his fly, and kneeled for another one to grope his arse.
Thor saw red. 
Loki kept singing, dancing and teasing, his crazed smile so wide, his eyes huge
and fierce, almost colourless with all that kohl around them. And for all the
anger and disgust Thor felt seething through his body, he couldn’t tear his
eyes off Loki. He was fucking incredible. And he hated himself for it, but he
was hard and blurry-eyed with lust. Wanting Loki had never felt sadder or
dirtier. 
Loki’s movements got faster and faster, his song quicker, with a note of anger
that broke his voice.
“Auf wiedersehen Mein Herr!”Loki finished, voice rasping with fury, with a
dramatic spin. He took a perfect theatrical bow, strutted vigorously along the
stage, and disappeared among the enthusiastic cheers and claps of the audience.
 
Thor started to run for it. A huge bouncer grabbed his arm.
“Whoa, mate, where do you think you’re going,”  said the bouncer, appropriately
balancing menace and dissuasive politeness.
“I need to talk to him,” said Thor, stupidly.
“No, sir.”
What the fuck could Thor say. You don’t understand, he is my brother?
“What seems to be the problem?” intervened Dodgy Character #1.
“I need to talk to him,” repeated Thor.
“Sure you do, sir,” said Dodgy, nodding sympathetically. “Everybody wants to
talk to Loki. It’s 100 quid.”
“What?”
“100 quid.” Dodgy took in Thor’s horrified expression and misunderstood
completely. “What? What did you expect? He’s the star of the show.”
“Listen, I just want to talk to him…” mumbled Thor.
“Whatever floats your boat, mate. It’s 100.” Then Dodgy thought about it for a
second. “Give me 150 and I’ll put you at the head of the queue.”
“…The queue.” muttered Thor, shaking his head.
“200 and you get first shot, no pun intended,” said Dodgy, giggling, happy to
help. “Because you’re his type.”
Thor told himself to stop, breathe, and use his fucking brain. He swallowed his
shock and his fury and counted some bank notes.
“Right,” said Dodgy. He lead him into a shady corridor at the back, by the
stage. “In here.” He drew a curtain that opened to a booth, furnished with a
chair upholstered in red velvet, pornographic images on the walls, and nothing
else. “Loki will be in in a minute. And, oh, remember, he can touch you but you
can’t touch him. No matter what he tells you. He likes to cause trouble and
wind people up. But there’s people watching, ok? Strict adherence to the rules
or you’re out. Enjoy.” And he drew the curtain, leaving Thor in the booth,
speechless, his hands shaking.
 
 
                                       *
 
 
Loki wiped the sweat off with a wet towel and touched up his make-up. Drank
some water, popped some pills. Should he change? Nah, this was fine. He
couldn’t be bothered to peel the leather off, not sweating like this. It would
take him half an hour. He didn’t have half an hour. He did put on his boots
though, heavy, clunky things. He felt safer in them.
“Which one?” said to Whatshisname as he walked pass the CCTV control cabin.
“Number 4 first.”
Loki had a peek. Went pale.
Holy mother of fuck. 
“Hot, eh?” said cabin boy. “You always get the hottest ones, you lucky bitch.
Hey, are you ok? …Do I need to call anyone, Loki…?”
Loki raised a hand, stilling the guy. Shut his eyes, leaned against the wall,
and managed to start drawing deep, slow breaths. It took him several minutes.
He accepted the water he was offered.
“This shit you keep taking will kill you one day, mate,” said Cabin Boy, when
Loki got back on his feet.
 
 
He slipped quietly past the curtain. He was suddenly two feet away from Thor.
His hair longer, short beard, that fucking black t-shirt. He looked as if he
had seen a ghost. One that fucking owed him.
“It’s better if you sit down” said Loki, his voice admirably firm. “Easier. But
whatever you prefer.”
Thor kept staring at him as if somebody was twisting a sword in his belly. 
“Baby, what the fuck…” he started, before he got choked up.
“We don’t have all night,” said Loki, one leg on the chair, stretching. His
arse looked remarkably tight like that, and he knew it. “We better start, or
they’ll come check what the problem is. My boss doesn’t like problems and he
doesn’t like weirdoes. Please, take a seat.”
Thor actually did, as if his knees couldn’t hold him anymore. Loki knew the
impersonal, chirpy tone was freaking his brother out. Which was, of course, the
point. 
“They told me you wanted to talk?"he purred, mellow, circling him like a
shark. "Or do you want me to talk, they didn’t say.”
“Loki…”
“What do you want to hear? Or did he get it all wrong and you just want the
usual,” Loki sat straddling Thor’s lap. His scent. His eyes. Loki's heart was
pounding.
Thor raised his hands.
“Huh-huh...” said Loki, squirming up and away. “You can’t touch me or they’ll
come. Seriously, they don’t fuck about.” He walked around Thor’s back, swaying
his hips, lazily stroking one hand over Thor’s shoulders. He leaned over to
whisper into Thor’s ear. “I mean, it can be arranged, but not here. Legal
reasons. And it costs more, of course. If the boss likes you enough, he has a
place. You can have me all weekend. It's just for really special friends of
his, but you'll find he is very friendly. I hope the bastard is taping it. I
hope he sends it to Odin. What do you think the old man would make of it? Maybe
it runs in the family, maybe he’d get off on it.”
“Loki!” snarled Thor, making Loki flinch. But he had no fucking intention of
stopping. He sat again on Thor’s lap, this time with his back to him, head
slightly turned to watch Thor out of the corner of his eye.
“You could do anything you wanted to me in that place. Anything.” He rubbed his
arse on Thor’s quickly hardening cock, heard his brother’s breath start to
shudder. “And you wouldn’t even have to listen to my constant whining, isn’t
that how you put it? Not a word. You just have to tell me, and I would have to
do it. You can even gag me, and only take the gag off when you want to fuck my
mouth.”
Thor gasped in shock, which was fucking rich. His hands were clawing at each
side of Loki’s arms, struggling to refrain himself from touching.
“Loki… fuck, stop.” 
Loki circled his hips, rubbing a bit harder.
“If I stop you have to go, don’t you understand? The boss doesn’t like weird
shit. He likes straightforward business.”
“Loki, please. This is fucking insane.”
Loki turned around again, stroking his own hardness on Thor’s stomach as he
pushed with his arse on his brother's cock. Thor’s eyes fell heavily, his brow
scrunched.
“Anyway, Malekith’s prices are extortionate. If you come to me direct, I’m a
lot more reasonable. The facilities are a bit more basic, it’s just the alley,
but you can save yourself some cash. As long as you don’t mind the risk of one
of the bouncers coming to snap your arm as an example. The boss has forbidden
it, you see? It lowers my asking price. And he says it's not hygienic. And you
might ask, doesn’t Loki make enough with the dancing? Well, sometimes I do,
sometimes I don’t, but it’s the principle that counts.” Jabber jabber jabber.
If he shut up he would scream.
“Loki, come home,” begged Thor, his face a fucking poem of lust and agony and
dismay.
Now Loki was getting pissed off.
“I don’t fucking have it,” he hissed.
“Come home, to me.”
“Now, this is a line I don’t hear very often.” Rub, rub, rub. “Usually it’s
more like (he mimics) oh yes, Loki, yes, fuck yes, oh god, oh Loki, oh
yes... Although other times it’s more like," (he mimicked a husky, dark voice)
“yeah, bitch, do you like that? My big fat cock, do you like that? You greedy
bitch, take it, take it all, yeah, you like that don't you, you like my big fat
cock?"Rutting, rutting."I’m well known for my vocalics." (He mimicked distress,
fear, pain) “Oh god, please, no, stop it, it’s too big, fuck, this hurts, no,
please, stop it, god, please, stop...!”
“Loki, for Christ’s sake, why are you doing this…” 
“Why… the fuck… not…” he said, rubbing in time against Thor's crotch.
“Baby… god, Loki…” Thor was close. He was in pain. It was fucking glorious.
“Stop this... Baby, come home…”
“As if Odin would ever let me near again after this,” muttered Loki, rubbing
faster.
“Fuck Odin...!” grunted Thor.
“Now, that will cost extra.”
“Loki!” Thor screamed, horrified, shoving him off. Loki landed hard on his
arse, on the floor.
“What the fuck happened to you?” snarled Thor, panting, and were those tears in
his eye.
Loki was panting too, heart hammering. He knew he had dropped the poker face
now. He might start to talk bollocks and embarrass himself in a second.
The curtain drew back suddenly.
“What the fuck is going on here.” Algrim stepped in, taking up half the air in
the booth. Loki started to feel suffocated.
“This does not concern you,” said Thor, stupidly, standing up to him with his
usual arrogance.
Algrim glared at him. Loki felt himself cower.
“Loki, out.”
Loki scrambled to his feet and made to leave. Thor grabbed his arm. Brother,
no...
“You have to let go of him right now, sir. Now.”
Loki found himself begging his brother with his eyes. It seemed like a year
before Thor slowly, reluctantly, began to loosen his grip. Loki scurried away.
He did not let himself steal one last look at his brother.
 
 
                                       *
 
 
 
Thor watched his brother go, in despair. The massive bouncer that managed to
scare Loki shitless stepped in front of him, just in case he was having ideas
of following after his brother.
"You will have to leave, sir," he said, his voice deep and husky. 
Thor glared at him in hatred.
"And if I ever catch you around here again, if I so much as sniff you around
him again, Odinson -yes, we know who you are-, I'm going to break your ankles,
and then I'm going to break his. If you want to know if I'm serious, ask
around. Now, please, leave." He stepped aside.
Thor swallowed, took a deep breath. Got walking. The big bouncer escorted him
out.
 
Back in the street, the night was pleasant, quiet, oblivious. Hill's car was
still parked there, and she had waited. She looked at him with worry and
compassion. She did not say a word. Neither did he.
 
The bouncer waited at the door until he saw him climb in the car and drive
away. 
 
Chapter End Notes
     The song is "Mein Herr" from the musical "Cabaret" (Music by John
     Kander, lyrics by Fred Ebb.) Do look up the rest of the lyrics, and
     imagine Loki singing them, and even find the scene from the movie
     with Liza Minelli, and then picture Loki doing something like that,
     with a pole. Mind the projectile nose bleed, though, the danger is
     very real (said she, wiping the screen. Again.)
***** Chapter 6 *****
Chapter Summary
     Many ways to say goodbye, none of them final.
Chapter Notes
     Alright, next level angst, achieved. It was tough to write and, if
     I've done my job well, it should be tough to read. Sorry.
     I can't stress enough how pathological (as in not rational, extreme
     and completely removed from reality) Loki's thoughts are at the end
     of this chapter. Pay him no fucking mind.
     But after this, he's getting help. And rest and warmth. And hugs.
     Bear with us.
     When I say this has a happy ending, I mean it, I swear on Sleipnir's
     shoes, all eight of them.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 “Loki, Loki, Loki…” said Malekith, circling slowly around the chair Loki was
sitting stiffly on, like a shark closing in on his prey. “You are such a bloody
headache. I swear a lot of the time you’re more trouble than you’re worth.”
Loki stayed still and quiet. 
“I know who that was, don’t fucking think I don’t. What was that all about?”
“Just a bit of fun,” said Loki, barely a whisper. He did not have voice for
more.
“Hm,” said Malekith, sitting down on his swivel chair and boring into Loki’s
head with his almost transparent eyes. “Fun.” 
With the clunky, sturdy desk between them, Loki felt a bit more at ease. Not
much, mind, Algrim was still behind his back.
“Yes, fun,” he said, stupid and proud enough to not want to let it go without a
fight.
Malekith fixed him with cold, fixed eyes. He had a shark’s smile, with some
crazy thrown in for good measure. Loki had heard that the man had lost it after
his wife was killed. And while his acts were reasonable, if ruthless, his
business sense flawless, Loki often found himself looking at him and seeing a
dead, black void. It terrified him.
“Haven’t I told you before, Loki, that we have very, very different ideas about
what constitutes fun?” said Malekith mellifluously, delighting in it. ”And
didn’t we agree a while ago that the only ideas that matter in this place are
mine?”
“How is it my fault that he decided to turn up like that?” he countered,
because let it not be said that the house of Odin raises cowards.
“You know, with anybody else, I would grant you that. But with you I’ve learned
that, one way or another, it’s always your fault.” 
Loki said nothing to that. The boss had a point there.
“You’re an agent of chaos, Loki,” said Malekith. “When it’s not a riot in the
street it’s the fucking in the alley. Yes, I know you’re back at it.” He
changed to menace, and Loki cowered on his chair in spite of himself. “I simply
don’t understand you, Loki.” Malekith extended his palms upwards on the desk,
exasperated. Loki expected him to start going ‘you break my heart, Freddo’ any
second now. Malekith counted on his fingers. “I don’t work you too hard. I get
you clean, reliable people that answer to me. I draw them a line they can’t
cross. I even turn a blind eye to your dabbles in self-medication. You’re safe
and well paid. Just what do you fucking want, Loki?"
Ah, what Loki wants. He kept his big mouth shut. He wasn't at fucking therapy.
"Are things going too well?” purred Malekith then. “Do you feel you have it too
easy? Because I can make it just as difficult for you as you need.” A silence.
“Well, then?” ”
Loki shook his head. He was not sure what he had answered no to.
“Because of you, I have the police at my door every night and twice on Sundays.
And now this? Wherever there is trouble, there you are. I’m getting so, so
tired.”
Loki looked up, guarded.
“What are you going to do, sack me? I’m the star in this place.”
Malekith glowered at him, but Loki could almost swear the bastard looked
endeared. 
“You have an inflated opinion of your own importance here, Loki. I let you do
what you want with your fancy pants acts and your high-brow shit because I like
you, but I was doing just fine before you came and, while I don’t want to lose
you, that doesn’t mean you have a blank cheque. And I’m getting seriously sick
of your crap. So, what are you going to do?”
Loki sulked silently. He was the star in that joint. He pulled in a better
class of crowd, with more dough to spend. His high-brow shit, as his ignorant
oaf of a boss had put it, had made the club distinctive and talked about. It
was so fucking irritating not to get his bloody due. 
Malekith was boring into him with his colourless eyes. If he was to be talked
to like an eight year old, he was going to answer as one. So Loki just
shrugged.
“Well, it’s up to you,” said Malekith. “But you need to make a decision. And if
you remain hell-bent on making a career out of sucking cock in the alley rather
than dancing for me, I suppose you’ll only thank me if, before I kick you out,
I pull out all your teeth. Think about it. Now get out. And pack. You’re
working this weekend.”
 
 
Loki smoked in his room above the club with shaky hands. He could picture Thor
right now planning a mad kidnap/rescue mission. He knew his brother. He would
never stop trying. He might even get the police involved, or god knows —maybe
even drag Frigga over, thought Loki with a shudder. The bloody idiot was going
to get them all hurt.
He lit the next fag with the stub of the last one, puffing smoke like a furious
dragon.
Thor had looked tanned and golden and ruddy and… well, distinctively not-
miserable or in mourning. He looked as if he had been on holidays in Malibu,
the bastard, while Loki was literally about to jump off a fucking cliff. And
now he barged in like a bulldozer and it was all hail, praise the fucking
saviour, all bend to my will, for I have arrived. That’s Thor for you. 
Loki was metaphorically and quite literally fuming. He had no doubt the
situation was far from resolved. It was not in Thor’s nature to give up on
things. He never did. He never would. And as much as Loki was seething with
rage against him right now, hell, he did not want him harmed. Unless it was by
his own hand, maybe. He had to fucking do something.
 
                                      ---
 
Dear Thor,
I need you to stop stalking me. 
I know you don’t understand the choices I’ve made, and I know you feel that you
have to save me from myself. But you’re wrong. You don’t live in my skin, and
you can’t see inside my head. I know you always want to do the right thing, but
I think you will agree with me that you have fucked up a lot of times. You
don’t always know better. And you don’t get to make decisions for me. You don’t
get to tell me how to live my life. 
So please, stop coming to the club. Respect my wishes and leave me alone.
Loki.
 
                                      ---
 
Loki was rudely woken up from his afternoon nap by some vigorous thumping at
his door. Knock knock, who’s there, it’s fucking Algrim.
“The boss wants to see you,” thundered the man. The corridor was dotted with
heads popping out of doors.
As they climbed down the stairs, Loki heard the commotion, coming approximately
from the back door. 
“I want to see him! I want to talk to him! I want to know that these are his
own words!”
Loki’s heart skipped three whole fucking beats. It was Thor.
 
Malekith’s office.
“Your brother is a right pain in the arse,” he said while Loki stood, hands
deep in his jeans’ pockets so that the boss wouldn’t notice they were shaking.
“Let me handle it,” said Loki, chin up, avoiding those icy, transparent eyes.
“What are you going to do?” said Malekith, bringing the tips of his fingers
together.
“Make him see reason,” answered Loki, hoping he sounded more confident than he
felt.
Malekith took a couple of very long minutes to give that proper consideration.
Extremely long. Loki's throat was parchment dry.
“Give me the chance to handle this,” he insisted. “Less trouble for you.”
“Yes, of course,” said Malekith, with his kindest, most terrifying shark grin.
“Leave it in Loki’s hands. That is always a good idea.”
“You can always break my legs after,” said Loki, returning grin for grin.
“Sweetheart,” said Malekith, feigning shock, “I’d never do that to an artist
like you. Your arms, on the other hand…”
 
Malekith ended up authorising an interview in the bar across the street. 
“But we’ll be watching,” he warned.
 
Loki braced himself for whatever Thor was going to throw at him, with a
shudder. No matter what, he must not let Thor get a word in edgeways. His
stomach was turning. 
 
                                       *
 
Thor found himself, for the second time in a month, standing by a chair in a
strange, dingy place waiting for Loki to show up.
And there he was, crossing the street with a brief look side to side, hair
wild, sunglasses, leather jacket, black jeans, white t-shirt, hands in his
pockets, quick and light on his feet, sickly pale skin —did he even see the
sunlight at all anymore? 
The doorbell tinkled when Loki pushed the door open. Thor swallowed as Loki
approached.
“Loki…” he started.
Loki didn’t sit down. He stood by Thor’s table, sunglasses still on, skittish.
“I want you to stop coming around here. I want you to leave me alone,” he said,
cutting.
Thor shook his head heavily, feeling the ghost weight on his shoulders crushing
him down.
”I can’t do that, Loki, you know I can’t,” he replied, voice soft.
“You have to,” said Loki, an edge of exasperation in his voice.
“I will never give up on you,” said Thor, choking now. “I don’t know how.”
Loki took his sunglasses off and sat down in front of him, jittery, his
movements quick, sharp. His eyes were red and tired. Thor sat down too.
“You don’t get it, do you,” hissed Loki.
Thor must have looked puzzled.
“You fucking hurt, Thor,” said Loki then, his voice seething with slow-burning
rage, his gaze anywhere on Thor’s face but his eyes. “You want me but you won’t
have me. You say you love me but you’re ashamed of it. You push me away, and
then reel me back, and then you fuck off again.” A deep, furious sigh. “I can’t
live like this anymore. I can’t fucking bear it. I want to forget you exist,
and then maybe I can start fucking living. But this? this is not life. You’re
not good for me, Thor. You make me miserable.” He looked down now, arms
crossed, deflated, as if the fuel was spent. “I don’t want your help. I don’t
want anything from you. I want you to forget about me and stop feeling you are
responsible for me. Just… Go back to L.A.”
Thor was in shock. He wanted to be sick. He felt as if his heart had been
ripped off his chest. 
“Loki, baby…” he choked out.
Chair screech. Loki was leaving.
Fucking stop him.
He grabbed his arm.
“Let go of me,” hissed Loki, a note of threat in his voice.
Thor was breathing fire. He swallowed thickly. Put a hand in his pocket, got
the key to Loki’s apartment, put it in his brother’s hand. Made himself speak,
his voice forced.
“It will always be there for you, always.” A breath that scorched his throat.
“And so will I.”
Loki’s hand closed around the key at least. His eyes wouldn’t lift up from the
ground. For a second, Thor thought he was going to say something.
Loki pulled his arm away and walked out of the place. Thor watched him cross
the street, hands deep in the pockets of his leather jacket, shoulders slumped,
eyes low.
Thor sat himself gingerly on the chair again. He felt as if he had been ran
over by a lorry, as if he would never be able to get up again. He couldn’t even
cry.
Loki was fucking right.
 
___________
 
 
(The past.)
 
 
When Loki, sixteen, had mentioned that he had been asked to direct the end-of-
year play at drama school, Thor had congratulated him heartily. He himself had
graduated from teenage soaps and to serious BBC drama, playing one of the main
roles in a wartime mini-series which got him the BAFTA for best newcomer.
People were excited about him, the golden heir of Asgard House, who was turning
up to be just as handsome, talented, charismatic and full of promise as his dad
had been in his day. They wanted to see him do well. They weren't so sure about
his brother.
The two of them were not fighting these days. They weren’t spending enough time
together to fight. They were both so busy, they practically didn’t see each
other at all. His parents told him that Loki was doing well with his therapy.
Words like “stable” and “adjusted” tended to crop up in conversation a lot. 
They had not fucked since before Loki’s hospital stay, seemed like a lifetime
ago. They did not talk about it, or about anything much at all, really. Thor
had girlfriends, and when the subject was sometimes brought up at dinner by a
chirpy, mildly lewd Odin, usually in Elizabethan terms, Thor darted glances at
his brother and saw him poker faced, seemingly uninterested. Thor wasn’t sure
what to make of that, so he didn’t think about it at all, if he could.
They sometimes watched a movie together, or played a game —not Mario Kart— not
exactly while sitting each on either end of the sofa, but practically. It was
not so much awkward anymore as it was sad. Thor tried to avoid seeing it in
those terms, and be glad that they could sit together and just be brothers, but
he never quite managed it. The fact was, they were strangers, and saddest of
all, it was probably better like that.
 Loki had not told him what play he was putting on, and Thor being Thor, he had
forgotten to ask. He found out through his parents. He overheard them talking
about it one evening, while Loki was in capoeira class. 
Thor walked passed the kitchen and his ear was caught by the note of disbelief
in his father’s voice.
“It’s a what?”
Thor stopped behind the half-open door, intrigued.
“A queer version of Edward Scissorhands,” said her mum. “Remember the girl
character? He’s doing it with a boy instead, and he is playing Edward.”
Odin huffed heavily. It sounded as if it was a discussion they had had before,
because Frigga sighed as well, already exasperated.
“I don’t understand why he has to… To parade it around so much,” said Odin
after a bit.
Frigga took a second.
“Odin, half your friends are gay,” she said at last. 
“I don’t care if he’s into horses,” snapped Odin. “What worries me is that he
will be narrowcast into a very specific type of character and never get to do
anything else.”
“A very specific kind of character.” Frigga’s voice sounded irked. “What about
being true to himself?” she said then. “He’s obviously chosen this because it’s
speaks to him and it’s important to him. Can you not understand that, as an
artist?”
“It’s the audience he has to speak to, or he’ll have no career.”
“Don’t let me hear you say anything like that to him,” warned Frigga sternly.
“You’ve always encouraged this,” said his dad.
“I’ve just never wanted him to feel he had to be a different person for us to
love him. How can you possibly not agree with that?”
“He knows I love him,” said Odin. “He has all my support, him and his talent.
But I think you’re showing him the world through rose-tinted lenses, and that’s
going to come back and bite him. It’s not warm and cosy out there, especially
if you’re different. And whom he prefers in the bedroom, whether we like it or
not, happens to be a factor that opens or shuts doors in the business we’re in.
If you don’t make that clear to him, you’re not doing your son any favours.”
Frigga sighed heavily, her patience strained, sadness there too.
“Dear, the world is a hard and unkind place, but that doesn’t mean his home has
to be as well.”
“Bah, you don’t listen,” huffed Odin. 
Thor heard steps and walked away, trying to be silent.
 
He realised with stupor he had never thought about that, about Loki being gay,
or whatever he was. 
Or about himself, for that matter.
 
 
Thor slipped into the stalls while the rehearsal was on. Loki hadn’t noticed
him. Nobody was in costume. Loki was standing by, rubbing mindlessly at his
lip, assessing, while a handsome, slim young boy and a hot, busty blonde girl
had it out. The girl was throwing a jealous fit, the boy hesitated between
fight and guilt. Loki intervened a couple of times, his long hands conveying
his meaning just as much as his words, which Thor couldn’t make out; they just
sounded to him like a warm, purring mumble. The boy and girl were attentive,
listening and nodding, and turning to Loki for approval when they tried the new
angle, a bit truer than the one before. Loki was patient, encouraging and
easygoing. Thor witnessed this version of his brother with astonishment.
And Loki was smiling a lot more than Thor had seen in years. It was not the
bright, full smile he was capable of, but he seemed quietly content. When the
session ended, both the girl and the boy gave him a kiss, the complicity
between them evident, the boy’s easy arm around Loki’s shoulders like an ice
cold cut in Thor’s flesh.
Thor made up to leave as he saw Loki talking to someone who seemed to be a
technician, if all the pointing at seemingly random spots on the ceiling was
anything to go by.
If he had ever doubted whether they had become complete strangers, there it
was, final proof. He had never met this boy before. He did not know him at
all. 
 
He sat by his mum on opening night. He caught sight of Odin’s profile beside
her, his attention fixed on the stage, his professional hat obviously on,
judging by that frown. Thor knew by experience that Odin was never a harsher
critic than when he assessed himself or his family. Thor was already cringing
in solidarity with Loki, because he could be putting on Citizen Kane and his
dad would still find flaw with his work.
The curtain rose to a set with a handcrafted feel Thor liked very much. It had
to be done on the cheap of course, with a less is more approach, but it was
effortlessly classy. Just like his brother. Loki had rewritten the movie script
for the stage, and Thor enjoyed this version, which didn’t shy away from
everything that worked in the movie, and seamlessly and cleverly translated the
rest, without making a big artistic fuss or trying to make a statement of empty
originality. Emphasis was on the characters, on the story. It felt as if it had
been written by a mature author with a long experience.
At Edward’s first appearance, there was a general gasp. The look was amazing,
even if his costume was necessarily simpler and plainer than the one in the
movie. Loki’s face had none of young Johnny Depp’s softness or childishness,
his appearance a lot more extreme and alien. Loki’s Edward was more of a
machine, his movements sudden, bird-like, his eyes wide and glassy, like a
doll’s. He inspired real menace, and an otherness that wasn’t sweet at all,
acting with his whole body, from his feet to his eyes. His performance stood
head and shoulders above everyone else's. He was in a different league.
When Kim, the young blond boy appeared, what in Edward had been perplexity at
his new surroundings became quiet fascination, his connection with a human
being finally connecting him with the world. And little by little, almost
imperceptibly, Edward/Loki’s whole demeanour softened up, and whereas he
remained a machine until the end, alien, and other, by virtue of the scissors
he had instead of hands, Loki managed to convey without a word the point in
which Edward had grown a heart and started to feel it beating, and how it would
never stop beating, even after the curtain went down.
Thor was crying like a child by that point. He had seen everything Loki had
done there, everything. He had seen the lonely outsider, isolated from the
common, “healthy” people, misunderstood and less than human, with his
scissorhands as the permanent mark of his inhumanity, but also the source of
his uniqueness and his talent. He bore his scars from them, but he also created
beauty with them. Because of the scissors, some people feared and despised him,
others fawned over him, but nobody seemed to be able to see past them. For
better and for worse, in the eyes of the world, Edward was his scissorhands.
Thor thought of Loki at ten, sat on the psychiatrist’s chair, legs dangling
because he was so small his feet didn’t touch the floor. Of Loki at twelve,
kicked around in school for doing ballet. Of the things Loki had been called,
both behind his back and to his face, when he returned to high school after his
suicide attempt. Of Loki always by himself in the school yard, with his book
and his earbuds, since he was little. 
Even when Edward was welcomed into a family of “normal” people, he couldn’t fit
in. They were all golden and healthy, a negative copy of him. It wasn’t a place
made for him, no matter how hard the mother tried, no matter how kind and warm
and generous. He didn't start to belong until Kim, the older son, eventually
got to see beyond the otherness and learned to love him, not in spite of his
scissorhands and not because of them, but because of Edward’s heart. And Thor’s
own heart had all but stopped when Kim and Edward kissed, a kiss so sweet and
warm, Loki’s acting so fucking compelling, he had felt a surge of jealousy that
had put a knot in his throat. Because Loki was not supposed to kiss anyone like
that, eyes closed, breath held, but him.But the most shattering thing of all
was that, even if Kim refused to see it, Edward knew that this first kiss was
also the last. There was no future for them, no place where they would be
accepted.
Thor’s tears were streaming down silently and freely by the end, when Edward
retreated back into solitude. He loved now, he was as human as he could
possibly be, but he was doomed to not be able to live among normal people, his
love for Kim impossible, frozen in time, and ever-lasting. He retreated and
pushed Kim away, so that he could have a full, normal life, instead of tying
himself up to a freak everybody feared and despised, and be forced to live as
an outcast too.
Frigga stopped clapping for a second to ruffle her unconsolable son’s hair.
Thor sniffed and tried to wipe his tears away and clap strongly at the same
time. He needed his sleeve for that.
Backstage, make-up on, though the prop hands were off, Loki still looked alien
and otherworldly. His eyes brightened up when he saw his family. He smiled at
whatever it was that his mum had whispered in his ear while he hugged him, and
Thor saw Loki’s eyes widen in wonder when it was Odin’s mighty embrace he was
trapped in. “I’m so proud, son,” Odin had mumbled, for his younger child alone.
When it was Thor’s turn, he couldn’t even speak. Loki worried at his lip, and
threw his arms around him. 
And still, Thor could not speak.
“It’s alright,” he heard Loki say, and gasped when Thor crushed him with all
his might.
 
Thor had taken for granted they would all go for a meal to celebrate after the
play, but his brother told them timidly that he already had other plans with
his mates. Their parents were delighted to hear that. They said goodbye at the
stage door, and Thor watched his brother walk away with the rest of the
company, giggling and chanting and playfully pushing and shoving each other
down the street. And he wanted to be happier for Loki, he wanted it so much,
and he was sure he would be, in time, as soon as he could piece his heart back
together again. He felt that he had lost him, completely and irretrievably, and
that it was actually the best for Loki, to drift away and leave Thor behind. He
was just so fucking sad. And he feared that, when the sadness went, nothing
would come to replace it. 
 
 
 
 
Weeks later, Thor found out that he had got the part in the big Hollywood
adventure flick he had been auditioning for, and spent all summer shooting in
the US. Soon there would be two more projects on the line. Just after his
eighteenth birthday in the autumn, Thor moved to L.A. 
Whenever he called home, he asked for Loki to get on the phone. The
conversations were stilted at first, a bit easier eventually. Never too
personal, but friendly enough. Loki was always taking the mickey out of him,
Hollywood big shot. They bantered and joked and they laughed. It was good,
really, even if it didn't quite feel like themselves.
Thor worked hard that year, knocked on lots of doors, met Tony Stark. His first
movie opened in December and it was a blockbuster. Suddenly, Thor was hot
property. He was on his way.
When he was told that he was going to be presenting an award at the Golden
Globes, and that he could bring a plus one, there was only one person Thor
wanted by his side. He didn’t think twice. Ramifications be damned, he just
went for it.
Loki took a few minutes before he replied.
“Don’t you have a girlfriend or something you’d like to take instead?”he asked,
without any particular inflexion in his voice, as far as Thor could tell.
“This is big,” said Thor. And he let it drop, while bracing himself for what
Loki would have to say to the outburst of sentiment. “I want my brother with
me.”
Another silence at the other end of the line.
“Loki?” urged Thor, when he couldn’t bloody stand it anymore.
“Yes, alright,” said Loki. “I’ll come.”
 
___________
 
 
(The present.)
 
 
Loki ran some water in the sink to wash the hair clippings away. He checked
himself in the mirror: he looked so… not himself with short hair. Which was the
whole point, of course. He zipped up the small duffle bag, and put on the extra
big hoodie he liked to lounge in. (Yes, it had been Thor’s a long time ago, and
he had lent it to Loki in Iceland, and never got it back. But Loki did not
remember that at all when he wore it, not one fucking bit.) 
He made his way out as if he was going to the gym, hood up so that nobody
remarked on his new look. He was leaving everything behind except what he could
fit in the small bag and in his pockets, a key dangling from a piece of string
around his neck —not that he had any intention of using it. He nodded to the
bouncer like he did every Tuesday and every Thursday, and made his way down the
street, never to return.
Thor had not stopped coming. Loki could see him from his window every now and
then, usually sitting at the bar across the street, purposely making himself
conspicuous. It must have been his way to show Loki that he would always be
there for him, or some such sappy sentiment of the sort. Which meant fuck all,
because Thor had not been there for Loki for fucking years, and what was more,
it was a stance that did not come from a meditated position, Loki was sure, but
from Thor’s boorish instinct to never give up, no matter what. 
And because Thor had most assuredly not run this by his fucking head, it would
not fucking mean a change of life for anyone involved. Not for long anyway.
That was Thor acting with his gut, not his brain, and if Loki took him up on
his offer, Thor would fucking come to and realise that, fuck, perhaps he could
not make good on his promises after all, sorry Loki, baby.
So fuck you, Thor. Fuck you, fuck me, fuck every-fucking-thing.
 
For the second time in his life, Loki was on the run. This time he stayed in
London. He just moved to the other end of the city. He didn’t expect Malekith
would come after him, but still he called himself Jack or John or Pete when
someone asked, and entertained himself changing his accent.
He tried very briefly to find work. But his depression was solidly set in by
then, and his self-medicating habit showed in his face and his actions, and he
got nowhere fast. He begged in a corner, dragged himself to a shelter every now
and then, and topped it up with the other work sometimes. It didn’t get him
much though, he was not a class act after all, not anymore, and frankly, less
and less every day. He had no plans, no ideas, no will. He was bored out of his
mind. He was hungry. He was tired. He did not know why he was carrying on, what
was he clinging on to. 
He sometimes wondered if Thor still stalked the club, or whether somebody had
let him know. Wouldn’t it be funny it his brother was still sitting at that
crappy bar, stubbornly determined, that cute frown on his forehead that had not
changed since he was a kid. 
He burrowed into his stolen hoodie, with a shiver.
 
 
                                      ---
                                        
                                        
The queue had started to move, making its sluggish way into the building.
Loki had been to a shelter to get himself cleaned up and dressed to pass for a
normal person, or thereabouts. He had been in the street for about a year, but
tonight he was going to the theatre.
Thor had not returned to Hollywood after all. Instead, his brother had enrolled
in a drama school, and he was on a play, and there was a free performance
tonight, open to the public. Loki had purposefully missed the opening night,
fearing stumbling into Frigga and Odin. 
He took his seat around the back of the house, shutting his eyes for some time,
willing his body to breath itself out of the rising anxiety. So many people
around gave him shaky hands. He had decided to keep the self-prescribed, back-
alley bought anxiolytics to a minimal dose, so as not to appear high. Bad call
perhaps. Too late.
He checked his program, crudely printed, but still showing a good photo of Thor
as Brick, the lead in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. 
He felt his heart thump hard in his chest as the lights started to dim.
 
 
_______
 
 
(The past)
 
 
Loki squinted as he stepped into the bright sunlight. It had been so gloomy and
chilly back home, just a few hours ago, the plane breaking through lead-grey,
heavy clouds, and landing into this place of permanent summer. Oh, give him
grey and dim any day. Everything in L.A. hurt his eyes.
And that golden, tanned, ripped hunk waiting by the barrier at arrivals hurt
his eyes most of all. They hadn't seen each other in almost a year.
His brother crushed him in his arms and patted his back hard enough to make
Loki wince. 
And that was as far as they got. From that point on, awkwardness set in. Loki
stood rigid, eyes low, not knowing what to say or where to look. His brother
looked just as skittish. Thor being Thor, he opted for the flashy, expansive
approach. He took Loki’s bag and the zippered cover Loki’s tux had traveled in,
and drove them along the broad, sunburnt, straight streets of L.A., talking,
talking, talking. He was so excited, and so nervous. He had much to tell, if
only Loki was listening. He was thinking Thor looked very sexy driving that
huge American car. 
“We’ll drop your bags, go grab some lunch and see the sights. Then back for a
shower, put on our tux, and to the Globes, yeah?” Thor was saying. 
Loki nodded, kept looking out.
 
Awkwardness reared its ugly head again with a vengeance when Thor let them both
into his apartment.
“It’s nice,” said Loki, taking in the single-space, messy shoebox of a living
area. 
“It’s a craphole,” said Thor, with a laugh. “But it’s my craphole.” He beamed
his extraordinarily beautiful, radiant smile.
“It’s not so bad,” said Loki, wondering just how had he managed to forget how
much more handsome Thor was in the flesh. 
“And here’s the bathroom, and this is the-the bedroom.” And was he actually
blushing? “This is a sofa-bed,” he hastened to add, gesturing to the couch in
the living area.
Loki gave him a faint smile. He had several scenarios in his mind of how this
might pan out. He had allowed for every eventuality. Whatever happened, it was
not going to change the end result. He was determined upon that, and he was
fine with it.
 
Getting dressed for the evening. Loki had had a shower and was searching
through his bag with a towel slung around his hips. Thor was going into the
shower just then. Loki thought his brother must be modifying his custom for
him, because he looked a bit at a loss, with false starts and double-takes. He
probably just walked around the apartment naked a lot of the time, if he knew
his brother a bit. 
The looks Thor tried no to throw at him, his expression. He looked so nervous
it was cute. 
“It’s the exact same butt, Thor,” said Loki as he stepped into his pants.
“Nothing you haven’t seen before.” Perhaps he was trying to defuse the tension,
or perhaps he was flirting. He would decide what he was doing when he found out
where it lead.
Thor blushed bright red. Loki enjoyed that.
When Thor came out of the shower, Loki's first instinct was to pretend he
wasn't ogling. Which was fucking ridiculous. He faced Thor fully as his brother
dried himself up.
“You’ve bulked up,” commented Loki casually. Nothing you haven't seen before
didn't apply this time. His brother looked positively rip.
“They make me work out for the part,” said Thor, slipping into the tux
trousers.
“Just how fucking big is big enough for Hollywood?” quipped Loki.
Thor towelled his long hair with a smile. Now Loki did avert his eyes. Those
fucking arms.
 
Before they left the apartment, Thor ran a check-out on Loki’s suit, sorting
out the neck of his shirt, even though Loki was quite sure it was already
flawless, then his tie, and dusted some inexistent fluff from Loki’s shoulder. 
“Perfect,” Thor said.
Loki’s turn. He straightened Thor’s tie, which had surely needed it, shaking
his head in quiet exasperation. 
“I like the bun,” he said afterwards, pointing at Thor’s hair. “Classy.”
Thor smiled. Quickly, with a light tremble, he pulled the hair out of Loki’s
face, tugging it behind his ear. It felt incredibly intimate. It looked like
Thor wanted to say something, but he didn’t. He accompanied Loki out with a
hand hovering around his back.
 
 
Walking the red carpet together was a high. Even though Loki would never admit
to it out loud, sharing space with the celebrities was quite the sensation. The
shouting and screaming and the flashes, although not aimed at them, was a
mighty electric buzz. And Thor looked so fucking gorgeous it was out of this
world. The people who saw him pass tonight, whether or not they knew his name
yet, would not forget him. 
And Thor kept turning to him to share the excitement, with complicit smiles,
bright stares, a hand constantly on Loki, on the small of his back, on his
shoulder, so radiantly happy. Loki wondered if Thor realised they could easily
be mistaken for a couple. If he did, he wasn’t bothered. He threw him several
stares that were nothing less than flirtatious, wagging his eyebrows, small
tight-lipped smile, eyes dazzling. 
 
The second-hand embarrassment from watching Thor present the award, on his best
behaviour, and kind of stiff, was soon forgotten amid the bustle of the gala
dinner. That big time producer Thor talked so much about, Tony Stark, could
surely fill up a room. 
“So, Hamlet! Wow! You’re only, what, seventeen?” His words quick, like darts.
Loki relished the chance to talk about that unbelievable opportunity his Edward
Scissorhands had led to, when a woman looking to put on a teenage Hamlet up in
Stratford-upon-Avon had been made aware of Loki’s existence. She wanted to
address the issues of mental illness in the play and abound on this side of the
character. Loki was on board with that, and pushing the boat away from the
dock, before she had even finished exposing her vision. He talked about the
project animatedly, under Mr. Stark's very big, very bright, soul-searching
eyes. This man's full attention was quite an intense experience. Even with that
trim, manicured beard and the wrinkles in his face that told his age, there was
something childish about him which Loki found, hm, rather attractive. His
enthusiasm, his curiosity, the small teeth in his easy smile. And the guy went
so camp when he laughed. He was magnetic. No wonder Thor never shut up about
him.
“You know, I have to talk about you with Tim. Tim Burton,” said Tony. “He’s
casting for his next thing, and I swear you could be Johnny Depp’s kid brother.
It’s a small part, but it’s eye-catching. It would get you lots of attention,
probably a foot in the door.”
Loki bit a nail.
“I’m not sure I want to make movies,” he said. “I don’t think I’m cut for it. I
would hate the publicity tours. And I’m not very politically correct when I’m
annoyed or bored.”
Tony narrowed his eyes into a mischievous squint.
“Neither am I.” A smirk. “You and your brother, you’re like the sun and the
moon. It would be brilliant to have you both in something. Have you ever worked
together before?”
“Yes. When we were kids.”
“Was he as stubborn and air-headed already then? It’s obvious that you got all
the brains in the family. And the… Well, he has looks, but you, my dear, you
have theje-ne-sais-quoi…”
Loki returned the stare with unblinking eyes.
“…Are you making a pass on me, Mr. Stark?”
“God forbid,” he smiled, still eyefucking Loki silly, “that would be illegal.
And something tells me big brother there would see my head on a pole if I did.”
Loki let his eyes droop, knowing how long his lashes looked when he did that.
“It’s not like he has a say,” he said.
Tony pulled back, broke eye contact, had a sip of his drink.
“…Maybe when you’re older.”
“I am of age in England,” said Loki. He was having fun with this.
Tony bit his lip, as if trying to hold temptation at bay. Loki thought he
looked pretty sexy like that.
“Alright then, maybe when you look older,” said Tony, with another sip.
“I may not be interested then,” countered Loki.
Tony chuckled. “Oh, I can be very, very interesting, not to mention charming,”
he purred.
“Charm is not what I'm looking for,” said Loki.
Oh, Tony's smile. He was adoring him. Loki had him on the palm of his hand.
“And what is it that you look for, then?” mumbled Tony.
(Enters Thor.) “What is going on here?” 
“Mr. Stark was offering me a job,” said Loki, gaze locked on Tony, mischief
shamelessly in his eyes. 
Thor frowned at Stark’s angelic smile. Tony had a drink with a look that seemed
to say he had a joke he was keeping to himself.
 
As the evening wore on, there were a few more and more lingering stares across
the room. Thor made the rounds, talking to people and laughing and being his
gorgeous, sunshiny self, but turned every few minutes to smile at Loki, raise
his glass to him, throw him a wink. 
Loki watched with interest as Thor turned down several girls who were obviously
flirting with him, taking especial delight in the one that tried to drag him to
dance. The way Thor had cast a quick look at Loki and extricated himself from
her paws had been blooming priceless.
Well, well, well.
 
 
                                       *
 
 
For a while now, Loki had been looking more and more bored and tired. Thor sat
down with him with a concerned frown.
“Not enjoying yourself, brother?”
“Had enough I think,” said Loki, stretching his long arms into full
wingspan. “If you can get me a cab and lend me the keys…”
Thor got up on his feet.
“Nah, I’ll come with,” said Thor. “Mum would fucking kill me if I let you walk
around L.A. on your own."
“You sure?” said Loki.
“Yeah,” said Thor. "And I've had enough too."
 
They drove back in silence.
“Not one single solitary star here,” said Loki then, looking out the open
window.
He looked thoughtful, placid. Thor had not seen him like this since… Well, a
long long time ago. He looked content.
“You hate this,” said Thor, no heat in his tone.
“With the strength of a million suns," said Loki, with a smile. And after a
beat, "Do you like it here?”
“You kidding? It never fucking rains,” answered Thor.
“I like the rain,” muttered Loki after a spell, staring into space. “I like
storms.”
Thor stole a glimpse of him, his profile so sharp.
“I know,” said Thor.
The thrum of the car was relaxing. Thor considered turning on the radio and
playing some music. He didn’t. They stayed in silence a bit longer.
“I don’t remember the last time we were together this long without fighting,”
mused Thor.
“I do,” said Loki, eyes front, and was that the shadow of a smile.
“Do you?” asked Thor.
“Iceland,” said Loki. And he turned his face to the window.
Thor’s stomach was churning.
 
 
The apartment. Thor was nervous, bumping into furniture, clumsily fondling for
light switches, spilling milk when he poured him and Loki a glass. Loki looked
so cool Thor almost wanted to shake him. They were standing up in the galley
kitchen, not exactly close, but well within each other’s air space, Thor’s hip
leaning on the worktop, Loki resting his arse on the edge. His brother's eyes
were unfocused, lost in space.
The moment was stretching and it was starting to feel awkward. They were not
moving but neither were they still. There was a strange energy buzzing between
them. Somebody needed to do or say something.
“I should… I should go set up the sofa bed,” said Thor.
Loki looked up at him, sharp as a razor. Thor felt his throat dry out. He could
not read Loki’s expression, he had no idea what was on his brother’s mind. 
Loki put his glass down calmly on the counter. Thor watched in a daydream as
his brother closed the distance between them, threw his arms around his neck,
and kissed him. How gentle it was, Loki's mouth on his, how sensual. His
brother had no rush. Thor knew those lips, his own remembered. He could feel
himself melting. He wrapped around Loki’s slight body, starved for him, and
crowded him against the counter, as their kiss became greedier and more fierce.
Loki wrapped one leg around his, pressed against him. Thor grabbed Loki’s arse
and lifted him onto the worktop. Loki tightened his thighs around Thor’s hips,
his breath shuddering. They peeled the suit jackets off each other, and Thor
heard himself whimpering as Loki unbuttoned the top of his shirt and started to
kiss his neck. He pressed his crotch against Loki’s, finding his brother was
hard too. 
He watched with hooded eyes as Loki unbuttoned his own shirt. Now it was Thor
who was nuzzling and kissing Loki’s long, white throat, stroking his stubble on
the sensitive skin. Loki exhaled heavily, his thighs clenching around his
waist. 
Thor closed his arms around him and crushed him tight for a long, long time,
years worth, eyes shut.
“I can’t breathe, Thor” muttered Loki after a while.
Thor laughed. And laughed and laughed, husky, tiny chuckles against the crook
of his brother’s neck.
“How can you talk then” said Thor. 
And now it was Loki who laughed, a low, warm purr of a sound that trickled down
Thor’s spine. He was so fucking relieved. He pulled back to look at his
brother, flushed, beautiful, eyes glazed and dark.
“God, Loki, you’re so…”
“Shut up Thor” Loki silenced him with a kiss. "Bed."
Thor carried him there, Loki wrapped around his body like a koala, kissing and
eyefucking all the way. 
“Ouch!” Loki cuffed him when Thor smashed them both against the door frame. 
He laid Loki down on the bed and watched without breath as he undid his button
and fly. He helped him out of the rest of his clothes, too eager even to stop
to touch and kiss whatever bit of flesh was revealed under him, and undressed
himself without ceremony. 
Loki’s eyes on him like that never failed to make him tremble like a leaf. The
want in his stare was tangible, Thor could almost taste it, and he could most
certainly feel it, a coil of heat in his underbelly. He laid on top of Loki,
kissing, stroking his face, his hair. Loki arched his neck when he kissed him
there, clenched his thighs around the one Thor was nudging against Loki’s
crotch. 
“Condom” said Loki, breathless, after a while of Thor sucking him and fingering
him open, his hisses and moans making Thor’s crotch clamp and his cock tug.
Condom. Right. Thor sobered up at that. Yes, of course. Things have changed.
He fucked Loki slowly at first, watching his face. Loki’s eyes were closed, his
mouth parted, pushing up to meet his thrusts. Thor thought this had to be way
too tame for Loki, and he expected at any time to be commanded to fuck harder
in that snappy, bratty, demanding tone that wrecked him to pieces. There wasn’t
anything sexier in this world, as far as Thor was concerned, than his brother
bossing him around when they were fucking. The mere thought made him thrust
faster.
Loki opened his eyes and met him with his body. Thor started snapping his hips.
His brother’s face was pure sin. The slap of their bodies. 
“Ah, fuck” whimpered Loki. 
Thor sat up, Loki’s ankles around his neck, and fucked him like a man
possessed, almost folding him in half. Loki was as flexible as always.
“Oh my god…” moaned Loki, his tone almost angered. 
Thor wouldn’t last much longer, not like this. Not with Loki arching his neck
like that, digging his nails into the back of Thor’s thighs like that.
“Ah, baby, I’m…” he groaned, starting to fall apart. 
“No, don’t” gasped Loki. “Don’t. …Fuck, Thor… Don’t you fucking dare…”
Thor willed himself to wait while his brother jerked himself fast. He didn’t
make it. But he stayed inside until Loki came, feeling him clench around him,
overwhelmed from looking at his brother’s face as it tensed with climax. He had
thought he would never see him like this again. How the fuck had he expected to
make it through life without it, he didn’t have a clue.
 
They laid awake side by side, not a word yet exchanged between them since they
washed. After some time, Thor turned on his side, propped himself on his elbow,
and stared at his beautiful brother. 
“What are you looking at” snapped Loki, keeping his eyes low.
Thor pulled an almost smile and leaned over to kiss him. Loki was still for his
lips, eyes shut, but soon enough he had latched onto Thor with arms and legs
and was giving as good as he got. And not long after that, they were hard and
hungry again. There was a distinct feeling of finality in the air, as if the
world was going to end tomorrow. Thor was determined not to waste their time.
 
                                       *
 
It was just before dawn, the night sky starting to fade at the edges into dull
white. Thor slept. He must be exhausted, Loki thought, looking at his brother’s
broad chest rise and fall. 
They had fucked again twice. Loki was tender. He had ridden his brother while
sitting on his lap, bouncing frenetically on his cock, Thor keeping him close
to his chest, his expression almost pained, and later Thor had fucked him on
his hands and knees, really, really listening when Loki had asked him to go
harder. He would be reminded of it every step he took and every time he sat
down for a couple of days. Not that he was complaining.
Both Thor and Loki had picked up a few new tricks since they had last been
together. He had surprised Thor with a few bold moves, and he had even made him
blush and gasp in shock -he was his baby brother after all. Thor had surprised
him in turn with his stamina, as well as with some newly acquired sensuality.
He didn’t just rut against him like a dog, he had hip game now, and he had
discovered, with a smugness that would be annoying if it wasn’t so fucking
sexy, that slow fucking could tear Loki to pieces just as much as the other
kind. As Loki came for the third time, almost exclusively on his brother’s
cock, except for the last touch, Loki thought just how fucking good they were
at this, if he was allowed to say so, and his artistic side mourned the loss of
such a remarkable double act.
 
Smoking by the bathroom window, Loki allowed himself a minute of fantasising
about moving to L.A. to live here with his brother, together, and make a life.
It would still have to be a secret of course, but less suffocating, perhaps,
right?
Yeah, no. If Thor started to become popular, (and if Stark was as reliable as
he liked to make himself sound, he would,) such a young hunk, no girlfriends,
just his brother? Weird. They would have to get beards and shit like that. And
then it would be just like after Iceland again, the tension, the furtiveness,
the feeling of being a dirty secret that was so fucking good for Loki’s (and
Thor’s, possibly) self-esteem, the petty arguments over absolutely everything,
the bitter reproaches, the sad angry fucks that made nobody feel better, and
the lies. 
No, it was never going to work. Definitely not if they both insisted on wanting
to be movie stars for a living. 
 
Loki took a few deep breaths and had a glass of water before he returned to
bed. His brother threw a heavy arm around him and nuzzled into his shoulder.
Loki sighed. 
He had Hamlet coming. It was an opportunity to do something he cared about. It
was going to be important, for his career and for him. And he had friends now,
or people he hung out with sometimes that respected him and liked him. He was
alright. You can’t have it all, can you?
He burrowed against his brother, holding in a sob.
 
 
                                       *
 
 
“Sleepy head,” said Loki’s voice, at an arm’s distance.
Thor tried to open his eyes, his mouth dry, limbs heavy, knackered. 
He reached for his watch. 11 a.m. Then a sip of water. Loki waited patiently,
sat on the bed. 
Thor finally managed to focus his eyes. Loki was smiling faintly at him. A
slight frown crossed his face, there and not there in a blink.
“I’m going now,” Loki said.
Thor blinked, scrubbed his eyes, sat up. He looked at his brother’s delicate
face. Loki’s eyes were low, his mouth ever so slightly pursed.
What could Thor do? What could he say?No, Loki, stay, let’s play house? 
He exhaled heavily, just on the verge of tears.
“I’ll drive you,” he said then.
“No,” said Loki. “I don’t want to do this in a parked car at the airport, do
you?”
Thor’s mouth twisted with the urge to cry.
 
They said goodbye at the door, a taxi waiting downstairs. 
“I’ll see you soon,” said Loki, and started to make his way down the corridor. 
Thor almost called him back but, then again, what could he say?
 
 
___________
 
 
 
(The present)
 
 
Loki joined the ovation when the cast popped up again for the second round of
bows, their expressions endearingly surprised. 
The stalls stood up for Thor. He had been magnificent. His presence was
undeniable, his emotions so raw. He was a natural, always was, but he was
evidently acquiring technique and polish now. He was going to be as great as
Odin had wished, and then some. 
The girl who played Maggy was feisty and bossy and beautiful. She was probably
miscast as Maggy (not sexual enough, a sort of inherent uprightness that turned
her character into a moral pole, rather than the desperate cat in heat
Tennessee Willams wrote), but there was a strength and a kind of honesty to her
that made her stand out. In the curtain calls, she looked at Thor adoringly,
and Thor looked warmly back. Loki checked his program. Her name was Sif. From
the remote distance of his terminal apathy, Loki wondered. Is she the one,
then, Thor. Is it her hands I am entrusting you to.
 
The best thing to do a few years ago in L.A., was to let Thor go. 
The best thing to do now, for everybody, was to go himself. 
 
It’s winter. He’s hungry. He's had enough. All he has to do is get a stiff
drink or something to knock himself out, go to sleep, and die of cold. Clean,
unfussy, romantic even. Maybe too good for him, but hey, he did not have that
many options left. 
He had found a place earlier that week where he thought he would not be
disturbed, an old abandoned warehouse near the river. He swallowed as he sat
down, back against the wall, limbs heavy with exhaustion and sheer lack of will
to live. The concrete under his arse and against his back was freezing cold.
He touched the key in his neck, warm from the contact with his skin. With a
shiver, he thought that it would not be warm for much longer. How was it
possible, when he was so far gone, that he was still feeling afraid? He eyed
the cardboard boxes he'd been sleeping in and the blankets, discarded just
there, at the other end of the room. He shut his eyes tight. He clutched the
key in his hand.  
It will always be there for you, and so will I.
If he could drag himself there to the old flat, would he? What was the point?
Why get better, why get help? What was going to change? He had done the therapy
thing before, and look at him now. This shit within was not going anywhere,
there was no cutting it out, there was no curing it. This shit within was
himself. He sucked at living in this world, and he would never learn how. He
did not fucking know how to be happy, how to be at peace. He ruined everything
he touched, he hurt everyone who reached out for him. All his gifts and all his
talents, all the chances he had been given, and he still had not been able to
make anything out of himself -and we're not even talking about outstanding or
worthy, here, we're just talking functional. With what had happened at the
club, he had killed every hope he might still have had for some sort of happy
ending, any kind of happy ending, for him and Thor. Even as brothers there was
no patching that up. Loki had simply gone too far. And even worse than all of
that, he just could not ask Frigga to put up with what he had done, with what a
miserable disappointment he had become, all the public shame and the
embarrassment. Not again. Of course she would take him back, her love was
boundless and unshakeable, and precisely because of that, Loki did not deserve
it, and he should not have it. He needed to stop being a shame and stop hurting
people. He had no right. 
Night comes on, sleep weighs heavy on his eyes. Small mercy.
                                        
                                        
                                      ---
                                        
 
So, what do you know, heaven looks remarkably like hospital.
Loki, you idiot, in what fucking universe would you ever be allowed in heaven.
 
Oh, right.
 
Fuck.
 
Chapter End Notes
     Many references here. Tim Burton's Edward Scissorhands you probably
     know or have heard of, beautiful, heartbreaking movie, go watch. The
     more I looked into it with Loki in mind, the more I saw, so I had to
     stop myself at some point. Me and Discontentmadeglorious had a few
     headcanon sessions on the subject. Her brilliant insights illuminate
     this fic in so many ways, and definitely when we look at movies from
     a Thunderfrosty perspective.
     The 'Freddo' thing is from The Godfather. Just a bit of fun.
     Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, a play by Tennessee Williams and a movie by
     Richard Brooks from 1958, with an extremely hunky Paul Newman and a
     sexy-as-ever-living-hell Elizabeth Taylor. Talks about lies and
     lying, repressed homosexuality, secrets, greed, extreme sexual
     frustration... The play doesn't end happily, by the way. My Thor
     would make a great Brick, but no, Sif would not make a good Maggie.
     And yes, Malekith is OOC. Sorry not sorry, I wanted some dialogue
     going on, and movie!Malekith is a man of few words and no smiles, so
     I just went for a rotten version of Eccleston's own demented,
     sunshiny version of the Doctor. Shoot me.
***** Chapter 7 *****
Chapter Summary
     Loki's long, hard road back to the land of the living.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
 
“Right, are you ready?” said Sam, one hand on the door handle.
Loki fixed the huge fur collar of his full-length coat, fluffed his hair, still
wet from the shower, and put on his sunglasses —even though it was night time,
he really hated the flashes in his eyes. If it made him look like a puffed-up
diva, so be it.
The bustle outside in the street was a constant rumble, with occasional spikes
of hysteria when one of the other cast members went out. This kind of thing
still made him anxious. Even after three months, he was not used to it. Well,
of course he wouldn’t be, since this stage door mania had seemed to grow bigger
and wilder every fucking week. He had learned to manage it, but he didn’t enjoy
it. 
Anyway, it had to be done. There were people out there who had crossed an ocean
to see him. Surely he could get out there and print his fucking name on a few
photos, right?
One last look in the mirror. He nodded to himself.
“Ready.”
Sam opened the door. The roar escalated several decibels. The flashes exploded
all over the place. Even with the barriers, it always appeared as if the people
were closing in on them.
Routine, Loki, focus. There is a fence. Security just there. Sam right here.
Look at the faces. It’s not a mob, it’s people, young boys and girls, nothing
more. Wink and they’ll faint. Just print your name on the things, say thank
you. That’s it. Good boy. See? It’s not so hard. They’re nice, they like you.
They’re just over excited. Breathe. You’re fine. 
“Loki! Loki! Oh my god! Loki! Loki please here! Please Loki!”
Loki nodded and said thank you to the pledges of devotion and the raving
comments on his performance, scribbled his name again and again, and kept his
breathing in check. 
Finally, the fucking car, yes. Sam was holding the door for him, bless him. 
God knows why, that darkish figure across the street caught his eye.
 
Thor.
 
Just there, standing with his hands joined in front of him, like a kid at
church or brought to stand in front of the school master, a black knit cap on
to hide his golden mane. 
Loki took his sunglasses off, slowly, hand shaking, wanting to be sure he was
seeing what he was seeing.
Thor held his stare. He was just there. Five steps away, ten at best. Just
there. Thor him-fucking-self, in the golden, plentiful flesh.
“Are you alright, Loki?” said Sam, one gentle hand on his shoulder.
Loki was very much not alright. He put his sunglasses on and slipped inside the
car, his heart beating madly.
“Go go go,” said Loki, feeling sick. “Take me home.”
 
On the way to the flat, they drove past at least three movie theatres with full
façades of Thor Odinson’s last movie, an uncompromising adaptation of Cormac
McCarthy’s brutal, gritty Blood Meridian,a kind of Heart of Darkness /
Apocalypse Now set in the Mexican desert. There was talk of Oscars with his
name on already. Thor looked haggard, soul-wrenched and desperate in the huge
portraits plastered on buses and massive billboards. Loki had had to get used
to seeing his face around like that, larger than life, and he wouldn’t have
thought he would be so affected by the real thing. 
Thor had looked as shaken up as Loki himself, as if he had seen a ghost.
Well, he was not wrong there. 
 
_______________
 
 
(3 years ago, give or take a few months)
 
He doesn’t remember much from his week in the E.R. After he is revived from the
severe hypothermia, he starts talking. He’s too tired, confused and yes, fuck,
depressed, to watch his mouth. That gets him a pen in his hand and a paper to
sign; you are suicidal, the doctor tells him; either you commit yourself or you
will be sectioned. If we section you, you’re looking at 6 months minimum
commitment in a mental hospital. Please, do sign. —Loki signs. Edward Boggshe
writes, after a good minute thought, because his brain is slooooooow. 
Suicide watch lasts fourteen days, in a little room with a porthole on the
door, furniture drilled to the floor, and metal bars on the window, until they
consider the meds have kicked in and he’s stable. They won’t let him out of the
ward though, and if he goes for a walk up and down the aisle, there is always a
nurse a few steps behind him.
He is bored out of his mind, perhaps literally. Even if the reading material
was not dismal, he finds it impossible to concentrate anyway. The words dance
on the page and in his head and make no fucking sense. He still tries, because
there is nothing else to do.
Or nothing else that he can bear doing. He knows because he has tried.
Crosswords, sudokus, spot the 7 fucking differences. Too much. Drawing,
scribbling —too artistic, it hurts,his mind cringes if he tries to do anything
minimally individual or pleasurable. Out of spiritual coherence. No, Loki, you
wanted to die a few weeks ago, you had your reasons, you had given it some
thought. You’re not going to change your mind so quickly, just because you’re
taking some tablets now, are you? What are you, a man or a mouse? Stick by your
guns. If you’re not dead, you suffer. You definitely don’t draw shit for
doctors and nurses to comment on how good it is. That’s how it works. Stuff it.
He hates the common room. He has to drop by a few times a day for his nicotine
fix, but he keeps it to the bare minimum, smoking fast and deep (it makes his
head light, bonus.) It’s rowdy and people act funny, and you never know what
the fuck they’re going to start screaming at you. Anyway, even if it was all as
quiet and civilised as a meeting at the Women’s Institute, he’d stay the hell
away, because the telly is constantly on in there, and it’s that time of the
year where Odin is on, non fucking stop, all over the goddamn place. The man
directed and acted in one of the most beloved Christmassy miniseries of all
times, and then, just for fun, voiced the fucking snowman in the other. God
fucking dammit. Loki hated them even as a child. Now they twist his guts. No
thank you.
 
They haven’t started asking him about his thoughts and feelings yet. “Not until
you’re more yourself” said the doctor when he was fourteen. “We won’t discuss
your therapy options until you’re more stable” was the wording this time.
Stable. Himself. Loki huffs. Good luck with that. If he ever turns his eyes to
himself, he sees a ravaged, barren land, a city that’s been pillaged and burned
to the ground, an abandoned ruin. He is not in pain. He is empty, deserted, a
shell. Loki doesn’t live here anymore. Don’t bother leaving a note.
 
The first time he talks to Frigga, it’s over the false name thing. Loki has
settled to sleep, the ward is mainly quiet. There’ll be screaming and sobbing
later on, and nurses talking too loud, he is sure, but right now the place
rests. 
He waits for his sleeping aids to kick in. He still has hours to go. Frigga
sits next to him. She looks younger than she must be —and isn’t that a strange
thought. Her face is blurry. Her eyes stand out, her mouth, but he can’t tell
the shape of her nose, or whether her jaw is rounder or sharper. He does get a
clear vision of her hair colour, with the greying at the temples. Last time
they talked about it, she was going to stop dyeing it altogether.“You’ll look
even better than Helen Mirren” he had said. She had laughed. “Nobody looks
better than Helen Mirren”, and she murmured under her breath, “that bitch” with
that evil grin Thor always used to say Loki had inherited. (Is that irony or
the other thing?)
“Did you hear what they were saying before? About your medical history and your
meds?”says Frigga. 
They’re not in the room anymore. Loki has taken them both for a walk in the
meadow at Asgard House, under a purple twilight. It’s fitting. Frigga runs her
hand on the cowslip and the queen anne’s lace that sways within reach under her
outstretched palm. 
“They don’t know who you are. They could treat you so much more efficiently if
they could see your medical records. Why don’t you tell them your real name?” 
“I can’t tell them my name, mum. I don’t want you to find me.”
“Why not?”
“Because you will come. And Thor will come. And even Odin, I’m sure. Just, no.”
“We’re your family, my darling, we want to be here to help you.”
“You’re not my family.”
“We love you. I love you. I’m suffering. I want to know you are alive and look
after you.” 
“Mum, you tried to help once. And look at me now. I can’t do this. I can’t see
you again leaving the room and come back with red eyes and a smile and trying
to be strong for me. It’s not worth it, mum. I’m going to disappoint you again.
I’m going to cause you more pain. You have mourned me now. Leave it at that.”
“But don’t you know how happy I would be, if I could sit with you at this very
minute. How can you be so selfish, my darling.” 
“Because I’m a monument of virtue, mum. I have them all. I’m a selfish, self-
centred, self-pitying brat that’s always going to hurt you and disappoint you.
You love me because that’s what you do, because you’re good and kind, not
because I deserve it. I wish dad would have picked a better son for you.”
He has won the argument. Frigga is gone.
 
When the psychiatrist asks him when was the last time he cried, and for how
long, Loki usually has to answer “last night before I went to sleep. For
hours.”
                                       *
 
Each hour lasts a century, but days flow by in a blink. Six weeks, gone where?
How? Doing what? He can't tell. His time is a white room without windows. His
only break is when Frigga comes, in that strange hour between wake and sleep.
She won't come when he calls her. She only comes when she wants.
“Let them help you,” Frigga says another night. Loki has summoned a colonnade
for them, walking in circles around a cloistered garden. He has put a fountain
there, and some aromatic herbs. Frigga rubs a sprig of sage between the tips of
her fingers as she talks. Loki tries to conjure up the scent. He quickly adds
some slanted sun rays to warm her face. 
“You don’t have to keep feeling like this. This feeling is not real, these
black thoughts are not rational. If they find the right medication regime for
you, and you talk through your mental process with them, you’ll defeat this,
you’ll be able to control this, the chemistry of your brain will become normal,
and you will be yourself again. Don’t you want to be yourself again?
“Why would I want to do that? I fucking hate myself.”
“Language, Loki.”
“Sorry mum.”
These conversations of theirs always go round and round in circles, and Loki
always wins. There is nothing she can tell him he hasn’t thought about and
demolished a hundred times already. Sometimes not even Frigga can put any faith
in her arguments. Those nights Loki cries most of all.
 
                                       *
 
It’s been eight weeks, and Loki’s progress is stalled. The voice that screams
and shouts that he needs to end it all (Loki calls it His Inner Bastard) is
still there, and very bloody loud at that, but its line of communication with
Loki’s will is severed. It has no power over his actions. It’s like having a
cricket in a box he carries everywhere with him. It’s a headache, and a
nuisance, but no matter how hard it tells Loki to throw himself down the
stairs, and gives its carefully delineated reasons, Loki just ambles on,
heedless, untempted.
So the miracle of modern medicine has cured the death-wish out of his poor sick
soul, but as of today, it has nothing to replace it with. The end result is
apathy, an apathy of such immaculate purity it puts catatonia to shame. Or
almost. Loki can spend hours sat on the bed doing absolutely nothing. Hours.
Not even feeling sorry for himself. Not even following the black spiral of
thoughts down where it leads him —obsessive, negative, circular thinking has
been medicated away as well. But there is nothing left behind it. He doesn’t
even have the fucking oomph to pretend that he is better so that they will lay
off his back. Boo motherfucking hoo.
 
It’s not been a bad week when the gangly, unassuming, childish-looking evening
nurse comes in, even though Loki doesn’t need anything, and it’s not time for
any bed changing or snacking or whatever he can think of. He lifts his eyes
from the “My husband has three wives” and “My boyfriend is also the father of
my mother’s other children” type of magazine he is sort of reading. 
The girl is standing by the door she has just pushed to, and she’s wringing her
hands and looking somewhere imprecise around the general area of Loki’s chest.
Lap. Chest again. Lap again. Floor.
“Sorry to come like this. I’m… I’m probably out of line but…” Wringing hands,
wringing hands, they’re reddening. “I… I know who you are, Mr. Odinson,” she
says, managing one quick flicker to Loki’s face.
Loki tenses up, without moving a muscle. 
“I won’t tell anybody,” she claims, begging, “I swear. I have thought a lot
about whether to talk to you or not. But you see, I… I never thought I’d have
the chance to meet you, and I…” She takes a sonorous breath, seemingly trying
to draw some courage out of the extra oxygen. “I saw your Hamlet,” she
declares. “I wasn’t doing well at the time. The way you, er, played him, like a
poor broken soul, overwhelmed by the world, so lonely inside his head that
tormented him, it just meant a lot to me, because I felt so much for him. I
felt compassion and love, and I wished somebody, someone, could have helped
him. And I realised that, that it was me, that Hamlet was me, that if I could
step outside of myself and see me, I would see someone like him. And I did not
hate him or despise him for his illness, I did not think he was weak or
worthless. It wasn’t his fault he was ill, it wasn’t his fault he suffered so
much he could not act. And I loved him more for his fragility, not less. And I
did not want him to die, it angered me that his illness defeated him.”
She lets out a little breath. Loki still has not moved a muscle.
“So I went and got help. I mean, I had had it before, because I did not want to
be a worry for my family, but my heart wasn’t in it, do you know what I mean?
But after I saw your Hamlet, I did put my heart in it. And whenever I struggled
and I was tempted to let go, I reminded myself of what I had felt watching your
Hamlet, and how much I had loved him and wanted to help him. And I got better.
And now I’m doing this mental health nurse training program, and I’m so proud,
because… I know it sounds cheesy, but if I can help one person, just one
person, like you helped me, well, then my life is good, and necessary, and
important. And I do. I help people. A little everyday. And I remember you
everyday. And I… I sent you a letter. I don’t know if you got it. I just needed
you to know. I just… I think I am alive and well today because of you. Well,
that, and a lot of other people’s support, but without you holding up that
mirror for me to see me for what I was, instead of what my head was telling me
I was, I… It changed everything for me, what you did. It changed my life. Thank
you. And I’m leaving you now t-to rest.”
Loki watches her pull her hair behind her ears like a little girl and fumble
for the doorknob.
During her long speech a glimmer of a thought has circulated in his mind. Just
before she leaves, Loki calls her back.
“Is your name Sigyn?” he asks, voice hoarse —he hasn’t used it since his
therapy session yesterday afternoon.
The girl slowly turns around, stunned, her cheeks flushed, her eyes shining
with unmitigated happiness. 
“I kept your letter,” he says.
She stumbles with her own feet on her way out. Loki suspects she might have
gone to suffer an attack of some sort. It’s cute. 
 
It is a while until her words start to soak in, the enormity of what he has
heard.
Inner Bastard rears its ugly head immediately. “Fangirl,” it says, “airheads
all of them. What does she know. You know better. Right?” And Loki hears Inner
Bastard but does not rush to agree for once. Is that progress?
 
 
“Well then,”says Frigga that night. Loki has taken them both for a stroll on an
imaginary pier. The waves break with a shrieking sound, as if something is
ripping, the sound swelling from a distant rumble to a loud roar. He takes a
minute to fashion the smell. Rotten seaweed, strong, bitter, you can feel it in
the back of your throat. Too much perhaps. Oh, it’s good.
“Don’t even start,” says Loki. Little pebbles, probably river ones, materialise
in his pockets for him to chuck into the water. All he sees is a small burst of
white in an endless extension of black. “She did it all herself. It’s cute that
she wants to give me credit, but I did nothing.”
“Do you think she is stupid?”
“No.”
“Do you think you’re better than her?”
“God, no. She is strong and good and brave and she does useful things and helps
people.”
“So do you, apparently. You don’t always know better, Loki. Listen to what she
tried to tell you.”
Loki doesn’t reply to the shadow of his mother straight away. Which is a new
development, because usually he has all the answers even before Frigga has
finished her sentence. 
“…Even if it was true, which I doubt, it doesn’t matter now. My career is
ruined, I blew it up to smithereens. I’ll never work again. I mean, I’d
struggle to get a job at MacDonald’s. I’m a whore and a crackpot and a druggie.
I’m finished.”
“That’s not reasonable, Loki. That’s your black thoughts talking. You’re young
and talented and have all your life before you. People have come back from
worse, and done well.”
“Yes, but they are stronger and better than me. Look at me, I’m a fucking
wreck. I’m good for nothing. All I’m good for is hurting the people who love
me, disappoint everyone and fuck up.”
He keeps throwing his pebbles, his pockets restocking themselves.
“And even if I get better now, even if I did, this is always going to be inside
me. And I’m going to get sick again. And I’m going to have to do this all over
again. And for what. For what. At the end of it all, I am still me. It’s
exhausting and it hurts. I don’t want to do this anymore. I want to fucking
sleep and be gone and that’s all. Like I had never existed.”
“Listen to what Sigyn said,” insists Frigga. For once, she won’t give up the
argument. What the fuck. “Listen to her story. She was like you, she was you.
Don’t you think she wanted to die at some point? And do you think she wishes
now she had died? Did you not see the light in her eyes? Do you think she
believed she would ever feel this good again when she was at her worst? Do you
think she loved herself any more than you love yourself now? Do you think her
efforts were worthless? Do you think her worthless?”
Loki is crying now. No, no, no, no, and never. 
“You’re wrong,” says Frigga. “She is right. She is the sane one. You’re not
rational. Listen to her.”
Loki looks into his mother’s face, only her eyes emerging from the blur
tonight. The ghost of his imagination is rebelling, it wants the last word.
What the fuck is going on here.
They stroll along the pier. It’s either miles and miles long, or they’re not
even moving. Loki looks up, lights some stars in the black sky, more or less in
the shape of the constellations he remembers. Frigga smiles, squeezes his arm.
“Can you make it rain on the sea?”
He takes the most time recreating the sound.
 
 
                                       *
 
 
“I brought you some books,” says Sigyn from the door, awaiting permission to
enter. 
Loki does nothing to shoo her away, and she takes a few steps in, ready to
leave if Loki asks her. She takes her treasure out of a heavy duty grocery bag
and spreads it on the bed, by Loki’s legs. 
Loki picks a heavy, hardback ex-library copy, plain, faded marine blue
cardboard cover, golden lettering. He smiles very faintly.
“Moby Dick,” he says.
“I read in an interview that it was one of your favourites.”
Loki lifts his eyes to her, assesses her. She is biting her lip nervously,
bless her. He thumbs through the yellowing pages. It’s an old book, not old
enough to be venerable, not too well-read. It smells dusty. There are small
engravings of generic whaling scenes at the start of each chapter. Loki thinks
it’s a sad edition, unloved.
“Have you read it?” he asks.
She bites her lip, dimples appear on her cheeks as she smiles.
“I tried,” she confesses. “Lots of whales.”
Loki chuckles. He hasn’t laughed in months. He sounds rusty. Sigyn purses her
mouth, probably to reign in a broader smile.
“Yes, lots of whales,” he says. He leafs through it some more. “At school they
taught us it was about fanaticism. About the fight against evil turning into
evil itself, dragging sane people after it, and destroying all that is good in
the process. Or something like that.” Loki licks his lips. They’re dry. He has
not spoken so much for ages. “To me, it was about insanity. Was it Shakespeare
who said that madness has its own orbit, like the sun.”  
Sigyn has listened quietly and intently. 
“Perhaps not the best choice then.” She grins. Loki actually smiles back, a
bit. Well, well, the mousy little girl has a cheeky streak, who’d knew. I like
her, he thinks to himself.
“No, it’s fine,” he says. “I don’t think I can manage it though. Not right
now.”
She picks up a thin, white paperback and hands it to him. The Little Prince,
with illustrations by the author,reads Loki.
“I guess you know this one,” she says. “I picked it because… when I was really
low, in the white room, as I call it, this was the only book I could read. The
only thing I could do, really, apart from crying and thinking. And it made me
cry too, but it was good crying, you know? Not the one when you stop just
because you’ve run out of tears, and you’re feeling raw and left hurting, and
ready to start again, but the other one, when you’re just sad, and after crying
you feel a bit better. I have thought about the reason why. Maybe because
you’re crying over something that’s not yourself? It made me feel good, to come
out of myself and suffer for the pain of another, and wanting to console that
other person who was suffering, or just cry for them, if you couldn’t help
them.”
Loki frowns deeply.
“I haven’t read it in a long time,” he says. And he reads out loud. 
“ If you could fly to France in one minute, you could go straight into the
sunset, right from noon. Unfortunately, France is too far away for that. But on
your tiny planet, my little prince, all you need do is move your chair a few
steps. You can see the day end and the twilight falling whenever you like...
"One day," you said to me, "I saw the sunset forty-four times!"
And a little later you added:
"You know -- one loves the sunset, when one is so sad..."
"Were you so sad, then?" I asked, "on the day of the forty-four sunsets?"
But the little prince made no reply.”
“You have such a beautiful voice,” Sigyn says.
Loki doesn’t like that. It doesn’t feel good to hear anything good about
himself. He snarls inside that she should know that. Whoa, bitch, calm down.
Don’t be an arsehole about it. She means well.
“Thanks,” he says.
Then there is poetry. She’s done her homework. Yeats, Whitman, Rimbaud,
cummings. 
“Because you struggle with your concentration,” says Sigyn. “They’re short.”
He doesn’t say that, to appreciate them, it takes not only concentration but a
whole lot of spirit he does not have. 
“You’re very thoughtful,” says Loki instead. 
She shrugs, cheeks rosy.
“Is no bother. Is there anything in particular you would like me to get for you
next time?” she asks.
He ponders, nothing comes to mind.
But as she is going away, folding the grocery bag smaller and smaller on
itself, Loki stops her.
“Gyn,” he says. He meant to pronounce the “Si”, his dry throat has not
cooperated. But she turns around with dazzling eyes, delighted with the
nickname. Fair enough. “Do you think you could get me a book called The Secret
Garden,” he asks.
“I’ll see what I can do,” she says, with an expression that says that she’s got
him. And she goes her merry way, happy with her little mission.
“May my heart always be open to little birds who are the secrets of living…”
reads Loki inside his head, in Frigga’s voice. He takes a deep breath that
breaks into a sob. He burrows in his bed and closes his eyes. He cries. 
 
 
                                       *
 
“My name is Banner.”
It’s a stout, big-eyed, round-faced little man he has seen often around the
ward. Sensual lips, a greying stubble, wild, wavy hair, an air of the
scatterbrained mad professor about him. 
“Are you my new shrink?” asks Loki. He’s been told he’ll have to be reassigned
to someone who will be able to see him when he is not an in-patient anymore. 
“No, I’m a social worker,” says Banner. His words come slow, with an American
slur. “Do you mind if I sit down?”
Loki thinks he must be getting better if he’s already at social worker stage.
And how are we feeling about that? 
Banner sits down with his elbows on his knees, shoulders slumped, looking up to
Loki on the stupidly tall, altar of sacrifice-like metal bed. He says he works
with a few charities for young people in crisis. They know he was homeless when
they found him. Banner has options for him. A room all to himself in a refuge
to begin with, then a half-way house for as long as he needs, until he finds
his feet. Training courses, to get a job or to go back to school. How does any
of that sound, apart from terrifying, he smiles. He talks as if there's no
rush, weighing his words cautiously before he speaks them out. Loki finds it
calming.
“They call you Doctor Banner” asks Loki instead or replying. 
Banner smiles, looking down.
“I used to be a doctor.”
“Used to be?”
“Lost my license. Forfeited it.”
Loki rests his head back.
“I sense there is an inspiring story of rebirth and redemption there you’re
dying to tell me,” he says.
“If you want to, sure, why not,” volleys back Banner.
Oh, I see, thinks Loki.
“Please, do tell,” he pulls the full, 32-piece crocodile smile. Wow, he had not
done that in ages.
“I was a very good doctor, very ambitious," begins Banner. "In the US this job
is a big deal, and at my level, it can be a dog-eat-dog profession. I was under
a lot of pressure. I started to suffer bouts of psychosis. I did not want to
seek help. Because I didn’t want people to know, and my research post to be
jeopardised, and because I thought I was such a damn fine doctor, I could treat
myself just right.” Banner smiles a sad smile. “It turns out, I was not such a
good doctor after all. I harmed people while under an episode. I was put in a
mental hospital. I lost my job at the university. I could have gone back to
treating patients, but I had lost all confidence in myself, and I was simply
not able to ask people to put their trust in me. I forfeited my license and I
moved to the UK, trying to find some fresh air, and a new career. And here I
am.”
Loki thinks about that for some time.
“I’m surrounded by uplifting tales of successful recovery and rehabilitation.
Is it like a requirement to work here or something.” He walks a strange path
between snark and genuine astonishment.
Banner smiles some more. He has a sweet, gentle face.
“People want to give back,” he says. “They can understand the suffering, the
hopelessness, but they’ve seen the light at the end of the tunnel, if you don’t
mind my falling back on tired old expressions. They know it’s there, and they
want to show it to those who are struggling.” A smile. “Is this the first time
you’re in a mental hospital, Edward?”
Loki assesses him carefully before he replies.
“No.”
“So you have your own story of recovery, then.”
“Not a very good one, since I’m back here.”
“Yes, it’s a constant struggle. With depression in particular, I find with some
people it’s like giving up smoking. They relapse a couple of times, before they
learn how to identify the first symptoms, and also learn some… humility, shall
we call it. That they won’t make it simply out of sheer force of will, but with
some help. Hopefully, they have also learned from before that it does get
better. They learn to see the illness for what it is, not as a part of their
character they have to put up with. Because the thing with depression is, it’s
so devious. Other mental illnesses can be perceived more as a loss of control
or a foreign body, but depression manages to change someone’s pattern of
thought in such a way, the patient never suspects certain thoughts and
behaviours are not a development of their own character or their own self, but
symptoms. Nobody would consider a backache derived from a hernia a part of
one’s personality, would they?”
Loki listens quietly, keeping all his buts to himself. He should be patting
himself on the back, because this one nut, he has cracked -some humility. You
don't know it all, Loki-boy. You're not the expert here, not even when it comes
to yourself. 
Listening is one thing, believing is another. It's alright. He has time and
nothing better to do at the moment.
About Banner’s question on rehousing, his only thought is what did the E.R.
people do with his key pendant. When he gets out of here, he's going home.
 
 
                                       *
 
 
He is angry. Inner Bastard is angry. “You have betrayed us, you coward. You
were going to off yourself, not buy into this hippy holistic aura let’s all be
friends shit! You have no guts! We had made a decision! Have you no fucking
pride?”
The main reason Inner Bastard is angry is because he has been thinking more and
more about phoning home. He’s willing to risk even fucking Odin visiting to see
his mum. He’s terrified. He wants reasons not to do it.
When Frigga comes that night, Loki doesn’t conjure anything for her, not even
her face. She’s just a blur.
"You can come home, darling. Pick up the phone. Come home."
“I will hurt you. I will always hurt you.”
“You hurt me now, not being here with me, not letting me know where you are,
that you're safe and well. Pick up the phone.”
Loki cries.
“I can’t. I can’t.”
“And Thor, you hurt Thor. He will never stop looking. All you have to do is let
him know you’re alright to put his mind at ease.”
Loki snarls.
“Thor hates me.”
“Never.”
“He hates me. After what I did, and the things I told him. 
“No, Thor loves you, it’s the way he is. He can’t help it. We love you. And no
matter what you think, your father…”
“He is not my father!” screams Loki.
Frigga’s face sharpens up for a beat, becomes clear.“And I am not your mother?”
Loki’s heart is breaking, Inner Bastard is smirking meanly.
“You’re not,” Loki says.
That argument he wins too, and he is alone. Except for Inner Bastard, who is
always there, of course, patting his back. “That’ll do, boy,” he says,
disgustingly smug, his touch repulsive. “That’ll do.”
 
                                       *
 
 
All Loki remembers from that day is Sigyn kneeling next to him on the floor,
tears in her eyes, pulling him to her chest.
“Oh sweetie, I’m so sorry,” she is saying. “I’m so sorry about your mum.”
They tell him later that he thrashed his room and managed to open his head and
dislodge a shoulder when they were manhandling him to inject the sedative,
which is why he is carrying his arm on a sling. He looks at the bite marks on
his arms, serrated crescent shapes that have broken through the skin and have
to be monitored for infection, and the scratches on his face and neck sting
when he has a wash with hot water. His throat is raw, presumably from screaming
himself voiceless.
For the next week or two, he is either apathetic or crying his eyes out, there
is no in-between. They allow Sigyn to be with him a lot of the time. Clever,
clever Sigyn, she knows when to give him some space and when to stay. 
Banner also comes to sit down with him every now and then. Eventually, he tells
him that he’s put two and two together and he knows who he is. He also promises
to keep it to himself as long as Loki wants him to. 
 
Sigyn sometimes sits down by his bed and reads The Little Prince to him. She
tries to read well.
“On one star, one planet, my planet, the Earth, there was a little prince to be
comforted. I took him in my arms, and rocked him. I said to him:
"The flower that you love is not in danger. I will draw you a muzzle for your
sheep. I will draw you a railing to put around your flower. I will --"
I did not know what to say to him. I felt awkward and blundering. I did not
know how I could reach him, where I could overtake him and go on hand in hand
with him once more.
It is such a secret place, the land of tears.”
When Loki cries for his grief, he does not cry for himself. He can be consoled
then, he can be reached and cuddled. He senses the pleasure and the joy Sigyn
gets from feeling she is helping. It’s comforting to know he is doing something
for someone. 
 
 
                                       *
 
 
For weeks he is little more than a zombie, unseeing the world around him, his
brain swamped by a lifetime of memories.
 
 
Loki is little. His mum is learning her lines. Loki learns them as well, just
from hearing her. When Frigga goes to rehearsal, she takes him with her. He
mouths the words along with his mum and imitates her gestures. 
“You clever boy!” says Frigga, impressed, when she spots him at the side of the
stage. “Now, if I take even longer, faster steps away, what do you see? Am I
happier or angrier?”
“Angrier,” little Loki says.
“That’s right. Now say the line again as you take longer steps, and be angry!”
Loki tries.
“My darling, you’re better than your dad at your age. Clever Loki!” and covers
his face with kisses.
 
 
Loki is eight. Ballet is a lot harder than he thought. 
“This hand a bit more… That’s it.” Frigga corrects his shoulders then. “That’s
it. Beautiful, Loki. Now do the croisé again. Perfect! See? You’ve got it. I
told you you would.”
 
 
Loki is eleven. He is practicing the concerto his professor told him was too
big for him. Frigga comes through the door. “Will you play it for me now? It’s
just so lovely.” 
She sits with him every afternoon, before she has to make for the theatre,
listening to him.
“Thank you my darling. It sounds more beautiful every day.”
 
 
Frigga takes fifteen year old Loki out for dinner with her friends. It’s a bit
too late for him, but she said it was fine. They address him like he is one of
them, they don’t dumb it or tone it down for him. They are lewd and cultivated
and they like a boy who reads, what a fucking breath of fresh air. They
actually listen to him when he says he likes Yeats more than Keats, and why.
Almost all the men are gay. They flirt jokingly between them, mourn lost
relationships and broken hearts, curse the whole fickle race of men, gossip and
pass comment on shapely new talents rising up in the business.
When Loki goes to sleep that night, he feels like a weight has been lifted off
his shoulders. The next day at high school, he hovers three feet over the
fucking jerks that call him names. 
 
 
Loki is sixteen. Frigga asks him if he is dating Matt, Matt from drama school.
Loki shrugs. He wouldn’t call it dating. She still takes them both for virgin
cocktails one evening. Matt will forever say your mum is the absolute fucking
best. Loki wonders where he is now.
 
 
Loki is fourteen. He is in hospital. Frigga cuddles him in her arms and hums.
“My beautiful baby,” she says, kissing his forehead again and again. “My
beautiful, beautiful baby.”
 
 
 
                                       *
 
 
He goes back toThe Little Prince whenever he's overwhelmed and can't bare to do
anything else, but needs to get out of his mind. The book always opens up for
him, lets him in, and takes him away for a stroll. And whenever he finishes,
tears have been streaming down his face for a while, but as he shuts the book
he doesn’t feel like a charred, smoking city, but one that was burned long ago,
with edges softened by centuries of wind and dust, with grass on the unpaved
streets and clumps of moss and ivy starting to reclaim the ruins. There is more
quiet than pain to be found there, like in an old graveyard. 
“All men have stars, but they are not the same things for different people. For
some, who are travelers, the stars are guides. For others they are no more than
little lights in the sky. For others, who are scholars, they are problems...
But all these stars are silent. You alone will have stars as no one else has
them... In one of the stars I shall be living. In one of them I shall be
laughing. And so it will be as if all the stars will be laughing when you look
at the sky at night. You, only you, will have stars that can laugh! And when
your sorrow is comforted (time soothes all sorrows) you will be content that
you have known me... You will always be my friend. You will want to laugh with
me. And you will sometimes open your window, so, for that pleasure... It will
be as if, in place of the stars, I had given you a great number of little bells
that knew how to laugh.” 
 
 
 
                                       *
 
 
He’s been discussing his discharge with Banner and he’s edgy and feeling
mightily sorry for himself. 
That night, Frigga’s shadow is there even if Loki hasn’t called her. He goes to
bring up the miserable “woe is me” babble, unworthy, taking the spot of someone
who deserves it more, but she starts pulling faces and making noises and
sticking her tongue out.
“Whining, Loki! Whining! Baa! Baa! Gbl gbl gbl.”
“Mum, stop.”
“Whining! Boring! Baa! Baa! Baa!”
“Mum.”
She is smiling, her hair is a mess, she looks like a frenzied Bacchae. 
“Dancing, Loki, singing! Acting! Rain! The sea! Ice cream! Foreign places!
Bookshops! New clothes! Old movies! Cats! Fucking!”
“Mum!”
She won’t stop dancing. Loki conjures up some rain for her. She turns her face
to the sky, her eyes shut. Loki cries, but it's the good kind of crying.
 
 
                                       *
 
 
Time soothes all sorrows. 
 
 
“Sigyn, I think I’m getting better.”
“Why?”
“I’m having wet dreams.”
“Loki!” she gasps, and she giggles. “What did you dream?”
Loki winks and keeps it to himself.
He had been aware that it was a dream even as it happened. They were in the
corridor, mum and dad were in the living room. Thor was fucking him against the
wall. He looked so young, just started shaving. Loki could hear the panting and
feel Thor’s push, but he couldn’t feel him inside, and he couldn’t find his
mouth when he wanted to kiss him. 
He had woken up, hard and horny and a bit shocked. He had even considered
tossing himself in the shower. Now, that was progress. 
 
 
                                       *
 
 
“I’m not sure living by yourself is the best for you Loki, not straight away,”
says Banner, when Loki announces he is going home, to his flat.
Loki sees Banner’s point. They will never authorise that. And yes, he can come
and go at will, he can leave the place tomorrow and jump off a bridge if he
wants to. He is not committed. He is free to do what he wants. But the fact is,
he doesn’t want to do that. He wants to stick with his therapy, listen to the
advice of the people who are treating him, and do what’s best for his health. 
And isn’t that a punch in the nose. He does not think too much about it. Inner
Bastard still insists he doesn’t get to have nice things. But now there’s
Little Loki there too, who doesn’t understand the reasons of Inner Bastard, no
matter how much he insists, or how elaborate his reasoning. Little Loki just
listens with wide, uncomprehending eyes, Inner Bastard's words gobbledygook to
him, and awfully boring too. He suddenly goes “hey, look, a dragonfly!” and
runs after it, leaving Inner Bastard feeling stupid and ridiculous, defeated,
and his carefully constructed reasons useless and powerless at Loki’s feet.
 
The solution to the housing conundrum is there under his nose, and has been for
a while, if only he could find the bloody courage to ask. It’s only when he
thinks it’s hard time he vacates his bed for the next patient that he pushes
himself and does something about it.
With Banner's blessing, she takes Sigyn to the flat and shows her around. She
loves it, she goes a bit fangirly about it even —all the posters from the
things he’s been in are still there. She is excited to have been let into
Loki’s world for the afternoon.
Loki also has a look around. Everything is still there. They’ve emptied the
fridge and got rid of the remains of his little ritual bonfire in the bathtub,
and everything is just slightly out of place, but apart from that. The layer of
dust can't be a lot more than a few weeks old. Loki doesn’t know what kind of
arrangement Thor has going on here, but this flat has been maintained and
regularly cleaned for about three years now. A mausoleum. When he moves in
again, he'll have to let Thor know, of course, and that’s a thought that gives
him pause, but he’ll cross that bridge when he gets to it.
Sigyn is often a bit late because her commute is hell. Sigyn doesn’t get along
with her mum. Sigyn has been wanting to find her own place for a while now, but
has not dared yet. Not enough money, too much vertigo. He listens when she
talks, see?
Once he is sure she likes it there, Loki takes a deep breath, and asks.
“Want to move in with me?”
                                        
                                        
                                       *
 
 
 
If, in his early days in hospital you had told him that, in a bit over two
years time, he would be meeting up with his flatmate for a quick dinner, before
heading to rehearsal with the amateur theatre company he had somehow managed to
put together, without ever fucking planning to, to prepare for the opening of
their third production that year, for which they have already been invited to
two festivals because of the reputation of the previous two… well, let’s put it
mildly, Loki would not have laughed, because he was in the throes of depression
after all, and not much for humour, but his scowl of disbelief would have
probably knocked you on your back.
It’s not the only thing Loki would have never believed about his future in a
million years. As he often tells Sigyn, while holding up the mound of clothes
she intends to try, but only consider buying if he gives it his seal of
approval, because “you have much better taste for clothes than I”, he would
never for once have anticipated that he would end up being somebody’s fucking
gay best friend. 
He didn’t exactly see himself spending his Friday nights on the couch with his
flatmate, watching Jonathan Ross or Q.I., or catching up on Dr. Who (because
Gyn works Sundays and misses it), and while the idea in writing would probably
not have sounded so great to little-more- than-two-years-ago Loki, present day
Loki is quite content and looks forward to it. Go figure. While we’re talking
about it, he had never pictured himself with a standing invitation to laugh his
arse off with a group of friends (?!) eating pizza and watching horror films
one every four Saturday nights. 
Not last by a long mile, and certainly not fucking least, he would have never
thought he would ever let a fucking dog in the flat, and much less that he
would do so simply because Sigyn begged him. Loki? Not a dog person. But try
and tell the dog that. Minnie, her name is Minnie. The ageing, furry, rescued
little shit probably thinks of them as mummy and daddy. Which sort of makes
sense to the fur-expending-machine after all, since Loki actually fucking walks
her. 
Anyway. Rehearsal. The troupe disperses, clearly with a feeling of a job well
done. They’re certainly getting there. Sigyn had joined the poor excuse for a
company first, and cunningly dragged him there one day to see them eviscerate
the Pirates of Penzance. Loki knew what she was up to, and just because of
that, he had intended to resist with all his might, but he just could not
fucking stay back and allow them to carry on and perpetrate that. It was a
abysmal. He had to step in. What they were doing to Gilbert and Sullivan would
have made the population of the Gaza strip feel sorry for whatever audience of
suffering relatives and loyal friends they could drag in to opening night. 
First things first, no fucking singing. They would pull a Rex Harrison and
declaim the bloody lyrics, and then a few less angels would weep. Second, the
set, are you fucking kidding me? If you really, absolutely must go for the
nautical theme, by all means do, but for the love of god, use some irony. And
last, did they even know what the play was about? I mean, we’re not talking
Chekhov here, but surely a bit of context couldn’t hurt, and hey, it does not
go amiss if you remember it’s a fucking comedy. 
So yes, Loki had had his arms full for a few months now, because if there was
one thing his lovely minions did not get, it was the notion of hubris. They
would undertake anything. He had absolutely had to stop them at Macbeth, but
they had embraced My Fair Lady and The bloody Crucible even, without shame. And
since fortune favours the utterly insane and those who have no idea of their
limitations, they had done… not that bad at all. Loki was proud.
Class dismissed, it’s Thai take-away tonight, or what in that place passes for
Thai, but Sigyn likes it, and he tolerates it, so that’s fine. 
Loki is packing the annotated script in his rucksack, when he spots the redhead
at the back of the stalls. Hm.
“You again,” he says. “Rehearsals are for company members only.” He jumps off
the stage, with the weightless, cat-like landing he still has from his ballet
days. It impresses people.
She gets up and approaches with a strut that has Loki wondering if she’s
interested in amateur theatre. She has presence.
“My name is Natasha Romanov,” she announces, slight frown in her beautiful
face, as if she is dealing with important stuff here. “I saw your Hamlet. I’ve
followed your whole career.”
Loki’s back tenses immediately, his guard is up. He seriously wishes Sigyn was
here now.
“What do you want, an autograph?” he says, squaring his shoulders. 
“I want to run you,” she says, serious as cancer. “There is a big part coming
up that you’d be perfect for. I’ll prepare you and you will get it.”
Loki stares and remains pretty much speechless for a while. Then he laughs
bitterly.
“I’m awfully flattered,” he says, “but I believe that, if you’ve done your
research, you will find that I’m unsellable. I’m a walking PR liability. You
won’t get anyone to invest one penny on me.”
Romanov smirks and her lips thin up somewhat. 
“You do your job and let me do mine,” she says.
Loki shakes his head in disbelief.
“You’re delusional.”
She smirks again. Her mouth is made for either pouting or smirking. Her eyes,
to bring people into submission and fucking love her for it.
“I only take on things I have full confidence in,” she says. “I know I can help
you get a career that matches your talent. Try me.” She leaves a calling card
on the chair by her side. “But don’t sit on it forever. Try-outs start in a
week.”
 
 
                                       *
 
 
Sigyn is enthusiastic, but of course she would be. 
“Did she tell you what the part was?”
No, actually, she hadn't. It’s the kind of thing you might want to ask next
time around, you knucklehead.
Banner doesn’t jump into it with both feet like Sigyn has. He has coffee with
Loki and listens to his fears —putting himself under the spotlight again,
exposing himself to rejection, his past being dug up and thrown to his face,
and what if he is not as good as they remember, what if he has lost it, what if
he can’t cope with the stage.
Banner looks at him sweetly, his warm dark eyes going from Loki’s face to his
drink.
“It’s always hard to start again. When I tried to go back to work, well, there
were so many things wrong with everything, that there was not one day I did not
want to go ‘forget it’ and go hide under a rock. To help people, I had to have
them trusting that I could actually help them, and you know how long it was
before I actually believed that myself? I thought they all looked at me and saw
the lunatic who had suddenly lost it and attacked those two students in a lab.
It’s how I saw myself. But anyway, I had to get myself up and try every day,
because I owed it to those two kids, and to the people who had given me their
trust when not even I trusted myself. And I owed it to people who were not
around anymore, who had once believed in me, who would not have wanted for me
to hide all my life, with my talent unused, but to step into the sunlight and
make them proud again, just by picking myself up and trying.”
Loki gives the stirring speech a good two minutes wide berth, in case it's
catching.
“That’s about as subtle as a brick, Banner,” he says, grinning to his
cappuccino. 
“You know, Loki, for such an intelligent man, you can be remarkably tough-
headed. It sometimes takes a hammer to get through to you.” Banner smiles
sweetly back. “But every word I said is true.”
Loki has a sip. 
“I’ll think about it.”
Banner grins, raises his mug in a mock toast. 
“To the people who would be proud of us if they saw us today.”
Loki clinks his mug to the good doctor’s. Talk about hammering it in. Fair
enough. He is a stubborn, hard-headed idiot a lot of the time. He can take it.
 
 
 
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     Gawd, I'm knackered! When I started an Actors AU I did not realise I
     was signing up for this scouring of the soul!
     Briefly. I just wanted to make Loki's journey justice. For the people
     touched by the issues of mental health in this story, I had to try
     the best I could.
     About The Little Prince, Sigyn speaks my heart and mind. How a little
     thing can be so powerful is beyond me. Let me specific about it:
     reading this little book was the only thing that felt good that I
     allowed myself to do when I was at my worst. I mean, my Inner Bastard
     wouldn't even let me pet my cat, because I didn't deserve it. But
     this little book got through, I don't know how. And for the worst
     three days of my life, it was the only respite I had. That's what I
     mean by power.
     I'm probably forgetting references, right? I'm just flat out
     exhausted. I should have really waited to publish until after one
     last read with fresh eyes tomorrow. Anyway.
     I realise many questions are yet to be answered. I hope they will be
     resolved in chapter 8.
     Right, UPDATE. Because there's a couple of notes I owe you (or I owe
     me.)
     1. Edward Boggs, the false name Loki chooses. The family that takes
     in Edward Scissorhands when he leaves the inventor's mansion are the
     Boggses.
     2. 'Blood Meridian or the Evening Redness in The West', the movie
     Thor is starring in, is a book by Cormac McCarthy (same author of The
     Road and No Country For Old Men), set in the mid-to-end 1800 in the
     territories in contention in the borders of Mexico and the US. It's
     about a young boy (younger than Thor in this story at the time) who
     joins in with a band of Native American hunters. It's terrible. I
     found it an even harder read than The Road, which is a lot to say,
     since I can't think right now of a harder read than The Road. There
     were talks about turning it into a movie a while ago, and there
     always will be I guess, but an adaptation that truly did it justice
     would be probably unpalatable for broad audiences. It had the right
     feel for Thor's new career though, epic, difficult, a tough role that
     should win lots of awards. And the shoot would be mostly set in the
     desert, which was handy, for reasons to come.
     3. Plays Loki's amateur company puts on: The Pirates of Penzance,
     Gilbert and Sullivan. My Fair Lady, George Bernard Shaw. The
     Crucible, Arthur Miller. Quite challenging for an amateur company,
     but with a director like Loki, you might pull it off.
     4. "May my heart always be open to little birds who are the secrets
     of living", the line Loki reads from the poetry books Sigyn has
     brought him, is from a poem by e.e.cummings (he did not use capital
     letters in his writing) which follows like this.
     "may my heart always be open to little/ birds who are the secrets of
     living/ whatever they sing is better than to know / and if men should
     not hear them men are old/
     may my mind stroll about hungry/ and fearless and thirsty and supple
     / and even if it's sunday may i be wrong/ for whenever men are right
     they are not young/
     and may myself do nothing usefully/ and love yourself so more than
     truly/ there's never been quite such a fool who could fail/ pulling
     all the sky over him with one smile"
     I feel it's something Frigga would approve of, something she would
     like Loki to read.
***** Chapter 8 *****
Chapter Summary
     Thor had his own journey, but it never ends far from Loki's side.
Chapter Notes
     YAY! We're back in Thorkifeelsland! That's the kind of angst I came
     here for!
     Warning for het relationships! Shall I put it in the tags? Not
     explicit, teen and up at best. You'll be alright. It will pass soon.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
(The present)
 
The atmosphere around the theatre was more that of a rock concert than a play.
The queue was a bustling, rowdy affair, full of teenagers and young kids in
costume, among which the “other” people —such as Thor himself— stuck out as a
sore thumb. Good news was, nobody had recognised him yet. Nobody was paying him
any mind at all. That had not happened for a while now.
Snippets of conversation kept floating around his ears, nuzzling at him for
attention.
“…Yes, it’s my third time! Man, it’s incredible!”
“…and it came out that he was adopted and he, like, had a break-down…”
“…Is it true that he used to be a prostitute?…”
“…He was in a mental hospital…”
“…Yeah, he was a stripper too. He can fucking pole dance!”
“…No, he’s gay. He’s with the bloke that plays Brad.”
“…He was homeless for a whole year. Actually homeless, like, living in the
streets. Just imagine, I mean, he used to be posh…”
“…You know he played Hamlet when he was like, I don’t know, eighteen or
something?”
“…He’s been through so much, man…”
“You’ll see, he’s abso-friggin-lutely awesome.”
Thor kept his face still, his mouth shut and his ears open. There was no
judgement in the tone of those comments, but awe and wonder. It sounded as if
they were talking about a mythical figure, surrounded by legends, the patron
saint of queers, lost kids, and all the young souls who struggled. Only most of
what Thor had heard so far was true. It did sound as if these kids worshipped
Loki because he was the real thing, a gritty character who had suffered and did
not shy away from it, that made the right people uncomfortable, did not
hesitate in calling things by their name, had no fucks to give and not one
second to spare for ignorance, hypocrisy and political correctness. While many
seemed to expect from a rehabilitated Mary Magdalen like him to put away his
party ways and his lipstick, and go around modestly and quietly, perhaps
turning to Veganism and converting to Buddhism, Loki was outspoken,
unapologetic about his life and his choices, and proud. From what Thor knew,
Loki did not lead a “party” lifestyle at all, and never claimed that he did,
but he certainly gave that impression. He was obviously too fucking fabulous to
do anything but. 
He had heard about that Brad guy too. 
When the queue turned the corner, Thor was faced with a 20 foot high, full-body
image of his brother looking over his shoulder, in platforms, a corset,
fishnets and suspenders, staring at the viewer with a smouldering look and a
wicked smirk, under the massive, bright red, dripping letters spelling THE
ROCKY HORROR SHOW. Thor winced at that sight. Too close for comfort to the last
memories he had of his brother. He knew it was just the character, he knew it
was a completely different situation, and a completely different Loki, but he
still averted his eyes, and wondered once again if he would be able to go
through with this after all. What had been nerves in his stomach now bordered
on nausea. 
He found his seat, surrounded by Magenta and Riff-raff on one side, and
Columbia and Eddie at the other. There were Franks, Rockys, Eddies and
Transylvanians all over the place (not many Brads and Janets.) The air was
thrumming with electricity, Thor could feel the excitement of the audience like
static making his hair stand on end. 
When the lights were lowered, there were choked squeals and screams, followed
by that communal hushing and shushing Thor always found endearing. All these
people coming together for a couple of hours to join in a collective
experience, becoming one single living entity for the duration, with its own
distinct personality, different from the creature that was yesterday and the
creature that would be tomorrow. He bloody loved it. He knew Loki used to love
it too, how alive it felt, how extraordinary, never to be repeated again.
A black screen all over the back of the stage. A mouth painted red projected on
it.
“Michael Rennie was ill the day the Earth stood still…”
The audience erupted into hysteria, for about three seconds, and then sunk into
an intense, concentrated silence.
Thor’s heart jumped to his throat. It was Loki’s mouth. It was Loki’s voice.His
brother sounded like David fucking Bowie. The stalls raised arms for the “ooh
ooh ooh”, and they later would chant the replicas to the dialogue as one.
Everybody around him seemed familiar with the ritual, everybody in the know.
Thor felt like a nerd, the whole interaction blowing over his head, taking him
by surprise.
Enter Brad and Janet. Was this the guy they said Loki was dating? He was black,
muscular and handsome, and he looked appropriately square and harmless in his
50s-style attire. Thor didn’t know what to make of him. Not that he was
impartial. Very fucking far from it.
Frank/Loki’s entrance was approaching. You could feel it in the air.
Anticipation was ramping up. Heads were turning towards the back of the
theatre, even as the actors were still saying their lines on the stage. Thor
turned as well, his heart thumping.
A platform resembling an industrial lift was slowly descending from the
ceiling, dry ice mist pouring from it, to the krrang of the electric guitars
and a metronome beat of drums. There were muffled, barely reigned in screams
from the audience. 
The lift touched the ground. The mist was thick as a wall. 
“How’d ya doin’, see you’ve met my faithful handyman…” came the song from
behind the mist, rich, feline and sassy. Loki’s voice.
Krrang!
Loki whooshed dramatically from the lift, his song now a roar, strutting down
the centre of the aisle among the stalls, draped head to toe in a shiny black
cape. He climbed the stage, got to that point in the song (“by night I’m one
hell of a love-eh-eeer”) and the cape came off with a flourish. The audience
went insane for three seconds, before shushing each other down. 
Thor had seen the movie, and he had seen the posters, and he thought he was
ready for what he would see. But he was not, he was absolutely not ready for
his brother in the flesh prancing around in a corset, panties, tights, garter
and suspenders, and those platform high-heeled shoes, fucking luscious in
black, purple and glitter, velvet and satin, a face full of make up that made
him look neither male nor female, his hair wild. His legs were fucking never-
ending, his movements were pure grace and sex. Nothing could have prepared him
for Loki the fucking rock star, the centre of the known universe. His command
of the hearts and eyes of the audience was absolute, his performance sensual,
smooth, sassy, unbearably sexy, and so bloody funny. Thor found himself
laughing out loud, along with everybody else, all through the play.
And Loki himself was having fun, anyone could tell. Thor had never seen him
like that, ever, not even in private. It seemed as if there had always been a
cloud hovering above Loki’s head, for as long as he could remember, and it was
always there in the parts he had played before. Frank’n’furter, however, was
sheer joy and lust unleashed, and so was Loki. He had the whole theatre under
his spell. No wonder the play was already an international phenomenon,
attracting people from all over the world, with every performance sold out
after two months, by virtue of mouth-to-ear recommendation alone. It was good
luck Thor had bought his ticket just a few days after it opened, the moment he
had found out about it. 
By the end of the play, Thor was exhausted. He joined the tumultuous standing
ovation, and delighted with everyone else in Loki’s sass and luminous delight
as he took the stage alone for his applause, mock curtsying and taking
flourished bows, blowing kisses, looking happy. He held hands with the rest of
the cast for yet another curtain call, exchanging looks, grins and words with
everyone around him. Thor felt his eyes well up, seeing his brother surrounded
by people who seemed to love him.
“No fucking encores!” shouted Loki to a brave soul on the mezzanine who kept
asking loudly. “You come over here and sing it yourself, I’m bloody
knackered!” 
“Oh, will you fuck off already,” said Loki finally, when the audience was
roaring for yet another round of salutes. He blew one last kiss and shooed
everyone away with gestures of playful impatience, strutting on his heels on
the way out. Thor was one with the rest of the theatre right there and then in
wanting to shout back “How shall we fuck off, O Lord?” 
He was disconcerted when the rest of the lights came on and people around him
started to pick themselves up. The spell had lifted, Loki was gone, and he was
not coming back this evening.  
In a haze, Thor ambled to the stage door, keeping his distance from the
boisterous crowd that held up photos and signs, with their mobile phones in
hand, ready to snap. He got notified every time a member of the cast popped
out, by the sudden storm of flashes and the screaming. For once, in the middle
of an excited throng of fans, he was invisible. It was a completely different
experience from this side of the fence. 
Thor felt drained, bereft, his mind lost in random thoughts. How much Loki
seemed to have changed. What must it be like to be around him now. What must he
talk about, what things did he like to do, what made him laugh, how did his
laughter sound. Was he still a snarky little shit. Would Thor like him now.
Would new Loki like him. Or love him, even. They hadn’t exchanged a word for
almost four years now, except for that letter, so brief, cold and formal, about
the apartment.
Four fucking years. How the fuck did that ever come to happen.
He stood across the street and waited, for what exactly he could not say. He
just didn’t want to go yet.
After some time, the clamour climbed up several notches and there he was, his
brother, in a vintage, full-length black and green leather coat with details of
gold, and a massive fur collar, hair still wild, big sunglasses, dark red
lipstick, like a rock star from the seventies. 
Loki was not smiling now, his mouth thin, and he was not posing for selfies,
but he did nod, and mouth ‘thank yous’, and scribble his name onto whatever
flat surface was thrusted in his direction. His brother looked frail now,
small, not at all the hurricane he had been on stage. Thor wished he could wrap
him up and pack him away somewhere still and quiet. Thor noticed the guy who
played Brad, who also had autographs to sign, keeping a close eye on Loki. Thor
felt like a bastard, but it fucking stung. 
When Brad held Loki’s hand to lead him to their car, the crowd erupted in an
enthusiastic holler, and the flashes were going off like a summer storm. Loki
was about to climb inside the car, one foot already in, when he froze up,
facing straight at him.
He had seen him. He had seen Thor.
Loki removed his sunglasses. His naked eyes, made more intense with a thick
line of black eyeliner, speared Thor, pinning him to the spot. 
Thor felt the air punched out of his gut. He could not move. He could not read
Loki’s expression beyond the shock. Good shock, bad shock, he had no idea.
The guy who played Brad looked at Thor, then at Loki, then back at Thor as he
said something close to Loki’s ear. Loki shook his head, put the sunglasses
back on, and climbed inside the car. Brad jumped in right after.
Thor was able to see Loki’s white face turning away as they drove by him.
 
                                        
                                  ___________
 
 
 
(The past, 3 years ago)
 
“You’re so quiet, mate,” said Fandral, with a hand on Thor’s shoulder.
“I’m knackered,” said Thor, rubbing his face. 
“Home, then?” said Sif, with a kind look. 
“Yeah, home.”
They picked up their things from the table and seats. Thor gentlemanly helped
Sif with her coat, and even though she wasn’t one to suffer the mademoiselle
treatment easily, for Thor she made an exception and allowed it, without giving
into the urge of thrusting an elbow into his gut. Thor had already noticed,
some weeks ago, that Sif kept making all sorts of exceptions for him.
It had been a crazy week. Thor had forgotten just how much it took out of him
to be in a play, even a semi-professional one as this. He hadn’t done it in
such a long time. And Tennessee Williams was so bloody intense. 
Opening night last Saturday had been a thrill. Acting in front of a living,
breathing audience was like nothing else in the world. He had felt on fire.
Receiving praise from his dad had been a sweet treat for once, even if Odin
couldn’t help to be specially “I told you so” about it. As for his mum, after a
strong hug, they had stared at each other for a long time, and when both Thor’s
and Frigga’s eyes had welled up, nobody had needed telling why.
It was only one week of performances, so roll on Saturday. Thor had enjoyed
himself immensely, but he obviously needed to build more mental stamina if he
was to try to get on to professional theatre at some point. And that was a
thought. His physical energy was barely tapped, but his mind… He just could not
stop thinking about Loki. This was his brother's realm. Every step Thor took
into it, he did it with the example and the memory of his brother on his back.
It could become too much at times, and that week, it often had.
They made down the streets, steam puffing from their mouths. Fandral and the
girl he had picked up at the pub walked ahead of them, Thor and Sif closed the
march. Thor mindlessly realised that he still did a double-take of every pale
face with dark hair he encountered on the street.
“You were very strong tonight, Siffy,” said Thor, one arm casually thrown over
her shoulder for a quick squeeze, before he stuffed his hands back in his
pockets.
“Hm, I don’t know,” said Sif. “I felt all… clunky, rigid.”
“You’re a good actress, Sif. Maybe Maggie and you are not made for each other,
but that doesn’t mean you’re not talented.”
“Yes but… I still don’t think I enjoy it that much, you know?”
They had talked about this before, even during rehearsals. Sif really struggled
with opening up and making herself vulnerable in front of other people. That
easily made for stuffy acting. She had very good control of her body and voice,
and she could manage to express emotion when she was building on those
strengths, but it didn’t come natural to her, and she said it felt
uncomfortable, and quite tiresome.
“So you think the stuntwoman thing Hogun suggested is a better path for you?”
asked Thor. Hogun taught stunt performance for the theatre. His class was where
Sif, Fandral and Thor had met. Hogun was enthusiastic about Sif, he said she
was the most gifted of his students.
“I do enjoy that side, the physicality of it,” said Sif. “It takes acting, but
it’s a completely different set-up. Yes, I’m seriously thinking about it,” she
added, thoughtful.
“Hey, you’d make the fiercest, bravest, coolest stuntwoman ever,” said Thor,
nudging an elbow to her side. “Not to mention movie-star beautiful. You’d steal
the show.”
Sif grinned, her cheeks flushed up a little. She was extraordinarily beautiful,
and her lanky, athletic body was just the kind of thing that got Thor's juices
flowing. But for all the wrong reasons. He cast his eyes back down to the
pavement, his mind drifted.
Thor was grateful for his friends. It had not been easy for him at drama
school. He had been snubbed and ignored and put down at every available
opportunity by snobby classmates, and even some teachers, for his ancestry
first of all (nobody would forgive him who his parents were, and made a point
of letting him know to what extent it would not gain him any favouritism, some
would say going a bit too far in the other direction.) But more than anything,
he was being made to pay for his stint as a movie star. He had had to hear
every possible variation of “that’s so Hollywood”, he had been overlooked for
exercises and plays because “the others also deserved a chance”, and he had had
to grin and bear it while paying for the privilege of having excerpts of his
previous work used as a negative example to his fellow classmates. “You don’t
mind, do you? Since we have you here…” Yes, Hollywood boy, you don’t belong
here. Stick to your action flicks and your aliens and superheroes, and get your
filthy paws off Shakespeare, Miller and Reza. 
Of course it was nothing like what Loki must have had to go through in his day,
not by miles. Not by fucking parsecs even, because Thor was there because he
wanted to, and because he was older than Loki had been, and a lot stronger
about himself in his own mind (yes, Thor would be the first to admit that self-
esteem was not an issue for him), and because it had nothing to do with who
Thor was, not really. But still, it was piling up on top of the very, very
fucked up year Thor had had, and between one thing and the other, the first few
months of the summer course in that place had almost become too much for him. A
few times, he had even contemplated dropping out, a thing he just did not do.
He never gave things up when they were hard, he always followed through to the
bitter end. That’s how overwhelmed and miserable he had felt.
When the winter courses had begun, and he had joined Hogun’s class, Thor had
suddenly found his crowd. Fandral was too fabulous himself to feel threatened,
or indeed to give a shit that Thor had won an MTV Award, except for bragging
purposes when he had a need of them in, say, trying to impress a young lady
with his very cool, very famous friends. Sif judged people only on the basis of
who they were, on principle, and she had liked Thor’s straightforwardness from
the start. Hogun himself cared only for how seriously people took his classes,
and Thor was very serious about his job.
Then there was Volstagg, who liked everyone, who declared himself a huge, long-
time fan of Thor’s, who radiated joy of living and was an unstoppable force
—when he wasn’t prone on his back recovering from this or that other set of
festivities, that is. Volstagg taught a seminar on “character” acting (or how
to create performances in supporting roles that compelled and stood out) but
his real love was directing, and independently from the school, though with its
blessing and support, he put on a play every four months. He had cast Sif and
Thor for the Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, and a more happy company of friends was
never seen. It was only a matter of time before Sif and Thor moved into
Fandral’s oversized apartment to split the costs (the bloke was fabulous beyond
his means.) 
Thor’s drunken fuck with Fandral had also been only a matter of time. They were
as bad as each other. It had changed nothing between them, except cranking up
the tone of their jokes and adding detail and colour to their constant flirting
and innuendo. 
Sif, however… 
In the flat, Fandral and his catch locked themselves up in his room. Giggles
and chuckles came through clearly. 
“Do you want to watch a movie?” asked Sif. “Really loud?”
Thor laughed. It was a lot better than go their separate ways and wonder what
Sif was thinking Thor was doing. Less awkward. They chose Star Wars because it
was a common favourite, and a noisy one, and they shared a beer and some nuts.
One beer became two became four, drinking from the same bottle. Alas, the movie
was not always as noisy as they would have needed it to be.
“Fuck,” grunted Thor, feeling his cock twitching, whether he liked it or not.
And Sif had a permanent tinge of red high on her cheeks. Which looked lovely on
her, by the way. And she had been wearing her hair down a lot lately, for the
part, because Maggie was a sexual creature. And her neck was so long. Her
collarbones. 
“Fuck,” grunted Thor again, when one particularly loud string of moans,
peppered with feminine “gods” and “yesses”, pierced his crotch.
Sif was biting her lips in, blushing as she resolutely kept her eyes fixed on
Fandral’s ginormous screen (Han Solo twisting his mouth in the sexiest smirk
after Luke snaps “No” to his musing “You think a princess and a guy like me…”)
When the credits rolled, Fandral’s room had been silent for a while, except for
what sounded like quiet conversation. Thor was not hard now, but he was still
feeling the strain. He fucking needed a cold shower. Except it wasn’t a cold
shower he wanted.
Sif was leaning on the backrest, facing Thor, and had been for some time,
staring at him. She was close. He turned his head to return the stare. She
adored him, it came through her in waves. Thor, you bastard. Don’t do this. She
stroked his hair, which he kept short these days, because otherwise it
attracted too much commentary and was the go-to excuse to deny him parts. 
He didn’t move away and he didn’t reject her. When she stole nearer to kiss
him, he kissed her back. She had thought about it, she had longed for it. It
was in her eyes, and it was there when she shut them. Thor, you son of a bitch,
she’s your friend. Her hands slipped under his shirt. They were cold. He put
one big hand on the back of her head, crushing their mouths together more
firmly, and raked his fingers gently on her scalp. 
Then she retreated, and Thor withdrew his hand. 
“Is this a good idea?” she said.
Thor shook his head no, with a sad half-smile.
She leaned over to kiss him again and climbed onto his lap, straddling him,
pressing herself against him, palming his straining crotch. He gripped her
hips, grabbed her arse. Her small, tight arse. Her long, strong legs. The smell
was wrong, but she was also fierce and demanding. He lead her hips down to make
her push on him. She was kissing his neck and snaking her hips to rub their
crotches together. He felt her soft, long, dark hair, her lean, tough arms. He
missed him so fucking much. 
 
They fucked in her room, and afterwards she laid on her side, facing him. It
had been great. He had been so horny, and she was so athletic, and so crazy
about him. She had wanted it all. But of course, she was not him. 
They chatted about their sex lives, and Thor looked at the ceiling and thought
about his brother.
“You’re a bit of a slut, Odinson,” she said, once she had a better idea of whom
she was dealing with in that area.
“Not a bit,” Thor laughed. “I’m the genuine article.”
“You don’t have girlfriends though. Or boyfriends.” Because he had confirmed
that Fandral had not been a drunk exception, and that he did swing both ways.
“Nah. I’m not relationship material,” he said.
“Oh,” said Sif, after a beat.
“Sorry,” he said, turning his head to face her, with a little sad smile. He was
full of them.
Her face fell before she could put herself together.
“I already knew that, you idiot,” she said. She poked him in the arm and turned
onto her back, pulling the quilt as high as if would go —more or less up to her
neck.
Thor sighed. A silence followed.
“So what do we do now?” she asked.
Thor shrugged. “I don’t know.”
 
On Sunday, before he had to head for the station to take a train to Asgard
House for the Christmas holidays, he found himself having a cup of coffee at
the seedy bar in front of The Dark World, Loki’s old club. They told him months
ago that he had left, but Thor found himself returning now and again, and
wondering. He needed something real to cling on to. As bad as his memories of
that place were, it was here he had last seen his brother. He would sit at
their table if he could, and stare at the vacant chair, and feel like a
pathetic, miserable idiot. He promised to himself that had been the last time
he let Loki walk out on him. He knew it was absurd, that this was not how it
worked. So shoot him. He just felt so fucking impotent. There was nothing he
could do, nothing. He was not good at sitting on his arse and waiting. It
seemed as if fixing the past in his head was the only course of action he had
left.
Afterwards, he stopped by Loki’s apartment and had a quick tidy up. The
landlady did the dusting every month or so, aired the rooms and checked
everything was in place. Thor had a look around, let some fresh air in himself,
and sighed when he realised nothing had been disturbed. He kept hoping he’d get
there and find Loki’s favourite leather jacket gone missing, or some shirts, or
perhaps a photo. Anything. Any clue that he was out there and that he was
alive.
Fury’s people had a permanent alert out for Loki, but they were not actively
seeking anymore. Hill had been reassigned to another job. Last time they spoke,
she said she believed Loki had not left London, but he might have changed his
appearance, wasn’t using his real name, and was keeping away from the system.
What a strange way of saying that he was living in the street, or stashed in
some whorehouse without ever seeing the light of day, or dead in a gutter
somewhere.
No, Loki lived. Thor couldn’t bare to think he didn’t, and he clung ferociously
onto his deeply held faith that, if something bad like that was ever to happen
to his brother, he would feel it somehow, that he would know. 
No, Loki lived. He lived, and they would meet again, and perhaps Thor would be
able to make amends then. 
 
 
 
                                       *
 
 
It had been so sudden. One day she was there, the next day he was on the phone
to his dad and they were both crying. Her heart had stopped, just like that,
how was that even possible? 
Thor’s life had suddenly entered the realm of the surreal. He walked around as
if he had just been hit by a football in the schoolyard, shocked and dazed and
thinking “that’s not fair”. 
Everything had been taken care of in advance, and many other things fell in the
hands of friends and relatives, except the worst parts —what dress she would
wear, what jewellery. How was Thor supposed to know that. Loki would have
known. 
Her ashes were scattered at Asgard House just like she had wanted. 
 
 
Odin had asked for all the flowers to be moved to the main hall. He wanted none
in his studio. 
The mourners had all left by now. Thor had had to insist, and be firm, when
Odin’s sister and her family had wanted to stay so that they could look after
them. Odin had been bristly all day, irritable and short-tempered, forced to
maintain his stiff upper-lip while shaking hands and acknowledging condolences
from colleagues, politicians and aristocracy. Now that it was all over, he
didn’t want anyone around. Thor didn’t blame him. 
The help they had hired for the day had also left. They were alone in the
house. It was quiet.
Thor knocked on the door of the studio. 
“Come in.”
He found Odin slumped in his leather armchair by the hearth. There was no fire
of course, not in Spring.
“I was going to bed. Just checking to see if you’re… if you have all you need,”
said Thor.
He had been doing this every night for the last two weeks, and he still felt
clumsy and hesitant. That was not who they were. Thor was not the dutiful,
helpful son, and Odin was not one to be looked after like an old spinster aunt.
The roles didn't suit them. But somebody had to make sure the man ate something
at least once a day, and did not subsist solely on pickings from his wine
cellar. What would happen when Thor had to go back to school. Ah, Thor couldn’t
think that far ahead right now. He could not think beyond the next few hours.
He could not bear it.
“Sit down, son,” said his dad. He had an empty tumbler in his hand, and the
redness in his cheeks and his glassy eye told Thor it wasn’t the first one.
“Have a drink.”
Thor walked to the liquor cabinet and poured himself two fingers worth. He was
going to need it, if his father wanted to talk. Or not talk. Thor wasn't
looking forwards to either.
He sat down on the armchair opposite his dad’s. Ideally, Thor thought, for the
scene to really come together, there should be a fire there. But the weather
had been obscenely pleasant, warm and bright, no worse than crisp in the
evenings, and fragrant. Frigga would have approved, but Thor hated it. That the
world could remain so lovely even after she’d gone. But what would she have
said? “What would have been a good time for me to go?” “Oh no! Not in spring-
time! Summer, winter or fall! No, never could I leave you at all!”(*)
He sat with his father in silence, only the grandfather’s clock ticking
solemnly in the corner, muffled somewhat by the books covering almost every
available bit of wall. The crackling of a few burning logs and the breathing of
the flames wouldn’t have gone amiss. Even though the studio had always been to
Thor a pleasantly cluttered, welcoming place, that stillness felt so empty, so
wrong, so off.
“How are you, son,” asked Odin, after some time.
Thor had a solid draught, so that the burn in his throat came from the scotch
and not from the urge to cry.
“I’m fine.”
Odin studied him with his one eye, then he looked away to the fire that should
have been there.
“You’ve done well,” said his father. “How you managed things. I know I have
been useless.”
“I’ve done what I could,” Thor said. He was not sure what his father wanted to
hear.
“You’ve been trying to find your brother,” asserted Odin, no doubt in his
voice, even though Thor had not said one word about it to anyone.
“Yes.” He had had Fury’s people on crazy shifts, combing entire neighbourhoods
in a mad attempt to smoke him out.
They both stayed in silence for a spell. Thor wondered what his father was
getting at. He was terrified this would become yet another horrible sermon that
would anger Thor and break his heart, chipping away at the love and respect he
still could not help but feel for his father. He didn’t think he could handle
it tonight, not tonight.
“Your mother believed he is still out there,” said Odin. “That he had a journey
of his own to make, but that he would return when it was done.”
Thor swallowed. He needed to sip at his glass for that.
“I know.”
“And you? What do you believe?” asked Odin, taking his son by surprise.
Thor tried to swallow again, his throat knotted. He stared at his dad for a
moment.
“I don’t know now.”
“What do you mean.”
A deep intake of breath and a shuddering exhale.
“That he… he would have come. If he was out there, he would have come. Nothing
in the world would have kept him.”
Odin regarded his oldest son fondly. He was a man who appreciated loyalty.
“Your mother thought your brother was practically indestructible. She said he
was the strongest of us all. I did not understand what she meant, I suppose I
don’t need to tell you that. I'm aware that, when it comes to your brother, I
understand very little. But she knew him well, better than you and me, and if
she believed he is still out there, well, why don’t you trust her judgement?”
His old dad leaned forwards to pat his knee, hard enough to make him wince, and
then squeezed it better. “Don’t cry, son.”
Thor scrubbed his face to clear the tears away. Looking out the window, unable
to face his dad, he took another draught. He couldn’t help the sniffing.
“Your mother would know what to tell you,” said Odin. “She should have been the
one consoling you, not me. I should be the one getting the flowers. Damn!” He
suddenly smashed his fist on the arm of his chair.
He took strong, huffing breaths, probably trying to hold his tears at bay. He
waited to be more calm before he attempted to talk again.
“She was a better parent than I ever was. She always knew what to say, when to
be stern, when to be forgiving. She never ran out of patience. She loved your
brother as fully and freely as she loved you. I… I never did.”
Thor really, really didn’t want to talk about Loki tonight. He couldn’t fucking
handle any more. He felt as if running on air as it was. But Odin was not
finished. With his eye lost in space, and vacant, he proceeded with a
confession nobody had asked for.
“I never understood him. He never felt completely mine. I wanted to love him
unconditionally and make no differences, but… I’m just not a very good man, I
suppose.” A sigh. “I never loved him enough. When he was a little boy, it was
easier. Even though the more Loki followed me around trying to please me, the
more I would push him away. When he reached puberty, with all his problems and
his moods, I guess I didn’t like him very much, and he didn’t like me. Which I
understand of course, with how I treated him. And the more Loki perceived how I
felt, the more contrary and difficult he became.”
Thor had not looked up to his father’s face for a few minutes now. He couldn’t.
Odin seemed to need to take stock for what he wanted to say next. 
“I chased him away that day. I was feeling guilty because of the way he had had
to find out, because we- we failed him. And because now he knew and… I guess he
had the key now as to why his old father had been such a son of a bitch with
him all his life. I felt exposed, the worst about me laid out in the sun for
the world to see. I was on the defensive, and I… Deep inside, I guess I had
hoped he would just turn to us with gratitude in his eyes and thank us for
taking him in. We had saved him from an almost certain death, and from misery
and abandonment, and brought him up in a comfortable, warm, loving household,
and he had repaid us time and again by being so difficult, and now by being so
angry. He was angry at me, when I had chosen him.” He gesticulated vehemently,
pointing at himself, then at nothing. “Not the one on his right, not the one on
his left, him. And it broke my heart to not take them all, to leave the rest
there, you understand? I took him. I had looked at his tiny face and I… How
could I put him down again? But he still hated me.”
Odin rubbed the scar under his eyepatch. He looked exhausted.
“I resented him. I wanted to punish him. I was irrational. And awful. And
unforgivably insensitive. I just did not realise I would never get the chance
to get over it and tell him I regretted it.”
“Why are you telling me this now?” asked Thor slowly, his voice husky from the
strangle hold in his throat.
“Because…” Odin sighed, pulled on a sad smile. “Because if I die without seeing
him again, I want you to tell him that I’m sorry.” He took a deep drink,
looking away, laughing bitterly at himself for being an old, sentimental fool,
suddenly forced to look his own mortality in the face, wanting atonement for
his sins. 
 
 
Thor spent some time in Loki’s room, and considered sleeping in his brother’s
bed. But he felt a strange atmosphere there that night. The place was cold and
empty as a grave, not even the ghosts of their games and their summer
afternoons left behind to warm the air. 
Loki had  to have known about Frigga’s death. It had been first page of every
newspaper, first story in the TV news, the BBC had covered the funeral live,
the bloody Queen had attended, and the pile of flowers at the gates of Asgard
House, the London flat, and the National Theatre would take an entire brigade
each to clear, when somebody got round to it. So why in the world had Loki
missed his mum’s funeral, what would it have taken for him to not be here
today? He could not possibly be so resentful. Loki loved Frigga, Thor was sure.
Or he wasn’t. He didn’t fucking know anymore. The Loki he had talked to at the
club, the horrible things he had told him, the sick enjoyment he had taken in
tormenting him… who the fuck was that man. What did that man feel, what did
that man think. Was his brother still in there somewhere.
Perhaps Loki had lost his mind after all. Perhaps he had seen the news and had
not given a damn. ...No, fuck, Thor’s insides twisted if he allowed himself to
even entertain that thought. 
Just where the fuck was he. 
He had to be dead. That was what Thor feared, deep down inside. Death was
surely the only thing that could have kept Loki from coming to his mum’s
funeral. Even this dreadful, crushing thought was more palatable than the
alternative -that he had not come because he did not fucking want to. Because
he did not care, or because he cared more about his own shit, and about his
spite with his father and his brother, than he cared about his mother. If this
was what Loki had become, shit, perhaps he was better off dead.
And here come the fucking waterworks again. Everything fucking hurt. Thor was
drowning in it, strangled by it, crushed under a massive pile of it. At times
he felt as if he could not move for the weight of it. He could not see a way
beyond this pain. That night he thought he would surely die from it.
 
Thor cried in his own bedroom for a long time.  
With a skull-splitting headache, he re-read his friends’ messages on his phone,
and started to drag himself out of his own little private slice of Tartarus
once again, by focusing on going back to school, going back to rehearsals for
the professional production of Thelma and Louise he had been cast in, going
back to work. 
He had to keep a very narrow, very tight focus. The moment he strayed one step
away from it, the absence of his mum and his brother crashed down on him like a
whole ocean’s worth of a wave. He had never been one for desperation, but how
the fuck was he supposed to carry on like this. 
He was overwhelmed by grief, that’s what it was, that’s what he kept telling
himself. This too shall pass, as his mum would have said, and his mind would
clear eventually,  and he wouldn’t see a fucking black desert of rock and ash
whenever he thought about the future. It was reasonable to remember that people
lost loved ones every day, and they pulled through.
But he didn’t know how was it even possible, when he struggled to so much as
keep breathing the moment he remembered that his mum was gone, that he would
never see her again, that he would forever miss her, with not a minute of
consolation or respite, not a day of holiday. Never-fucking-more. And that the
only other person who would have felt exactly the same as he did, the only
other person in whose arms he could have found true comfort, was as lost to him
as she was. 
 
 
                                       *
 
 
He stopped going to the club. He stopped going to Loki’s place. He kept his
head down and worked his arse off to get his sorry self through it. 
There would be many days in the following months when he just wanted to cower
in a corner and cry, days when he felt he simply would not be strong enough to
bear it. But his friends had his back. They surrounded him quietly, or
cushioned him with conversations he wasn’t required to participate in; they put
plates of food in front of him, and a glass of beer; they took him out to the
movies once or twice a week, forced X-Box controls into his hands, and kept him
busy with all sorts of things. They had never had a cleaner house or an emptier
to-do list. 
Sif threw him long looks, but it was Fandral’s bed he took to every now and
then. Much easier, much cleaner, harmless. He thought Sif understood. For once,
he was trying to do what was decent.
In time, he found weeks were going by without him needing to shut himself away
somewhere to cry. When he woke up in the middle of the night, he was managing
to go back to sleep before dawn. Days were passing without him having to push
with all his might. One day, he realised he had stopped feeling guilty whenever
he laughed.  
 
When he got Tony’s phone call that summer, he had been ready.
“It’s the prequel to Master and Commander, when Aubrey gets his first post and
meets Maturin. If it works, there will be one more, maybe two. In the second
and third book they meet their women… You were born for this, Thor. You areJack
Aubrey. Say yes.”
Yes, he was ready, and able, and willing. He wanted a change of scenery like
air. He was looking forward to an adventure.  
 
 
 
                                       *
 
 
He got the letter on the set of Master and Commander,about five months later,
reposted from his London address. Such a plain little thing it was, or so it
seemed.
 
 
“Dear Thor,
I have taken up the apartment again. I thank you for maintaining it for me, but
it will not be necessary for you to keep paying for it anymore. And I will pay
you back.
I hope you can forgive all the things I said that day, and how I acted with you
when you came to the club. I could say I wasn’t myself, but that would hardly
excuse it. Just know that I’ve regretted it for a long time now.
Please don’t come see me. That is, if you even want to see me ever again. Maybe
some day. 
I hope you are well. 
Love,
Loki.”
 
 
Loki lives.
Thor sat in his room, shell-shocked, paralysed. 
Loki lives.
 
 
“Please don’t come see me.”
“…You fucking hurt, Thor. You fucking hurt, Thor. You fucking hurt, Thor. You
fucking hurt, Thor…”
 
 
 
                                       *
 
 
 
Puente Antiguo, New Mexico, four months later. Thor stood on his mark while
Lori gave the finishing touches to the fake wound on his brow. 
“Damn flies…” she cursed, looking but not looking at Thor’s face, focused on
the make-up. She sprinkled the wound with the dust-spray. Thor’s whole face was
caked in that fake blood, fake ooze and dust gunk. With its sugary base, Thor
was very popular with every flying insect in the desert. The flies were the
most dedicated extras. They never asked for time off. Thor was joking they
should be on the credits.
It was baking hot. Thor’s costume, a ragged, tatty, dirtied uniform, unfitting,
haphazardly pieced together -since by that time in the story they were not even
US Army irregulars, but full-on brigands in a kind of 1860’s Western post-
apocalyptic setting-, was thick, woollen and scratchy, and the prosthetic
wounds and scars all over his torso and leg, latex-based, stunk when the sun
hit them. Let me tell you something, thought Thor while he waited for Lori to
finish, see the look of complete and utter misery in my face? I’m not even
acting.
He did enjoy the mental place his character put him in, as devastating as it
was. It was cathartic. Not to mention the fact that he modestly believed he was
fucking killing it. He felt good, at his best, what he had been working on in
drama school coming through, and though he went to bed every night flat-out
exhausted, he was always looking forwards to tomorrow’s scenes, eager to sink
his teeth in them.
They spent the rest of the afternoon on that scene. Thor repeated his single
line and crumbled to the ground in utter despair half a dozen times, then had
his conversation with Ray Winstone as Judge Holden, in which Thor’s
contribution was mostly in the shape of grunts. The scene required him to show
the ravaging of what was left of his character’s sense of morality and hope for
redemption by the Judge’s twisted, callous arguments, just with the expressions
on his face. Thor was thoroughly knackered, soul-deep exhausted and scraped raw
by the end of the day.
Ray gave him a bear hug when they packed it in. “Man, you’re good,” he told
him. Mr. Winstone was doing an outstanding job as Judge Holden. There were
already conversations about whether to pit them against each other as best
actor, since the Judge could only be considered a supporting role by the skin
of his teeth. Thor thought his father would have made a great Judge Holden
twenty years ago, and he sometimes acted his scenes as if it was Odin he was
facing. The wealth of undertones that surfaced then delighted everyone but him.
 
 
After a good three quarters of an hour having the latex carefully peeled off
him by Lori and her minions, he had an ice cold shower and he felt almost human
again. He put on his sunglasses and that Indiana Jones hat they had let him
keep from Jurassic Island (it was weathering so nicely), climbed onto the
pickup truck he had been provided with, and drove to a stop at the gate of the
fenced perimeter of the studio lands to sign a few autographs. There were never
more than a dozen people there, so he was able to look at them in the face, ask
their names, pose for selfies; he even had time to talk on the phone to people
who had not made it there. It was civilised, human and heart-warming. If only
all of his interactions with fans were like this.
He often remembered Jane Foster, if the sun was down especially, and a couple
of hours of peace under the stars when he had most needed it. Those memories
filled him with gratitude, and a gentle melancholy that seemed to soothe and
dispel other, harsher thoughts he associated with that time. He toyed
constantly with the idea of looking for her. He did not know where to begin. He
could hardly put Nick Fury on her tail... Whatever would she think of that?
And then, one day, there she was, among the rest of the fans. Still small,
still precious, her eyes so warm, her face every bit as beautiful as he
remembered, her own smile just as radiant as his had become taking her in. He
hugged her and it felt right.
They laughed over dinner, falling easily into step with each other as if they
had spoken only yesterday. They had fun with tiny things, like his British
slang and her American slang. She had been catching up on Thor’s career, and
apparently her opinion on superhero movies had improved somewhat. She also had
some kind words about his mother.
“It was a year last week since she died,” said Thor.
She held his hand for a beat. Thor held it back.
They made love in his hotel room, after kissing for, what, an hour? He hadn’t
made out like that since… Damn. …Damn. 
It was sweet. She was sweet. And clever, and genuine. She put it all out there.
She felt strongly about things. She was brave and spoke her mind. She had no
duplicity, she didn't play games. She didn’t remind him of anyone.
The sex was good. It wasn’t… well, nobody was Loki. But it was good, to be
looked after like that, and worshipped. She loved his body one hell of a lot.
She was very responsive, very sensual, and so light; the possibilities… And she
was blooming gorgeous. Thor couldn't get enough of that mirror-smooth skin of
hers.
When the location shoot ended, Jane said she understood that it was too
complicated, and she was ready to say goodbye as good friends. Thor wasn’t. He
asked her whether she believed that they could try to make it work out somehow.
He had a play in London, and the publicity tour for Master and
Commander straight after that, but if they were both patient, perhaps… Her eyes
when she heard that. She jumped to his neck, delighted to be lifted with one
arm, just like that, and she said “we can try.”
The first time they said I love you was on the phone. 
Beginnings are always great, or they should be. Honeymoons. Yes, it was a long
flight, but Thor was always looking forwards to it. They didn’t have that much
time together, but it was so bloody nice. They would go out for groceries, cook
dinner, make love, spend the weekend in bed, or sometimes play cards or
boardgames with her friends. They would sometimes meet somewhere nice for a
short holiday. 
It was a nomadic lifestyle, with more than one base, which suited him. Because,
let’s face it, when he had more than a week or ten days in New Mexico with her,
eventually he was bored out of his mind. He appreciated short periods of
domesticity, but he suffocated if they lasted too long. This troubled him, of
course, and kept him from looking too far into the future, but he kept his
worries to himself. If he ignored the problems, he didn’t need to face them.
One day at a time.
He took her to premieres and dodged paparazzi with her in L.A., London and New
York. He introduced her to his father, who was on his most gentlemanly
behaviour, but cold. When in London, they would go out to the pub with Fandral,
Sif, Hogun sometimes, Volstagg if he could sort out the kids. Sif did have
something to say about it the first time. “I thought you were not relationship
material.” He did not know what to tell her.
She was luminous, a beacon of peace and normality in a fairly chaotic life. And
he wanted so much to… to want it all with her. A house with a picket fence, a
baby, a dog, the whole shebang. He wished he wanted that, but he didn’t. He
wished he loved her more, he wished he felt closer to her. In his heart of
hearts, he was still a loner.
Jane sometimes told him that he didn’t talk, that he looked sad for no apparent
reason, and why wouldn’t he tell her what the problem was, why was he holding
things back from her, did he not trust her. Thor said that it was true, that
there were things he would never talk about. Jane could not understand that.
She had no secrets for him, why did he?
“We should be able to talk about everything. And you should feel you can tell
me everything,” she would say.
Thor didn’t agree. 
“Maybe I should, or maybe I shouldn’t, but I don’t intend to. The stuff I don’t
talk about… it’s not just mine to share.”
This had been one of the first big arguments. Nobody had lifted their voices,
and they had kissed and made up straight away, but Thor felt as if a wedge had
been stuck between them. The phrase 'irreconcilable differences' came to mind.
Thor did not deceive himself that it was only because he traveled so much that
it was lasting for as long as it was. He didn’t want to break up, that wasn’t
it, but there were many aspects of the relationship that were only bearable,
for both of them, because they had regular holidays from each other. 
The fact was… the fact was Loki. He compared what he felt with Jane with what
he had felt with Loki and… fuck, let’s be realistic here, nobody would ever
stand a chance, nobody would ever come close. Loki was his ideal partner, in
spite of it all. Loki was never ordinary, he couldn’t stand mediocrity or
blandness. Loki grabbed you by the throat and made you feel alive. The fun they
had together, the mind-blowing sex, the passion, the unquenchable thirst for
each other, the electrified connection. No petty fight could get between them
back then, they were indestructible; they would shout and bicker and call each
other names and nothing was broken afterwards; if anything, they fucked harder,
they came out stronger. Loki knew his heart, every inch of it, inside and out.
And how Loki wanted him. He loved Thor even when it wasn’t good for him. They
just couldn't help themselves. Everything was extreme and heart-wrenching and
absolute and black and white and so, so fucking thrilling. How could this
suburban, polite, moderate understanding he was living in ever begin to compare
with that.
And then there were the times when they had been happy and at peace together,
him and Loki, and damn, damn, he would never love more, he would never feel
more tenderness towards another living soul. Perhaps with a child of his own...
He still had to stop for air sometimes, when those memories hit him, physically
aching for his brother’s presence, his voice, his touch. His absence was as
disrupting as having a limb torn and forgetting again and again, trying to grab
things with a hand that isn't there anymore, wanting to scratch an itch in a
leg that's gone. It had been years, and he still wasn't used to it.
Some weeks it felt to Thor that every hour of quiet domesticity with Jane, deep
down inside, he had spent it wondering what was Loki up to in London. It was
unfair, of course, Jane and him had good times, very good times of true
companionship together, and he could not possibly be thinking about Loki all
the bloody time -but this is how it felt.
He fantasised more often than was healthy about dragging himself at Loki’s feet
and beg him to take him back. He toyed with the idea, in bed, late at night,
obsessively. On occasion, the fantasy ended with Thor naked, on his knees, and
leather cuffs, and bootlicking and whatnot and, fuck, fuck, Thor evaluated how
fucked up in the head this whole business was making him, by how much more this
scenario made him want to fly to London by himself and damn it all to hell.
What stopped him cold was Loki’s letter, and what was said the last time they
spoke. What kind of a bastard would go and ask Loki even the fucking time of
day, after all the harm Thor had already caused him? He blamed himself for his
breakdown at fourteen, and for his runner at nineteen —at least, he thought he
could have stopped him. And Loki had left the relative safety of the club where
he had been working in for god knows what alternative, only because Thor had
tracked him down there, and had not stopped pestering even when he had been
asked, out of god knows what sense of entitlement or fucked up saviour complex.
You selfish son-of-a-bitch.
You fucking hurt, Thor.
Loki was fucking right. Thor was bad news. I’m bad for him. I would fuck up
again. I will always fuck up. Loki needed someone who could love him openly,
not a coward and a scumbag like you.
Would Thor drop everything if Loki asked him, his career, his life in the
States? At this point in life, the way he was feeling about him…? Probably.
Fuck, yes. But then, after three days, he would start to miss it, and then he
would resent him for the rest of their lives. Right? It went both ways.
And even if he didn’t, then what? I can’t fucking marry my brother, adopted or
not. In what fucking planet was that even an option for the sons of Odin
Borson.
No, he would never be good for Loki, never, in any possible configuration, in
any dream scenario. It was impossible between them. I’ll never beg him to take
me back, for Loki's sake.
He went to sleep at night wishing he could just be grateful for what he had
with Jane, and embrace it fully. He woke up every morning knowing he would not.
The heart wants what it fucking wants, Odinson. Life is hard. Suck it.
 
 
The first time Thor really spoke about his brother with Jane, he was about to
leave for London to see his play. She wanted to know why he wished to go by
himself, and he more or less offered her a heavily purged version of their
common history, Loki’s and his. He admitted he had hopes of talking to him, but
that he didn’t really know how, or if Loki would even want to see him at all.
He admitted Loki had been on his mind for a long time. He confessed it was Loki
he was often struggling with when he wouldn’t tell her what was wrong. 
“Why wouldn’t you tell me that?” She had been puzzled. 
He could not answer.
Overall, she had reacted as if she had been given the key to the kingdom, in
the shape of a piece of his true mind. She encouraged him to do all he could to
get to him and “straighten things out with Loki.”
“I just want to see him do well,” Thor had said. 
How the fuck was he managing to feel more like a liar now than every time he
had answered “nothing” when she had asked “what’s wrong”, Thor did’t have a
clue. It seemed that everything was fucked up when it came to Loki,
everything. 
She said goodbye at the airport and wished him good luck. He thought she looked
a bit desperate. Desperate for Thor to sort himself out, he guessed, and come
home having achieved closure and balance and peace, and let himself have a life
with her, once and for all. 
 
                                        
                                  ___________
 
 
 
(The present. The day afterThe Rocky Horror Show.)
 
 
 
“Mr. Laufeyson to see you, sir,” said the disembodied voice on the phone.
Thor blanked out for a few seconds. The voice of the concierge repeated the
announcement, a bit louder this time.
“Let him up,” answered Thor, mouth dry.
He paced the room like a caged animal while he waited. He was on the eight
floor of the hotel, he counted the fucking seconds. He wasn’t even curious
about how Loki had managed to find him.
A knock at the door. He opened with shaky hands, And there he was, in his furs
and make-up, his hair up in a messy bun, nails obsidian black, heart-stoppingly
beautiful. His brother, the fucking rock star. Thor’s breath caught in his
throat.
“May I come in?” he said. The sound of Loki’s voice, so familiar, and unheard
for so long in this close setting, made Thor feel as if his insides had
suddenly turned upside down.
He pushed the door open for his brother, and moved aside. Loki walked in
slowly, cautiously. 
“Do you want anything to drink?” Thor said. His voice came out darker than
usual. He was nervous.
“What have you got up here? I don’t want to have to call room service.”
Loki sounded subdued, muffled somehow.
“The works,” said Thor. He couldn't get his eyes off his brother’s pale,
angular features. There were new marks on his skin, around his eyes, across his
forehead, faint but there. His face was sharper. He had grown older…
“Fizzy water,” said Loki. “Please.”
Thor got him a bottle and a glass from the minibar. Out of the corner of his
eye, he spied Loki unbuttoning his coat, but keeping it on, like armour, long
arms wrapped around himself. He wore black jeans and motorist boots underneath,
and a black, chunky knit jumper with a cosy collar he seemed to be trying to
hide in, skittish as a cat in a new place.
Thor checked his own hand. It was still shaking. He got himself a beer.
“Here,” he said, leaving Loki’s drink on the coffee table. He did it gently, as
if he was afraid Loki would be startled. “Don’t you want to sit down?”
Loki took a quick look around and he chose the armchair. Thor took the couch. 
There was a silence. All Thor could hear was his breathing.
“Did you enjoy the show?” said Loki at last.
“Very much,” said Thor, smiling nervously. “I don’t remember the last time I
enjoyed myself so much. You were… you were incredible. Really. Amazing. I’m…
I’m lost for words.”
“Eloquence was never your strong suit,” jabbed Loki, quite sweetly. And then,
with a tiny, tight grin, and what sounded like plain sincerity, “I'm flattered.
Thank you.”
Thor nodded, not really knowing what more to say.
“I never thanked you in person for preserving the apartment and all my things,”
said Loki. “It didn’t then, but it means a lot now. Thank you.”
Thor nodded, dumb again, emotion clawing at his throat. Every reply that came
to mind was soaked in sentiment, in a way he was not sure Loki would
appreciate. “I knew you would come back one day”, and “I couldn’t bear to do
anything else.” He opted for keeping it simple and to the point.
“You’re welcome.”
Loki had still to look him in the eye.
“I hear you’re living with an astrophysicist these days,” said Loki, his tone
even and unaffected, if anything a bit shy.
Thor nodded.
“What do you two actually talk about?” mocked Loki, no real malice in it. “Or
is it not your conversation she is into.”
Thor chuckled. Loki’s eyes had brightened up with Thor’s laughter. Oh, baby,
Thor sighed, crumbling inside. God help me. Thor harrumphed, sipping at his
beer. 
“I hear you’re living with a girl,” he said.
Loki looked up, their eyes meeting for the first time. Thor felt as if he was
being calibrated, the cogs and wheels of Loki’s brain whirring, pondering what
answer to give.
“It’s not like that,” said Loki, at last. “She’s a good friend. She keeps me
right.”
Thor nodded. He really should not ask, it was none of his business, but…
“What about this Brad bloke,” he said.
“Sam. What about him.”
“I hear rumours.”
“All true, I’m sure. You know me. Believe everything you hear." His voice so
soft, so light. No snark, no hurt, no horrible sadness simmering underneath it,
and his stare as piercing as ever, whether in humour or in rage.
Thor nodded again. He'd take that non-answer. He really had no right.
“It’s good to see you doing so well,” Thor said, catching himself just before
he called him ‘brother’. He had no idea how that would go down, what with
Loki's change of surname and everything. He realised once more, with a sinking
feeling, that he really didn’t know him that well at all, not anymore.
“How is… Odin,” asked Loki.
“Keeping busy, I’m sure you’ve heard. When he is working, he is fine. At home…
struggling. Without mum… I managed to make him accept some help around the
house but… Anyway. You know dad.” 
Loki nodded, his eyes low, his eyelashes long. 
“He… he talks about you,” added Thor.
Loki raised his eyes for a flick, pulling that little crooked grin that had
always made Thor’s pulse speed up.
“I suppose it's better if I don't ask any more about that,” Loki said.
Thor hoped the warmth in his eyes spoke his meaning.
“No, I think you would like to hear this, actually,” he said. But he wouldn’t
speak of it now. Only if Loki ever asked.
A silence.
“How was… the funeral,” asked Loki, a minute wince in his brow.
Thor took a deep breath.
“It was beautiful. There were so many people. I mean, from the business, and
royals, and politicians, and the works, but lots of normal people too. She was
loved by so many. I still have people come to me on the street to tell me how
much she meant to them, and that she touched their lives. She would have liked
it.”
Thor had not asked out loud, but the question must have been blatant enough on
his face that Loki answered it just the same.
“I was in hospital,” said Loki, his voice thinning by the second. “They did not
know my real name. I was disconnected in there. Nobody told me. When I heard
I…” Loki's eyes pinched shut for a moment, with a sudden ache. “I wasn’t fit to
go to the funeral. I wanted to go. I… I'm sorry." His back and shoulders were
slumped, as if he was trying to become smaller.
Thor shook his head, but he couldn't talk at first. He was desperate to crush
him in his arms and wipe that guilt away somehow. He could not, he had been
uninvited a long time ago.
“I know, Loki," he tried. "She knew it too.”
Loki’s face tensed, about to break out in tears. He stood up and rushed to the
bathroom. Thor heard the water running. 
After a few minutes, Loki came back, face rubbed clean, his pale skin flushed
where he had scrubbed it. There you are, thought Thor. 
Loki kept his eyes low. He started to button up his coat.
“I have to go,” he said, producing a pair of sunglasses from the depths of
those huge patch pockets.
No...
Thor nodded. He didn’t get up. He fucking couldn’t. Don't go.In his head, he
was begging on his knees. 
Loki strode purposely across the room, but as he walked passed him, he slowed
down and stopped. Suddenly, his hand was on Thor's chest, a desperate touch, a
stroke so full of need, it had claws in it. Thor stopped breathing. He latched
onto his brother's hand, and clung on tight. Neither was looking at the other. 
Loki started to pull away. For a second, Thor refused to let go. 
No!
When Loki insisted, Thor released him. His hand ached from Loki's grip, it
throbbed, it retained his warmth.
Loki stopped by the door. Thor, with his back to him, could see his
brother's ghostly reflection in the windows. He was putting on his sunglasses.
“Tell your astrophysicist I said hi,” said Loki.
The door clicked shut behind him.
 
 
                                       *
 
 
“Did you get closure?” Jane said. Her kind, hazel eyes, so compassionate, now
had an edge of impatience that had not been there before.
“Closure?” said Thor.
“Yes. Did you manage to sort things out between the two of you?”
Thor felt exhausted, and irritated, and bitter. It wasn’t fair on her of
course. She did not know. How could she know? He had never told her. He never
told her anything. How could she ever begin to understand?
“I don’t know,” he said, tiredly. “I don’t know.”
 
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     Right, notes. Lots of notes. Because I love to talk to a captive
     audience about the things I love.
     1. The Rocky Horror Show, and the movie, The Rocky Horror Picture
     Show. What do you mean you don't know it. GO FIND IT. In the movie
     theatres, and in the theatrical productions, the audience
     participates with stock phrases and chanted replies to the dialogues
     on stage and/or in the screen. And dance to things in the corridor,
     most famously The Time Warp. (It's just a jump to the left...)
     I had the huge privilege of attending a few fucking awesome cinema
     nights in Barcelona ages ago, after me and my sis discovered the
     movie all on our own in our home, and became addicted for months. We
     thought there was something a little bit wrong with us, but
     apparently it's a very common occurrence. It's that awesome.
     Now, if somebody would art me Loki as Frank'n'Furter, Thor as Brad
     and Jane as Janet, I could die in peace. I would even pay moneys to
     see that.
     Anyway, go refresh your memories on youtube if you must, for
     reference purposes.
     2. Thor attends an imaginary drama school I made up. He would never
     go to RADA, because that's where Odin went, and thanks, but no
     thanks. It's such an outlandish place, you can start your school year
     in the summer term if you like, how's that? Convenient, you say? I
     say brilliant.
      
     3. The (*). Right, that line is from the song "If ever should I leave
     you" from the musical Camelot. Lance sings it to Ginny (I kid you not
     with the pet names), when they know they have to break up their
     adulterous romance, but of course they're so in love there is no
     time, Spring, Summer, Winter or Fall, when Lance could bring himself
     to leave her. It's very romantic. I like that song.
     4. Master and Commander. From the novel of the same name, by Patrick
     O'Brian. It's a historical series of twenty marvellous, beautiful
     books that delight the soul and make one believe in the essential
     good of humankind as a species, one of which was adapted (lacking the
     humour and the little moments of intimacy that are really what stands
     out in the books) by... Hmmm I'm going to say Peter Weir (Right?)
     with another glorious Australian (oh, no, sorry, New Zealander), Mr.
     Russell Crowe as the heroic, ingenious captain, Jack Aubrey, and the
     much-too-pretty-for-the-part-but-yes-ok-we'll-take-it Paul Bettany as
     his doctor best friend, Stephen Maturin (of Catalan ascendancy, and a
     fighter for the Catalan cause. RELEVANT TO MY INTERESTS!) Thor would
     make an extremely yummy and really great young Aubrey. One lives in
     hope. I love to see these old boats in action.
     5. Blood Meridian, we've talked about. Ray Winstone is a real actor.
     I agonised over who to cast for Judge Holden, because all I see is
     Marlon Brando in Apocalypse Now, albino version, but I like Ray. He
     has the brutality and the intelligence. Anyway, you're welcome to
     disagree with my casting decision.
     And I'm quite sure that's about it. Unless anyone wants clarifying on
     Star Wars or Thelma and Louise (let's imagine a production contained
     in one single motel room where the crux of the drama unfolds, with
     spoken references to past events leading up to that point, and Thor
     as J.D, the young hunk once played by Brad Pitt, giving Thelma the
     fuck of her life.) (Yes, let's imagine that for a bit longer...)
     Oh! And one more! "How shall we fuck off, O Lord" is what the people
     of Israel chant as one to Brian, on the occasion of the Sermon of His
     Mother's Balcony, when he is trying to convince them to think for
     themselves as individuals and eventually tells them to fuck off. It's
     from Monty Python's The Life of Brian.
***** Chapter 9 *****
Chapter Summary
     "Loki shut the hotel room door behind his back and leaned against it,
     with a long sigh. The hand Thor had held, he was clutching tight. If
     you smell it, or kiss it, or do any such sappy, pathetic thing, Loki
     told himself, I’m disowning you. Pull your fucking self together."
Chapter Notes
     UPDATE (May 25th 2015)
     As some of you may know, I am slowly ploughing through the whole fic
     to tweak, edit, and re-write things that bug me. In many cases the
     alterations are minor, or simply taking a paragraph that wasn't great
     and try to improve it. In this case, however, I have added a lot of
     new stuff.
     Sam. We skimmed so quickly over Sam. I didn't give him a lot of
     entity as a character, and at the time it felt like it was enough,
     since the main concern of this story was the Thunderfrost, but the
     more the fic has progressed, the more I realised just how important
     he would have been for Loki, and that it needed to be given its due.
     So I tried to dig just a bit deeper into their relationship and give
     it a little bit more room to breathe. There will be more on Sam in
     the chapters currently in preparation (at the time of writing this,
     it's Ch 27) so I thought I'd go back and start here.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
(The present.)
 
Loki shut the hotel room door behind his back and leaned against it, with a
long sigh. The hand Thor had held, he was clutching tight. If you smell it, or
kiss it, or do any such sappy, pathetic thing, Loki told himself, I’m disowning
you. Pull your fucking self together.
With his fists deep inside his coat pockets, Loki made for the lift. His heart
was pounding while he waited. 
He saw himself in the mirror on the way down, clean face (ish), tear-stricken,
but what was that in his eyes. That glint there, it was not all from crying,
now, was it?
Damn the butterflies. Damn everything. 
Thor. Thor had been happy to see him. Thor had been sad that he was
leaving. Thor did not hate him. And perhaps he was reading too much into it, or
just wishing so hard for it that he was seeing things that were not there,
perhaps it was just a brother thing, but he could swear that Thor… 
And how do we feel about that, Odins-… Laufeyson?
 
                                  __________
 
(The past)
 
“You’re beautiful,” his brother said to him. His eyes had not left Loki for one
second since he had stepped inside the changing room, after ballet class.
“You’re an arsehole,” said Loki, getting dressed. His hands were shaking, his
heart fluttering, his brother’s eyes on him like a branding iron.
“I love you,” said Thor, this time seeking Loki’s eyes with his.
“Sod off,” snapped Loki, with only his snark to protect himself from the bloody
interplanetary force-field  that was his brother.
 
As they walked home back from the sports centre, Thor’s protective hand was
forever hovering close, as if Loki was still five years old. He would usually
give Thor a piece of his mind about it (he was not a fucking kid anymore) but
today being coddled, for some reason, did not annoy him.
An early dinner, because mum and dad needed to dash for the theatre straight
after. Thor didn’t look at him in any particular way while they were all sat at
the table. He had become a fucking pro at pretending everything was normal. 
When absolutely nothing was normal. Since their… let’s call it romp, a few
weeks ago, Loki was a fucking mess, his heart in turmoil, and good job his mind
dissociated so well between his schoolwork and his emotional state, otherwise
Loki would be at counselling right now. And wouldn’t that be awkward. 
As the time for their parents to leave for the evening approached, Loki’s pulse
kept getting quicker and quicker. He sometimes caught Thor’s eye, his brother
smiling sweetly at him, as if… as if nothing had happened. What did that even
mean. That they were brothers again and all was forgotten, and get over it and
get on with their lives? Because that was so not what it felt like today in the
changing room. Yes, Loki had deliberately pranced around naked, making a point
or something, looking for a reaction, and he had had his reaction. Thor’s
intensely blue eyes on him, boring into his flesh as if he was edible. 
And did Loki want to be eaten by the big bad wolf? That was the question
tonight. 
Damn. He just wished he had more experience, or experience, full stop, because…
Fuck, he was just so fucking nervous, he didn’t even know if it was the sex
part or the-the incest part that was twisting and turning his stomach like
that. Because that’s what it’s called, right? Incest. Fuck. Now that’s a
thinking point for you. And how does that make you feel. Loki screamed
inside, I don’t bloody know.
Loki had shut himself up in his room. Mum had gone in to give him a kiss before
she left. He had told her to break a leg. What they always did. Loki had been
terrified that she would feel it on him, the nerves, the anticipation, the
horniness. He felt as if he was giving it off in waves.
The kids were home alone now. 
Knock knock. Loki’s heart revved up to the max. 
Thor had not knocked on his door since the evening after they… that evening. He
had spent the following day shoving Loki off, giving him “are you insane?”
looks, flinching whenever Loki got anywhere near him, dodging him and avoiding
Loki’s eyes. Loki had needed a fucking cuddle and a hug like air. He had been
so fucking scared. 
And after a whole day treating Loki as if he had the plague, he dared come
knocking on Loki’s door that very same evening. Loki had told him to fuck off,
of course. Apparently, he did have some self-respect left in his spirit
somewhere. And by then he had been crying for an hour. Not a good look.
It had been a few weeks since that day. Thor had not been looking very happy.
He threw him puppy looks whenever they weren’t barking names at each other,
over absolutely everything and nothing. For the last few days, Thor had done
all that was humanely possible not to fight, to the point of forfeiting
arguments, and going as far as to say “yes, you’re right.” Which could only
mean that Loki was dying of terminal something and nobody had told him, or… And
now this thing today at the changing room. What did Thor fucking want from
him? 
Knock knock.
Loki sighed. What did he want. 
Ah, what Loki wanted. Well, he didn’t know about Thor, but Loki? Loki had been
dreaming about this for fucking ever. The day it had happened, Loki had been
flirting and tempting and chasing and he hadn’t thought about where it would
lead to and what would happen afterwards. He had just been so fucking hungry,
he had not been able to look past the big, blonde hunk his heart was set upon,
so damn near, so impossibly far. 
Of course he had not thought about the consequences. He had never believed it
would happen. Seriously, how could he ever? In what universe does the poor
little kid actually get his heart’s desire? That particular desire, anyway?
And to finally get it. Him. Thor’s weight on top of him, his scent all over,
his breathing on Loki’s skin, his hardness against his body, his lust, and that
look on his face when he had stopped everything he was doing to watch Loki
come. It had been better than anything he had ever dreamed of, which was
relying on stuff he had read and whatever his PG-13 innocent eyes had managed
to get a hold of. (Because the time he had sought for porn he had been fucking
horrified and had decided that perhaps that stuff wasn’t for him after all.) 
But Thor, he had not been scary. He had kissed him, and he had been so gentle,
and he had asked “are you ok?” And he had cradled him with his body after, and
covered them both with his quilt, and tangled their fingers together, and
kissed the back of Loki’s neck again, and again, and again. God, it had been
fucking perfect.  
Knock knock.
“Loki?”
Loki got up and sat at his desk. He did not want Thor to find him in bed like…
Like he was waiting for him there. 
“Come in.”
Thor walked in and shut the door behind him, taking up half the oxygen in the
room with his mere existence. Loki threw him a disinterested look. How could he
be so handsome, it was not even fair. He seemed older than other boys his age.
He was not sixteen yet but he already looked like a man.
Loki pretended to be reading the book he had just quickly opened to make it
seem like he was busy. He didn’t  think he was managing it very well, though,
his hands were trembling badly. So much for the nonchalant stance. 
Thor walked towards him and stood behind his back. Loki was tenser than a
violin string.  His brother’s big hands on his shoulders, a quick squeeze. Loki
felt his stomach plunge. Thor stroked his hair, his scalp. It felt so good,
goosebumps all over his skin, blooming under Thor’s hand, trickling down all
over Loki’s body. His cock was twitching and filling just from that. Fuck, he
had started getting hard the moment Thor had knocked on the bloody door.
Thor kept petting him for a bit. Loki did not send him away, so Thor
interpreted that as a ‘go ahead, what else you got’, and he bent down, put his
mouth on Loki’s neck, just under his jaw, to kiss him there.
“Ah…” gasped Loki, jolting, very much against his will, which was to remain
cool and not fucking faint like a… like a fourteen-year-old schoolboy being
touched like that for the very first fucking time by the man of his fucking
dreams. Ok, the second time. But the first time there had been not much
occasion to think or to decide. 
This time though. This time everything was so slow, so deliberate. This time
every bloody step forwards was planned, reviewed and approved, before going on
to the next. It was an exercise in consent, yes after yes after yes. It was the
most exciting thing that had ever happened to him.
Thor’s lips kneaded his neck and Loki tilted his head, eyes hooded, to allow
better access. He was panting now, his lips dry. He was so fucking hard he
thought he might come at any second. Thor’s kisses climbed up his neck.
Suddenly, his tongue in Loki’s ear, like a live wire.
“Ah!” He had startled. He was dizzy, overexcited.
Thor moved away. 
“Are you ok?” he asked, his voice so husky Loki could fucking melt. “Do you
want me to go?”
Loki very much did not want him to go. He did not want him to stop. He shook
his head no, his chest heaving. 
After a second or two, Thor spun him around on his swivel chair, knelt in front
of him, gripped Loki’s chin to make him look up. Loki met his eyes. It wasn’t
easy.
“I can stop” said Thor, a kind, impossibly beautiful smile on his face.. “It’s
fine. You don’t have to do it. I won’t get mad.  I… I love you. I mean, I love
you anyway. No matter what” said Thor, earnest. He was looking shy, but facing
it head front, as he always did, with everything.
Looking back, Loki guessed this was the time. This was the moment that could
have changed it all. It did exist. It wasn’t inevitable. And whenever Thor
spoke as if everything had been his fault, or his responsibility, call it what
you want, he forgot about this moment. He had given Loki every bloody chance.
He would give it to him again and again in the days and weeks that followed.
Loki had not been a helpless princess waiting for this or that other dragon to
kidnap him. His mind had not been fogged up by brainless lust, he wasn’t drunk,
he wasn’t pressured into it for fear he’d lose Thor’s love or anything like
that. At least, he thinks he wasn’t. That's not what had happened. What
happened was that the thing Loki wanted most in the world served itself to him
on a platter, gave him the sweetest kisses, looked at him with reverence and
love, and asked him what he wanted. Loki wanted this. He wanted Thor. 
It had been Loki’s choice. If anyone was to blame in all of this, it was him.
Tripping on his own feet, Loki lead them both to his bed. When his brother took
his shirt off, Loki almost fucking squealed, because he had never been able to
look at Thor without having to pretend he wasn’t interested, and for every
touch he had stolen (from a nudge, or a hug) he had got only a taste of what it
could really feel like, and now he had fucking handfuls of it. He lifted his
hands to touch him. Thor stood still, offering himself, watching him. Loki ran
his hands over his brother's body and saw what it did to him, to his
expression, to his breathing. It made him feel powerful. 
Thor completely naked took his breath away. He was like something out of an
artist’s studio. And fuck, he knew Thor was big, but he had never seen him hard
and, fuck. I mean, fuck.
He felt shy again when Thor was undressing him. Loki was so hard, he almost
felt embarrassed. Thor had never seen him like this. It was weird. Thor’s hands
were so close to Loki’s cock as he slid his jeans down, but he didn’t touch
him. When they hugged, skin to skin, their cocks pressed together, Loki
shivered. Like, shivered-shivered, like he was cold. Which he wasn’t, he very
much wasn’t. 
“What do you want to do?” said Thor, his mouth pink and swollen from all the
kissing.
“Jesus fuck, I don’t know” snapped Loki, heart in his throat, finally losing
his cool. “You’re the expert.”
Thor laughed, and Loki had smirked, and damn, what a relief. They had needed
it. Yes, it was all wild and new and insane and thrilling and strange, but
underneath all the madness, they were still Thor and Loki, still themselves.
Loki trusted his brother. His brother had him.
Loki watched Thor’s big hand sliding down his body, stroking gently, getting
closer and closer to Loki’s hard-on. Loki was panting as if he’d been on the
run. Thor’s first touch on the bare skin of his cock made him spring up. Thor
had checked on him again, silently asking once more for Loki’s permission. 
He got it. It was enthusiastically given, with an emphatic nod and possibly a
debauched, wanton expression that would put porn actors to shame. Thor closed
his wetted fist around him and started jerking him veeeeery slowly. He teased,
kept it really light at first, stopping when Loki was getting too close, and
jerking again after more kissing, twisting his hand, flicking his thumb on the
head. And eyefucking him all the time, with Loki struggling to keep his eyes
open and not miss a blink of Thor’s stare. It would remain one of the sexiest
moments of his life, pretty much forever more. He came with Thor’s mouth on
his, breathing Loki’s moans in.
When it was his turn, he had been so shy, and Thor had asked him again if he
wanted to stop. Fuck, no, Loki did not want to stop. With Thor’s hand around
Loki’s own fist, leading the stroke, the speed, the pressure, he had made his
brother come, the feel of his hard flesh in his hand, similar to his own but
not the same. Loki had felt him shake as he spurted come on his stomach, had
heard his sharp gasps, had watched him bite his lip and lick it, and his
expression of satisfaction afterwards, and he had wanted to cry again, he
couldn’t say why. Thor had pulled him to his chest, one big, strong arm around
Loki’s neck, and had kissed his forehead, his breathing still agitated from his
orgasm. 
Their parents usually got home around midnight. He stayed as long as he could,
kissing and giggling in each other’s arms like a pair of idiots, but Thor could
not sleep in Loki’s room. It wasn’t even mentioned. His dad had already caught
them once. So Thor had said goodnight at Loki’s door like… like a visiting
boyfriend, with a long, long kiss they struggled to end. It had been
fantastically ridiculous to watch him walk down the corridor to his bedroom
door, turn his head, give him the eyebrow, and both stay there like dummies,
looking at each other across the hall, refusing to shut themselves up in their
rooms. 
The sound of keys at the door a few minutes later sobered them up. Loki had
sprinted to bed and covered himself up, and had this stupid notion that he
hoped nobody would check his sheets tonight, as if anybody ever did, not while
he was on them. 
God, what a vaudeville, what a salacious farce they were trapped in.
Loki did not manage to get to sleep for ages that night. Everything smelled of
Thor. Even his fucking brain smelled of Thor, his heart. It was insane,
everything was. And yet he could just walk on the ceiling, he was so happy. I
could have danced all night… How the fuck did that happen. How had he got so
lucky. Why did he get to have his dreams come true.
And should he remind himself about that saying on answered prayers. 
Hell, no, not tonight.
 
                                 ____________
 
(The present.)
 
 “Honey, I’m home!” said Loki.
Minnie ran to him on her stubby little paws, wagging her long-haired tail
frantically, standing on her hinds, reaching as far as she could on Loki’s leg.
Which was not a lot. Loki picked her up and let her lick his face. 
“Alright, sweetheart, enough. You’re not a spring chicken anymore, you’ll
sprain something” he mumbled, putting her down. Minnie followed him into the
kitchen, and made sure she was right in his way while he made some tea. 
Plopped on the settee with the ball of fluff snoring luxuriantly on his lap,
and a stack of fanmail he would try to answer at some point today, before
having to make for the theatre, he found his mind wandering again. Thor. He
still had a killer smile, and it still took Loki’s breath away. His voice still
resonated deep inside Loki’s ribcage. The wrinkles around his eyes were deeper,
and did not faint completely now in repose. He looked more handsome than ever,
as if his face had been a promise maturity was slowly fulfilling. Thor!
Loki had seen him in talk shows and red carpets and junkets and magazine front
pages for years now. How sunny and relaxed and charming he was. The questions
in his interviews were more serious than they used to be, because Thor was a
proper dramatic actor now. Odin must be so proud. And how do we feel about
that. 
It had been on the telly he had first heard of his brother’s new ‘domestic
arrangement’, with the recurring jokes about the big, dumb, hunky actor, and
his brainiac girlfriend. Loki had not missed his own opportunity earlier,
though he knew well that Thor did not have so much as one single dumb hair in
his whole body. When Thor had laughed, his face illuminated with his smile, it
had taken everything Loki had not to fucking sigh like a fifteen-year-old
fangirl.
While on the subject of fangirls. Sigyn was in love with Thor. She fawned over
him on Tumblr. She knew Thor was Loki’s brother, of course, but she did not
need telling there was something fishy going on between them, since they never
saw each other, or talked. She had never asked. Loki was tempted at times to
make up a story for her alone, to set her mind at ease, but he had decided a
while ago that he would not lie to her. When he told her about Thor, it would
be the truth. And he wasn’t ready for that yet. To be completely frank, he
wanted to make sure he could live without her before he told her. What if she
turned her back in disgust. Yes, no, definitely not ready yet. Being realistic,
probably never.
Thor. Loki was trying to tell himself to curb his hopes, but he just couldn’t.
There was definitely something there. That flicker in Thor’s eye. His grip so
strong on Loki’s hand. Damn, his brother was practically just around the
corner, in London, right now, in his hotel room, just a few bloody tube stops
away. Loki could just go back and…
Oh, Loki. What have you been trying to get inside this thick skull of yours all
these past few years. Keep away from triggering situations and people who
unsettle you. Do not keep trying the same thing again and again and expect a
different result. Things don’t magically change just because you wish it
really, really hard. 
Ah, damn. Nothing was different, was it? They were older, but still a mess.
More popular, if anything. And there were other people in it now as well.
Triple and quadruple mess. 
Speaking of which.
Loki needed to have a good think, didn’t he? This thing with Sam. It had
started as nothing but fun. Sam had flirted with him, that cute American slur
to his words, asked him how was it even fair that someone so beautiful was
always so sad. Loki said who says I’m sad. Sam said what you need is a good man
who can take care of you and make you laugh. Loki said what I need is a good
seeing to. Sam had said, you’re in luck, then, with me you can have it all. 
Loki talked a long game, but underneath he was petrified. Most of his
experience in the sex department had been a business transaction. He had not
dated in years, and he had not dated much at all before that. He felt he had
already burned his heart many years ago, a short-lived, blindingly bright flare
that had left nothing in his chest but ashes. His time in the streets and in
hospital had torn something else from him, a sense of normality, something he
had taken for granted once, and left him feeling other, and alien, and off,
more than ever before. He felt constantly like he was faking it, bluffing his
way through everyday life as an ordinary member of society, which inside he
would never, ever be able to feel like again. He wasn't sure he could bluff his
way through a romantic relationship as well. Basically, he just did not know
what the fuck he was doing.
As a black kid growing in a dodgy neighbourhood, who later managed to put
himself through an Ivy League college, Sam had his own experience of feeling
like a castaway of civilised society, and need not telling what it was, faking
to belong. He joked about this taking the child out of the ghetto thing but not
being able to take the ghetto out of the child. His accent changed when he
talked about his childhood. Ever since he was a little boy, Sam had seen things
and been around things that made him virtually unflappable to Loki's own
experiences. He was not the first sex worker he met, formerly or in active, he
had had direct contact in his immediate circle with mental illnesses much more
fucked up than Loki's (if nothing else, because there was no treatment
available for uninsured people back where he came from), and he simply did not
see Loki as any of these things, he did not define him by them, and he did not
confuse what Loki had done or what he had suffered with who he was.
Soon enough, Loki realised that he was never ashamed or tense or guarded about
any of it in Sam's presence, that he enjoyed being around him more than he
enjoyed anybody else's company (except for Sigyn's, perhaps, but it was
different), and that he missed him when he had not seen him or talked to him
for a while. They had been friends before they had taken any more steps in any
other direction.
Sam had taken him out, and just as he had promised, he made him laugh. He held
his hand down the street on the very first date, danced with him, and was about
to kiss him goodnight and go home like a proper gentleman. He had made it so
fun, so relaxed and so sweet, that by the end of it Loki had clung onto his
neck. “Where’s my good seeing to?” 
It had not been an instant hit, for a multitude of reasons (all of them in
Loki's head), but once they managed to work their way through them, sex with
Sam was fucking great. He was fit and strong, just like Loki liked them. He was
caring too, and he had quickly decided that everything about Loki was his
business. And so, he had been right there next to Natasha and Sigyn during that
interview for The Stage, where Loki had agreed to discuss the shit in his past
and his family, and he had been there backstage for the Jonathan Ross
interview, which had been even more fucking terrifying, with Loki sitting
between fucking Bono and Miranda Hart, waiting for his turn to perform ‘I can
make you a man’ at the piano, never knowing what the fuck they would pull out
on him (though the questions about his past had been previously discussed and
vetted —Natasha was ruthless—, Mr. Ross was a loose cannon, and Loki had not
enjoyed himself.) 
Yes, Sam was decent and solid and fun, the kind of person one can build a whole
life around and rely on it. In spite of that, Loki had felt compelled to tell
him from the first day that he did not think he could put his whole heart into
it. That he was still not over some persons in his past. Sam said he was
alright with that. Loki sometimes thought that Sam believed he could win him
around. And often, Loki wished that he did. He still felt the need to remind
Sam when things were going too well that he was trying, but he did not believe
that he could pull off forever, that he was a bit broken like that. Sam never
told him 'you're not broken', he knew Loki didn't like to hear it. That was how
he saw himself, and he wanted to make sure that Sam saw it as well, that he
wasn't fooling himself, and was taking him as he was. Sam listened to him and
held him, if he thought Loki was up for it, and he just said, babe, that's
fine, I'm fine with that.
Well, apparently, Loki wasn’t. Not anymore. Right now, it felt much too much
like cheating.
How fucked up was that, that Loki had the best fucking man he could dream of,
and because his brother had had a flicker in his eye, he was going to let this
thing go. Are you sure about this, Loki-boy? Don't you need to think about this
some more?
The moment he saw Sam, the knot in his throat started to burn, and even as he
felt like it was tearing him apart, all his fucking insides were screaming
was I want Thor. 
Loki did not mean to do it that same day, but to find ‘the right moment’,
preferably not right before a show. But when Sam came to him, that bright,
oblivious smile on his face, Loki realised he could not let another hour go by,
that he would never be able to carry on with business as usual and pretend
everything was fine. That he simply could not put up a front and play the happy
boyfriend while in his mind he had already broken up. He was not going to lie
to Sam for one second, he wasn't going to give him even one single fake smile.
Not to Sam.
 
He asked him to come and talk with him about an hour before the show, in the
upstairs sitting rooms of the theatre.
Loki was gloomy. He knew he looked gloomy. He hoped Sam didn’t think he was
putting on an act.
“Hey, what’s wrong, babe?” said Sam, squeezing his shoulder.
Loki wondered if he would be able to do it. Sam frowned. Loki was scaring him.
He wished he could have told him there was nothing to be scared of. Damn. He
took a deep breath.
“We need to talk,” he said, staring down.
Sam shifted his weight from one foot to the other. 
“Do I need to sit down?” he said.
“You’re a big strong guy…” said Loki.
“I’ll sit down,” said Sam.
A long, pregnant silence. 
“Remember what I told you the first day?” said Loki.
“Yes. And i told you I wanted to give it a try anyway.”
“Yes. Well.” Loki gulped.
“Right,” said Sam, wringing his hands. “Right.” He took a couple of minutes.
Then another couple of minutes. “May I ask, what has changed?”
Loki took a deep breath. What could he honestly say. He shrugged, struggling
for words. 
Sam nodded. Loki guessed Sam knew enough about him by now to realise that whole
friggin’ continents could shift within Loki’s mind for no external reason
whatsoever. Not that this was one of those times. 
After another couple of minutes, Sam put on a brighter face. 
“Well, we’ve had a good run, haven’t we?” he said. “Some would even say great.”
“Would you?” said Loki. He was feeling a bit sick.
“Yes, I would,” said Sam, with a broad smile. “You’re wonderful, Loki. It’s
been so much fun.”
Loki’s brow scrunched up. That was not what… Yes, fuck, of course he should
have expected that. This was Sam, for god’s sake. Sam leaned over to him and
gave him a kiss on the cheek. Loki leaned into it. He realised all of a sudden
that that was it. He would not get to seek comfort in his arms again. What the
fuck have you done, Laufeyson. And why have you fucking done it...
He swallowed around the lump in his throat.
“Thank you. So are you. Wonderful I mean.” That was the fucking understatement
of the century. He felt clumsy. If dating was hard, breaking up was fucking
Quantum mechanics. “So what now? I’ve never done this before.”
Sam smiled, endeared. “Now we go to the flat and we have crazy passionate break
up sex.”
Loki put on a smirk, and gave him a sly sideways glance.
“You would, wouldn’t you,” said Sam, as if was a surprise to him, which it
could not possibly be by now.
Loki’s smirk turned sad, the knot in his throat tightened. 
“Seriously now,” said Sam. “Now is when we say we’ll always be good friends,
and I tell you you can always count on me for anything, and to drop me a call
every now and then, if you’re sad or lonely, or just to talk. And, plot twist,
you actually go and do it.”
Loki bit his lip, wiped the tears that were swelling in his eyes.
“And you absolutely don’t say shit like 'I don’t deserve you' or anything like
that, unless you want a face full of applause,” warned Sam.
“I was going for you don’t deserve me,” said Loki, his voice thick, putting on
the best smile he could, which wasn't much.
“I agree. Very few people do." His voice was so warm.
“Shut up, I’m not that bad,” quipped Loki, poking Sam on the side.
Sam laughed.
“Will it be awkward?” asked Loki. “At work.”
“Maybe a bit. Doesn’t have to be,” smiled Sam.
“I don’t deserve you,” muttered Loki.
Sam mock-glared at him.
“What?” said Loki, turning on the sass. “You know I’m a hoe for applause.”
 
It was awkward. Sam was ever so sweet, but there were a hundred times a day
when the natural thing to do would have been to touch, hug or kiss, simply as
friends even, and Loki had to remind himself that he was not allowed anymore. 
Sigyn did not understand what had happened, but she did understand that there
were reasons inside Loki’s head, which were real and sound to him, and had to
be respected. They shared a silent breakfast the next day (Loki missed their
Friday nights catching up on Dr.Who) and she told him with nothing but her
warmth and her kindness that she was there for him, if he wanted to talk. One
day, Gyn, I promise.
 
 
                                       *
 
 
Must have been a month or two later when Loki got home from the Saturday
matinée and heard her giggling on the phone.
“Who are you talking to?” he mouthed, thinking she had got herself a boyfriend.
Or a girlfriend, Loki did not make assumptions on these regards.
“It’s your brother,” mouthed Sigyn silently, flushed and jumpy with excitement.
And she carried on chatting, apparently about the weather in London this last
week, and about Minnie, while Loki’s eyebrow reached new heights with every
passing minute, as his bewilderment kept escalating, and his stomach churned
like it was a fucking ice cream machine.
Eventually, she passed him the phone.
Loki shooed her, heart pounding.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey,” said Thor after clearing his throat, his deep, husky voice muffled on
the phone. 
A silence.
Eventually, a huff at the other end of the line. “How are you?”
Loki took a breath. “Fine. And you?”
“Fine.”
“…”
“…”
“How is…?” Loki pretended to stumble with the name. Although he knew it fucking
perfectly. He had a sharp memory, and he would never forget something like
that.
“… Jane” completed Thor, ignorant of it all, or so Loki believed. Apparently he
had forgotten Loki was a crafty little shit. “She’s alright” he answered.
“Great. We’re all alright then.” He tried for light and carefree.
“How is…Brad?” said Thor after a beat. And he had probably forgotten for real,
because that was Thor for you.
“Sam,” corrected Loki, stalling.
“Yeah, Sam.”
“…He’s alright,” Loki said. “Just not in the picture anymore.”
“… Right.” A long pause. “Sorry to hear that.”
“It’s fine. I broke it up.” 
Another silence. 
“Jesus, this is awkward,” Loki snorted.
Thor laughed. “It is.” A huff. “I just… I just wanted to know how you’re
doing.”
Loki grabbed onto the phone tight. He swallowed on dry.
“I’m good. I’m…” Damn, this was hard. “It’s good to hear you,” he managed at
last.
A short pause.
“…Same here,” said Thor.
“…”
“…”
“Well, this was lovely. Let’s do this again some time, yeah?” said Loki, hoping
the tone was humorous enough.
Thor chuckled. Loki felt himself melting. 
“Yeah,” said Thor.
“…”
“…”
“Bye, then.”
“Bye. I love you. Talk soon,” said Thor quickly and without a pause.
Click.
Loki put down the phone with a shaky hand. 
Sigyn stared at him expectantly.
“So?” she said.
“So?” repeated Loki.
“What did he want?”
Loki shrugged. Who bloody knew.
Chapter End Notes
     The Stage is a long-standing UK theatrical magazine.
     Jonathan Ross is a top talk-show presenter in the UK, who has
     sometimes got himself into trouble because of, er, not knowing when
     to stop I suppose, but mostly because of that notion the BBC has
     these days that the people who work for them must never cause offence
     or ruffle any feathers, which is why now Ross doesn't work for the
     BBC anymore. Anyway.
     'I could have danced all night', from the musical My Fair Lady, music
     by Frederick Lowe, lyrics by Alan Jay Lerner. We have encountered
     this before, haven't we?
     Bono is Bono. If you don't know him, may an angel preserve your
     innocence.
     Miranda Hart is a brilliant British comedian (comedienne?) with a
     penchant for slapstick and silly jokes. I really love her. Her stuff
     makes me warm and fuzzy inside.
***** Chapter 10 *****
Chapter Summary
     That green eyed monster.
Chapter Notes
     author confesses to being quite insecure about how this one came out.
     Anyway. OUT!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
(The present. A few months later.)
 
Thor should have guessed from their last phone conversation that his brother
was up to something.
“She insists,” Thor had said.
Loki sighed. “I don’t know, Thor. I’m so busy. I mean, preparing for the part
is taking a lot out of me and…”
“It would only be dinner. We won’t keep you up late or anything.”
“I’m really tired all the time. I don’t feel much like socialising.”
“Please, Loki, Jane insists. I mean, she’s doing my head in. She’s desperate to
meet you.”
“Tell her I’d love to, but…”
“I would like you two to meet,” tried Thor. “It would be nice to have the two
people I love most in the whole world under the same roof.” He regretted it the
second it left his mouth.
A long, ominous silence at the other end of the line.
“Fine, ok,” said Loki then, his tone light, suspiciously cheerful. Full of
foreboding, actually, looking back on it.
“Really?” said Thor. Wow, that had been easy. He wasn’t expecting it.
“Yes, sure. Next Friday around seven?” asked Loki.
“Er… Yes, alright,” said Thor. 
“I’ll message you the address to the flat.”
“Right. Great! Jane will be very happy. And me, too.”
“Brilliant. Everybody happy. See you Friday,”said Loki, brightly. And he hung
up.
Yes, Thor should have seen it coming the moment he put down the phone. 
 
Since that first call a few weeks after The Rocky Horror, they had talked a
number of times, with increasing frequency and regularity. Conversation was
still stilted, full of things they did not touch upon, but hung in the air in
every silence and every pause. To say they were communicating again would be
exaggerating, and he often felt he was getting more from talking to Sigyn than
from his brother. At least they were now current enough with each other’s lives
that they could always find everyday little nothings to fill the air.
It was frustrating, but Thor would take whatever he could get. A bit of Loki in
his life was better than no Loki at all. It felt good to know that his friends
looked after him, that he was busy with things that interested him, that his
daily life was satisfying, that he had things to look forward to. Hell, it was
not good, it was a fucking godsend miracle, and Thor praised the heavens for it
every time. He had lost him once, in so many ways, and Loki had lost himself,
and now he was found. That's what was really important, wasn't it? Not whether
Thor got more or less of Loki's time and his trust and his-... his love. Thor
had to remind himself not to be greedy, but grateful. That neither Loki nor the
universe owed him a thing.
Whenever Jane came up in their conversations, Loki never had much to say. “Hm”
or “Right” usually covered it. Thor wasn’t sure what to make of that. He
definitely knew what he wanted to make of that. He had to be careful what he
wished for, didn't he?
When Jane had found out about the phone calls, she had been really, really
happy, with that added anxious edge Thor had already learned to spot and fear.
And when Thor reported that Loki was coming to the US to do a play in New York,
she got it in her head that they had to meet up.  It just didn’t bode well.
Thor made up excuses until he ran out. Then he transferred the pickle to Loki,
and he was the one making excuses, until he too had exhausted them. 
And now here they were, at Loki’s door in one of those terraced houses near
Washington Square. They buzzed and waited at the bottom of the five steps
leading to the door. Thor was holding a bottle of wine. Jane grabbed hold of
his free hand with both of hers and smiled at him sweetly. He returned the tiny
smile, more than a bit tense.
The door opened to a quietly surprised Tony Stark in not many clothes.
“You don’t happen to bring pizza with you by any chance,” he said.
Thor was actually confused for a second.
From the back of the house came a very clear “oh, fuck”, then a rustle of
clothes, and then barefooted Loki padded down the stairs, from what had to be
the bedroom, hair a bird’s nest, lounge pants and a baggy t-shirt with the logo
of Stark Productions, worn inside out.
“Damn, is it Saturday already?” he said, as he ran his fingers through his
hair, trying to tame it. 
“It’s Friday,” said Thor, glaring, clenching his fist around the neck of the
bottle.
“Oh, right,” said Loki, still sounding disconcerted. “Right. Friday.” He turned
his eye to Jane, as if he had just noticed she was there. “Oh, you are Jane?”
He sounded genuinely puzzled. “You’re different from what I expected.”
“What did you expect?” said Jane cooly, uncomfortable by the very strong sense
of interruption the scene transpired.  
“Someone different,” said Loki, after a second scraping for words. Change of
subjects. “Please, come on in. I’m awfully sorry. I was in London early this
week. I just flew in yesterday evening. I don’t even know what day it is, I
still haven’t got over the jet lag.”
“You don’t get jet lag traveling west,” said Tony, helpfully.
Loki gave him a pointed, murderous glare.
“I had a reservation for all of us,” Loki said then, to Thor and Jane. “For
tomorrow.” An angelic grin, with some lip biting Thor read as coy. “But how
about we just stay in? I’ll cook.”
“What about the pizza?” said Tony.
“Sod the pizza,” Loki hissed at him between gritted teeth. “Tony, why don’t you
do something useful. I’m going for a shower.”
“Can I come with?” asked Tony, smiling brightly.
Loki rolled his eyes and strutted away. Tony checked his arse with no attempts
whatsoever at dissimulation. 
Thor reminded himself he had a glass bottle in his hands. He had to put it down
as soon as he had the chance. He didn’t trust himself with it.
 
Freshly showered, decently (if rather tightly) attired, wet headed (hair
falling down to half his back at the moment), glowing, fucking gorgeous in
black Loki showed Jane the apartment, including the little back yard and the
antique wall piano Tony had bought for him. Jane looked stiff, and Loki had the
reptilian charm on full blast. Thor hoped it was only the awkwardness of first
acquaintances. He would not bet on it though. He just could not see them ever
getting along. 
“Am I going to get the ‘hurt my baby brother and I’ll kill you’ chat any time
soon?” said Tony, uncorking and pouring the wine.
Thor stared at him, knowing he looked like thunder.
“Hurt my baby brother and I’ll kill you,” he said, toneless.
Tony clicked his tongue. “You know, Thor, I expected …more. You don’t sound
very menacing.”
Thor threw him a glower, letting how he really felt about the whole situation
show in his eyes for an instant.
“Righty,” said Tony, raising his glass and downing a respectable measure in one
sip. “I consider myself menaced.”
 
Loki cooked. 
“Carbonara alright?”
He moved around the kitchen with ease. Thor watched him dance between pots and
pans, so… normal, healthy, drama-free. He could not remember the last time he
had seen him do something as normal as cooking without a dark, thunderous cloud
above his head. Damn, it had been so fucking long. All that wasted time. He
didn’t even realise he had fallen into a haze until he found Loki’s eyes on
his, quizzical.  
Thor had a quick sip of wine and looked away. There was a knot of confused
emotions inside him. On the one hand, it was good to see Loki again. Very, very
good, even, he had been looking forwards to it. On the other hand, he had no
idea where they stood, and that was disquieting. Last but not least, he had no
doubt in his mind that his baby brother was playing them all up. He had planned
this. He was making a fucking point. And Thor was sure he was not finished
making it. Thor was tense, on his guard, ready to pounce. Not the best state of
mind to mend bridges with anyone, let alone with Loki, ever the mind-reader.
“Can I help,” said Thor, opting for civility out of all the options available
to him, ready to play happy, not-at-all-dysfunctional families for the evening.
Do not fall into his trap, he was telling himself. This was just Loki being
Loki, and the way to beat him at his game was to not let him get to you.
“If you could keep an eye on this,” Loki signalled with his head to the
pancetta browning in the pan, and he kept shaving parmigian for the salad.
Tony and Jane were by the bay window at the front of the house. He was showing
her something on his phone. Could be a swanky new app or footage from his last
flick. 
Thor and Loki were standing side by side by the kitchen worktop, not talking.
“She’s lovely,” said Loki, after some time, eyes focused on what he was doing.
“I know,” snapped Thor. Jesus, Odinson, could you sound any more hostile
without actually biting?  “Tony is not lovely,” he said after a while, aiming
for humour, and failing.
“Tony is fun," said Loki. "Uncomplicated. A good fuck. Adventurous.”
“Too much information,” cut Thor, abrupt.
Loki tossed the salad quietly.
“I know what you mean by uncomplicated,” said Thor then.
“… Oh,” answered Loki.
“What,” snapped Thor.
“Just, oh,” said Loki.
Another crackling pause —crackling with the food in the pan and their own
strained lack of conversation.
“So, you’re staying the whole weekend in the city?” said Loki.
“Yes.”
“See the sights?”
“I guess.”
Thor fucking hated this, the fucking small talk. It was not like his Loki at
all. But then again, what the fuck had he expected? Fuck. He shook the pan a
bit too vigorously and a few pieces of pancetta flew off.
“How is… the desert?” asked Loki, as if he had not noticed.
“Hot and dry,” grunted Thor, sarcastic.
“Fuck off,” said Loki, quite softly, smiling out of the corner of his mouth.
“I’m only trying to make conversation.”
Thor almost smiled then. 
“It’s peaceful,” he said after a moment.
“You mean boring,” said Loki, sounding a bit more like himself, at least.
“No, that’s not what I mean. I mean peaceful,” said Thor. He tried to keep his
tone convivial.
Another silence.
“Peace is good,” said Loki then, sounding distracted. “Peace is nice.”
 
“But isn’t Madame Butterfly an opera?” said Jane, browsing the leaflet, a
forkful of tagliatelle waiting uneaten on her plate. Thor had never understood
how she did it -if it was on the fork, it went in his mouth, no fucking about.
She ate like a bird.
“Not Madame Butterfly,M.Butterfly,” said Loki. “It’s a different story. It
plays with audience preconceptions and assumptions exactly as you just did,” he
said.
“Have I? In what way?” said Jane, squinting, probably not taking very kindly to
being condescended on.
“By letting pre-formed opinions distort the truth before one’s very eyes.” Loki
seemed to be going for didactic, but he was coming across as prissy. With Loki,
Thor would bet his right arm it was intended. He was deliberately aiming for
unlikeable.
“So what’s it about?” said Thor, thinking perhaps he should be cutting in, to
help Jane share the role of the unenlightened peasant.
“A French diplomat falls in love with a Beijing Opera singer,” started Loki,
“ignoring, wilfully or not, the fact that all Beijing Opera performers are
male, even the dan, the ones who play females. They have a very long affair, in
which he never discovers his lover’s true sex, happy to live the lie of the
submissive Oriental woman willing to be dominated by the powerful Western male.
After twenty years, in which his lover has been spying for China all along, the
diplomat betrays his country, is discovered and judged, and when confronted
with his mistress’ naked body, he kills himself in the Japanese ritual manner
in front of his lover's cool, unfeeling eyes. Based on a true story.” Loki
grinned and raised his glass in a quiet toast for one.
“And you’re going to play an Asian woman?” said Thor, disbelieving. It
explained the very, very long hair (bloody luscious, he could almost feel his
fingers running through it.)
Loki grinned some more for an answer.
“Oh, he does,” said Tony. “I’ve seen the costume tests. You don’t act, pet, you
transform.”
“No, I act,” cut Loki. But Thor saw that glance Loki threw Tony, and it wasn’t
half as pissy as his tone.
“And what about the Beijing Opera training you’re undergoing?” said Tony.
“What about it,” said Loki, pushing his plate away.
“Loki has been doing this intensive tutoring about how to perform…”
“…passably mimic in a way that could fool a Western audience, more like…”
amended Loki.
“…in the Beijing Opera manner. It’s a class act. It involves every part of the
body, from feet to head to eyelids and eyebrows, and every finger. It’s
amazing.”
“Fucking exhausting.” Loki was worrying at the tablecloth with his fingers,
with a very slight grin responding to his lover’s admiration. Thor wanted to
growl.
“Does the… does the singer love his diplomat?” asked Thor, god knows why.
Loki looked up.
“Song, his name is Song,” says Loki. “It’s not clear. The way we’re angling
this is that he does, in spite of it all, but that he knows Gallimard, the
diplomat, doesn’t love him, but the lie, and he resents it. It explains his
cruelty, his delight in hurting Gallimard at the end. And indeed, when the
truth is revealed, it becomes obvious that Song was right, that it’s not him
that Gallimard loves or wants, and that he hasn’t understood or learned one
thing about the East in all the time they’ve been together. It was the fantasy
Gallimard wanted, and he can't bear to lose it, even though his lover is still
there. That’s got to hurt. I mean, Song is Chinese but Gallimard kills himself
in the Japanese manner… While dressed and made up as the fantasy Oriental woman
Gallimard thought he had loved. I thought it was a lot more poignant that Song
did love Gallimard. The ultimate unrequited love story.”
“Wow,” said Thor, putting his serviette down. “It’s going to hurt.”
“If we do it right.” Loki gave him a sweet, baby-crocodile grin, all big, fixed
eyes and lots of teeth. “I heard you’re going to be doing a James Ellroy” he
said.
“Hm, yes.” said Thor, with a sip of wine. 
“The cold six thousand” said Loki.
Thor smiled, in spite of himself. He nodded. He couldn't wait to sink his teeth
into that one.
“It’s going to be a mini-series, the thing is massive. Have you read them?”
“I think I’ve read them all, yes. You must be… I forget the names. Junior
something.”
“Wayne Tedrow Junior, yes.” 
“You will be great,” said Loki, eyes on his brother’s. “I can’t wait to see
it.”
“Thank you,” said Thor, struggling to hold his gaze. It bore into his soul. It
saw everything. It always had.
“Have you been learning to smoke yet?” said Loki, still staring. 
“Smoke?”
“It’s the Sixties, they’re not cutting out the smoking, are they?”
Thor arched an eyebrow.
“No I haven’t been learning how to smoke,” said Thor. “I can always trouble you
for some classes.” It was a joke. He had not calibrated where Loki would take
it.
“Sure,” said Loki, eyes fixed on his. “You treat your fag like it’s your lover.
You make love to it, quickly or slowly, furiously or gently, seductively or
distractedly. The you toss it away without a second thought when you’re
finished with it, and crush it under your heel, like it’s nothing, and go for
the next.”
Tony shook his head, rolling his eyes. Thor swallowed, breaking eye contact,
and then swallowed again. He saw Jane frown out of the corner of his eye. She
didn’t like Loki, it was blatantly written all over her scrunched forehead. And
she probably didn’t like that Thor had forgotten for the last ten minutes that
she even existed. He would be hearing of it later. Oh, great.
“I have to have you two together in something,” said Tony suddenly. “The
electricity between you is insane. If the right script came along, what do you
think?”
Thor and Loki looked at each other, then away. Nobody answered.
“Seriously. Loki, what do you think, pet?” 
“I don’t know,” said Loki, biting one of his nails. He didn’t wear polish,
probably for the play.
“Thor?” Tony turned to him, genial. 
Thor shrugged.
“Oh, come on, guys.”
Thor sighed. He threw a quick look at his baby brother, whose eyes were low,
his shoulders slumped. He knew that expression. He had seen it a hundred
thousand times when they were little.
“If the right script came along,” said Thor then, “I would love to, sure.” Big
brother to the rescue, taking the first step, risking rejection, so that Loki
did not have to.
Loki looked up at him. And grunted something that sounded a little bit like
“why not.”
 
The door bell buzzed. Tony and Loki looked at each other.
“Oh,” said Tony, eyebrows raised.
“Oh,” said Loki. He stood up and went to get the door.
So, Thor had been right. There was more coming, and it had arrived just when he
was starting to relax. It was 10 o’clock, party time. Loki opened the door and
people started pouring in. He was introduced to his agent, Natasha Romanov, and
her… whatever he was (it was never made clear) Clint Barton, aka Hawkeye for
some salacious reason nobody shared with him. Steve Rogers, the man himself,
had brought a pack of beer, the girlfriend (Thor already knew Peggy) and a mate
everyone called Bucky, who followed him around with puppy eyes. Doctor Banner,
Loki’s former social worker, visiting in town, had also been invited. Thor
shook hands with him with extra strength, surprised at how intensely he felt
for the guy. He hoped there would be a moment to, well, thank him. Perhaps it
showed in his eyes. Bruce gave him a fond look. 
Thor struggled to remember the names of the people who turned up later, members
of the ensemble of M. Butterfly. He exchanged a quick salute with Kevin, who
played Gallimard. He had met him before, briefly, in other Hollywood do's. He
seemed right at home among all those youngsters. He was a lot more fun in this
kind of setting.
Thor was neither ready, nor looking forwards to a fucking soirée. He gave Jane
a pointed stare, which they had long had as code for “please, get me out of
here.” But Jane wasn’t in a cooperating mood tonight. She knew Steve and Peggy,
she was a bit starstruck with Kevin, and although she had been in a number of
parties before and after award ceremonies, this was a different kind of affair
altogether. And Thor had to admit it looked like fun. People had already taken
over the piano and there was a bit of chorus singing, others were dancing, and
the atmosphere was welcoming, and special. 
Thor relented, gloomy in spite of it all. He just had that gut feeling, he
couldn’t put his finger on it, that he needed to get himself away from that
place as soon as he could. He got himself a beer and a comfy spot, and watched
the thing unfold around him, trying to get ready for the inevitable. 
On a positive note, he thought that was it, that was all Loki had prepared for
them this evening. If his intention had been to sabotage the big bonding
occasion Thor has suggested when he had arranged this, well, mission
accomplished. 
Steve sat by him on the couch to observe, toasted with his beer with him.
Always a ray of sunshine, this one was. Jane was talking with Peggy. They did
get on like a house on fire, clever both, never taking shit from anybody. Bruce
and Clint joined Thor and Steve on the couch and armchairs soon after, then
Tony. Bucky stood to one side, quiet and still. They all sipped their drinks
and watched the theatre people sing songs from musicals and tap dance merrily
along.
They also watched them push and drag Loki over to the piano, where he sat
himself all cosy next to Kevin. They played and sang along. Then Loki did a
solo, taking a “beloved classic” and turning it into raunchy burlesque, by
virtue of where he put his emphases alone.
 
“I could have... dancedall night, I could have danced aaaall night
And still have begged formore
I could have spread my…wingsand done a thousand things
I've never done before
(Tony shouted “There can’t possibly be that many left!" Lots of laughter.)
I'll never know what made it so… exciting
Why all at once my…hearttook flight
I only know when he began to…dancewith me
I could have danced, danced, danced all night…!”
 
The way he slurred his words, the low purr, the knowing tone, it all put a
shiver in Thor’s spine. How easy it was to take him back to that fucking club,
to the many days he had spent punishing himself with thoughts of what Loki did
there, besides singing and dancing.
And with that jolly thought in his head, Thor had to watch Tony pinch his
brother’s bum as he walked by him. And Loki tilting his head back for a kiss.
He clenched his jaw and turned his eye back to Steve, who was enthusiastically
praising the work his mate Bucky was doing in an Off-Broadway production of the
Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. Bucky did not talk much, but Thor welcomed the chance to
distract himself by taking part in the conversation.
Loki, meanwhile, was not finished with the piano. He had a few more classic
songs to give a fresh spin to. He went from Disney to Metro Goldwyn Mayer to
Broadway with grace and humour. Thor remembered him sitting at the piano with
their mum, with mixed emotions. His little, select audience sang along. The he
turned to pop.
 
“With your long blonde hair and your eyes of blue
the only thing I ever got from you was sorrow, sorrow…
I tried to find him 'cause I can't resist him
I'd never knew just how much I'd miss him.
Sorrow, sorrow..."
 
Thor frowned, nursed his beer.
 
"Sometimes I feel so happy, sometimes I feel so sad.
Sometimes I feel so happy, but mostly you just make me mad, 
Baby you just make me mad. 
Linger on your pale blue eyes.
 
Thought of you as my mountain top, thought of you as my peak
I thought of you as everything I had but couldn't keep, I had but could not
keep.
Linger on your pale blue eyes."
 
Was Thor going mad? Was he being paranoid? A long sip of his beer. Eyes front
to Steve sharing an anecdote of his and Bucky’s childhood in Brooklyn.
 
“Maybe I’m still hurting, I can’t turn the other cheek
But you know that I still love you, it’s just that I can’t speak
I’ve looked for you in everyone. They called me on that too
And all the senses rise against this coming back to you.”
 
Right. 
Nice fucking piano arrangements. Had Loki been fucking composingin preparation
for tonight, or did he just amuse himself in general creating bloody versions
of this stuff, just in case he ever had the chance to butcher his brother with
them.
 
There are many in your life and many still to be 
Since you are a shining light there's many that you'll see 
But I have to deal with envy when you choose the precious few 
Who've left their pride on the other side of coming back to you...
 
Even in your arms I know I'll never get it right,
Even when you bend to give me comfort in the night.
And I've got to have your word on this, or none of it is true,
And all I've said was just instead of coming back to you." 
  
Thor downed the rest of his beer and went to fetch himself another. And then he
went to the bathroom, washed his hands, splashed his face with cool water. 
He faced himself in the mirror, met his own stare.
What the fuck. What the fuck.
Odinson, you're fucking smiling. 
 
When he returned, another member of the ensemble had taken charge of the piano.
Natasha was dancing with Peggy, tango-style, Clint was enjoying the view. Steve
was cracking up with Tony and Bruce, Bucky was browsing Loki’s books (he had
brought along half his library, apparently, and raided Manhattan's bookshops as
well), Jane was listening to whatever Kevin was telling her in raptures, and as
for Loki, he was nowhere in sight. The room felt so full all of a sudden. Thor
joined Steve for a second, until he managed to ask.
“Where’s my brother?” 
Tony gestured to the front door. Thor gave himself two minutes (and perhaps
waited until Jane was distracted) and made a bee line for the door.
He found Loki sat on the front steps, having a fag. Loki turned his head only
slightly. He probably recognised Thor by his sheer bulk, or perhaps he just
knew. Didn't Thor feel at times that he could always tell Loki was there, or
that he wasn't, even when he wasn't looking. He didn’t say a thing or give any
other signal acknowledging Thor's presence.
There was no traffic, nobody on the street. It was quiet except for the muffled
music coming from the house. It wasn’t cold, but the air was crisp. There were
goosebumps on Loki’s arms.
He sat down next to him, and Loki shifted to one side to make some room on the
narrow steps. They were close. Loki wasn’t looking at him. He just kept on
making love to his fag, as he had said. It was a slow and deep one this time.
When he had smoked it down to the filter, he discarded it and killed it with a
quick turn of his heel. They both stared at the night. 
After a beat, Loki turned to face him. Thor kept his eyes on his hands. Loki
leaned over, very, very slowly, and kissed his temple, a long, firm kiss. Thor
shut his eyes and pushed against it, with a deep exhale. It felt so fucking
good, after all they had been through.
Loki pulled back. Thor turned to face him.  Loki was the one not looking now,
his eyes lost in the darkened street. Thor could not read his expression if his
life depended on it. He didn’t know what he wanted or did not want to find
there. He just wanted to crush him in his arms. And possibly rip his clothes
off right there in the middle of downtown Manhattan. Just kissing would be
nice. He did nothing, just stared, frozen by the mess in his head.
After a spell, Loki stood up, dusted his arse. Thor shut his eyes heavily,
scrubbed them deep. The moment was gone. 
Loki’s hand entered his field of vision. Thor took it and let Loki pull him up
to his feet. But once he was stood up, Thor did not return Loki’s hand. He
clung onto it as he had done in that hotel in London. He was so fucking done
with letting Loki go. 
Loki tilted his head, gave him a stare, part interrogation, part knowing, full
of challenge. Thor closed his eyes tight, ready to pull him towards him. With
what purpose, he wasn't sure.
The door clicked and opened. Thor dropped Loki’s hand as if it burned. The
light from inside the house fell on them, Jane’s voice came too loud and stark,
startling him.
“There you two are!”
Thor was shaken. Loki’s leer was burning with spite now, a smirk full of
derision.
“Nice to see some things don’t change,” he said, mellifluous. “Excuse me,” he
said cooly, as he squeezed by Jane.
Jane frowned.
“What was that about?”
Thor sighed and shrugged.
“Loki," he said. 
The twinkling of the piano made them both look up. Then Loki’s voice, soft,
aching.
 
“Oh my baby baby I love you more than I can tell
I don't think I can live without you
And I know that I never will
Oh my baby baby I want you so it scares me to death
I can't say any more than ‘I love you’
Everything else is a waste of breath”
 
      Thor stood at the door and listened, horrified. The song went on, getting
angrier and angrier, Loki’s voice breaking into rags.
 
“I’m not ashamed to say I cried for you
I want you
I want to know the things you did that we do too
I want you
I want to hear she pleases you more than I do
I want you
I might as well be useless for all it means to you
I want you
Did you call her name out as she held you down
I want you
Oh no, my darling, not with that clown
I want you”
 
Now the song was quieter, Loki’s voice softer.
 
“I want you
You've had your fun you don't get well no more
I want you
No-one who wants you could want you more”
 
The song ended with a threadbare whisper of a voice, a note of the piano here and
there, haunting.
 
“I want you
Every night when I go off to bed and when I wake up
I want you
I want you
I'm going to say it once again 'til I instil it
I know I'm going to feel this way until you kill it
I want you
I want you
I want you”
 
The whole party was silent as it had not been all night, transfixed,
enthralled. That had not been a cabaret rendition of a light standard, that had
come from the gut, somewhere dark, and deep, and terrible. 
Tony broke the ice. 
“Sweetheart, you can have me any time. In fact, have me now.” He sounded
completely besotted.
Thor made himself look on as Tony kissed Loki, with more warmth than heat, and
Loki kissed him back, eyes closed, taking comfort in it in a way Thor had not
fucking seen coming from their previous interactions. The ugly thing that
shifted and stabbed his insides then must have shown in his face. He was
suddenly aware of Jane’s eyes on him, and her deep frown. Thor’s heart was
pounding so hard he feared everyone in the room would be able to hear it. 
“Awesome!” said Steve, clapping. Everybody joined in, and at least the tense,
bristled atmosphere dissolved somewhat. Thor noticed Natasha observing Loki
with a pointed squint, and for the first time in his life, Thor wondered who
else knew.
He walked to the kitchen, consciously pacing himself not to run. He poured
himself a glass of water and downed it in one gulp. He tried to slow down his
breathing. He was feeling sick. 
After that, Jane followed him down the corridor to the bathroom. Thor very
nearly shut the door in her face. He didn’t. He splashed his neck.
“Are you alright?” she asked.
Thor towelled himself a lot longer than it took to get dry.
“Can we go?” he said, after some time.
Jane bit her lip.
“Sure.” She put her hand on his arm, stroked hesitantly. “Are you alright?”
 
 
“Loki, Thor and Jane are leaving!” shouted Tony in the general direction of the
door to the backyard, where Loki had exiled himself after his musical
interlude. 
Loki came in through the kitchen. Natasha walked in right after and perched on
a corner to observe.
“Jane, it’s been a pleasure,” said Loki, not sounding strained or weird. Well,
he was a damned fine actor after all. He was possibly transferring the joy he
felt at seeing the back of them into his goodbye. He kissed her cheek, which
Jane accepted stiffly, and offered a polite little smile she returned.
Now Thor. Loki offered his hand, his fucking hand, for a shake. Thor stood
there like an idiot, staring at it. A fucking handshake. After that fucking
show. After ripping Thor to fucking shreds and leaving him bleeding. 
Damn it all to hell. He went to give him the hug he owed them both. Loki
flinched away and stared at him with reproach. 
Thor clenched his jaw, wanting to roar. That fucking hurt. He had fucking metal
in his throat from the anger, from the pain. He wanted to fucking smash Loki's
head against the wall, is what he wanted. 
Fuck. He had wanted a hug.
He hooked one hand around Loki’s neck and pulled him close for a kiss. On the
cheek. Perfectly innocent, if a bit more forceful than usual, up until the
point when he couldn’t fucking let go. When he did manage, he couldn’t look at
his brother.
That was all. That was all he had. No goodbyes, no see you’s, nothing. He
turned around and climbed down the steps, with Jane in tow. He knew she
struggled to keep up with his longer strides, but it took a while to make
himself calm the fuck down and wait for her to catch up with him. She didn’t
look too chuffed with him when she did. 
“What was that all about,” she would say a bit later, on the taxi.
Thor shook his head, rubbed his eyes tiredly. He had lost all his steam by
then. He felt vacant, exhausted.
“Do we have to talk now?” he replied. 
“We don’t have to talk at all,” she muttered, bitterly. 
For the umpteenth time that night, Thor felt like smashing his fists against a
wall and roaring.
 
                                       *
 
“Are you alright, pet?” said Tony after they had all left. It wasn’t too late. 
Loki sighed, slumped on the couch, nursing the dregs of his last drink. Tony
sat beside him. 
“Do you think you could fuck me through the mattress all night until I don’t
know what my name is?” asked Loki, eyes on his drink.
“Do you have to ask?” said Tony, pulling the hair off Loki’s face. 
“Do your worst,” said Loki putting down his glass. 
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     Phew, notes.
      
     1. 'M. Butterfly'. Loki pretty much tells you what you need to know.
     A play by David Henry Hwang. I confess I have not seen the play, only
     the movie David Cronenberg directed, with more emphasis on the
     romance and not so much on the politics, which apparently is a lot
     heavier in the play. Will have to try and find it. I'm intrigued now.
     I guess there would be an uproar on Tumblr that a white guy has been
     cast for the part of an Asian, but let's just say I know the
     director, who is totally Asian, and he did lots and lots of
     auditions, and was killed dead by Loki, who is a bit of a
     shapeshifter anyway. Just roll with it.
     2. 'The cold six thousand', by James Ellroy, part of his American
     Trilogy. Don't get me started, I worship the floor he treads on.
     Gritty, hardboiled crime/political novel, with epic range, involving
     the mob, the political killings of the Sixties in America, Cuba, the
     corrupt US security agencies, god and all his angels. Powerful. Amid
     all that, Ellroy writes some of the sweetest, most human, most
     loveable mobsters/contract killers/lost souls in the world ever, and
     some of the most touching love stories. You may have heard of Bud
     White. Russell Crowe played him in L.A. Confidential. Well, you ain't
     seen nothing until you get to Pete Bondurant. There should be a
     fandom for Ellroy's verse. Anyway.
     3. That cigarette as a lover thing... My friend
     Discontentmadeglorious wrote it.
     4. Hey, more Avengers! Come on in, the water's fine. We'll meet again
     I'm sure.
     5. Kevin. Well, Kevin. Maybe I'm thinking of a real actor here, maybe
     not. Maybe I fell in love with him in The Usual Suspects and I never
     looked back. Maybe, just maybe.
     6. Songs, lots of songs.
     -'I could have danced all night', from the musical My fair Lady.
     We've covered this. Next.
     -'Sorrow' (Bob Feldman, Jerry Goldstein, Richard Gottehrer). I first
     heard it in David Bowie's version. That line is pretty much all
     that's applicable to our situation.
     -'Thinking About You', by Radiohead. Bit more flesh in this one if
     one is looking for Thorki.
     -'Coming back to you', by Leonard Cohen. (I'm partial to Martin
     Gore's cover.) A LOT more flesh in this one. Quite gentle though.
     -'I want you', by Elvis Costello. It's a lot longer than the excerpt
     I've quoted here. It's heart-wrenching and absolutely beautiful, and
     I'm so bloody privileged that I've seen him perform it live. It tears
     me to pieces. I find it extremely Thunderfrosty in its intensity and
     hunger and desperation. It will forever sing of these two for me from
     now on. Oh god it hurts make it stop...
     Must confess I'm not musical enough to imagine a piano version of
     these heavily guitar based pop songs. But why not, eh? Loki is a bit
     of a genius.
***** Chapter 11 *****
Chapter Summary
     Yeah, ok, but let's hear both sides first.
Chapter Notes
     Right, so apparently being poorly and having a poorly baby girl who
     won't let you move far from the couch is an aid to productivity. I
     wasn't expecting this one to happen so soon. Anyway, hey ho. It's not
     like people ever complain about quick updates, right?
     Must warn you, here be Frostiron nocturnal funtimes.
     Let me make this clear: I don't ship my babies with ANYONE ELSE IN
     THE WHOLE BLOODY MULTIVERSE, but it's the story, what can I say.
     There are always things happening between the sheets in the things I
     write, apart from an exchange of bodily fluids (otherwise I don't put
     it in the story) so there. IT'S THE ART, ART MADE ME DO IT.
     And toys. Blame Rynfinity. She'll know why. (You're to blame for the
     most outré searches in my google history, I'll have you know!)
See the end of the chapter for more notes
(London, the previous weekend.)
 
Loki wiped one fingertip over the touch screen of his smartphone to end the
call, wishing it was a button he could smash instead. Better still, and old-
school receiver he could angrily slam on its sodding cradle. 
Sigyn observed with a frown as he hurled the damn thing to the floor. Good job
the rug was thick. Loki, of course, had counted on that. He was furious, not
stupid. 
“What is it?” asked Sigyn, a mug of steaming hot tea in each hand. 
“Apparently,” said Loki between gritted teeth, “I just got myself a fucking
dinner date with my brother and his girlfriend.”
“I see,” said Sigyn. 
No, you bloody don’t, thought Loki, with a tightly clenched jaw. 
She sat down on the couch, pushing Minnie to one side first to make some room
for her lovely, generous, plump derrière. As for Minnie, the poor old thing
shifted an ear, but in half a minute she was snoring again. 
“Don’t you like her girlfriend?” attempted Sigyn, softly softly. When trying to
pry open a Loki-fruit, mind the thorns. Tease them gently apart…
“I don’t know her,” snarled Loki. 
“Then,” said Sigyn, impervious to Loki’s tone, “how do you know you won’t like
her?”
“I don’t fucking want to like her,” groaned Loki.
Anxiety and bubbling rage make people talk too much. He knew it well. He should
shut himself up in his room right now. Why didn’t he.
“… You sound as if you were jealous,” said Sigyn. 
“No shit, Sherlock,” muttered Loki to himself, though audibly enough, fists
clenched tight. He was trembling with it. The two people I love most in the
whole world… Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!
Sigyn was observing him quietly, teasing out his body language. She was fluent
in Loki by now. She knew how to find her way through the maze he kept around
himself. He had a picture of her in his mind, bobbin in hand, starting to make
her way in, unwinding the skein of thread as she went. 
Loki paced up and down. Just go to your room already, before you…
”Loki, you can’t be jealous of your brother’s girlfriend,” she said, the voice
of reason.
“Can’t I? Watch me.” Teeth gritted.
”It’s not like your brother loves you less or something because he is with
someone. I mean, I know you used to be very close, but his relationship with
you and his relationship with her are two different… What?” She was frowning
now. Not one of her nice, worried frowns, the other kind. The ‘Loki-boy, you’re
in trouble now’ kind of frown.
“What,” snapped Loki, on the defensive. All claws on deck.
“That face,” she said, her index finger doing a little pointy dance in the air,
aimed at him.
“What face,” countered Loki, stalling.
“I hate that face,” she said. “The ‘Loki knows everything and Sigyn knows
nothing but let’s let Sigyn talk and talk and make herself sound ridiculous’
face”
Loki looked away. Did he do that? Damn. 
”That’s one hell of a face. I must be a bloody good actor,” he mumbled, feeling
the sting, and started pacing up and down again. He really, really hated to
upset her. Or how it felt to be called out on it, to be precise.
“Loki, I’m fucking serious,” she said. “Either tell me, or don’t tell me, but
don’t treat me like I’m an idiot.”
Loki stopped pacing. Whip had been cracked. Too far, young man. She knew when
to say when.
”Sorry,” he said. “Sorry.”
She was still staring and frowning, but it wasn’t the bad frowning anymore. The
worry was there instead. She never gave Loki a bad time for his moods, as long
as he stopped and mended his ways. Which he found easier to do with her than
with anyone else. They should get married. But they both liked blondes, and she
was a ginger. Peroxide, perchance? (Sounded like a pop band from the eighties.)
He huffed with irritation and plopped down on the couch. He made himself pick
up the mug, but put it down again immediately, untouched. Fidgety. Do try not
to keep boiling hot liquids hovering over your family jewels’ area when
fidgety. He tapped his fingers on the arms of the armchair instead. Damn, why
didn’t he go for leather? This fabric cover made no sound. Oh yes, those
handout days, don’t look at a gift horse in the…
Fucking hell, his thoughts kept scampering around like a bloody… thing that
scampers around in all directions. Mice?
Throughout his little meltdown, Sigyn kept petting Minnie with one hand, mug in
the other, an eye on him at all times, Loki’s face to Loki’s hands, and back
again, and back again. She knew better than to stare a cat in the eyes for too
long. They take it as a challenge and jump at you.
Fucking focus, Loki.
“I can’t tell you, Sigyn,” said Loki then.
“Fine, so don’t tell me,” she answered, with a sip of tea. Lead-lined tongue
and throat she had, good old British stock. 
Petting, petting, Minnie’s breathing regular and contented. Calming moves.
After a minute, Loki tried ”You’re not an idiot.”
“I know I’m not,” said Sigyn. 
“…It’s just…” said Loki. 
What the hell are you doing. 
Are you really going to do this.
“Yes, Loki?” said Sigyn.
I can’t believe you’re doing this.
“If I tell you…” Loki huffed, scrubbed his face and hair, shook his head. He
was full of ants. “You have to promise that, no matter how you feel about me
afterwards, no matter what you think, or whether you still… whether you still
want to be my friend or not, you’re never going to tell. Anyone. Ever. I need
you to swear it.” His voice had started to shake. Badly.
”Loki, you’re scaring me,” said Sigyn, looking into his eyes now. She really
did have the most perfectly curved eyebrows to convey compassion.
“Yes, well. I scare myself.” Loki chuckled. Darkly. Heart in his throat.
“Darling, whatever it is, you can tell me. I love you. I’ll always be your
friend.” She meant it, of course, with her whole heart. She had no idea, did
she?
“Wait until you’ve heard me before you say things like that,” countered Loki.
“I don’t have to,” she said, earnest. She reached for his hand, rested hers on
top of it.
Loki took a deep breath. He did not hold her hand. If she wanted to let go in
repulse, he was not going to stop her.
How does one even begin to put this. 
Ok, wait.
“You know when I… when we were talking about meeting the love of our lives
and…” Deep breath, “and I told you I…”
“You said you already knew him,” she completed, helpfully, tracing small
circles with her fingertips on the back of his hand.
“Yes,” said Loki.
A long, long, looooong pause.
“Yes, Loki?” she urged, with a hand squeeze.
“…I was… I was talking about…” He cleared his throat noisily, but his voice
came out squeaky small. “I was talking about my brother.”
Long silence. Loki was going to fucking puke.
”Say something.”
“Loki, that happens to a lot of people,” said Sigyn.
“Does it?” he said, more puzzled than he had ever been in his whole life.
“Yes, with older siblings, the hero complex... We search in other people what
we love in our family. I don’t know if it’s because our family makes us feel
safe and… what?”
He almost, almost started laughing. If only it was bloody funny. 
“Damn. No. That’s not it,” he said.
She raised an inquisitive eyebrow. She did not have a single solitary clue.
Fucking hell. He would have to spell it out, wouldn’t he? 
“Sigyn,” he said. Again, he almost laughed. She would get to hear it before
Thor himself, how’s that. “I really, really am… er…” Cough. “I really love my
brother.”
That eyebrow wasn’t going anywhere yet. 
Loki huffed, in despair. Try again.
“My brother and I…” How do I fucking put this, goddammit. “We… er, we used to
be t-together.”
Damn the fucking eyebrow.
“Bloody hell, Gyn, you’re going to make me say it.” He got his hand back and
raked it deep in his scalp, scratching hard. Ouch. ”As in… we used to…” Don’t
say go to bed, don’t say make love, she obviously will refuse to get it unless
you… “We used to f-fuck, ok? Each other. This kind of together.”
Hey ho, the eyebrow has gone down! All the way down, actually, and now we have…
a completely new type of frown! What does it fucking mean?!
Loki’s chest was heaving, his eyes searching Sigyn’s face. He was expecting the
dawning of the disgusted, ‘I’m going to be sick, get away from me you revolting
perv’ expression anytime soon. Instead, all he was getting was a deeply set,
serious frown and a parted, gaping mouth. And a fucking never-ending silence.
“You’re not joking, are you?” said Sigyn, eventually. Very very eventually.
“I honestly think when I’m joking I’m funnier than this,” he said, croaky
voice.
“Loki,” snapped Sigyn, serious as cancer.
“No, I’m not joking,” said Loki, his voice now softer. He felt… spent, even the
fear gone. It was done, out of his hands. There was no taking that back.
Sigyn remained quietly frowning, quietly staring into space, quietly gaping,
quietly… what, processing? He was not going to rush her. He himself could use a
break. Only Minnie’s soft snores to be heard.
“How…? When…?” she said, about two and a half Ice Ages later.
“Teenagers.” Another croak.
Another silence, long enough for Africa to eat a foot and a half of the
Mediterranean. To be filed under ‘Times when Loki would have wished he was not
an atheist’.
“And you still…?” she asked.
Loki’s turn to be quiet. A long, deep sigh of tiredness and resignation.
“I’m still in love with him. Never s-stopped,” he confessed. To her friend, to
the world, to himself. 
But soft, what new expression through yonder scrunched-up forehead breaks? 
“That’s why you left Sam, right after you went to see your brother,” she said.
It was realisation, that’s what it was. The satisfaction of a mystery resolved.
And Sigyn is the sun.
“…Yes,” said Loki.
She nodded slowly.
“And Thor?” she asked after a beat.
Well, well, well, isn’t that the million dollar question. Yes, no, I hope so, I
sometimes think so, I don’t bloody know.
“With Thor is… is hard to tell,” he said. A chuckle. At himself. It’s not like
Loki would ever be able to make a cool, fair assessment of the situation,
right? His very fucking soul was invested in this. Nah, he would never be able
to deduce it, he would need it in writing. In blood. On Thor’s skin. Or his
own. And even then.
“But he has a girlfriend,” said Sigyn, with a blessed tone that said ’Now I
understand it all’. At bloody last.
Only then did Loki become fully conscious that she had still not run for the
bathroom to be sick. And he exhaled.
“Yes,” he said. And he exhaled again. Because… fucking hell, it was out. It was
out and life as we know it had not ended. And his best friend was having a chat
with him about it. As if it was… fuck, as if it was Sam they were talking
about. Sweet friggin’ baby Jesus, how…?
“And you don’t want to meet her,” said Sigyn, nudging him out of his reverie.
“I don’t fucking want to be third wheel with my brother and his girlfriend,
no,” he snapped.
Sigyn took a sip of tea, scratched Minnie’s belly. Minnie groaned contentedly.
“I see,” she said.
“…You’re not… you’re not going to be sick?” he said, a note of hysteria
creeping in his voice.
To which she pulled a face —ducky, complete with frown and head tilt. To which
he responded with a continued expression of preoccupied hope.
“Of course not, you idiot,” she said. Sweet mother of god, thank you… “I mean,
it was cons…”
“Consensual. Yes. Very, very consensual.” He blushed, actually blushed; he felt
his face and neck heating up with it. Get a grip, Odins-… Whatever.
“…And was he… was he good to you?” she asked.
Shit. This ‘letting it out’ thing came with unexpected caveats.
“He ruined me for the rest of the race of men,” he quipped, way too quickly.
“That’s not what I was asking” said Sigyn. 
See? I told you, way too quickly. Sigh.
“…It was complicated. For obvious reasons,” tried Loki. And then… Let it out.
Exhale. “He always tried to do the best he could,” he said, taking himself,
Satan and a choir of angels by surprise. “He always does. He was only a kid
himself. It was all so fucked up…” Ah, the memories. Loki threw his head back.
“Yes, I would say he was good to me. Not sure it was good for me.” Umteenth
sigh. "But I wouldn't change one day of it for the world. ...Well, perhaps one
day or two, I would."
Sigyn was looking at him like the perfect model for a mourning Saint Mary she
would make. She shuffled closer and stroked his face. She was going to make him
cry. He didn’t shake her off exactly, but tilted his face away just so, in a
way she would understand. She lowered her hand.
“…So where are you now?” she said, and spun Loki’s cup of tea on itself on the
coffee table, so that the handle was aligned the right way for him to pick up.
They were good like that. She did this minute, almost invisible things, and he
always noticed them. 
“I don’t know,” he said, picking the mug up and taking a sip, to show his
appreciation. The way to thank Sigyn and make her feel good was to let her
help, he had learned this very early on.
His hands were a bit shaky. She noticed, of course.
“Oh my darling,” she said. She got up and held his head close against her,
between her arms. He put the mug down blindly and hugged back, wrapping his
arms around her thighs, his face pressed against her stomach, for a long time.
Long enough for Loki’s breathing to turn shuddery and wet, and then slowly
return to steady and dry. She put a firm kiss on top of his head. It felt good.
It felt like mum’s. She cradled his face and made him look up. She wanted him
to see her warm, loving, smiling expression. She kissed his forehead. And then
she let go, because she usually knew when it was enough for Loki, and took her
place back on the couch. Minnie was awake now, head reared up, staring at them
both with that permanent expression of puzzlement.
“You’re really not disgusted?” asked Loki after a while, tempting fate.
She actually gave it some thought.
“No,” she answered. “It’s… well, it’s a weird thought but… Hey, you’re not
blood brothers though.”
Ah, that. 
“We didn’t know it then,” A crooked smirk. He had been aiming for a smile.
Overambitious, as it turned out. “It’s not like it matters. Consanguinity I
mean. We’re not planning on having children.”
She pulled a little, tight-lipped smile.
“Had you ever…? Had you ever told anyone about this?” she asked.
“No.”
“Darling, it must have been so hard for you…”
He tried to shrug it off, but it didn't work either. His eyes shut heavily for
a long moment. Yes, fuck. So bloody hard. But no more, no fucking more. If he
wasn’t feeling so very raw and exhausted, he would scream out of sheer relief.
“I can totally understand,” she said, interrupting his train of thought, her
tone light.
“Can you? Is your brother really hot too?” A shit-eating grin, not as bright as
his usual, because exhausted.
“No, but yours is.” She was beaming.
Loki laughed. And laughed and laughed and laughed. His belly ached. His bones
ached. His soul sang songs, but ached. And he was not out of his fucking
predicament. 
“What about Tony?” she said then.
Loki looked up, shaken from his daze.
“What about him?”
“Why not Sam but…”
“Oh,” said Loki. “Tony…” Start again. “Sam was… he was more… It was serious.
Tony fucks anything that has a pulse.” Er, actually…
“He’s mad about you.”
Loki gave that an eyebrow and a half.
“Yeah, well, he’s not looking to settle and adopt. We’re not… nobody said
exclusive. We have fun, that’s all. It’s just… It’s different.” 
And then it hit him. The way out of his predicament. Of fucking course. Well,
maybe not out-out, but still…
“Loki?” said Sigyn, with one of her many frowns, this one from her puzzled
range. “What…?” 
He grinned. His full-on, ear-to-ear, crocodile grin. 
“You’re a genius,” he said. Sprung up, kissed her head, picked up his phone
from its resting place on the rug, and scuttled to his room to make phone
calls. Lots and lots of phone calls. 
The two people I love most in the whole world, my tight, scrawny arse.
 
 
 
                                       *
 
 
 
(New York. Friday night. Early morning, actually.)
 
Tony’s worst was really, really not bad at all. It was damn fine, to be fair. 
That gorgeous, impeccably restored 1930’s piano had not been his only
housewarming gift. Loki had admired and coveted his collection of adult toys
from the very first time he had visited the bedroom at Tony’s penthouse, a
number of weeks ago, and he had received a whole hamper of them soon after,
when he got his own place, with a nice bow to tie it up. Loki had surveyed his
new treasure-hoard with a connoisseur’s delight. Many of them were really best
enjoyed with a friend. 
The ones with dials, for example. Loki moaned and his back arched dramatically
when Tony cranked it up another notch. He fucking loved the ones you can ride.
He continued to fuck himself hard and fast, aware of Tony’s eyes on him. And
since he had an audience, he made a good show of it.
“God, you’re so beautiful like that…” drooled Tony. 
“Turn it up,” gasped Loki, hands raking in his hair like a central-pages pin-
up. Tony upped the thing. Loki shook all over and moaned louder. He snaked his
hips, to give his thighs a rest. The thing fucked and vibrated and twirled by
itself, it was fucking wild, he really didn’t need to do anything if he didn’t
feel like it. He was biting his lip hard, the sweet spot inside him being
pleasured raw, his cock painfully neglected. He whimpered in desperate need,
one hand clawing down the side of his throat.
“Ah, baby…” sighed Tony, hearts in his eyes.
Loki locked eyes with him for a second, then closed them.
“Yes, call me baby,” he said, starting to move again. “Crank it up.”
He would fuck himself on that thing until he came untouched or he wouldn’t
fucking come at all. 
 
“Are you alright, baby?” said Tony handing him the wipes, after he had
dismounted, shuffled to the bed on shaky knees, and crumbled onto the mattress,
boneless.
“Don’t call me baby,” grunted Loki. He cleaned himself up and turned onto his
stomach, face in the pillows, panting.
“Right,” said Tony’s voice somewhere. “So who were you fucking just then?”
Loki showed teeth. To the pillow, which arguably made it less effective. He
hated it when people got perceptive on him.
“Your toy, I should think,” he said, now facing away.
“The toy gets to call you baby but I don’t?”
“And only during sex.” Change subjects. “Do you want that taken care of?” He
signalled to Tony’s straining hard-on.
“If you can move.” A sweet grin.
Loki got himself up, a slight wince. Well, it had been a bit of a marathon,
this one. He had a rummage in the drawer, contemplated the collection of butt
plugs.
“Red or green?” He held the glassy things in two different funny shapes up in
the air.
“Green. Goes with your eyes.”
“You’re very sweet, but where it’s going colours tend not to matter.” Heh,
Buttopia. “Are you going to lie down or…?”
“Kiss first?”
“Lie the fuck down, don’t get all sappy on me.” 
It was just possible that Tony had the biggest, saddest, most compelling puppy
eyes Loki had ever seen in his whole life.
“Fucking hell” grumbled Loki, and kissed him. Which was nice, actually. Tony’s
hand around his head, crushing him tight. He liked Tony. He felt right.
 
“Aaaahhh pet… I fucking worship you…” said Tony, eyes droopy, buried in the
mattress, looking fucked down to his soul. Loki wagged an eyebrow and plopped
right next to him, with a couple of exercises to relax his jaw. Haven’t lost
your touch, Loki-boy.
“You’re a fucking artist at this. A fucking pro…” sighed Tony. Then he snapped
to attention, eyes wide in horror, aware of what he had just said.
“Retired,” said Loki, hoarse, going for a joke before Tony started with the
apologies. “More like a hobby these days.”
“Oh, fuck…” said Tony, obviously not getting the hint to just let it go.
“It’s fine,” said Loki. Please, not now… “You know those retired train drivers
that fill their houses with models of cities and train tracks? Well, I’m
nothing like that.”
Tony laughed. Rubbed his face with both hands, laughed some more.
“Jesus, I love you.”
Loki smirked, helped himself to a sip of champagne. He wasn’t really supposed
to drink with his meds, but he had been told that half a glass of something
around that gradation every now and then could do no harm. Since he had never
been a great drinker, that was just fine with him. It was the aesthete in him.
Champagne in bed, so fucking decadent.
“Don’t panic,” said Tony, after being very quiet for a spell.
What. Loki sprung up in bed. Ouch. Wince.
“What, you meant it?!” 
Tony grinned.
”Holy fuck, Tony!” he groaned.
“I said don’t panic. I’m not proposing or anything. You’re just… what can I
say, I’m smitten, alright? You’re the complete package…”
“No I’m very much notthe completeanything,” snarled Loki, still sitting up,
still frowning. “Half my fucking pieces are missing, and the rest are broken.
I’m not your soul mate, ok? And you’re fun and all, but that’s all there
fucking is. Understand?”
“I know, Lokes. I’m human, it just happens some times. Chill.”
Loki’s chest was heaving.
“Right,” he said. He tried to settle down. He was antsy. Tony started stroking
his hair, long strokes. Loki frowned, suspicious. It felt nice, though.
“I like your hair like this, that’s all,” said Tony. “Calm the fuck down, Loki.
I’m not getting you a ring, ok? …Oh, you will not let me get on my knees ever
again, right?”
Now Loki laughed. And Tony liked that. Which earned Loki a kiss.
“Had enough? Do you want to go to sleep now?” asked Tony. 
“…Not if you’re going to creepy-lovey-stare at me all night or something.”
“I’m not, I swear. Can’t keep my eyes open.”
Loki curled on his side, facing Tony, who was indeed drowsy and sleepy and
still looked fucked to complete satisfaction, and then some. It was a good look
on people. Tony pinched his cheek and closed his eyes.
Loki burrowed into the mattress, but his hopes for a nice, restoring few hours
of slumber looked slim at best. 
He sighed. He never let anyone call him ‘baby’. No-one. Really, who’s the sappy
idjit here, Loki-boy.
 
 
                                       *
 
 
Jeebus, the flat was on a battlefield level of disarray. He was so not going to
clean this shit up. He’d pay someone to do it, like the proper rich guy’s
mistress he was.
He made himself another coffee, and climbed back upstairs. He liked to have his
phone chats from bed. 
Sigyn picked up at the start of the second tone. They made quick work of the
pleasantries.
“How did it go?” she asked soon, all eager.
“Great. I’m limping a bit. Not looking forwards to Monday.”
“Loki…”
“Tony proposed. Sort of.”
“Oi. How did it go?” insisted Sigyn. She was not in a dancing-around-Loki mood
then. 
He took a sip of coffee and gave it some thought.
“According to plan, I suppose.”
“You and your plans. Is Tony still there?”
“No, he left a while ago. Limping too.” Shame she missed his shit-eating grin,
because it was one of the good ones.
Another pause. Loki looked out the window. All he saw was more windows on a red
brick façade. Empty windows. Frame it and sign ‘Edward Hopper’.
“What is she like?” asked Sigyn.
A gulp of coffee.
”She’s…” A grimace he was glad Sigyn could not see. “She’s beautiful.” Sigh. “I
don’t know what else I expected. I mean, he can have the pick of the crop,
can’t he? Of bloody course she was going to be a show-stopper.” 
Sigyn hm-hm'd.
“She’s not… She’s not a supermodel, she doesn’t have big tits, she’s just…” He
sighed deeply. “If she doesn’t have big tits it’s… more real somehow. Thor used
to like them curvy and flashy and they never used to last and… Fuck.” Clenched
jaw. Fuck. “That’s obviously not why he’s with her. She’s clever and classy
and… The kind of girl guys marry, you know what I mean?” The kind of girl his
parents would love to see Thor marry, he did not say. 
Sigyn said nothing, very loudly.
“But there was this moment,” added Loki. “We sat outside the steps at some
point, just me and him, and I… I helped him up and he held my hand and…” Loki
rubbed his face, hard. He did not want to get to the part when his brother had
jumped three feet away from him. He didn’t want to make Thor look bad in front
of his friend, how’s that?
Sigyn was waiting for him to complete at least one thought. If at all possible.
“I may have sung some songs,” he said. 
“Songs?”
“Yes, kind of… Love songs. Sad love songs. I don't know what I was fucking
thinking. I pissed him off. He’ll be panicking now that the whole of fucking
Manhattan knows that his baby brother… Fuck.”
“Don’t make assumptions.”
“What?” 
“About what’s on Thor’s head. Sure way to make everything more complicated and
fucked up.”
“If you find the off-switch for that, be sure to let me know.” Deep exhale.
Tired. Sore. Bath? Please.
“How was he?” asked Sigyn then.
Loki smiled to himself.
“He’s cut his hair for his next part. He was clean shaved. He looked… Grown up,
I don’t know.”
“Handsome?”
Loki smiled a lot more. It struck him then that he was on the phone with his
best friend talking about his crush, like a blessed fifteen-year-old. It was
fun.
“Out of this fucking world.” Sigh. “He wore a shirt, they’re always either
baggy or too tight on him unless he has them custom-made. So it was sort of
strained at the chest and arms.” Double sigh. “I kissed him. His hair. He wears
a different cologne or aftershave or whatever, but he still… I remembered the
smell underneath. Made me weak at the knees, I swear.”
“Awww...” said Sigyn. “You’re a puddle of goo, aren’t you?”
He laughed frankly.
“It’s so romantic,” she said. “You’ve been in love all your lives… And you look
so hot together. Darn, I ship you!”
Loki rubbed his eyes tiredly. 
“Please, don’t, whatever that is.”
“It means I want you two to end up together.”
He chuckled mirthlessly.
“Yeah, well, get ready for disappointment.”
“Why?”
“…Because…” he sighed, exhausted down to the bottom of his soul for an instant.
“Gynny, even if…” Deep breath. Jane, her name is Jane. He didn’t even try.
Let’s just point the bleeding obvious, shall we. “We’re brothers!” he said,
exasperated.
“So? We can spin it” she replied without a thought.
“Spin it?” He didn’t usually guffaw, but he might just do this once. “You don’t
fucking spin this, you sweep it under the rug, you bury it, you kill it with
fire.”
“I don’t know Loki, why don’t you run it by Natasha? She’s a wizard…”
This was getting ridiculous now.
“Gynny, seriously. This is fucking incest. Ok? Gay incest, for extra kick.”
“Egyptian Pharaohs did it…”
“Oh, yes, that’s absolutely the line we should take.That we come from such
extraordinary stock, our blood is so fucking pure, our bodily fluids so divine,
we can’t mix with common mortals!”
“See? It sells itself.”
“Very funny.”
“Anyway, you’re not blood brothers.”
“Gyn, are you doing this on purpose?”
“I just… I don’t know, Loki, I think you’re making it a bigger deal than it is.
I wasn’t horrified at all, was I?”
“Yes, but you’re a bloody angel, Gyn. You’re the most generous, least
judgemental, kindest, most understanding person on this earth. You’re not a
good representation for your average human being in any way.”
“Aw. That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“…I tell you nicer things in my head all the time.”
“I know. I can see it in your eyes.  Just let it out a bit more” she said.
“Yes miss.”
“Grumpy.”
“Dopey.”
A silence.
“Gotta go. Want to wash. I smell of Tony.”
She laughed. 
“Call me later.”
“Dog ok?”
“As usual. I’ll give her a kiss from you.”
“Great. I’m sneezing already.”
She laughed.
“I love you, darling.”
“You too. Later.”
He hung up. 
A cat had perched on a window sill across the street, licking its white-socked
front paw. Loki found himself smiling. Sigh no more, you idiot, you’ll
hyperventilate. 
And be you blithe and bonny… 
It felt so bloody good to talk, so bloody good, he had had no idea. He sighed
again, but it was a good sigh. Hey nonny nonny.
 
 
 
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     1. Edward Hopper, painter, Early- to Mid- 20th century, American.
     Look him up if you don't know him. I love him. He paints solitude
     like no-one, and his houses and his walls are as evocative as
     portraits of people.
     2.
     "Sigh no more, ladies, sigh nor more;
     Men were deceivers ever;
     One foot in sea and one on shore,
     To one thing constant never;
     Then sigh not so,
     But let them go,
     And be you blithe and bonny;
     Converting all your sounds of woe
     Into. Hey nonny, nonny.
     Sing no more ditties, sing no mo,
     Or dumps so dull and heavy;
     The fraud of men was ever so,
     Since summer first was leavy.
     Then sigh not so,
     But let them go,
     And be you blithe and bonny,
     Converting all your sounds of woe
     Into. Hey, nonny, nonny."
     From Much Ado About Nothing.
     Kenneth Brannagh's movie had me memorise the first verse.
     Loki would know this one too. He's a Shakespeare man after all. It's
     not a sly reference to anyone's behaviour, just the bit about don't
     sigh and be blithe that applies this time, honest.
***** Chapter 12 *****
Chapter Summary
     Jesus, this is hard.
Chapter Notes
     (As always in all my longer-running works, there comes a point in the
     story when this author must remove herself to a safe, undisclosed
     location and weather the storm. I’ll have you know, it be a remote
     bunker which may or may not be surrounded by a moat filled with
     crocodiles, sharks with lasers on their heads, and if it’s Wednesday,
     a swarm of zombies. Seems like I’m spending Christmas there.)
     UPDATE: I'm taking Thor with me.
      
     Now, let this here be my oath that one day, this fic will smother you
     in a pile of fluff so high it will block the sun, until you can’t
     bloody breathe, and that I swear.
     But today is not that day.
      
     Merry Thunderfrosty Christmas.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
Thor sat on the narrow balcony of the hotel room with a drink he wasn’t paying
much attention to, eyes unfocused, mind miles away. Or a few streets away at
the very least. He was still reeling. They had jumped from “you fucking hurt”
and “I want to forget you exist”, to “don’t come see me, maybe someday”, to “I
want you I want you I want you I want you I want you.”
He could have fucking danced all night himself. He wanted to throw the windows
and the doors open and let out the mightiest yawp, maybe tap-dance on the walls
and the ceiling like Fred Astaire in one of those old musicals they used to
watch with mum. He wants me!
It was an illusion of course. As good as it felt, it changed nothing about
their situation. When had wanting been a problem between them? No, the problem
was the hiding, the secrecy, the fear that they could be discovered at any
second. Had any of that changed? No, if anything, it was worse than ever. The
ripples of the scandal when they were young would seem tame and manageable
compared to the typhoon it would unleash now. 
They were not anonymous. They lived off having people with money trusting them
to drive paying audiences to see them. That trust could dry up for a lot less
than this. The simple suspicion of something even remotely similar to this
could ruin them both. And then there were the haters, and the nutters, and the
fucking right-wing press that would have a field day with this and skin them
alive day in day out… It’s not like they needed these people’s respect, but
this shit wears you down, feeling hated and despised and constantly targeted
for attack and mockery. Thor himself feared it, and he was of sound mind. As
for Loki… 
Not to mention that none of these things were what a young… couple needs in the
beginnings of their… Shit, their relationship. Their love. Our love. God.
Being realistic, could they ever get together and make something work, and be
happy, while having to hide and lie, and get beards, and look over their
shoulders all the time, and try not to be seen around together too often, and
deny the rumours as they arose, and never be able to hold hands down the
street, or kiss in public, and never, ever being able to tell the fucking world
the truth, and live in fear all the time? 
Fuck. 
Loki still loves me. Loki still wants me.
Our love.
He had a little drink with a sad little smile, eyes wet. 
 
The glass door to the balcony slid open and Jane popped out. She was wrapped in
that Japanese silk robe he bought for her when he was touring Master and
Commander, one of the first presents he had ever given her. Certainly the most
intimate at the time. They had fucked soon enough after he returned, Jane
riding him wearing nothing else. It felt so weird to turn his mind back on it
now, almost inappropriate, an invasion, as if it was somebody else’s life,
somebody else’s memories. There was a knot burning in Thor’s throat.
“Aren’t you coming to bed?” she asked, hugging herself against the brisk night
air.
He shook his head no and had a sip of his drink. 
“Wired up,” he said. Which was completely true. And he did not think he could
sleep next to her right now, that was the rest of it. Not with the kind of
thoughts that were spinning around in his head. It felt profoundly wrong.
“Can I sit here with you for a bit?” she asked.
“Of course you can,” he said. He even got up and shifted his chair, to give her
more room in that cramped little balcony. What a gentleman.
They both looked out to the night, to the quiet, deserted street. He was glad
the hotel they had chosen was a little place like this. A bit like Loki’s
place. 
“What a strange evening,” she said.
Thor had a drink. Nothing to say. She was looking for an opening to talk. Thor
was not sure he wanted to give her one. He was afraid of where it may lead.
She rubbed the goose-bumps that broke over her skin when the cool night breeze
touched her arms.
“Is it always like that, with Loki?” she asked.
Thor turned his eye to her.
“Like what.”
“A… a whirlwind. I don’t think I managed to relax properly for one second
during the whole dinner. It’s like every word he says has a double meaning. And
the way he looks at people…” 
“He’s intense,” said Thor, with the tiniest smile he could manage. He fucking
adored that about Loki.
“He’s, uh, a bit exhausting."
“When you’re not used to it, I suppose he can be.” He had a sip. He did not add
his own two cents —that Loki was a live wire with unending energy and passion
and talent. That he never just looked at things, but drilled into them instead
with fascination, and set them on fire in the process, until everything shone
brighter and more vibrantly, including Thor himself. He did not say that, when
it was fixed on Thor, Loki’s intensity was not exhausting at all, but a source
of pure, thrumming electricity. He did not say his brother was the only person
in this world that made him feel alive like that. Because you do not fall into
praise over the man you’re in love with in front of your current girlfriend.
“He didn’t like me,” she said then.
Well, there wouldn’t be any old beating around the bush then. Perhaps the fact
that Thor was not taking her side was bugging her.
“You didn’t like him,” he countered.
There, she had her opening. She bit her lip, perhaps gathering some courage.
Well, she had always been brave.
“No, I did not," she said. "He planned all of this tonight. He did it on
purpose. I mean, he’s not stupid, there is no way he would have forgotten what
day it was! I don’t know what he intended, but it did not feel like an innocent
joke meant to amuse anyone. He wanted to cause mischief. And even if it was a
joke, the way he enjoyed himself seeing you so affected by it… I’m just
convinced that this is why he did it. I’m sorry because he is your brother, and
I know you love him, and you know I wanted to like him, but he just doesn’t
seem a very good person at all. He’s sneaky, deceitful and manipulative, and he
likes to hurt you and play you up. I’m sorry but no, I did not like him.”
Thor was boring into her with a hostile squint. She stared back, standing her
ground.
“You don’t know him,” said Thor at last. “You don’t know where he’s coming
from.” A bit feeble. Unconvincing, perhaps, but he could not use any of his
other, much more powerful arguments, because they were not supposed to ever see
the light of day.
“That’s true, I don’t,” agreed Jane. “I’m just describing what I saw. He knows
he has some sort of… power over you, and he uses it. He likes to make you
uncomfortable and give you a hard time. It just doesn’t seem like a very nice
thing to do to me, least of all to your own brother, especially when you have
done so much for him.”
Thor gave that some thought. 
”A hard time?” he asked, looking down.
“Yes, it was like… Like he knew your weak spots and kept poking at them. I
think he deliberately set out to dislike me and make me feel out of place. It’s
as if he was… jealous. As if he could not stand that you love anyone else. He
should be happy for you, right? And instead he was… I don’t know. He doesn’t
seem like a very healthy person to be around.”
A long silence which he spent rolling the drink in his glass.
“…Are you saying you don’t want me to see him again?” he asked, slowly, a
loaded question.
“I can’t tell you that,” said Jane. 
She was sensing the battle-lust in him, as if he was baiting her to give him
reasons to fight. That was not like Thor at all. He usually avoided arguing
with her like the plague. Was this Loki's doing too? Oh, she was angry, years
worth of frustration, of banging her head against the brick wall Thor had
turned out to be. She had never intended for this to become a settling down of
the accounts pending between them, she had not wanted to address the wider
issues tonight. But she had had enough and right now she did not fucking care.
“I just… I wish he didn’t have such a strong effect on you,” said Jane, her
tone collected, but severe. “I had thought that having him in your life again
would help you, I don’t know, focus. That the fact that there was unfinished
business with him, I mean, that you felt so guilty over what had happened in
his life, and how much you missed him, was what kept you from settling down
and… be there for me again, like you used to. And I hoped that, once you got a
good relationship again, and saw him doing well and getting on with his own
life, you would get rid of all that guilt and let yourself be happy. With me.”
A choke in her voice. “But it’s made it worse! I don’t know what else to do,
Thor. You won’t talk to me! I don’t understand!”
He gave that some thought, nursing his glass, dwarfed between his big hands.
“…You want to break up?” he asked, his words slow again, dense and heavy with
the weight of what he was saying.
Her eyes widened in dread.
“No! I want to sort it out! I want you to open up and talk to me! I don’t even
know what you think about what you’ve just said!” Her face was all anguish and
consternation. Had she really not seen this coming? 
Thor mulled this over for a long time. He looked out to the night while he said
this.
“You were hoping that me seeing Loki again would bring some kind of closure for
us both. But there can be no closure between us. It’s just not like that. Loki
and I… There is no resolving our problem, if you want to call it that. I don’t
think Loki wants it resolved either, not the way you would like. And I know I
don’t.”
She did not understand, of course. It was all gobbledygook to her, everything
vague and unspecific, a fucking riddle. 
“What does that even mean?” she said.
“It’s complicated.”
“Complicated? It’s pathological!” Angry now. “I wish you could distance
yourself a bit because… It’s as if he was in love with you or something!”
Thor smirked. He raised his gaze slowly, slowly, and looked her straight in the
eye, a strange expression on his face, loaded, full of intent. He stared and
stared and stared.
She frowned, deeper and deeper, as the pieces suddenly shifted one quarter on
themselves and started to fall into place. She started to see everything with
new eyes. Loki’s resistance to meet up with them, his instant dislike of her.
The way he had behaved all night, throwing his wonderful life and his wonderful
friends and his wonderful lover to Thor’s face. She had said it herself, he was
trying to make Thor uncomfortable. The-the flirting. That was what Loki had
been doing, flirtingwith his brother. The songs, my god… those songs…
“Oh my god.”
Thor broke eye contact and looked down to his hands, clasped tightly together.
He exhaled.
She knew. 
“Is that what it is? Really?” She was stunned, aghast. “He is really in love-in
love with you?”
He nodded. There was a brightness to his expression, a smile more in his eyes
than on his lips. He knew what he looked like right now. He looked quite happy,
and rather smug. He could not fucking help himself. Loki loved him.He loved him
enough to burn his throat raw singing it to the whole fucking room, to the
whole town.
The way she stared at him. Well, smugness was not not what one expected from
one’s boyfriend upon the revelation of some very fucked up emotional dynamics
in his family. 
Unless…
Her eyes widened, shock and horror. It was as if she had seen the Blob
advancing towards her.
 “And you…?” she gasped, breathless.
Thor nodded, once. Then he locked eyes on hers again, daring her to cast the
first stone. Because he would not take it sitting down.
She sat there gaping in silence for a long time, shell-shocked.
 “Good god. …Since when?” she said when she was able to, with a feeble wisp of
a voice.
“I can’t remember when we weren’t.”
She was unblinking, the monstrosity of it all engulfing her.
”Your own brother?” He gawked at him, maybe still hoping against hope that she
had got it wrong.
Thor sat up, back straight, head high, princely arrogance bulking him up,
making him grow. It was a quality that ran in the family, taking up more space
than they physically occupied. His parents had filled entire theatres. Loki
still did.
“Yes, my own brother,” he said after some time, defiant. It went like this.
Only Thor got to put himself down. Attack him, and he would defend himself. He
would never take it lying down, and he would most definitely not turn the other
cheek. The more appalled she was, the more brazen he would become. 
She stared at him as if she did not know him. His eyes, she could not find his
lover and companion there; they were fierce and unyielding and held no
affection at all, no warmth. He was not her man at this point. Right now, he
was on somebody else’s side, and she was on her own. More than anything else
she had heard that night, it was that look in his eyes what broke her heart.
“And have you…?” she began to say.
“Fucked? Yes” he cut her.
She turned a whiter shade of pale, her eyes broadened even more. Oh, so perhaps
that was not what she was asking then. Well, there it goes anyway.
“Your own brother…”
“Yes,” said Thor chin up, head high, eyes burning with defiance. “Always. All
my life. Since before I could understand what I felt, and everyday since. I
didn’t choose it, but I’m not ashamed of it, and I don’t regret it. I regret a
lot of things that have happened, but loving him and being with him, I don’t.” 
The fact that this was not completely true all of the time did not worry Thor
at this instant. They were not in hair-splitting territory yet. He was trying
to make a point, and he did not fucking care right now whom he crushed with
it. 
She was staggering from the sudden revelation, and she looked lost, helpless. 
His eyes were cold to her distress. Right now, he did not want to comfort her
or make her feel better. He had heard enough tonight of what she thought about
the man he loved. He had seen in her face how she felt about their love. He
could not see his woman either in that disgusted expression of hers. He saw a
foe. Thor was not one to beat himself over things that could not be helped, and
he was not one to take other people’s judgement meekly. He was not fucking
ashamed of loving Loki. He would not try and soften the blow for her, not if
that meant saying one word he would not wish Loki to hear if he was there to
hear it. He owed him that at least.
She sat there, breathing agitated, expression distraught.
“So what now?” she said. “Are you going to…?”
Thor sat in silence, refusing to lend a hand. 
“Are you going to go to him?” she asked, eventually.
He had a drink, and did not reply. He was not in the mood to discuss any plans,
or lack thereof, referring to his incestuous love for his brother. Not with the
woman who was still officially his girlfriend. 
“Was that always the problem with us?” she asked then, suddenly very small,
arms wrapped around herself, the silky wide sleeves of her robe undulating in
the faint breeze, beautiful too in her dejection.
“Yes,” said Thor. He really was done with confusions and misunderstandings and
half-truths and white lies. "It's always been him."
Her face was not disgusted anymore, nor angry. She looked forlorn.
It was over.
The fight left Thor as quickly as it had seized him. He sighed deeply, as the
immense sadness of it all started to take over him. That was his Jane there.
That he had always loved Loki was not the only truth she deserved to hear
tonight. 
“Out of all the people in this world that aren’t him,” he said, “you are the
only person I have ever wanted to try it with. I had never even considered it
with anyone else.” He looked at her lovely, delicate face, mourning her
already. “I wanted for it to work. I would have liked it if it had worked
between us.”
She said nothing. Not tonight, but some day, he hoped it might make her feel
better about all this. She did not deserve to suffer over his mess ups, and he
wished there was something he could say or do to ease the feeling of betrayal,
grief and abandonment she must be feeling. But all his apologies would never
make it better, so he saved them. He would not ask for forgiveness. She was
entitled to hate him if she so wished. He would suffer it gladly if that was
what she needed right now. It was the least he could do.
Perhaps one day, they would be able to talk about this. Perhaps then he would
tell her how sorry he was. Perhaps that day, he would ask her to forgive him. 
“Did you ever really love me?” she asked, with a threadbare whisper.
Thor’s brow scrunched deep, his heart breaking. He rubbed a heavy hand to his
eyes and face. That she had come to doubt that. Shit, he was not a bad person.
Why must he always hurt the people he loved the most? 
“Yes I did,” he said. “Very much.”
“But even in those times, you… longed for Loki?”
Thor sighed. If he was her friend and not her… ex-boyfriend, probably, he would
advise her not to poke in the wound like that, and stop asking horrible
questions. As a friend, he would refuse to answer them. As a boyfriend, he did
not think he had the right to deny her what she wanted to know.
“Yes.” A drink. “But I thought it was impossible.”
“And now?”
He downed the rest of his drink. That was not for her to ask.
 
 
                                       *
 
The break up had been civil in the end. Nobody rose their voices, nobody
screamed, nothing was broken. Her eyes were cold and resentful on him as he
packed up his things. It was all so fucking sad.  
About the move, Coulson had asked Thor if he wanted him to prepare a press
release. Thor had said no. When the noises started, that’s when they would come
out with the break up. They were not to start the noise. That would give him a
few weeks of peace. 
 
Thor received an envelope with two tickets to the opening night of M.Butterfly
in his new apartment in L.A. Loki had sent them to Coulson’s P.O. Box. The
seats were central, right by the stage. He decided he would offer the second
one to someone outside the theatre, on the street.
 
On the plane to New York, his thoughts spun around themselves again and again.
He did not have a clue what he had to do. He wanted to do what was right by
Loki. He had acted with his heart once and he… he very nearly fucking killed
him, was not that what it came down to in the end? He wanted him, so he took
him, and damn the consequences. He had wanted to swear to him things he knew
were impossible, and he did, thinking perhaps that, if he wished it hard
enough, they would come true. He broke Loki’s heart. He betrayed him. He took
him and then he let him slip through his fingers. He didn’t mean to cause harm,
but did that change that he caused it?
Nothing had changed between them. They were still brothers, and that would
never change. It was as hopeless between them as it had always been. But he
wanted to sit down with Loki and talk. They had never done that. If he was able
to tell Loki how he felt, and tell him his reasons, and explain why he was
choosing to stay away, maybe they would find some peace, and get over it, and…
Fuck, he did not want to stay away. 
Yes, but it’s not about what you fucking want, Odinson.It was not even what
Loki wanted. It was about doing what was right by his brother, for once in his
fucking life. 
Fuck. 
He would go to him, and sit down, and talk to him, and fucking go home and cry
for the rest of his fucking life, and then one day they would get over it. And
Loki would find a man who was not afraid of… showing the world how much he
fucking loved him. Because even if his brother thought it was ok to be
someone’s dirty secret, Thor knew it was not. Not in the short run, not in the
long run. That would never make Loki happy and healthy. It was not what Thor
wanted to give him, not what Loki deserved. And it was the only option, right?,
the only thing he could promise, the only thing he had to give. More secrets,
more lies. He was done with that. 
Thor spent most of the trip wiping the tears as they kept coming, before they
could swell and fall. 
 
                                       *
 
At the theatre, they let him through to the backstage because they knew who he
was. An assistant with a board and an earpiece led him to Loki’s dressing room.
She knocked and opened the door one sliver.
“Mr. Laufeyson, your brother is here to see you,” she said.
There was a mumble inside that Thor did not catch. The assistant smiled at him
politely and let him through the door.
Thor was confronted with a strange vision of colours, lights and mirrors. The
sumptuous costumes Loki was to wear hanging on a clothes-rail at one side,
silks and brocades in red, gold, jade green, white, sunflower yellow, —a smart,
black, out-dated male suit incongruous there among them—, and an explosion of
flowers and bouquets on the other side. And his brother in the middle of it
all, half-way through the process of becoming a dan, in front of the huge,
wall-to-wall mirror that doubled up the brightness in the room. 
Thor stood there, out of words, out of breath. Loki’s face was masked in
unblemished white, his eyelids infused with pink that radiated down his cheeks
in a mist, thick black lines marking his eyes, his lips chrysanthemum red, his
hair in a complicated do decorated with hanging beads and extremely long,
arched feathers. He looked softer, younger, and exquisitely artificial, like
something that belonged in a hothouse or in a dream.
He was looking at Thor with apprehension and a sheepish gaze, but Thor barely
registered it.
“Wow,” is all Thor lamely managed, after a very long time. “Wow.”
Loki smiled. A small, closed-lip, demure smile.
“You look incredible,” said Thor.
Loki scrunched his face in frustration and displeasure.
“I look like a fucking drag queen. I’m too tall. My nose is too fucking big for
this, and my face too… sharp. I should be all round-faced and little and
sweet.” He huffed, irritated. “I really am not the best man for this. But
anyway, too fucking late, right? Good news is, nobody out there has seen
anything anywhere near real Beijing Opera so at least there is that… I still
have to sing a bit of two fucking arias from Madame Butterfly though. Jesus,
why did I agree to this.” He could not rub his face like he seemed aching to
do, so he worried at the sleeve of his bathrobe instead. He looked wretched.
Thor had never in his life seen Loki insecure on opening night. Nervous,
excited, anxious even. Insecure? 
He kneeled down in front of him and held his hands. Loki observed him from
under a frown, eyes from Thor’s hands to his eyes. He was still uneasy with
him, Thor was still not making sense of why. 
“You’ll be alright. You’ll be perfect,” said Thor, gripping his hands tight.
“What did mum always say?”
Loki smirked, looked to their clasped hands.
“Know your lines.” A smile that was a pinch wider broke through the scowl. “I
know my lines,” he said.
Thor squeezed Loki’s hands in his. “You’ll be perfect.”
Loki looked up to him, and his expression under all that make-up took Thor back
to shooting The Secret Garden. Loki had been terrified of dad, convinced that
he would disappoint him. Thor remembered losing patience with Loki at the time.
“Stop whining. Why do you care so much what he thinks?” As if he had not cared
just as much. They just expressed it differently. Thor got cockier, Loki turned
in on himself.
Thor beamed at his brother, stroked his hands.
“I would give you a hug, but I’d fuck up your make-up,” he said, and kissed
Loki’s hands instead. 
Loki met his eyes and swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing quickly in his long,
white throat. The white mask of make-up cut a line across it. Loki was baffled
now, at a loss. He did not understand what was happening.
“Where’s Jane?” he said, glancing towards the door.
“She’s not here,” said Thor. And nothing else. There would be time to talk, but
not before the show. “Are you alright?”
“Hm.” Eyes shut tight for a blink. “I think it’s the most difficult thing I’ve
ever done.”
One last hand squeeze, a warm smile on Thor’s face that softened the tension in
Loki’s brow one smidge, and Thor stood up.
“I guess you’ll have a big opening night party and the works later, but…” he
started.
“You can come,” cut Loki in, quickly.
Thor smiled.
“I’m going to be a few days in town. Maybe we can talk?” he asked. There had
been a mixture of hope and sadness in there, Thor himself had noticed it. Loki
would not even know where to start to untangle and make sense of it. He pulled
a small frown, bit the smallest pinch of the inside flesh of his lip, where the
lipstick did not reach. He was confused, searching Thor’s face, trying to read
him and figure out what his thoughts and intentions were. It was unfortunate.
He needed all his concentration and focus now.
“You’re not mad at me?” said Loki, finally, anxious.
Thor’s smile swelled with love at that. Loki. 
There was no time for this.
“I’ll see you later,” said Thor, with a little grin. He looked at him, putting
everything he had in his eyes. Then he winked at him. “Break a leg.”
Loki smiled with just his eyes, dazzling bright.
Thor shut the door behind him and exhaled. 
 
                                       *
 
“Butterfly… butterfly.”
Lights off. Curtain.
It started with a rumour and it ended up bringing the house down. Thundering
applause.
Lights on, spell broken. The actors took the stage, beaming, all friends again.
A bow. Whistles and louder applause. Another bow. Another.
The play was heartbreaking, horrific, cruel. Nobody was nice, nobody was
likeable. Up until the very end, it was impossible to feel empathy for any of
the characters. And then, in the last few instants, the sad, miserable humanity
of it all became overwhelming and crushed the soul.
Song appeared in the very first scene, an object of adoration that Gallimard
longed for, dancing in full traditional Chinese costume to the music that
sounded so strange to Thor’s ears, eerily evocative and entrancing. Loki’s
movements so fluid, his muscle control impeccable. That was Loki the ballet
dancer right there, smooth as a column of flowing water. It had left Thor glued
to his seat. Him and the whole theatre.
Song had a quick tongue, a quick brain, and an aggressiveness that was Loki
through and through. His transformation into the fantasy passive, submissive,
virginal, devoted little woman hurt to watch. And yes, fuck, Thor felt ashamed
of it, what with the fucking theme of the play and all, but it was also a
fucking turn-on. Loki managed to make himself look smaller, lither, weaker, and
then grow again at the end, when he appeared as a man, in a suit, hair in a
sleek ponytail and clean face, except for the very light make-up aimed to give
him a vaguely Asian appearance, without turning it into a joke.
In his last scene, Song undressed to nothing, slowly, enticingly, and then left
the stage chased away by Gallimard, with not a lot on. Thor had squirmed and
wiggled in his seat, as discretely as he could (which was not that much when
one is 6.4" and his width) trying to do something to accommodate and conceal
his boner. Loki had quickly redressed for the curtain calls, but his shirt was
still half undone at the neck, his hair loose and messed up. To Thor, he looked
fucking ravished. Not helping, thought Thor, not helping at all.
Standing ovations for the key performers. Kevin had been tremendous. His
Gallimard was stupid, despicable, weak spirited and pathetic, and then at the
last minute, intensely human and painfully tragic, rising above himself to
heroic martyrdom with the rare, untainted purity of his love in a world of
muck, full of earthworms devoid of heart and imagination.
Thor saw Loki flinch and quiver when Kevin pushed him gently to the front of
the stage to claim his own applause, as if he feared that, if he got singled
out from the rest of the ensemble, it would turn to booing. 
“Bravo! Bravo!” The applause grew stronger still. Loki looked… overwhelmed, a
deer caught in the headlights. Kevin’s hand was at Loki’s back, stroking
warmly, and then applauding Loki himself, a proud smile on his face. Loki took
a bow, and the audience managed to crank the noise up another notch. Thor’s
hands were aching. 
He deserved it. Loki’s Song operated on three different planes, and they were
patent to the audience at all times: the performance he put up for them, the
one he put on for Gallimard, and the one he put on for himself. And it all
crumbled down devastatingly in his last scene, when in arrogance and resentment
he threw the lie to Gallimard’s face, undressing, leaving no room for the lie
to hide anymore, and he challenged his lover. “You still adore me.”  Then
Gallimard laughed at him and turned him away, his cackles cold and hollow in
the completely silent theatre, and the pain on Song’s face was even more
poignant, casting a new light on Loki’s whole performance throughout the play.
It wasn’t just shock and humiliation there, it was heartbreak. While Song had
made a show of remaining cynical and aloof, at this moment he could not hide
anymore that he had hoped. It had all been on Loki’s face, there and not there
in an instant, so damn powerful that a muted gasp had risen from the stalls.
Last curtain call. Flowers were brought in. The director stepped out to receive
his own applause, and then congratulate and embrace his actors. 
Meanwhile, Loki looked for Thor in the first row, found him, and smiled with
wet eyes. Thor touched an imaginary hat and bowed to him, his insanely talented
brother, too fucking good for this world.
 
 
 
Down in the backstage, the party was at Kevin’s place. Loki’s dressing room was
at the end of the corridor, a cul-de-sac, and the area was quiet. Thor heard
someone say Loki was having a shower. 
The corridor was crowded, attention turned towards Kevin’s room where they had
all congregated. Thor walked pass, nobody stopped him. He spotted Tony and
Natasha, but they did not notice him.
He let himself in the room. 
Loki was naked, towelling his hair. He turned to face him.
His eyes, wide and vibrant with surprise.
Thor could not fucking think. He strode towards him like a wrecking ball. Loki
dropped the towel, recoiled one step as if in fear, his back met the wall. Thor
crowded him there, chest heaving, brain fogged with lust. He managed to stop
himself for a moment, for a glimmer of clear thought to spark up, commanding
with the weakest, most pathetic voice to turn back. 
Loki hurled himself at him and kissed him, and that was his last chance gone.
He returned the kiss like the world was ending tonight, hands around Loki’s
neck, Loki’s hands frenetic in his clothes, in his fly, forceful tugs pushing
his trousers down. He heard Loki panting and whimpering, felt him getting hard
against him. He smelled of soap and of himself. Thor buried his face in Loki’s
neck to saturate his senses with it. And all the time, Loki’s breaths and gasps
and his heat. He bit into his flesh. He heard Loki laugh madly. Loki grabbed
Thor’s hand, until then still around his neck, and roughly thrusted Thor’s
fingers into his own mouth. His face, god, his tongue, the wet heat, the scrape
of teeth. Loki’s mouth. 
Then Loki’s hand on his cock, Loki’s thighs trying to climb him. Thor held his
arse to help him up and crushed him between the wall and his own body, hands
clenching firmly on Loki’s long, strong thighs. His cock was nudging hard in
the cleft of his brother’s arse. He held Loki’s hips with a solid grip and
pulled him close, to feel Loki’s cock against him. He took himself in hand and
lined himself up.
“You can’t… fuck me dry, Thor,” panted Loki, kissing his throat, his ear,
driving him fucking insane. “You’ll rip me apart.”
That sobered Thor up, froze him cold.
What are you fucking doing.
He had stopped, chest heaving, head light.
Loki reared his head back to look at him. Thor wanted to fucking die. He
started to put Loki down.
“No, no, no, no, no!” Loki clung onto him, claws dipping deep in the flesh of
Thor’s neck, trying to capture him in a kiss once again.
Thor grabbed his wrists and removed him, his own limbs feeling heavy and
uncooperative.
Loki’s eyes. He was devastated, brokenhearted. He did not understand.
Thor backed away, slowly, panting with more than frustrated arousal, his throat
choked and burning. He walked back until he met the opposite wall. He scrubbed
his face hard.
“I can’t… baby, I can’t do this.”
Loki’s face, agony and spite and hatred. Thor shut his eyes tight. He could not
bear his gaze on him like that.
A smash, sudden, strident, made Thor jolt up, forced him to open his eyes. Loki
had hurled a bottle of champagne against the wall. 
Loki’s expression was one of vicious scorn.
“Let me explain,” said Thor, raising his hand in supplication.
“I don’t want to hear it,” said Loki, cutting.
“Please, baby,” Thor choked out, his voice thick.
 
Knock knock.
 
“Loki?”
Loki stared Thor down with contempt and hostility.
“Romanov,” he said, collected. “Give me a second.” He flicked with his eyes to
Thor’s state of disarray. 
Shit, he hadn’t even finished pulling his fucking pants up. He sorted himself
out with clumsy, shaky hands. Loki’s eyes on him were pinning him down like an
insect. 
Loki was a fucking picture. His mouth flushed pink and swollen, his wet hair
messed up in all directions, a blush of red around his neck, between his white
thighs, fucking fingerprints on his white butt. And Thor’s mouth, no less
puffed and ravaged. There was no fucking doubt what had just happened here.
Thor did not give a fuck what it looked like. All he cared for was to get away
from the burn of Loki’s eyes.
He passed Natasha without a look or a word on his way out.
 
                                       *
 
 
Loki sat himself down on a chair, back slumped, bare arse on the cold metal
bringing his cock down almost instantly, not like a dead weight, but close
enough. He spotted Natasha on the threshold, out of the corner of his eye, but
didn’t face her. 
Natasha walked inside the room putting one foot in front of the other gingerly,
as if treading on a minefield. 
Loki saw himself in the mirror. What a pathetic, miserable wreck he was.
“Wasn’t that Thor? Your brother, Thor?” she asked, carefully.
Loki hm-hmm’d. Natasha frowned.
“Tell me I’m imagining things.”
Loki reached for his pants on the clothes-horse.
“You’re imagining things.” He didn’t even try.
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     It hurts me more than it hurts you.
***** Chapter 13 *****
Chapter Summary
     Hm. The aftermath. Warning for extreme fucking up on both sides,
     including third persons.
     It would seem this author doesn't fucking learn, does she?
Chapter Notes
     I do what I want, Thor!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
“Come on,” said Natasha, once Loki was dressed and ready. “I’m taking you
home.”
“What about the party?” asked Loki. He might be angry and wired up, but he was
a professional. And a grown up, or so they told him. Responsibilities and all
that.
“Do you want to go to the party?” said Natasha, all business.
“Hell, no,” said Loki.
“Then leave it to me.”
 
On the taxi, they were quiet for a long time. 
“Is Thor Odinson a problem?” she asked, when they were a couple of streets away
from the house.
Loki chuckled bitterly for a long time. She didn’t ask again.
 
Once inside the house, she followed him right in and stood there with crossed
arms, still and observing.
“Suicide watch won’t be necessary, Romanov,” said Loki, his back to her,
pouring himself a glass of wine.
“I didn’t think it was,” she said. “An explanation, though, would be welcome.”
Loki turned to her, assessing her expression, that little pout he had a
weakness for.
“How long has this been going on?” she asked. 
“There’s nothing going on,” he snapped.
“Loki,” she warned.
He studied her face. That vertical crease in her brow, he was very familiar
with. It had been there when he gave her the full disclosure on his past, when
she asked to be “briefed on all she needed to know to do her job effectively”.
It was thoughtful, had a tinge of worry, but was mostly about weighing risks
and considering options. Loki wondered whether she would hold it against him
that he had left such a fucking big part of his life out of that brief.
“I can’t prepare for this unless I know what I’m dealing with,” she said. 
“There’s nothing to prepare for, Romanov.” It came out as a grumble. He was
aware of the grimace that had just crossed his face. “There is nothing, full
stop.”
“That’s not what it looks like, and that’s not how it feels,” she countered.
She would not let it lie, would she?
Loki felt his lips tremble, his eyes stinging. Hell, no, not that, and not in
front of her.
“Well, ask him then!” he roared, hurling the glass across the room. It
shattered on the floor. “Because I sure as fuck don’t have a fucking clue!”
Natasha had barely flinched. Which was both irritating and oddly calming. 
Not that there was any calming Loki, not for a while yet. With rage and hurt
soaking his brain, he was done with caution, secrecy and dissimulation.
“He wants me, he doesn’t want me, I don’t fucking know!” he roared. “He can’t
make up his own fucking mind!” He started to pace the room, wishing he could
break more things. If only he wasn’t renting… Damn! When did he become a bloody
grown up?
“…Are you in love with him?” asked Natasha.
Just like that. 
It froze Loki on the spot. Not for long though.
“I fucking hate him!!” he screamed.
Again, Natasha did not flinch and did not show any particular reaction of
alarm, just cool, collected concern. Her silence pulled the words out of his
mouth as surely as if she had them tied to a string.
"And him?" she asked.
“Him? He’s a fucking coward!” shouted Loki, pacing, pacing, his breathing
increasingly difficult. “He obviously doesn’t fucking love me enough!”
He crumbled. Tears started falling, sobs shaking his lanky frame. He hid his
face behind his hands, rubbing much too hard. The make-up girl would fucking
adore him tomorrow. Shit! And all over that sodding blond beefcake he could not
fucking rid himself from! 
He stomped to the bathroom, locked himself up there, and splashed his face with
water as cool as he could get it. After a while of this treatment, his chest
still caved in with the urge of sobbing, but tears had been cut off. He toyed
with the idea of never getting out of the toilet again. He pictured his own
skeleton lying in the bathtub, covered in parchment-thin skin, nails curled on
themselves, hair to his ankles.
But, yeah, no. Grown up, remember? Get some fucking balls, Laufeyson.
 
When he walked back into the sitting room, he heard the whistle of the kettle.
He drifted to the kitchen, eyes low, breathing thick and shivery. Natasha’s
phone was on the worktop, next to the two mugs in which she was brewing his
best Sencha (he could tell by the fragrance.)
“Sigyn will be here tomorrow around midday,” she announced, discarding the
light mesh infusers. 
“I don’t need a fucking nurse,” he grunted.
“No, you need your friend,” she countered.
A long silence. He wanted Sigyn right here right now so very much. But it was
bloody annoying how ready and eager everyone in his life was to leave whatever
they were doing and come to mollycoddle him, at the drop of a fucking hat! He
was not a goddamn baby! —No, idiot, he told himself, you’re a nutter. They
think this is a medical emergency, make no fucking mistake.
“I’m a professional,” he said, chin up. “This is not going to get in the way of
the play, if that’s what you’re worrying about.”
“No, that’s not what worries me right now,” she said. She blew on the boiling
tea, her pout even poutier. “I know how seriously you take your job. But you’re
in pain and you need a kind of support you will not take from anyone but her.”
Loki huffed, suddenly exhausted. 
“You’re not even a bit shocked about this?” he asked, in dismay.
Natasha shrugged.
“It is what it is,” she said, philosophically, and she took a small sip. She
winced with the burn. So, she was human after all.
 
 
                                       *
 
 
Natasha left in the morning, leaving him with a cup of coffee on the table next
to him, and a heavy look he tried to sustain, but didn’t quite manage.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” she said, from the hallway. 
 
He had been perching on the armchair then, wrapped up in a quilt, and he was
still there when Sigyn knocked on his door, hours later.
“I don’t want to talk,” was the very first thing Loki said to her, after seven
hours on an airplane, plus a couple more in Gatwick, plus another decent hour
travelling from the JFK. What a fucking charmer, eh? 
“So don’t,” she said. 
He resumed his self-pitying exercises on the armchair, nested in the quilt.
She made some tea, finding her way around the kitchen with very few glitches,
and then sat cross-legged on the couch, and stretched her neck. She whipped out
her mobile and phoned her mum, reported she had arrived and everything was
fine. Then she phoned her dad and finally the hospital. Then she started
scrolling. She must have gone on Tumblr or something. 
A quiet period of time ensued in this manner, Sigyn busy, Loki sulking. 
Soon enough, he was feeling pretty stupid.
“Where’s Minnie?” he said.
“At my mum’s,” she answered, with a little smile, eyes on the screen.
Loki rubbed his brow, trying to ease the strain. He had slept dismally and he
had to make for the theatre in a few hours. He really wasn’t feeling up to
anything right now, but the show must go on, right? Fuck!
And just then, bang on cue, ping! the umpteenth fucking message of the day.
Loki did not even check it. He knew perfectly well who it was. He grabbed the
phone and threw it against the wall, where it made a satisfying crackle of
broken glass.
“I know what I’m getting you for Christmas then,” said Sigyn, eyes still on the
screen.
Loki growled, looked out the window towards the Hopperish red-brick façade. His
stomach was grumbling. He had deprived himself of food all day, of course,
because he was moping, and in this state one should not do base, positive
things such as eating, lest one’s mood should improve before running a full,
satisfying course of intense dejection.
A thought crossed his mind then.
“Has he contacted you?” he asked her.
“Yes.”
He eyed her with a wary squint.
“What have you told him?”
“That I’m here now and he doesn’t need to worry," said Sigyn, with a nice,
untroubled grin.
Loki took a moment to consider that, while he showed some teeth.
“What did he say?”
“He said that he wants to talk to you.”
”I don’t want to fucking see him ever again,” snarled Loki.
“I’ll tell him,” said Sigyn, as if he just sent his regards.
Loki kept his scowl firmly set in place.
“What did Natasha tell you?” he asked.
“That Thor came to see you after the play, there had been some sort of
altercation in your dressing room (her words), and that you were in a lot of
distress.”
“Nothing else?”
Sigyn shook her head.
Loki’s lip remained twisted in a bitter grimace. He opened his mouth to start
talking, but his throat choked up tight. Apparently, he wasn’t ready to open up
just yet.
Sigyn stopped staring at him. She finished whatever it was she had been doing
on the phone, stood up and made for the kitchen, with a detour to kiss his head
first. 
He heard her clanking some pots. After peace and quiet returned, she appeared
on the threshold, leaning against the door frame.
“I’m making pasta,” she said. “Garlic and oil alright?”
Loki was hungry. And tired. 
“No garlic,” he said. “I’m sure Monsieur Gallimard would not appreciate it.”
She smirked and went back into the kitchen.
The moment the pasta went in the water, along with a bay leaf, the smell
started to spread around the house, plain and hearty and mouthwatering. 
Loki sighed. What a fucking idiot he was. A self-centred, obnoxious,
overdramatic diva, who for some reason had been granted friends he would never
deserve. 
He got himself up on his feet, still wrapped up in the quilt, dragging it
behind him like a makeshift cape. He shuffled unsteadily to the kitchen, with a
light head. Fuck, he had forgotten his meds.
When Sigyn spotted him, she smiled and carried on grating long shavings of hard
cheese. There were whiffs of fragrant steam in the air from the pasta. Loki
collapsed on a chair, hoping the burn in his throat would stay under control as
he told his tale. 
“He came to see me before the play, and he wasn’t angry at me about the party,”
he began, hoarse from pushing his voice through the urge to scream and bawl.
“He was… he was very sweet, and he looked at me like… Shit, I don’t know. And
Jane wasn’t there, I don’t know where she was. And after the play he came into
the dressing room again and… He had that look on him, the ‘I’m going to fuck
you against the wall’ look. And we kissed and… Fuck.” He rubbed his eyes hard.
He was absolutely determined, not one fucking tear more, not one. “He was going
to fuck me, I mean, we were there, but then he stopped and… I don’t know what
the hell happened there, Sigyn, I just don’t.” 
Sigyn gave that some thought, as was her manner. She checked her watch and
headed for the stove. She turned it off, drained the pasta, served it, drizzled
both portions with oil and sprinkled on some salt and herbs. She put one plate
in front of Loki, one on her spot, got the cutlery, and sat down in front of
him. 
“…Have you thought about asking him?” she said, twirling a mouthful of
spaghetti around her fork.
Loki squinted at her with green, malicious eyes.
“Are you kidding me?” he growled. "Too fucking good for him."
She swallowed her mouthful.
“If punishing him you punish yourself, what’s the point?”
“The point is he can go fuck himself, that’s the point!” he roared, and he very
nearly did something unforgivable with that full plate of food her friend had
just kindly prepared for him. “He’s fucking scared, that’s what it is,” he
groaned. “He’s scared about the scandal and about ruining his career. The same
fucking story all our lives. He wants to be a fucking movie star more than he
wants to be with me. That’s all there is to it.” He could feel tears welling up
in his eyes and he did not have a chance to stop them. “I can’t fucking believe
I actually had hopes. Haven’t I learned anything?” 
“I’m not excusing him,” said Sigyn softly. “I just think that your brother is
not a bad person. If you could understand what went on better, you could deal
with it better, that's all.”
“Yeah, fuck, as if I’m going to sit down and listen to the same fucking shit
all over again, just so he can feel better about himself.”
Sigyn shrugged.
“It’s up to you.”
They ate in silence.
 
A full stomach made Loki’s mood less volatile at least. When she curled up on
the couch for a nap (she had had an early morning after all), with ‘Murder She
Wrote’ in a low humdrum on the telly, he ended up sliding behind her, big
spoon, the familiar scent of her shampoo and the citrussy perfume she wore as
soothing as the smell of home. She tangled their hands together. 
He also needed a nap. He did his best to get one.
 
She went along with him to the theatre, and they found her an empty seat. She
had her own ticket for a few weeks later, when she had managed to arrange a
full week off work to visit him, but when Loki mentioned it, wondering what was
happening now with those plans, she said “I’m sure I’ll want to see it again.”
 
Loki was a professional, but unfortunately, as it turned out, also human; his
performance was, indeed, affected by his personal circumstances this time. On
his second night, Song’s dancing moves were far from perfect (not that he
thought anyone but his coach would notice), and he was particularly vicious,
particularly contemptuous of Gallimard, his reveal more aggressive than
enticing —trying to kill his heart there, not fan his passion; there were
indeed tears when Gallimard turned him away, but they were tears of fury: and
finally, Song’s quiet contemplation of his lover’s suicide was that of a spider
or another creature without a heart. 
Applause was thunderous again. Loki took a step forward to claim his due with
less hesitation that night. He stared at the indistinct sea of faces, as people
kept getting up on their feet for a standing ovation, and try as he might, he
was not warmed by it. You people just don’t fucking know, he wanted to shout at
them. I was all over the fucking place tonight. You just like the fucking
drama. Go watch Jeremy Kyle or something. Stop with the flattery. I earned none
of it.
 
Loki cried in the shower, like a worn-out cliché. He was seething with anger,
at Thor, at the world, mainly at himself. He made a scathing remark in his own
head about ‘these artistic types’ that sounded so much like his father, he even
heard it in Odin’s voice.
There were knocks on the door while he towelled his hair distractedly, and his
heart skipped a beat because… because he was pathetic, that’s why. It was
fucking Gallimard he should be playing. He was the fucking idiot who would
happily die over a fucking fantasy, right? Maybe not happily. Damn, he was
crying again. 
Sigyn came in and wrapped him in her arms without one word. He slumped on the
metal chair, naked as the day he was born, and she held him as his shoulders
shook and his whole body ached with it. Natasha was on the threshold, he had
spotted her flaming red hair out of the corner of his eye. 
He wondered what they made of him, big, stupid cry baby. 
All this fucking drama. Over what.
 
Sigyn laid with him on his bed, petting his hair. He mumbled more self-pitying
babble for some time, but soon enough he was boring himself out of his mind,
and he asked about her work. She entertained him and enlightened him with
stories of people who suffered, of the bizarre, unexpected ways an ailing mind
manifested its mysteries, and the new programs they were trying to bring these
people comfort and some relief, and the ones she had been reading about. She
sounded excited. 
Loki looked at her round face, those dimples on her cheeks that popped so
quickly with her easy smile. He kissed her forehead. She grinned, and he tried
to grin back.
“Sleep” she said.
He closed his eyes and tried.
 
 
 
 
He had learned he did not so much overcome things as he got used to them just
being there, burrowing inside him like a dormant parasite. Same thing really,
he supposed.
Sigyn left the next evening, and Natasha resumed her duties as watcher and
guardian, diligently and with not many words. She did not insist that he talked
to Thor. Clever girl.
Loki carried on with his work. Song remained quite vicious, but eventually he
began to feel he had control over his performance again. He enjoyed going to
that place in his mind, gutting Gallimard night after night, and every time he
had to exit the stage with tears of pain and humiliation, it grated a bit less.
Talk about catharsis. 
He was less suspicious of the audience’s praise and applause, but he realised
how stiffly he took his bows still, how hard his eyes when he smiled. 
Fucking Thor, and fuck himself. How brilliant they had always been at turning
everything they touched into bile and ash.
 
 
 
                                  *    *    *
                                        
                                        
                                        
(3 months later.)
 
New Year’s Eve at Chez Stark. 
Thor had four pairs of jeans, five shirts and three sweaters on the bed,
waiting for him to make a decision. He did not even know why he was trying so
hard. Chances were, Loki would turn up, see him there, and leave. He would
certainly not stop to comment on Thor’s bloody outfit.
And yet. 
He settled for faded blue jeans, old and snug, white shirt, cream bulky knitted
jacket with a snuggly collar. He looked softer like that, Loki used to say. He
had said something once about him wearing knitted jumpers… In Iceland. Fuck.
Hair up or hair down? He was growing it again. He had finished shooting for The
Cold Six Thousand a few weeks ago. He was on for Master and Commander 2 next. 
Loki had said once he liked the bun. He also used to weave his fingers through
Thor’s hair in the throes of passion, and pull. Damn, his insides stirred. It’s
not like you’re trying to woo him, Odinson, is it? Fuck. He was such a fucking
mess. Hair down.
Loki had not answered one single message, had not picked up one single phone
call. Thor had contemplated calling from a different mobile (Tony had suggested
it) but he refused to sneak up on Loki.
Look at him now, getting ready for an ambush. How the mighty have fallen. 
He talked to Sigyn often. She did not tell him much or give him details —she
was loyal—, just what she felt Thor needed to know to keep him from worrying
himself to a burn mark in the carpet. 
He went to see the play again, and he noticed a considerable difference. Song’s
hatred so pure at times, coming off in waves. It had made Thor flinch in his
seat, feeling it all aimed at him.
Yes, a month ago he had refused to sneak up on Loki and treasonably force him
to face him, because he had no right and all that malarkey. But let’s be honest
here, what had kept him so strong and pure in his resolve was the unarticulated
hope that Loki would relent and agree to hear him out. Why had he ever believed
that, knowing how bloody stubborn his baby brother was, he had no idea, and it
was a testament only to the wreck Thor had become, and to how much he was now
living on wishful thinking.
By now, Thor had lost his faith. Not to mention a good deal of his sleep and
his appetite. So, when Tony had suggested the New Years’ Eve party at the top
of his Manhattan tower, Thor had been too desperate not to jump into it with
both feet. 
Which is how he had ended up sitting all stiff on the edge of one of Tony’s
leather couches, with a beer, bouncing one leg anxiously, waiting for Loki, who
had not been informed that Thor would be there. He was surrounded by fancy
people clustered in groups, some talking, some dancing, most flirting, and he
had never felt like such an outsider in a social situation ever before in his
life. 
 
When Loki finally walked in, Thor sprung up in his seat. He watched across the
single-space penthouse as his brother got rid of that majestic black leather
and grey furry collared coat he had seen him wear in London. He looked luscious
underneath, in deep green leather pants, clunky motorist boots, a chunky
knitted black turtleneck, his hair up in a perfectly studied messy bun, kohl on
his eyes, black nails and lipstick. He was like a creature from another time or
another planet. The very colour of the walls had changed when he had stepped
into the room, things had turned sharper and brighter. You’re so fucked,
Odinson, Thor told himself. You have every fucking symptom in the book, and
then some. 
Loki spotted him from across the room. There was a frown there, and a tumble of
emotions in quick succession that Thor was simply not able to untangle. He
waited with apprehension, holding his breath. What would his brother do. Thor
expected at any moment a dramatic spin and Loki walking away in a flurry of
anger. 
But there was none of that. Loki’s expression turned impenetrable under a light
smirk, and he swaggered leisurely to where Thor was sitting, long, graceful
strides. Thor’s heart pounded in his chest. Loki did not rush it. He took a
second to say hello and dole some kisses to acquaintances as he encountered
them, stole a glass of champagne when a waiter with a tray zoomed by, and
sauntered for the last few steps with his eyes boring hard and flaming on a
very, very jittery Thor.
“Don’t get up,” said Loki, interrupting Thor’s movement before it started. 
“There he is,” said Tony, just in time, returning with a drink of his own.
“Everything alright over here?”
“Perfectly fine,” said Loki, his tone artificially light, ringing hollow. “Life
is too short to waste it holding grudges, isn’t it?” 
“Right,” said Tony, his expression saying he thought this had been way too
easy. Which is what Thor was thinking as well.
“Do you mind if I sit here?” said Loki, a tiny smirk on his face, eyes drilling
on Thor’s.
“Of course not,” said Thor, beginning to shift to one side to make room for
him.
Loki flopped unceremoniously on Thor’s lap, his hard, tight arse crushing
Thor’s crotch.
Oomph.
Tony raised an eyebrow, but he obviously believed he knew enough of Loki not to
be confounded at most of what he did. So he sat down beside them. 
As for Thor, he was stunned, and squashed. He tried to get Loki to shift with
discretion.
“Sorry, am I too heavy?” Loki wiggled. Right against his…
Thor gasped. That had been deliberate. He frowned and threw Loki a glower.
Yes, of course it had been too easy. That’s because it wasn’t over. Loki hadn’t
even bloody started yet. He sat sideways, legs on Tony’s lap, and they both
started to exchange some gossip which completely flew over Thor’s head. 
Because his brain wasn’t fucking in it, his blood steadily abandoning the upper
reaches and flowing south. Loki was a fucking fidget, always had been, the
tough muscles of his butt fucking massaging Thor every time he moved. And he
did not stop bloody moving. He had one arm around Thor’s neck for balance and
he was drinking champagne from the glass in his other hand. He kept throwing
his head back, to drink or to laugh as he talked with Tony, his throat just
fucking there, his smell. He kept grinding and rubbing on Thor. And he had to
have noticed his hard-on,of course he had. Because that was the fucking point
of the exercise. 
Grin and fucking-…ah, damn, bear it, Odinson. His pulse was up, he felt short
of breath, and he should fucking dismount his baby brother right this minute
but… oh, fuck, do that again. …No, I mean, don’t fucking do that…
 “Should you be drinking with your meds?” Thor grunted, his voice thick.
“Now you’re suddenly a medical expert?” said Loki, with a smirk and a minute
hip roll refined to do the utmost damage with the least expenditure of energy.
Well, he had fucking done that for a living once, didn’t he?
Enough of this.
“Tony, do you mind?” Thor said then, thinking he had to get back at least some
measure of control over the situation. “I need to talk to…”
“And who is that?” cut Loki, eyeballing someone by the bar. 
“Erik Lensherr,” said Tony. “A jerk.”
“Well, well, well,” purred Loki appreciatively, running his gaze over Mr.
Lensherr from head to toe, and then back. “The fuck-me-against-the-wall-type,”
he mused. And then Mr. Lensherr turned to face them, and Loki's eyebrows shot
up. The crotch rise on that suit was high. “Bloody hell,” said Loki, licking
his lips. “I bet when that gets hard, there’s no blood left to irrigate the
brain. I like that in a man.”
Thor drank up. Tony drank up. Loki kept checking out Erik Lensherr.
“He’s straight,” said Tony, which was as much as he could say without making
himself sound ridiculous. 
“Good job I’m flexible then,” said Loki, downing the rest of his drink and
putting the glass to one side —his butt rubbing and pushing with acute
precision as he did. Thor oomphed and bit his lip to stifle what had every
fucking chance to have come out as a whimper.
Tony had to be seeing Thor’s face. He fucking had to. Which made Thor blush
even more.
“Want to dance, pet?” said Tony then, life saviour.
“I thought we said non-exclusive,” said Loki, mellifluous. Tony raised an
eyebrow. “Go fuck someone else then,” hissed Loki, with a downright vicious
leer. Because he had been ambushed and he knew it, and he had venom to spare
for everyone tonight.  
“Geez, I’m dry,” said Loki, “back in a sec.” He helped himself up to his feet,
with a full, solid palmful of Thor’s straining crotch. Thor winced and hurried
to cross his legs. To say he was bothered would really be an understatement.
His cock was throbbing against the seam of his jeans. Next time, don’t go for
the snug ones, Odinson. 
They both looked at Loki as he strutted towards the bar, right by where Erik
Lensherr was perching, surrounded by a throng of girls. Loki had an unearthly
quality which opened spaces around him and drew the eye. He leaned on the bar,
his perfect arse on display, and Thor’s crotch tightened painfully. 
“I thought you couldn’t stand Erik Lensherr,” groaned Thor, as the
aforementioned and his girls turned to Loki for a chat.
“And I can’t. He came with someone.” Tony was stewing in it. “Did he just check
Loki’s arse? I think he just checked Loki's arse. The slut. I was sure he was
straight. Is there nothing sacred.”
Thor almost countered “yes, but have you seen that arse?” He downed the rest of
his beer instead. 
After some time, his cock had returned to a state of plump, yet decent slumber.
“I think I need something stronger than this," he said.
Loki was still talking to Lensherr, batting his eyelids, his wicked smirk doing
double duty. He had spotted Thor walk up to the bar and was throwing him sly
glances. He was fucking enjoying himself. Thor’s stomach turned as he was
brought back to that seedy club once again. His brother had had the same look
on his face that day, when he was tormenting Thor with his body and with
suggestions of what was done to him in that place. His fists closed around thin
air, feeling as furious as he had felt back then. That was what he did to Loki,
this is what Thor’s fuck ups turned him into. He wanted to scour that cruel
sneer from his face and reveal his brother underneath it.
Thor watched Loki turn on his heels and walk away, making for the bathroom.
Thor almost expected Lensherr to follow him there, if the look on that shark-
smiled fucker was anything to go by, but he didn’t.
Thor did, and waited.
Loki came out of the room, gave him a quick side glance.
“Too much beer, brother?” he said, with a little grin.
Thor was trembling with a tangle of emotions, anger coming up on top, as it
often did.
“If you have a problem with me, don’t take it out on Tony,” he grunted, fists
in a ball at his sides.
Loki cocked his hip, his eyes dripping poison, and replied with a tone that was
deceitfully sweet.
“You don’t get to fucking tell me what to do,” he said.
“I should not need to tell you anything,” countered Thor, curt and cutting.
“You’re acting like a goddamn brat. He does not deserve to pay for my…” He
gritted his teeth. What to fucking call it. “Talk to me or don’t talk to me,”
said Thor. “Just fucking stop whatever it is you’re doing.”
Loki had a very wicked, knowing smirk that was making Thor uncomfortable. Those
green eyes that saw right through him...
“If I did not know better, Thor,” said his brother, demure smile on his sharp
face, honey in his voice to disguise the venom, “I would say you were
jealous.” 
Thor's cock still fucking strained from that lap-dance earlier. That look on
Loki's face, that fire in his eyes. Nobody there, a closed door with a
lock. Thor swallowed on dry.
The best defence is a good attack, they say.
“Jealous?” he said, derisive. “I can have you whenever I want.”
Downright disbelief and contempt on Loki’s face. ‘The fucking nerve’ kind of
expression. It looked good on him, big eyes widened, and those eyebrows, so
expressive.
“What makes you think I’ll let you lay one hand on me ever again?”
Thor felt that in his gut. Beyond reason now, he advanced towards Loki and
crowded him against the wall. Looking down on him, he felt Loki’s breathing
spike up, a shiver there was no mistaking for anything other than what it was.
“Right here, right now,” he whispered between gritted teeth. “And all you would
say is ‘yes’, ‘more’, and ‘please’.”
Loki gulped, and did not whimper because he had no voice to whimper with.
Murderous anger was starting to rise just below his obvious arousal, just as
sure as the sun sets in the West.
“Two can play this game, brother,” said Thor, taking way too much pleasure in
Loki’s state of disarray and in his power over him. 
And then his brain kicked in.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Thor walked backwards, short of breath, knowing this one might just be the
worst one yet. 
Loki’s eyes were a narrow, dark slit, seething with green fire. The hatred in
them was not pure, it was tainted with hurt.
“Loki…” he began, his tone subdued now. He was ready to risk his life by
uttering a sincere apology his brother would fucking choke him to death with. 
Loki whooshed past him, stomping in rage.
Thor braced himself. There would be blood.
 
 
                                 *     *     *
                                        
 
Loki was ready to rip somebody’s head off, his heart pounding, nails digging
deep into his palms. He spotted Bucky, who was trying not to see Peggy and
Steve dancing cheek to cheek to a slow, sexy tune. It would do very fucking
nicely.
He strode to Bucky, who was slumped on his couch, beer in his hands, brooding
and wretched.
“Dance with me,” he told him, proffering his right hand.
Bucky looked up to him with a confused frown, shaken out of his little bubble
of hopelessness.
“Er…” he said, looking side to side to make sure Loki was actually talking to
him. “I don’t …dance with men,” he tried.
“Maybe you should,” said Loki, grabbing Bucky’s hand and pulling him to
standing. 
Bucky was a lot more pliant than he himself would have anticipated, and let
Loki drag him to the centre of the dancing area, where lights were lower. Loki
wrapped two long arms around Bucky’s neck, and Bucky astonished himself by
putting his own hands on Loki’s waist.
“See? You’ve got it already,” purred Loki right into his ear. And he sensed
that shiver. 
They started to sway together. Soon enough, Loki was letting his hips do most
of the dancing, grinding, grinding. 
“I… I don’t think I can dance this,” said Bucky, putting some distance, pink
high on his cheeks.
“Can you fuck?” countered Loki, hands crawling down Bucky’s back, settling low
on his hips, long fingers caressing the sides of his arse.
“…Yes,” said Bucky, swallowing.
“Then you can dance this,” muttered Loki, an iron grip on Bucky’s hips, gluing
their crotches together.
Bucky harrumphed. “Really, I don’t think I-…”
“Show him what he’s missing,” whispered Loki in Bucky’s ear.
Bucky reared his head to see Loki’s face, alarmed. Was he really that obvious. 
Loki’s expression had more compassion in it than he had intended at the start
of this. He rubbed against Bucky harder. Bucky gasped, his frown became deeper.
His body was reacting, and he had not expected it. Before he had a chance to
think about it, Loki twirled in his arms, turning his back to him, grinding his
arse against Bucky’s hardening cock. He was being deliberately crass. He threw
his head back on Bucky’s shoulder, and hooked one hand around Bucky’s head,
pushing his mouth against the skin of his own throat. Sure enough, Bucky kissed
his neck, and pushed back against his arse. Hmmm…
Out of the corner of an eye, Loki saw Steve watching openly, frowning in
complete bewilderment. And oblivious of his girlfriend as well. Loki almost
laughed. You did not see that coming, did you, Steve? He spun around in Bucky’s
arms, snaking his hips. Bucky bit his lip. The boy looked like sin. Loki guided
Bucky's hands to his own arse, and was rewarded with a nice squeeze and a hum. 
When another quarter of a turn let Loki see Steve again, he saw him gaping, the
guy’s eyes glazed. Now did Loki chuckle.
“What?” said Bucky, who had fallen into step with him now, pushing his semi-
hard cock against Loki’s without a hitch. 
“Men,” said Loki, contemptuous. 
What they were doing now was basically upright foreplay. They finished the
dance kissing wetly and messily.
Loki saw Tony back on the couch, his brother on one corner, both sulking. Well,
fuck you all, said Loki in his mind, thrusting his tongue deeper into Bucky’s
throat. Bucky groaned.
The music changed to something faster and Loki pulled back, eyes locked on
Bucky’s, lip’s edges blurred, pink and ravished. He looked like pure,
unadulterated sex.
“Let him see you leave with me,” whispered Loki into his ear, and started to
walk to the lift pulling him by the hand. Bucky followed.
They got their coats and walked out of the place hand in hand.
Once inside the lift, Loki let go of him.
“It should give Steve something to think about,” he said, suddenly drained.
“Wait… that’s it?” said Bucky, looking for a second like a despondent little
boy. 
Loki smiled, almost endeared.
“I thought you didn’t… dance with men,” he said, eyeing him with a smite of
fondness, because he looked kind of cute like that.
Bucky blushed, hands deep in his pockets, shoulders slumped.
“So did I,” he said after an instant.
The lift opened doors to the hall of the building. Loki sighed. He was in
turmoil. He could still smell Thor, he could still taste the rage and the
hatred in his tongue. And Thor had not been the only one with a fucking hard-on
when he had sat on his lap.
“Want to come to my place then?” he asked. 
Bucky hesitated.
“I’ve never…”
“You’re in the hands of a professional,” cut Loki. “You’ll be fine.”
Bucky mulled it over some more, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
Then that expression of defiance and determination. He was a fucking delight,
this boy. 
“Yes, alright.”
 
 
“You’ve never had a rimming?” 
Bucky moaned and clenched the pillow tight, fucking the mattress. Loki had to
grip his hips really hard to keep him still.
He was so needy. He liked kissing one hell of a lot. He was taking everything
Loki was selling with greed. It was as if the doors of a besieged town had been
thrown open and citizens kept pouring out to breathe the fresh air they had
been denied for years.
Loki liked that Bucky was a blank page with men. And that he could not get
enough now that he had uncorked that bottle. He was pushing against Loki’s hand
unabashedly when he was fingering him, moaning like a cat in heat. Loki had him
relaxed and aroused and melting in his hands, and ripe for the taking.
“Do you want to save it for him,” asked Loki, peppering small kisses on Bucky’s
spine, his leaking cock nudging and stroking at the cleft of Bucky’s arse, ”or
are you of the opinion that a piano sounds better when it’s been played?”
Bucky hesitated, turned his head to one side, a frown of puzzlement that took
ten whole years off his face.
“I’m asking if you want me to fuck you,” explained Loki.
Bucky was panting, suddenly shy. Loki would bet his right eye it was the
thought of saving his cherry for Steve that was giving him pause for thought,
because otherwise, he looked like he was gagging for it. 
“Roll over,” said Loki.
Bucky did, big eyes, mouth a puffed up mess. 
Loki took him deep in his mouth and finger-fucked him to completion. That face
undone by pleasure was indecent, but, in climax? Angels would bloody weep.
Loki jacked himself off, fast and business-like, Bucky’s eyes on him wide and
glazed.
 
“Steve doesn’t know, does he?” asked Loki, once clean and settled together in
bed, both smoking.
Bucky lowered his eyes. Long, dark lashes. 
“He’s only ever seen me with girls,” he said. “I’ve never told him.”
“Why not?”
“He’s my best friend. He would freak out.”
“Hm, would he now,” said Loki, puffing smoke. “Did you not see how he looked at
us when we were dancing?”
“Yes, well." Red blossomed on Bucky's cheeks. “I guess he was surprised. I am
surprised.”
“You had never been with a man before? Really?”
Bucky squirmed on the mattress, nervously.
“In the army, a few times. Hand-jobs though, no kissing. You know.”
Loki did not know, but he could imagine it. In fact, he was imagining it right
now, hence the smirk. 
“But when I came back I…” Bucky stuttered. “I guess I realised what I really
felt for him.” And this last bit had come out with quite a bit of difficulty.
Loki took a long drag, not immune to the vulnerability he felt in him.
“Do you two go back then?”
“Kids,” said Bucky. “We grew up in Brooklyn together, both wanted to be actors.
Went to the same auditions. We didn’t have much, so we were to join the army to
get an education. Just before we did, Steve got a break, a part in a show. I
didn’t. So I enrolled on my own, did three tours. I’m discharged now. Anyway, I
come back, Steve has become a movie star and has met the love of his life. His
words.” The sourness on Bucky's expression could curdle milk. “If he found out,
I bet he would feel the need to take a step back so that I don’t…. so that he
doesn’t hurt me or give me false hopes or something.”
 Loki’s turn to huff now. He took another deep drag of his cigarette.
“What a pair of fucking doormats,” he groaned, staring at the ceiling without
seeing it.
Bucky turned to face him.
“Doormats?”
“Look at us both,” he mumbled.
Bucky seemed to give that some thought. 
“Have you ever met someone you would do anything for? Anything? Just to be
around them? And it’s not even how they make you feel, because it hurts like
hell most of the time, but because they’re just… worth it? And you know you may
find someone who’d make you suffer less, but you’d always compare them to him,
and they would never be enough?” Bucky sighed, suddenly out of steam. “I don’t
know. I just don’t know how to get myself away from that. If that makes me a
doormat, well, at least it’s over someone who deserves it.”
Loki scowled, killed his fag, lit up another. 
“One day you have to know when to say when, though," he said.
”I’m not there yet,” muttered Bucky, downbeat but with a flicker of fire and
defiance there, always.
Loki took in a deep breath, deflated, forsaken.
“Yeah, well," he said. "Who is.” 
 
 
 
In the morning, they kissed at the door. Bucky blushed like a schoolboy. Loki
wished him good luck.
“Listen, thanks for…” hesitated Bucky. Loki would have not been sure what to
say either.
“It was my pleasure,” said Loki.
Bucky stopped at the bottom of the steps, military coat tight around him,
collar up, cheeks pink with cold. He turned to Loki up on the threshold. He was
looking a lot less gloomy than yesterday night, that was for sure. Let’s hear
it for Loki’s magical touch.
“Happy New Year,” said Bucky, that sexy grin on his lips. 
Loki managed half a smile.
“And you.”
 
Chapter End Notes
     Problem?
***** Chapter 14 *****
Chapter Summary
     The right script comes along.
Chapter Notes
     Nuts, I feel so... ugh! Clunky writing alert. Anyway, here is
     Wonderwall.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
(September)
 
INT. DAY. A meeting room at Stark Tower, windows on three sides, Manhattan down
below, and all around. A long table presides the space. Thor, Phil Coulson and
Tony Stark sit at one side, Loki and Natasha at the other. 
The air was tense; the silence, peppered with soft coughs and the creaks of the
chairs on the hardwood floor. They were all waiting for Heimdall. He was in the
building, so they’d been told, and to be fair they had only been waiting a few
minutes, but it felt like a lot longer.  
Thor was sitting crossed-legged, one ankle on the opposite knee, consciously
trying to keep his shoulders relaxed, and reigning in the finger-tapping to
keep it in the ‘bored’ rather than the ‘anxious’ spectrum. He was pretty sure
that there was an unspoken competition with his brother to see who could appear
less bothered by the other’s presence. Loki was bloody good at it. He was
draped elegantly on his chair, unmoving, except for his eyes. He looked
supremely blasé. And very fucking handsome in that black, trim, three-piece
suit, skinny green and gold brocade tie, and a long, dark green silk scarf
flowing down his neck. 
Thor felt underdressed in jeans and a leather jacket. But he knew that this
plain white, long-sleeved cotton top looked good on him, neck buttons undone,
the material thin, sort of taut across the chest. He could swear he had caught
Loki’s gaze dipping to his pecs a few times. And the air in the room was crisp.
Thor had not checked, but he knew his nipples tended to pebble easily. Sure
enough, Thor took off his jacket, draping it on the back of his chair, and Loki
turned his eyes resolutely to the windows. Thor smirked. 
The day was grey and damp, and Thor had noticed the ends of Loki’s hair
starting to curl. It made him smile some more. Loki noticed it and squinted at
him darkly, wondering perhaps what was so funny. Thor cleared his throat, with
the image in his mind of Loki as a little boy, fresh out of the shower, in his
Mickey Mouse pyjamas, spiky hair pointing in all directions, getting
ridiculously annoyed when his older brother teased him that he looked like a
wet kitten. A puffed up, furious wet kitten. He made Loki cry with this a few
times, and afterwards he would smother him in a hug, still laughing, mocking
Loki’s angry tears at the same time as he told him that he was a very cute wet
kitten. He did get a few scratches out of it, but it was worth it. 
Thor’s eyes had lost their focus now, looking back, and his expression was warm
and dreamy. And when he glanced back at Loki, he caught him staring. Loki
quickly looked away, almost ruffled. Thor 1, Loki 0. Shame Thor didn’t really
feel triumphant. He was not ten anymore. Ok, maybe a little.
The door flew open and Heimdall barged in, droplets flying off his long black
coat. 
“Apologies, gentlemen, Miss Romanov,” said Heimdall, getting rid of his wet
clothes on an empty chair by his side. Everybody straightened up in their
seats, even Loki. The man could fill up a room.
Thor and Loki had met him many times, since he was an old pal of their parents.
He had worked under Odin at the RSC, and several times in the West End with
Frigga, and there had been periods of time when he had been often at Asgard
House for dinner. Loki used to joke that Heimdall looked as if he could fuck
Thor himself against a wall, which had teenage Thor blushing in Technicolor,
perhaps picturing it. Like right now. He squirmed in his chair and lowered his
eyes.
Heimdall took his seat at the head of the table and started talking without
further ado, his deep, booming voice commanding attention without effort. 
“We all know why we are here today. I’m looking to make a movie. Mr. Stark has
offered me the money, the freedom and the trust, with one condition, that I
cast Mr. Odinson and Mr. Laufeyson for the leads.” 
A pause. Some soft harrumphing here and there. Thor threw Loki a quick glance.
He was picking at his nails. And making it look classy.
“I am familiar with both these gentlemen’s careers, and I agree they are
perfect, on paper, for their respective parts.” A pirate’s smirk. “On paper
because, alas, there seems to be a fly in our ointment, in the shape of some
sort of family feud, the nature of which concerns me not, but worries me. If I
am to even begin to consider the possibility of working with Mr. Odinson and
Mr. Laufeyson in the same project, I want assurances. From both parts.”
He paused again, master of tempo and dramatic build up, and regarded each
brother in turn. Thor met his gaze, those golden-brown irises heavy on him. He
held his stare, but it was not easy.
“This meeting today,” proceeded Heimdall, “is not about convincing me that you
can indeed be civilised to one another, and that the shoot will be a place of
work. Because that, gentlemen, I am taking for granted. We are all
professionals. I would not even be here if I did not believe that. So this
meeting today is, first and foremost, to convince me that you are both not only
willing, but also capable of working together. Not alongside each other, and
not merely tolerating your mutual presence on set, but working together. This
story rests on the relationship between our two main characters. Without it, we
have nothing to tell. Therefore, what I am looking for today is simple. I want
to feel the enthusiasm, the generosity, the commitment and the passion that
will produce a genuine spirit of collaboration between our potential leading
actors. If I am not satisfied, I will not be persuaded to cast you, and if Mr.
Stark here is adamant it’s you or nothing, I will walk out of here with my
script, and we can all go our merry ways, no hard feelings. So,” concluded
Heimdall, hands open, palms up, “who will go first?”
A silence. The atmosphere was awkward to say the least. Loki’s mouth was
pursed, thin, his eyes low. Dignified and stubborn, and, if Thor knew him a
bit, scared shitless to reach out first and be rejected. Thor cleared his
throat.
“I will,” he said. Because they would be there all day if he did not. Loki
threw him a quick glance, and then returned to his nails. “It’s in my best
interest,” said Thor, “to see this project through. Not only because of the
potential for critical recognition, which we all know is massive, but also
because it matters to me.” Harrumph. “I feel personally connected in many ways
to this story. Ever since I first read the script, it has become important to
me. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so invested in anything before.” Harrumph
again.
He had managed to pull it off without one stutter, even though he felt like he
was skinning himself alive under unsympathetic, scrutinising eyes. Tough
audience. Loki’s eyes were the coolest, trying to make Thor feel like an insect
he had taken a vague, passing interest in. Thor carried on, shedding layers as
they got tangled in the brambles of that gaze, playing at making it hard for
him just because they could.
“As for my brother,” continued Thor, staring at Loki straight, “I can say this
one thing. That since he was a little boy, he has always committed himself
fully, heart and soul, to whatever he undertakes. I have full confidence that,
if he signs up for this, he will give it nothing but his all. I won’t be scared
to open up and turn myself inside out doing this, because I know he’ll be right
there with me, doing no less. I think Loki is one of the finest actors alive,
if not the finest, and that he is the best possible choice for this part. I
think we can make something extraordinary together. And I’m looking forwards to
it.”
Thor reclined back, had a sip of water. His hand was remarkably steady
considering that he was feeling brittle and quivering like a leaf.
Loki had his eyes low, his hands resting one on top of the other on his crossed
knee. He looked way too nonchalant. Overacting, brother?
Attention was on Loki now. He looked up, blinking innocently.
“Yes, what he said,” he mumbled, as he dusted an invisible fluff off the sleeve
of his suit.
Thor suppressed the urge to snort, irritated. He knew Loki’s reply was a pose,
but it nettled him just the same. He had put it all out there, and he had
expected to break through to Loki like that, and get a serious answer in
reciprocation. 
“Loki,” admonished Natasha.
Loki huffed, irritated, and kept his sight on his nails when he spoke.
“I’ve said it before, but I can say it again. Mainstream cinema, Hollywood in
particular, interests me very little, and most definitely not enough to ever
begin to compensate for the slavery to the publicity marathons it entails. I
just can’t be bothered. And when I was approached with this script, that is
exactly what I said. Of course, this is not an ordinary script, and it will not
be an ordinary movie. If there is a project I am willing to put up with the
publicity tours for, it is this. I really can’t express my interest in higher
terms.” Piercing green eyes on Heimdall, then Thor. “If I get this part,
nothing, absolutely nothing, will get in the way of my work.” Eyes low again.
“My brother is perfect for Bobby. And I am perfect for Johnny. Mr. Heimdall I
have admired for a long time. This is going to be extraordinary. I want to do
it.” Loki rests.
Natasha glowered at him, urging him on. Loki rolled his eyes.
“Yes, Mr. Odinson is a terrific actor and I would be most honoured to work with
him.” And a sweet, toothy grin.
Heimdall smiled back, with the same lack of sincerity. Natasha may or may not
have sighed, dismayed.
“You will forgive me if I remain sceptical,” said Heimdall, still grinning, his
expression not one breath less reptilian than Loki’s best efforts, which was no
mean feat. “As it’s plain to see, the problem is as bad as I had heard. I doubt
very much that either of you can really isolate your feelings from your
performances, specially in roles as emotional as this, and so personal, by Mr.
Odinson’s own admission. Two brothers with issues playing two brothers with
issues could either be a disaster waiting to happen or the best idea Tony Stark
has ever had. So the question for me is not really whether you can leave your
family lives at home, but whether whatever problem we have here will enrich or
ruin your work. I would like us to meet again in a couple of days, and do a
read of your main scenes. Until then, I’m not signing anything. Is that
acceptable?”
Loki and Thor exchanged a quick look, and then looked away. They both nodded.
“Excellent. We shall meet again in two days.”
 
                                        
                                       *
                                        
(Back to New Year’s Eve.)
 
Fantastic. Just fucking great. Loki and Bucky were now kissing, tongue half-way
down each other’s throats, Bucky’s hands digging into Loki’s butt, Loki’s arms
wrapped around Bucky's neck, their groins glued together and grinding more or
less to the music. Thor made himself watch, even though it was eating at him
like acid. Every time Loki had whispered whatever the fuck it was into Bucky’s
ear, the boy had blushed that bit redder, and Thor had clenched his jaws that
bit harder.  And when the happy couple made for the door hand in hand, Loki
with his wicked grin, Bucky with his blush, his pink mouth, puffy from kissing,
and his look of astonishment, Thor grimaced with rage, tasting bile.  
He knew what Loki was doing. He knew it was all for Thor’s benefit. Should he
be feeling triumphant? Because it didn’t feel like he was winning. The fact
remained that Bucky was taking Loki home, and Thor was not.
He downed the rest of his beer in one very long gulp and put it down, ready to
go get himself the first available piece of arse that came his way, but his
eyes fell on Tony first. He was staring at him, and frowning quite a lot. 
Thor looked away, cursing inwardly.  How long had he been observing him? And
now he was approaching. Fuck.
Tony stood right next to him and cleared his throat.
“May I ask you a question?”
Thor kept his eyes away into the middle distance, with an unfriendly frown. He
knew enough about body language, and what he was doing did not invite
conversation. Tony asked anyway.
“What was your fight with Loki about? At the theatre, on opening night.”
Straight from the hip.
Thor stood quiet and still, tense as a bowstring. What the fuck could he
possibly say? Why had he not given the issue five minutes of his time, to try
and make up a believable explanation? He had told him “we had a big argument”
and left it at that. Bollocks.
The silence was stretching, and Thor still had nothing.
“Can we sit down?” said Tony.
“I don’t want to sit down,” grunted Thor.
“Very well, don’t sit down. What’s the deal with you and Loki?”
Thor exhaled angrily. There were lots of answers to that. None of your fucking
business was the first that came to mind, but that was not altogether fair,
now, was it?
“It’s complicated,” said Thor.
“Would you accompany me to my office? It’s quieter,” said Tony. He sounded
graver than was his usual manner.
Thor gritted his teeth. Was he really going to have this chat? Not that he knew
how to get out of it.  And right now, he wasn’t sure he wanted to anyway. He
was so bloody tired, wrung out down to his soul. He could not stomach the idea
of lying outright, of staring at Tony in the eye and denying Loki. On the other
hand, just walking away and leaving Tony to draw his own conclusions didn’t
sound good either. No, Odinson, it was out. Time to face the music.
When the doors of the lift closed on them and blessed silence fell, Thor sighed
in relief. 
It didn’t last. Good job the trip was short, the atmosphere was bloody
awkward. 
The upper floor was dark and empty and peaceful. The office had commanding
views of the city, at the moment a black sea of twinkling lights. There would
be fireworks soon enough. The guests downstairs were looking forwards to them,
with their front-row seats in this prime location. Just one more of the many
attractions of Stark’s New Year’s Eve do.
Thor plummeted on an armchair. What a fun night it had been. Tony offered him a
drink. Thor said he would have some water.
Tony sat on the armchair opposite Thor’s, with a tumbler of scotch in his hand.
He rolled the drink in his glass.
“Do I get three guesses?” he said, after some deliberation.
Thor had a sip of water and observed him under a deep frown. He didn’t have a
clue what Tony was getting at with this. Fearing he might regret it, he dipped
his head in assent. 
“Fine, ok, we can play at this. Just don’t break my neck.” Tony gave Thor a
second to express either acquiescence or… or not. Thor kept his peace. “First
guess, it was already going on when I met you.” Tony cocked an eyebrow,
awaiting a reaction. Thor didn’t change his expression, a hostile squint. Tony
proceeded. “Second guess, it’s not platonic.” Thor shifted in his seat. “Third
guess, it’s been consummated.”
This time, Thor’s eyes flickered, his fist squeezed the neck of the posh glass
water bottle. Still, he didn’t say a word. His expression and his rocketing
discomfort should be enough of an answer.
A silence while Tony absorbed it, staring into space. 
“Well, that explains a few things,” he said at length, and had a drink. He gave
him a strange look. “We never stood a chance, did we?, Jane or me" he said.
Now Thor did look at him. 
“You’re in love with him, aren’t you?” he said.
Tony shrugged, put on a blank face. Thor sighed. He had not even considered
that Tony might have feelings involved in this too. Or feelings, in general.
“It’s not like we cheated on you. Or her. That’s not how it was. Is.” Thor
buried his face in his hands and scrubbed his eyes. “Fuck this” he
grumbled. “We haven’t been together for a long time."
Tony sat there and let Thor work his way in and out of his own muddle. 
“May I ask, when?” he said.
Thor had to brace himself to answer that. It didn’t feel like it at the time,
but it seemed quite shocking to think about it now. They were only a couple of
kids…
“He was fourteen, I was not yet sixteen" he said. Better just get it out.
A terrifying silence, although Thor was not sure what he feared.
“…What happened?” asked Tony then, his voice mild, gentle.
Thor took another deep breath. This was hard, and no way to spend New Year’s
Eve.
“We were… lovers for a few months” he said, struggling with the term for what
they had been, reeling from the one he had chosen. It sounded so strong, so
very grown-up. “Then real life got in the way. It all went to hell. Loki tried
to kill himself.”
Tony’s eyebrows arched up. 
“Right. Wow.” he said, with a frown. “…Are you always so hard on yourself?”
“What?” That was not what Thor had expected to hear.
“…I mean, that’s how you think about it?” explained Tony.
Thor gave that some thought, got nowhere.
”What do you mean?”
“I mean…” Tony scratched his scruff, pondering. “Do you remember it as a mere
prelude to your brother’s attempted suicide?”
Thor glared at him.
“I don’t understand what you’re on about, Tony.”
“You make it sound as if it was all your fault."
Thor was baffled. What the fuck was Tony getting at with this? What did it
matter? He had just confessed to bloody incest, for god’s sake!
“Does Loki blame you? For the suicide attempt,” asked Tony, impervious to
Thor’s perplexity.
“I don’t know.”
“But you do. Blame yourself.”
“I know what I did,” Thor’s throat tightened.
“What exactly did you do?”
Thor grappled for words, and air to voice them.
“…He’s my baby brother!” he roared then, lurching forward, hands in a fist. He
took a couple of strong, noisy breaths, trying to cool down. When he spoke
next, it was with a much weaker voice. “I fucked up. I should have never…
Jesus. I should have known it was impossible. I should have never let it
happen.”
Tony bit the inside of his cheeks, seemingly giving that some thought.
“You know, Thor, there’s thousands of years of literature and art history that
humanity could have been deprived of, if only people were capable of doing
that” he said.
“Do what?” snapped Thor.
“See the future and ignore their hearts.” Tony raised his glass with a toothy,
cheerless grin, and had a drink.
Thor remained mightily confused. This is not how he would have imagined this
conversation, and he had no idea where it was going next.
“Did Loki want it?” asked Tony then.
“What the fuck are you implying?” Thor’s nostril’s flared, menace in his tone. 
“I’m implying that it was not only your call.” How cool Tony was, how even.
People tended to be a bit more restless in the face of Thor’s fury.
“Of course Loki wanted it!” exclaimed Thor, just in case it was not clear. “I
wouldn’t have laid one finger on him if he had not wanted it! Ever! What the
fuck do you take me for?”
“Exactly,” countered Tony, calmly.
“Exactly what?” barked Thor, not calmly at all.
“That you both wanted it. It was not all down to you.”
“Loki was a kid!” snarled Thor.
“So were you." Tony shrugged.
“I was the oldest.”
“You were fifteen.” 
Thor was utterly thrown off. He was gaping, trying to find words. The world
upside down, him making the case for the prosecution, Tony pleading his
defence. 
“Is that why Loki is so pissed off at you?” asked Tony. “Did you tell him you
wished it had not happened or something along those lines? That you regretted
it?”
Thor suppressed the urge to shout that he did not regret it at all. Because he
had just said he did, didn’t he? Gods in heaven, he was such a fucking mess.
Confusion sapped the rage out of him, leaving him flat and jaded. At least
there was a question there he knew the answer to.
“That’s not why he’s pissed off at me. Not this time, at least, I don’t think.”
“So what happened in the dressing room, then?” asked Tony.
Thor felt disarmed.
“We… kissed.” Harrumph. And a fluster. “I stopped it.”
Tony gave him a second, just in case he wanted to add anything to that.
“…Why?” he asked at length.
“Because…” Thor raked his fingers deep in his hair, scrubbed hard. “Because I
shouldn’t. It’s impossible. And it hurts him. His… his health.”
“His head,” said Tony, seeking clarification.
“Yeah,” mumbled Thor.
“And he wasn’t happy about you stopping” Tony urged him along.
“…I had started it.” Thor had his eyes low now. His stomach churned
unpleasantly, in shame.
“Right,” said Tony. “And now he’s making you pay.”
“…Yeah.”
A pause for thought.
“And you’re in love with him,” said Tony.
Thor met his stare, boldly, unblinking.
“Yes, I am,” he said.
“And he is in love with you,” said Tony, but this time he was not expecting a
reply. He had been at Loki’s party too, he had heard the songs. He knew Loki
well, and he had just been given the piece he had been missing to understand
his heart. So that was that. There was a flash of sadness on Tony’s face, very
brief, Thor had never thought him capable of. He had not realised it ran so
deep. Goes to show. Loki was the sharp and insightful one, the one who could
read people. Thor never could. 
He felt for Tony. He was going to say something.
“Right. Ok,” said Tony, cutting him off. “Thanks for telling me. I was
beginning to think I was going mad."
“I’m quite sure I am” said Thor to nobody in particular. He was still waiting
for Tony to react properly to what he had just heard.
Tony smirked with a hint of humour. Then, a frown.
“Wait. One more. Four guesses. Your pet name for Loki is ‘baby’.”
“Huh?”
“Baby. That’s what you call him. Isn’t it?”
Thor blinked, in a daze.
“…Yeah.”
“Hm. Figures” said Tony, clicking his tongue.
“What are you on about?” 
“He doesn’t let anyone else call him that.”
Thor needed a second then.
“Really?” he asked, with a frown.
Tony nodded, with a shrug.
There was a surge of warmth inside Thor. And damned if he didn’t feel a very
slight grin break through and soften his face for the first time in hours.
Reclining back in his chair, he exhaled, slowly and wearily.
“That’s it?” he asked then, eyes on Tony.
“That’s what?” said Tony.
“That’s all you have to say?”
“What would you like me to say?” Tony blinked sweetly.
“I used to fuck my own brother, and I wish I was fucking him still,” said Thor,
pushing for the shock factor. “Surely you have more to say about that.”
Tony smiled.
“I don’t have words as much as I have thoughts,” he said, drinking up.
“Thoughts?” said Thor, raising an eyebrow.
“Hm, yes. You and Loki.” Tony stood up, made a big show of stretching his back
and arms. “You’ll find your way out, won’t you? I’ll be in my bunk.”
 
 
                                       *
 
Award season. The Golden Globes in January, then the BAFTAs, then the Oscars.
Blood Meridiangot nominations in all the big categories, including Best Actor
for Thor. He plunged into the whirlwind, the publicists both on his and Stark
Productions’ side eager to drum up his name for The Cold Six Thousand, which
aired in the spring. It was not his favourite part of the job, but he had been
doing it for years. He did not need to put a lot of him in it to navigate it
with success.
Ray Winston got his Oscar for Supporting Actor. Thor lost the three awards. He
took it philosophically. That biopic on Christopher Reeve had been really good
and wildly popular. He had never really expected his character to win anyone’s
heart. He was as proud of that movie, and of his work in it, as he had been
before all of this. 
The commiserative words at the after parties, however, did become very
repetitive and quite irritating very fast, and they were always hard to stomach
by the end of the evening. But it was part of the territory. He was a
professional actor. He had to be able to fake it with some grace. 
His father’s words, for once, were the only ones to bring him real comfort.
Odin had no time for the Hollywood circus, or for his “Miss Popularity badges”
as he called the Oscars, and was quick to remind him that this was not why he
was in the business at all. 
“Nobody remembers who won the Oscar last year. But your part, your performance?
That, they will not forget.”
He had said thanks, dad, half choked, and the old man had grumbled “what in the
world for?”
 
Thor felt it more when Loki lost his Tony for M.Butterfly. It was a fucking
injustice and a crying shame. Thor had been in the Pyrenees shooting Post
Captain, the sequel to Master and Commander, when he heard.
Loki had not attended the ceremony, so Thor did not watch it. He phoned Sigyn.
She said that Loki was alright, that he had not expected to win.
“Tell him…” Thor struggled with his words. He had stopped begging her to ask
Loki to talk to him months ago. He did not think talking would make much of a
difference anyway. “Look after him” he said at last.
“I will. I always do,” she answered, softly.
Thor gulped, and went for it.
“Tell him I love him,” he said.
A short silence.
“I will.”
Thor was quite sure Sigyn knew. Perhaps one day he would sit down with her, and
talk.
 
 
 
                                       *
 
 
 
(August)
 
Tony had made a big secret out of the reason for dragging Thor from L.A. all
the way to Stark Tower in Manhattan. 
“I hope it’s worth it,” Thor had mumbled, as he sat down in Tony’s balcony with
a beer.
“Have you heard about Mariners?” said Tony, taking his seat next to him.
“The book? Yeah.” Thor gulped at his beer.
“Heimdall has the rights. He’s already written a script. We’re producing it.”
“Good for you. It should be good.”
“It should be great,” corrected Tony. “Pulitzer and Booker. Praised as the
newest Great American Novel. And you have to see what Heimdall has done with
it. It’s mind-blowing. Have you read the book?” 
“No.”
Tony dragged his butt towards the edge of his seat now, leaning forwards, eyes
bright, hands expressing enthusiasm and eagerness, his big brown eyes glinting
like a little boy’s on an adventure.
“Based on a true story, from the journals of the author’s beatnik uncle. It’s
the early 1950s. This is the journey across America of two estranged brothers,
young World War 2 veterans, to take the ashes of their father to his birthplace
down South. Wrecked by their experiences in the war, they struggle with
civilian life. Bobby, the oldest, married his high-school sweetheart the moment
he set foot on shore and tried to build the perfect 1950s life, but he
struggles with alcoholism and his demons. Johnny, the youngest, incapable of
conforming to that narrow pattern, takes to the beatnik life. His search for a
truer way of living is leading him to self-destruction. Drink, drugs,
loneliness. They both yearn for the days of their youth and can’t find peace in
the present. They’re disconnected, and lonesome. We see the whole thing through
Johnny’s eyes. Do you follow so far?”
Thor nodded heavily. He could already tell where this was leading.
“Right. When the brothers reunite for their road trip, we see Johnny’s
disappointment at what his older brother has become. He doesn’t recognise Bobby
in the tidy little copy of their father he has made himself into, drunkenness
included. Their father was a career soldier, a larger-than-life figure who kept
them both under his thumb. Johnny feels he has stood up to his father with the
life he is now leading, and he feels Bobby is betraying his promise to do the
same. Johnny senses suffering and struggle in Bobby, but can’t get him to open
up. They clash again and again. The tension rises, fights and discord. The
feeling of mutual distrust and alienation increases, both brothers wretched for
it, but incapable of reaching out to one another. Yes? And all of that plays in
the confines of the cabin of the pickup truck, in dingy roadside motels and
run-down little towns, and the open American landscape around them. Yes?”
Thor nodded again.
“Then, Johnny catches Bobby with another man, a young hustler, and everything
is explained. Bobby thinks it’s the end of the world and of his life, but
Johnny, the beatnik, couldn’t care less. All he cares about is that he now
understands what was eating Bobby alive, and he wants to help him. Bobby is
completely averse at first, caught up in the sin mentality of his times, but
little by little, Johnny gets to him. Bobby frees himself of guilt and shame,
through the love and understanding his brother offers him. They bury their
father’s ashes, and everything he represents, and return home as a family
again. The ending is open, but hopeful.” Tony grins. “In real life, Bobby did
divorce his wife and eventually he moved to San Francisco. His wife banned him
from seeing his kids, and it was years before they could be reunited. And it
was through her uncle’s diaries that the author tried to learn more of the
father and the uncle she had barely known. And then she wrote this novel as a
way to get close to them, and to honour them. Jesus, I’m crying again” finished
Tony, wiping a real tear from his eye.
Thor observed that with coolness, and then returned his gaze back to the city. 
“I see,” he said, and had a drink.
Tony gave him a long stare.
“You know what I am going to say next, don’t you?” he said. “You would be
perfect for the part. You and…”
“…Loki,” completed Thor.
Tony nodded. Thor sat back. 
“He’ll never work with me,” he said.
“I’ve already spoken to Loki.”
Thor turned his head to him, his eyes low, guarded.
“What did he say?”
Tony pursed his lips and looked up and away.
“I see,” said Thor again, with a dark smirk. 
“But I left the script with Natasha,” said Tony. “She will read it, and then
she will make Loki read it, and I’m expecting a phone call some time tonight or
tomorrow, depending on how stubborn Loki is (which possibly means tomorrow,
right?) Anyway, he'll phone, I'm sure. It’s that good.”
Thor raised an eyebrow at Tony's certainty.
"That good?" he repeated.
“Read it!” Tony pushed the stack of paper his way. “Thank me later, when you
pick up the Oscar for best actor.”
Thor had a quick browse. The copy was full of notes and scribbles.
“What makes you think I want to work with Loki?” he asked, putting it down.
Tony smirked.
“Just read it.”
 
Thor read it.
It was understated, insightful, restrained, poetic. To express the differing
mindset of the brothers, Heimdall had ingrained in the structure a subtle
juxtaposition of elements of beat culture —scenes that flowed like a stream of
consciousness, saturating the senses with visions and sounds—, opposed to more
rigid, more straightforward storytelling, still pictures thick with unexpressed
emotion Thor could already envisage, like paintings. He intended to use symbols
and images and the vast American landscapes to reflect and convey the
characters’ minds and tell the story. It seemed really exciting.
The dialogue was sharp, minimal, naturalistic, with silences just as eloquent
as the words. It had Thor already thinking how he would do it. He could even
see Loki’s face giving him the replica. This script played to all their
strengths. It was touching and intimate, rich and nuanced, intense, risky, and
brave. And yes, it was Oscar fodder for both or either of the leads. They were
career-defining roles, and in Heimdall’s skilful, elegant hands, cinema history
in the making. And it was being handed to Thor on a platter. 
So, the only question was Loki.
There was no bloody fighting this. After tasting him again in that dressing
room, after that damn lap-dance in New Year’s Eve, and after seeing Loki
trembling with desire for him, Thor couldn’t escape the facts. They could not
be just brothers. Not now, not any time soon, maybe never. It was not what he
wanted, and it was not what Loki wanted either. 
All the reasons he had debated again and again to stay away from Loki were as
relevant now as they had always been. Weren’t they? It was not possible for
them to be a normal couple; coming out was unthinkable. Hiding was a repulsive
notion and a scary one. It had destroyed them once, and it had almost gotten
Loki killed. 
With that in mind, he should stay away from his brother. Right? And if Loki
wanted to do this movie, he should say no. Sod cinema history and the fucking
Oscars. 
However, Thor found himself tossing and turning in his mind several
conversations he had had with Tony about Loki these last few months. In
particular, what Tony had said about Thor’s “bad habit” (his words) of blaming
everything on himself and shouldering all the responsibility for Loki's "bumpy
ride", as he called it.
“The diva in Loki would gouge your eyes out if he knew how much you push him to
a secondary role in his own life” he said.
And he did also say, “Loki wants you, he has made that clear. Is it really down
to you to make his decisions for him? No wonder he is so mad at you. He’s not a
child anymore, he doesn’t need you protecting him from himself. You’re not his
big brother in this, Thor.”
“What am I, then?” Thor had asked, cynical, and sore.
Tony smiled to him.
“That’s up to you. Both of you.”
Up to them. What a scary notion. Had history not taught them that, when things
got left in their hands, horrible things happened?
Tony had stuff to say about that too. Whenever Thor mentioned 'historical
precedent' as a thing to consider, he laughed.
"You were a pair of infants" he would say. "Forget about ancient history. You
have no history. This starts now."
Even if Tony had meant 'no history before their reunion in London after The
Rocky Horror', Thor could not agree with that in a million years, because he
could only guess about Loki, but he himself carried a very real, very heavy
burden of mistakes and regrets that predated even their first time together. It
may be ancient history, but it informed his present. He wish it didn't, but to
be fair to Loki, he would not just put it to one side and forget it, even if he
could.
Still, something about what Tony said did resonate with him. Because Loki and
him, they had grown up. They were older, some would say wiser, their worldview
not so extreme. Loki was not fourteen anymore, he was not a lonely kid with
black and white vision and nothing to live for. He had friends, a job he was
bloody awesome at, a care regime that worked for him, and a life beyond Thor.
He had resources. 
And Thor was not a teenager either. He had learned a lot. As a young kid, he
had felt the need to break away from all of that and push Loki away. Because it
wasn’t normal, because it wasn’t healthy, because there was a wider world out
there.
Well, he had been in the world, and he had looked and he had tried, but at
twenty-five, it was dawning on him that he would not find anywhere else what he
had with Loki. Whatever the fuck it was, no matter how bad it hurt. Everybody
else paled in comparison, everything else faded to a dull, lifeless grey, while
Loki towered blindingly as the source of all light. Thor could not imagine
spending the rest of his life without Loki, one way or another. 
One way or another.Who do you think you're fooling, Odinson.
Could they make it work somehow? Could they cope with the difficulties and the
compromises and the suffering they would no doubt have to face, if they decided
to have a go at it? Could they have a chance after all? Thor wanted to believe
it so very much. For the first time in his life, he was considering how they
could make it possible, instead of sinking and drowning deep under all the ways
in which it could not be. 
That is, if Loki wanted to see him ever again.
Thor leafed idly through the script in his hands. “JOHNNY and BOBBY fuse in an
awkward yet increasingly strong embrace, both stunted by and brimming with all
the things they have kept from each other since the end of the war.”He sat back
and exhaled. 
Fuck it. If Loki was up for this, so was he. He was ready to throw caution to
the wind, roll the dice, and see what happened. He was not built to live in
fear, he never was.
 
“Stark,” said Tony’s disembodied voice at the other end of the line.
“Tony, tell Loki I’ll do it if he does.”
“Right.” Tony cleared his throat. “Loki just called.”
“And?”
“He said yes.”
 
 
                                       *
 
 
Stark Productions meeting room. The read.
Thor and Loki sat opposite each other on either side of the table, their copies
of the script open in front of them. Nobody else was at the table, to give them
space. Tony was in one corner, Natasha and Coulson in another. Heimdall was
sitting down several steps away from the head of the table. They had all chosen
positions out of Thor’s and Loki’s line of sight, but from which they could
still see both their faces.  
Light was low, the day was gloomy. Loki had that sexy messy bun again. Thor’s
hair fell to his shoulders. They would both have to cut it short for this,
maybe even dye it (Thor darken it, Loki lighten it), to create some resemblance
to each other. Thor was distracted for half a second wondering what his brother
would look like with short hair. 
No games of cool today. They were both focused and intent, no time to play.
They had selected half a dozen high voltage scenes, starting with the awkward
reunion at the Greyhound station. Bobby appears with his pickup truck, Johnny
is leaning against a post with his guitar. They’re happy and excited to see
each other again, but wary. Much has passed since they were young boys who went
to war, their father’s death not the least of them. A hell of a lot had to come
through in a couple of seconds. Cinematography would do its share, and Heimdall
had told them how he planned to shoot it, but the flesh and bones part of it
was down to them.
“Whenever you’re ready,” said Heimdall, his voice low, as if there was a spell
being cast that he did not want to disturb or hinder.
Thor took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He struggled at readings. If he
could not use his body, he felt disempowered. He liked to have the space, the
set. He was never better than on location. In this kind of situation, he was
always uncomfortable. This particular scene, written around a hug he could not
physically represent, was a steep start. 
“Thor,” he heard Loki say, his tone soft.
When Thor opened his eyes, Loki was staring at him with intensity. He dipped
his head to Thor once. And then his expression brightened up with his
character’s emotion at seeing his long lost brother once again, anxiety there,
joy too, and a humdrum of tiredness and age behind it all. Johnny has been
through a lot in his short life, and has become an old soul, cynical and weary,
but seeing his big brother after such a long time makes him feel like a little
boy again, for a second. And it was all there, in Loki’s face, in his eyes.
Thor smiled back, Bobby’s face breaking through his own, tired too, grieving,
saddened at first to see what time and life had done to his baby brother, and
therefore to himself, and then true joy shining through, when he sees the
little boy Johnny once was still there, under all that, and perhaps senses
young Bobby still alive within himself for a spell too. 
“Johnny!” said Thor, trying to put all of that in his voice.
“Bobby!” replied Loki, mirroring his tone.
From that moment on, it was a dance. Loki lead the way, and Thor followed. Loki
was able to infuse Heimdall’s purposely stuttering, laconic dialogue with
nuance and truth. His voice was the sharpest tool in his skill box, always had
been. Thor was physical, his face and his body did the heavy lifting, but with
Loki’s eyes on him like that, it seemed so easy. All he had to do was talk
back, and it happened, Bobby’s voice that is, his character’s true words and
thoughts. 
And then there were the silences. Even Thor could hear how thick and thrumming
the silences were with things unsaid. How much of that was acting was a matter
of debate. Whatever it was, it worked. It rang real, alive. It told the story.
Heimdall did not intervene once. Nobody made a sound. Thor broke character
once, when Bobby in a strop makes Johnny laugh, and Loki’s laughter came so
light and easy as Thor had not heard it since god knows when. Bobby was
supposed to keep serious and take offence, but Thor could not help but smile.
The last line in the script was Johnny’s.
“Hey, you never know,” read Loki, so much warmth and hope in his voice.
In the silence that followed, some sniffling was heard, from Tony’s side. Thor
saw that even Loki was affected, his eyes unfocused, his expression adrift. He
wanted to touch him.
He saw Heimdall nodding towards Stark, and then turned his eyes back to them.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “it would appear we have a movie. I’ll see you in three
weeks, when rehearsals start.” He stood up and started gathering his papers.
The spell was broken. Loki got up as well and grabbed his script and his
jacket. 
Thor felt shaken up, and drained. He threw Loki a glance. He looked tired too.
Thor spied him approaching Heimdall.
“Have you got anyone for the hustler?” Thor heard Loki say.
“No, not yet.”
“You want to give this bloke a ring, James Barnes. I’ve seen him in off
Broadway. He would be perfect.”
Heimdall said he would, Loki said he’d send his details to Heimdall’s office.
Thor clenched his jaw.
 
Tony and Loki shook hands. It was remarkable how Tony’s demeanour around Loki
had changed since his first chat with Thor about the subject. Loki probably
thought that Tony’s casualness, the businesslike manner, and the blatant lack
of flirting was a result of the New Year’s Eve rebuff, so he put a haughty
stance to it. And he got in return a knowing, warm expression he could not
possibly know whence it was coming, and made him frown, suspicious.
Waiting for the lift, Natasha and Coulson were conversing a few steps back,
coordinating schedules. Loki and Thor were standing two steps apart, stiff and
quiet.
Thor cleared his throat.
“Hey, good work in there,” he said. Lame.
Loki whipped his head around to face him, and stared at him, cool and fierce.
“This changes nothing,” he said. “I still hate your fucking guts.”
Thor frowned. He had not expected Loki to be so blunt.
“And don’t be having any ideas about this, ok?” added Loki, prodding in the
wound. “There’ll be no family reunion. I’m here to make a movie. That’s all.”
Thor stared back at him, head high, and squared his jaw.
“Same here.”
The atmosphere on the lift was thick. Loki did not look at him as he made his
way out of the building. Natasha did. 
 
 
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     Mariners. Right, I made the story up. And the title. And don't ask
     where I got it from, because it was hard enough to come up with
     something in the first place.
***** Chapter 15 *****
Chapter Summary
     Scandal.
 
“Oh, just spit it out already,” groaned Loki, whooshing inside his hotel room,
as he got rid of his jacket with a (really majestic) dramatic flourish. On the
taxi he had been jumpy, legs bouncing, finger-tapping, unable to concentrate.
He was making up for it. 
“Why waste my time?” said Natasha evenly, helping herself to the chocolate on
his pillow. “I’ve said it all before.”
“Yes, and I am not going to sit down and have a fucking chat with Thor. I am
not.”
“You’ve already said that too.”
“What’s the bloody point, tell me!” he snarled.
“Oh, just clear the air, find out where each of you stands, clarify potential
misunderstandings, set a common ground to build up a successful professional
relationship. What good could that possibly make?” Sarcastic. She unwrapped the
chocolate with two precise, efficient movements. Strong hands.
He scowled, showing teeth.
“I know what he has to say, and I don’t want to fucking hear it. Why is that so
hard to comprehend?”
“It isn’t. It’s just irrational and absurd, so people will tend to call you out
on it.” 
If Loki was a dog, he would be growling.
“Anyway,” she insisted, “you may think you know what he wants to say, but what
about whatyouhave to say? I’m sure there are a few things you would like Thor
to hear.”
“I thought you were not going to bother because you’ve said it all before,”
grumbled Loki.
“I’m persistent,” she smirked, putting the chocolate in her mouth, her pout
exquisite. “It’s one of my finest qualities.” She chewed.
Loki huffed, shoulders slumped, one hand on his hip, the other rubbing his
eyes.
“Look, I’m tired. Do kindly persist tomorrow.”
She kept the tiny, sexy smirk on. That expression of hers, that “I’m going to
take that bullshit off your hands and take it home, but you know, and I know
that you know, that I don’t buy it, and it shall be returned to you presently
whenever I choose, with my compliments.” He was a bit enamoured with it. He
could swear it had powers. It sapped the snark out of him, or some of it
anyway. What was the point? Nothing got through that woman’s skin. What a power
duo, they were fucking meant for each other. If they ever decided to take over
the world, there would be no stopping them. 
He took a deep breath, and tried to appear calm, or at least not as wired as he
felt.
“I’m fine, see? I don’t need a babysitter today.”
“Can I hear it?” she said.
He rolled his eyes and got it out of the way.
“If I need it, I will call someone,” he parroted. He had been programmed for
years now to mean it when he said it. By Sigyn, by Bruce, by his shrinks. He
took it a lot more seriously than he made it sound. 
That did not mean he did not have some space to move within the boundaries of
the definition of “needing it.”
She made her way to the door, licking the tips of her fingers.
“We’ll have to ask Thor not to wear that shirt to work again, won’t we?” she
said as Loki shut the door behind her.
Loki’s glower could have left a dent in the wood.
 
Alone. Fucking finally. Now he could proceed to have his meltdown in peace, all
by his little self. 
He got to it straight away. Well, not straight away, he gave it one minute to
make sure she was safely packed away in the lift. He counted Mississippies. 
He only made it to forty-something. 
He started to pace up and down the room, and tighten his fists, and huff
between clenched jaws. He should really go to the gym and work it out of his
system, but he was not fit for public consumption at the moment, clearly. He
did not scream, as he was dying to do, because well, neighbours, but he did
jump up and down, shook his hands vigorously, as if he had just got burned, and
shook his head, hair flying free from its bun and flowing in all directions
quite nicely. He felt so pumped up his hands were quivering, his teeth
gritting.
The read.
The fucking spark. Hell, not a spark, a bloody wildfire. He could almost hear
the buzz of electricity crackling under his skin. It had been like… like
fucking. Like fucking Thor. Like having him there naked and open and willing,
following wherever Loki may lead. He showed the way, and Thor walked it.
Forwards, backwards, like a dance, like foreplay. Throwing words and stares and
bloody emotionsat him, and observing Thor’s respond to it so vividly, as if
Loki was touching him with his hand, playing him like an instrument. The
strength of the connection was so intense it was almost tangible, like a
physical bond buzzing and beating between them, tying them together, invisible
through the air, but so fucking dense, so real, Loki had felt he could close
his hand around it and feel it. Just as if it was… yes, that.
Jesus Christ. He had not foreseen this. He had predicted awkwardness,
stiffness, mistrust, rigidity, and perhaps some fencing, not… not this falling
into each other’s arms as if waltzing or… 
Loki shivered, throwing his arms around himself, ran clawed fingers down his
arms, down his back. Guess what, he was horny, so fucking horny. He cupped
himself, hard, a vein throbbing there with deep, strong pulse.
It was fucking scary. This movie could fuck with his head big time. Was it Thor
there in that gaze, in that tone of voice, or was it Bobby. Who was there
behind his eyes in that silence, who was smiling now from his lips. Ah! He
jumped, he paced. The floor is lava, Thor.
He should run away from this project as fast as he fucking could. He should not
fucking do it. Whatever semblance of inner equilibrium he had managed to
achieve, this fucking movie was going to wreck it. But how in hell could he not
do it? Look at him, he was burning! 
He stroked himself through his clothes, his eyes fluttering. He pictured
himself jumping over that table at Stark Tower, pulling his brother towards him
by the neck of that stupid semi-transparent top (had he fucking washed since he
wore it in the first meeting?) and ripping it to shreds. Thor would try to kiss
him, Loki would dodge his mouth. If Thor kissed him, he was lost. 
He would put his mouth in a much safer place. Oh, Thor would be amazed at the
things he could do now, after his intense training at The Dark World. He would
fucking get those tight jeans down, and get all the heavy artillery out. The
pretty tight balls, with their soft golden fuzz, and that big fat beautiful
cock, darker than the skin around it, deep pink at the head, almost purple, the
mighty vein that ran all down the length of it… Loki had had it in his mouth
only that one time in L.A. He licked his lips. He hungered for it now, heavy on
his tongue, stretching his lips around its girth, spurting pre-come he would
lick straight from the slit, with his eyes fixed on his brother’s eyes,
blazing…
Loki squeezed his own cock. He was desperate. He undid the buttons and fly,
slid his hand inside his pants, shivered when he felt his own bare skin, his
own hard flesh. Oh, Thor’s hands… Delicate for such a big bloke, but big and
strong just the same. 
Had Thor learned some new tricks too? Or had he been ruined by all those
fucking women? Had they turned him saccharine sweet and gentle and soft? Had
that woman made him soft? Had he forgotten how to fuck an arse? How to fuck his
brother’s arse?
That frown on Thor’s brow at the corridor, when Loki had told him that he hated
him. The hurt in his expression before he hastily plastered some arrogance all
over it.
He spat on his hand, got his cock and balls out and started jacking, as he
squeezed his sack just to the verge of pain. He bit his lip hard. Yes, fuck, I
fucking hate you so fucking much, you oblivious, self-righteous, hypocritical,
cowardly bastard…  
Back in the boardroom. Oh, no, hell no. No kissing. Loki would bend over the
table on his stomach. Thor could fuck him like that. The rest could watch.
Nothing felt like his brother, no-one. Loki closed his eyes, and from the deep
end of his more precious memories, he fished for the sounds his brother made
when he fucked him, and tried to conjure them up. Even more, he sought the
sound he made at the first thrust, the moment he entered him, that strangled
breath, that sharp gasp when he bottomed out. Ah, that sensation. Thor inside
of him, stretching him, filling him, overpowering him. Everybody else had been
but a fucking tourist in Loki’s body, a guest at most. But Thor was the master
there. Whenever he allowed himself to remember Thor fucking him, Loki’s whole
body rocking under his thrusts, it turned his brains to fucking soup. 
He was jacking fast, thumb sharp at the head, twisting his fist, legs
shivering, back trying to curl forwards, him trying to keep himself upright and
on his feet. 
Thor could be such an animal in those days. He could really lose it and fuck so
damn hard. Loki had been done pretty much in every way he could think of, but
Thor was so strong, so fit, he went at it like a horse. His cock felt so
fucking good, but it was his lust, his hunger for Loki that really killed him.
Oh, those sounds, those groans, the breathing, the moaning. The knowledge that
Thor wanted him beyond reason, that he lost himself in lust for him. Ah… His
beautiful brother, who could have anyone, and everyone, desperate for him like
a dog in heat, Loki his leaking, willing bitch.
Oh, fuck… Loki was so close now, so close.
In the boardroom, Thor grabbed his hair in his big strong hand and forced his
head around, fucked in, and kissed him. Loki bit down on Thor’s lips, wanting
to draw blood. His brother groaned in pain, and Loki came, his moaning loud and
breathy, his knees all but giving, come on the carpet, his back jolting.
 
He trembled, eyes out of focus, a quiver in the muscles of his arms and thighs.
Feeling drowsiness starting to descend upon him, he shuffled to the bed, pants
around his knees, and sat boneless on the covers, panting hard. He wiped his
hands on the bed and pulled his trousers up, trying to put himself back
together. He had not had an orgasm like that in… god fucking knows, he didn’t
exactly keep a diary of these things. Maybe he should. 
His eyes focused on the script, a seemingly harmless stack of paper on the
small, plain, bare desk by the window. (In the boardroom, Thor’s copy so
crumpled and dirty, a perfect circle of coffee on the front page, Loki’s copy
neat and crisp, his handwriting sharp and impeccable.) 
This movie was going to be the death of him, wasn’t it? He would be carried out
of the set in a fucking straight-jacket, or directly on a bloody stretcher,
with a tag on his big toe.
He plopped backwards, his chest still heaving, still seeing his brother’s face
when he shut his eyes. 
Well, there were worse ways to go. He knew first-hand. He had tried a couple.
 
 
                                       *
 
 
Natasha was with him at all times, and in constant contact with the people back
home. When she needed to be away, she actually sent herwhatever he was, Clint.
The guy was quiet, mostly unobtrusive. He read or played video games, and
reported to Natasha. Sigyn phoned at least once a day, and they texted
constantly. Loki complained they were all doing his head in, and how the fuck
was he supposed to concentrate and take in the bloody script with so many
people hovering around him.
Inwardly, however, he was very, very grateful. They all reminded him what this
was about. And he needed it. 
Because the read had been intense, but the bloody rehearsals…
Heimdall was a bit too bloody eager to play up to the mad vibes he had felt at
the read. He told Loki he was holding back. Damn right he was holding back, he
was trying not to scream like a banshee from sheer pent up tension, just from
being around Thor so often, for such long hours, skinning each other alive with
that damn dialogue. It was all so raw. They played the whole thing from back to
back a couple of times, before focusing on any specific scenes. And Loki found
himself simply incapable of keeping a professional distance from the fucking
progression of things between Bobby and Johnny, from the early mistrust and
alienation to the real reunion, when the wall came down between them, and they
finally became a comfort and an aid to each other. 
Heimdall was very interested too in showing the progression of the relationship
through the way the brothers touched. That is, from the first heart-felt but
awkward embrace, through to some pushing and shoving in one of the worst
fights, all the way to the last hug. And he wanted to sharpen each and every
one of those touches until they were clear as glass. Meaning, a fucking lot of
hugging. A fucking lot of smelling Thor. A fucking lot of feeling him against
his flesh, his big, strong, absurdly muscled arms tight around him. God fucking
dammit,it was hard. And he could tell how bloody happy Thor was to be allowed
to touch him like that. It made Loki want to rip his own eyes out with his
nails. It was so fucking nice. Fuck nice. Thor could take all his nice and
shove it up his perfect arse. Loki did not want anything to do with it.
And everybody was so excited, anticipating how good this thing would be, that
it was catching. Even from inside, Loki was able to tell they were on fire. The
light in Thor’s eyes after they killed a scene got under Loki’s skin every
goddamn time. A couple of times, he had even smiled back. Damn.
He did not enjoy being mad at Thor. He was not fucking ten anymore. But he felt
he had to keep himself at a safe, grudgy distance, because he had no middle
ground… He could not walk around just being  friends  with Thor, he was
incapable of it. He knew himself well. What with the way Thor was behaving
towards him, if Loki did not go around actively hating him, he would start to
have  hopes . And he was  not  fucking putting himself in the position of being
rejected by Thor again. Never fucking again. He could not claim to have much
pride left, he guessed, but if there were any dregs there, he would protect
them with his own miserable, pathetic life. 
So fuck Thor’s puppy eyes, fuck his long, warm stares at lunchtime, fuck his
attempts at small talk and fuck his offers of further rehearsal at home. No,
we’re not friends, Odinson, and I’m not your brother, I never was, so fuck you,
fuck your olive branch, fuck your brotherly good intentions. We’re nothingto
each other, nothing. Fuck you. Sideways. With a barge pole.
Oh, but what the fuck was Thor playing at. The bastard, when they were kids, he
would push and push and push, but when he felt Loki drifting away, he would
pull the leash and assert his claim. That was even before they started having
sex. Was that what this was about, the look he had given him after Loki walked
out of the room with his new 1950s hair-cut? Thor had taken his time to examine
it, quiet astonishment in his eyes, then a frown.
“That bad?” Loki had said, incapable of helping himself. Vanity.
Thor smiled warmly, the jerk.
“No, you look great,” Thor said, his eyes fucking stroking the long waves that
were not there anymore. “But I’ll miss your hair. I love your hair.” 
Loki had shown teeth, venomous spite in his eyes. How did he fucking dare? Loki
trying to keep it professional and that fucking tease, stringing him along…
King of fucking mixed signals. It was forgivable when he was a teenager with
little or no control over how his words and actions came through, and the
extent of the effect they had on Loki, but now? Now he was taking the fucking
piss. Loki had never had his brother for a cruel man. What the fuck was that
all about then?
Loki had turned on his heels in an angry whirl. He had been this close to
punching his stupid golden face. The only reason to restrain himself was
Heimdall. Loki knew better than to piss off figures of authority. (Thor did
not. He always got caught. And yet, somehow, everybody always blamed Loki.) 
Rather than breaking Thor's nose, Loki resumed his cold war tactics. For
example, chosen at random from a long list, ignoring Thor, smiling mildly with
nothing but politeness when he spoke, and every now and then, sigh as if he was
bored. Worked like a charm. The dark cloud on Thor’s head, oh, it was fucking
beautiful. And well fucking deserved.
 
                                       *
 
 
Three days to the start of the shoot. Thor rubbed his eyes and stopped the
alarm. He had been getting up early to go jogging. His character was a
military, outdoorsy type in a rough spot. He was supposed to be buff, but worn
out. He was shedding some weight. 
He stared at the ceiling, drowsy, scratching his stomach and balls, psyching
himself up to get out of bed. It was getting harder and harder every morning. 
This thing with Loki. He had not expected it would be easy, but he had hoped to
have made some inroads by now. 
He knew how stubborn Loki was, and he understood his brother had good reason to
be, er, not well-disposed towards him. Thor had fucked up a lotafter all. He
had come ready to endure Loki’s punishment. 
But he had also hoped he would get through to Loki at some point, and even he
could tell he was failing miserably at finding the right approach. Loki refused
to speak to him about anything that wasn’t acting, and went to whatever lengths
necessary to make sure they were never alone together. Thor just did not know
what to do. 
Loki did soften up now and then, but Thor had stopped celebrating that soon
enough, fearing the backlash that he knew would follow. For every kind look
Loki deigned to cast at him, Thor had better brace himself for three good days
without one single civilised word. For every time they hugged in rehearsals,
Thor knew he would have to pay for it in hundreds of Loki’s vicious jabs or,
worse still, his pointed indifference. It was grinding him down. 
Anyway, surrender was not in his nature. He would keep trying, until he got it
right. Loki could not stay mad at him forever, could he? …Bloody hell, of
course he could. This is Loki we’re talking about.
Well, whenever he was stuck, there was one thing that never failed to make him
feel better. So Thor went for his run. 
He was towelling himself dry after a shower, when he heard the phone. He had
thirty missed phone calls. In the last half hour. What the fuck?
“Yeah?” he said, cautious.
The words came out like machine gun fire.
“Mr. Odinson. NBC. What are your comments about the breakout on the internet of
your adoptive brother’s sex tapes?”
Thor’s face scrunched up in complete befuddlement.
“What?”
“What are your comments on…”
He hung up.
His heart, thumping in his chest like a buffalo stampede, the prickle of
adrenaline under his skin.
What?
The phone went off again.
“Fuck off!” he shouted.
“Thor, it’s me,”said Tony, calmly.
“What the fuck is going on, Tony?”
“E! TV. Now.”
Thor fished for the remote on his bedside table, phone still glued to his ear,
while Tony waited in silence. He could hear him breathing.
There it was. Loki on the street, outside his hotel, chased down by paparazzi,
flashes like a thunderstorm, making Loki’s pallor appear a sickly fluorescent
white. It must have been early this morning.
The running line at the bottom froze the blood in Thor’s veins. “LOKI LAUFEYSON
SEX TAPES SCANDAL. PAST COMES TO HAUNT ASGARD HOUSE’S YOUNGEST. Sex tapes from
past as prostitute published on internet video platform.”
“Good god…” gasped Thor, feeling sick.
A snippet from Loki’s street interview followed. Loki with his sunglasses on,
shoulders slumped forwards, head down, on the defensive. 
But he did rise his chin to address the vultures, with pride. The questions
were unintelligible, but with Loki’s Shakespearean diction, Thor did not miss
one word of his brother’s reply.
“Well, I haven’t seen them yet, so I can’t give an accurate review. But I seem
to remember that my performance was greatly praised at the time. I somewhat
doubt that the cinematography does it justice though, the means must have been
rather rudimentary. Anyway, as most of my work, I’m sure it was more effective
live. I’m a theatre man after all. Now you have your comment. Leave me the (- -
-) alone.” 
They chased him down the street some more, and then the clip cut off to the
news presenter, waiting with a stiff, artificial grin for the stupid transition
tune to finish. 
Thor turned it off, struggling to breathe.
“Where is he now?” he choked out.
“At Natasha’s. I can be there by you in five minutes. With an unmarked car.”
Thor nodded, cleared his throat.
“Please.” He swallowed. “Has anyone told Heimdall?”
“Don’t think about that now. I’ve got it. You just… Just wait there, don’t
answer the phone. I’ll come round the back. Just hang in there.”
 
 
                                       *
 
 
“Thank god,” said Natasha, a wave of relief on her face, upon opening her door
and finding Thor there. “He’s in the bedroom. This way. Why is your phone off?
I’ve been calling.”
Thor followed her, shaking with alarm. Loki had looked alright in the TV, sassy
and strong. He was coping, right? I mean, he was Loki, for fuck’s…
He found him cowering in a corner, on the floor, by the bed, his eyes puffy and
red, curled in on himself, hiding behind his own bony knees.
When Thor approached him, he flinched. He was terrified.
“Loki…” gasped Thor.
He kneeled next to him slowly, reached up to stroke his face. Loki winced away,
as if he feared that Thor would strike him.
Loki sniffled, his lip quivering.
“I fucked up…” he muttered, with barely any voice.
Thor’s heart broke to pieces.
Fuck this. 
Thor wrapped him in his arms and pulled him to his chest.
Loki started shaking with his sobs, curled in on himself, but didn’t fight him.
When Thor kissed his hair and his forehead, Loki leaned against him. He
couldn’t stop crying, whining like a child.
“I’m here, baby. I’m here,” said Thor, again and again. “I’ve got you.” And he
started crying too, as he held his brother tight. 
 
 
 
***** Chapter 16 *****
Chapter Summary
     The aftermath. Avengers, assemble.
Chapter Notes
     I give myself feels. BABIES!!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
Loki started to unfold himself, pushing to disentangle from Thor’s arms. Thor’s
first instinct was to cling tighter.
“I need to pee, Thor” grumbled Loki.
Reluctantly, Thor let go. Loki got on his feet stiffly, stretching his back,
and made his way to the bathroom. 
Thor stood up too, muscles knotted up as if he had overworked himself in the
gym. They had been holding each other on the floor for a long time. Loki had
cried for a good part of it. In the end, he had ended up sitting between Thor’s
legs, crushed against his chest, resting his head on his brother’s shoulder, as
Thor petted his hair. 
Thor’s own tears had dried quickly. Loki in his arms again, taking comfort in
him again, accepting his embrace and Thor's kisses on his head, letting himself
be soothed by his big brother's presence, like he had done such a long time
ago, it seemed a whole lifetime. In many ways, it had been a lifetime. All Thor
had felt during that time was gratitude.
Thor got out of the room to find the apartment empty. There was a note on the
fridge. “Help yourselves. NR”. 
He presumed everyone had gone to battle stations. There was a hell of a lot to
deal with, wasn’t there? Thor rubbed his eyes tiredly. Ah, none of that
mattered now. Let Natasha and Tony and his army of lawyers and publicists and
spin doctors take charge. Loki was the only thing that mattered to Thor now. 
He put the kettle on —bless Natasha for her British mannerisms; the thing even
had a British plug— and rummaged in the cupboards for some tea.
“The second to your right” said Loki, leaning on the door frame, hands in the
pockets of his tight, black jeans, long and lean and lovely, even with his
puffy eyes and that bitter pinch in his mouth. 
Focus, Odinson. He found the tea and poured the boiling water. Loki came to
fetch his mug, his expression jaded and weary. He padded on bare feet back into
the guests bedroom and plopped on the bed like dead weight. His breathing was
still wet. 
Thor followed him there. He sat on the bed next to him, at a distance. He
really did not know what Loki would tolerate from him, and what he would
consider an intrusion, now that the first moments of the crisis were over. But
Thor just did not want to stay away. He would risk it.
Loki eyed him on the sly. He looked tense.
A bristly silence Thor tried to navigate with a sip of boiling tea that scalded
his tongue. 
“Are you mad at me?” asked Loki after a long time.
“Mad? Why would I be mad?”
“For… for putting you all in this position.”
Thor shook his head, an acid choke in his throat. ‘Do I look mad to you’ and
‘Why do you always think the worse of me’ and ‘why must you always say these
things’ all came to his mouth and pushed to come out.
“I’m not mad” he said instead.
“And Natasha?” said Loki anxiously. “She must be furious.”
“Why would she?” Thor knew he looked genuinely at a loss.
Loki huffed, angry at himself, but took pity on Thor’s confusion.
“She worked so hard to… to prevent this” he explained. 
Thor still did not know what he was talking about. He had a very solid
headache, give him a break. Loki elaborated.
“Early on, when she took me on as a client, she thought this could happen. When
she learned about… that time in my life, she…” Loki rubbed his eyes tiredly. “I
told her I believed Malekith had stuff on me. Malekith was my boss at the
club.”
As if Thor could ever forget.
“Stuff?”
“Tapes. He recorded stuff,you know. For blackmail purposes I presume. Anyway.
Natasha went to Malekith and struck a deal. It cost us everything we both had
at the time and some more we had to scrounge up, but Malekith sold us what he
had.”
“You don’t think this is him?”
“No. He would not just drop it on youtube, he would come to us with it and try
to squeeze something out of us. It’s just not his style. And he may be a
bastard and a psychopath, but he knows honour, and we did make a deal. 
Besides… it’s not his stuff. His recordings were in his place, hotel room type.
These are… These were taken with mobile phones in the alleyway.”
Thor took a breath. This was hard for him and harder for Loki. Loki kept
throwing looks at him, watching his reactions. Thor was stunned, more than
anything, overcome by all of this, unsure how to address it. Loki carried on.
“When Natasha closed the deal with Malekith, she thought we were home safe. But
I knew we weren’t. I knew there was more. But I did not tell Natasha. …Because
I did not know where to start” he had cut over Thor when he had opened his
mouth to ask. “I don’t know who these guys were, or how to even begin to track
them down. I guess I just… crossed my fingers and pushed it to the back of my
mind, and hoped that it would just go away. I felt-… I was ashamed of myself
for being such a fucking idiot, for letting it happen. I don’t know what I was
thinking back in those days, I swear.”
Thor took yet another deep breath, because he wanted to cry and he was trying
to handle it. He reached for Loki to stroke his face. Loki let him.
“You weren’t thinking” said Thor, cupping his brother’s jaw, stroking his thumb
on his cheekbone. “You weren’t yourself.”
Loki snorted.
“Or I was more myself than ever, depending on how you want to look at it.” He
attempted a little smile that came out more like a grimace.
Thor held his hand now.
“It changes nothing. It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault.”
“You say that because you don’t understand” snapped Loki, snatching his hand
back and lighting a fag. “This was not a natural catastrophe nobody could stop,
ok? It did not have to happen. I let it happen. I did this to myself. You don’t
know the half of it.”
“So tell me” Thor urged, his voice soft.
“You don’t want to know” countered Loki, cutting.
Thor considered that for a beat. He really wanted to do the best he could. If
Loki wanted to protect him, he would honour that. If he was given a choice, he
wanted to make sure he did not take it lightly.
“I do” he said after some time. 
Loki took a long, long drag, and assessed him with a piercing eye. He
deliberated for an eternity and a half.
“Right. Ok.” He sighed at last, puffing smoke. He took yet another minute to
gather his thoughts. “Let’s see. The first time I turned tricks was in Moscow”
he said, as he worried at his shirt like a little boy, eyes low. “I was running
out of money, and I was in a club, and this guy came to me and… anyway, he gave
me money to spend the night with him. He wasn’t repulsive or anything, so I did
it. It was easy. He passed me to a friend, and then to another friend, et
cetera. That went on for a month or so. The money was good, but the best part
was… It felt… good in a way, as if I was shitting on Odin’s name. Do you know
what I mean?”
Thor guessed he could understand that, given enough time, so he nodded, He had
a very unpleasant tumble in his stomach. Loki carried on.
“When I came back to London, I was broke, and I was still very, very far from
done with Odin. I stumbled upon that club. And for a while it… sufficed, sort
of. But everything I touched seemed to turn to… not gold, but let’s call it
shitty gold. I mean, I was looking for something seedy and disgusting and I
find myself in a reasonably clean place, and I start pole dancing and I get a
mention in Out Magazine… It wasn’t cheap enough. It wasn’t debasing enough.
Yes, I had to fuck people for money, but the guys Malekith got me were… well,
they were kinky fuckers most of them, no fucking Richard Gere’s there, but it
was so polite,so professional, sosanitary. I don’t know. All I could think was
Odin finding out and going ‘Oh well, if he has to be a whore, at least let him
be a high class one.’” 
And he had mimicked Odin’s voice and tone so well Thor had to smile. Loki
mirrored it for a second. 
“Anyway” said Loki, smoke escaping his lips, “it just would not do. So I
started doing it in the alleyway. And that was more like it. That was less
kinky, but a lot cheaper. And it pissed off the boss to boot, so he punished
me. They never beat me up, they did slap me around sometimes, but they didn’t
want to spoil the merchandise. No, what he did, he got me clients that were not
so… sanitary. Or he gave them permission to, I don’t know, go a bit wilder. And
I just… I just swallowed more pills and got on with it, and didn’t give a shit.
Because that’s what I wanted. I knew it was fucked up but… But it made the rest
feel right. Or better. You have to understand. I was… I was a mess, ok? I was
taking sedatives and shit I got in the street to sort of numb the anxiety, but
the rest of it was left to run rampant. My head was a very sick, very dark
place at the time. Anyway, when the guys in the alleyway started to film shit…
I let them. I could have stopped it. I had a bouncer who was a friend, he could
have stopped it if I told him to. But I didn’t. It just added to it. It made me
feel appropriately dirty and used, and it made me…” Loki stopped when Thor’s
tears started really falling. 
He tried to wipe them out but they just kept coming. All that hurt he had never
known about or begun to imagine. So many places in Loki’s mind that scared the
shit out of him, and Loki there by himself, and no chances of letting Thor in,
to be there with him and try to make it better, or at least suffer it with him
if there was nothing to be done. It made him so goddamn angry.
Loki lit up another fag with the butt of the last one.
“I used to get my kicks thinking of the videos getting to the press and making
dad die of shame. Careful what you wish for, eh?” he said, with a sour smirk
that cut like a knife. He sat back and stared into space. “I didn’t even think
of mum back then. I mean, that mum would suffer too. I can’t understand that
now, how I managed to push her under a rug like that, as if she did not exist,
while I did all those things. I can’t figure out how… Anyway. At least there is
that. She’s not here to see this. Though her name will be dragged through the
shit with mine just the same.” A wet, shuddery sigh.
Thor took a few deep breaths, pulling himself together. He glanced at Loki,
trying to think of something to say. Loki beat him to it.
“I’m so fucking sorry” he said, as his face scrunched up with the urge to cry.
He wiped the tears furiously.
Thor shook his head but he could not get anything out.
“Have you seen them?” asked Loki, his voice choked.
“No” said Thor.
“I don’t want you to.” Loki sniffled. “Please.”
“I won’t” said Thor.
Loki wiped his eyes furiously.
“Everybody else will” he said.
Thor leaned over, hooking one hand strongly around Loki’s neck. He kissed his
forehead hard, then his cheek, and pulled him tight against his chest. 
“What am I going to do now” sobbed Loki, hiding his face. “Fucking hell, Thor”
he said weakly, crying. He clung tight.
Thor wished he knew what to say.
“I’m here, baby” said Thor. “I’m here. I love you.”
They laid in bed together on top of the covers, Loki shaking with deep sobs.
Thor felt almost guilty that he was feeling so… Damn, in spite of everything,
here they were, together. He cradled his brother in his arms and kissed his
head again and again, breathing in his scent, and Loki calmed down little by
little. 
After some time, Loki’s eyes started to droop. Natasha had said he had taken a
sedative, under doctor’s instructions, after all hell had broken lose earlier
this morning. Now that he had calmed down, he was bound to feel drowsy and
exhausted. It was a blessing. Loki would be able to forget about it all for
some time.
He put him down gently. Loki’s eyes fluttered, saw Thor, and closed again. He
rested his head on the pillow. Thor kissed his forehead, and saw Loki’s mouth
tugging with the hint of a smile. Now Thor did want to cry.
He extricated himself gently from Loki’s arms, draped a blanket over his
brother, kissed his hair, drew the curtains closed, and pushed the door almost
shut. Let him rest. 
 
He needed some painkillers for his head, and he needed to move. He felt
restless, pent up energy crackling under his skin. Coffee was not a good idea,
but bollocks to it, the taste was comforting. 
Checking his phone was an even worse idea, and not comforting at all. He
thought that even as he waited for the damn thing to start up. Sat on the couch
with his mug in one hand and his phone in the other, he raised his eyebrows at
the number on the missed calls register, and then he checked the news. He was
instantly sickened. The latest bombing in Gaza was still front page on all the
serious newspapers, but the fucking sex tapes was the most viewed and shared
story in all the news sites he browsed. Some articles on the sleazier media
even had fucking screen caps, for extra colour. They were not too explicit, the
details blurred and hazy, due to the dim light, the low resolution, and the
editor’s last shred of decency, but fuck. 
The debate in the comments section was the worst of all. Sure, there were
commenters taking Loki’s side, but many others seemed to take the approach that
the videos had been taken in a public place, that Loki was a prostitute at the
time anyway, and that he was a celebrity now and courted popularity, so he
could not complain if people were interested. It made Thor want to throw up, or
kill someone, or both, one after the other.
He closed the browser. For his sanity and the structural integrity of his
phone. 
He had so many messages he would never get through them, and his voicemail was
so full it had packed up. And sure enough, there were seven incoming calls (he
had it on vibrate) in the twenty minutes since he had turned on the phone. He
switched it off again, and contemplated very seriously just dumping this one
and getting a new one, with a fresh new number he would never fucking give to
anyone.
What a bloody mess. He slumped on himself, elbows on his knees, face in his
hands. 
He needed to stay strong for Loki. He just wasn’t sure how. He felt so
impotent, so helpless. He could not make this thing go away. He could not take
his pain away and shoulder it for him. His worst nightmare was Loki crumbling
between his fingers again, and doing something to harm himself… He could not
think of that. He could not bear the thought. Look at him, he was shaking. 
What could he do, what? 
What would mum do if she was here?
 
 
“You made what?” said Loki, rubbing his eyes, hair a bird’s nest. He had slept
for over three hours.
“Chicken soup” said Thor, with the steaming bowl in his hand. “Do you want
some?”
Loki had a look of intense and utter disbelief on his face.
“How the hell did you make chicken soup?” he said, as if Thor had told him he
had put together a helicopter out of toiletries and kitchen appliances.
“I boiled chicken and vegetables” he said, purposely toning it and pacing it as
if he was talking to a very slow little boy. “Natasha has a full fridge.”
Loki’s mouth and eyes were open wide, with a touch of humour. It looked good on
him, but it still irked Thor.
“Listen, I’ll chuck it if you don’t want it” he said, pissy.
“No, no, I’ll eat it” hurried Loki, conciliating.
Thor let it go. He approached with the bowl, the spoon, the napkin and the
tray, and set it all on Loki’s lap. His brother looked dozy and flat, but there
was a glint in his eyes that was almost cheerful.
“Are these spring onion slices floating?” he said.
Thor huffed, losing his patience. “Yes.”
“Why is it yellow?”
“Turmeric.”
Loki’s eyebrows shot up in astonishment.
“It’s Javanese chicken soup” explained Thor.
Loki’s mouth fell open again.
“What the fuck do you want from me?!” snapped Thor.
“Nothing! Nothing!” said Loki, holding his hands up in appeasement. “It’s just…
since when can you make… Javanese chicken soup?” he asked, in complete
bewilderment.
“Loki, I’ve lived by myself since I was eighteen. I can cook, alright? Deal
with it” he said, a bit too aggressively perhaps, given the topic of
conversation.
Loki looked at his food. He had to stop biting his lip to put a spoonful in his
mouth.
“It’s really nice” he said.
“I know it is” snapped Thor.
Loki couldn’t keep a straight face, but he kept eating.
“Thank you” he said, after a while.
Thor relaxed a bit.
“You’re welcome.”
He sat on the bed, carefully. He would get a lashing if he made Loki spill soup
on himself. He leaned his back against the headboard, his eyes unfocused, with
the little noises of metal on porcelain and his brother’s very quiet, very
delicate slurping. The scene was oddly domestic and peaceful. It felt good.
“Done” said Loki, wiping his mouth.
“Do you want anything else?” said Thor, as he picked up the things. He was
feeling smug. Loki had finished it all.
“Some tea?” asked Loki, angel face.
A smile tugged at Thor’s mouth. 
“Your wish is my command.”
Loki had a strange look on him, glancing at Thor through a squint.
“What” asked Thor.
“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” said Loki.
Thor took his brother’s face in, feeling damn pleased with himself —Loki was
smiling.
“You have no idea” he said. And he left a kiss on his brother’s head before
taking the stuff to the kitchen.
 
They were sitting on the bed with their mugs of tea when Loki sniffed the air.
“You’re… baking?” he said, the look of shock and incredulity back on his face.
Thor’s eyebrows shot up. 
“Fuck!” he said.
He jumped from the bed and rushed to the kitchen.
 
The biscuits had burned slightly at the edges, but they polished even the
crumbs. 
 
                                       *
 
 
Sigyn arrived late in the evening. Loki started to cry again in her arms. Thor
stood to one side and backed away, to give them some privacy. Loki whipped his
head around.
“Don’t leave” he said.
Thor smiled at him.
“Never. Never again” said Thor.
And he thought Loki understood when he got out of the bedroom and left the two
of them alone.
 
Sigyn emerged from the bedroom after half an hour. Thor stood up from the
couch.
“Loki has gone for a shower” she said.
He nodded, resisting the urge to wring his hands.
“It’s great to meet you at last” said Thor. And threw his arms around her,
timidly. 
“Yes, same here!” she said, hugging back. “How are you?” she asked, when they
sat down.
Thor puffed a long breath. He had intended to keep it light, but he found a
choke in his throat and he was unable to speak. 
She seemed to sense it. She gripped his arm lightly (not much of it, with her
average sized hands) and rubbed it as if for warmth.
“Hey, I’m going to tell you what I told him, alright? Just breathe and take it
one step at a time. I know it seems impossible right now, but you’ve been
through worse, both of you, and you pulled through.”
Thor shook his head, disbelieving. Sigyn grabbed his wrist firmly now, and
shook it to get Thor’s attention. She drilled into his eyes with hers.
“Listen to me. This is not the worst thing that’s happened to Loki, or to you.
This is not the end of the world. And yes, before you say anything, I am
perfectly aware that an actor is his image and all of that. Loki has explained
it all already, extensively. I know that, but I’m still saying this. It might
seem as if life as we know it has ended, but it hasn’t. And we’ll pull through.
And in time, entire months will go by without us even remembering this ever
happened. And you’ll be fine. And Loki will be fine. Alright?”
Thor stared into her green-brown eyes. Her vehemence was a thing to behold. She
seemed capable of standing up to a hurricane. 
Thor by contrast felt like a slight breeze could topple him right now.
“I don’t know what to do” he confessed.
“You’re doing fine.” She gripped his hand with both of hers. They were strong.
“You’re doing what he needs from you. Seriously, he does not need you to go and
slay him any dragons. Just stay with him, let him know you love him. That’s
what he needs.”
Thor swallowed, and went for it.
“Sigyn, you know, right? About… about Loki and me.”
She smiled kindly.
“Yes.”
He took a breath.
“And?”
“And what?”
He opened his mouth, but he didn’t even know what he was asking.
“Do you want to know how I feel about it?” she guessed. “Sad and frustrated, is
what I feel about it, you pair of idiots” she said.
Thor frowned some more.
“Idiots?”
“A pair of idiots, so crazy about each other and incapable of…”
He widened his eyes.
“Really? Loki is…? He’s told you that?”
She huffed, rolling her eyes.
“I rest my case.”
He laughed, full chuckles. It felt good. Even he could tell his face had
brightened up. He suppressed the mighty urge to grill her about what Loki told
her about him. He guessed he had no right to pry. But damn, it was tempting.
His eyes darkened then.
“It’s not just about being… crazy about each other though, is it?” he said.
“We’re brothers. It wouldn’t just ruin our career if it ever came out, but
hiding… it would make our personal lives hell” he said. “Probably.”
“Are they so great right now?” she asked.
He observed her carefully. She was serious. 
“Point taken. But it’s not just about having a hard time of it. Loki is… he’s
fragile.”
Sigyn shook her head. She was having none of that.
“He’s stable, medicated, he has a good support network, and he has been through
a lot, and learned to deal with a lot as well. He is strong. And you would be
there for him.”
Thor smiled sadly.
“I’m usually the problem, Sigyn.”
She sighed deeply, seemed to weigh her thoughts.
“Look, I’m probably talking too much and Loki will kill me for it but… It’s not
being with you that’s the problem with Loki.”
Thor looked away.
“You don’t believe me” said Sigyn, in dismay. She leaned forward, clutched his
hands tight. “You’re the person he compares everyone else with, and nobody has
ever come close, not since I’ve known him. And I know him very well, you better
believe that. Listen, I know that being in love and… er, lusting for each
other, by themselves, don’t justify a relationship. But that’s not all there is
to it, is it? The way he talks about you… You were happy together, weren’t you?
I mean, it worked between you. Right?”
He had never thought about it like that. He had only thought about how
miserable they were. But they had been happy in Iceland, perfect together. A
good team. And there had been days back in England… She was right. It had
worked between them, when guilt and fear of being discovered didn’t get in the
way. 
“And it doesn’t seem to work with anyone else…” she added. “I don’t know, Thor.
You’ve tried being apart and that hasn’t gone so well for either of you.
Perhaps you should think about that?”
“I do” confessed Thor. “I’ve thought about that too. I’m… I’m willing to try.
It’s what I want.”
Her face lit up with joy.
“But I can’t see Loki giving me a chance ever again” he said. “Not after all
that’s happened between us. And I don’t blame him…”
“Right” she said. “I’m going to stop that train of thought right here, ok?
Because that’s where you start to go wrong.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“You’re assuming things based on nothing” she explained. “Just bloody ask him!”
He looked down, chastised. The girl was a whirlwind.
He hated to sound so bloody negative, but…
“He won’t talk to me” he said.
“I can try and help with that” she replied.
“If I am right, and I ask him, he’ll tear me to pieces.” he said.
“But what if you’re wrong?”
“He’ll probably tear me to pieces anyway.”
She laughed.
“Maybe” she conceded. “Not a bad way to go though.”
He laughed. And blushed.
“Will you think about this?” she urged.
He grinned.
“Non-bloody-stop, I predict” he said.
“Good.”
“Think about what?” said Loki, hair wet, shirtless. “Conspiring against me?”
Thor’s heart jumped up to his mouth, his cheeks burst into flame. 
“Loki Bloody Laufeyson!” exclaimed Sigyn, standing up and rushing towards him.
“Put a shirt on right. now! You’ll catch your death!”
She had done that on purpose. Distraction manoeuvre. Thor loved her already.
Even if she was pushing his shirtless brother back into the room to cover him
up. He could even forgive her that.
 
                                       *
 
At midnight, Natasha burst into the flat, with a bag full of Loki’s clothes and
things. They were all still awake.
“We’re moving you to Stark Tower” she said. “Whenever you’re ready.”
Thor checked on Loki, who nodded.
The girls took charge. Thor said he would stay behind, and go to his hotel to
pick up some clothes. Natasha ordered him his own Starkmobile. 
Loki looked at him warily.
“Are you coming later? Or… tomorrow?” He had tried to sound even and casual,
but those big, anxious eyes were giving him away.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can” said Thor. “Tonight.”
Loki nodded. “Ok.”
“Hey,” said Thor, grabbing his neck, stroking his jaw, “as soon as I can. I
promise.”
He stayed behind as the small group made it out the door. He saw the flashes go
off, and some shouting. Natasha had said it was quieter now than it had been.
Crazy, the world had gone crazy.
It wasn’t even about Loki’s celebrity right now, there wouldn’t have been such
a big fuss if it was just him. He was a theatre actor about to embark on a
Hollywood career, well-known in Britain, not so much in the US. This was about
their parents, their name, about Thor himself. It made him feel ill. 
 
 
                                       *
 
When he made it to Stark Tower, he was told that Tony had allotted them all
suites in the guests floor (one of them anyway), and Thor had his own. Still,
Thor asked to be shown to Loki’s straight away.
The look on his brother’s face when he saw him, bright like a little boy’s. It
made him feel warm.  
Sigyn and Natasha were talking by the kitchenette. They had ordered take-away
and offered Thor to reheat him some. He declined. Not hungry.
He sat down with his brother on the couch. He was watching a whale documentary
on mute.
“Hey” said Loki.
“Hey” said Thor, ruffling his brother’s hair. And Loki didn’t bite his hand
off, how about that.
“You made it” said Loki.
“I made it.”
“How is it out there?” said Loki after a while.
Thor shrugged.
“There was some people outside my hotel, nothing major.”
“Did they bother you?”
“Nah. Unmarked car, tinted windows, back door. Piece of cake.”
Loki smiled a little smile.
They were quiet for a long time.
“I’m glad you’re here” muttered Loki.
Thor sighed with a tangle of emotions inside he could not begin to work
through. It was overwhelming at times, Loki being… civil, candid, sweet even.
Thor had the constant urge to hug him, now, while the walls were down. He did
not know how long they would stay this way.
“Do you want to watch a movie?” he asked.
He was exhausted. He didn’t think he was going to keep awake after the first
ten minutes, and he thought Loki could see that in his face. But he wanted an
excuse to stick around, and for Loki to stay relaxed around him. His intentions
were probably transparent to Loki. Thor braced himself for a rebuff.
“Do you think Tony has The Crimson Pirate somewhere?” said Loki, with a smirk.
 
                                       *
 
He woke up to the smell of coffee. He had spent the night on the couch of
Loki’s suite, apparently, and someone had covered him up with a blanket. Thor
rubbed his eyes, and managed to focus them on the cup of coffee on the low
table in front of him. He got himself upright, scratching his head, his
stomach, stretching his back. Coffee sounded good. And it smelled even better. 
He turned his head around, only to see Loki on the balcony, having a fag with
Bucky. They were talking calmly. There was trust there. Bucky had a hand on
Loki’s shoulder, and was smiling warmly. Loki looked deflated, his smile faint,
his eyes sad. They talked for a while longer, and when they finished their
fags, Bucky kissed Loki on the mouth and hugged him close, and Thor clenched
his jaw and looked away. Drank his coffee in a few gulps. It was still warm. He
got up to make himself another one. He had a long day ahead.
The balcony doors slid open.
“You’re awake” said Loki, with a tiny smile Thor struggled to match. It made
Loki frown.
“Morning” said Bucky, rubbing the back of his neck. He was still madly shy
around Thor. 
He was a good actor, with a lot of presence, and the camera loved him, if the
screen tests were anything to go by, but it took him a while to warm up —pun
intended, considering the scene they had to shoot together- and it had been a
bit stiff. Thor was to blame for a good part of it, of course. He struggled to
put the image of Bucky’s and Loki’s dance out of his mind. And Bucky seemed to
sense that Thor did not like him, and reacted to it. Steve said once that Bucky
had been outgoing, self-confident, cocky even, before he served. Thor found
that hard to believe, seeing him now.
He tried to be friendly.
“Thanks for coming, man” said Thor, shaking Bucky’s hand.
“No problem. Er, see you later, Loki. Take care, guys.” He grabbed his jacket
and made for the door. 
Loki walked him there. At the door, Bucky kissed Loki again, on the cheek. Thor
looked away.
“Stay strong, eh?” said Bucky, with a sweet smile.
Loki nodded.
“You too.”
Alone now. 
“You didn’t even make it to Isla Cobra last night” said Loki, grinning.
“I was knackered, alright?” snapped Thor.
Loki frowned. 
“Sorry” said Thor.
Loki’s expression was cold.
“I’m going to have a shower” mumbled Thor stiffly. He picked up his bag, still
on the floor by Loki’s door, untouched since yesterday, and went to find his
suite.
 
 
                                       *
 
He was jealous, wasn’t he? Thor was jealous. Of Bucky. Loki huffed. The fucking
nerve. Couldn’t he make up his fucking mind? Did he want to be brothers or… or
what? Did he just want Loki at his feet for the rest of his life, pining for
him, alone for ever? God fucking dammit, Thor.
Loki picked up the cup of coffee he had made for his brother from the table
where Thor had left it, and dumped it with a decent clank into the sink. It
didn’t break, but it could have.
“Whoa” said Tony, poking his head through the door. “Are you decent? Can I come
in?”
Loki’s first impulse was to throw him some snark. He composed his face. He owed
Tony a lot.
“Yes, come in” he said, really trying for calm and welcoming.
“I just bumped into Thor. You two alright?”
Loki stared at him, a pinch in his brow.
“Dandy” said Loki, and rubbed his eyes. “What’s going on, Tony? Nobody tells me
anything.”
“Nothing is happening” said Tony, flashing him a quick grin. He looked tired.
“The shoot is postponed, until you feel up to it.”
“Postponed” repeated Loki. “Not cancelled.”
“No.”
Loki sighed deeply.
“It’s going to cost you a fortune.”
“That’s fine” said Tony. “It was not an expensive movie to begin with.”
“It will be now.”
Tony shrugged.
“Listen…” said Loki. “I’m pretty sure there are grounds in my contract to sack
me but… I’ll pull out. I’ll go quietly. I won’t give you any problems.”
Tony stared straight into his eyes.
“I don’t want you to pull out” he said, sharp. “Try and pull out, and I’ll give
you problems.”
Loki grinned at that. 
“Seriously, Tony. I bet you have all your people telling you to drop me.”
“It’s my money” countered Tony.
“You’re going to lose it. Lots of it.”
“If money was all I’m about, I wouldn’t even be making this movie. I’d stick to
the superheroes. I’m doing this because I love it.”
“Precisely” said Loki. “If I’m in it, nobody will pay attention to the movie.
I’m a fucking porn star now, and that’s all they will see.” He sighed. “This
story matters. It’s a difficult sell enough as it is. It deserves to… It
deserves to have a clean chance, not have any of this shit smeared all over
it.”
“They’ll forget about all of it when they see it. Your acting is out of this
world.”
Loki sighed again, and he almost smiled. Tony was his biggest fan.
“What does Heimdall say?” he asked.
“He called five minutes after the news broke out and told me that, if we fired
you, he was walking out.”
Loki rubbed his eyes.
“You’re all very kind” he said. “I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve this.”
His voice came out weaker that he had intended. He had been aiming for sarcasm,
and instead he had sounded…  well, he had sounded sincere. Which he was. How
about that.
“Well, it’s certainly not your charming ways and sunny disposition” said Tony,
with a smirk. “Seriously now. It’s not kindness. We want you to do it, because
you’re the best for it. This movie deserves you, what can I say.”
There was a part of Loki that was capable of taking a compliment and accepting
shows of admiration with generosity. It was the part his mother had nourished
and coached since he was a baby, with sweet words, unwavering encouragement and
unconditional love. His mother had taught him that people said nice things
because they felt them, and they offered them expecting nothing in return. And
that the right thing to do, the decent thing to do, was to make people feel
good, by accepting what was given freely and kindly, let it get inside, and
feel the gratitude. It wasn’t inherent to Loki, this part. It had had to be
fabricated and trained, and it felt alien to him, an uneasy guest in an
unwelcoming frame, a disturbance at times. It sat ill, it annoyed him. But he
owed it to his mother, and he strived to keep it alive.
There was another part of Loki that he saw as properly himself, that knew
better. It told him ‘what a fine liar you are’, and ‘you’ve pulled the veil
over their eyes again’, and ‘they are fooled once more. You know and I know,
that you’re not that good. It’s just the people. They’re not as clever as you,
they’re not as demanding. They don’t see what we see.’ And that part made him
recoil and spit venom when people were nice to him. He didn’t really want to
fool them. He was afraid of the day he would be discovered and exposed for the
cheat he was, an impostor. He resented them and despised them for having
allowed themselves to be fooled. Every time he tricked someone he had looked up
to into liking him or admiring him, he respected them a little less. If you
were as good, bright and sophisticated as I had thought you were, you would see
me for what I am, and you would not be very impressed with it. 
These two sides were in eternal conflict within Loki. Very often, he didn’t
even know in advance which one would be talking through his mouth when he
opened it to reply.
“I appreciate your loyalty” said Loki, his eyes low. “I really do. You’ve done
so much for me, and I know I haven’t exactly been the best friend to you. If
you let me go I… I won’t hold it against you. I will understand. I do.”
Tony put a hand on his shoulder and gave it a quick squeeze.
“Loki, you know I don’t want to let you go. Now you’re just fishing” said Tony.
Loki tried to smile.
“You just want to get in my pants again, don’t you?” he said, through squinted
eyes, trying to change the subject.
Tony laughed.
“Buy me dinner first” he said, turning on his heels and making for the door. “I
need to make some phone calls. Will you be alright here?”
“Sigyn should be back in a bit.”
“Ok. …Hey” said Tony, at the door. “Don’t give your brother a hard time. He’s
about as smooth as an oil rig, but he loves you.”
Loki stared at him with a hint of suspicion. Tony shut the door behind him,
acting as if he had not noticed.
 
                                       *
 
It was a strange day. People treated Loki as if he was a recovering patient.
They spoke quietly around him and brought him things, bloody flowers and
chocolates even. Lots of messages of support from people in the business he had
never even spoken to. He did not know how to feel about that. 'Hypocrites',
shouted the one side, 'trying to make themselves look good. They don't give a
shit, not really'. "What do we say, Loki?" said the other side, in his mum's
voice.
Sigyn returned from her raid for groceries in the kitchens at the basement of
the tower. Thor returned from his shower, all fresh, shaved and sparkling, and
tried to act normal. 
The three of them sat on the couch and played video games for a while. Sigyn
loved Mario Kart. It was awkward at first. She was sitting in the middle (Loki
had made sure of it) and she was so tiny between them two. They ended up having
a good time, and laughing. He caught his brother stealing a glance at him every
time he pushed him off Rainbow Road. It had him swallowing dry. 
Natasha and Clint walked in after lunch, with reports. The police were trying
to identify the people who had published the videos, and seemed to be making
good progress, with the spontaneous help of Anonymous, apparently. The funniest
part? There was a growing throng of fans who had taken it upon themselves to
track and take down every copy of the videos they could find. They called
themselves “Loki’s army”.
Loki listened to all that with raised eyebrows first, and a wicked smirk after.
“How’s that” he said. “I have an army.”
 
 
They spent the rest of the day watching movies, all the flicks Thor and him
watched a hundred times as kids. The Goonies, Sword in the Stone, Indiana
Jones, The African Queen. Thor made hot chocolate as their mum used to make it,
by melting a bar of dark chocolate and mixing milk and cinnamon in. Loki
observed absent-mindedly as his brother’s big hands broke the tablet into
chunks, and found it way too sexy for his peace of mind. 
They dipped fruit and sponge fingers in the chocolate. He caught Thor staring
out of the corner of his eye when Loki was licking his fingers clean (honest to
god not trying anything, he didn’t even realise he was doing it), and his
stomach did a flip.
They were all rubbing their eyes and yawning by 1 a.m. It had been agreed
without a word that Sigyn and Loki were going to sleep in the same suite. The
bed was gynormous anyway. There was even room for Clint and Natasha, if they
should feel inclined to join them. 
Sigyn got up to go to bed. 
“First to the bathroom” she said. She kissed them both on the head and padded
away with her cute Snoopy pyjamas. 
Thor and Loki waited their turn in silence on the couch. As if there weren’t
hundreds of places to have a wee and brush one’s teeth within walking distance
in this place.
Loki wanted to be angry at Thor, but he wasn’t. He had had a brilliant day. His
brother looked hot in that snug white t-shirt and soft knit lounge pants. And
he wasn’t wearing much underneath, Loki would bet money on that. It seemed so
easy, so natural, so right, to just lean over and… Fucking hell, Laufeyson, no.
Because he'll kiss you back, he'll get hard, he'll get you hard, and then
suddenly he'll come to his senses and push you away, and just, no.
But fucking hell.
“Where is your room?” said Loki, after some time. 
“Four doors down” said Thor, big hands clasped on his lap, his eyes fixed on
them.
Loki took a breath, as quietly as he could. Dammit Laufeyson…
“You could stay” said Loki. And very quickly. “Stay.”
Thor stared at him, that beautiful face of his lost in thought.
“Ok.”
Loki felt a shiver. 
They continued to watch the Blue Ray menu on a loop until Sigyn called to say
the bathroom was free.
 
                                       *
 
Loki startled awake, shaken up, panting. He couldn’t remember the dream, but he
identified the sensation it had left behind. It felt like when he was sleeping
rough. He used to startle awake a lot then. His heart was pounding.
Sigyn was asleep. There was a storm outside. The rain battered the windows,
swayed this way and that on strong gusts of wind. There was lightning and very
distant thunder.
When Loki was a little boy and he had a nightmare, he never went to mum and
dad’s bed. He went to Thor’s. 
Loki had woken up from a nightmare many, many nights, for many years now, with
Thor lost to him, and the thought that he would never have him back weighing on
his heart and mind. He had had to put himself back to sleep, or endure the rest
of the night awake, and the fear, and the loneliness, by himself, without a
hope.
Loki looked to the door. 
 
                                       *
 
Thor was woken up by the rustling, the sudden cold when the blanket over him
was pulled back, and the warm weight against his chest that followed. He
recognised the smell in an instant, with his eyes still blurred with slumber.
His heart beat faster.
“Hey” he said, softly, sleepy.
“Hey” said Loki, his back glued to his body from head to toe. 
The couch was narrow. They could not move, or Loki would fall off. 
“Are you alright?” muttered Thor.
“Can’t sleep” said Loki, with a small voice.
Nightmare, guessed Thor. His arm was resting on his side. He wondered if he
should, if he was allowed to… Loki wiggled against him.
“Shift. Need more room” he said.
“Don’t do that” said Thor, against all his instincts. His cock was stirring. 
“What, this?” said Loki, and pushed.
“Hey” warned Thor.
They stood still and quiet for some time. Thor was casting his mind into the
most outlandish directions to get his body to cool down. He was sure Loki could
feel him. 
Loki turned his head around to face him. Even in the darkness, Thor could see
his eyes glint. A long, loud thunder shook the windows. They stared at each
other, Thor breathing deeply, his chest heaving against Loki’s back. His vision
was getting used to the darkness and he could make out his brother’s sharp
face, his mouth, his eyes still trained on his. 
Thor was at a loss. He did not know what Loki wanted, or did not want. What he
did know was that Loki’s life had turned upside down in the last twenty-four
hours. That he was shaken, adrift, afraid, probably confused, and vulnerable.
Loki’s warmth, his bones against Thor’s body, his scent. What did Loki want.
Loki pushed closer. Thor slowly kissed his forehead, his temple. Loki kept his
eyes open wide, Thor could see the faint light reflecting on them. He kissed
his cheek. The corner of his mouth. Loki closed his eyes. Thor kissed his
mouth, a chaste, closed-mouthed kiss, a bit like the very first one. Loki’s
breathing caught.
Suddenly, Loki turned. Thor thought he would run away. He didn’t. His breathing
was rushed.
“Stay with me” muttered Thor. “I’ll behave. Please.”
Loki did not move or speak. After some time, Thor arranged the blanket so that
it covered them both, threw his arm around Loki’s waist, and wove their fingers
together. He almost could not breathe for the memories. He fell asleep with the
smell of Loki’s hair and the ebb and tide of his breathing falling in time with
his.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     Javanese chicken soup. I've been to Java, and we were given a broth
     that is the nicest thing I have ever had in my whole life. And I've
     had some amazing food in my life. *Java*, sigh.
     Isla Cobra is a place in The Crimson Pirate. Thor lasted awake even
     less than he thought he would.
     The Crimson Pirate is a wonderful adventures movie with Burt
     Lancaster my grandfather used to put on for us, when we were home
     sick or off school and they looked after us. He made me watch some
     amazing movies I would probably never have known otherwise, even
     coming from a family of movie buffs. It's a great movie, really
     entertaining, doesn't get old, I swear.
     The African Queen is another wonderful oldie bestowed upon us, this
     time by my mum. It warms my heart. John Houston (my favourite, along
     with Billy Wilder) directs, old Humphrey Bogart (his only Oscar) and
     Katharine Hepburn star. Adventures, autumnal romance, courage,
     mosquitoes, a river, an old boat, and if you've never seen Bogey
     mimicking a hippopotamus, and Kate's adorable snorts when she laughs,
     you don't know what you're missing.
     I'm sure you've heard about the others.
***** Chapter 17 *****
 
“Are you watching the TV?” said Natasha on the phone.
“No.”
“BBC International. Quickly. Now.”
A press conference. Odin was sitting at a long table, surrounded by
microphones, flashes on his face. He looked old, and weary, and brittle, until
he spoke. 
“Ladies and gentlemen” he said. His theatrical lungs and presence had not
deserted him. These three words were enough to silence everyone in the room,
the glint of his fierce one eye falling here and there like a judge’s gavel. He
had command of the space, just as he had commanded entire theatres. The majesty
and intensity of his presence was palpable even through a television screen.
Thor glanced at Loki, who returned it briefly. Thor saw his Adam’s apple bobble
in his throat. He reached for Loki’s hand, and Loki took it, with a slight
tremor.
In the TV, Odin had a drink of water and tidied his papers, but he did not read
from them, his memory still formidable. 
“I have heard too much these days” began Odin, “about whether or not these
videos belong to the public, and who has a right to them. I have heard
arguments made on the basis of what my son did or did not do at the time, and
what he does or does not do today. Somehow, for reasons I can’t comprehend and
baffle me completely, all the discussion seems to revolve around my son.”
“What I haven’t heard yet is an unqualified condemnation, not only of the
people who have published these videos, not only of those who took them, but
also of the people who abused my son at the time.” 
“My son was a sex worker for a brief period of his life. But that was not the
product of a well-matured decision, taken freely as the best of several,
perfectly acceptable options. And it was not a life-style choice either. The
fact that his family is well-to-do made no difference to him at the time, since
he had cut himself off, and he believed he would not be welcome back -something
for which I, and I alone, must be held responsible, and I regret profoundly. He
was a desperate young man who had suffered too much already, in a terrible
place in his life and in his mind, making unsound choices that caused him
harm.” The fire in Odin’s expression was now brutal. “And none of that was ever
a concern to the men who used him. They never asked. They did not want to know.
They took advantage of his vulnerability and abused him. To argue that he did
it voluntarily and freely is to willingly forget the nature of the disease he
suffered, and even more, to ignore his desperate situation at the time, healthy
or ill. And this is true for so many others in the sex business.” And now Odin
showed teeth and lost his even tone. “And on top of everything else, now my son
has to hear the ‘respectable public’ taking sides with those bastards, in the
name of some twisted understanding of what the concept ‘freedom of information’
means, and has to hear discussions about censorship and prudery and whatnot,
when all this sad, disgusting business deserves is an uproar about what some
human beings will do to other human beings less fortunate than them, just
because they can, just because nobody is bloody stopping them.”
Silence in the room. Odin’s fury abated, but still burned. 
Thor looked at his brother, whose eyes were glued to the screen, his expression
one of astonishment and confusion.
“My son did not bring this upon himself” continued Odin. “He is not responsible
for any of this, he did not do anything to deserve it, and he should be
excluded from the discussion altogether. The release and dissemination of these
images, perpetrated with the only aim of causing pain and humiliation, and to
damage my son’s career and public image, is a criminal act, and my son is a
blameless victim. The fact that he was a sex worker once does not mean that his
body is public property forever more. The fact that he consented to these
images being taken, in the very specific personal conditions I have outlined
before, does not mean he consented to seeing them spread all over the internet
today. The fact that he has a past that society, in its rampant hypocrisy,
frowns upon, does not mean he doesn’t have a right to his future, to his
dignity, and to his privacy. I cannot understand why I’m even speaking about
this here today. It should be redundant and self-evident.” The old man seemed
to be staring down individuals in the audience, perhaps journalists that had
covered the news in a way that pissed him off. Thor practically saw them cower
under his father’s wrath. He felt himself grow with pride and love for his dad.
He clutched Loki’s hand tight.
“My son has nothing to be ashamed of” said Odin. “He pulled through a very dark
time in his life, and a very dark place in his mind, and has made a success of
himself. And I’m not talking about his acting career, which is a privilege to
witness and does honour to our profession. I’m talking about the fine young man
he is today. Even if he has now taken his name of birth, I am still proud that
my own name is still associated with his. I have no claim to his achievements,
because they are his and his alone, but I am, I have always been, and I always
will be, proud of my son. Nothing further.”
Odin stood up amid a lightning storm of flashes and shouted-out questions he
ignored. The connexion returned to the BBC news presenter, and Thor switched
off the TV.
He turned to his brother. There was an array of minute expressions playing on
his face, too quick for Thor to read. 
“Are you alright?” asked Thor.
Loki, glanced at him, and retrieved his hand from Thor’s iron hold.
“I don’t know” he said. He got up slowly from the couch, picked up the
cigarettes from the table, and made for the balcony.
Thor gave him some time. He tried not to stare. He exchanged a look with Sigyn,
who seemed to be turning what they had heard in her mind.
“What do I do?” said Thor after a while, impatient, his nerves finally getting
the better of him.
“Go to him” she said. “It’s your dad too.” 
 
Loki had his eyes lost in the hazy distance. The sky was a pale grey, as if it
was empty. He was smoking slowly, and did not acknowledge Thor’s presence when
he stepped into the balcony. He hesitated, but eventually Thor put a hand on
his shoulder. He was ready to be snapped at, but Loki just carried on smoking.
“Hey” said Thor. “Are you ok?” he asked.
Loki extended a hand in front of him, and examined it with detached, mild
interest. It was shaking badly.
“I don’t think so” he said, “but judge for yourself.”
Thor took Loki’s hand between both of his, stilling it, and rubbed it as if for
warmth.
“What are you feeling?”
Loki snorted and mumbled “Et tu, Brute?”
“What?” said Thor.
“Forget it” muttered Loki.
“Oh, right, Julius Caesar” said Thor, when he worked out the words. “What
accent did you use?”
Loki stared at him with a raised eyebrow.
“I’m not a total idiot, you know?” said Thor.
Loki smirked.
“You’re too hot to have a brain as well. Not fair” he muttered.
Thor blushed, looked down to his shoes.
“I could tell you the same thing” he countered. Loki’s eyes flickered, under a
frown. “But anyway, what I was asking is…”
“I know what you were asking” cut Loki. He sighed. “I don’t know. A part of me
wants to take what Odin said at face value. You know, to believe he does feel
like my father sometimes, and that this is one of those times. Another part of
me is telling me that he’s just trying to make himself look good by… I don’t
know, by appearing as a supporting father. But I just… I get tired of hating
him. I get tired of being mad.”
Loki butted his fag. Thor rubbed his brother’s hand.
“I can’t forget the things he said that day,” said Loki, “or how he used to
treat me,” his voice faltered, “but I would like to.” He sighed. “I guess old
habits are the hardest to break.” He looked away.
Thor took in a breath, wondering whether he should or not.
“He asked me to tell you he was sorry, a long time ago” he said after some
time. “When mum died. He said he was afraid of dying without you knowing he
regretted how he had treated you.” He hesitated before adding. “He regretted
that he had failed you as a father. And he hated himself when he was saying
that. He was suffering.” 
Loki eyed him on the sly, got his hand back, and lit up another fag.
“How about that” he said, toneless, with a puff of smoke.
 
 
                                       *
 
 
He had lain awake in Thor’s arms for a long time early that morning, his
brother’s slow, deep breathing at the back of his neck. Thor had always been a
sound sleeper, and him a light one. They filled him with warmth, all these
things that had not changed; a warmth he had not particularly asked for, but
that he would accept. Thor was still Thor, no matter how much he had grown up,
or how much time it had passed. It was comforting, as long as he did not think
too much about all the other, less fortunate ways in which his brother would
never change.
They could have fucked the night before. Loki was sure of that. Thor would not
have turned him away this time. He would have put his big brotherly concerns to
one side and gone along with whatever his suffering, needy baby brother asked
of him. But that, of course, would have amounted pretty much to a pity fuck.
Loki would not suffer pity from anyone.
And, still, he had been so tempted. He had thought how good it would feel to
get lost in it for a while, get lost in Thor’s body and in his lust, and forget
about tomorrow, about the moment Thor would start to apologise and back away
from him, to try to do “the right thing” and be “just brothers” once again. And
for Loki’s sake, of course, it was always for Loki’s sake. The bloody
hypocrite, the fucking coward.
Loki guessed he should pat himself on the head for doing the right thing for
his health, for once. Somehow, even after all that therapy, he had never gotten
the gist of this part, the “well-done, you” part. He did not feel at all like
self-congratulating. He felt like he had been cheated.
And while he was entertaining these thoughts, he had held his breath at the
sensation of his brother’s rising morning wood growing against his arse. 
How many times had they woken up like that when they were younger. Before they
had sex, it had been very confusing. Loki knew it was something that just
happened, and Thor was always so flustered and so embarrassed. Loki’s pulse
would always race, he would feel himself getting hard, and later he would jerk
off thinking about it, lost between hoping it was what he wanted it to be, and
the voice in his head telling him to get real. 
That morning, with Thor’s solid, majestic boner nudging at the cleft of his
butt, reality had felt just about as bewildering and arousing as it used to be
back then. And when Sigyn appeared from the bedroom and saw them both on the
couch, she had an expression comparable to that of Frigga whenever she found
her boys together like that, endearment and humour, and Loki flustered as much
as he used to, as if all his thoughts were clearly printed on his forehead.
“Fuck off, Gyn” grumbled Loki, hurling a cushion at her.  
At that, Thor woke up. And realised.
“Shit, sorry” he mumbled, pointlessly trying in that extremely confined space
to get his erect cock away from his baby brother’s arse.
And with that, the trip to the past was complete. Loki had started to laugh,
even though he did not feel all that cheerful. 
 
                                       *
 
Odin’s letter arrived in the afternoon, about three hours after the end of
Odin’s appearance on TV. The paper thick, embossed with Asgard House’s
watermark, handwritten with his vigorous, elegant calligraphy, needless to say
with one of his finest fountain pens, the trace so sharp, spotless and well-
defined. Priority expedited airmail, addressed to Natasha’s place in New York.
Odin’s assistant had done his homework. 
At first, Loki would not take it. Then he handed it, unopened, to Thor.
“Can you, please?” he said, after clearing his throat.
Thor ripped the envelope carefully and had a quick read. He offered the letter
to his brother.
“Go ahead” he said.
Loki read it.
 
Dear Son
I don’t have to tell you to be brave and strong because you already are, and
you always have been. Remember to be proud, as you make me proud.
You have my admiration, my respect and my love.
Your father.
 
Loki sighed and rubbed his eyes. He looked so tired. He passed the letter to
Sigyn, who was stroking his arm. 
“I had enough” Loki said. “Call Natasha.” And he added, hearing himself.
“Please. If that’s alright.” 
“What do you want me to tell her?” said Thor.
“Tell her I’m ready to talk.”
 
                                       *
 
Meeting at Tony’s office to discuss strategies. The moment Thor took a seat on
the couch next to Loki, his brother immediately threw both legs over his lap,
and reclined his head on the arm Thor had on top of the backrest, like a cuddly
cat claiming his human. He was exhausted, and needy. Thor wrapped his arm
around him, and Loki cuddled even nearer, his head over Thor’s shoulder, his
face close to Thor’s neck. Loki discussed his next step with Tony and Natasha
in this guise.
Thor realised this was not your usual brotherly cuddle, not with two big,
twenty-something grown-up guys like they were. But he also realised, with a
sigh of relief that rustled Loki’s hair, that everyone in that room knew about
them, Natasha, Tony and Sigyn, and that nobody cared. He fantasised about an
afternoon like this, in the future, in a party perhaps, when he could just kiss
his brother like he wanted to do, with people around them, and his only concern
would be to keep it decent until he could get his brother home. Their home. He
tightened his arm around Loki. When all this was over, he would sit down with
him, whether he liked it or not, and they would talk.
Tony finally ended his phone call, and faced the small audience he had.
“Right, then, it’s all set. Tomorrow at 10 a.m. in the press room downstairs”
he announced. 
Loki sighed.
“Ok.”
“You can still change your mind” said Natasha. “We could prepare a statement I
would read tomorrow, with no need for you to be there, and in time, a one-to-
one, in-depth interview with a respected journalist would be perfectly
acceptable. We would have greater control like this.”
Loki shook his head.
“I want to get it over and done with. I don’t want it to look as if I don’t
have the guts to face them.”
“You have nothing to prove, Loki” said Thor. “You know that, don’t you?”
Loki didn’t answer.
 
Loki did not ask him to stay that night. Thor said goodnight at Loki’s door
like he had done so many times in the past, sneaking into Loki’s bedroom to
make love, and returning to his own bed before mum and dad found out that he
wasn’t in his room. He didn’t snog his brother silly like he used to this time.
God knows he wanted to.
“Call me if you need me” he said, instead of I love you. “Four doors down.”
“Goodnight, Thor” said his brother, avoiding his eyes, and shut the door.
He did not call.
 
                                       *
 
The noise in Stark Tower’s press room was monkey-cage worthy. They stood just
outside, waiting for their cue. Loki was shivering lightly, anxiety spiking up,
but his expression was determined, and no less fierce than Odin’s had been the
day before. 
Natasha would run the show. That put Thor somewhat at ease. The woman scared
even him some times. She went in first, and they heard her address the
attendants.
At 10 a.m. sharp, Loki took the stage. Thor followed him, and sat down right
beside him. Tony would be there too. They faced the flashes, and waited
alongside the journalists until the photographers were given instruction to
stop. The chorus of shouted calls of attention from the journalists exploded
straight after. Natasha took charge, calling the name of the person she was
granting permission to speak. Thor was impressed: she knew them all.
“Loki! Loki! Is it you? Can you confirm it’s you?”
Thor was used to this kind of set up, but Loki was not. He knew it was
confusing. Loki needed a few seconds to locate the journalist asking the
question. 
“Yes, it’s me” said Loki, his voice firm.
The shouting started again right after Loki’s answer.
“Have you seen the videos yourself?”
Loki cleared his throat.
“Only a couple of screen caps to confirm they were genuine.”
“Loki, here! At times it looks as if you’re teasing the camera. Did you know
they were recording these encounters?”
Loki shifted in his seat. His expression remained even and cool.
It struck Thor all of a sudden that everybody in that room but him and Loki
must have seen the videos.
“I must have been” he said.
“Did you consent to them being taken?”
Loki shifted again.
“I never exactly gave my permission, but if you’re asking me whether I could
have stopped it, the answer is yes.”
“Why didn’t you?”
Loki huffed. Thor looked at him, squeezed his hand. Loki squeezed back.
“I engaged in many behaviours at the time that amount basically to self-
harming, as a result of my chronic mental problems, which had gone unmedicated
and untreated for months by that point.” he said.
“Are you worried about how this will affect your career?”
“Is that a serious question?” he snapped. “Of course I am. I’m afraid that all
people will see from now on instead of my work is this. I don’t want to be
remembered for my gymnastics in a fucking alleyway, and this kind of shit tends
to stick. Of course I’m bloody worried.”
Thor never ceased to be amazed at the dynamics in a press conference. The
shouting re-started as it had after every answer. Nobody batted an eyelid,
nobody needed a second to pick up their breaths after Loki’s outburst, nobody
was affected, even though Loki obviously was. It was like addressing a room of
automats. 
“You were open from the beginning about your time as a sex worker, and yet this
has not prevented you from prospering in your career. Why is this different?”
“I wish it wasn’t. But knowing about it is not the same as seeing it” said
Loki, after a sip of water.
“The police seem to be closing in on the people responsible for disseminating
these images, how does that make you feel?”
Loki gave that a second’s thought.
“Nothing, really. I’m not even sure there is cause to do much against them,
certainly nothing that’s worth much to me. The damage is done. I’m not
particularly excited over the perspective of making them into minor
celebrities, on top of everything else.”
“Don’t you want them punished?”
“I want to put this behind me. I’m not looking forwards to court procedures and
all that malarkey knocking on my door in a few months time, when I’ve finally
pushed this to the back of my mind.”
“A question for Mr. Stark. Tony, the shooting of Mariners has been postponed.
Is it a temporary or is it a permanent suspension?”
“Not permanent at all, we start on Monday” said Tony.
“Is Mr. Laufeyson still involved in the project?”
“Of course he is. I’ll take this opportunity right now to dispel any rumours
about discussions to fire Mr. Laufeyson on account of this situation. That was
never on the table.”
“Even though the rumours came from high up in the hierarchy of Stark
Productions?”
“I cannot account right now for what individual executives have said on a
personal note. Make no mistake that I will address it with those individuals,
in time. However, the buck stops with me, and with Mr. Heimdall, and we have
never even considered anyone else for the role, apart from Mr. Laufeyson, from
the start. We are still entirely satisfied with our choice, and we have not,
and will not, entertain any other.”
“How will this affect reception of the movie?”
“That’s not my main concern right now. My main concern right now, what we all
want, is to make the movie, and enjoy the process. But let me tell you that I
believe that what we have already seen in the rehearsals is enough to wipe out
the memory of anything but Mr. Laufeyson’s acting talent from anyone’s mind.
This time next year, nobody will remember this. And if they do, it will make no
difference to Mr. Laufeyson’s career at all. His performance is that good.”
“Loki, are you aware of the spontaneous internet movement called Loki’s Army?”
A little smile tugged at the corner of Loki’s mouth.
“Yes, I am.”
“Do you have any message for them?”
Loki grinned, though his eyes remained sad.
“My gratitude. But I will be addressing them through their own channels.”
“Thor, you and your brother have been estranged for years, since news broke out
about his origin. Has this brought you closer together again?”
“As I said at the beginning,” cut Natasha, severe, “Mr. Odinson is just here
for support, and will not be taking any questions.” 
Thor sighed a little breath of relief. He had not been sure what he would have
answered.
“Loki, what do you feel about your father’s statement yesterday?”
Loki squirmed, cast his eyes down, and rubbed them hard. He shook his head,
voiceless. He was too affected to talk.
“Another time” said Thor to the press, squeezing Loki’s hand.
“Nothing further” stepped in Natasha, tuned like a fine instrument to her
client’s state of mind.
There was one more explosion of flashes as they abandoned the press room.
 
                                       *
 
 
It had been four days. They had weathered the storm from Stark Tower, resumed
rehearsals again in the studio, with Heimdall and the other actors, up and down
the city in Tony’s fleet of inconspicuous cars, and Loki had been very, very
quiet with Thor. And distant. Ever since the press conference, he had shrunk
from Thor’s arms when he tried to hug him, he shied away from his kisses and
other gestures of affection, and while he was not rude or horrible, but kind
and polite, he was also rather cold. 
On Saturday afternoon, with Sigyn gone, on her way back to London, and
everybody ready to take a plane the next day for the studios in Toronto where
they would be shooting interiors, Loki had told Thor he needed some fresh air,
and whether he would go out with him for a cup of coffee. 
Thor’s heart almost stopped at that. 
Tony's car left them at the door of a little place in Soho where nobody paid
them attention. Loki said Natasha had found it. They made coffee Italian style.
They sat by the bay window and watched people rush by. They weren’t talking.
The silence between them was weakened by the noises in the joint,
conversations, low music, clanking in the back kitchen. Without these, it would
have been quite a heavy silence indeed.
Thor was trying to psych himself up to ask. Apart from sheer terror, what was
stopping him was that he did not know what this was about. He was looking for a
sign or a nudge from Loki that would tell him it was alright, but with Loki’s
behaviour towards him the last few days, he was all at sea. He did not want to
bloody ruin everything just because Loki wasn’t in the mood to hear it.
“This is nice” said Loki, eventually. “Sitting together like this. No angst. No
drama.” He sipped at his strong, black coffee.
“Yes” said Thor.
A brief silence.
“I could get used to it.” said Loki, weakly, as if it was hard. “I could…” Loki
sighed. “I could be alright with this.”
Thor sought his expression for clues.
“With what?”
Loki sighed again.
“You know.” He gulped. “Just… being brothers.”
Thor went very still, and probably a bit white.
“Beats the hell out of being angry all the time” added Loki. “A bit of peace at
last. Right?”
Thor scrambled for words in his head, panicking now. Loki assessed his
reactions, with a very dark frown.
“What” he snapped.
Thor struggled.
“I thought… When this is all over…”
Loki pierced him with a green, poisonous glower.
“I can’t fucking believe you” he said. 
Thor blinked.
“What?”
“Do you do this on purpose?” he hissed. “The moment, the second I start pulling
myself together, the moment you feel me getting away, you…”
“Loki, no, that’s not what this is.”
“Make up your fucking mind already!” he snarled. A few heads turned to them.
They had a wildfire in their midst, and it was spreading. Thor tried to hold
his brother’s hand. He nearly had his ripped off the bone. He raised his hands,
trying to calm the situation.
“Loki, I have. Made up my mind” he tried to say. “I know what I want.”
Loki was not appeased, and he was not swayed.
“Is this your idea of fun?” he snarled. “Jesus fucking Christ!” He stood up,
snatching the jacket from the backrest of his chair, and made out of the place
in a fury.
“No, Loki, wait…” tried Thor.
“Go fuck yourself!” cried Loki, smashing the door behind him, the door bell
tingling urgently.
Thor stood there, confused, all eyes trained on him, too fucking worried and
hurt to care. He slumped down on his chair again, wiped a hand on his face. 
Bugger.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
***** Chapter 18 *****
Chapter Summary
     Just fucking talk to each other already!
     Oh, wait, they are!
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
 
 
 
Thor ran the old-fashioned razor over his chin, put it down, and checked
himself in the blurry, yellowing mirror. The dim light of a naked bulb fell on
his haggard face, deepening his wrinkles, every roughness on his skin, the bags
under his eyes, his chapped lips. He stared at his reflection with disgust and
sadness. What had become of him, once so young, so brave, so full of promise.
How had he managed to fuck up his life so very much. He felt old and a waste
and a disappointment. He had lost all hope. 
He ran some water in the sink and washed the rest of the lather away. Dried his
face, avoiding his own eyes in the mirror, and with one last inhale, he turned
his back to it.
“Ok, cut!” 
Noise and movement. He waited for Heimdall’s signal. It was good.
Make-up Cher rushed in to check that he had not messed anything up on his face,
even though the razor was dull.  
The shoot was going well. More than well, they were catching up on the lost
days and making a killing in the process. Heimdall had a very clear vision of
what he wanted, and the hard work they had all put in during rehearsals and
pre-production was paying off. It was plain sailing so far. 
Loki had flown in a couple of days after Thor, and had been quiet and distant,
though not unkind. He was behaving very much like a co-star, correct, focused,
professional. 
Thor had feared their first scene together, but he shouldn’t have. They had
fallen into step without a glitch, from the very first take.
Heimdall seemed to have planned the shoot so as to ease them into it gently,
from less loaded, more straightforward scenes to increasingly denser, more
demanding ones. Having said that, Loki’s micro expressions and the nuance in
his voice and eyes added layer after layer to the plainest shot. Johnny's face
was always animated with his thoughts, emotions and memories. He was a deep and
intricate character, just by virtue of Loki's performance. He had made of
Johnny a real human being, and that did not switch off, even when it wasn't his
line, or even his shot. It was fascinating to watch. On paper, his part wasn’t
as eye-catching as Thor’s, but from his performance, no-one could have
guessed. 
Thor was striving to keep up with his brother as best he could. He woke up
every day feeling hunger. It was a good feeling. It helped with the other side
of things, the simmering, quiet awkwardness when they weren’t actually
shooting. There were things pending between them, hanging in the air. 
After a long, long week waiting for an opening, Thor decided to push it. He was
just getting out of his hotel room to start the day, when Loki walked by him
with a quick glance and a mumble that was probably “Morning”, walking purposely
down the corridor, headed for the lift. Thor took in a breath, and followed
him.
“Loki…” he said, after gathering some nerve.
“If it’s not about the first scene,” cut Loki, a few steps ahead, without
slowing down, “I don’t want to hear it.”
Ever the mind-reader.
When he was waiting for the lift, Thor caught up with him
“You’ll have to talk to me eventually,” he said, standing next to his brother.
“Will I,” mumbled Loki. He was doing something with the buttons of his cuff,
shoulders tense.
“Baby.”
Loki whipped his head to face him.
“Don’t call me that,” he snapped. “You haven’t earned it.”
Thor winced. That stung like a motherfucker. But he was not going to give up so
easily.
“Loki…” he insisted.
“Jesus fuck, Thor!” snarled Loki, taking a few steps back and away from him.
“Can’t you just… give me some bloody air to breathe? I’ve had one fucking hell
of a month. You can’t just dump something like that on me and expect me to… I
need some bloody time! Why is that so hard to grasp!”
Thor sighed, feeling like an insensitive, uncaring prick.
“It isn’t,” he said. “You’re right.”
“Yes I bloody am!” shouted Loki. He started making for the stairs, talking over
his shoulder as he walked. “I need to… I need to make a bloody movie. And you
too. Just… Just leave me be. Ok?” He disappeared from sight the moment the
doors to the lift slid open in front of Thor.
 
 
                                       *
 
 
They had worked on The Big Fight scene most of the day, and now Loki felt
drained to the bone and exhausted. The tone of the scene was mutual mistrust
and disappointment, at each other and at themselves. The dialogue was
stuttering, broken, jarring. It was the wretchedness of two people who could
not understand how this other person, whom they once thought they knew so well,
could now feel so alien and incomprehensible. They had different, clashing
mindsets, and were so deeply entrenched in them, they could not begin to make
sense of what was ailing the other. 
Well, Thor and himself may have bloody big problems, but disconnection was not
one of them. When shooting, Loki could swear at times there had to be some
telepathic thing at play. Three words and two looks, and they had it. Next
take, and what had been good or excellent became fucking magic. They had the
team in awe. Loki himself was in awe. It was so fucking thrilling to work like
that, feeling like a part in an exquisite mechanism, a well-oiled (lubricated,
heh), finely tuned engine, were everything ran to perfection, that it was
impossible to stay mad or to keep his distance. He was exhilarated. 
And of course, for Loki exhilarated meant horny. And god, his brother looked so
fucking sexy in that Neal Cassady look he had going on. Loki jerked off in the
morning and in the evening and he still got heat waves whenever Thor got too
near. Seriously, the amount of acting he had to keep up even when the cameras
weren’t rolling, people wouldn’t believe. No wonder he was so damned tired all
the time.
And still, Sigyn had pretty much run out of ways of telling him to fucking sit
down and talk with Thor, without result. Will you all just give me some time,
he kept telling her.
Time. He did not know what he needed it for. He was procrastinating and he knew
it. Truth was, he was bloody terrified. 
Loki was as scared of more rejection as he was of… not being rejected. Where
would that lead, how would that fare, how would it work, even? He liked to give
Thor a hard time about not thinking things through, but he was just as guilty
of that sin as his brother was. Back in the day, he teased and taunted and
chased and flirted and flung himself at Thor, and usually did it fully counting
on being rejected. Not before they had fucked, that had been a recent
development, but pushed away in time, just the same. 
So it was never stable between them. To some extent, in that sense, it was
never real. It was an eternal race, the one always chasing, the other one
always running; they would clash now and then, and after that the tables would
turn, so that the one following before now lead, and back to running. When had
they ever been still enough for it to be real, like other couples are real,
where being together is the point, not taunting and scoring and fighting and
tempting and dodging and hurting.
Ok, Iceland, maybe. Loki had let Thor catch him there, and had stayed caught.
And they knew peace then, he should say. Was that real. Because, out of the
whole story between them, Iceland was what felt most like a daydream. 
Chasing Thor hurt, but it was a pain he knew and understood. He knew how far it
went, how deep. He also knew he could manage it. Damn, he had fucking loved the
drama once, if he was honest with himself. It made him feel alive, inspired,
constantly torn by one heart-wringing emotion or another, never empty, never
bored. And Thor chasing him was fun too (if fun could ever begin to cover it.)
It also hurt, but it was worth it (and again, cosmic understatement here.) It
was such a thrill when Loki let himself be caught. The fucking fireworks. 
They were both too old for these games now, Loki guessed, and even though he
had no idea what the fuck Thor actually wanted, (they could hardly move in
together and get a dog, could they? Not that Loki fucking wanted another dog…)
he surmised it was not taking up the chase where they had left it.
So here was Loki’s present conundrum. If they weren’t playing, then they were
serious. If they tried to get serious… Shit, the depth of the pit of serious in
Loki’s life was practically bottomless. 
There were people in his life who could, and had, dealt with that side of him.
Sigyn, of course, since she could relate and was strong and wise. Sam had also
been good with that, so centred, so even-minded. Tony too; he had his demons,
and they ran deep, but he was immune to Loki’s. Nothing seemed to shock him or
unsettle him. But Thor… Well, let’s just say, Thor’s record in the dealing with
Loki’s serious shit department was not filling his baby brother with
confidence.
Case in point: the whoring issue. Let’s recap, shall we? There had been a
meeting a couple of weeks ago, before the Sex Tapes Scandal thing. Thor,
Heimdall, Tony, Bucky and himself had sat down to discuss The Fuck, to prepare
for next day’s rehearsal. 
Heimdall had spoken to Loki first, in private. He had told him candidly that he
valued highly his opinion for that scene, because of his past experience as a
prostitute, as much as for his fine psychological insight. Loki had appreciated
Heimdall’s directness —he did not handle euphemisms and metaphors very well
when it came to having fucked people for money— and told him he would be happy
to share his insights. He had felt strong that day, comfortable in his own
skin. It had all been safely tucked in the past. He felt mostly over it, and
unaffected. No biggie. He was in control of it back then, he decided how much
he shared about it. (Which was over now, and forever. But let’s not digress.)
They had sat down to talk. Heimdall started.
“The way I see this” he said, elbows on the table, fingers interwoven, leaning
forwards, intent, “it’s a crucial scene that expresses Bobby’s very deep needs,
the very deep hunger he keeps bottled. Now, what do we know. We know that sex
has a great pull for Bobby, because he risks a lot doing this. He has probably
put it back as much as he could, until he could put it back no more. This is
what’s eating him alive, this is what he’ll end up losing his family for. It’s
important. I don’t want just “a sex scene”, I want it to be memorable,
something the audience is left with. I want Bobby’s soul on show here. And
because of that, I refuse to have it ugly or sad. It’s about intimacy as much
as it is about sex. I want to drag the people into this with these two men. The
photography will be naturalistic. I’m thinking an off-frame shot to begin with,
keeping people out, aware that they’re looking from the outside, and then a
change, a moment of connection between these two men, and we cut to close
shots, and we are there with them, we are them.” Heimdall reclined back on his
chair. “And after that, I’m open to ideas.”
Nods all around. Loki thought this should be worth watching.
“Does he do this often?” asked Thor then. “Or is it his first time?”
“I think he does this often” said Tony. “There is no way a man like him is
feeling so shitty about just dreaming about it. I mean, he’s always felt like
that, right?, it didn’t start overnight. But before the war he was comfortable
in his own skin, and he felt strong and pure, because we know that both Bobby
and Johnny loved that person he used to be. There was no self-hatred then. But
then Bobby goes to war, he has his first experiences probably, and when he
returns he tries to stay away from it, by getting married, but he can’t. He
feels guilty and wretched, and that’s why he’s drinking himself to death. So my
bet is, he does this regularly.”
Heimdall agreed, and asked,
“So how do we show that?” 
“The way he interacts with the hustler” said Loki. “It should be practised,
smooth and confident. He would identify what the hustler is very quickly, and
know how to catch his attention, just with a couple of lingering looks. It
wouldn’t take long to sort themselves out without words. Once he’s made
contact, Bobby would check, discretely and systematically, that nobody is
paying them attention. He would not be nervous, but he would be tense, alert.
He would also know where to go. He would walk to the restroom without
hesitation, and search it thoroughly, fully trusting that the hustler will
follow him there in a couple of minutes. His behaviour would be controlled,
self-assured and inconspicuous, until he knows he is safe.”
The stiffening of Thor's posture while he talked did register with Loki, he
just didn't think about it much. He was working.
“And then boom,” said Tony. “Lust unbound.”
“No boom” said Loki. “First things first. Money up front, all sort of mechanic
and rushed, because somebody could come in at any minute now. It’s in both
their interests that this goes swiftly and smoothly.”
“But then…” said Tony.
“Well, that’s his tragedy, isn’t it?” said Loki. “It’s the sex but it’s not
just the sex. Bobby is lonely and trying to make do with something, his
marriage I mean, that’s just not what he needs, and here is this lovely boy
who, for a few minutes, will give him what he needs. Bobby would want more than
a quickie in the restroom, he’d want the connection too.”
“How,” said Thor, darkly, almost confrontational.
“I’d say Bobby wants the hustler to come as well” said Loki, all business. “He
wants him to be there with him. He wants the fantasy. I found that with
closeted guys a lot. Not that closeted guys are the only ones who are lonely,
but anyway.”
“What would they actually do?” asked Bucky.
“Well, it could start with a blow job, for example, which is an obvious go-to
in this setting” said Loki. “Bobby pushes the hustler down to his knees. The
guy picks it up quickly. Then we zero on Bobby’s face, aroused and hungered,
and sickened at himself probably, and his loneliness and his shame. Then
something would change. The hustler is responsive. Because Bobby is the cherry
on that boy’s cake tonight. He’ll have to do some pretty disgusting guys, but
look at this one. I’d be responsive too. And there, there is the connection,
when Bobby feels that the hustler also wants him. So Bobby pulls him up and
kisses him. The hustler would feel how desperate he is, he would have a glimpse
of the person under the client, and react to that as well, and that’s when the
ugly goes, and warmth sets in, because it’s intimate, and human. And then Bobby
would fuck him, which is more personal. And make sure he comes, with a hand job
as he fucks him. It should be sensual, and hot.”
The discussion continued, mainly on technical details after that. His brother
listened, but he barely talked. Loki noticed his hands in a fist on the table,
his knuckles white.
So to be honest, Loki had sensed the gathering storm. He should have addressed
the issue with Thor that very same day. He had not. He had not exactly made a
decision, he had just let it go. He had not much to say in his defence, except
that he was scared shitless. Not to mention that, at the time, Thor and him
were still not on speaking terms, but "I'm sulking" is hardly an excuse, is
it? 
Fast forward to this evening. They were going to shoot the sex scene tomorrow,
so there had been one last meeting about it today, with the whole team, techs
and actors. They had refined the choreography, detailed the shots, made sure
everyone knew what was what. 
It would be quite complicated, an ultra-dense micro-opera, contained in a
narrow cubicle, and expressed only through the performance of two actors, with
no words. It was a pivotal scene in Bobby’s arc, a turning point. It told his
tragedy, but it also contained the kibble of his future redemption. Not only
was this scene the prelude to his full reconciliation with his brother, but it
also spoke of the journey that would start after this one, what Bobby would set
out to find, and once he had it, he would cease to hate himself, and be whole
again, and free. In short, it would be one hell of an intense day of work for
the actors.
So when Thor had stormed out of the meeting room half-way through the
discussion, people had shrugged and pegged it to the sensitive disposition of
“the artistic type.” The fact that Thor had never once done anything remotely
like it in a professional setting was mercifully overlooked —mercifully,
because it kept people from asking more questions, providing breathing space
Thor could surely use.
Loki knew his brother. He was not this kind of “artistic type”. If something
was up his arse, it had to be personal. And he had an inkling of what it was. 
He gave him a couple of minutes, and seeing that Thor still wasn’t coming back,
he excused himself and went to look for him, with shaky hands.
He found him where he thought he would be, outside, between the parked cars,
pacing. Fresh air therapy. That was so Thor.
His brother spotted him and looked away.
“Are you alright?” asked Loki, from a distance.
Thor did not reply. He kept on pacing, breathing hard, as if hurling rage at it
could help him battle whatever it was he was feeling.
“Hey. Stop that,” said Loki, taking a couple of steps towards him.
Thor kept on doing his thing as if Loki hadn’t said a word. He looked furious,
Loki could not work out why.
“Thor. Say something.” He almost reached out to him, to shake him out of it.
“Talk to me. Please.” You’re scaring me.
“You were talking out of experience!” roared his brother, startling him.
Loki was confused. He wasn't sure where Thor's rage was coming from. His mind
was scampering in all directions, trying to figure it out. Don't assume things,
said Sigyn's voice in his head then,just bloody ask him!
 “Are you angry at me?” he asked, his heart beating frantically. “Because I was
a whore?”
Thor lowered his eyes, and tried for words that weren't coming. He looked
awfully busted. Perhaps he did not even know what he was so furious about. It
was just his default reaction when things became too much, wasn't it?
“I'm not angry at you," he tried. "I'm angry at me, at them, I'm angry for you.
Shit, I don't even know. Makes me feel... impotent. And to hear you talk about
it just like that, as if it’s nothing, I just… I mean, isn’t it hard for you?
To be reminded of it?” 
“It was a long time ago, Thor. I’m fine.” said Loki. Which wasn’t a lie, but
not exactly the truth either, not since the visual illustration of his actual
fucking portfolio of services had been broadcasted globally through the world
wide web. But this was not the time for nuance and detail. He wanted that fury
out of Thor now, for his brother and for himself. "Don’t think so much about
it.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not fine, and I can't stop thinking about it,” said Thor, with
a grunt. “First the tapes and now… It’s on my mind, ok? It gets to me. I can’t
help it.”
“What does?” asked Loki. “What I was, the things I did?
Thor’s silence spoke loud and clear. No, please, not this. Loki felt the cold,
caustic surge of shame, guilt and self-loathing, thick in his throat, heavy in
his chest.
“Thor, it’s there, it happened. Can’t be erased. You have to… you have to deal
with it.” He was urging himself no less than his brother. He was sick with
fear, terrified that what he had done was irreparable. He had wanted to tear it
all down and watch it burn, but for years now he had been hoping he had
failed...
Thor had stopped pacing. He was rubbing his eyes instead, very hard. Please
don’t fucking let him pop one out, he already reminds me too much of Odin at
times. Loki was shivering like a leaf, gearing himself up to asking a question.
He did not want to put ideas in Thor’s head, but he had to know.
“Do I repulse you when you think about me like that, doing those things?”
The look on Thor's face. Loki knew that expression. That was the ‘I need to say
something right now but please god don’t let me fuck this up more than I
already have’ face, the conversational equivalent of being forced to run as
fast as your legs can carry you across a minefield, because there's zombies at
your heels. With Thor’s big mouth, Loki had seen it often back in the day.
“No, ba-… Loki, no. I swear,” said Thor. “I just… I can’t fucking live with
myself thinking that you had to do that. That I wasn’t there for you. How much
I failed you.”
Right, thought Loki. The saviour complex. A distracting stratagem? As much as
it annoyed him, he wanted to grab that explanation with both hands and run with
it. But there was that furious itch at the back of his mind that was far from
satisfied with that answer. He steeled himself. 
“You don’t think I’m, um, tainted,” he asked.
“No, baby,” he said, struggling to force the words out. “No.”
“Because I’m not the same person I was before,” insisted Loki, pushing for the
truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. “It wasn’t a neutral
experience, and it has changed me. The way I see myself. The way I see things.
The way I fuck.” He pressed on, trying to be impervious to Thor’s increasingly
distraught expression. “You need to understand that. And get it in your head
that you can't just put it in a drawer and pretend it's not there, because
there will always be something that will remind you of this. I need to know
that… shit.” His voice had kept thinning and thinning, until it failed.
Severely touchy territory there. He had not planned on going there today when
he woke up this morning. Deep breath. “That whatever happens between us, if we
do… If… That you won’t suddenly turn in disgust wondering whether this is
something I did with a client.” He had pushed this last bit out as fast as he
could. 
Thor gaped like a fish out of water, protestations crowding on his lips.
“Loki, I would never-…” 
“You’ve just had to barge out of a room and have a panic attack because you
could not bear to think about it!” cut Loki, with a shout. And took a breath.
And then another. “This is important, Thor,” he said, sternly. “Give it some
bleeding thought at least! Talk to whoever you have to, do whatever you have to
do, but make sure you can handle it, because…” He was trying to stem the tears
by rubbing his eyes raw. “…Because out of all the things that could screw us
up, I can’t have this be one of them.”
As Loki's words sunk in, a new, searching glimmer began to shine in Thor's
eyes. 
Yes, said Loki without a word, I am saying what you think I’m saying, but other
things besides. Please, listen to them all. And guess what, Thor might be
hearing him, because he wasn’t talking.
Calm down and fucking think, Loki.
“What would help?” he asked. “Do you want to ask me questions? To put your mind
at ease? It might be not as bad as imagining it.”
“Jesus!” huffed Thor, with a shiver of horror. “Maybe. I don’t know.” he said.
But that scrunched forehead said that he did know, and that the answer was not
‘maybe’. He sighed, disarmed. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”
“Think about it," said Loki. He wished he had something better to offer.
Then Thor stared at him, interrogating again, that question in his eyes, ‘did
you just say what I thought you were saying’, softening his face and
brightening it up with hope. Loki looked away. It was unbearable, he was so
beautiful.
“We need to get back in,” said Loki, skittish, overwhelmed by it all. He never
got used to Thor looking at him like this. How could anyone ever get used to
it. He seemed bloody lit from within.  
“Focus, Thor. The movie,” mumbled Loki. 
“I’ll sort this out, brother,” said Thor then. “I promise.”
Loki wasn’t great at wishful thinking. He had pretty much had to live on it at
one point in his life, and what a fat load of good it had done him. How about
you try trust instead, said Sigyn’s voice in his mind.
He returned Thor's stare, taking in that open expression, no-questions-asked,
all heart, all yours. I fucking love your face, he thought, aching to touch
him.
Loki, you dolt. What's stopping you.
Fuck it.
He reached up and stroked his brother's cheek, stubble tickling his palm.
Thor's hand sprung up to hold Loki’s, and he nudged into it, with his eyes
closed. It was electric. He pressed a kiss to Loki's palm, and smiled with
gratitude. The fucking heavens opened over their heads and all manners of
sunshine and burning comets came dazzling through.
Loki was really feeling overwhelmed now. He made to go, but his brother clung
on to his hand.
“Loki, I…” Thor took a moment to find the right words. “You may not be the same
kid you used to be, but neither am I. And you’re not tainted, and you’re not
broken, and you’re not wrong in any way. You’re still Loki. You’re always
Loki.” He held his breath, for courage. “My Loki.”
Loki swallowed with difficulty around the knot in his throat. He nodded. It was
as much as he could do right now. Slowly, he got his hand back. 
As he was walking through the door, Thor spoke again.
“Thank you,” he said.
Loki peered over his shoulder.
“For what?”
“For letting me keep this.”
“Keep what.”
Thor cleared his throat.
“My Loki,” he repeated.
That’s it, Loki was going to fucking cry. He went in.
 
                                       *
 
So that was that, thought Thor, after Heimdall called it good. The last detail
shot, done. The studio shot, done. Location next.
Thor shook hands with Bucky, whose mouth was still red from kissing, and they
had a few words and a hug. They were all knackered. It had been a very long,
very intense day. And Loki’s eyes had been boring into him from start to
finish. At times, it was all a bit of a mind-bend. 
The scene involved no nudity (they had not needed Loki’s expert advice to point
out that a shag in the restroom would hardly allow for people to take time
unbuttoning shirts) so there had been no need for the whole Hollywood
orthopaedic props to protect the actors’ modesty. 
Thor preferred it. In this kind of scenes, if his cinematic bedmate tolerated
it, Thor would rather wear just his skin, no bloody flesh-toned socks and no
stupid thongs making him feel ridiculous. Au naturel for him, thank you very
much. He did not struggle with bed scenes or with nudity at all, never had, and
he got through the awkwardness with humour, and mock flirting if the mood was
right. 
The comrades-in-arms approach had come to Bucky very naturally, and Thor had
gone along with that. And so, whereas the scenes themselves were taking a lot
out of them, the breathers in between (some fairly long waits at times) felt
very light and untroubled, and they had laughed. Specially after that heated
orgasm take, when Loki, sprawling on his chair, with a wicked grin, had purred
playfully, “I could watch this all day.”  Some blushing may have occurred under
the chuckles, both on Thor's and Bucky's part. That's Loki for you.
As for Bucky, who had been rather shy and stiff in rehearsals, he seemed to
find himself in the real shoot. He was a sexy bastard, and he played that part
well. But he had also a vulnerability, a tenderness to him, those big sad eyes.
Once he was in character, Thor had not struggled to melt in the hustler’s
hands. He had even managed tears in several shots, which he had not expected
beforehand.
Heimdall was elated. He had the scene he wanted. He had even hugged Tony in
celebration. They both had that “wait, what?” look straight after.
 
That evening, they went out for a drink to say goodbye to the Toronto crew.
They took over a whole bar. Tony walked in with that assistant producer he
could not get enough of (was it Penny? Pepper?) and Steve Rogers. 
“He was in town,” Tony said. 
Natasha had turned up, and she had brought along Clint. She told Thor there had
been developments in the investigation of the tapes (“nothing bad, nothing
earth shattering”), but she saw Loki dancing by the jukebox with Bucky,
carefree and having fun, and she kept it to herself.
Somehow, Thor and Steve ended up at a table together, with their beers, talking
shop and stealing longing glances of the dancing couple.
It was an odd night. Thor felt deflated, drained, his brain a tangle of
thoughts and emotions. He had a lot to turn over in his mind. The conversation
he had had with Loki yesterday chief among them. He had put it on the back
burner all day today, but it was coming back to the fore now. 
There were feelings he could not help. There were thoughts in his head he could
not make disappear. He simply was not sure how he felt about some things in
Loki’s past. He wanted to swear to Loki that what he feared so much (that the
thought of what Loki had done would come back to haunt them) would never
happen, but that was a promise he could not make lightly. He had been asked not
to, and he would honour that.
There was no denying that it turned his stomach at times. He had tormented
himself for a long time with questions and guesses at what Loki had had to go
through, what he had had to do. The vague hints Loki had dropped now and again
had only made it all more disturbing. He wondered sometimes how could it be
that it wasn’t always on Loki’s mind, how he went about his day without this
thing, these memories, crushing him under their weight. 
He needed to talk to someone, he guessed. Someone he could bounce this stuff
off with and get some fresh perspective on the subject. Somebody who wasn’t
Loki. Natasha was practical and direct. Sigyn was warm and understanding. Tony…
Tony had been in love with Loki. He had… he had been to bed with Loki. He
guessed each had something of value to tell him. Perhaps he should talk to them
all.
 
It was in the small hours when they returned to the hotel where most of them
were staying. They walked. Thor and Steve closed the march, with Loki and Bucky
a few steps ahead, and Tony and Pepper, Natasha and Clint at the head of the
group, a way away. 
Thor and Steve watched without a word as Loki and Bucky joked, laughed, and
acted very, very comfortable and at ease with each other.
“So how’s Peggy,” asked Thor after some time, to make conversation.
Steve was taking a while to reply.
“Umm…” he said, eventually.
“Oh,” said Thor, catching up. “Sorry.”
Steve smiled.
“I’m a bit… I’ve been a bit of a mess lately. Well, for a while now. And I… I
needed some time to… I don’t know. I wasn’t being a very dependable companion.
There are things I have to sort out. So we’re taking a break. ”
“…I see.”
They walked in silence again.
Then Loki and Bucky slowed down. 
“Steve,” said Loki, turning to them, “Bucky here says you used to be a scrawny
little fellow and that he had to get you out of fights?” he said, with a tone
of incredulity.
Steve laughed.
“Yes, it’s true.”
“Mr. America?” said Thor. “Scrawny?”
“A goddamn twig,” said Bucky, laughing. “I’ve had so many broken bones because
of this punk. He went around the neighbourhood picking up fights. He was, like,
90 pounds, and sick half the time, and he would still go around looking for
trouble with guys literally twice his size. At least.”
“I was just defending myself.”
“Picking up fights,” countered Bucky. 
“Did you really get Bucky thrown into a rubbish bin?” asked Loki.
Steve laughed heartily.
“God, I had forgotten about that!”
Bucky mocked a severe frown. “I hadn’t. Head first.”
“Remember that guy, Bucky?”
“Hard to fucking forget, he left the shape of his knuckles imprinted on my
face.”
“You still got him though,” beamed Steve.
“Well, d’uh, he was going to twist your neck!”
“I had him against the ropes,” said Steve, with almost a serious face. 
“That’s what he always said,” laughed Bucky. “Cocky little punk.”
“We stole a beer off my mother's fridge afterwards, remember?”
“You got so drunk,” Bucky shook his head in mock despair. “On half a beer.
You’re such a lightweight.”
“I’ve grown a bit since then.”
“You still can’t drink.”
“Which is the reason I don’t.”
“You woke up under your bed.”
“You probably pushed me off it!”
“I’d never!” protested Bucky, and proceeded to fluster quite badly.
“Remember that time I stole a steak for you eye, and mum nearly killed me?”
Steve was saying then, not exactly ignoring Bucky’s last outburst, but not
acknowledging it either, except for those two dark spots on his cheeks (in the
daylight they probably looked pink.)
Loki had been slowing him and Thor down, very, very slightly, until Bucky and
Steve had left them both well behind, caught up in their reminiscing and
laughing together.
“What’s that all about?” asked Thor, walking next to his brother.
“I’m his fairy godmother,” said Loki, with a sly smirk.
“Whose?”
Loki winked. He lit a fag. They walked in silence for some time down the quiet
Toronto streets.
“You’ve done really well today,” said Loki after a while, puffing some smoke.
“It was very moving, very affecting. I think you achieved something important
with that scene. Nobody will be left indifferent. It was quite extraordinary.”
“Thank you,” said Thor.
“It was weird to watch. For countless reasons,” smirked Loki, playfully.
“It was weird to have you watching,” said Thor, eyes down on the pavement. “For
countless reasons.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Loki’s smirk grow wider and naughtier. How
beautiful he was, white skin, black hair and every shade of silver in between,
under the moonlight and the dingy clarity of the lampposts, shadows carving his
sharp features sharper still.
“He’s a bloody good kisser though,” said Loki, with his impish grin still on.
Thor threw him a a glower, but he wasn’t really mad. 
“What?” said Loki, coy. “Well, you both are. Are you happy now?” he shrugged.
Thor sighed, not in the mood for banter. 
”I could be. Happy, I mean,” he tried, still hesitant about how to approach
this. And it was possibly not the right time, or the right place, but fuck it,
it was done.
Loki was quiet.
“You know what-…” said Thor.
“Yes, I know what you’re saying,” cut Loki, with a quick puff of smoke.
Thor waited for some sort of an answer, with bated breath. When it came, it
wasn’t what he had wanted to hear, but what he had expected.
“I’m afraid,” said Loki.
“Of what,” asked Thor.
Loki took a minute.
“… Hoping. Trusting. Having my heart broken,” he confessed at length, hiding
behind the smoke of his second consecutive fag.
Thor was afraid too. This conversation… They would never be ready for it,
never. So he might as well just go ahead and have it, since Loki seemed willing
tonight.
“I know I’ve fucked up again and again," said Thor, throwing in all the guts he
could find. "I know. There is nothing I can do to change that. I wish there
was. I’ve been such a mess, but I couldn’t stay away, and… And even before
that. Jesus, I’ve screwed up so much with you, Loki. I’m so sorry. There is
nothing I would not give to be able to go back and make different choices.”
Loki had listened in silence, his expression unreadable to Thor. 
“Different choices” he said, dryly, after a heartbeat.
Thor’s stomach sunk.
“No, not… that’s not what I mean. I don’t…” He huffed in frustration. He had to
make sure this came out as he needed it to. “I wouldn’t change that we… that we
were together. I mean, I wish I had been braver, and not so much of a mess, and
wiser, and I wish I had been nicer to you, and I wish I had realised what was
happening to you and I could have done something, anything, when you started to
go down, to stop you before you…” He took a breath. “But as hard as it was at
times, I don’t think I’ve ever been happier than when we were together. It may
be selfish of me, but I could not regret that if I tried. I just fucked up so
much, and I’m sorry that you had to pay for it.”
Loki took some time to process that.
“Not absolutely everything is always your fault, you know?” he said, after a
while. “I can fuck up all by myself. And I have. Repeatedly.”
Thor was frowning deeply. Loki examined his expression and seemed to weigh his
thoughts for a minute.
“You know,” he said at last, “even when I tried to kill myself after Iceland, I
didn’t blame you, and I didn’t hate you.” Loki saw Thor’s expression,
skeptical, puzzled even, and put on a tiny smile. “It’s true. It wasn’t
something I was doing to you. I just… I thought my life was over.” A puff of
smoke. “I thought I would never be happy again. It didn’t work between us and
it never would, and you were moving on, and I… I was so lonely, and everything
was so hard and it hurt so much. School was tough, and I felt like I had
nothing, nothing that was worth the effort. I couldn't see a way out. I
couldn’t see how it would ever get better. Because I would always be the way I
was. The person I was. There was no escaping that. And I didn't like that
person much at all. He-he sucked at living. I had everything, I was the most
privileged kid in the fucking universe, I had been blessed with all sorts of
things, and still, I felt like that, and I was like that, and I... I couldn't
fucking stand to be that person anymore. That waste of space. That fucking
headache for mum and dad, and this fucking disappointment I had turned out to
be. And I was hurting so much. These thoughts, they never fucking went away,
they gave me no fucking rest. They kept me awake at night, they hit me in the
daytime, for any reason, for no reason at all. I couldn't escape them, or
distract my mind from them. I felt like... Like I was on a black downward
spiral to...  I don't know. Nowhere good. And nothing I tried to tell myself to
put these thoughts into perspective worked for me. There was always an ugly,
mean voice inside finding the cracks in everything I tried to build to keep the
black shit away. God, I was so fucked up." He smiled at himself. “But what I
was, more than anything, is sick. Do you understand that? I didn’t see it then,
but I know it now. Because as long as I’m on treatment, I don’t want to kill
myself. I may fantasise about disappearing sometimes, when I’m scared or
stressed out or cornered or… but I don’t feel like jumping off a bridge. I just
don’t. There are no black spirals. If I get black thoughts, I can talk myself
out of them. I can enjoy things, and I feel... I don't know. Hope, I guess. For
tomorrow. Interest at least, curiosity to see what is yet to come. I can just
get on with it, I can just be, without having to justify my existence to a
higher order of beings. As long as my meds are doing their job, I just don’t
feel like that. I'm... fine, normal. Still a fucking crackpot, but, you know,
safe around cliffs and sharp objects. So that sort of tells you it’s a disease.
You know what I mean?” He grabbed Thor’s arm and stopped him. He made hos
brother look him in the eye. “If it’s a disease, it’s not your fucking fault,
Thor. Are you listening?"
Thor’s eyes were stinging. He had been listening. But he too knew a thing or
two about ugly, mean voices finding cracks in things. He had his own black
thoughts, terrible stuff that he had never even tried to shake off, because...
well, because he shouldn't, should he? How could he atone for what he had done,
if not bearing the pain of his guilt? Those stones around his neck, they were
his punishment.
"Thor. What," prompted Loki.
There was a heavy weight on Thor's chest, the taste of metal in his mouth. Why
was it so hard, confessing? Did Loki not know perfectly well which was his
crime?
“I let you go. That day, in Asgard,” Thor choked out. "I didn't stop you. I
watched you run away. I let you go."
Loki's frown of concern dissolved into compassion. He spoke softly.
“What would you have done, tie me to a tree? Lock me up in my room until I saw
sense? Do you think what I was feeling would have cleared away in the morning?
A cup of tea and a good night's sleep, and there, I'm over it? There was
nothing you could do that day, brother. I took off because I had to."
"If you'd talked to mum. If I had made you wait for mum."
"Mum was wonderful, and I loved her with all my heart, but that morning... she
was a part of it, don't you understand? She had been in on it, all those years.
I hated her that morning. I would not have listened to her."
"Maybe..."
"Well, I didn't. And we'll never know what would have been. And I left, and my
life happened, and here we are now. And it's not such a bad 'now', don't you
think?"
Thor could hardly believe his ears. Was that really his brother speaking?
Loki had started walking again. Thor caught up with him. They walked for a
while in silence.
“Do you resent me?" asked Thor. "That I didn’t stop you, that I didn’t find you
sooner? That I didn’t save you?”
Loki took a deep, long sigh. 
“…I used to” he confessed. “I went through self-pitying fits when I would blame
everything and everyone, and yes, you had a supporting role in that show, with
Odin heading the bill. But even then, deep down, I knew I wasn’t being fair.
And you did find me. You did try to… -God, I hate that word- to save me. But I
was beyond saving for a long, long time. I was so fucking angry.  I had to… the
shit had to run full course. I know it sounds zen-y, and you know how I feel
about these things, but, purely from a mental perspective, I guess I needed to
go through that journey to get to where I am today. In my head. In my skin.”
“Mum used to say that," said Thor. "That you had a journey to make. I’m not
sure what she meant either.”
“Thor…” Loki huffed, as if out of patience. “My entire life revolved around
you. You were my whole world. And not in a good way. I needed to get my head
out of my own arse, learn that there is more life out there, and become… my own
man, so to speak. It was not healthy and not good for me, the way it was then.
Or for you. It’s too much to carry, don’t you think?, somebody’s entire being,
all his focus, all his hopes of happiness. Trust me, you don’t want that.”
Thor would need to have a good sit down with himself and ponder all that was
being said tonight. It was one thing to feel in his bones that his baby brother
had loved him with all his heart, but hearing it from Loki’s mouth was quite
another. 
“Do you regret it?” asked Thor. “Would you change anything if you could?”
“Anything? Are you talking about the whoring or... Wait. You mean, if I would
choose not to be with you back then. That’s what you’re asking, isn’t it?”
Thor nodded.
“No,” said Loki, without a thought.
“Have you ever wished it?”
“No,” said Loki, again without a moment of hesitation. And he looked away to
add, “It was the bloody highlight of my sad, useless life. The one time I had
it all.”
Oh, the muddle in Thor's head. He was sure he would be better off for all that
had been said tonight, that both of them would, but right now he just felt a
sour taste in his mouth, as if what had been between them in the past had been
sick, and harmful, something Loki had had to get over to get to a healthier
state of being. As if their time together, and Thor himself, had been a
pernicious obsession, a drug habit, a disease whose sequels still carried in
Loki's life today.
“Do you still love me, Loki,” he asked.
“Bloody hell, Thor…” huffed Loki, stretched so thin that he was fraying, what
was beneath now showing.
That was not the real question though, was it? The question was, do you still
love me as much as you used to back then? Or am I a tamer, weaker, duller
emotion now, something manageable and boring, something you could feel for
anyone else? Have we become normal, Loki, mere mortals, when our being together
had once made the earth shake and the skies break open?
And Loki was bound to be irritated about this line of questioning, and Thor
knew it. Because Thor was never needy, was he? Loki was allowed to be needy
with Thor, and Thor would dote on him, and thrive on it. But Loki needed
something solid to cling on to, someone who did not doubt himself or them, who
would not waiver or falter when Loki fucked up, which Loki believed he was
forever doing. Someone so solid and dependable that Loki could never break him,
someone whom Loki could never hurt so badly that Thor would need to leave him.
Someone who did not need bloody reassuring,requiring him to open up and be
vulnerable and risk rejection. Someone who would just know. 
Thor knew all that well, but he still waited for his answer.
“You know I do,” said Loki after a long time, with a small voice. And then,
with an even smaller voice, “Now I love you better.”
Thor sighed. He guessed he should be the exact opposite of disappointed, but he
wasn’t. He was tired. What he really wanted was… fuck, what he wanted was a
hug. Not one, fucking hundreds of them. Everything was so fucking complicated.
He wanted to stop bloody talking and roll with Loki in bed for days, kiss him
until their mouths were numb, get drunk on his brother, see him undone and his.
Something simpler, purer. And no more words. 
He would have to make do with this for now. 
“I wish you had not had to suffer so much,” he said, after some time.
“… Well, me too, sometimes,” said Loki. “Other times I’m just grateful that I
am here. Others did not make it. I’ve been lucky.”
Thor shook his head.
“You’ve been strong and brave and magnificent. I’m not sure I could have done
it. I’m proud of you,” he said, timidly, fearing a lashing.
“Shut up,” was all Loki said, very quietly.
They walked on.
It came naturally, and so easily, and it felt so bloody right, when their hands
just came together and tangled in each other. For a brief spell, they just
walked hand in hand down the street, as they once did. And when they approached
the hotel and they had to let go, Thor was glad that he could still feel Loki’s
grip on his skin, and deeper still. 
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     Without Discontentmadeglorious's Stucky headcanons, I would still be
     racking my brains for the right approach to the Reminiscing dialogue,
     and you would still be waiting for this update. I was seriously
     blocked there. Her headcanons are so beautiful and full of insightful
     feels, she always inspires me. (It's not the first story of mine that
     has needed her to wave her magic wand on.) Thank you, Dissy!
***** Chapter 19 *****
Chapter Summary
     Moving on.
     And Happy birthday, Thor.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
 
Thor had not been expecting that when he got up this morning. He had forgotten
about it. So he got out of the lift and into the lobby of the hotel as usual,
and was taken by surprise by the whole crew congregated there, even Heimdall
himself, singing Happy Birthday in several different keys, as they aimed at his
face with the business end of their camera phones, and stunned him with an
explosion of flashes. He gasped and laughed, waves of affection soaking him,
blew the candles of the cake that was thrusted under his nose, and even
retained enough presence of mind to make a wish.
Which sort of came true a moment later, when Loki wrapped him in his arms. Thor
held his brother close, eyes shut tight, and if the crew thought it was a bit
over the top… fuck it. Fucking fuck it, seriously. He had needed that hug like
the air he breathed.
There were even presents, mostly jokey ones —because what do you get a man who
has everything, or the means to get whatever he wants. Still, the team had come
together to have him custom-made a gorgeous belt buckle with an old ship and
sea motifs and, on the reverse, an inscription reading “Mariners”, the date,
and a sweet dedication. He had wanted to hug everyone.
Loki waited until the party had dispersed to give him his present. Thor felt a
bit wobbly. When was the last time he had had his baby brother with him on his
birthday? And had he bloody appreciated it as he should have back then?
“You sappy oaf” mumbled Loki, as Thor unwrapped his present with a stupid happy
grin and wet eyes.
It was a digital camera, compact, shiny, red and gorgeous.
“You’ve gone all Cartier-Bresson on us. Might as well use a Leica and do it
properly” said Loki, trying to sound nonchalant, in spite of that timid blink
in his eyes.
Yes, since they had set out on the road almost two weeks ago, Thor was forever
taking pictures on his phone. The landscape was majestic, and they encountered
some very unusual sights and people. He had never felt more British than deep
in the heart of America. The further south they got, the more, shall we say
exotic it all became to a London boy like himself. Not even life in the New
Mexico desert could have prepared him for that trip. Crazy Americans.
Then again, America was the theme of only half of his growing archive, at best.
His brother had full lordship over the rest. Loki perched on the back of the
pickup, going over his copy of the script, Thor’s Indiana Jones-style fedora
hat shading his face. Loki listening to Heimdall, arms crossed, face intent,
one hand touching his lips, a corn field swinging behind them. Loki doing yoga
in a disused convention room in a hotel, lean white arms, tight butt, the arch
of his back, his sharp posture. Loki laughing with Tony, tongue between his
teeth, crinkles in his eyes. Loki having a fag as the sunset fell outside their
motel, mind wandering, eyes lost somewhere far away. Loki sprawling on an old
porch swing in that abandoned, crumbling Gone with the Wind-style mansion,
hiding from the scorching afternoon sun, a hat covering half his face, his legs
so long. Loki snoozing, leaning his head on the backrest of the pickup, pale
skin touched with the first sunlight (he had stirred awake when he heard the
camera go off, and had smiled, sweetly, dozily, before groaning at him to put
away the fucking phone already.) Loki with his earplugs on, dancing by himself
in the alley between two battered houses of that small town with that amazing
name (Was it Redemption? Ascension? Loki would remember.) And the photo taken
immediately after, which showed Loki telling him to fuck off when he realised
he was being watched; he had been blushing in all colours, too bad the camera
did not catch it. And a few selfies of them both, squinting with the sun in
their eyes, pulling faces, mock-brooding super-model style, Thor kissing Loki’s
cheek as Loki frowned, trying and failing to contain a smile. And so many more.
Thor went over the whole collection every night, back to back, with a foolish,
lovesick grin on his face.
“I love it” he told his brother, cradling the beautiful little Leica between
his hands. “Thank you.” He hugged him tight.
He caught the look in Tony’s face out of the corner of his eye. It did come to
mind that, if the intensity of their cuddles and the lingering gazes they threw
each other didn’t out them, (“If somebody gets caught in the crossfire at the
wrong time of the month, we’re talking triplets at least here, boys” said Tony)
then it would be Tony’s own permanent “awww” expression that would end up
giving them away. Then again, Thor was too bloody in love to even try to care.
He had been doing his homework, pretty much by accident, these last two weeks.
He had meant to put it all to rest until after they wrapped up at least, taking
the very sensible view that the middle of the shoot of the movie that could
define both their cinema careers might not be the best time to tackle the very
important, very complicated, very sensitive issues that stood between Loki and
him. He had made his decision, and was determined to stick to it, and yet he
found himself, again and again, doing exactly what Loki had told him to do
—talking to people.
The very next time Natasha dropped by to check on her client, Thor had found
himself unexpectedly asking her if she would have a cup of coffee with him. He
had meant to ask how the court procedure for the tapes thing was going
(Anonymous had identified the people who had posted them, and Loki’s Army was
still hard at work searching the net for new copies, campaigning against sites
that weren’t doing enough against the users who spread them, and showing their
support for Loki in a variety of other ways. Bless them.) Thor’s mind probably
betrayed him, and the conversation had quickly taken a turn towards Loki’s
past, which Natasha had researched intensively and thoroughly when she first
took him up under her wing. In the end, Thor had ended up discovering that
Natasha herself also had what some would call a colourful history and, even
though she did not express it in so many words, Thor felt just how fond she was
of Loki, how proud, and how close. It warmed him. Anyone could use someone like
Natasha on their side. She was a formidable ally and, as it turned out, also a
good friend. Loki was in even better, more caring hands than Thor had thought. 
The text conversation with Sigyn had also steered itself, sort of, in the
direction of Loki’s past. As a prostitute. Past as a prostitute, Odinson,
repeat after me. Sigyn said Loki didn’t care for euphemisms, so no bloody
euphemisms then. 
From texting they had moved on to long e-mails, and then to even longer phone
conversations. And what a ray of sunshine she was, how much she loved Loki, and
what a way she had to make things feel… well, not easy perhaps, but possible.
Whereas Thor was looking at a mighty, forbidding mountain, Sigyn was already
pointing at all the passes and all the pathways, and leading him up by the
hand. Thor felt there was nothing she could not help him with in regards to his
brother, one way or another. She became her sounding board for everything
concerning Loki.
No euphemisms, Sigyn had said, and no pity either. She said lots of wise
things.
“Nobody expects you to just get over it overnight, Thor. But it would be so
good if you could just get used to it being there, and cropping up now and
then, without big drama… One or two steps in that direction would already mean
so much for Loki, and do you both so much good. You have to understand that
Loki pretty much only feels shame or self-loathing about this when he looks at
it through his family’s eyes. Haven’t you noticed? With the world, his attitude
is pretty much they can all go fuck themselves, and if someone so much as
sneezes at him about his whoring, he’ll rip their heads off. You know Loki. But
with the people he loves and he looks up to… that’s a different story. If he
feels you are ashamed of it, or him…”
“I am not, not at all” Thor had cut. It was lots of things, but shame, it was
not.
“I know that. And the way to show Loki is to become more comfortable with this,
so that he doesn’t have to fear the next time something pops up that may remind
you of it. More than anything, you need to talk about this so that you both
stop bloody wondering what the other actually feels and thinks about this,
wouldn’t you say?”
Yes, Sigyn spoke a lot of sense. 
And so, Tony was next.
But Tony turned out to be harder to approach than Thor had anticipated. They
had been friends for a long time after all, right? He would have thought it
would be easy to talk to him. But, what do you know, Thor happened to have a
bit of a bug up his arse with people who had enjoyed Loki’s sincere, shall we
call it, admiration, his body, and on top of that, his trust. 
Listen, Thor was a reasonable, mature guy. He didn’t get jealous. He didn’t
have a problem with his girlfriends having exes or, you know, eyes, even while
they were dating him, and he had even forgiven infidelities and not given them
much of a thought. He was not insecure, and he was not a brat. 
But come to think of it, that had been with people who were not Loki. There was
a chance that he might get a teeny tiny teensy bit possessive when it came to
Loki. (Just say it already, Odinson) Yes, ok, it bugged him that Loki had
confided in Tony about these very private, very sensitive issues, and not him.
That Tony knew more than him about something concerning Loki. It jarred with
him, alright? It was hard. It brought home just how much distance there had
been, and still was, between Loki and him. And he did miss being Loki’s one and
only sometimes. So shoot him.
And still, he also somehow ended up having a conversation with Tony about the
subject
“Yes, by all means, ask him questions” Tony had urged him. “Seriously, you’ll
feel comforted by how Loki talks about it. Yes, the tapes were a blow, because
of you and your mother and his career and all, but the thing itself, the
whoring, the gory details, he’s got those rationalised. It was a job, and he
got on with it, and he’s not doing it anymore, and that’s that. It’s not him.
So let him tell you about it, let him show it to you through his own eyes. It
can’t do any harm.”
Thor was not so sure about that. Tony sensed it.
“Listen, Thor, you’re afraid of the unknown right now. I mean, I’m sure there’s
a lot going on underneath, because that’s Loki we’re talking about after all,
but he can laugh about it now. So if you learn to do that as well, instead of
it being the big fucking elephant in the room… He has hilarious anecdotes, and
tender ones, too. I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think. Try him.”
 
Thor started to psych himself up to sitting down with Loki for a chat. After
the shoot, that is. They had enough on their plates as it was. 
It was seldom away from his mind, however. There was so much dead time, so many
hours on the road, and so many nights spent in remote, little towns with
nothing much to do, except going to bed early and think… He wondered how he
would do it, the precise words he should choose to start up the conversation,
whether he should try and keep a blank expression or be spontaneous, whether
they should do it in a quiet bar or at someone's place, whether it was better
to just pop up the subject or to give Loki fair warning, whether it was a good
idea to have Sigyn there or to be by themselves. And more and more questions.
It kept him up at nights.
In the end, as it turned out, he should not have bothered. Thor was sitting one
evening on the back of their pickup (yes, he was going to buy it after the
shoot, by now it was his baby), with a beer and his thoughts, when Loki climbed
up and crawled to him. He settled under the same fleecy blanket that was
keeping his brother warm. 
“Tony says you’ve been thinking about asking me questions about my Belle du
Jour epoch” he said, just like that, as he lit a fag.
Thor was startled.
“Y-yes. I have” he said.
“Great. Shoot” said Loki, with a toothy grin, puffing smoke. He was not as
relaxed and aloof as he wanted to appear. Somehow, that put Thor a bit more at
ease. They were both on the same page here. Yes, this was bloody scary, but
they could do this, together.
But he did not know where to start. He did not know what he wanted to know,
even, to be honest. And when he realised that the silence was stretching, and
that he still had nothing, this is what he confessed. And Loki laughed.
“Ask me how much I could make in one night” he suggested.
Thor did, and Loki told him. And Thor gasped, wide eyed.
“Bloody hell” he muttered.
Loki had a smug, shit-eating grin on his face.
“I’m a class act, what can I say” he said.
“How much is that an hour?”
“You do the math” said Loki, shrugging. “But with me it was usually per type of
service rather than an hourly rate.”
Right. That did give Thor an unpleasant chill.
“I think they got it cheap” he said, trying to make light of it. “Sounds like a
bargain to me.”
“Ah, flattery will get you everywhere” said Loki, grinning.
Thor tried to smile as well.
“I bloody mean it” he muttered.
Loki bit his lip. How awkward, how tricky again, and how very quickly. 
“Ask me what’s the weirdest thing I’ve ever been asked to do” said Loki,
thinking on his feet.
Thor gulped, and did. Loki told him, and they both burst out laughing,
exploding with their nerves. And they laughed and laughed and laughed, stopped,
looked at each other, and they were off again.
They talked for hours, way past their bedtime. Soon enough, Thor had taken the
initiative and started to ask his own questions, as he identified the things he
really wanted to know about. Vague at first, and shy, but increasingly bolder
as he saw that Loki seemed more relaxed and upbeat, not less, the more they
talked about it. Loki did get uncomfortable and squeamish at times (when Thor
had asked “did you ever enjoy it”, for example), but he had answered every
time, sooner or later.
The conversation strayed eventually, and they had winded up talking about
Loki’s journey after he left Asgard, to Moscow, across Northern Europe, all the
way to Iceland. How lost and lonely and scared Loki must have felt, and how
brave he was, how driven, how determined.
“I was just desperate” Loki said, with self-deprecating detachment, as if
despair made his efforts and his courage any less praise-worthy. His head was
resting on his brother’s shoulder, their hands woven together.
“And yet you kept going” Thor said, stroking a thumb on the back of his
brother’s hand. “You never gave up. Not even in Iceland.”
“I wanted revenge. I wanted to cause harm” mumbled Loki, barely a whisper.
“You never gave up” countered Thor. “You chose to live again and again, as
painful and tough as it must have been for you then. The illness in your head,
the hardships in your life, they never defeated you. Mum always said you were
the strongest of us all.”
Loki took a minute then.
“She said that? To you?”
Thor nodded.
“And to dad.”
Loki took yet another minute.
“She used to tell me that too but… but I thought she was just trying to…” His
voice broke. He swallowed. “Did she know, Thor?”
“About the prostitution?”
Loki nodded, Thor felt it on his shoulder. He had to think about that. Because
she might have. Loki wasn’t hiding, word travels fast, and Thor was sure Frigga
would have done her own digging. But they had never discussed it. 
“I never told her” he said at length. “They knew I was looking for you, but I
never told mum and dad that I had found you.”
Loki was quiet.
“I thought about telling her, a lot” added Thor. “I thought that, if there was
one person who could get you out of that club, it was her. But I never made up
my mind. On the one hand, I had you telling me to leave you alone, and what she
always told me about respecting your decisions; and on the other hand, I could
not fucking sleep thinking of what they were doing to you in that place, and I
just fucking wanted you home.” He sighed when Loki squeezed his hand. “And
while I was pretty much paralysed with doubt, you left the club and
disappeared, and that was the decision made for me, really. What was the point
in telling mum anything then.” A pause. “But the fact that she never asked me
any questions… well, I don’t know, Loki. I don’t know what she knew.”
Loki’s breathing was slow and regular, and for a second Thor thought he had
fallen asleep. They had both been yawning for the last half hour. 
“Say something” urged Thor.
“I’m glad you did not bring her to the club” said Loki, in a mutter. “If you
had, my last memories of her would have been a bitter argument and some very
nasty words from my side that I could never have taken back. And I would still
not have returned home, even if she had asked. I would have read her worry as
duty, and pity, not love, and I would have hated her for it. And myself, for
being the shame and the burden that I was.” A puff of smoke. “The way I saw it
then, I did not deserve her, or anything that came from her. Because she wasn’t
my real mother, and because of how much I had fucked up and how much damage I
had caused her. You did the right thing, brother.”
Well, Thor would have thought that no question could scare him anymore, after
three hours talking with Loki about some of the most difficult things one can
talk with a baby brother. But as it turned out, there was one thought that
frightened him more than even the kinkiest shit he had heard that night.
“Do you still feel this way about her? About us?” He cleared his throat, his
voice still came out thick. “That she was not your mother.” God, just saying
that fucking hurt.
Loki took his time. Deliberating, or trying to round up some courage?
“You know, Thor, a part of me will always…. will always resent the lie and be
very fucking angry about it. I can’t explain it. I know it’s not rational. Mum
and dad, they did nothing wrong. They took me in, and they brought me up, and
they did their best and… and they brought us together. And they loved me. Even
dad, sometimes, I think. I really should not feel this way about them, and I
know it. But there is a well of very fucked up logic in my head that says that…
That everything I believed to be true…” He huffed, irritated that he was
struggling so much to convey his meaning. “Sometimes it feels as if even the
floor I tread on is not real, as if it’s going to crumble and swallow me in at
any second.” Loki was gesturing with his hands, as if that would help him find
the words. “I feel cracks under my feet and I start questioning everything,
every hug and every kindness and every show of love. And I get so furious. I
start thinking who the fuck I really am, and who the fuck was Laufey, and who
was the person that gave birth to me, and what happened there, and… And it
hurts, because they didn’t fucking want me, and it’s them I hate, I guess, and
I’m making do perhaps, or…” He took a deep breath. “But that’s just the bad
times” he added after some time. “When I don’t think too much about it, mum is
mum, and dad is dad, and you’re my brother. And I usually manage to leave it at
that.”
Thor had a knot in his throat. He had his brother wrapped tight with an arm
around his shoulders.
“You do know that I feel you’re… I mean, that we’re one flesh, right?” said
Thor tentatively. He was afraid of angering Loki, but he guessed tonight was
not about dancing around the things they would usually leave undisturbed. He
elaborated. “I’ve never felt any different, not before we found out, and not
after. I’ve always felt like we’re blood. That we’re brothers, no
qualifications, no gradations.”
Loki took some time to ponder that.
“Kinky,” he teased, after a while.
Thor laughed softly. They remained in silence for a spell, their eyes heavy, a
few more yawns.
“They did bring us together, didn’t they” said Thor. “Dad picked you out of all
the babies in that ward, and took you home, to me. What were the fucking
chances. Do you ever think about that?”
Thor had turned his face to his brother, and saw him smile. 
“I may have,” mumbled Loki.
Thor kissed his hair.
“I love you, brother,” he said.
Loki burrowed into him and muttered something that, Thor could swear, sounded
like “I love you too.”
 
                                       *
 
Ask me again if I can handle the prostitution thing, brother, thought Thor to
himself that night, alone in bed, awake, wired up, going over the conversation
in his head. Ask me.
He wasn’t squeaked and he wasn’t horrified. The images in his brain were now
more vivid and quite a lot more detailed than they had been before their chat,
but Thor felt like he did not need to look at them through his fingers anymore.
It was all bizarre and outrageous and still shocking, but he didn’t feel sick
thinking about it, and he wasn’t horrified. 
A bit nervous, maybe. He realised how vanilla he was, and how crispy deep fried
Vietnamese grasshoppers with dragon fruit coulis his brother was by comparison,
and he wondered if he needed to do some research and, um, try to up his game,
if he was to keep Loki satisfied.
—Let’s sit down and consider this a bit, shall we?, said Thor to himself. As of
tonight, a change of paradigm had occurred, which entailed, among many, many,
many more, countless things, that satisfying Loki, as in, having sex with Loki,
was going to be a real possibility in the horizon. (Yes, good idea, Odinson.
Breathe in, breathe out.) Because the one condition Loki still had, Thor now
met. The last thing that had been standing between them had been removed
tonight. 
Thor laughed in bed, all by his silly self, thinking about his next step,
imagining passing a folded piece of paper to Loki under the table, scribbled
with “Do you want to be my boyfriend?” (Heart heart heart, cross cross cross
cross cross…) 
But he was going to wait until the end of the shoot. This time, he meant it.
Cross his heart. He did. He definitely did. He was a professional, goddammit.
 
                                       *
 
He had stayed true to his very good intentions for a few days. He was buzzing
with anticipation and impatience, but he was managing to wait.
But then, his birthday had happened. That same day, the moment he found himself
alone with Loki in the close confines of the cabin of the pickup, with another
twenty good minutes to wait before they could do another take, he simply could
not hold it back another minute.
“So… about Bucky” said Thor.
Loki gave him a sideways look, tensing up before Thor’s very eyes.
“What about him” he said.
Neither was looking at the other right now. Thor was examining his hands.
“Are you two… something? Anything?” Thor asked.
“I’m this close to telling you to mind your own business” snapped Loki, fully
on the defensive now.
Right.
“Well, it might be. My business, I mean” said Thor. Harrumph. “If, say, I
wanted to… ask you out. After wrap-up.”
A long silence. Thor was tracing a groove in the palm of his hand with his
nails, and leaving an angry red trail. He was ready to swear he had never been
more nervous in his life.
“Out?” said Loki, at long last.
“Out, you know.” Thor cleared his throat. “Dinner, a movie…” And this time Thor
did peek out of the corner of his eye.
Loki looked stunned.
“You mean, out on a date?” said Loki, as if that was the weirdest notion he had
ever been confronted with. And he had encountered some pretty weird shit in his
life, this much Thor knew.
“Interested?” said Thor, and tried for a cocky half-smile that hopefully
distracted from how jittery he was.
Another long silence during which Thor was very damn close to screaming.
“Why after wrap-up?” asked Loki at length, sounding collected, and a bit
suspicious.
“Because if it doesn’t go well” said Thor, stomach turning, “I’m not sure I’ll
be able to keep it professional.” An elegant way of saying he would be crying
into a ball for the foreseeable future, and in no condition to so much as look
at Loki, let alone act with him.
“And if it does go well?” said Loki, still even.
“If it does go well,” smirked Thor, “I’m sure I won’t be keeping it
professional.” He didn’t know exactly what he meant by that, but it made Loki
smile, so who cared.
Yes, Loki was smiling, though he kept a bite on his bottom lips to try and
refrain the smile from overflowing. He dazzled.
“What’s with the date thing,” asked Loki then, picking at his nails, voice
firm, hands trembling. “Dates are what people do to get to know each other.
Aren’t we sort of passed that stage?”
“I don’t want this to start with a romp in a dingy motel room, do you?” said
Thor. “I want to do this right.”
Loki gulped visibly, and deflected.
“Pepper would object to you calling this place dingy. She works hard at finding
the best there is for us.”
“Yes, well,” countered Thor, ready to steer the conversation back to where he
wanted it, “it may call itself high-end, but the walls are paper-thin just the
same. I don’t want to have to keep it quiet” he said, like it was nothing,
although his heart was pounding.
The expression on Loki’s face, his raised eyebrows, the blush spreading all
over his cheeks and his neck! Thor was having second thoughts about waiting
already.
“Are you still as loud as you used to be?” he asked, wiggling an eyebrow, just
because it was fun.
“Do you still go at it like a wild animal?” Loki volleyed back in a warm purr,
with a smouldering stare.
Fucking hell, Loki, thought Thor, as his cock decided this was a conversation
that obviously concerned it.
“Bucky and I are just friends,” said Loki then, gnawing the corner of a nail
distractedly, slight tremor in his fingers.
Thor gulped and aimed for casual.
“Is that a yes? Will you go out with me?” he said.
Loki clasped his hands together on his lap, his knuckles white, his eyes
lowered.
“Why now? Why not one year ago?" he asked, grave now. "What has changed?”
Thor rubbed his belly under his navel, where the knot of nerves had just
tightened up another notch.
“Nothing. Everything” he said. What had changed. It had been a slight variation
in the direction of the wind, a subtle dawning of a realisation that was not
really new at all. He had always known he loved Loki. He had always known it
was him he wanted before anyone else. And yet, just knowing that, feeling it in
his bones even, had never been quite enough to make up his mind, had it? So
what had changed?
"I talked to Tony," he said. "I think maybe that's what did it for me. I re-
evaluated things under someone else's point of view. I got some fresh air on
things and... and all of a sudden I..." He took a deep breath. "I don't know. I
found myself feeling less guilty and less scared and more... I don't know.
Hopeful."
Loki was looking at his hands again now, with a pinch in his brow. You're
putting on a very poor case, Odinson. Fucking try harder.
“I’m in love with you,” he confessed then. “I’ve been crazy about you my entire
life. We grew up thinking that we could not be together because it was wrong
and sick. But to me, it’s never felt wrong, and it’s never felt sick. I did
believe, though, that it wasn’t good for you, that it screwed with you health,
with your headI mean, and that it would screw you up again, and it terrified
me. For a long time, I thought it was impossible, that it would never make us
happy. Because it would be too hard, because of how much you suffered from
having to hide, because even now I think of having to lie to people and I
really, really fucking hate it. I just did not know how this could ever work,
how we could be together and be anything but miserable, and end up hating each
other.”
“And do you know now?” cut Loki.
Thor sighed.
“I'm not sure. But I do know that things are not the same as they used to be,
that we’ve both… grown up, I guess, so maybe, I don’t know, maybe we can find
the way, together?”
Loki didn’t say anything. That deep pinch was still in his forehead, his mouth
tense. That was not the face Thor had wanted to see when he had started this
talk.
“I can’t fucking be without you,” he said, softly. “This I do know. So instead
of thinking of all the things that might go wrong, why not think of all the
things that would be right? I can’t give you what other people have, and it
won’t be easy, and it won’t be perfect, and there’ll be lots of times when
we’ll think we’ve bitten more than we can chew, both of us. And I am scared, I
am not going to lie. I’m scared of fucking up again, and I’m terrified of what
it might to do you, and I know we’ll be facing pretty difficult things from the
very first moment we step out of the house, and…”
Loki started to laugh, warm, gravely chuckles. He laughed and laughed and
laughed, jaw-splitting grin, all his teeth, eyes warm. 
Thor frowned, confused, but already feeling his own expression respond to
Loki’s contagious laughter.
“What?” Thor said, puzzled.
“You’re not exactly selling it to me, are you?” he said. "I'm fucking swooning
here."
It was Thor laughing now, rubbing his face. He was so uptight.
“God,” he said. “I know. I’m sorry.”
Loki had calmed down, his face still animated with humour, eyes out of focus.
Thor gazed at him like the adoring, lovestruck idiot he was.
“We belong together,” he said, fervently. “We’re strong together. You’re the
love of my life. I want to look after you and be with you always. I won’t give
up on you just because I’m scared. I’ll do whatever it takes to make it work.
It’s fucking worth it. It’s worth everything.”
Loki was not laughing now. Thor sought his face but could not read it. His
heart was fluttering with panic.
“Say something, please,” he urged, when he couldn’t stand it any longer.
Loki stared at him point blank.
“You don’t get to take that back, do you hear?” he said.
“I’m never taking it back, never,” said Thor.
There was a silence that to Thor's mind might have lasted a minute or ten. Loki
spent it looking out the window, unseeing.
Then he turned his face to Thor, eyes still low.
“Yes,” he said.
“Yes?” asked Thor.
“Yes, I’d like to go out on a date with you, after wrap-up.”
Holy fuck.
Loki looked at him, raised an eyebrow.
“Are you alright?” asked Loki to Thor’s blank mask of shock.
“Happy birthday to me,” muttered Thor. 
Loki smirked, rolled his eyes, and elbowed him in the gut.
 
 
It was already the best birthday of his life. He was missing his mates, but he
had heard them yelp on the phone, overjoyed, when he told them he’d be in
London in a couple of weeks, and that he would be staying for a while (he
didn’t want to jinx it with Loki, but he had decided that he was going to stick
in England for some time, no matter what.) He received good wishes from friends
and colleagues and wonderful stuff from the fans, and that night there was a
little, cosy party, all singing and dancing, with Loki sitting next to him,
feet hooked under the table, and not one fucking dark cloud over their heads,
as far as the eye could see. 
Thor danced with everyone who asked him then, while Loki and Tony had a heated
debate about Martin Scorsese’s recent work, until he saw Loki mock-strangling
Tony, put a peck on his mouth, and bid him goodnight. 
And then he walked to where Thor was finishing his (second? third?) dance with
Make-Up Cher (happily married, mother of four), who was really, really fond of
groping his butt.
“Can you come out for a second?” whispered Loki in his ear. 
The vehicle fleet of the movie crew had taken over the car park. Loki grabbed
his hand and dragged him to the narrow space between two tall white vans, and
turned to face him, his eyes low.
Thor gulped. He had not changed his mind, had he? Loki looked so serious all of
a sudden. Thor opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, heart in his throat.
Then Loki was there, hands at the nape of Thor’s neck, and he was kissing him. 
Thor gasped, his eyes closed, he gripped Loki’s slender wrists. The wet heat of
Loki’s tongue made him gasp again, the soft stroke of his lips. 
Loki pulled apart slowly, leaving Thor gaping, eyes hooded, his feet all but
hovering one foot above the ground.
“Happy birthday” Loki whispered.
Thor was breathless, speechless, lost in Loki’s face.
“So I’ve still got it then” teased Loki.
“Fucking hell” Thor choked out, when he found a wisp of voice.
Loki grinned, mischievous.
“Sleep tight, Thor.”
And he strutted away, graceful as a fucking panther, leaving his stunned,
butterfly-filled brother counting the fucking minutes until he could get both
his hands on him again.
 
                                       *
 
 
The rest of the shoot was a roller coaster ride. He sprung out of bed every
morning, impatient to get out there and start the day, no matter how little and
how lightly he had slept. It was like Christmas morning again and again. What
would the day bring? Just bumping into Loki unexpectedly made his pulse ramp
up. There might also be half an hour alone together inside the pickup, and they
might play footsies again. That thing Loki did, when he rubbed his boot up and
down the back of Thor’s calf, until Thor was panting, squirming and throbbing
in his pants. Yes, just from that. The touch was nice, but Loki’s eyes on him
as he did it, that indecently smug expression… Or maybe Loki would sit next to
him at lunch time and purposely make himself a nuisance, brushing and nudging
with his elbow, making Thor drop food on his lap, until Thor would be
completely justified in restraining Loki’s wrists behind his back, and Loki
would eyefuck him to a mush from a few inches away. Which yes, had happened, to
the greater eye roll of Tony “What Have I Done” Stark, who would pull a twisted
smirk and purr “please, don’t mind me.” Or they might talk on the back of the
pickup that evening, about everything and nothing and, who knows, perhaps Loki
would kiss him again, because a boy can fucking dream, and because Loki was as
bloody desperate for it as he was. Thor was surprised lightbulbs didn’t blow up
when they walked by.
If Loki was not so focused and dedicated while actually shooting, and if
Heimdall didn’t have that professorly quality to him, that made Thor
unconsciously sit up straight and feel like raising his hand whenever he had a
question, by now his performance would probably be all over the place. Good
news is, the scenes left now where all from the reconciliation and liberation
sequences, and his character demanded that he was enthusiastic, elated,
enormously relieved, and hopeful. So basically, all he had to do was turn up
and say his lines.
And try to not fucking spontaneously self-combust and disintegrate into a
little pile of ash. Ever since the date talk, Loki kept flirting. It was
exquisitely subtle (a lingering stare, a quick once-over, licking his lips,
angling himself just so, to give Thor the best possible view of his butt...)
but he really needn't try any harder. Thor was on a simmer. He could almost
swear his cock was half-hard more often than it was soft, and his mind was
permanently under his belt. 
Just five more days, Thor was telling himself, sitting in the pickup between
takes once more, Loki’s scent drenching the cabin. Five more days, he mumbled,
as Loki turned his face towards the window, causing his neck to tense up, and
there, that tendon there, that groove, those bloody freckles. Five more days,
he thought, as his eyes stroked down Loki’s throat, that dip at the base, the
collarbones, the wisp of hair he knew traveled, spare, down his chest, soon the
navel, the happy trail there, all the way down to… Fuck. Five more fucking
days, he was not going to fucking make it.
The things he wanted to do to him. When they were teens, well, Thor had gone
down on several girls and he did some on Loki, but it hadn’t been so great, to
be honest —Loki would come in under a minute. Loki was overexcited, and Thor
probably sucked too hard or something. What did he know about teasing and
playing and making it last, he had been spinach green in those days. In L.A. he
had done a bit better, but only a bit. He was just prepping him really, and so
bloody desperate to get inside him, he had not really been paying attention,
what a godawful shame. But he had learned some things since then. He had had a
handful of one-night stands, and then of course, Fandral. He had learned a lot
with Fandral. He couldn't fucking wait to jump on Loki and... 
Thor, wake up mate, you really don't want it to get any hotter in here than it
already is...
Two minutes might go by with Thor's mind distracted with a point in the scene
or simply wandering around in the woods, and then he was back to it.
Loki must have learned things too... He had been too squeaked to do it to him
back then —he had been only fourteen, for fuck’s sake. But in L.A… Jesus, the
thing Thor’s crotch had just done, simply remembering Loki’s face when…
“Will you stop staring at my crotch,” protested Loki, without even looking at
him. “Give it a rest.”
Thor laughed.
“I can’t,” he said. “You, sitting there, flashing your neck and having that
mouth, and those hands, and those fucking legs… Have you no decency.”
Loki laughed, but Thor had managed to make him fluster.
“You need a cold shower,” he said.
“I keep trying that. It’s not doing much for me.”
“Obviously.” Loki’s eyes flicked down to Thor’s crotch. “You’re going to give
Cher a heart attack,” he said.
Thor adjusted his semi in his old-fashioned trousers, fortunately baggier than
his own everyday civilian clothes. 
“Now who’s staring,” he quipped at Loki then, making him startle and smile.
And now Thor was a bit lost in his lips. Loki noticed, of course. He curled his
tongue against his front teeth, in a manner suggestive to Thor of many skills.
“Jesus,” huffed Thor, taking a deep breath, while Loki kept right on grinning.
Five more fucking days. Five more fucking days… Might as well be five fucking
months for all it mattered to Thor. How was he going to make it?
 
                                       *
 
The wrap-up party. It wasn’t even midnight yet, and Thor was already thinking
about going up to bed. He feared he was coming through as a miserable bastard
by turning down each and every invitation to dance, but he just did not have
the oomph this time.
He was nearing the end of a very, very long journey.
The last twenty days on the road had been more demanding than he could have
ever imagined. He had been the first on board when Heimdall had suggested that
they could actually be on the move while on location, and Thor was convinced
that both the movie and his performance had been a thousand times better for
it. But that had meant packing and unpacking constantly, finding their bearings
in a new place every three or four days, sometimes less, and the long hours on
the road that left them all stiff, sweaty and knackered. Even if his own
personal circumstances had been plain sailing, he was exhausted and he had had
enough.
And plain sailing, these last couple of months, it had been not. Not in his
mind, nor in his heart, not in his life, and not in his body either, and
tonight he had stopped, and he felt drained down to the bone. It was as if he
had been roaming the earth without rest, banished from home for years and
years, and now he had finally received his letter of pardon, in a far-out post
somewhere deserted and remote. It would take everything he had to get back. He
had nothing left to spare. He did not feel like dancing or making merry. He
wanted to go home, now. Home. Loki.
His brother was dancing, of course, arms up, head titled to one side, body
swaying slowly, eyes shut, blissful expression, sexy as fucking sex itself.
Loki was the only one he would have dragged himself up for a dance, tonight.
What a bitch, eh? 
As it was, he did drag himself up, but for a beer. Steve was at the bar with
the same idea.
“Where’s Bucky?” asked Thor. 
Bucky had been invited to the wrap-up party, along with the Toronto crew (many
had made it over here) and had brought Steve along, because it would appear
that they were seeing a lot of each other in New York lately, now that Steve
was doing a play there. They had seemed glued at the hip all evening.
“Uh, he said he felt like dancing,” said Steve, and gestured with a dip of his
mighty jaw to where Bucky was dancing with Loki, not too far from Tony and his
girl Pepper.
“Hm.” Thor scratched the scruff on his chin. 
Bucky and Loki were hot as hell together, and they always seemed to be having
an unfair amount of fun. Thor looked at Steve, who was physically incapable of
being nasty or mean, or anything less than decent, understanding and generous,
and at this moment in time had an expression that reminded Thor vividly of an
old dog that had just been dumped at a refuge by an uncaring owner, and was now
watching said owner walk away with a tiny, adorable, fresh new puppy. Said dog
would never bark and groan, he would do exactly what Steve was doing: watch
Bucky dance away into another’s arms and sigh silently “as long as he is
happy.”
Thor sighed as well, for another reason.
“Do you like dancing?” he asked.
Steve thought he was just making conversation, so he focused on Thor, put on a
more upbeat expression and made conversation as well.
“Yes, I love dancing,” said Steve. “I’m not that great, but…”
“Just fucking ask him, Steve,” said Thor, cutting across.
Steve followed Thor’s eyes back to Loki and Bucky, with a frown.
“Oh,” he said, and looked away. He was blushing, and looking a bit like a deer
caught in the headlights, but he did not rush to utter denials or make
allegations. He was a brave one, Steve. 
“He’s-… he’s with Loki, isn’t he?” he asked, clearing his throat. And he didn’t
mean dancing.
“He’s not with Loki,” said Thor.
And just because poor old Steve looked like he still needed a push (or a kick
in the butt, Thor was happy to provide both), he boldly went on to trespass
into “not really my place, I know” territory, simply because he had the
impression that it was going to take more than just one fairy godmother, if
they were going to get anything done here. 
“I have it on good authority,” added Thor, “that Bucky’s heart is elsewhere.”
And then, just in bloody case, with the thickest brush, (there were not many
brushes left that were thicker, short of shoving them both naked into a room,
lock the door and throw away the key,) he made sure the message was clear. “I
think Bucky would really, really, really like it if you asked him to dance,”
pounded Thor.
Steve’s face. Thor wished he had his Leica with him. He would have immortalised
it, and show it to people who were having a bad day. 
“Really,” said Steve. And there was no duplicity and no manipulation in his
tone, on his face, in his voice. Joy was coming through it, unfiltered and
unrestrained. Steve was not one to play it cool. 
“Really,” said Thor. “Go on.” And he was pretty damn near to start pushing him.
Steve put down the beer he had only just started, squared his epic jaw, and
made his way to the dancing area. Thor watched him stop a couple of steps away
from the dancers, rub the back of his neck and shift his weight from one leg to
the other, not daring to interrupt. But then Loki opened his eyes, and then
opened them some more. He immediately stepped away from Bucky and all but
shoved him into Steve’s arms. And he very nearly had to, because neither of
those two lemons was moving. Finally, there were some shy grins, some fierce
blushing, and just as Thor was about to walk up there and show them physically
where to put their hands, they sorted it out between themselves.
And Thor had to smile, feeling endearment as much as second-hand embarrassment.
That had to we the most awkward, stiffest dance in the world ever, a pair of
eight-year-olds pretending they were grown-ups, their cheeks so red and hot
Loki could probably light a fag on their skin. It was adorable.
Loki turned up next to him, with a soft drink.
“I was having fun then,” he said, sitting next to him. “Were you jealous?” he
teased.
Thor put on a little, sad smile.
“Bitterly,” he said. “Look at them.”
They both did, in silence. Thor wondered if Loki was thinking the same as he
was. That Steve and Bucky got to do that, and they didn’t. Food for thought.
He threw an arm around Loki and pulled him close to kiss his hair. That, he
could do. When he let him go, he heard Loki sigh.
“I think I’m going up to bed,” said Loki. “Had enough.”
“Yeah, me too,” said Thor.
He did notice Loki’s sideways glance. It made his heart beat faster.
 
When the mirrored doors of the lift shut in front of their faces, Thor checked
Loki out, up and down. Loki grinned.
“I can tell you where I got them,” said Loki, meaning his clothes, Thor
guessed, “since you seem to like the fit so much.”
Thor grinned as well, crossing a lingering stare with his brother in the
mirror. He wiggled an eyebrow, and Loki wiggled his. Their smiles grew wider.
Ding!
The doors opened to a quiet, carpeted, empty hall. The corridor was too narrow
to walk side by side, so Thor gestured gallantly for Loki to go first. Loki
shook his head.
“Please,” he said, his tone perfectly polite, his snigger wicked.
Thor chuckled and started to walk.
“Hmmm…” purred Loki a few steps behind.
“I’m sure they make them in your size,” said Thor, without turning.
“They probably also do them in yours, have you looked?” teased his brother.
Thor grinned to no-one, feeling Loki’s hot gaze on his butt, blood pumping in
his veins.
The door to his room. Thor turned the card key over and over in his hands as
Loki caught up with him. He inserted the card and the door clicked open.
“Right,” he said.
“Right,” said Loki.
Thor swallowed.
“Good night, then.” And he leaned closer to kiss Loki on the cheek. Loki took
it on his mouth. His tongue. Eyes closed. Lingering. 
God.
He grabbed Loki’s face with both hands and crushed their mouths together. He
felt his hands on his waist, digging harder in his flesh as Thor deepened the
kiss. Loki’s breathing, more and more agitated as Thor plundered his mouth, was
making every hair on Thor’s body stand on end.
He walked them both into the room, their lips connected at all times. Once
inside, he backed Loki against the door until it shut. He kissed him with all
his hunger, taking all Loki was giving, and then some. He pushed a thigh
between Loki’s, and heard a soft, pained moan. He pressed harder, one hand in
Loki's hair, the other squeezing his arse.
Then Loki broke the kiss, and started to push him off.
“Thor…” whispered Loki, head back against the wall, expression drowsy. “I put
out on the first date but, before the first date? What would people say...”
Thor tried to smile, still only inches away from each other, his smell, the
hardness and heat of his body, his half-hard cock just there.
“This is not how I imagined this,” muttered Loki, apologetic, eyes lowered,
looking shy.
“I know,” said Thor. He sighed. “I know what you mean.”
“You don’t think I’m being all… Disney princess about this?”
Thor smiled.
“What’s wrong with a bit of Disney,” he said.
“We’ll be in London in a few days,” said Loki. “Let’s wait.”
Now Thor did chuckle.
“I’d never thought I’d hear you say that.”
Loki giggled. Thor sighed. Hooking a hand around his brother’s neck, he brought
their foreheads together, and then one last kiss.
“Loki, Loki…” he muttered, with his eyes closed.
And then he let go, and tried not to look too miserably dejected. 
“Jesus,” he said, trying to make light of it, his grin weak. “I need a cold
shower. Several.”
“There are other ways to deal with your present predicament, you know?” said
Loki, his voice a honeyed purr. “I intend to experiment with a few of them the
moment I get inside my room. Think about that.” A wink.
Thor glowered at him, murder in his eyes.
“You want to fucking kill me,” he groaned.
“No, baby, to kill you I would use my hands.”
Thor’s heart jumped. Baby, he called me baby.
He could not believe he was actually letting Loki go. 
“I hope you’re staring at my butt,” said Loki as he started his walk down the
corridor, without turning.
“Bloody right I am. That fit…” he said.
“Oh, and, Thor?” Loki stopped and threw him a look over his shoulder, those
long lashes. “Get tested.”
Loki did want to kill him. And he succeeded, every single time.
 
 
 
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     Did you spot the Torchwood ref? I'll never be over über-cool Captain
     Jack Harkness nervous about asking Ianto out. Gawd, I miss them.
***** Chapter 20 *****
Chapter Summary
     Date night.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
“Just fucking ask him, ok?” snarled Loki.
“Why don’t you ask him?” said Sigyn.
“Because, because, because… Just do it, ok?!”
“Ok, ok, calm down, I’m calling him now. Stop pacing.”
Loki grunted, and carried right on pacing.
“Hey, Thor. It’s Sigyn. This place you’re taking Loki, is it formal wear or…?
…Alright. Ok. …Ok, I’ll tell him. …Yes, he’s fine. He’s just climbing up the
walls but… Ow! Yes, he pinched me. ... Yes, I'll live. Alright. See you!” He
hung up and turned to Loki. “Casual wear.”
“Brilliant . Just-… Fucking brilliant,” he grumbled.
“You were just moaning about having to wear a suit because it reminded you of a
premiere…”
“Yes, but what the fuck do I do now? I have nothing to wear!”
Sigyn ran her eyes over the wall-to-wall clothesline, and then raised an
eyebrow at Loki.
“Yes, whatever. Jaysus, must you be so literal? You know what I fucking mean.”
Sigyn rolled her eyes and mumbled something under her breath.
“Pardon me?” snapped Loki.
“Nothing.”
Sigyn rolled up her sleeves and started reviewing the situation. Loki crossed
his arms and tapped his foot. He was crackling with tension.
She went for the tight black velvety trousers, of course.
“Oh, puhleeese,” said Loki. “Can’t you be more obvious?”
“You look red hot in this!” protested Sigyn.
“It’s going to look like I’m trying too hard!”
“Get out. They’re fucking black trousers, how is that trying too hard?”
“D’uh! Velvet?”
“Imagine Thor running his hands over them.”
Loki did just that. He spaced out.
Sigyn grinned. 
“So that’s the bottom sorted. Now, for the top.”
Another half an hour of huffing, puffing, pacing, bickering, to-ing and fro-
ing. 
“No" said Loki categorically to the tenth shirt he was made to try -the dark
green one, that looked almost black except when the light caught it right.
"Look at it, it’s a fucking tent!”
“No it isn’t! It fits you perfectly and it hangs very nicely!”
“Looks like I’m wearing a robe.” He squinted at her, glaring. “You’re grumbling
again.”
“I’m allowed to grumble” she said. “You’re a liiiittle bit impossible tonight.
Even by your own standards.”
Loki huffed and sat at the foot of the bed, or rather plummeted. Sigyn sat next
to him.
“I’m fucking nervous, ok? Dammit. Why did I agree to this? We should just… meet
here, naked, and fuck. Why complicate things so much?”
“Because you wanted it to be special. Both of you.”
“Special,” mumbled Loki. “I don’t need any fucking clothes to make it special.
Though food is a good idea."
“Not on the settee, please” she said.
“It’s my fucking settee.”
She turned her eyes to the heavens, with a sigh.
“So, do you know what you’re doing yet?” she asked.
“What we’re doing? Dinner, that’s all I know” Loki shrugged.
“And… after dinner? Movie? Theatre…”
“Fucking.”
Sigyn laughed, and nudged an elbow to his side.
“You do know you’re blushing, don’t you?”
He did, and he did not need reminding. He buried his face in his hands and gave
it a good rub. Like this would help. Stop it, you idiot, you’ll give yourself a
rash. Sigyn started petting his hair.
“My fucking hands are shaking,” he whined.
Sigyn chuckled and hugged him around the waist.
“You’re going to have a great time,” she said. “It’s going to be fun. You’ll
chat, you’ll flirt, you’ll laugh. And the rest… I’m sure it’s like riding a
bike.”
“That particular bike just keeps getting harder to ride.”
“What do you mean.”
“I mean that… I don’t know.” Loki huffed, irritated —more like terrified,
really, but who’s counting. “After building it up so much, what if he’s…?” He
didn’t even want to think it, let alone say it.
“…Yes?” 
Loki sighed heavily.
“Disappointed,” he said.
“Aw, sweetie.” Sigyn gave his waist a squeeze. “I was in the same apartment
when you were dating Sam, and I’m still trying to get over it. Thor won’t be
disappointed.”
Huff from Loki. 
“What,” she said.
“But what if we never get to that stage? What if we actually sit down for
dinner and have nothing to say to each other?”
“Loki, darling, listen,” said Sigyn, with her 'snap out of it and stop the
nonsense Loki-boy' tone. “You’ll be fine. He’s crazy about you. You have both
managed to fuck up spectacularly with each other again and again, and here you
both are, stronger than ever. You’re indestructible. You’ll have a great night,
and the only thing that should worry you is that Miss Green-with-envy
downstairs calls the police on you again on account of the noise. Just make
sure Thor doesn't get the door in his undies."
He made himself take a long, deep breath. She smiled at him, and gave him a
shoulder nudge. Loki nudged back.
“We’re going to fuck on every flat surface, and the bumpy ones too, better get
used to the idea right now,” he warned.
“As long as you keep the food play out of the fucking settee."
Loki almost laughed. Sigyn gave him one last comforting squeeze, and then a
good shove.
“Right, mister. Shoes,” she said. “You’ll be late.”
“What time is it?” asked Loki, and checked his watch. He went pale. “Oh my god!
Why didn’t you fucking tell me?!”
 
 
                                       *
 
They hadn’t seen each other for a few days. Loki had flown back to London from
the nearest airport, but Thor had gone back to L.A. to pack. Apparently, he was
planning on staying in England for some time. Which was great of course, right?
And also fucking petrifying, judging by the void in Loki’s stomach whenever he
gave it some thought.
For an extra layer of surrealism, Thor had told Loki, just like that, that he
would need him to take him shopping for winter clothes, if he was to spend the
season in England. At the time, Loki had just said “yes, sure”, but then it had
started to sink in. Clothes shopping, with Thor, in London. (And making out in
the changing rooms, if he had his way.) Into what bloody alternate dimension
had he stumbled? How did that happen, any of that? 
Three months ago, they weren’t talking to each other, and Loki was pretty sure
that he hated Thor's guts and never wanted to see him again in his life. …Yeah,
ok, ok, whatever. But he did hate him, and he would have been willing to swear
on some sacred book or another (how about Billy Wilder’s own original,
annotated copy of the script of Sunset Boulevard) that he would never forgive
Thor for one fucking spite too many after a whole bloody lifetime of them.
And look at him now, gnawing his nails in a taxi, counting the fucking seconds
until he could hurl himself into his brother's outrageously muscled arms. Maybe
he had no fucking spine. Then again, right now he had no use for a spine. What
he needed, desperately needed right now, was his brother's-... warm embrace.
But don’t you start counting your fucking chickens yet, Laufeyson. They were
both of volatile temper, their conversations still felt like a minefield most
of the time, the baggage they had between them could cause Gatwick to collapse
(not that it took much), and everything that had been a problem before had
every chance of being a problem again. 
And as scary as it felt right now, this date was the easy part. Imagine
everything went swimmingly tonight, what happened next? They would then be,
what? Lovers? Boyfriends? Partners? How would that work? The specifics? There
were details to discuss, strategies to devise. People would be watching. He
should have talked to Natasha…
His brain kept jumping the gun and scattering in all directions, as if he
needed any more on his plate. This would not be easy, whatever they had between
them. And they couldn’t make the difficulties go away just by fucking.
Although, if it was up to Loki, it would not be for lack of trying. 
 
 
The taxi left him on the corner, as he had asked. A little time to regroup and
gather his thoughts, if only for a few steps.
It was dark already, and it had been for hours. After those few weeks in the
bright American south, London’s winter nights were so bloody gloomy. He looked
for Thor, heart pounding.
There he was, under the little white marquee. Black jeans and a deep red shirt
with a slight sheen, three-quarter length coat, thick cowl. And a bit of a
scruff. Be still my beating heart, mumbled Loki under his breath, and remember,
no hello kiss and no hello arse-grope, because brothers. Forbidden love, he
sniggered idiotically to himself. How romantic.
Thor turned to him and saw him. He smiled, and his face lit up, and the winter
gloom bowed down to his might and glory and actually frigging retreated and
lifted, or Loki would forever swear that it did. His heart skipped a bunch of
beats.  
“Hey,” he said, and admire his coolness and the serene expression, what a damn
fine actor he was. 
“Hey,” said Thor, and ran his eyes all over him, head to toe, and back again,
with the least brotherly expression imaginable. “You look amazing” he
whispered. And then, cocking his eyebrow just so, “Is that velvet?”
 
It was a little, cosy, family-run place, with a no-frills decorative style, and
an authentic feel, like someone’s home. Loki loved it at first sight. They
seemed to know Thor. He introduced him as his brother, and they were lead to a
table in a corner, obscured by a panel of intricate trellis and some plants. It
was out of the way, and shielded from the outside windows, a nice table for a
movie star to have dinner in peace. Discrete. Intimate. With potential for
mischief.
“Home-style Indonesian food. This is where I got the recipe for that soup.
Remember?”
Loki grinned.
“Of course I remember.”
Loki let his brother order. He didn’t know any of the dishes.
“My friend Sif discovered it,” said Thor casually.
“Sif?”
“From drama school. I hope you can meet her one of the days, she’s great”
grinned Thor.
That blink.
“You’ve fucked her,” said Loki, on an impulse.
Thor frowned, harrumphed, cast his eyes down. 
“Hm.” He probably did not know what to say.
Of course he has fucked her, grumbled that ugly voice inside, when the fuck
does he ever not fuck them.
Shut up, shut up, shut up, he screamed at himself. Fix this!
“This is nice. I like it,” he said, looking around the place, trying to sound
civilised and upbeat.
Thor flicked a minute smile. He was tense. Way to fucking go, Laufeyson, proud
of you. You managed to ruin everything in under five minutes, a new record.
“You really do look awesome,” he sighed hopelessly.
Thor looked into his eyes and held his hand, with a quick squeeze.
“Thanks,” he said.
“I’m sorry," said Loki. "I’m… jumpy.”
“It’s ok,” said his brother, with another squeeze. 
The waiter approached with the drinks and the starters and Thor withdrew his
hand. His movement was smooth, and therefore inconspicuous, his expression
untroubled and light. The waiter didn’t notice anything. Loki assessed it with
a very complicated feeling inside, the satisfaction of a ruse well executed
against the irk of being denied.
Boo fucking hoo. Just get over it, Laufeyson, you always knew where you were
getting yourself into.
They tried small talk. How was the flight, where are you staying, how is Tony,
how is Sigyn, blah blah blah. You could barely call it a conversation. It had
been an exchange of words at best, uptight, stuttering, stumped with false
starts. They didn’t know how to do this, and they didn’t like to do this. 
It helped when the food arrived.
“Fuck, this is delicious!” said Loki around a mouthful of a ridiculously nice
noodle dish with a range of flavours many vanguard, ultra posh restaurants
would struggle to achieve. 
He realised Thor enjoyed his delighted noises. The moans especially, so he
pushed it a bit. While he was at it, he decided to eat the satay straight from
the skewers, sharp white teeth dragging the beautifully spiced chunks of meat
down the stick. How his brother looked at him then, part alarm and part dilated
pupils. How the fuck was that sexual? Oh, brother, you are weird.
“So, what do normal people talk about on a first date?” said Loki, sucking his
fingertips, as they reached the halfway point of their meal. The mood was
definitely lighter by now.
“Hm, I don’t remember,” grinned Thor. “Hobbies?” he shrugged, pushing the last
of his mee goreng down with a sip of white wine.
“I play the piano,” said Loki. “I like to read. Bit of bondage. Nothing
exciting. And you?”
Thor raised his eyebrows and put on a proper smile. Fucking finally.
“I work too much to have hobbies,” he said.
“Oh. What do you do then?” Loki leaned over, all eager.
Thor smiled some more, and played along.
“I’m an actor.”
Loki pretended to be impressed.
“Really? Are you famous?”
“Can’t complain” grinned Thor. “And you?”
“Would you believe I’m an actor too?”
“What a coincidence.”
They both smiled. The atmosphere was now officially relaxed. Second course
arrived, the glasses were refilled. Perhaps they could crank it up a notch?
“So, what do you look for in a man, Thor?” flirted Loki.
“Hm, good question.” Thor rested his elbows on the table, joined his hands in
front of his face, rubbed his thumbs on his own lips. His gaze was intense and
fixed on Loki. “He has to be unfairly beautiful, insanely talented, interested
in everything, with a dry sense of humour, cleverer than almost everyone else,
and pretty cocky about it, dangerously sexy, adventurous, never boring, always
curious, always hungry. He has a soft core he pretends is not there, even when
it keeps popping out again and again. He loves cuddles but only on his own
terms. He has an exhibitionist streak, loves old movies, quiet Saturday
afternoons, wild, vigorous sex, and traveling.” 
Loki squirmed in his seat and swallowed on dry. All power to main shields,
because he was fucking shivering.
“So, not demanding at all, are you.” His voice came out a lot weaker than he
had intended. 
“And what do you look for in a man, Loki?” his brother said.
Loki gulped again.
“I like a hot stud who can go at it all night,” said Loki, offhandedly.
Thor laughed, but his heart wasn’t in it. He was disappointed, wasn’t he?
Fucking hell.
You can fucking do this, Loki-boy. It would have to break through so many walls
it seemed impossible, but you can do it and you fucking will. So he took a deep
breath, and pushed with all his might. He managed a tiny murmur of a voice.
“Protective, kind, gentle, endlessly patient with my shit, supportive, devoted,
generous, with a heart of gold, brave and strong and decent, believes in the
good in people and fights for it, will never abandon what he thinks is a worthy
cause, even if he’s fucking wrong. Feels everything deeply, but can also be
light as a feather, made of pure joy and sunshine. He lives fully, always
throws everything in and saves nothing for later. Loves with all his heart.
He’s a real-life knight in shining armour, and he’s the most beautiful thing
that’s ever walked this earth. The fucking moon and stars laugh with him when
he’s happy.” He swallowed thickly. “Preferably blood related, but adoption bond
also acceptable.”
They were quiet. Thor was speechless. Loki could not lift his eyes from his
plate, where it was safe. 
“I want to kiss you,” said Thor.
Loki looked up at him. It was so easy to feel sorry for themselves, to take the
woe is us persecuted lovers street, and curse this cruel world and all its
stupid conventions. But you know what, tonight there was no fucking woe is us.
Tonight, Thor had taken Loki out on a date. They were going to be born under a
laughing star, or else.
He grinned, eyes sparkling with humour and mischief, and watched his brother
smile knowingly in return. 
“So, Thor,” he said then, because this was supposed to be fun, god dammit.
“Have you ever been pleasured under the table of an Indonesian restaurant?” he
said, as he bent to one side, to take one boot off.
Thor watched his movements with some alarm and went a little pale, and then a
lot pink. He gulped.
“No.”
“Would you like to?” purred Loki, rubbing his foot up Thor’s leg.
“Probably, but that doesn’t mean…” (Loki’s foot was climbing.) “Oh fu-…” (Loki
had made port.) “Oh, …Ok.”  Thor swallowed again, and Loki shifted his foot.
“Easy there…” Loki pressed down when he felt the growing hardness. Thor gasped,
squirming in his chair. Rub rub rub. His eyes flickered.  “Fuck…”
He was expecting at any second to see that expression on Thor’s face, the “have
you gone completely mad?” look of horror he used to get from Thor all the time
back in the day, which he hated with a vengeance. Instead, he was getting
glazed eyes, a parted mouth, fluttering eyelids whenever he shifted his foot,
some heavy breathing, and Thor’s cock getting harder and harder under his
ministrations.
“Aren’t you going to stop me?” said Loki, mellifluous.
Thor shook his head and licked his dry lips. Loki bit his. This was so fucking
beautiful. He was passed the butterflies under navelstage,beyond the delightful
tickles in the groin, and straight to raging boner himself. He stroked his
straining crotch, and Thor's face when he saw it, damn.
“Are you having any pudding? Say no” said Loki, grinding his foot, stroking,
stroking.
Thor chuckled at the odd phrasing.
“Why not?”
“I fancy some ice cream. I have some at home.”
Thor was panting slightly, that flush in his neck.
“Yeah?” A gasp. “I’m sure they have ice cream here.” 
“Yes, but I don't want it on a plate,” smirked Loki, push and rub.
Thor gaped and stared and could not speak for the images that had just put in
his fertile imagination. He was so fucking suggestible, seriously, even talking
about wall paint could get him going, if the tone was right. 
“I’ll get the check,” Thor said, deliciously husky and choked up.
 
They walked back. It was not far. Fresh air and a bit of exercise to help the
dinner down, among other things. They were carrying a few tubs with the food
they had not been able to finish.
“Do you know what this reminds me of?” said Thor, nudging him with an elbow.
Loki grinned. He was thinking the same thing.
“Do you ever think about that night?” Thor asked.
Loki took a nervous minute to consider his answer.
“More than I used to,” he said.
He deliberated a bit longer. If he said what was on his mind, would he come
across as the sentimental fool he was? Oh, fuck it, Thor was a sentimental fool
himself anyway.
“You know when in the movies they’re talking about one afternoon 30 years ago
and they say ‘I remember you wore blue’?…” he mused. Thor nodded. Loki took a
little breath, and went for it. “You were wearing that old tight red t-shirt
that was hanging by a thread, and dark blue jeans, very snug, and those stupid
sneakers with fluorescent stripes, and that black hoodie with a… what the fuck
was that, a surfer skull?”
Thor’s smile was illuminating the street. He looked a bit giddy. Loki felt
smug. 
“And the Germans wore grey,” Thor said. He kept his eyes low and a tiny grin on
his face. “You wore tight black jeans and one of your ballet tops” he said
then.
Loki looked at him, in awe. He felt wobbly inside. So he deflected.
“That’s what I always wore,” he said. “I knew it did things to you.”
Thor laughed.
“Bloody right it did.”
They walked some more.
“Is that what you did? Trying to, er, entice me?” asked Thor.
“All the fucking time. Don’t tell me you didn’t know.”
Thor smirked.
“I knew you liked to tease me," he said. "I just wasn’t sure you knew what you
were doing. I mean, how it would come across. I really did not know how much
you knew about... you know, sex and all that.”
“Yes, because I was a blushing virgin.” Loki elbowed him in the gut.
“You were. Literally. I remember you..." Thor cut himself off.
"...Yes?" urged Loki.
"I remember you. That night. Your face. When you..." Thor grinned, colour on
his cheeks. "It was the sexiest thing I had ever seen in my whole life. Nothing
virginal about you at all then." He harrumphed. "It still does things to me,
when I think about it."
Loki flustered, quite badly, a swarm of bees under his skin.
A few more steps.
“I’m sorry about… what came after,” said Thor then, his voice smaller. “I
really wasn't feeling... you know, disgusted or anything. I just... I was so
fucking scared.”
Loki took a second. He didn’t want to think about that part.
“I know,” he said.
“You must have been so frightened too, and I-…”
“It doesn’t matter, Thor,” he cut him.
His brother insisted.
“I really didn’t know how-…”
“Thor," he stopped him in his tracks and forced him to look him in the eyes,
"you don’t have to apologise for every single fuck up in our lives, ok? You
were a kid. Forget it.”
Thor’s expression was full of regret. Loki didn’t fucking want that. He wanted
to bark something at him, shake him out of it. That’s not what Sigyn would do.
That’s not what mum would do. He hesitated, because he was not fucking used to
this, and he was probably not great at it, but in the end he got over himself
and just hugged him. Thor hugged back, tight. It felt good, like it was doing
something.
“I am so very fucking sorry, baby,” murmured Thor.
It would seem Loki wasn’t the only one with a shedload of seriouson his back
that would take some work, and some time, to deal with. Loki hushed him,
checked the street again, and put a quick kiss on the corner of his lips.
“Enough,” he muttered, with a little grin. Seeing it seemed to lighten Thor’s
burden. 
For a second, they even risked holding hands. Loki put an end to that by
lighting a fag. He didn’t want their first date on the cover of Hello magazine.
 
“So, here we are,” said Loki, by the little metal gate of his front yard. His
flat was on the second floor.
“Here we are,” repeated Thor, looking up to the darkened window. 
They stood there for a moment, like a couple of idiots.
“Hm, I’ve had a lovely evening. Let’s do this again some time,” teased Loki.
Thor gave him a half smile, eyes full of humour, so bloody beautiful.
“Wanna come in?” said Loki. “For… coffee?”
“Bit late for coffee, isn’t it?” said Thor, kidding too.
Massive eye roll from Loki.
“So come in for cheese and crackers, I don’t care.”
Thor grinned some more.
“Somebody said something about ice cream?” he said then.
Loki smirked, with a generous pinch of mischief.
“Let’s see what I can do.”
He let them both into the hallway. Thor probably thought he hadn’t, but Loki
had noticed him check the empty street for prying eyes before he followed him
in.
 
“Where’s Sigyn?” asked Thor, handing his coat over when Loki asked for it.
“At her mum’s, with the dog.”
“Were you feeling lucky tonight, then?” winked Thor.
“Better safe than earplugs, is what she always says.” 
Thor laughed.
Loki hung the coats and took a breath, facing away from Thor. He was trembling,
his heart beating hard. When he turned around, he saw his brother staring point
blank at him, warm, and piercing, and thoughtful. 
Thor took a step towards him. Loki’s stomach took a plunge.
“Do you want that ice cream now?” said Loki, abruptly. 
Thor stopped cold, with a little frown of puzzlement.
“Er… do you?” he asked.
“Not really” answered Loki, wanting to kick himself. Why was he so fucking
nervous again?
Awkward silence. Thor had his hands in his pockets, and looked at ease.
“You know what we’ve never done together?” said Thor then.
"I can think of a million things off the top of my head,” said Loki, with a
tiny grin.
Thor smiled.
“We’ve never danced,” he said, offering his hand.
Loki stared at it, frozen again. Thor didn’t wait. He stole his brother’s hand
and dragged him to the centre of the room, and then pulled him close. He guided
Loki’s hands, one on Thor’s shoulder, the other one trapped against Thor’s
chest. So Loki was the girl then. Typical. Jesus, his heart was pounding so
fucking hard they could probably dance to it, though it wouldn’t be a slow one.
“I wanted to be a ballet dancer,” babbled Loki, “I couldn’t risk your big
clumsy feet disabling me for life.” Jabber jabber jabber. He couldn’t shut up.
“What about now?” mumbled Thor, sounding a lot more self-possessed, stroking
one big thumb on Loki’s hand, trapped against his chest, one arm around Loki’s
waist, solid as a continent.
“I’ve changed careers,” muttered Loki, a thread of voice. 
“So you can risk it,” said Thor, close to his ear. Loki’s lids fluttered in
response to the shiver that trickled down his back.
“I guess,” is all he managed.
Thor held him tight, close to him, and started swaying.
“There’s no fucking music, Thor,” murmured Loki. Even his snark sounded shaky.
“Isn’t there? I can hear it…” whispered his brother right by the shell of his
ear.
“You sappy idiot,” grumbled Loki, without heat.
Thor hummed.
“Someday, when I’m awfully low, and the world is cold…”
Loki went rigid, his throat choking up. Thor held him tighter, his big hand
rubbing Loki’s back gently.
“I will feel aglow just thinking of you and the way you look tonight…”
Loki’s eyes welled up. He was crumbling. He clung onto Thor's neck. His brother
kept humming, without words now. They swayed together, slowly. Of all the
daydreams and fantasies Loki had nursed as a kid involving his brother and an
impossible future happiness together, he had never even dared to imagine this.
He rested his head on Thor’s shoulder, breathing him in. He tried to become
aware of everything, to feel everything, to let nothing go amiss. 
They had all night for this, all night. There would be no need to sneak back to
their separate rooms at midnight. No need to keep an ear out for an unexpected
arrival out of schedule. And no need to bite the sheets to keep it quiet. 
Loki reared his head and kissed Thor, a slow kiss, long strokes of their lips,
gentle tongues, Thor crushing their bodies together with that strong arm around
Loki’s waist. No rush, no fear, no shame. No fear. 
Thor broke the kiss to breathe, their foreheads touching. 
“Ah, baby…” sighed Thor, as a man who had long been outside in the cold and had
just been allowed to come in and sit by the fire, holding his hands up to the
warmth.
He cradled Thor’s face to kiss him again, deeper and harder this time. Thor’s
eyes were shut, his forehead scrunched as if in pain, his expression intense.
Loki pushed the hair out of his face to kiss the frown away. Thor was crushing
him so hard in his arms. He kissed his neck, open mouth, a good suck that would
bruise, and felt Thor tremble. His ear next, and there was a moan. 
The arm around Loki’s waist had gone. Thor started to tug at Loki’s shirt to
untuck it, sending the butterflies in Loki's underbelly barking mad. Loki
watched Thor’s face as he undid the buttons of his baby brother's shirt, the
raw hunger in it, the urgency in his gestures, how his eyes widened as he
revealed Loki’s skin underneath. He sought Thor’s mouth with his as his brother
peeled the shirt off his arms and let it fall down. Then his mouth on Loki’s
neck, the scruff bristling the delicate skin there, making him shudder and suck
a sharp breath between his teeth.
When his arms were free, Loki threw them around his brother’s neck once more.
Thor’s hands were feeling his arse, crushing their groins together. They were
both getting harder by the minute. And Thor was still dancing with him to
whatever tune was in his head. That made Loki smile. If he wanted to dance,
they would dance. He spun in Thor’s arms, giving him his back, and got close.
He pushed and rubbed his arse against Thor’s crotch, and heard him groan,
strong hands on Loki’s hips, gripping firmly. Loki arched his back to grind
harder, and Thor stroked up with his hardness. Loki’s pulse had gone kablooie
now, and heavy breathing had become full-on panting. Thor’s hands down his
body, anchoring on his crotch, palming his erection, unbuttoning him. Loki
rubbing, rubbing. Thor’s hand sliding inside his pants, closing his dry, bare
hand around Loki’s cock, his mouth on Loki’s neck, his stubble there, his lips,
scrape of teeth. 
Thor slid Loki’s trousers over his hips and dragged them down his legs, his
mouth traveling the length of Loki’s spine as he kneeled. Loki let Thor help
him out of his boots and stepped out of the clothes pooling around his ankles.
He was completely naked, Thor was completely dressed. Thor spun him around with
big strong hands, Loki’s hard-on level with his lips. 
How did people go about their lives without this, and what was the fucking
point of them anyway, if they never got Thor Odinson on his knees in front of
them, pleasuring them with his mouth. It was the sexiest, most sinful thing he
had ever seen, and he had seen some stuff. Loki looked down, jaw unhinged, brow
knitted, eyes wide, as his brother licked and sucked the living daylights out
of him with lewd delight. That expression on Thor’s face was simply not bloody
decent. 
Loki’s legs struggled to sustain him. He raked his fingers in Thor’s hair and
on his shoulders. His brother held his arse tight, encouraging his movements,
and Loki gently fucked his mouth, trembling, with sharp, shuddery breaths and
desperate whimpers.
“I’m going to come,” he muttered, breathily, pushing him off. 
My god, Thor’s mouth, puffy and pink and ravished, sweet baby Jesus on a surf
board. He stood up, wiping his lips.
“What do you want,” whispered Thor, hugging him and kissing him again.
“You know what I want,” replied Loki against his mouth, in a low rumble, his
bare skin against Thor's clothes, the soft, sensitive flesh of his cock crushed
against the tough crotch seam of his brother’s jeans.
“Tell me,” Thor dared him, kissing, licking.
Loki bit his earlobe.
“I want your cock," he whispered, letting the words fill his mouth, feeling
Thor's shiver. “I want you to fuck me.”
Thor bent over and lifted him on his fucking shoulder. All Loki had to say to
that was “Hmph!”
“The bedroom was over there, if I remember it correctly,” said Thor, making his
way. 
He dumped him on the bed and left him sprawling, cock jutting up, throbbing;
apparently it had enjoyed the manhandling very, very much, perhaps more than
Loki himself.
Thor started on his own clothes, big hands, clumsy with haste around the tiny
buttons. Loki propped himself on his elbows to have a better view, biting his
lip in anticipation. Thor undressed without fussing, concentrated on shedding
his clothes as quickly as he possibly could. The fact that he was so eager to
get naked and inside him was hotter to Loki than the most tortuous strip-tease
he could ever attempt. 
Thor had to sit down to kick off his boots, and Loki took in that back, with a
sigh of sheer lust. He had no idea, did he? Thor. He lived inside that body,
and he only knew that it did things to people because he saw it happen, but he
probably didn’t have a fucking clue what it really was to be around his naked
glory like that. 
Doesn’t mean he didn’t enjoy it when he noticed the effect it caused. He had
caught Loki all but ogling, and he was smirking with a smugness that had to go,
because there was cocky sexy and then there was that. Loki pillowed him on the
face. Thor laughed, launched himself on top of Loki, took the pillow off his
hands, and pinned Loki’s wrists over his head.
“Fuck, yes,” hissed Loki. His cock tugged, trapped between his body and his
brother’s. He wrapped his legs around Thor’s, grinding.
Thor was serious all of a sudden, his expression adoring, transported. He
leaned over to kiss him, with reverence. None of that. Loki bit down, not too
hard, but enough that Thor gasped and tightened the grip on his wrists.
“You little…” Thor held his chin tight with one strong hand and kissed him
again, with hunger this time, wetly, roughly. His hands free, Loki raked his
fingers down that impossible back, with a groan of delight. He tried to reach
blindly into the drawer in the bedside table. 
Thor helped. He went to coat his fingers with lube.
"I'm already open, Thor," he murmured, kissing him. "I'm good."
Thor was disconcerted. Loki rolled his eyes to the heavens.
"I was horny, impatient, and have a house full of toys,” he explained curtly.
Thor smirked, and he flustered, possibly with a picture in his mind, or
several. He sat on his heels between Loki’s knees and slicked himself up. Loki
watched the operation with bated breath and a hard bite on his lip, which only
got sharper and sharper, as his brother kept stroking himself, obviously just
to torment him.
“Shall I leave you two alone or what?” he snapped.
Thor grinned in smug silence some more, and positioned himself between his
brother’s thighs. Loki wrapped his legs around Thor’s waist, his heart
pounding, anticipating, eyes on his brother’s cock.
“Look at me,” said Thor, a husky murmur. 
“Oh, I am,” said Loki, but he did look up, and his eyes remained locked on
Thor’s (he couldn’t tear them away if he tried, damn) when his brother took
himself in hand and started pushing in. Thor’s eyes fluttered, but remain
fixed. Loki hissed when he was breached, and whimpered when Thor kept fucking
in. Thor’s groan when he was fully sheathed, his breathing. He looked
overwhelmed. Loki couldn’t fucking handle it.
And just when he was about to make some sarcastic remark or another about what
having only girlfriends for years had done to his brother’s bed skills, Thor
pulled out, blazing eyes spearing his, and slammed in, pushing the air out of
Loki’s lungs. Loki’s mouth fell open, as Thor started slamming against him
again and again, propped on his arms, Loki dipping his eyes to the place where
their bodies connected, to the rippling muscles on his brother’s stomach.
They were quiet, just their breathing, the wet slick of their fucking, the bed
starting to creak. Loki was lifting his hips to meet his brother’s thrusts,
each impact reverberating up his spine. 
Soon enough, just as Loki had expected, Thor stopped, chest heaving, and pulled
out. Loki knew what that meant, and didn’t hesitate. He rolled over and got on
his hands and knees, panting with anticipation when he felt Thor taking
position behind his back. One big hand raked down Loki’s back, and he arched
under it, with a strangled whimper. His cock was leaking and throbbing. Come
on, dammit. The cold tip of Thor’s cock just nudging into him, teasing. He
wanted to groan in frustration. Instead, he pushed back and took him in. Thor
gasped, strong fingers digging into Loki’s hips. He pulled out completely, and
hammered right in. And again, and again. He picked up the pace, slow and hard
still, until Loki had to brace himself on the headboard. Oh his fucking god, he
had fucking missed this.
Again, the noises of their fucking were all there was. They were quiet, gasping
and hissing and panting and huffing, and no moaning. 
“I want to hear you,” said Thor then, fucking vigorously. He rolled his hips,
aiming for it, and grazing it. “Let me hear you,” insisted Thor. 
Loki bit his lip harder, just to be contrary.
“Make me,” he panted.
One big hand on Loki’s hair, digging into his scalp, the way he knew it drove
Loki wild. Good move. Thor pushed Loki down on the bed roughly, Loki’s chest on
the mattress now, butt up in the air, and picked up the pace. 
“Fuck...” gasped Loki between gritted teeth, clenching his jaw hard.
“What was that,” panted Thor, speeding up, going at it like a man possessed.
“I s-said… ah, fuuuuck…” That was it. That was the fucking he had yearned for
all these bloody years. “Oh god, Thor…” And he was moaning now, inarticulate,
undone by Thor’s fucking. 
“Yes, fuck,” huffed Thor. “Let me hear you, baby…”
And Loki was now cream. Fuck playing games and fuck holding back. He moaned
like that fucking deserved, like his body was aching to do. 
He was lost in it. He had thought he would put on a bit of a show for Thor,
eyefucking, vocalics, dirty talking, the works, but all he could do right now
is let himself be torn apart and remade again in every single fucking thrust. 
When Thor stopped and pulled out again, Loki turned his head, and caught that
little gesture of Thor’s head. He didn’t need more. He laid on his back again,
as Thor pushed his knees up and apart. His brother entered him slowly this
time, eyes on his, rolling his hips, trying to drag it out. He was a vision
like that, gleaming with sweat, all his muscles tense and bulging.
Loki knew he was close. It wouldn’t be long now. He reached for Thor’s face, a
thumb on Thor’s lips, on the sweat-pearled brow. Thor was frowning, his jaw
clenching, as if he was in pain. He stared at Loki with an expression that
broke through him and left nothing standing or unturned inside. He bent Loki
double to kiss him.
With their eyes locked again, Thor dipped his chin once. A breathy “yeah?”, and
Loki nodded back, holding his knees up. Thor propped himself on his arms, and
started fucking harder and faster again, husky moans, desperate breathing, so
fucking beautiful. Another look and another nod from Thor, and Loki started
touching himself. Thor watched, from Loki’s cock to Loki’s face, reading in his
sounds, his expressions and his movements his progress to climax. A long groan
when Thor almost matched the pace of Loki’s hand. Loki went still and squeezed,
letting his brother’s cock carry him the last stretch. Thor slammed into him
hard and fast again, panting anxiously, and Loki’s name fell off his mouth as
Loki came, hissing, a low groan.
Loki stroked himself leisurely now, squeezing the last drops, his brother’s
eyes burning him. And then Thor kissed him again, deep and rough, and went for
it, just for himself now. 
Loki was watching him, his face. He loved this part, he always had. The first
times they fucked, when he had felt basically discomfort, or a weird fullness,
and not very much at all that was pleasurable, seeing his brother falling apart
inside him had been worth every pinch and every stretch. Once Loki started to
like, really like, being fucked, Thor would make him come first if he could,
and then Loki was able to lie there (or bounce there) and feel all of Thor, his
lust, the sounds of his pleasure, seeking his orgasm in Loki’s body, and Loki
fucking loved to be in full possession of himself as he did.
Like now. Thor’s face. His brow pinched, his mouth unhinged another bit, the
husky, raspy moans, his eyes shut tight, fucking faster, faster. Loki clenched,
and Thor jolted sharply, suddenly, gritting his teeth, groaning, another sharp
thrust, another, and he was still, panting, sweat on his brow, his breathing
heavy and rushed as he crumbled slowly, so wonderfully heavy, on Loki’s chest.
Loki wrapped his arms around him, crushing tight. After a moment, Thor shifted
so that Loki could unfold himself, but stayed on top of him, heaving, panting.
Loki wrapped his legs around him too.
 
After some time, Loki grumbled and wiggled.
"I can't breathe, Thor."
Thor chuckled, and sighed, and dragged himself off and onto the mattress.
They stayed like that, side by side, sprawled on the covers, breathing hard, no
words. Thor turned his face to him, and even with his eyes focused on the
ceiling, Loki could see his smile. He smiled as well, and now Thor’s teeth were
flashing. Loki shook his head.
“So you’re still the same snarky little shit in bed, then,” said Thor,
beautifully smug. “And I can still get you to shut up.”
Loki was too well-fucked to argue. He exhaled a deep sigh. When his brother
held his hand, he gripped tight. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     Refs to Casablanca, points to you if you spot it.
     Refs to chapter 2, points OFF if you DON'T spot it. Pay attention,
     dammit!
***** Chapter 21 *****
Chapter Summary
     Making up for all the lost time... And they have a LOT of lost time
     to make up for. Good job they're both young and fit.
     Having said that, relationships are never easy. Talking helps, but
     there is no such thing as miracles...
Chapter Notes
     How much smut is too much smut? Hey, I've been waiting for this for
     more than 100k words. Don't judge.
     About the miracle of the multiplying chapters. Many moons ago, I
     worked out what was left of the plot and sorted it into chapters. But
     as I get closer to certain points in the story, I have found again
     and again that I want to spend more time on this and that, and ta-
     daaa!, one chapter becomes two, to allow for more focus and more
     space. (Do you mind? I'm going to miss them when it's finished, and
     there's no rush, is there?)
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
(The past. Iceland.)
 
They stop their bikes when they hear splashing, hysterical laughter and high-
pitched squealing and shrieking coming from behind the slope. They walk up to
investigate. There is a lake, surrounded by a ring of ice, and people are
diving into it.
“Insane,” says Thor, looking on. And he catches his brother’s impish grin with
the tail of his eye. Uh-oh.
“I dare you to jump into that lake,” says Loki.
“…I knew this was coming,” grumbles Thor. They’ve been playing chicken for
days. Among many other things, Loki likes to dare him into (increasingly
outrageous) public displays of affection. Thor knows what he’s doing, and very,
very happily plays along.
Loki smiles smugly.
“Will you or won’t you.”
“We’re going to catch our deaths” says Thor. Seriously? Frozen fucking water?
“Chicken,” says Loki.
It shouldn’t nettle Thor so much, should it? He’s not a baby. But still…
“Alright then” he says. “But if we catch pneumonia, I’m going to kill you. And
then dad is going to kill me. And then mum is going to kill dad. Are you sure
you’re ready for this bloodbath?”
“Just don’t fucking catch pneumonia,” shrugs Loki.
Thor assesses him head to toe. And starts getting rid of his anorak.
“Last one sucks dad’s Golden Bollocks!” he shouts as he runs. They would never
tire of mocking the pair of Golden Globes Odin won last year.
 
 
It has taken them quite a while to stop shivering. At least they have the fire-
lighting business down to a T. They have unzipped the old-fashioned sleeping
bags a sound tech in dad’s movie crew has lent them, zipped them together, and
now they're snuggled up skin to skin in its soft, fluffy embrace, exchanging
body heat. It’s cozy. Thor has enjoyed vigorously rubbing Loki’s blueish skin
way past white and straight to pink. Loki was whining. 
“It fucking itches!” 
“You kiss your mother with that mouth?” kidded Thor.
Now Loki is sitting between his legs and leaning back against his chest, Thor’s
arms around him. Thor is going to start getting hard any minute now, he knows
himself. I mean, his arse is just fucking there. He’s not made of stone. He
kisses Loki’s neck. Loki tilts his head to the side.
“My turn,” mumbles Thor, nuzzling his scruff against the delicate skin of his
brother’s throat. “I dare you to say ‘I love you Thor’.”
Loki snorts.
“Say it,” insists Thor.
“No.”
“Chicken.”
“Whatever.”
Thor nuzzles into his ear. Loki shudders, goosebumps all over his neck and
arms. He had not thought it would be easy. He’ll persist.
“Say it.” 
“No.” Loki pushes him off and slithers out of the sleeping bag. He sits on the
mat and covers up with Thor’s anorak, his hands open to the fire.
Thor huffs unhappily.
“Why not” he says.
“Because.”
“Hm, really mature.” Loki can be stubborn. He can be stubborn-er. “Say it.”
“Why?”
“Because… because I want to hear it.”
“Then say it yourself.”
Thor smirks.
“Ok. I love you.”
Loki rolls his eyes.
“No, it was ‘I lo-…’”
Thor’s smile is broad and white now. He almost caught him then. Loki shakes his
head in dismay. 
Thor looks at his brother’s green eyes glinting with the tiny flames. It's gone
past getting his own way now, and Loki knows it too.
“Say it. Tell me. …Please.”
Loki exhales a resounding, exasperated sigh.
“Why?”
“Because… because I want to hear you say it, alright? Just once.” 
“And whatever Thor wants Thor gets, isn’t it?”
“…It’s not that” protests Thor. Don’t change the subject, brother. “Why won’t
you say it?”
“Because… Because you know it already. What’s the point in me saying it? It
won’t make it more real whether I say it or not.”
Loki is blushing faintly and it brings a smile to his brother’s lips.
Nonetheless…
“I’d still like to hear it. It would make me feel good. Don’t you want to make
me feel good?”
“I don’t need to parrot empty words to make you feel good, do I?” And he throws
him a stare from under his eyelashes that leaves no doubt as to what he’s
referring to. 
But Thor is not in a flirting mood right now.
“…They’re not empty,” he argues, hurt.
“Everybody is saying it all the time about every fucking thing. It’s worn out.
It doesn’t mean anything.”
“…It does when I say it to you. Doesn’t it? Or are they empty words then, too”
says Thor. He knows that’s not what Loki meant, but he’s not above playing
dirty.
Loki must know he’s stuck his foot in it, his expression between resentful and
guilty. He set his own trap and fell in it.
“Are they?” insists Thor, because damned if he is going to let him get away
with it.
Loki looks away and mumbles something that features somewhere a reluctant “no”.
“…Then tell me,” says Thor, tireless.
Loki takes another noisy, irritated breath. He gets up, loses the anorak, gives
Thor a shove so that he can slide inside the sleeping bag with him again, and
straddles his lap. He plants a long, hot kiss on Thor’s lips and starts
stroking his cock, which rises to attention immediately. They fall back, with
Loki on top, kissing him all over. 
“Tell me…” begs Thor.
“I am telling you,” murmurs Loki.
“…It’s not the same thing,” says Thor, as his brother coats his own arse with
the lube he always keeps magically handy. It’s a vision that always makes Thor
double up with a sudden stab of blood in his groin.
Loki kisses him again, quite the expert now, nibbling at his bottom lip,
pushing his tongue in.
“Tell me,” says Thor against his mouth.
“I want you…” says Loki hands around Thor’s neck, rolling them over, pulling
his brother over him.
“Loki…” Thor nuzzles into his neck as his brother slicks him up.
“Fuck me…”
“Baby… Tell me…” 
Loki spreads his legs and wraps them around Thor. Thor’s cock slides in easily.
“Oh fuck…” Loki rises his hips to meet his brother’s first thrust. Thor groans
when he feels fully sheathed, and starts moving straight away, since Loki is
not wasting any time. He loves to hear their breathing become heavier and
heated. He loves it when Loki’s panting starts to flesh out with his moans. But
if Loki thinks Thor will forget, he’s very wrong.
“Loki, please… Tell me…”
“God, fuck, yes…” Loki fucks up faster. “Harder, harder…”
Thor couldn’t bloody stop himself if he tried. 
“I love you, baby…” He huffs and pants. “Say you love me…”
Loki is biting his bottom lip hard, and maybe Thor is breaking his resolve.
“Loki… brother…” He fucks fast now. Loki has stopped moving, he can’t keep up
with Thor’s pace in this position. He’s lying there, gripping the sleeping bag,
and taking it, moaning like he’s falling apart. Thor is about to come, and Loki
must feel it, because he starts jacking off, quick and desperate, his moans
higher-pitched now.
“Oh god, oh fuck, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes! Oh, fuuuuck… brother…!”
Thor explodes inside him and Loki follows right after, with Thor’s last jolts.
Loki looks debauched and glowing, his tongue peeking out to lick his lips,
teasing his brother in the process.
“Say it,” pants Thor.
Loki grins his wicked grin, his eyes drowsy, a blissful expression of content,
and says nothing. Thor did not break him. 
“Chicken,” says Thor, and he crumbles on top him.
 
 
                                 ____________
 
 
 
(The present. Loki’s flat in London.)
 
Loki slept. Such a simple thing. He slept, his chest rising and falling, his
face softened, at ease. The light outside was brightening, fading into white.
It touched Loki’s skin with a tinge of blue. He would fidget every now and
again, a line might disturb his brow, his lip might tense, but otherwise he
seemed so peaceful, so content. He looked like a little boy. 
He had changed. He used to be so skinny, Thor could always see the ribcage
through the skin when he was lying on his back like that. He had put on muscle,
but he was still lean, still lithe, so graceful and slender. Thor had enjoyed
some damn fine specimens in his time, but Loki… It wasn’t just that he was
beautiful, it was the way he moved, and the way he stood still, his elegance,
his poise, his majestic arrogance. He was a prince, always had been, always
carried himself as one, with a haughtiness that would have been hateful and
unbearable in anyone else, while in Loki was irresistible. Especially because
Thor knew His Royal Highness here became the sluttiest, most wanton, most
lascivious creature when he found himself in the throes of passion, not one
ounce of pride or aristocratic detachment to be seen then. In bed (or in any
other setting he chose, and he loved variety), he was shameless, lewd,
insatiable and oh so demanding. He was like nothing and no-one else Thor had
ever known. And he had him back.
Loki felt remote and unattainable in his sleep. Perhaps it was this lonely
hour, with its eerie light, but Thor was really yearning to shake him awake, to
drag him over here, with him, right now. 
He would end up doing something silly, and he knew very well what Loki was when
he had not had enough sleep, and they had had a late enough night as it was.
Thor was hoping for a pleasant, mostly uneventful Saturday at home, so he
whispered his love right against Loki’s skin, brushed the lightest kiss there,
and got out of bed.
In the bathroom he found a robe big enough to be Loki’s. It was tight around
the arms and shoulders, but it would do. He got the kettle going and took a
second to pick up Loki’s clothes from the floor where they had dropped them the
night before, and drape them over the back of a chair. It brought a smile to
his lips. Loki. How he had clung to him when they danced. Even with all the
hugs they had shared these last few weeks -both the ones for the cameras and
the ones for them alone-, having him like that had been like nothing he
remembered. It was quite overwhelming, after all they had already shared, that
touching him could feel so new. Like when they were fucking. They had fallen in
step with each other so effortlessly, reading and anticipating each other's
intentions and desires like bloody Fred and Ginger. But they had been still a
couple of kids the last time they had been together, with limited experience
and a lot to learn. Well, they were not kids anymore, were they? Loki was a
man... His body was new, and what that body had learned in the years since they
had last fucked turned all their old routines into untried, unknown territories
(and Thor's heart started to beat faster, just with the thought that yesterday
night had been but a preview of what their sex life was going to be. Jesus
fuck.) He would need to wrap his head around that thought. He was home, and it
felt like home, but it was a new place, one he both remembered and did not know
yet. He had him back, but he also had to learn him again. And it was exciting.
He plopped on the settee with his tea, smiling when he brought the cup to his
lips and he found the smell of Loki still on his hands. Highlights of the
previous night started rolling and tumbling happily in his mind. The impact of
Loki’s love confession was still rippling through him, shaking him deep. He had
never thought he’d hear a thing like that out of that snarky, caustic mouth. It
was hard proof, if you will, of how much things had changed. How much they had
changed. But they still slotted into each other like two halves of the same
thing. It was a fucking miracle. True, you could still see the seam, and
perhaps it was for the best, if it reminded them of how it had felt to be
apart.
As disquieting as it was, Thor knew it was time to sit down and formulate a
plan of action, because there were complicated times ahead. He had avoided it
until now because he didn’t want to jinx their date, and because it wasn’t fun
to think about, but there was no excuse anymore.
He wished he could put it back. All it got him was a headache, and some fucking
heartburn. All he knew is that he wanted to get a flat in London and be close
to Loki. Anything beyond that was a can of worms he wished it could remain shut
tight for a bit longer. Because if he moved to London, he would have his mates
around often. He hoped so, anyway. But that meant they would have to meet Loki.
Which was great, on the one hand, and he could not wait, but on the other hand…
What was he going to tell them about him? Would he lie, or would he come out?
Right now, both options put an unpleasant tumble in his stomach. Because, if he
could not tell them that, his best friends in the world, what the fuck did he
have friends for? Then again, one simply does not know how anyone will react to
a confession of this nature. Not everybody had the same attitude to taboo sex
and unorthodox relationships (is that what kids are calling it nowadays,
Odinson?) as Tony Stark.
Christmas was looming. He was going to have to see Odin soon enough, wasn’t he?
More lying. Jesus, if they went down the baker's for croissants together they
would have to pretend and hide and lie. Thor exhaled, slowly and noisily, and
told himself to turn his mind to nicer, sweeter things, to the reason he was
doing all of this. To Loki.
His brother had made him ice cream. After they had fucked for the first time
last night, Thor had returned from the bathroom to find his brother by the open
window, stark bollock naked, holding two unmarked plastic tubs in his hands.
“Do you want that ice cream now?” Loki had asked, with an anxiousness Thor
could not understand at first. “Peanut butter or chocolate chips? Or both?”
Thor’s favourites as a child. He rushed to close the window, because Loki naked
in the icy night December breeze awoke not just the big brother in him, but the
bloody doting grandma too. Once that was done, he could not hold the smile
back.
“You made me ice cream?” he said.
Loki had rolled his eyes, dismissive.
“I only chucked the stuff in, Sigyn's machine did it all.”
Thor got between his open arms and kissed him. Oh, no you don’t, baby boy,
you’re not getting away that easily. He whispered in his ear.
“You remembered my favourites, you looked up a recipe, went out to get the
ingredients, prepared them, put them in there until it looked good enough, and
remembered to leave it on the window sill, instead of the freezer, so that it
would be ready for me when I felt like it.” Another strong, long kiss. “Thank
you, baby.” The ice cream had not been the only thing melting.
They had fed each other from the tub for some time, and there had been some
food play, and Thor’s chest was still sticky from it (the rest had been licked
clean a lot more thoroughly), but they had put the ice cream aside quickly
enough and got on with what they were really hungry for. It had been fun, a bit
strange, Loki’s tongue and breath so cool in very responsive corners of Thor’s
squirming, writhing body.
The second time they had fucked Loki was tender, so Thor had taken it slowly.
When they had been on their sides, he had watched Loki’s face, half turned to
him, his eyes shut, mouth parted, a slight frown. Thor had wandered what had he
ever seen in anyone else, and how in the world had he ever thought that he
would find another. They were spooning soon after that, when Thor had started
to get hard again. Loki had told him to give it a fucking rest already, but
then he had started to tease him, wiggling and grinding. He had relented to a
mutual hand job after the tiniest bit of coaxing, and a lot of Thor’s tongue in
his ear and his lips on his neck. Thor had wrapped himself around his brother
like an octopus after that, and Loki had allowed it, for a while. 
Thor was floating. Whatever he had to do, it would be worth it, wouldn’t it? He
had him back. 
 
He had promised himself he would let Loki rest, but after 2 hours playing on
his phone, nosing around the flat and browsing Loki’s library, he had had
enough. He got into the bed with his brother and rubbed his nose against the
nape of his neck. Loki groaned and mumbled “too early”, but when Thor started
groping his arse, he threw his head back for a sleepy kiss.
“Morning,” said Thor, when Loki’s eyes slit open. “What do you want to do
today?”
“This is just fine,” said Loki, voice still hoarse from sleep.
“I can do better,” muttered Thor, kissing down his chest, disappearing under
the bedcover.
 
 
                                       *
 
Loki took his coffee with lots of milk and no sugar now. It used to be black
with a ton of sugar. Why Thor thought of that, and what he made of it, he
couldn’t say.
Loki was still glowing from his orgasm as he ate his toast.  
“Let’s go to the shops for blueberries and syrup later,” said Loki. “Let’s make
pancakes tomorrow.”
Thor smiled, realising he was looking like a loved-up idiot.
“As you wish,” he said.
Loki kicked him under the table, but he was grinning.
 
Freshly showered, hair fluffy (blow-dried because Loki said they would catch a
cold), they got ready to go to the shops. Loki lent Thor a t-shirt “because my
oaf of a brother came to spend the fucking weekend and didn’t bring a fucking
change of clothes,” he had grumbled. Thor had opened his mouth to explain. 
“Yes, yes, you didn’t want to jinx it, I know,” said Loki, with an overdone
tone of impatience. 
Thor asked Loki to wear his leather and fur coat.
“It’s quite eye-catching,” argued Loki. “People tends to notice me in it.”
“I bet they notice you anyway,” said Thor, enjoying the view of his brother in
his leather trousers, chunky boots and thick black jumper.
Loki rolled his eyes and turned his head away. He was never one to take a
compliment nicely.
 
Later, when Thor caught the sight of them both on a shop window, he thought
they made a very striking couple. A couple, he repeated to himself, and he
ached to hold his brother’s hand. He brushed it a couple of times, and Loki
gave him a small, kind, cheerless smile, as if he had read his mind.
Rather than come straight back home, they took a detour across the park. They
were strolling quietly, the cold doing wonderful things to Loki’s face. Thor
couldn’t keep his eyes off him for very long. His eyes sparkled and his mouth
was pursed to reign in a smile, Thor's attention making him fluster. Thor was
desperate to kiss him.
“I’m going to go see dad one of the days,” said Thor at one point, walking
between the plane trees growing on either side of the broad path, under a
canopy of bare branches entwined over their heads.
“…Ok,” said Loki, after a spell.
“Do you want to-…?”
“No,” cut Loki, abruptly.
“…Ok,” said Thor. “But is it alright if I go?”
“I don’t mind,” said Loki, with a shrug, hands deep inside his pockets.
A few yards in silence. Thor wasn’t sure this was the right time to talk about
these things. But when was it? They had to get used to this, didn’t they? They
could not just skirt around all the issues that were difficult for the rest of
their lives. If Thor had learned one thing this last year, was that things
usually got better between them when they threw them out in the open, even if
it stung at first.
“Do you think you’ll ever want to see him again?” asked Thor, and he saw Loki’s
shoulders tense up.
“…I don’t know,” said Loki, burrowing into the thick cowl neck of his jumper.
And after some thought, he asked, “What will you tell him about me?”
“I’ll tell him that we’ve, uh, reconciled. That I’m spending Christmas with
you.”
“Oh.”
Thor did not know what that meant. And Loki did not seem willing to expand.
“I thought we could go to Asgard,” Thor said. “We could head down on Monday.
We’d be alone there, and out of Sigyn’s way. We could borrow the Jag and
drive.”
“Hm,” hummed Loki.
Again, Thor did not know what he was supposed to make of that.
“Don’t you want to?” he asked.
“…I don’t know.”
“I’m kind of looking forwards to spending time there with you” said Thor,
tentatively.
“Why.”
“Because it’s home.”
Loki ambled on, eyes lost in space, mind lost in thought.
“Because the last few years, the last few times I’ve been there…” added Thor,
and stammered. “I want it to be a happy place again,” he said. “Make some new
memories together, nice memories.”
“Hm.” Loki grinned mischievously. “We could make some very, very nice new
memories in every room of the house. Is that what you had in mind.” He bumped
into him with his shoulder.
“Not just that,” smiled Thor.
“I wouldn’t mind refreshing our memories from the tower,” purred Loki. “It’s
been such a long time.”
Thor’s brain started to supply some of the old ones. He remembered his dad
asking what did they do up there all the time. “Aren’t you too old to play
knights and wizards?” he would say. Thor would flush blood red, and Loki would
say, with a completely serious face, that Asgard brought up the little boy
inside him. Odin knew he was taking the Mickey, he just couldn’t begin to
imagine in what way. Or at least that’s what Thor was hoping, then and now.
“We could definitely improve on my memories from the studio,” mused Loki. And
before Thor’s mind could venture too far into nostalgic, grief-stricken
territories, Loki gave him a shove. “Those leather armchairs…”
Thor flustered just imagining it.
“The rug,” said Loki. “We could lit up a fire.”
That sounded very nice, actually.
“You could bend me over the desk,” suggested Loki, a hot whisper. “I’ll ride
you on his chair.”
“God, Loki…” blushed Thor, his brain again helpfully supplying detailed
illustrations.
“I’ll suck you against the awards wall,” murmured Loki. “Teabagging under the
Golden Bollocks?” he wiggled his eyebrows.
Thor laughed.
“You’re wicked,” he said, grateful that he was wearing a three quarter length
coat, blood already pooling south.
“You like me wicked,” said Loki, and winked.
“Fuck, yes. Yes, I do...” He sounded so hoarse, devouring his brother with his
eyes.
“Oh my god, you’re Thor Odinson!” The squeaky, excited voice shook him out of
his lurid thoughts. “And you’re Loki Laufeyson, oh my god! 
“Oh my god! Oh my god!” 
It was two teenage girls already holding their phones in their hands. Thor
noticed their thick, full school folders, plastered with poems, songs and
photos with anything from Lou Reed to Start Trek to Thor himself, and Loki as
Frank in The Rocky Horror.
“Hello, how are you,” said Thor, shaking hands with each in turn. Loki kept his
distance until a tiny stare from Thor urged him to be nice too. Loki kissed the
back of their hands and curtsied, sending the girls into a minute fit of
hysterics. They nervously tucked and re-tucked their long, lanky hair behind
their ears, expressing enthusiasm for their work, their eyes so bright, their
excitement coming off in waves. They still had pimples. 
“Can we have a photo?” they begged. 
Thor indulged immediately, having to crouch down so that his face would be more
or less level with theirs, while Loki took a whole step away.
“Rather not,” he said. “But you can have an autograph,” he offered. And they
both signed the girls’ folders.
“Thank you so much. Thank you,” said the girls, melting into a puddle of bliss
and radiating happiness.
“Our pleasure. Nice to meet you. Have a nice day,” said Thor, with his
friendliest beam.  They walked away; and smiled, but didn't turn their heads,
when there was a muffled flurry of squees and ohmygodohmygodohmygod's at their
backs.
Thor found himself a bit shaken then, wondering what they had heard, and how it
had come across. He was aware that he had been giving Loki a very equivocal
stare. Or not equivocal at all, depending on how you wanted to look at it. Calm
the fuck down, Odinson, don't get paranoid.
“No photos?” Thor asked his brother after some time.
“I always look like FBI’s most wanted,” said Loki. “And my skin looks fucking
fluorescent.” 
Ah, vanity.
“You could try a smile,” said Thor, an elbow to Loki’s side.
Loki gave him his full, 32-piece, psychopathic crocodile smile, with big,
bright, demented eyes.
“Ok, I see,” said Thor, with a laugh. And he saw Loki’s grin grow smaller, but
truer, the glint in his eyes turn warm.
They walked some more in silence. They left the park behind and Thor let Loki
lead the way down those streets he was not familiar with.
“So… do you think we’ll be going to Asgard for the holidays?” he asked. And
after a harrumph, he carefully added, trying to sound light and casual, “I had
even thought of having my mates from drama school over on New Year’s Eve. I
haven’t seen them in a long time. And Sigyn too, of course, and Natasha and
whoever else you want to ask.”
Loki said nothing to that, but his posture had stiffened again.
“They’re really nice guys, really good friends,” said Thor. “They were there
for me when I was struggling at drama school and when mum died. I don’t know
what I would have done without them. I miss them, and I’d like you to meet
them. And them to meet you. They’re all theatre people, I bet they’re huge fans
of yours already.”
Loki was still silent and tense.
“We don’t have to, though,” said Thor then, because his brother looked a bit
green. “It was just an idea.”
“No, it’s… it’s ok,” said Loki. “Invite them. Only…”
“What?”
A tiny voice, “Are you going to tell them?”
“…About us?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know yet,” Thor confessed.
There was a passing frown on Loki’s brow.
”Loki…” began Thor, although he wasn’t sure what he wanted to say.
“It’s fine. I get it. It’s scary,” said Loki.
A few more steps in silence. Now Thor recognised the street.
“You know I’m not ashamed of this, don’t you? That I’m not ashamed of you,” he
said.
“Hm-hm.”
“Hey, I’m not, I’m really not,” insisted Thor.
“I know, Thor,” sighed Loki, resigned. “We’re just… we’re protecting ourselves.
I get it. I don’t need you to print t-shirts. I read the terms and conditions
when I signed up for this.”
They were home. Loki let them in. The moment the door was shut, Thor held him
in his arms for the long, messy kiss he had been holding back for the last
hour. Loki took it with his eyes closed, and kissed him back, but with little
enthusiasm, his mind obviously elsewhere. When they parted, Loki’s eyes drifted
away. They made up the narrow stairs in silence.
“Does it matter a lot to you?” asked Thor.
“What,” said Loki without stopping.
“Going public.”
“…No.” Loki kept climbing up. 
Thor caught up with him when his brother was turning the key in the lock. 
“It is what it is,” muttered Loki then, his eyes low. “I’m not deluding myself
that we’re going to lead a normal life. That’s ok. I… I want to be with you. I
know what is possible and what isn’t. I won’t hold it against you if you don’t
want to tell your friends.”
He let them both into the flat.
Thor put down the groceries on the breakfast bar.
“Loki…” he said, with a sigh.
“Can we not talk about this anymore?” said Loki.
“...Ok.”
Loki started to put the shopping away. 
“Fancy a movie?” he said when he was done, his tone artificially light.
 
They had changed into their scruffs and finished The Philadephia Story, and
were halfway through Empire Strikes Back, snuggled up on the settee with Loki’s
legs over Thor’s lap, his head on the armrest, eating popcorn out of a big bowl
on Loki’s stomach.
Thor had stopped paying attention to the screen for quite a while now, looking
instead at his brother. He was stroking one lazy hand up and down Loki’s leg,
from his ankle, over the shin and the bony knee, to the middle of his thigh,
and back again, and back again. 
Loki threw some popcorn to his head.
“What? Your legs are so fucking long…” said Thor.
“Did you just notice that?”
Hand up, hand down, hand up, hand down. They locked their eyes.
Hand up, up, up, and stopped.
Loki grabbed it and took it the rest of the way, snug and warm between his
thighs. 
Those lounge pants were less than nothing, Thor could feel him in high
definition, the shape of his balls, the twitches of Loki’s cock getting hard.
He palmed it, found the head and rubbed it with his thumb, watching Loki’s lids
fluttering, his mouth falling open as he let out a little “ah”. 
Thor’s heart was beating double time now. Loki raised one knee and started
stroking his foot on Thor’s crotch. He was in borrowed scruffs, no more
substantial than his brother’s, and that bit tighter on his bulkier rack.
Loki’s foot was playing with fire on his sack. One false move, and Thor would
be tearing up, and his mood would be spoiled for quite a while. Thor cupped
Loki’s balls in his hand and rolled them. Loki swallowed, and whispered a
little “hm.”
Suddenly, Loki sat up and crushed their mouths together, sticking his tongue
deep inside, just as pushy and demanding as Loki himself was. Thor dragged him
on top of his lap, and pulled him close to him with one hand to each buttock.
Loki stripped him of his t-shirt. Thor slid his hands inside the waistband of
Loki’s pants, reaching for his naked butt. 
“Ah-ah,” said Loki, grabbing his wrists and shoving him away. He directed
Thor’s arms to the top of the backrest. “I can touch you, but you can’t touch
me,” he murmured close to his ear.
Thor threw his head back, with a groan of sheer, piercing desire.
Loki spun around on his lap and stood on his knees, giving Thor his back. He
slowly lowered himself over Thor’s still clothed, raging erection, and stroked
lightly, side to side, up and down, holding it in the cleft of his arse.
“Fuck,” grunted Thor. The touch was barely enough to cause anything but a
painful strain. “Take your shirt off,” said Thor, breathy, wishing to see the
muscles of Loki’s back rippling with that movement.
“Yes, sir,” whispered Loki, and obeyed.
That fucking word shot up pure boiling lava into Thor’s crotch.
Loki kept rubbing. Up, down, up, down.
“Stop teasing,” grunted Thor, positively on the edge of losing it now.
“Yes, sir,” said Loki, turning his head to eye him out of the tail of his eye.
“How do you want me, sir?”
“Fuck,” grunted Thor again, breathing hard, husky. His brother’s neck tense
from the twist, his back a white, smooth expanse he wanted to leave angry red
traces on. His throat was parchment dry.
“How do you want me?” insisted Loki, rubbing, rubbing, turning Thor’s brain
into fucking cream.
“Your mouth,” he huffed.
“Yes, sir.”
“Loki…” chuckled Thor, hoarsely.
Loki wasn’t laughing. He dismounted and slid down between Thor’s knees, with a
white hot, burning stare that had Thor squirming, aching from the strain. His
cock was jutting up, tenting the front of the lounge pants. Loki rubbed his
cheek on the head through the fabric, his parted lips, his hot, moist breath.
“Hnnngh… Loki…!” groaned Thor. “Stop teasing. Please. Fuck.”
Loki pulled at the waist strings and dragged the pants down, Thor’s cock
springing free, purple and huge. The desire in Loki’s eyes was tangible. He got
his lips close and stroked them gently up the shaft. Thor jolted, even though
it had a been but a feather-light touch. His eyes shut tight under his frown.
He focused on the feel of Loki’s lips on him, so subtle, pure torment. Then a
flicker of his tongue under the head.
“Hnnnnngh…”
Sharp, hard, ruthless flicks on the frenulum.
“Jesus,” panted Thor, shaking with each one, grabbing the backrest of the
settee tight. Loki’s tongue was relentless, a fucking metronome. Thor felt he
could make him come like this, just like this, if he could keep it up. But he
didn’t want that.
“Suck me,” said Thor.
Loki took the head in, just the head, and closed his lips tight around it. He
hollowed his cheeks in a long, strong, constant suction that had Thor lifting
his hips, tensing his arse, scrunching his face, whispering “god”. He reached
to stroke Loki’s head.
The wet pop that followed made him wince.
“No touching. It’s the rules,” said Loki.
Thor was going to say something, but then Loki took him in, and in, and in,
rising on his knees to get the right angle, and his throat closed around him,
and all Thor could do was utter a shuddery, helpless moan. He opened his eyes
wide to Loki’s head bobbing in his lap, Thor’s cock going all the fucking way
in,Loki's nose fucking brushing on the curls at the base of Thor’s cock. Was
that even fucking possible? 
When Loki withdrew, either to breathe or to stop Thor from coming straight
away, Thor saw tears on the corners of his eyes, drool around his flushed,
puffy lips.
“Doesn’t it hurt?” panted Thor.
Loki didn’t answer and went back to licking the head, as he closed one hand
around the now wet shaft. He played with his tongue on Thor’s cock, sucking and
licking and jerking off. Thor was so fucking close now, and Loki took him all
in again, swallowing around him.
“Ah, god, fuuuuuuck…” he groaned. “Oh fuck, baby, yes… yes… fuck… oh fuck… oh
fuck… yeeees…” Loki’s throat was fluttering around the head of his cock and he
was fucking gone. He came hard down Loki's throat, shaking, knuckles white.
Thor opened his eyes to the vision of his brother’s utterly debauched face. He
felt a shiver of discomfort, that he had thought he was over and done with,
when he saw him like that, tear-stricked cheeks, lip’s edges blurred, bruised
and swollen, licking a drop of come  on the corner of his lip.
“Come up here,” said Thor, breathing hard.
Loki threw him an assessing look (those big eyes of his, Thor could never get
enough of them) and slowly stood up in front of him, still between Thor’s
knees. 
“Can I touch you now?” said Thor, his voice a husky murmur. 
Loki nodded. Thor slid the lounge pants down Loki’s legs, with a good feel of
his butt. When he had him naked, he pulled him towards his lap again and kissed
him with all he had. Loki kissed him back with a little husky whimper.
“Are you ok?” said Thor, breathing still rushed.
Loki nodded and kissed him again, now going for Thor’s neck. 
Thor spat on his palm and took him in hand. Loki’s arms were around his
brother’s neck, hands in his hair. He was still, one knee between Thor's
thighs, one foot on the floor.
Thor reared his head back to watch him. Loki’s expression started almost blank,
just slightly tense, as Thor’s big hand jerked him slowly. When Thor flicked
his thumb on the head of Loki’s cock, there was a frown.
“Yes, baby,” muttered Thor, still kneading his arse. 
He wetted his palm again to get better friction. Loki arched his throat that
little bit and started to pump his hips into Thor’s hand just slightly. Thor
gripped him tight and encouraged him. He couldn’t stop staring at him, the
dance of quickly changing expressions on his face.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he said, knowing that he would never even begin
to have the words to really express what he meant when he said that. He had
been trying to find them for years, and still had nothing. 
He sucked two fingers and pressed against Loki’s hole. Loki was open from
yesterday, (and, uh, this morning,) aroused and relaxed, once he stopped
pumping. His eyes fell shut when Thor slid in. He clenched around Thor’s
fingers as he started fucking into his hand again, mouth silently gaping, his
brow scrunching. Thor fucked in and out of him as best he could, trying to find
his prostate. Loki sucked in a sharp breath when he found it. He stood still
for a minute, to make it easier for Thor to rub him. Thor started to jerk him
off again. Loki bit his lip, his eyes hooded and glazed.
“That’s it, baby,” said Thor, watching him. “That’s it.”
Loki had both knees on the couch now, straddling his brother. He was close now,
his hands in Thor’s hair were digging deep, his arms shuddering. Thor brought
their foreheads together, fishing a kiss or two, though his brother seemed far
gone. Loki wrapped one hand around the one Thor had around his cock, and
squeezed it. He started to pump his hips again, quickly this time, short
thrusts. Thor got it, and maintained a tight grip. His palm was getting dry
now, it would start to hurt if Loki didn’t come soon. He hooked his fingers
inside Loki, pressing hard rather than fucking. 
“Ah,” moaned Loki, so hoarse. 
Thor did it again, twisting his fist around Loki’s thrusts. Loki dug his nails
deep in his shoulders, and came between shudders and quiet, raspy moans.
Thor hugged him tight, Loki’s chest heaving, and kissed his face, his hair, his
mouth.
“I love you, baby.”
Loki just panted hard against his brother's shoulder.
After some time, Loki wiped himself and Thor clean with the discarded t-shirt
and he curled in Thor’s arms to finish watching the movie, with a blanket over
both of them. His eyes looked dreamy, his face soft with the reddish hue of the
lighting in Cloud City. Thor just kept on watching him, looking for a kiss
every now and then.
 
 
                                       *
 
Mid morning. Thor was on his back and Loki was riding him leisurely, leaning
over to kiss him again and again, and then leaning back, hands on his ankles,
like a frieze from a fucking Greek vase, rolling his hips. Thor kept running
his hands up and down Loki’s chest, and raking his fingers deep down his back,
making Loki arch and groan. They were close. Thor began to pump his hips up
too. Loki propped himself forward on his palms, bucking his hips, and started
to go faster. 
The noise of keys at the door. 
“Fuck,” jumped Thor, freezing still.
Loki carried on.
“Oh god, brother…” he moaned, loud and clear, still a bit hoarse from
yesterday. “Oh fuuuck…”
“Loki… shh!” Thor’s heart was pumping hard, half in fright and shock, half
getting worked to death by his brother’s suddenly frenzied fucking.
“Oh yes, fuck me, yeees…!” moaned Loki, going at it like mad. “Fuck me,
brother… Give it to me hard… Oh fuuuck… Your cock feels so good… Oh god, Thor…
Oh yes, yes, yes, yes…Oh brother!”
“Loki!” Thor was bright red now, and not just from the effort.
“Oh god, yes, yes brother, fuck me, yes!”
Thor came then, groaning, with Loki fucking himself on him and moaning like a
cat in heat while Thor jolted and gasped with the aftershocks. Loki came soon
after, jacking himself furiously, with the most obscene sounds he was able to
produce.
He collapsed, boneless, on Thor’s chest, spreading his come over both of them.
Thor threw his arms around him.
“You’re obnoxious,” he panted.
Loki licked his lips, with an impish grin.
 
 
                                       *
 
“And good morning to you too dear Sig… Fuck.” The shit-eating grin was wiped
out of Loki’s face, and was replaced by a deadly pallor.
Bruce Banner was there, sitting on the couch, with a cup of coffee in his hand
and Minnie on his lap. The little dog jumped up excitedly when she saw Loki,
and darted to run around his ankles. 
Sigyn raised two mugs towards them.
“Coffee, anyone?”
That had to be one of the most awkward, most embarrassed silences in the
history of the world ever. And Thor’s ears were surely in flames.
“Bruce, I believe you’ve met Thor…” said Sigyn.
Bruce got up, offering his hand.
“Yes. I loved Blood Meridian. How are you, Thor,” he said. His voice was even,
but his cheeks were red.
“And yes, they’re together,” said Sigyn, impatiently. “Obviously.”
Thor and Loki said then, in unison.
“I’m adopted.”
“He’s adopted.”
There was a mutual glare.
“Congratulations to you both,” said Banner, startling them out of it.
“Sigyn, can I talk to you for a second,” groaned Loki.
They both disappeared into Sigyn’s room, Minnie skimping in toe. Good thinking,
Loki, thought Thor. His room probably still reeked of sex.
 
Thor swallowed, finding his throat dry. To say he was petrified would be a
gross understatement, his shock and embarrassment like a big flashy neon sign
over his head. Banner had a sip of his tea, and Thor decided to do the same,
and to sit down in the armchair just across, lest his knees decided to give up
on him. 
A couple of physically difficult, cringingly awkward minutes, with Loki’s voice
coming loudly from Sigyn’s bedroom, the words difficult to make out, the
general tone pretty much transparent.
Thor cleared his throat.
“I’m sorry about…” he started.
“It’s fine,” cut Banner, saving Thor from having to specify what exactly he was
sorry about. “I’m… I’m familiar with, uh, with Loki,” he added.
“Right,” said Thor, taking a breath, and another sip.
“Though not as, uh, familiar as you,” said Banner.
Thor frowned. Banner smirked. 
They both burst out laughing.
 
                                       *
 
 
Meanwhile, in Sigyn’s bedroom, a flatmatecide was about to be committed. Loki
was fuming.
“That will teach you…” teased Sigyn, all too pleased with herself.
“You could have fucking told me he was coming!” he roared, not in a jesting
mood.
Sigyn realised Loki was not amused, so she too got serious, and pleading.
“Darling, I’ve been ringing and texting since 9 o’clock this morning. Don’t
tell me you didn’t hear the phone,” she said.
“You told me you were going to your mum’s!” snarled Loki.
“And I did!” she countered. “Bruce rang this morning and told me he had the day
off, and it’s my first free Sunday in two months, so…”
“Did you have to bring him here?!” said Loki.
“His apartment is all upside down with that leak, remember? And this is my
house too.”
“Yes but, this precise fucking weekend?”
“Darling, you know how hard it is for us to see each other more than a few
hours in the week…” She assessed his expression. “Loki, what is this about. You
know Bruce, you like Bruce. What is it?”
“It’s not about me, I don’t give a fuck! It’s… It’s Thor!” he roared.
“What about him?”
“He… Christ, we only hooked up on Friday, and we’re already outing ourselves to
strangers! What if he freaks out? What if he decides he can’t do it? What if
this is all too fucking much?”
(Sounds of laughter from the sitting room.)
“He doesn’t sound freaked out to me,” said Sigyn, with an angelic grin and a
shoulder shrug.
“Yes, but you didn’t know how he would react!” shouted Loki, still not
appeased. “Jesus!” he barked, taking a couple of angry steps, fists clenched
tight at his sides.
Sigyn called Minnie to her arms. Perhaps she was worried that Loki would kick
her in his fury. (He never, ever would.)
“…You know Bruce will never tell a soul,” said Sigyn. “He sees all sorts
everyday, this is nothing. He loves you, we can trust him. Have a bit more
faith in him.”
“Don’t tell me, tell Thor!” he shouted.
“I will,” said Sigyn, gently.
Loki was gritting his teeth, still thrumming with unspent fury. At least Sigyn
had an appropriately concerned look on her now, rather than the incredibly
annoying smugness she had before. That helped.
“He wants you to come to Asgard for New Year’s Eve,” said Loki then, finally
losing some steam. “Bruce is invited too.”
“That would be lovely,” smiled Sigyn, petting Minnie. “I’ll tell him.”
Loki was still grouchy, resentment coming from more places than the earlier
surprise party.
“What about Christmas?” he snapped.
“Bruce and I are going to my mum’s,” said Sigyn.
“You’ve only just met!” said Loki, with a hysterical note of inexplicable panic
in his voice that even he was able to detect.
“I’ve known him for over five years,” argued Sigyn.
“But you’ve only been dating, what…?”
“Six months.”
“Is that the minimum acceptable period to introduce men to your parents? I
really wouldn’t know.” His tone was abrasive. His hands were shivering for some
fucking reason.
“Hey. What is it,” asked Sigyn, stroking his arm, and giving him a light,
reassuring squeeze.
“…I don’t know,” grumbled Loki, shrugging her off, rubbing his eyes.
”Yes you do,” said Sigyn. 
Loki cursed her telepathic powers.
“…It’s a bit… overwhelming,” he muttered. “Everything is fucking changing.”
“I know,” said Sigyn, putting Minnie down and wrapping around his waist. “I’m
very happy for you and Thor, but I’m scared too.”
“You are?” said Loki, genuinely baffled.
“Of course I am,” said Sigyn. “I know you’re a bit mono-maniac. I don’t want to
lose you.”
“You won’t!” protested Loki.
Sigyn squeezed tight.
“Then you won’t lose me either,” she said, tilting her head back to see his
face, way up there. “We’ll be fine. We’ll both be fine. Things may be
different, but I want you in my life, and I want to be in yours. We’ll make it
work.”
“I want that too,” sighed Loki, and hugged her back.
They held each other for a few beats. Loki kissed her hair. Minnie kept
scratching at his shin bones, begging to be held, probably ruining those old
pyjamas he had spent years wearing down into powder-soft cotton. Why in the
world hadn’t they adopted a fucking cat, he didn’t give a fuck about the
curtains.
“We’re going to Asgard House tomorrow. Thor’s wants to have his friends over on
New Year’s Eve,” he mumbled.
“Hm. And is that ok with you?”
Hah, Sigyn saw right into his soul. 
“No it fucking isn’t,” he groaned. “I’m shitting bricks already. I’ve met
Thor’s school mates before. Not looking forwards to meeting more.”
Sigyn pondered that for a second.
“Have you told Thor that?” she asked.
Loki sighed some more.
“… He’s so excited about it,” he made himself say. “He knows I’m not… crazy
about the whole idea but… I guess I… I owe him that much.” Behold, Politically
Correct, Mature and Grown-Up Loki is in the building.
Sigyn’s little hand stroked his back appeasingly.
“Thor can see his friends another time,” she said then. “You can meet them when
you’re ready to meet them.”
“…I know,” said Loki.
Sigyn squeezed tight and let him go. Minnie was pestering her now. She picked
her up.
“It would be easier if you were there too,” said Loki, his voice small,
distractedly petting Minnie’s head.
“I promise I’ll ask Bruce,” said Sigyn. 
“If that’s alright,” said Loki.
“I’m sure it is. I don’t think we have any plans. Sounds like fun. Hey.” She
smoothed his brow with a touch of her hand. “Grumpy.”
“Dopey.” He kissed her mouth.
 
                                       *
 
 
Loki and Sigyn cooked a full English for brunch, with blueberry pancakes and
syrup, and they all spent the afternoon merrily chatting and playing cards and
actual board games. Thor had not had such a nice day in ages. He would have
kept it clean with Loki anyway, out of respect for Sigyn and Bruce, and to
compensate for the early matinée, but he needn’t bother, since Loki was
distant, sulking. He did ask him a couple of times “what’s wrong”, but Loki
just shrugged him off. Hm.
 
When each couple retired to their respective rooms for the night, Thor had a
bad feeling. It was something about the tension in Loki’s back. Thor started to
undress, and Loki kept his back to him. Again, hm.
“What’s wrong?” asked Thor.
“He’s adopted?” snapped Loki, folding the jumper he had just taken off with
angry, abrupt movements.
Thor frowned, baffled.
“What?”
Loki threw a glower his way and proceeded to get rid of his t-shirt. Thor was
speechless for a few seconds.
“You said it yourself!” he said then.
“It’s different,” grunted Loki.
“How the fuck is it different.”
“Because when I say it I don’t sound like Odin.”
Thor’s face fell at that.
“What?” he gasped, the hatred in Loki's voice cutting him deep, for his father
and for himself.
“Whatever he has, now people will know it doesn’t run in the family,” mimicked
Loki, getting the tone and the timbre just fucking right, to a point that
turned Thor’s stomach.
“I didn’t say that!” he barked.
“That’s how it sounds to me when you say it,” hissed Loki.
“I can’t fucking believe this,” said Thor. “You’re comparing me to him?”
“I think I just did.”
Thor shook his head, exasperate.
“…Fucking hell, Loki…” He paced, ruffling his hair to the point of pulling.
Loki was now down to his lounge pants, arms crossed, looking away, and pouting.
“Ok,” huffed Thor. “First of all, give the man a fucking break, ok? He has
changed. And second… Only two fucking weeks ago you were telling me how you
don’t feel that I’m your brother, or that our mother is not your mother. How
the fuck do you think that makes me feel?”
“How does it make you feel?”
“Yes! Me!” barked Thor. “You’re not the only one who has fucking feelings,
believe it or not!”
“Is that what I said? Were you even fucking listening?” screamed Loki.
“I was fucking listening!”
“Then you’re just as big an idiot as I always said you were, because you
obviously didn’t understand one word I said!”
“Do I have to start taping our fucking conversations?” shouted Thor.
“I said a lot of things that night! And you’re just picking one fucking
sentence, taking it out of context and blowing it out of proportion, just so
that you can throw it to my face!”
“So when it’s you talking we all have to go about splitting hairs, but when I’m
talking, or when it’s dad talking…”
“Why do you fucking defend him so much?!”
“Because he’s my father!” screamed Thor.
“Well, he’s not mine!” cried Loki.
They stood there, breathing hard, their noses a few inches away from each
other.
“Jesus fuck…” huffed Thor, bitterly.
Loki pushed his pants down and stepped out of them as quickly as he could. He
immediately went for Thor’s.
“What are you doing,” said Thor, quickly hardening.
Loki kissed him ravenously, grabbing Thor’s neck with both hands.
“Fuck me,” he muttered.
“What?”
“Fuck me,” repeated Loki. “Now.”
“Fucking hell,” panted Thor. He spun them around, crushing Loki against the
wall. Loki jumped to his neck, Thor held his arse up, kissing him hard.
“Come on come on come on...” begged Loki, thighs tight around Thor’s hips.
Thor spat on his hand, slicked himself up, and fucked in. Loki grunted.
Possibly not enough lubrication, but he was relaxed and open, with some
residual slickness from earlier this morning. In any case, the sounds Loki was
doing as Thor started to thrust into him were not of displeasure.
“Oh fuck…” moaned Loki. “Oh god…”
Thor pressed a hand over his mouth to shut him up, and carried on fucking.
Loki’s moaning became even more obscene, and still perfectly audible. Thor was
falling apart, fucking hard and rough and furious. Loki was shaking his head,
struggling to get rid of Thor’s hand muffling him, a hand on his own cock now,
though it wasn’t easy to get a good stroke when Thor was smashing against him
like that. When Loki’s teeth pinched into the flesh of his fingers, Thor could
not say he was not expecting it. He kept right on fucking, because he was just
on the verge by then, and he came with a loud grunt, with Loki’s bite getting
downright vicious. He held Loki there while he jacked himself off, sucking
Thor’s fingers into his mouth now, his moans softer, little desperate whimpers.
After a good couple of minutes just breathing against each other, Thor carried
him and dumped him on the bed, and collapsed right next to him, panting hard.
They said nothing. Loki reached for his brother’s hand. Thor held it tight.
 
 
 
                                       *
 
 
Thor slept, golden and magnificent and unbearably beautiful, that broad chest
of his rising slowly with his deep, calm breathing. Loki could not get his eyes
off him. And he had tried a few times, believe you him. He would rest his head
on the pillow and graze them on the imperfections of the ceiling, but then Thor
would make a sound, or a small movement, or his breathing would hitch, or he
would do nothing at all whatsoever, and Loki would turn his eyes back to him,
and get lost in it. 
Many times, as a little boy, while lying next to Thor in his bed, unable to
sleep, he would suddenly feel a shudder, lonesome and lost in the quiet, with
his brother far away in slumber. He would try to endure for as long as he
could, but his terrors would circle around him like vultures (the worst of all,
that Thor would open his eyes and they would be yellow, or green, or with a
cat’s slit pupil, monster’s eyes), so sooner or later he would crumble and just
shake Thor awake. Once he was sure his brother’s eyes were still human, and
blue, and Thor’s, he would say “I had a nightmare”, and Thor would wrap him in
his arms, say “it’s alright now”, his words slurred with sleep, and pull him to
his chest. Soon, Thor’s breathing would return to its slow, peaceful rhythm,
his chest pushing against Loki’s back, and Loki would feel safe from every
horror he was able to conceive. What could there possibly be that his big
brother could not protect him from. -Oh well, they were only children.
We may not be able to fuck the problems away, thought Loki, but damned if we’re
not going to try. He burrowed under Thor’s arm and snuggled up against his
body. Thor woke up just enough to pull him close and tangle one leg with
Loki’s. He was heavy, and warm, and he smelled of Thor, and Loki felt
grounded. 
“I love you, Thor,” he whispered.
Thor nuzzled into his hair, and hugged him tight. So he was not asleep yet,
then. Right.
“I love you too, baby,” he said.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     "Last one sucks dad's Golden Bollocks" -- Discontentmadeglorious
     helped me find a "last one is a..." that didn't sound completely OOC,
     for Thor and for a British teenager, and which wasn't sexist,
     homophobic or offensive to any minority, which I didn't feel like
     doing, because we get enough of that every-bloody-where. Easier said
     than done, that, we had to have a good think...
     "I remember you, I do not know you" which is also there somewhere in
     Thor's inner monologue... that's hers too. I plunder her brains all
     the time, and this story is a million times better for it. I love
     you, Dissy. Thank you.
***** Chapter 22 *****
Chapter Summary
     Andante. Adagietto, perhaps.
Chapter Notes
     Slower than usual, I know, but there was lot to be said, and Loki
     needed his time... It just didn't feel right to rush him.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
(The past.)
 
 
A gloomy week. They fucked on Monday, quietly, with mum and dad sleeping at the
other end of the corridor. They fought harshly on Tuesday, god knows how it
started, I hate you’s flew and fuck you’s were swung back, and when dad came
home from rehearsals he found a dent in the wall from when Loki had crashed
that ballet award against it, aiming for Thor’s head, and when he tried to find
out what had happened, he ended up shouting at them both and confining them to
their rooms, where he had found them to begin with anyway. An exercise in
futility. On Wednesday, they gave each other the cold shoulder. Thor jerked off
thinking of making Loki suck his cock. On Thursday, he heard Loki cry, shut up
in his room. Thor stayed a long time at the door, and was very close to
knocking, but he didn’t. On Friday, they were again throwing each other the
long looks. 
 
On Saturday, in the car, they’re quiet. Loki has his earbuds on and keeps his
eyes on the landscape. Mum and dad talk about work.
The house is cold when they get there, and they’re tasked with fetching wood
from the outhouse, and lighting up the fireplace in the rooms they’re going to
use. Thor and Loki have to exchange a few words, strained and short, to arrange
who does what where. They’re both pre-emptively short with each other lately,
nobody wants to be the one to turn soft first. It’s all so stupid, and they
both know it, and yet nothing changes.
When Thor is done, he wanders around until he finds Loki in the upstairs
sitting room, eyes drawn to the little fire he is tending, absorbed in his
thoughts. Thor watches him in silence for some time by the door.
“Are you done?” asks Thor.
Loki startles. “Fuck, you scared me!” he snaps.
“Sorry.”
Loki seems satisfied with that, because he doesn’t retaliate any further.
Perhaps he doesn’t care. Among the hypersensitive periods, where the smallest
things irritate him, and he’d surely bite Thor’s head off if he’d let him, he
has spells when he seems supremely unconcerned, disinterested and absent. He
won’t fight back, won’t shout names at him, and seems withdrawn somewhere far
away, where none of the everyday things have any importance or meaning. Thor
much prefers the other mood. Faraway Loki gives him the jitters, for a reason
he can’t quite put into words.
Loki stands up, dusting his hands, and casts a side glance at his brother. Thor
has been staring resolutely, trying to read Loki’s mood. If Loki does the same
he’ll have absolutely no problem. Thor is hungry. Loki can probably smell it on
him from where he stands, across the room.
When Loki walks by him, Thor grabs his hand. Loki doesn’t try to shake him off,
so Thor pulls him close and lifts his chin up. Look at me. Look at me.Green
eyes, impenetrable, will turn you to stone if they wish. Not today. Thor tilts
his head down for a kiss, their mouths slot together with practiced ease. He
pries Loki’s lips open with his tongue. When Loki’s body wakes to a kiss, it
reminds Thor of something blossoming. Loki draws in a breath, encircles him
with his arms, and lets himself be pushed against the wall, Thor’s hand still
on his chin, the other one palming his crotch. 
There are so many things Thor would tell him right now. I love you, I’ve missed
you so much, I want you, I need you, are you mine, I am yours, please forgive
me, I forgive you, and he won’t say any of them out loud, because it stings
having them thrown back at his face. And Loki makes sure that it does sting,
and badly, when he is in the mood for being mean. He doesn’t understand why
Loki can’t bear to hear any of this anymore. Some time ago, even though he
would not say it back, and he struggled when Thor told him, he did seem to
brighten and warm up hearing it. It makes him bristle and hiss and spit now,
sometimes it makes him cry.
“Not here,” says Loki then, breathy, when a clatter somewhere downstairs
reminds them they’re not alone in the house. 
“Tower?” Thor is short of breath already.
Loki nods.
 
Thor waits. This part of the tower complex has no roof, so the dim clarity of
the day, though cloudy, will be upon them. He remembered to bring the blanket.
He has spread it on the tuft of moss by the wall, as usual. The moss is thick
there, and they cleared the bigger rocks a while ago. He has laid him on that
spot before, and it’s almost comfortable. They never have long anyway. Thor
remembers those long fucks in Iceland, making out for ages, teasing, changing
positions, taking it slow. 
“What took you so long?” grumbles Thor when Loki finally walks in. He had began
to fear he wouldn’t show up, and the mere thought has made him cranky.
“Mum wanted help with the groceries,” says Loki, blocking the heavy, clunky,
run-down door behind him with the plank of wood they brought here from the
outhouses, just for that purpose.
They’re unbuttoning and pushing down their jeans. They know it’s more efficient
and quicker this way, although it was so nice when they used to undress each
other. They’re both half-hard already. They won’t take any clothes off. It’s
chilly, but more than anything, they’re in a hurry. It’s a big enough risk just
dropping their pants down.
“What do you want to do,” says Thor, stroking Loki, feeling him harden.
Loki shrugs. His brow tenses and his eyes become heavy under Thor’s touch.
“Did you bring lube?” asks Thor, rubbing their cocks together.
Loki retrieves a small bottle from the scrunched-up back pocket of his jeans.
One can always count on Loki to come prepared.
“Turn around.”
Loki props himself on the wall, as Thor slicks himself up. He doesn’t know yet
to open him up with his fingers first, he won’t learn about that until he
starts watching gay porn, years from now. He just knows to go slow and let Loki
will himself to relax and take him in. Loki says it doesn’t hurt. At times,
Thor thinks he’s just saying that.
“Hey, what’s wrong,” says Thor, panting, desperate to be inside him, when after
some attempts Loki just won’t let him in.
What he had taken for gasps are actually sobs. Loki is crying, hiding his face
against his arm on the wall.
Thor stops pushing, his hard-on flagging. He doesn’t know what to do. He tries
to make Loki turn around, but Loki is resisting. Thor just tries harder, until
Loki is facing him, his eyes low.
“Leave me alone,” sniffles Loki, pulling his pants up, buttoning his jeans.
“What’s wrong, baby.”
Loki snorts, sarcastic, and tries to push past him. Thor overpowers him again,
trapping him in a bear hug there is no escaping from, though Loki will always
struggle. It’s a token gesture. It makes him cry harder, as if struggling broke
through the hold he had until now over his suffering. He starts whimpering,
actual whimpers, like he's breaking in half.  
Thor doesn’t ask again what’s wrong. He knows what’s wrong. He holds him as
tight as he can, as if he could keep Loki together with the strength of his
arms. 
“I can’t-… fucking breathe...” cries Loki, his sobs ripping Thor’s heart to
shreds. 
Thor kisses him. He tastes his brother’s tears and his own.
 
 
They’re sitting on the folded blanket, with their backs against the cold stone
wall. Loki has taken up smoking. Thor knows he should not think that, but it
makes him look so sexy, so grown-up.
Loki stopped crying a while ago, but his eyes, still puffy and red-rimmed, tell
the story. He said he’d stay away until he looks less obvious, to avoid mum and
dad asking questions. So Thor has stayed too. 
He wants to say something to make it better, but Loki feels far away from his
reach somehow. Whatever Thor says, whatever he does, it just doesn’t do
anything for Loki; nothing good anyway. When he is not crying, his brother
wears a blank, inexpressive mask. Thor knows it hides a very deep sadness
beneath. He just doesn’t know how deep, he can’t understand it or even imagine
it. He has never known, and he will never experience, the kind of sadness that
afflicts Loki now, the depths of despair he is sinking in. Barely-sixteen-year-
old Thor is not aware that people can actually die from this, from this
sadness, from lack of hope, or he would have… he would have done something,
warned somebody, cried out for help before it was too late.
This is what will haunt him in years to come. That he saw Loki, he just did not
understand what he was seeing. It scared him witless just the same. All he knew
for sure was that he did not want to leave Loki alone, out of his sight.
“We have to get back. It will be dinner time soon. They’ll be looking for us,”
he says, softly, as if Loki was a recovering patient. He lies, he tells Loki
that his eyes are almost fine. 
Loki seems to need some time to muster the will to move, before he starts
getting up, sluggish, heavy-limbed.
They walk across the meadow side by side. Thor thinks how, before this year, he
would always have an arm on his brother, around his shoulders, his waist, his
neck, and how he can’t make himself touch him whenever there is the remotest
chance that somebody will see them. He can’t do anything innocently around Loki
anymore. It’s just not fucking fair. Where’s the bloody harm? But he is so, so
scared. What would mum and dad say…
Loki sneaks up to his room by the back stairs. Thor hears his bedroom door
slam. 
He thinks he needs to make an appearance and stand in for him. He finds his dad
setting up the table.
“Where have you been?” Odin asks.
The tower, says Thor.
“Aren’t you two too old to be playing wizards and knights?”
 
 
 
                            ______________________
 
 
(The present.)
 
Loki heard the shower run before he had even blinked awake. He stretched on the
bed with that dull throb in the small of his back he knew so well, from having
been fucked to oblivion and back repeatedly all weekend. But this was not
Malekith’s shithole hotel suite, this was home, in every sense of the word. He
groaned contentedly, his muscles pleasantly strained, a tingle in his arse,
nice memories to treasure, and hunger for more.
When the shower cut off, Loki turned onto his stomach and pretended to be
asleep. He sneaked a peak when he heard Thor walk in, towelling his hair, so
very dazzlingly naked. The mattress gave in under Thor’s not inconsiderable
weight when he sat on the bed next to him. Then there was a big hand on his
hair, rough but tender (a big brother’s touch, rather than a lover’s), and then
kisses on his shoulder (definitely a lover’s.) Thor felt smooth. He had shaved.
Loki opened one eye.
“Good morning,” smiled Thor. The light of the window was behind him. It looked
like he had a frigging halo.
Loki grumbled something, let’s not call it words, and turned his face away.
Because, a halo? Are you kidding me? Thor leaned over for more kisses, this
time pressing on the nape of Loki’s neck, which was blatant, shameless
cheating.
“Sleepy head,” said Thor, right against his skin.
“My arse is sore,” grumbled Loki, just to be mean, because it was before bloody
nine in the morning and why was he awake already, why?
“Hm, sorry about that,” said Thor, sounding genuinely concerned. “Anything I
can do?”
“You did enough,” said Loki, meanly again, just because he could. He rolled
onto his back, scrubbing his eyes and making a point of grimacing when his butt
touched the mattress, although to be fair that did not hurt. The bed cover had
caught with his leg, pulling back, revealing that slice of flesh under his
navel, plus a good chunk of the side of his thigh, and artistically stopping
just where it was decent. He enjoyed the look on Thor’s face.
“I’m going to dad’s now,” announced Thor, stroking a lazy hand over Loki’s
stomach, pulling at this or that other hair of his happy trail, and descending,
until Loki shooed him off —his cock was stirring, and it may be, but Loki was
surely not up for anything at the moment.
“So early?”
“Yes, the sooner I get this over and done with, the sooner we can get to
Asgard. The trip will be so much nicer in the daylight, and we need to start
warming up the house before it gets too late in the day, because it’s going to
be freezing.”
“You have everything sussed out, don’t you?” said Loki, a drowsy smile.
They held hands, entwining their fingers. They both looked at them in silence
for a heartbeat. So bloody easy. When had it become so easy? How could it have
been so hard before, impossible even, unthinkable? Such a little thing, so
fucking huge…
Thor was smiling warmly. 
“Will you get yourself ready? Pack some food?”
Loki nodded, and Thor kissed him, lingering there, eyes closed, a 1940’s
Hollywood kiss, lips perfectly slotted together, favouring time and intensity
rather than, well, tongue. Loki liked it, and licked his lips when Thor moved
away, after a soft smack.
With an impish smirk, Loki kicked off the bed the jeans Thor had left there
earlier, ready for him to wear. Thor rolled his eyes. Oh, darling, roll away,
thought Loki, as his brother went to retrieve them. That’s it, baby, turn
around. Now bend down low… Fuck, yeah…
Still snuggling under the covers, Loki watched Thor bustling about, making
himself ready. He had to borrow one of Loki’s jumpers (the t-shirts were just
too tight, what would their father think? —not that Thor had said that, but he
did not need to), and Loki observed the edge in his gestures when he assessed
his looks in front of the mirror. It made him want to kill someone, to see his
brother, the Mighty Thor, still trembling under his father’s shadow, to this
very fucking day.
He went to say goodbye at the door, wrapped in the sheet, because it was nippy.
Thor had a more relaxed manner about him now, and Loki was the shaky one. He
clung to his brother’s wrist fast as they kissed.
“Are you alright?” asked Thor, sensing the anxiety in him, not to mention the
fingers digging into his own arm.
Loki shrugged, and allowed Thor to kiss him again, slowly.
“Be back soon, eh?” said Loki then. It was the most he could say without
sounding like a needy, slightly deranged idiot.
“As soon as I can, I promise,” said his brother warmly. And walked away.
 
Loki showered, gingerly examined the damage, if any —nah, just the burn—, had
his breakfast, washed everybody’s dishes —his one permanent point of contention
with Sigyn; she always said “later, later”— and felt incommensurably low for
some reason. Honeymoon hangover, he guessed. Though that was not all of it, by
any means, was it?
He’s adopted. Was that to be Thor’s excuse from now on, his defence? Is that
what he would be telling to anyone who would listen?
Ah, Loki, you dimwit. You should be the one shouting it from the rooftops and
exploiting it as much as you can. It was a fucking lottery win, that they were
only adoptive siblings, wasn’t it? Wouldn’t that make it easier on the world,
if it came to that? And who had been the one determined on going through all
the hassle of having the bloody surname changed? Why should it hurt at all to
hear what he already knew? 
Yes, he was adopted, so what. Frigga loved him as her own. Now that his brain
was clear, he never doubted that. And she didn’t have to love him. As Odin had
proved every single fucking day of Loki’s life, love was not an automatic
reaction triggered the moment some papers were signed. Frigga loved him because
she wanted to and because she could, not because she had to. No biological
imperative commanded her, and she didn’t owe him anything, and yet she had
given him all the love in her heart. Wasn’t that a good, solid feeling,
something one could hold fast onto, something that could carry someone steadily
through life?
And Thor. Loki believed Thor when he said he felt they were blood, because that
hunky, boorish, wonderful oaf he had for a brother was stubborn and single-
minded, and fixated on things and refused to let go on fucking principle, and
as it turned out, that wasn’t always a bad thing. 
Adopted. Why the long face? It didn’t affect the people that mattered, and it
might be an advantage in the future. So why the fuck had it hurt like that when
Thor had uttered the tired, old, measly words?
There are worse tragedies surely, said Odin’s voice in his mind, and Loki’s
fist clenched so tightly that it trembled with it.
Enough.
He started packing. Warm clothes, because even with every fire in the house
blazing, and the central heating on full whack, Asgard House in december was
going to feel like a barrack in the Siberian tundra, for the first couple of
days at least. He packed some essentials, —coffee, tea, long-life milk, sachets
of soup—, in case they could not make it to the shops today. Sachet soup
reminded him of Iceland, so he had banned it from his cupboards for years,
until Sigyn had started buying it, unaware of the associations, and he had not
been able to bring himself to tell her why she should stop, because, seriously,
Loki. It still appalled him in how many minute, insidious ways those few months
with Thor had shaped his life. He had wondered so many times what would his
life had been like if that second night he had said no.
And what a useful and cheerful thought that was, Laufeyson, and how much wisdom
could be gained from entertaining it, until a solid migraine set in. Snap the
fuck out of it, you idiot! You said yes. You said yes a hundred times, and now
you’ve said yes once again. You will always say yes. Because, for whatever
cosmic reason, the universe has decided that Loki would love his brother beyond
all fucking rational thought, in spite of any obstacles. The stars have
aligned, and the Fates have willed it so, and there is no fucking what if. You
never stood a chance, you never will. In the end you will always kneel.
And even so, loving Thor as much as he did, he sometimes felt his brother loved
him more than Loki ever could. Thor’s heart was bigger and better than his,
there was no contest there. Would Loki put up with half the shit he had put his
brother through, the shit he was still putting him through, every day? The shit
he would be putting him through if they stayed together?
Oh, fuck. If they stayed together.
Loki, enough already, you’ll think yourself into some very fucked up places if
you don’t stop this right the fuck now.
He returned to tidying up the flat, although it was tidy and clean already,
since the clothes and food and toiletries were packed and he had nothing left
to do. Even Minnie was gone… When Sigyn predicted a long day, she sometimes
took her to the old people’s home across the street from the hospital, to keep
the residents company, and the little old thing entertained, instead of leaving
her alone in the flat.
He was starting to climb up the walls. How much longer would he have to wait?
Was Thor checking out of the hotel already, or was he still with Odin? Were
they having a cosy father-and-son chat? Were they talking about him, the runt,
the wayward son, the problematic one? 
Loki would always look at them both as if from outside, a bond of unshakeable
love between them you could almost touch; even when they argued, clashing
antlers loudly over nothing, as people with all-too-similar temperaments
sometimes do. Thor respected his father in a very old-fashioned way that was
completely his own, and avoided confrontation with him if he could, but he had
a quick temper, as did Odin, and when they did have a fight, the fucking walls
would tremble. Funny thing was, no matter how much Odin seemed to wish to
strangle Thor, it was also plain to see that he would willingly rip his other
eye out for his son, without a second thought, if he had to. Even before Loki
knew about his origins, he would watch them together and feel like… (He snorted
bitterly to himself) —like he did not belong.
He wondered if Thor would get the Jag. Odin had always been so tight with it,
even though it was really Frigga’s —she had got it as a bonus that year she did
the publicity for the brand. That bloody ad had been a nightmare for her boys,
taunted at school, faced with those huge billboards on the street, with their
beautiful mother covered in flowing, nude-coloured veils blowing in the wind,
displaying her long ballerina legs, and that smoulder that Thor once caught
Loki practicing in front of the mirror. He was mortified, but Thor never teased
him for it, and Loki never understood why. Until now, maybe.
He had a quick vision of mum and dad getting ready for an award ceremony or a
premiere or something, so dashing and majestic in their finery, arguing about
who would drive. The golden days of his childhood, before the bullying started
in earnest, before the black moods began to creep in, before therapy, before
the thought of mortality and things ending ever occurred to him.
Loki wondered if he would have to fight with Thor as well because, just like
Frigga that night, he was absolutely going to drive.
 
 
Heading out of London, the city seemed to creep, clinging on to you, the
suburbs spreading for ever and ever. Fields eventually, the traffic thinning,
cattle, old, old trees. Thor’s face turned from him, taking in the views. 
Loki had clung to Thor’s neck when he returned, as if it had been days instead
of hours, and now, on long stretches without changing gears, they held hands
over Thor's lap. Loki was having a needy day, he guessed. Thor very clearly did
not mind, far from it. Cat owners are trained to appreciate every smidge of
spontaneous affection they can get.
Except for some scattered words here and there, they weren’t talking. Thor
seemed lost in thought. God knows where his mind was, but if it had to do with
Odin, Loki was not going to ask. Not just yet anyway.
And still, intrigue kept him guessing. Penny for your thoughts, Frigga used to
say. Sometimes, she would just turn up in front of teenage, brooding Loki, slap
an invisible coin in his hand and say “you owe me.” And eventually, Loki would
tell her things. Perhaps not his thoughts at the time she had asked, (I wish
Thor and me were still fucking,orI wish I could just disappear, does it hurt,
would mum hate me, would Thor miss me, stop thinking so much about it and just
fucking do it already), but he would tell her things, and he would feel close
to her then, and warmer.
He missed her so much.
“Hey, baby, are you alright?” asked Thor, one hand on Loki's thigh, a quick
squeeze.
Loki nodded and wiped the corner of his eye.
 
The road snaked up a hill and then curved around it, affording an impressive
vista of the house, with its spread of walled gardens, outbuildings and
conservatories. Loki swallowed, uneasy, as they approached. Not all the
emotions battling inside him were unpleasant, as much as he dreaded this place.
His mother had loved it here, and this had been the stage of his happiest hours
as a little boy, with Thor. 
He had also been very, very miserable here, and this was where he had been
dealt the mortal blow that had finally broken him, from which he was just
starting to recover. 
He knew he was not the same person who had left that morning, all those years
ago. He wondered whether the ghosts of all the Lokis past still haunted the
place, and whether they would want him there at all. Many of them had been very
nasty bitches, who frowned upon forgiveness, self-esteem and joy. But by the
same token, if they were around, Little Loki should be there too, running up
and down the corridors, and wherever Little Loki roamed, present-day Loki felt
safer in.
Loki had slowed down to a snail-pace as he got closer to the house. Thor didn’t
rush him, didn’t urge him on, and didn’t ask. He only looked at him, with a
calm expression, as Loki finally drove under the arch to the walled-in,
gravelled drive and killed the engine. 
“Hey,” said Thor, his hand so very warm on Loki's thigh.
“Hey,” said Loki, and drew in a deep breath, for calmness.
His brother leaned closer for a kiss. Loki returned it with his eyes closed.
 
“Welcome back,” said Thor, opening the back door for him. He kept the tone of
his voice light, easy on the drama, but the strain in his tight smile gave him
away. This meant a hell of a lot to him. He just did not want to be seen making
a big deal of it, for Loki.
Loki stepped inside with caution, looking around as if he expected to be
pounced on at any moment by some unseen terror crouching in the darkness. The
back hall, a narrow corridor between the kitchen wall and the service
staircase, leading to a slightly wider space where they would hang their coats,
had always felt cramped. But everything felt even smaller than in his memories,
shadier, the ceiling lower, the ochre wall paint duller, the space even more
confined and oppressive. At least, because the air was so cold, it didn’t smell
musty or dank.
Thor brushed past him and started throwing curtains open, as if he was eager to
dispel the shadows as well. Then he got busy turning on the gas and electric,
the boiler and the heating. The cranky thrum of ageing machinery being suddenly
shaken awake from hibernation disturbed the quietness. There would be squeaks,
hums, creaking and groaning spreading throughout the house, as the heat started
dilating the pipes. It sounded very much like an old, dormant living creature
being dragged back to life against its will.
Loki walked to the French doors opening to the kitchen garden, a small walled
enclosure with herbs growing wild, and small vegetable patches, now barren but
for the weeds. Through the arch at the end of it, a slice of Great Aunt Idunn’s
orchard could be glimpsed, rows and rows of bare-branched apple trees which
bore tiny, hard, golden fruits in the Autumn, with a sharp taste Loki found
himself suddenly craving.
Thor’s strong arms encircled his waist. Loki threw his head back, welcoming his
brother’s mouth on his neck.
“You seemed a bit spaced out,” muttered Thor, close to his ear.
“I am,” said Loki. “The fucking memories.”
Thor held him a bit closer. 
“Does dad come often?” asked Loki, one hand on his brother’s massive forearm,
brushing over the dusting of golden fuzz in counterstroke.
“Not often.” Thor kissed the sensitive spot under Loki’s ear, making him shiver
pleasantly. “He needs the rush of the city or he withers, you know. He misses
her.”
“What did he say?” Now it was Loki keeping it light and easy, when he was
feeling anything but.
“About you?”
“Hm-hm.”
“He asked me how were you coping with the business of the tapes. Then he asked
me about the movie, and about your acting. He asked if you were, uh, keeping
healthy. He asked me about Sigyn.”
“What about her.”
“He had heard you lived together. He wondered what kind of, uh, arrangement you
had.”
Loki smirked.
“What did you tell him.”
“I told him that you were still gay.”
Loki laughed.
“What did he say?”
“He laughed as well.”
Loki kept on grinning, a genuine smile, as he slowly extricated himself from
his brother’s arms. He unbolted the glass doors and stepped out into the
kitchen garden, lit up a fag. Thor followed him there. The cold put pink on
both their faces.
“Is he glad that we’re… I was going to say, together again,” smiled Loki.
Thor smiled as well.
“I think he is, yes.” Thor threw one arm around his brother’s waist. “He said
he… He hoped mum could see it, wherever she was.”
Loki laughed. Thor frowned, baffled.
“Jesus, what a thought!" said Loki, still laughing. "Mum watching!”
Thor laughed a little. But he had something on his mind he was trying to say,
it was plain to see. Loki calmed down and put on his pray tell face. Thor
cleared his throat first.
“I’m not going to mention it again if you ask me to but… I think that, that it
would do some good if you, uh, if you talked to him," he said.
Loki drew a long drag.
“Good to whom,” he asked.
“…Both of you,” said Thor.
Loki sighed. There was only so much forgiveness and reconciliation he felt
capable of handling at the moment, and he had needed it all for Thor.
He did not want to hear about Odin anymore.
“We need to get to the village before they shut.”
 
 
The next time you need to change subjects, Laufeyson, suggest a tour of the
grounds, or a survey of the outbuildings, or a fucking rabbit-spotting trip in
the woods, and avoid the bloody village, if you please. He was walking side by
side with his brother down the main street, feeling every single fucking eye
fixed on him. He thought he could even see people spying from inside the
houses, peeking behind the quirky crocheted curtains. At turns it felt like a
Western movie, at turns like The Wicker Man. He kept his eyes front and his
hands deep in the pockets of his leather jacket, hoping to fight like that the
impulse to cling to his brother’s arm.
“Here for the holidays? How’s your father?” The Family Butcher (Loki had once
written a horror story with that title) was the same ruddy-cheeked, round-
faced, rosy-fingered man, with more grey in his hair and a bulgier beer-paunch.
He chatted amicably with Thor (his brother always made it look so easy and
effortless), and he darted a glance or two at Loki every now and then. Loki was
quiet and tense.
On the short walk to the greengrocer’s, a couple of doors down, Loki noticed
people watching from their open front doors. His heart was pounding. Thor
nodded and said hello to whomever dared to look him in the eye, his dazzling
smile eliciting timid waves and more smiles. Two little kids ran past, looking
back, and Loki heard them say “Hey, it’s them!”
Them. The Odinsons, the Asgard kids. Everybody knew fucking everything about
everybody around here. They were bound to know about Loki’s… let’s just call it
‘his past’, for the sake of brevity. Shit, they must have all seen the bloody
tapes… Loki felt a chilly, deep-reaching, cutting shudder, and when Thor asked
if he wanted to stop for some bread, he shook his head no anxiously.
“Let’s go back” he all but begged.
The pink pills the pink pills the pink pills. Hadn’t his therapist told him a
hundred times to always keep a couple handy. You stupid, stupid, stupid jerk,
you fucking idiot.
You may forget from time to time, but people never, ever will. 
 
 
                                       *
 
 
This may have been a very, very bad idea, thought Thor as Loki got in the car,
through the passenger’s side this time, his shoulders slumped in what Thor had
already pinned down as a defensive posture. His expression was strained, there
was a pinch in his brow, his hands on his lap were clasped together tight.
He’d better not ask again are you ok?, because Loki plainly wasn’t, and his
already limited tolerance for stupidity didn’t get any more lenient in that
state. 
Back inside the house, Loki turned on the kettle and prepared the tea things
with the same urgency as if he was fixing some lifesaving drug to inject a
flatlining patient with. Thor turned the oven on and made a point not to stare.
He was trying to work out what was so terribly wrong. He just wasn’t very good
at it. He lacked the right type of imagination, he guessed, and that’s why he
had always relied on his mum to get a good translation of Loki’s moods,
actions, and words into something that made sense to him. He should at least be
able to come up with a more insightful question than are you ok?, shouldn’t
he? 
Loki looked so withdrawn, so distressed. Thor could not just stand there and do
nothing. He took him in his arms, one hand gently tangled in Loki’s still short
hair, lips pressed to his forehead, and his big mouth shut. Loki’s hands rested
on his hips first, and then snaked around and up his back, as he tilted his
head back for a kiss. What a relief. This was Thor’s territory. He worked his
brother’s lips slowly, letting Loki lead it to wherever he wanted it to go.
The kettle started wailing desperately, and Loki broke the kiss and gently
pushed him away. Thor watched him pour the water with a much steadier hand. He
made Thor a cup as well. When Thor smiled at him silently, Loki smiled back.
Thor thought to himself he had not done too badly this time.
 
With the pie in the oven, they went upstairs to unpack. They would sleep in
Thor’s room, which had been refurbished over the years - Loki’s room had
remained frozen in time, with a single bed, wizard hats and wands on the
wallpaper, walls covered with posters of his passions as a teenager. Thor had
spent hours in there after Loki went away, just looking around. There were old
Hollywood movies, Ziggy Stardust, male ballet dancers Loki admired —in more
ways than one, Thor assumed, jealous then and even now, a bit—, landscapes and
maps of worlds from fantasy novels, creepy illustrations from the stories Loki
enjoyed (Thor was squeaked by Giger and Lovecraft inspired stuff the most), all
of it clashing with the curtain with moon and stars, and his old pyjamas with
cartoon characters still in the drawers. A time capsule of Loki’s whole life
until he was nineteen years old. No wonder Loki had carried on without stopping
when they walked in front of his bedroom door, if he was already struggling
with everything else.
Thor threw the curtains of his own bedroom open, and the dim winter sun tried
half-heartedly to cast some pale shades. He noticed Loki’s stance was guarded
again, reflective, as he scanned the place, with all its changes. The ugly,
seventies-style modular furniture that used to be there had been replaced with
some antique, elegant, very grown-up pieces from another part of the house,
where the guests used to stay, back in the day when their parents entertained.
There was a big carved wardrobe, a four-poster bed and a couple more things, in
reddish wood, subtle carvings of branches and leaves. 
Loki was bound to recognise the bed. It had been in the main guest room, and
very high-up people had slept in it. He sat on the soft mattress and had a
little bounce. He stared at him straight.
“Has Jane slept here,” he asked.
Thor blinked, dumbstruck, caught completely by surprise. He had not thought
about Jane for months.
“So, she has,” said Loki. “Hm.”
Thor kept his mouth shut, his frown as light as he could manage. Was Loki
looking for a fight? Because Thor very much wasn’t.
Loki sighed. He sounded tired.
“This is all so…” He rubbed his brow as if trying to soothe a headache. “Sorry.
It’s a bit much.”
Thor sat down beside him and held his hand.
“I’m sure you’ll get used to it soon,” he said. He was aware these were not the
wisest words ever spoken, but could he please get some points for trying. 
Loki squeezed his hand. And then he leaned closer to whisper into Thor’s ear.
“Do you think we’ll break this one too?”
Thor started to laugh. He had forgotten about that. They had once been fucking
in one of the old beds in the guests wing, and they fucking broke it; the slate
base snapped under them and one of the legs came off. They had to confess, of
course, they could not just pretend it had not happened, so they had told their
parents they had been bouncing on it. Odin had been fuming that his sons could
be so careless and infantile, and they had spent the rest of the weekend
cleaning windows, as punishment. And also giggling like a couple of idiots
whenever they eyes met, which of course riled up their father even more.
“I remember your face when the wood cracked and the mattress gave in,” said
Loki, his eyes bright with amusement. “You looked so confused. There was a big
what the fuck just happened printed all across your forehead. And then the leg
came off, the corner went down, but when you decided that that was it, that
nothing else was going to happen, you were like oh well, that’s that, and just
kept on fucking.”  Loki was laughing wholeheartedly. Thor was laughing too,
though he was feeling a bit silly in retrospect. Loki kissed his cheek
sonorously, both hands around his face. Thor leaned into it.
“It was a good weekend,” he said.
 
 
Dark outside, the windows were blind, showing nothing but deep black. Thor had
washed the dishes, and Loki was drying them. Thor was leaning on the rustic
wood and tile worktop their mum had been so fond of, glass of wine in his hand,
watching Loki’s waist, cinched in by the ties of the flowery apron, his arse
shaking sideways just a tiny bit every time he gestured vigorously with his
arms. And yes, of course he would wear an apron. “You know what a pain in the
arse it is to launder velvet?” he had snapped at him, when Thor had made the
slightest attempt at a tease.
“Still staring at my arse, brother?” said Loki, without looking back.
Thor grinned.
“Are you finished yet?” he asked, still beholding indeed his velvet-clad
target.
Loki held up the porcelain bowl they had put the salad in, to show him it was
the last bit. Thor put down his glass and went to stand right behind his
brother. Loki’s breathing caught when he felt him there, and when it resumed,
it was already slightly shallower. It was a rush, to be able to wreak such
havoc on his cool, self-possessed brother just by getting closer. He had yet to
lay one hand on him…
He caressed his lips on Loki’s neck, and Loki’s hands slowed down, forgetting
about the drying. Thor surrounded him with his arms, and made him put down the
towel and the bowl. He ran his hands over Loki’s thighs, the material soft as
butter, the flesh underneath so strong, unyielding. He felt a pulse beating
heavy and deep in his groin. He pushed against Loki’s arse, so that he would
feel him getting hard.
“Shall we go to bed?” murmured Loki, delightfully choked.
Thor was kneading his neck with open-mouthed kisses and enjoying the feel of
the velvet under his palms.
“No,” he said, pushing again, more than half-hard now. “Here.”
Loki drew in a tiny, strangled breath in feign shock, that made Thor snigger.
He wondered what other sounds could he elicit from his very vocal brother. He
searched blindly for the buttons of Loki’s flies, still working his neck, his
brother tilting his head to give him more access, and all but melting in his
arms. He dragged those lovely velvet trousers down Loki’s legs. No underwear,
as usual. Naughty boy… Loki made to push them down completely, but Thor stopped
them half-way down his thighs.
“Now you can’t run” he muttered into Loki’s ear.
He did get him out of his jumper, greedy for the feel of his skin. Goosebumps
on Loki’s back when he lifted the shirt up his back.
“Are you cold?” he muttered, planting kisses on his spine, running his hands on
Loki’s thighs, his cock getting harder with every brush, though Thor was
avoiding it purposely.
“What do you think?” panted Loki, and his breath hitched again when Thor
chuckled, low and deep, against his skin.
Thor slowly sank to his knees behind him, trailing his mouth down his brother’s
back as he did. Loki made to turn around, but Thor fixed him there, one hand on
each hip, his tongue reaching his tailbone. Now Loki was starting to get an
inkling of what was about to happen, and Thor read anticipation in his
breathing, rushed and eager.
He wanted to make Loki feel good. He wanted to chase away all his troubles and
whatever dark thoughts had been haunting him, if only for a while. He wanted to
see him like that, just filling his skin, and nothing else. He wanted to be
someone his brother trusted to make everything right.
With a flat palm over Loki’s back, Thor made him lean forwards, plant his hands
over the kitchen worktop, and spread his legs as much as the trousers around
his thighs would allow. Just that already made Loki curse. Thor kneaded those
smooth, perfect buttocks he could never get enough of, sunk his teeth gently in
the flesh where arse meets thigh, and sucked and touched the tip of his tongue
on the scatter of freckles he had mapped out in his mind, and knew like the
back of his hand. With Loki like that, exposed, surrendering, the urge to fuck
him was almost too much to resist.
“Are you going to do it or what?” said Loki then, his voice breathy.
Thor chuckled, parted the cheeks, and lapped from the base of the balls to his
arse. Loki sucked in a sharp breath, as if it stung.
“Is this what you wanted,” mumbled Thor, right against the sensitive flesh.
“I’ll give you three guess-…” Loki’s voice broke when his brother started to
work his hardened tongue on his hole. “Fuuuuuck…” he hissed, bending even
lower, now resting the upper part of his chest onto the worktop, and burying
his face in his arms.
“I have to confess,” said Thor, between long laps and lighter, teasing,
flicking movements, “that I don’t have the first clue about what I’m doing.”
“This your… f-first time?” 
“Hm-hm,” assented Thor, now pushing with his tongue, making his brother swear
in… was that fucking Russian? “How am I getting on?”
The trembling of his brother’s thighs, and his knuckles, white, holding onto
the edge of the worktop for dear life, gave him some confidence that, good or
bad, what he was doing worked for Loki.
“Hm, fuuuuck…” Loki’s buttocks clenched, that beautiful depression on the sides
became more pronounced, his arse fluttering. “Have you thought of doing this
prof-… oh god… professionally?” he joked.
Thor chuckled, and started sucking. Loki moaned, a high-pitched, slightly
desperate sound that meant only good, good things. He was so hard himself. He
had been palming at his own erection for a while, through his clothes, and now
he wanted it out. He flickered his tongue quickly over the fluttering flesh
while he did, to the sound of Loki’s whimpers, almost little sobs. He gave the
head of his cock a few lazy tugs, his crotch clenching with the urge to get in
there and fuck.
“Tell me what you want. Tell me what to do,” he whispered, one hand to himself,
the other one on Loki’s hips, his thumb tracing circles on the bone.
“Your fingers,” muttered Loki. “Open me up with your fingers, and then… your
tongue.”
Ah, fuck. Loki’s voice tore him to pieces. The hand Thor had to himself
squeezed and pulled mindlessly at those words. He sucked his thumb dripping wet
and slid it in, circling to loosen up the ring of flesh.
“Yeah? Ok now?” he asked.
“How the fuck should I know? You’re the one with the visual,” said Loki,
snappy. “Trial and error, brother…” 
Ah, Loki. He parted the cheeks wide open with his hands. If Loki spread his
legs a bit further, and bent down a bit lower… There.
Another string of hissed words in what had to be Russian, in that hot, hot
voice, and Thor wished he had another hand to work himself with. He could not
get but a shallow penetration, nothing but the tip really, but it still seemed
to please Loki, judging by the death grip on the worktop and the efforts to
lock his knees, which seemed soft as jelly at the moment. 
His jaw had started to hurt a lot quicker than he would have anticipated. He
alternated with his fingers. Thor wondered whether the tongue was also a muscle
that could be exercised and trained to last longer.
When he was finger-fucking him, Loki reached behind his back and grabbed his
hand.
“Yes, please,” he said.
“What do you want,” said Thor, fucking in and out, slow and steady.
“Do you really need to ask,” grunted Loki. 
Thor stood on his feet, stroking himself, wiping the drool off his mouth. Loki
turned his face to him, glazed, wanton eyes. Thor stroked the tip, slicked with
his spit, on Loki’s arse. Loki propped himself up on his palms. 
“How do you want it, baby,” asked Thor.
“Jesus Fuck, just… inside me, now,” grumbled Loki. 
Grinning, one hand on Loki’s shoulder, Thor aligned himself and started to inch
his way in, the tension in Loki’s back visible in the sudden tautening of his
muscles.
“Are you sore?” asked Thor, shifting inside.
Loki shook his head no. 
Thor pulled out and pushed back in, slowly, snaking his hips a bit. He started
fucking languidly and not too deeply, adding more spit as and when, Loki’s
fingers clawing on nothing over the worktop, his body swaying to and fro, soft,
breathy moans turning Thor’s insides to a mush. Loki’s breathing fell in time
with his thrusts. Thor grabbed a handful of black hair and tugged gently, to
expose more of Loki’s throat to his mouth.
The pressure was building up in his groin, aching for more intensity. Still
mindful of yesterday, he gripped Loki’s shoulder, added more spit and took it
up a notch or two. Loki groaned, trying to keep rigid, in place.  
Thor was getting close now. He wrapped one strong arm around Loki’s waist,
braced himself on the worktop with the other, and started to fuck faster,
seeking the maddening friction with shallow thrusts. Loki brought a hand to
himself, the sounds of his pleasure more strained, pleading, as he pushed back
to meet Thor’s cock. His movements became more frenzied, until he got rigid,
sudden jolts shaking him as he came with short, sharp breaths.
Thor slowed down and gave himself a moment to feel him like that, pressing
kisses to Loki’s back, and then he couldn’t wait any longer. He slammed harder,
faster, Loki shuddering upon impact, a hand still on his cock. It gripped Thor
tightly when he came, after such a slow build up, Loki still whispering god
knows what as Thor thrusted gently now, riding the aftershocks.
 
 
 
 
They were sprawled on the couch in front of the TV, Thor on his back, Loki
draped half on top of him, feeling heavy and nice and warm under a very thick
blanket. The film had not long to go.
On the screen, their mother was laughing on a couch of her own, sat between
Maggie Smith, Judi Dench and Helen Mirren. They played a bunch of actresses in
their autumnal years who have heard the news that a big lifetime achievement
award is about to be bestowed on one of them, they don’t know who. They spend
the first hour skinning each other alive, all jabs and sneers and cutting
sarcasm, digging up years of enmity and cut-throat competition, but they have
started to find some common ground now, and are turning their wicked wits and
bitterness against the cruel world, instead of each other. It was a very funny
movie, with ample room for each of the actresses to shine, like one of those
black and white Bette Davies’ films Loki liked so much. 
“I still think you look like her when you smile like that,” muttered Thor,
petting Loki’s hair.
Loki did not reply, if not for a little nudge against Thor’s hand.
On the screen, their mum was singing There’s no business like show business on
the piano.
“Will you play for me?” asked Thor. 
“The piano will be out of tune after all this time,” said Loki, after a while.
Thor had started to think he had not heard him.
“Maybe not. You know how dad is.”
Loki took his time again.
“We shall see,” he said.
 
 
Huddled up together in the huge, soft bed, their eyes heavy and tired, they
found themselves somehow in each other’s arms again, drowsily kissing, their
legs tangled, rutting lazily. 
“Was that Russian, earlier,” Thor was panting against his neck, the pressure of
Loki’s thigh on him not enough, or way too much, depending on where this was
going, or not going. “What were you saying?”
“What does one usually say,” replied Loki, clutching with his thighs.
Thor whispered I want you and you’re so sexy and you drive me crazy and yes
baby fuck yes, and Loki said something in Russian after each of those, Thor
would never know what. 
 
 
 
                                       *
 
 
Christmas day. Thor had suggested they had their meal at The Lark, the local
pub. Their parents used to like it. When they walked in, every head turned
towards the door. He felt Loki flinch, and then tense. Battle stations. He saw
him squaring his jaw and straighten his back, his head high, his posture
princely. Thor kept one hand on the small of his back, slowly stroking. 
“Odinson!” said Ray, the pub landlord, coming to meet them. Last time Loki had
been here, it was Ray’s dad at the bar, and Ray was still cleaning tables.
“Merry Christmas,” he said, shaking both their hands. “Your table is over
there.”
Thor ordered some of their home-made cider (they still made it from Idunn’s
apples) and lead the way.
“Alright?” he asked, when Loki sat right at the corner, close to the window,
his back to the room.
Loki nodded. Thor hesitated, and then held his hand over the table. Loki put on
a tiny grin and tried to pull away.
“I don’t give a shit,” said Thor. “I really don’t. Let them think whatever they
want.”
Loki got his hand back.
“You say that now, but wait until they start talking. Trust me, I should know.”
Thor’s expression darkened. Some of the patrons in the pub today had been the
ones to give Loki a hard time once, whenever his big brother wasn’t there to
dissuade them. Thor had only realised something was wrong when Loki had stopped
going to the village on his own, and wouldn’t say why. Thor had asked around
until the woman at the newsagents, where they used to buy their sweets, had
told him that she had had to pull the ears of a couple of bullies who had Loki
cornered in the alley, calling him names and trying to steal his money.
Apparently it had been going on for some time. Loki was thirteen then.
Once more, it hit Thor that this might have been a very bad idea. His memories
of this place weren’t Loki’s memories. There seemed to be very little in Asgard
House or in the village that Loki was happy to come back to.
Thor had felt differently this morning, when they had taken a stroll around the
grounds. Loki had wanted to see the spot from which they had scattered Frigga’s
ashes, on the top of a hill with broad views of the land and the house, with
plenty of sky to see. Loki had said it felt lonely.
“We should put a bench here or something, so that we can come over and…” Loki
had cut himself, looking away.
“And what?” Thor had urged.
“Keep her company. It’s silly, I know.”
“No, it’s not, it’s a great idea,” said Thor, holding his hand. “We could plant
some roses too.”
“One of every fragrant variety,” Loki had said. One of their mum’s recurring
aspirations that had never come to pass.
“Yes, let’s do that,” had said Thor, excited at the prospect. “She would love
it.”
 
When they walked past the tower, Loki had hesitated before going in. The plank
of wood they had used to block the door was still there, but the door had long
since collapsed, nothing but a pile of rotten wood and the rusty hinges, fused
together, still hanging on the wall. 
Thor watched him have a look around. The vision of the tuft of moss put a choke
in Thor’s throat. 
“Did you ever come here, after I was gone,” asked Loki, brushing a hand on the
lichens and the rock, tracing the mortar joints with his fingertips.
Thor swallowed and tried to sound even.
“No. Sometimes.”
His brother gave him a quick glance out of the tail of his eye, and continued
his slow tour along the perimeter.
“I missed you,” he said, sounding purposely distracted, “all the time. I just
wanted to see you again before I-…” He was far away and not looking at him, his
words only audible because of the resonance in that place. Perhaps this was the
only way he was able to say things like that. 
Thor had his eyes shut, swelling with tears. To think of Loki, sick, suffering,
alone, thinking about him, and Thor unaware of it, carrying on with his life.
He wondered how many instances had there been, how many chances did Loki have
and did not take, to end it all. It could have been so easy, it almost seemed
frivolous. And Thor might have never known.
“Don’t cry, brother,” murmured Loki, suddenly one step away, stroking his face,
wiping the tears that were running down his chin. 
Thor hugged him, not as tight as he wanted, because he did not want to make a
bigger deal of it than he was already.
“You’re here now,” he couldn’t help himself from whispering.
“I’m here now,” said Loki, hugging back.
“I’ve got you,” Thor sighed, the aftertaste of horror and grief mixing with
relief. “I’m never letting go of you again.”
He feared Loki might bristle at that, but he actually clung tighter. Goes to
show —Loki was a big fucking mystery to him still, and maybe he would always
be, but it seemed that a good way to navigate Loki’s shoals was to follow his
own heart, and love the fuck out of him. Which was really pretty bloody good,
because he could do that. He could do that, for the rest of his days.
 
“It’s still here!” Loki had cried out suddenly, on their way back to the house.
He rushed with long, graceful strides for that depression in the middle of the
field which was often flooded with rainwater, attracting large, elegant, long-
necked birds with massive wingspans. 
Thor grinned when he saw what had drawn Loki’s attention. His brother was
standing, with an awed expression, next to that hollow log they had once
pretended was a dragon, or a whale, or a crocodile, or a space pod or a cave,
depending on whether they were playing Middle Ages, explorers, Star Trek or
Zombie Apocalypse. They would ride it, or fight it, or burrow inside it,
pretend they had been devoured. It seemed impossible that they had once both
fitted inside.
Loki’s expression was bright, as if he had stumbled upon a beloved old toy
while sorting out the attic. His eyes glinted, pleasant wrinkles on their
corners from his broad smile. Thor was warmed by a feeling of gratitude and
tenderness he could not even begin to try to put into words. He almost felt
like having the old log gilded and preserved in a hyperbaric chamber somewhere,
for managing to put that light on his brother’s face.
They had walked back to the house hand in hand. Thor had thought Loki still
looked much too sexy for his own good when he smoked.
 
 
 
The food at The Lark was nice, that had been Thor’s only consideration when he
had suggested going. Loki seemed to enjoy his meal, eating up with a much
better appetite than his lithe figure suggested. They had a view of the back
lawn, which gently sloped towards the canal. There were several barges moored
there, and ducks waddled in and out of the water as if they owned the place. A
few years back, little Thor and Loki would have finished their meals in three
mouthfuls, and would be now begging their parents to be let out to play. Thor
could almost see those two kids now, getting much closer to the canal than
their mum had said it was allowed, throwing sticks into the water under the
bridge to see which one came out the other side first, chasing the ducks, eager
to watch them take flight.
They stared at each other for some time. Thor was feeling an overpowering
impulse to lean over and kiss him. 
Someone started banging the wall piano at the other end of the room, attempting
to rustle up a sad, Sunday school accompaniment to a chorus merrily butchering
O Christmas Tree. Loki was cringing.
“Somebody put them out of their misery,” he grumbled. "And me."
“You should be playing,” said Thor. “Show them how it’s done.”
Loki rolled his eyes and drained his glass.
“Oh, come on…” urged Thor, nudging Loki’s foot under the table.
“No chance.” 
“Then I’ll do it,” declared Thor.
“You?” Loki looked appalled. 
“Why not? I took some lessons, remember? I’m sure I can still play Holy Night.
How hard can it be?” He started to get up, to make it more believable. 
“Don’t you fucking dare. Do you want to cover your father’s house in shame?”
said Loki, joking, but only just.
“Then you do it,” said Thor.
“No.”
“Fine.” Thor shook him off and proceeded to make his way to the piano, with a
sly smirk.
He heard Loki grumble at his back, some swearing, and then Loki brushed past
him. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he was mumbling between gritted teeth. 
They guy who was currently tormenting the piano was pushed away to the sound of
Ray’s booming “now you’ll hear some proper music!”, and Loki took his spot. He
huffed irritably, stretched his fingers, and with a tremendously unhappy
expression, he started to play a perky, simple, slightly jazzy accompaniment to
Jingle Bells. People joined in song from all over the pub. Thor was standing
next to Loki, hand on his shoulder, glass of cider in the other, a peaceful,
happy expression on his face.
After that, Loki started to take requests. He made it seem so effortless. Thor
was quite sure he was improvising on the spot in many cases. They had become
surrounded by a small, boisterous crowd, the spirit of Christmas burning high.
It was very nice. Even Loki seemed to be having a decent time.
Thor detected some sly stares and some people talking in whispers here and
there, and he could guess what they might be talking about. He kept his hand on
Loki’s shoulder, as if he could deflect the meanness of the world from his
brother like that.
Last requests. Wet eyes all around when Loki sang Fairytale of New York with
Molly, Ray’s wife, the whole pub joining in the chorus. They finished with O
Come Ye Faithful and All I Want for Christmas is You, and the applause and the
cheers were deafening.
Loki was heartily hand-shaked and back-patted and one-arm-hugged by what, to
him, must have felt like the whole village, and he did not escape Molly’s kiss,
full on the mouth, and the solid smack to his butt that came with it. He looked
imploringly at Thor when they were trying to drag him to the bar for more
drinks. 
Thor stepped in and rescued him, getting soundly back-slapped himself in the
process, and they managed eventually to escape out into the darkened street,
with a sigh of relief that puffed white in front of their faces.
“Hey, that was fantastic!” said Thor, an arm around Loki’s shoulders as they
walked away. 
“Never again,” said Loki, lighting a fag.
Thor laughed. He thought Loki had enjoyed himself, but he also knew that he
would need hours of peace, quiet, and isolation to recover.
The street was deserted, the fairy lights on houses and shop-windows blinking
merrily. There was a smell of burning wood in the air, and a dry stillness,
like before a snowfall. 
Thor grabbed his brother’s hand. Loki squeezed fondly, and quickly tried to let
go.
“No,” said Thor. “Please.”
Loki threw a hunted look around.
“It’s fine,” said Thor. “It’s fine. Please.”
Loki said nothing. His expression remained pinched with tension, but his grip
on his brother’s hand was strong and warm.
 
 
                                       *
 
 
 
The second time Loki woke up that day, he was alone in bed. So, Thor had gone
running, as he had said. He stretched his arms and back lazily, still feeling
pleasantly fucked, from the night before and this morning.
He threw on some scruffs, wrapped up warm with one of Thor’s thick knitted
jackets, and went downstairs and into the patio with his coffee, the meadow
suffused in pale gold, the sun cold and dim in a bright sky of faded blue. He
went into the orchard, and walked slowly among the short little trees. Touching
delicately the little nubs that would be blossoming into tiny cream flowers
come Spring, he made himself a promise, there and then, that he would be here
to see it. That he would be back to sort out that bench for his mum’s new rose
garden on top of the hill, and that he would get up there often, because there
was much left to talk between them. That he would have the hothouse repaired
and filled again with the more delicate plants her mum had once delighted in.
That they would replace the sad, dying trees in the conservatory with new,
budding orange and lemon trees, and make a damn orangerie, like she had always
said she wanted.
Loki did not make promises lightly.
A couple of days ago (again, Thor was out running), he had finally brought
himself to pay a visit to his old bedroom. He had drawn back the curtains and
opened the window, and was inundated by the memories, just like he had feared.
And then, it had passed. It was just a room. The wallpaper was cute, the books
on the shelf he had read a dozen times each —summers were long!— but none
carried any darkness for him. The posters on the walls, from his teenage years,
were more loaded with significance, but nothing he had not long learned to
handle. There was a glass wall between himself and this place. It could not
touch him. He had nothing to fear.
When he had sat on the single bed, it creaked. They had fucked on this bed,
back in the day. If Thor so much as sat on it now, it would surely break in
half. The thought made him laugh. His big bear of a brother.
On his way out, he shut the window but not the curtains, and he left the door
wide open. Something should be done with that bedroom, he guessed, but there
was no rush. And certainly, no ghosts.
 
He left a note.
“Need fags. Gone to the village. Back in a bit. Love you.”
His arse was tender, but he had had worse, and he felt like a nice sweat, so he
took one of the bikes. The road winded between field after field, where cattle
grazed. As he was riding by the woods, he nearly crashed when the biggest bird
of prey he had ever fucking seen decided to cross the road just above his head.
Loki stopped, heart in his throat, a feeling of intense exhilaration prickling
under his skin, bursting in his chest. He fucking loved this place.
 
The village was quiet, only a few people on the street. The newsagents was in
business. The doorbell tinkled and Mrs. Webb, looking exactly as Loki
remembered her, appeared from the back of the store.
“Loki Odinson!” she said, with nothing but delight in her voice. “Look at you!
Haven’t you grown!”
Loki smiled, in spite of himself.
“Good morning, Mrs. Webb,” he said, shyly.
She took that as an invitation somehow, and began to tell him all about her
Christmas at the in-laws, and what a pain in the neck her nephews were, not
like Loki was as a kid, so well-spoken and so polite, always said good morning,
please and thank you. And how everybody still missed Frigga, and had Loki heard
of the yearly fête they had in her honour, with bake sales and raffles to
collect money for charity in her name, and how was Thor, and how was their
father, how much they had worried over them both in the village, how
heartbroken they looked, and how wonderful it was to see them together again,
the Odinson kids, and was Thor still seeing that American girl, and was Loki
seeing any, any boys?
Loki had tried to answer as and when he found a gap, but at this last question,
formulated with a courage that commended her, he stopped and smiled.
“Who has time for boys,” he said. “Now I only bother with men.”
She thought it hilarious, agreed wholeheartedly, and started ranting about her
husband.
He escaped eventually, with his fags and two lollies, and a big wet smack on
his cheek. He rode home with the fulfilling, warming certainty that he was
liked.
 
 
That night after dinner, without any prompting on Thor’s part, Loki went to the
music room and started playing. He sang for him for a long time. His brother
looked at him with more love in his eyes than Loki could endure, and a
seamless, no-questions-asked kind of happiness Loki did not think he could ever
feel. It did not worry him. Thor seemed to have enough for both of them.
 
 
 
 
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     PS: tAngerine, thinking about you on the smut, darling.
***** Chapter 23 *****
Chapter Summary
     "So this is Sif, Loki was thinking, as he silently appraised the
     company."
     For over-active brains like Loki's, being left to their own devices
     is a double edged sword.
Chapter Notes
     This got very intense, and was a lot of hard work, so it ended up
     split in two. Through the biological miracle of mitosis, behold, a
     new chapter is born!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
December 30th.
 
They were all sat at the round table in the smaller reception room, drinking
beer and playing poker with Thor’s former drama school mates. Sigyn and Bruce
would not be arriving until tomorrow. Loki wasn’t happy about that. He was
sitting between expansive Volstagg and invisible Hogun (the one never shut his
mouth, the other barely ever opened it.) In front of Loki, in a crescent,
gorgeous Sif, fetching Fandral, and golden Thor. They were a wildly random
group, mismatched in a million ways when you looked at them from the outside,
age and background not the least of them. It was a mystery how they got along
so well, but they gelled as if they had known each other all their lives. At
the moment (for the last four fucking hours, really), they were having a great
time catching up with each other’s lives and gossiping about people Loki did
not know, while carrying on with old running jokes, which had sprung up at a
time when Loki wasn’t around, and therefore had no fucking chance at
understanding them now, in their present, umpteenth reincarnation. 
They had made half-hearted attempts at including him at the beginning of the
evening, asking him questions about the work, life in his corner of London,
Thor’s friends in the US, particularities of the industry there, this kind of
thing. He had replied mainly with monosyllables and stunted phrases, feeling
uptight and unwanted, a glum outsider putting a damper on their happy reunion.
Eventually, they had just started to overlook him, which they probably thought
was what Loki wanted anyway. 
He himself wasn’t sure what he wanted. Making small talk he hated, but being
ignored was, hm, unpleasant. Deep down inside, he guessed all he wanted still,
to this day, was to fit in with the cool crowd. But it took a lot more to make
“fitting in” happen than his brother’s friends condescending to let him sit
with them at lunch time, and pretending for a while to be interested in the
awkward, shy little brother, and whatever the mysterious ingredient was, Loki
didn't have it. Story of his life. 
And now he was bored, bored, bored, and he had been for hours. He thought he
should be excused if his mind wandered and drifted at times, straying further
and further away into increasingly outlandish reaches, as the night progressed
and he became more tired and strained.
So this is Sif, Loki was thinking, as he silently appraised the company. He had
seen her from the back of a theatre years ago, that fateful night, and he had
not forgotten her (in spite of all the shit he had been pumping, and the near-
death experience that followed, his memory of that evening remained sharp). But
it was a different story from up close, wasn’t it? She was very beautiful,
(when did his brother ever settle for less?), with feline, somewhat childish
features, fired up with a sort of boldness so fierce and classy, it made Loki
want to rip her massive hazel eyes out in envy. She came across as one of the
boys in many ways, and her own person in every other. A lot like Jane,
actually. It would appear his brother had a type. What did that say about Loki…
Another little thing Sif had in common with Jane is that she didn’t like Loki.
He had noticed the moment they met this morning, from the stiff handshake, the
mechanical kiss on the cheek, and the hard, assessing eyes, taking him in from
head to toe, and judging. She had come ready not to trust him, ready to take
Thor’s side against his brother at the first whiff of conflict. It wasn’t
overt, and Thor would accuse him of being paranoid, but Thor never caught these
things anyway. He was clueless like that. Sigyn would have picked up on it in
an instant. 
And the harsh first impression had yet to soften. She just kept them coming,
the stream of subtle, minuscule signs she probably did not realise she was
giving out. But Loki was the fucking king of micro-expressions, wasn’t he? It
was his bloody job to master them, and you don’t get to act the way he did
without having an eye for detail in the first place. Her smile was cold when
she spoke to him, her eyes shadowed under an almost imperceptible frown, a
tightening in her lip when she listened to him talk. It was all about trying to
figure him out, about reading him. She sensed something fishy, did she not? She
just could not put her finger on it because, frankly, who could. It took a
certain kind of imagination, and the fundamental understanding that there ain’t
nothing as queer as folk, so expect anything and everything, which only people
like Tony and Natasha were blessed with —or cursed, take your pick.
No, Thor’s girlfriends never did like him, either because of a sixth sense that
detected unfair competition (‘I was there first, and how’ kind of thing,
maybe), or perhaps because there could be no discussion that Loki looked way
hotter in a pair of fishnet stockings, high heels, and nothing else. He had an
arse they could only dream of, and as for the legs…
Anyway, it’s not like Loki was bursting a gut trying to make them like him,
Sif, Jane, or any of them, was he? And it’s not like Loki liked them. Thor had
always had a pessimal taste in women (what was Loki going to do with girls
whose charms consisted basically of how easily they put out and a big pair of
tits) and then, when Thor’s taste had improved and started to include
intelligence, decency, curiosity and humour… Well, Loki had learned to fear the
small-tittied ones worst of all. Look at what had happened with Jane. Over two
years… and who knows, they might still be together today, if circumstances had
been different. Whether Loki liked it or not, even he could tell that Jane was
a keeper.
And look at Sif. Sif was also very tastefully flat. And infuriatingly gorgeous.
And sharp, and clever, and sassy, with a reserve of dignity and pride patent
all the way, from her pointed jabs down to her posture, that reminded even Loki
himself of someone. His brother had to have noticed too. It gave Loki lots to
ponder.
So, a great match for Thor in every way; not to mention that she wasn’t a
relative, and that she was of the right gender for a movie star looking to
settle, while rising his international fucking profile in the exercise. What a
fucking wonderful couple they would make. He could already see her on the red
carpet, hanging from Thor’s arm, with a never-ending gown that showed off her
elegant shoulders and long neck, and how they would exchange affectionate looks
while the flashes blitzkrieged their perfect faces. And think about the amazing
babies they would make, so beautiful, so wholesome. God, Odin would be so
fucking happy… Oh, Loki, do not sigh like that, will you, he hasn’t asked her
to marry him yet.
Sif threw him a look, as if she had heard her own name in his thoughts. Loki
squirmed on his arse, wondering if insecurity and jealousy had a scent, and
whether some people could sniff it. He was feeling the same unpleasant churn
inside as he had felt that night in Manhattan, under Jane’s cold, unkind stare.
They seemed to broadcast it, these girls, loud and clear (‘you are poison, and
you know it'), and Loki seemed to be tuned in just right to receive it. He
guessed they just looked at his golden, sunshiny brother, so very healthy and
normal in every way, or so they thought, and then they looked at Thor’s
definitely unhealthy obsession for his (shall we leave it at complicated)
little brother, with all the headaches and heartaches Loki had brought him, and
perhaps, just perhaps, they all agreed that Thor would be better off if he
managed to, oh, I don’t know, put some distance between himself and Loki’s
issues, and get on with his life. Basically, if only Thor could care a little
less…
That night in Manhattan, the hostile vibes emanating from Jane had gotten under
his skin a lot more than Loki would ever let on. She was only trying to stand
up for her man, taking his side against the noxious influence of his toxic
little brother, and Loki fucking respected that. He had felt like bad, bad
news, that night, and he had only gone on to prove her right with his cabaret
shenanigans. In his distress (because even a disease-spreading leech can use a
friend), Loki had turned to Tony, and had found, unexpectedly, real company and
comfort. Here was this guy, deceitfully sunny and frivolous, who kept hidden,
inside an ‘extremely-rich, outrageously-successful jerk’ exo-suit, a warm,
compassionate heart, some deep-reaching damage of his own and, at the same
time, an iron core able to withstand the emotional equivalent of a nuclear
attack. So, overall, a pretty extraordinary individual whom Loki admired and
felt a strong connection with, then and now. And this guy thought that Loki was
the dog’s bollocks, worshipped the ground he trod on, wanted to marry him and
have his babies, and would have put the world at his feet, if only Loki had let
him. Tony Stark! Who had no illusions in mankind, was nobody's fool, and had
refused to get involved all these years, actually fucking loved him! And in
another life, in which Loki had not already burned his own heart on somebody
else’s altar, long before they crossed each other’s paths, who knows. Loki was
not sure he could love many people, but what he felt for Tony was warm, and
gentle, and had a tenderness only three or four people in this world were able
to stir in him.
Oh, and had Loki needed Tony’s unwavering adoration that night, because he
agreed with Jane on all fucking counts . He agreed that his contribution to
Thor’s life was rather like that of the nasty habit you can’t get rid of, the
itch that makes you scratch until you draw blood, as you moan for how fucking
good it feels, although you know it’s a bad idea and you’re going to regret it
later. Next to Loki, these girls, Thor’s small-tittied girlfriends, were like a
soothing balm —‘Yes, great, thank you, that feels… nice.’ 
But that was Loki’s winning card, something he knew that they didn’t. To wit,
that Thor might appear healthy and wholesome and normal, but even as a rosy,
angelic little boy, he had never given a fuck about nice. He could have had
nice in spades, if he had wanted it. No, Thor didn’t want nice. He wanted
Loki. 
Where did that leave him. How does that make you feel.
Where was Tony when you needed him. (“What can I say, I’m smitten… You’re the
complete package.”) Where was Sam. (“How is it even fair that someone so
beautiful is always so sad? What you need is a good man who will look after you
and make you laugh…”)
With a growing swell of anxiety making his heart pump faster, Loki looked with
insistence at his insolently handsome brother, as oblivious of this poor
mortal’s anguish as a fucking Olympian god, and begged in silence, with all his
being, for a little look, a little smile, a little anythingtelling himI see
you, I love you, all is well. 
And waited. And waited. And waited.
Oh, for the love of god, Odinson, throw me a fucking bone, I’m drowning here.
(“Wait for your brother, Thor!”  —“But muuu-uuum…! He’s slowing us down…!”)
“Pass,” said Loki, snapping out of himself. And he meant it on so many fucking
levels. 
He put down the cards he had not even really looked at since they were first
dealt, stretched his arms and his back, and pretended to stifle a yawn. He
might feel like he was sinking in some very cold, very black waters, but he did
not need to look it, did he? Dignity, always dignity.
Out of the tail of his eye, he saw that Fandral was smiling at him -as he had
done all night, whenever he caught Loki looking; a crooked, sexy half-a-smile
(I give it 8/10), laced with a lingering, unblinking stare. Loki looked away,
with a tiny flutter in his stomach. It would appear that he was fifteen again,
and the attention of a handsome boy threw him into shambles; maybe
because Fandral didn’t fuck about with the looks he was throwing him —that one
was at least first base, as far as eye-sex went-, but also because it was only
when Loki and Fandral made contact that Thor seemed to remember that Loki
existed at all.  
A sudden burst of laughter all around him. So Volstagg’s story had been a funny
one, then. Loki had been dipping in and out of it, and had obviously missed the
joke, but he doubted he would have got it anyway, since it revolved around a
teacher at the bloody drama school that to Loki, of course, meant absolutely
zip. He smiled vaguely, so as not to look like a complete imbecile, or a
standoffish jerk, or both. 
He had tried, he really had.
“Excuse me,” he muttered then, now that he had an opening, as he pushed the
chair back and got up to his feet. 
Toilet break.A splash of water to the face, a moment to gather his thoughts. He
could not just disappear into the music room or into Frigga’s studio (his
refuge throughout the day), could he? It would come across as if he was trying
to make a point. And he did not want to make a point. What he wanted was to get
through this awful evening with the minimal possible amount of shit-stirring
between his brother and him. So he had to go back to the reception room, didn’t
he? Bugger.
Well, he did go back, but he did not sit at the table again; one look at the
tightly knit circle of friends having fun around it, and his anxiety went
through the roof. He could not have managed to wedge himself between them again
if he tried. There could have been a fucking hedge of brambles and a moat with
spikes around the group, for how impenetrable the barrier of their closeness
and complicity appeared in Loki’s mind.
For an excruciating minute he was frozen, stuck there, trapped between the
thought that he had to stay, and the utter and complete incapability of joining
them. He felt so ridiculous, so stupid.
A pleasing crackle from the fireplace. The flames were lively and pretty, and
the rug in front of it, Loki knew well, was fluffy, warm, and soft. He knew it
well because he had been fucked on it three times already. (He had to mention
to Thor at some point that smearing ash on the stains of come did help making
them blend with the background. So Loki was right, and Thor had been wrong.)
He lied down on the rug, on his back, one arm thrown over his face. He answered
“yes, head a bit floaty. The cider, I guess,” when Volstagg asked “alright,
kid?”, and he let the rumble of the conversation soothe him into a light doze.
He guessed he was acting rather strangely, but he was sure that everybody at
that table had by now pinned him down as a total nutcase anyway. 
It was nice in front of the fire but he would end up with a headache. The
flames threw so much heat, half his body was burning, the other half was deeply
cold. Look at me, I’m a planet. Thor’s thrumming, husky laughter cut through
the white noise in Loki’s mind and forced him to open his eyes, briefly. Those
jeans Thor was wearing were like a hundred years old, and fitted him like a
second skin. He looked so criminally handsome in pale colours, cream and faded
blue and soft grey, it was intolerable. Then again, when he wore black it gave
Loki fucking palpitations. One would have guessed actually getting him would, I
don't know, ease the craving. Isn't that how it usually works? Well, apparently
not when it comes to his fucking otherworldly, godlike brother.
Oh, the rub burns on the small of his back, the first time they had fucked on
the very spot where Loki was lying now. They had got down to it basically on
the first warm, flat place they had found, they had been so horny (after that,
they had started carrying lube on them all the time, just in case the urge
struck.) The sounds of their fucking. Why did Loki have to have such a sensory-
attuned memory? He turned onto his side, giving the poker-people his back, to
try to get rid of the growing hard-on with some discretion. One arm stretched
on the rug, his head resting on his biceps… And a touch of cool air low on his
hips, in the sliver of skin that had become uncovered with the rising of his
jumper. Those dimples he had there, where the muscles of his arse met the small
of his back, must be on show now. Thor didn’t seem to get enough of them. He
liked to kiss them, nuzzle at them, lick them, trace them with the tip of his
fingers. They were not technically an erogenous zone, except that any part of
him that made Thor so wild became an instant new g-spot for Loki (he had dozens
of them by now.) Even though the cold was uncomfortable, Loki didn’t rush to
tug down the jumper to cover up, just in case Thor was looking.
Sigh. He had got accustomed dangerously soon to get to have his brother as and
when the need arose. And now he had this odious feeling, probably unfair and
blown out of proportion, but no less compelling because of it, that the
honeymoon was over, and it was married life from now on. Starting with Chapter
One, ‘I don’t like it when you ignore me in front of your friends’. See
Appendix B for Unusual Situations. (For Really Fucked Up Situations, i.e.
Incest, Pseudo-Incest, Gay Pseudo-Incest and Bestiality, see Volume Ten of this
same collection, ‘You Need Jesus’.)
Well, married life fucking sucked. Loki had not had a kiss, or a hug, or a
grope, or a fucking wink from his brother since Sif and Fandral had arrived
that morning, way ahead of schedule, interrupting the lovely underwater handjob
Thor was giving him, in the bath he had surprised him with. 
His big brother had returned from his morning run, had filled the tub and had
waited naked by the bathroom door, with the air heater on, until Loki had
finished his morning exercises in the eastern conservatory. There had been some
lazy kissing, minimal splashing (having to do the mopping yourself sort of
takes the fun out of it), extensive, sensual, indecent fondling, and when Loki
had been so hard that the angry pink head of his cock broke the surface of the
water, his brother’s hand had wrapped around him, his tongue in Loki’s neck and
ear. Oh, it had been so decadently hot.
The doorbell had startled his brother and stayed his hand, and Loki had had to
finish the job himself, while Thor dried and dressed in a hurry. And let me
tell you, Loki had been so shocked and furious, he had almost lost his erection
and his oomph, having nothing but his penchant for exhibitionism (and for
provoking Thor) to thank for being able to see this one through.
Only slightly more relaxed from quite an intense orgasm (slow, lengthy, sensual
build-ups and uneven, suspense-laden progressions tended to have that effect on
him), Loki had taken some time to blow-dry his hair. And not out of vanity this
time, —he could hardly turn up in front of Thor’s mates looking as if… Well, as
if they had just been having a bath together, could he?
Oh, fucking bugger this.
Loki sat up, head floaty for real this time, from the heat and the
horizontality. He had promised Thor he would be cutting down, but right now, he
was desperate for a fag and some fresh air (and yes, he was perfectly fucking
aware of the contradiction, thank you very much.) He got up, fished the pack
from the pocket of his knit jacket, hanging off the back of the chair, and
stepped out into the patio. As he did, he noticed that Fandral’s head turned to
follow him, but Thor’s attention stayed fixed on Sif, and whatever she was
saying, as if Loki was fucking invisible. The grimace on Loki's face, from
clenching his jaw in anger, must have shown. Just in case it hadn't, Loki
slammed the door behind him.
He waded through the damp, overgrown lawn, towards the arbor bench where he
always used to smoke, back in the day, after Sunday lunch with the family. He
had his back to the house, the moonlight glinting here and there on the open
meadow, eerie and quiet. The ground seemed to have its own glow. It felt pretty
much the same as the night that… The night he had laid his broken heart like a
trap for Thor to stomp on it. 
“We could be together now” he had told him, although he knew it was absurd.
Whatever had possessed him? Oh, knowing himself, all he had wanted was to push
Thor to hurt him and reject him one last time. Perhaps he had just wanted to
see things burn. 
Water under the bridge, and let’s not waste our time on idle thoughts that, old
and musty as they were, had not lost all their edge, and were still able to
cut. Because Thor’s sarcastic answer, (“Sure, it would spice up our interviews
no end”) retained every speck of its cruel relevance. There it was, in a
nutshell, the painful truth about Thor and Loki: that they were exactly where
they had begun, where they had always been, and that Loki could not see a way
out for them.
Oh well.
The door thumped open (it still stuck) and Loki whipped his head around, in
hope. But it was Fandral. Sigh. He watched him approach, walking with practised
swagger, a consummate flirt (with a very low failure rate, Loki wagered.)
“Loki, can you give me a light?” asked Fandral, his voice polished and rich,
his diction fastidiously neat, theatrical. He leaned over with a fag in his
lips, expecting Loki to hold the lighter up for him. Smooth. Loki did as
politeness required, while Fandral cupped his hands around the flame, touching
his fingertips on Loki’s hands as if to still them, and speared Loki with an
intent stare while the cigarette caught.
“Thank you,” he said, charming, dashing, the stupid moustache and goatee he
sported coming to full effect when he smiled. Loki had overheard that he was in
that musical parody of The Three Musketeers that was the toast of London,
playing Aramis. Most fitting. 
“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance at last, Loki,” he said, white teeth
flashing, cigarette smoke smoking. “Thor talks so much about you.”
Loki tipped his head. “Same.” 
“I saw you in The Rocky Horror, and I confess I’ve been desperately in love
ever since.”
Loki blinked quickly, taken aback. Hold your fucking horses there, mate.
“Frank is a very compelling character,” he said.
A wider, more playful smirk from Fandral, sensing deflection, and not daunted
in the least.
“That may be so, but Tim Curry never did have that effect on me.”
“I’m a very compelling performer,” said Loki, with a little smile some would
describe as modest, others as coquettish. (Loki would say it was simply shy,
but nobody ever took his word for anything.)
Fandral took a seat next to him on the arbour bench. Loki slid sideways just a
couple of inches, trying to put some air between them, without making it look
as if he thought that Fandral had something contagious.
“You know,” said Fandral, who apparently had learned to smoke from Marlene
Dietrich, “when Thor said you were back in the circuit, I was hoping so very
much that we would bump into each other at some point, either in a play, or at
a party, or…”
“I’m not much for parties, and straight after Rocky I went to New York, so…”
“Oh, yes, M.Butterfly. You left your brother flat on his back with that one,
you know? We asked him how it had been, and we’re still waiting for a coherent
answer; he was so affected…”
Loki said nothing to this. Because "oh really, and whose fucking fault was
that" would have sounded as a conversation teaser, and Loki was not in the
teasing business anymore.
“I was desperate to see it myself,” Fandral was saying, “but I was nose deep in
Downton Abbey most of that year, and in Sloane the rest of the time, so I was
never able to make it happen.”
“Oh, at the Lyric?”
“Yes.”
“I heard great things,” said Loki, a thin, polite smile.
“Thank you very much, thank you. But you should see what I’m doing now. All
singing, all dancing, old-fashioned swashbuckle. It’s hilarious, if I may say
so. You should come. ”
Loki nodded.
“We’ll try.”
If Fandral was a dog, his ear would have cocked up at that “we”.
“So what’s next up for you, Loki?”
“A holiday,” he said. “The shoot has exhausted me, and the press tour is going
to kill me, so I better take it easy for a while. I’ve got some radio lined up,
and this girl has been chasing me to do a photoshoot, but apart from that.”
“What photoshoot?”
“Art house stuff. Dancing poses.”
“Oh, right. Yes, Thor said you had been a ballet dancer.”
“Oh no, I just… took some lessons when I was a kid. Never got anywhere with
it.”
“Thor says you were incredible, that you could be in the Royal Ballet if you
had wanted to.”
Loki looked him up and down, assessing how serious he was. He got an open,
candid expression.
“Does Thor ever shut up about me,” he muttered at length.
Fandral laughed.
“I just happen to always be listening whenever your name pops up,” a dazzling,
jaw-splitting smile.
And a skittish, tight-lipped grin from Loki. He butted his fag and stood up.
“I better go inside. I’m freezing,” he said.
“It was lovely talking to you,” said Fandral, with an intent squint peering at
him through the smoke. Definitely Marlene Dietrich.
“And you,” Loki said.
 
The first thing he saw when he walked in was Thor’s fixed, wary stare, and that
little spiteful twist on his lip, ready to show teeth. 
Ok, that was it. Loki was fucking done.
“I think I’m going to bed now,” he announced, up until fucking herewith this
fucking evening. “Good night everyone.”
He got a nod from Hogun, a tight, fake smile from Sif, a broad and genuine one
from Volstagg, and a fulminating glare from Thor. If they had been alone, heavy
objects would be flying by now, because how did he bloody dare. But alone,
alas, they were not.
Loki walked down the hall and up the stairs without rushing, expecting at any
time to hear the stomping of those big cowboy boots behind him. He made it all
the way to the landing before they came. He waited up there as his brother
climbed the last few steps.
Loki took a deep breath. He was tired. He certainly did not feel like having a
big argument in hushed tones in the middle of the corridor. He so wanted to
find the words that would get him off the hook. But then again, he had never
been one to present the other cheek. Not the upper ones, anyway.
“What the fuck was all that rolling on the rug for?” said Thor, cutting to the
chase. He had obviously been brewing this up for some time, and it had now
exploded. “Isn’t Fandral’s nose high enough up your arse as it is? Are you
trying to rile me up or what?”
“What?” snapped Loki, livid, starting to see red. He took a deep breath, trying
to calm himself down. “No, I was nottrying to rile you up,” said Loki. If I
wanted to rile you up, I’d climb on his fucking lap and give him a dance. Don't
fucking push me or I might still do it, he thought. He thought it, but did not
say it, because he was trying to keep this civil, and more than anything,
brief. And he did not try to explain the complex thought process that had
landed him on the rug either, because he was too fucking pissed off to bother,
and because he did not really know how to break it down in chunks his oaf of a
brother could understand anyway. 
“So?” said Thor.
“You have been ignoring me all fucking day,” he said, opting for
countermeasures.
“And is that the only way to get my attention, rolling on the floor like a cat
in heat?” 
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” snapped Loki, barging past his brother, striding in the
opposite direction from Thor’s room. "Not everything is always about you!" he
shouted as he walked.
“Where the fuck are you going?”
Loki slammed the door of his old bedroom open, and slammed it shut behind his
back.
“Hey, we’re not finished,” came Thor’s muffled voice from behind the thick
wood.
“I am!” shouted Loki. “Fuck off!” And that, they had surely heard from
downstairs. Which is why Thor was quiet now, finally giving the ‘other people
in the house’ issue some serious thought. Well, he should have remembered
before he took on this fucking line of conversation.
They were at an impasse, thought Loki, arms crossed tightly in front of his
chest, huffing and puffing in silent rage. All his things were in Thor’s room.
How about that, they had not discussed the sleeping arrangements while Thor’s
friends were staying (talk about avoidance.) He wagered Thor was thinking the
exact same thing behind the door. 
Knock knock.
“Baby, let me in.”
Oh, so it’s baby again, isn’t it.
“Leave me alone,” hissed Loki.
A pause, and then the handle was twisting. Apparently, when Thor was upset,
basic manners went out the window. He came in and shut the door behind him.
Loki avoided facing him.
Thor sighed, a deep and noisy intake of breath, visibly trying to get himself
back to a civil state of mind, just as Loki was.
“Listen, you’re right, ok? I have been kind of distant, but I just-…” 
“Kind of distant?!” snapped Loki.
Thor raised his hands in surrender. 
“I know. He’s very handsome and I’m jealous, ok? I get all worked up and
irrational and… and I’m an arsehole, I know. I’m sorry. Can you forgive me?”
“You haven’t even looked at me all day,” sulked Loki, not ready to let go of
his grievances yet.
“I know,” said Thor, massaging his temples, eyes shut tight, obviously spread
very thin. “I’m… paranoid. I feel like it’s in my eyes whenever I look at you.
And that’s not how I want to break it to them. And I am telling them, I am.” He
looked at him then, pleading. “I swear, baby. I’m waiting for the right time. I
just can’t find it. It’s not something that crops up in a normal conversation,
is it?”
Loki could not help a pout.
“You’ve only been asked a hundred times if you’re with someone,” he protested.
“And I’ve said yes, haven’t I? It’s just a bit hard to…” Thor rubbed his brow
exhaustedly. 
“I told you, Thor, you don’t have to tell them anything,” said Loki then,
taking pity on him, god fucking knows why.
“I want to,” claimed Thor. “This is kind of big, and they’re my best friends in
the world… It feels wrong that they don’t know. I don’t want to lie to them. We
have to lie too much already.” He gave Loki a weary smile.
And Loki could not stand it, he could not. He wanted to stay mad at him, he had
every single fucking reason in the world. He really needed to work on hardening
up against those puppy eyes…
“You have nothing to fear from Fandral,” he muttered. Not that Thor deserved
his reassurance. "Absolutely nothing. I'm taken, ok? Not interested, not
tempted. Not even remotely. Alright?" He decided to push for reconciliation,
even if it felt forced. He turned the naughty on. “As long as you’re good to
me," he purred. And he grinned, aiming for wicked. The result might have been a
bit weak and lacklustre, but he hoped it would do.
Thor sighed, and went with it, relieved. Although his eyes remained weary, he
tried a crooked half-smile (so fucking sexy.)
“I can be very good to you,” he said, low and playful, “but when I’m bad, I’m
better.” He winked.
“Oh no, don’t even go there, Mae. Come on, get out. Tend to your guests,” said
Loki. They were back to alright, weren't they? 
“Are you staying in this room?” asked Thor.
Loki shrugged. 
“What are the options?”
Thor couldn’t come up with any on such short notice. The family wing was full,
and the guests wing was freezing.
“Leave me be now. Shoo,” said Loki, waiving him away, without heat.
Thor closed the distance between them in two long strides. Oh no, no no no no…
Whatever plans Loki had of spending a nice evening getting reacquainted with
his old childhood books, while quietly raging at his brother, went out the
window when Thor hooked one big, strong hand around his neck and pulled Loki
forcefully towards him for a fierce, greedy, messy kiss that said you're
mine. It turned Loki's knees into jelly, and his resentment into warm mush. He
managed not to whimper, but only just about.
“You’re a pain in the butt, you know,” he whispered against Thor’s mouth.
“I love you too, baby,” smirked Thor, indecently handsome, unbearably smug.
 
 
                                       *
 
 
There was still light under Loki’s door when they called it a night. Hogun had
got the lion’s share of the winnings (about thirteen pounds, since they played
for pennies) and Thor had lost all of his petty cash. Thor hugged Fandral and
Sif goodnight in the corridor (Sif lingered), was effusively crushed and back-
patted by Volstagg, and got a rigid but heartfelt one-armed hug from Hogun. He
went into his room, gave it fifteen minutes, and padded quietly over to Loki’s
door. He did not knock.
Under the narrow puddle of light the small bedside lamp casted, his brother was
reading an Asterix comic book. Loki’s feet were crossed at the ankle, poking
out under three thick blankets piled on top of him. He was wearing non-slip
rainbow-stripe socks way too small for him, and oh my god, were those his
Jungle Book pyjamas? Thor burst out laughing. A pillow flew in his direction,
and did not miss.
“Oh baby, you’re killing me,” he said, between giggles, coming to a kneel next
to his brother. “You know you could have gone to get your stuff at any time,
didn’t you?” 
Loki shrugged. “It’s cold. Couldn’t be bothered.”
Yeah, right, Thor thought, you just knew what it would do to me, didn't you?
Aw, baby. Thor gazed at him, moony-eyed. 
“What is it. Stop it,” Loki grumbled.
“You’re adorable.”
“I’m not adorable. Puppies are adorable. Don’t fucking sit on the bed, you’ll
break it!” snapped Loki then, kicking at him.
Thor sat down anyway. There was a loud creak.
“Get off! Where am I supposed to sleep if you break it, genius?” Loki kept
kicking.
“Baby, come to bed,” said Thor.
“You’re drunk, aren’t you?”
“I’ve had four beers in over four hours, I’m not drunk.”
“Well, you sound drunk. Now, get off.”
“Come to bed.”
“What are you going to fucking tell them?”
Thor shrugged. 
“I don’t know. I don’t care. Just… come to bed. Please?”
Loki glowered at him.
“Do you expect me to sneak out in the morning?”
Thor sighed, deflated, his good humour faltering. 
“You haven’t thought this through, have you?” said Loki.
“No, I haven’t,” said Thor. He shook it off. “It doesn’t matter, ok? Just come
to bed and we’ll… we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”
“You’re randy out of your mind, that’s what it is,” purred Loki.
Thor scratched his nape, possibly flustering.
“You are," said Loki. His smirk became wider and naughtier. “You’ve been
thinking about it all night, haven’t you? It turns you on, fucking me in
silence, with your mates just next-door.” His voice had dropped an octave. He
looked pretty incongruous with his sex-voice and his sex-eyes on, Mowgli and
Baloo on his jumper, and those silly rainbow socks. Thor’s heartbeat was
picking up. “You’d risk anything to get inside me right now, wouldn’t you? Like
when we were kids, with mum and dad downstairs or in their room, knocking on my
door three seconds after their light went off.” He shook his head, feigning
disappointment. Tut-tut.
Thor slithered one hand under the blankets, and pushed them to the side. Loki
did not stop him. Thor ran his eyes up and down his brother’s lanky frame, the
pyjama top riding half-way up his stomach, taut over Loki’s lean muscles. If it
wasn't so fucking hot it would be ridiculous. Perhaps it was both. He gave the
headboard a shake, gauging the strength of the frame. 
Loki put his comic book to one side, sat up on the bed and put his feet on the
floor, knees trapping Thor, their faces two inches apart.
“How are you going to keep me quiet,” whispered Loki. “You know how I am when
you get me going…”
Thor shivered, his cock gave a tug. Before he found his voice, Loki cut him
off.
“You can’t shut me up with your hand. How are you going to explain the bite
marks?” His eyes darted to Thor’s mouth, as his tongue ran a slow course over
his top lip. “You could always use your cock. But that’s not what you want
tonight, is it? No, tonight you want to fuck me.” 
Jesus, the way he made that sound. Thor was panting already. 
“How about one of my scarves,” Loki carried on. “Stuff it all in my mouth. But
I’m not going to just lie there and let you do whatever you want to me like a
good boy, am I? No, I’m going to fucking fight you. You’ll have to restrain me
somehow, tie me up…”
Thor gasped, a spike of lust pressing the air out of his lungs, his brother’s
eyes unyielding on his.
“You could just take my top off,” said Loki, inching forward to the edge of the
mattress, closer to Thor, “leave it around my arms… these sleeves are tight.
Give it a twist. There’s no way I can get out of it. But you know I’ll kick and
thrash, you’ll have to get between my legs, squash me with your weight. I won’t
stop fighting for one fucking second, I’ll be trying to get free and take that
scarf out of my mouth, so that I can scream your name as you fuck me, for all
the fucking world to hear.” He licked his lips again, with slow deliberation. 
Thor’s cock was straining in his jeans, one hand on either side of Loki’s body,
but not touching yet. Delayed gratification, they call it. God, his voice… 
“You’ll have to rip my pants," continued Loki. "Can you do that single-handed?
With your other hand you’ll be reaching for the lube. Maybe my binds are
starting to give by now, you’ll need to hold my wrists and slick yourself at
the same time, while I wriggle and twist and writhe under you. You’ll have to
be quick about it, because you know the best way to subdue me is to have me
impaled on your big, hard cock.” He let the word fill his mouth, the way he
knew it would go straight to Thor’s groin. “There’s no fucking escaping that,
is there? And you know I’ll never want to. That will take my breath away.” For
the next part he took it up one notch, adding some heavy breathing and some
dramatics. “You’ll be so heavy on me, I'll be barely able to breathe, let alone
speak, and when you start fucking me I’ll have no voice to…”
Ok that’s it, Thor could fucking hold back no more. He crushed their mouths
together, one hand around Loki's neck to make sure he wasn't going anywhere,
unbuttoning his own jeans single-handedly and fumbling inside to get his cock
out. He dragged Loki onto his lap, mouths still avidly chasing each other, a
grimace when teeth clacked, Loki’s nails digging in his scalp, gasping and
panting. Without breaking the kiss, Loki laid on his back on the rug, eyes
fiery, glinting with fever. 
Thor pulled down Loki’s too-short cotton pants in three forceful tugs and got
immediately trapped in a vice grip between his thighs, Loki’s cock plump and
heavy and rising. While Thor got rid of his jacket, which was getting in the
way, Loki fished for lube in Thor’s back pocket. Thor snatched the packet from
him, tore it open, got it all over the fucking place. Loki laughed, a low, hot,
groaning sound Thor wanted to drown in. He propped himself on his arms and
watched with a suffering, impatient frown as Loki coated himself with lube, his
fingers sliding in and out easily, and gasped when Loki’s cold fingers wrapped
around his cock, stroking, to slick it.
“Do I have to gag you?” muttered Thor, lining himself up, raising one of Loki’s
ankles over his shoulder, dragging him half onto his lap.
“Probably,” muttered Loki, eyes low down on Thor’s cock.
Thor thrusted in, bottoming out in one strong shove, and Loki’s neck and back
arched dramatically with a quick, very nearly silent gasp.
“Are you going to be quiet?” groaned Thor, voice faltering with Loki’s body
tightening suddenly around him.
Loki smiled, teasing, feline. Thor was going to wipe that self-control out of
his face or fucking die trying. He withdrew almost all out, but for the head,
and fucked in deep and hard again. Loki tensed underneath him, his eyes grew
heavy, his jaw slack, his fingernails digging into the flesh of Thor’s
shoulders. But he was quiet. Perhaps he was feeling shy himself, who would have
guessed…
“I’ll make you a deal,” said Thor, his voice thinning with the strain, “if you
keep really, really quiet, I’ll fuck you so good and so sweet, you’ll never see
a rainbow again without getting a hard-on, for the rest of your life.”
Loki smirked some more, eyes glazed, impaled on his cock, wiggling his toes in
those silly stripy socks he still had on.
“But if you make one sound,” groaned Thor, “I’m getting out of here and leaving
you high and dry.” He shifted inside him, pressing and prodding and taunting. 
“I’ll make you another deal,” Loki whispered, “you get on with it right the
fuck now, or I’m going to start talking…”
Thor smirked and got on with it, alright, eyes fixed on his brother’s face,
searching his expressions as he snaked his hips, aiming for the spot that made
Loki bite his lip and his brow scrunch up. A tiny moan fell from his mouth.
“Shh…” hushed Thor, trying to repeat again and again the exact movement that
had forced that sound out of his brother.
Loki’s hands were clawing on the back of Thor’s thighs. Thor was quivering with
unreleased tension, the urge to fuck wildly so demanding, the agony of holding
back exquisite. He got Loki to hook both legs on his forearms, and held him
there, open and elevated, while speeding up a little. He had more range of
movements like this, he could pull back further, and thrust in deeper. All that
friction. Loki’s breathing was laboured, irregular with the need to control his
voice. 
“Not one sound,” whispered Thor, as he started to fuck ever so slightly faster,
watching with glee as Loki’s expression turned pained.
“Bastard” whispered Loki in turn, clenching his jaw. 
Thor was pistoning in and out quickly and relentlessly, wondering if he could
keep up that same exhausting pace until Loki came. He had his motivation right
there, though, watching Loki fall to pieces underneath him, mouth hanging open
now, licking his lips to wet them, starting to shudder underneath him, that
frown of pleasure and agony both. It seemed that he was playing the quiet game
more as a bet with himself than for fear of anything Thor could threaten him
with. Thor wanted in on this game again. He angled himself more carefully and
kept thrusting steadily, not too fast, not too slow, just that little bit
harder.
“Oh fffff…” Loki managed to hold the moan in.
Thor rested Loki’s ankle on his shoulder again, spat on his palm and started to
stroke his cock. Loki bit his lip, whining muffledly, brow knitted up, his hand
on Thor’s hand, the other flying madly here to there, grabbing at this, clawing
at that, as if trying to find a distraction, or something to take to his mouth
to bite. In the end he just hooked it around Thor's neck, digging his nails in
hard enough to leave a mark that would surely be visible in the morning. God,
fuck, I don't care, fuckingmarkme, brother,Thor was thinking, biting hard
himself, because it fucking hurt.
Loki had to know that there was no way Thor was going to stop now, deal or no
deal, but still Loki tried to keep quiet, to keep control even as Thor was
tearing him to pieces. Thor just tried to focus on maintaining that same
rhythm, constant and ruthless, and for the love of all that is holy, Odinson,
don’t fucking come just yet.
A broken whine from Loki, high-pitched, pleading. Thor twisted his fist around
his brother’s cock, jacked faster, and Loki moaned desperately, the sound
spearing right through Thor’s crotch, and came undone, spending on his stomach,
still swayed up and down by Thor’s thrusts like a doll, and seemingly exhausted
from the effort of keeping silent. 
The drowsy look and the satisfied grin that started spreading on his face was a
killer. Thor let himself go, his thrusts fast becoming irregular and frenzied.
“Come on, brother,” whispered Loki, low and hot. “I’m yours… take all you need…
take it all…” His eyes were a green fire burning him.
“Ah, fuck, fuuuuck…” groaned Thor, his orgasm ripping through him. He pushed in
deep, arse tense, jolting with every spurt of come.
He released Loki’s ankle, which had been still on his shoulder, and collapsed,
boneless, on his brother's chest. 
“Jesus fuck, baby,” he said, panting. “I love you so much.” 
Loki’s fingers raked gently up and down his back, and rested on his arse. Thor
wanted to stay like that forever. He could feel himself starting to melt away
into the blessed afterglow. Just then, Loki gave his butt a vicious pinch. 
“Ow!” he whined. So much for melting.
“You’re heavy," said Loki. "Floor’s hard. I’m cold. Shift.” 
 
 
They scampered to Thor’s room trying not to giggle, Loki stark bollock naked
under Thor’s knit jacket (he had left behind in his room the few garments he
had still been wearing, including the rainbow socks. Shame.) Loki snuck up into
bed as fast as he could, and waited eagerly for Thor to finish slipping out of
his clothes and snuggle up behind him. Loki was shivering, Thor was still
sweating and overheated from his efforts. Spooning, Thor rubbed his hands on
Loki’s thighs and arms, his skin so cold, and hooked their feet together. After
a while, Loki started to warm up and become still in Thor’s arms.
Thor thought they were going to sleep, but after some time, just when Thor had
begun to think he had gone under, Loki asked, in a shy mutter,
“Thor, what’s the story with Sif?”
“The deal with Sif?” he repeated, like an idiot. What was Loki after? He wished
he had more cunning… Don't try to play smart, Odinson. Just answer the fucking
question. “We slept together once, a long time ago.”
“You did not date?”
“No.” Thor gave that some thought. “It was just… You know, sharing a flat,
things happen.”
“Oh, does that mean you’ve fucked Fandral as well?” said Loki. The tone was
playful. He was joking. 
Well, I’ve got some news, brother…
“Oh my god,” gasped Loki, turning to look at him, when Thor said nothing for a
bit too long, “you have?”
Thor shrugged. Was there going to be an argument now? Loki was gawking, wide-
eyed, his expression amused. Perhaps not an argument then.
“Is there anybody in this house you haven’t fucked, brother?”
Thor laughed, colour on his face.
“Hm, Volstagg’s wife terrifies me, and I think Hogun is ace, but apart from
that…”
“You slut,” sniggered Loki, now on his side, facing him, peering at him with an
impish expression. Those crinkles on the tail of his eyes would be staying one
day. Thor couldn’t wait. "So, how many more men have there been in your life,
Odinson?"
Thor harrumphed.
"Half a dozen, give or take. One-night-stands. Fandral is the only one I've,
um, been with more than once. Apart from you."
"I see." 
“You’re not angry then?”
“That you’ve fucked him?” said Loki.
“And that I... didn’t tell you.”
“I'm not angry that you've fucked him. You have some nerve getting jealous
though. I do want to know why you never told me.”
“…I didn’t really think about it. It was a long time ago, and it really was… It
meant nothing.”
“Hm. Harsh. What would he say about that?”
“Nothing, I think. He was a great comfort when mum died. I mean, they all were,
I don’t know what I would have done without them keeping me busy and company.
But I found that sex… well, it got me out of my mind. I did not feel like going
out looking for it, but Fandral was there and…”
“So was Sif.”
“Yes but… I knew Sif had feelings. It didn’t feel right to, you know.”
“Feed her hopes.”
“…Yeah.” It was weird to speak of this out loud, it sounded so blunt. “But with
Fandral there was nothing… uh, romantic, so, no harm done. I didn’t want a
relationship. I was in love with someone else.” He gave him a small, meaningful
smile. 
Loki laid on his back, bedcovers up to his shoulders, his pale face gleaming
with a light of its own in the dim clarity of the moonlight. Thor threw an arm
and a leg over him and cuddled up. Kisses on his shoulder.
“Why Jane and not Sif?" muttered Loki, his eyes low, his eyelashes long. "Had
you stopped being in love with that someone else then?” 
Thor gulped. Fuck.
“Never," he said, with all his conviction.
A brief silence. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“But you did love Jane.”
Another gulp. Fuck, fuck, fuck. The truth, Odinson.
“I did," he said. Quick, deep breath.
Loki was quiet. Thor felt like it was up to him to fill the silence.
"Sif and Jane… I met them at different times in my life. At the time I slept
with Sif, you had left the club months ago, and I didn’t know where you were,
but the last time we had seen each other you had told me…”
Loki wriggled in his arms, looking away. Distressful memories. Thor hugged
tight, and continued.
“You told me things that were true and that made me think a lot, things I
should have faced a long time ago. And you were right, I was no good for you
back then. I really did not know what to do about you and me. I would have
fucked everything up again.”
He gave Loki a moment, in case he wanted to say anything, but he didn’t.
“The things you said, and the things that had happened to you…” resumed Thor,
“it all came crashing down on me. I felt unhinged. I lost my way. If I wasn't
your big brother and your, um, your protector, if I wasn't chasing you, I did
not know what was the point of me, does that make sense? I did not know what to
do next. When I met Sif and the rest, things improved, but I was still a wreck.
I needed to piece myself and my life back together again. I couldn’t be
anybody’s boyfriend. But when I met Jane for the second time-…”
“The second time?” cut Loki.
“Yes. The first time we met was ages ago, while you were still on your quest
for Laufey.”
“I didn’t know that.”
(Er, fuck?)
“We did not sleep together or anything, we just talked… I didn’t think I would
ever see her again. All I had on my mind back then was that I had to find you.
I really wasn’t in the right place to start anything and," (gulp) "although I
liked her very much, or perhaps because of it… She is just not the kind of girl
you…”
“…You fuck and forget,” finished Loki, since Thor was struggling.
“…Yeah.” Again, so fucking blunt. Moving on. “Anyway, the second time, I knew
you were safe and well in London, and that you didn’t want to see me. You were
doing what was best for you, and I thought I… I guess I thought it was time to
grow up. To do what I should. You know, when grown-ups find a good person
they're good with, they try and settle, don’t they?”
“So I’ve heard.”
“But it would have never worked with Jane. I thought if I tried hard enough… I
never tried hard enough, of course. She was great, but she was not who I really
wanted.”
Loki had his eyes lost in space, deep in thought.
“I think I tried to do with Sam what you were trying to do with Jane," he said
after some time. "I knew from the press and stuff that you were with her when I
met him, and I was doing better, and he was decent, and kind, and centred. He
could really handle my stuff very well, the hospital, the therapy, the suicide
attempts, the whoring. He wasn’t afraid of it. I told myself I needed to stop
living in fairyland and hoping for miracles and just… get a real life, I guess.
I really couldn’t do better than him. But when I came to see you in that hotel
room after The Rocky Horror, I just… I realised I would never kill this, ever.
So I wasn’t being fair to Sam. He was wasting his time with me. I think he knew
from the start, but he’s stubborn, what can I say. He’ll always try. He’s a bit
like you like that. And the sex was great too. He’s so fit and athletic…” He
smirked wickedly, just to elicit a glower from Thor. And he got it, which
pleased him. “Anyway. I was aware that I was probably doing a very stupid thing
and passing out on a once-in-a-lifetime gift from heaven, but I broke up with
him the very next time I saw him.”
Thor gave himself a moment to take that in. He had never asked any questions
about Sam, but he had racked his brains for years wondering. He would be lying
if he said this was not exactly what he had been hoping to hear. Except for how
great the sex was, maybe.
“When I saw you with Tony in that place in Manhattan,” he said then, sharing a
confession of his own, “so… domestic, bantering and flirting and synchronised
and having fun with each other… I thought I had lost you for good." After a
breath, a dreamy smirk when he added, "Until you started to sing, that is.”
“Tony made me feel I was alright,” said Loki. “He never made me feel like I had
to… I don’t know, put some work here or tone it down a bit there. He liked me
outrageous and dramatic and moody. I wasn’t a work in progress for him. And he
loved me.”
“…Do I make you feel like you’re a work in progress? Like you have to change
for me or something?”
Loki’s silence spoke volumes. It put a bad taste in Thor’s mouth.
“I guess I want you to… to get well,” he mumbled. This felt awful... “I don’t
want you to suffer, or be scared, or want to-… to hurt yourself. Do you know
what I mean? I know your moods and they don’t put me off. God knows, with my
temper, I’m not a ride in the park myself. And I don’t mind you being… how did
you put it? Outrageous and dramatic? I love that about you, baby, you’re so
intense and electric, and more alive than anybody else, and I feel more alive
being with you. I don’t want you to change, I just… I wish you felt alright in
your own skin.”
“I know, brother,” said Loki, with a brief squeeze. “I am a work in progress.
Only with Tony it didn’t matter so much because… well, I never hoped I’d spend
the rest of my life with him, that's all.”
Thor blanked out with the implications in that statement. Oh, Loki, baby... He
squeezed tight speechless.
“I want to get better for you,” muttered Loki then. "But with these things, you
don't stay cured forever. And there are lots of things about me that can't be
fixed. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes, baby.” Thor hugged him close to his chest again, kissed his face. “Hey, I
can be a real jerk, and that has no cure either, does it?”
“I'm putting my faith in modern medicine.”
Thor smiled, hugged him tight, his eyes shut. How fucking good it felt to have
him in his arms like that.
“That morning after The Rocky Horror,"he mused, "I wanted to hug you so badly,”
he mumbled. “And it felt like there was a wall between us, or an abyss, I don’t
know. And you looked so nervous, so anxious. I was desperate to reach out and…
It was just wrong, you know?, that I didn’t even know if you would let me hug
you, that I couldn't fucking reach out for you and touch you. And this is
right. This, now. This has always felt right, you, me. I don't care what anyone
says.”
Loki returned the sentiment with a little squeeze, holding his breath in a
vibrating, dense silence which Thor knew was full of the things Loki always
struggled to express out loud.
"And I am going to tell my friends, I am," Thor said. "I want them to know that
I’m finally in a relationship with the love of my life, and that I'm the
happiest I’ve ever been. That’s the kind of thing you share with your friends,
isn’t it? I don’t even know what I’m so scared of. If they can’t accept this,
us, they’re not the people I thought they were, and I don’t want them in our
lives.”
Loki kissed his brow, nudged against him.
“It's up to you, brother. I don’t want to push you because… Well, I know how it
feels. I know it’s petrifying. I’ve been there.”
“Have you?”
“Yes, you big oaf. I have friends too, you know? With Sigyn.”
“Right. Of course. And that wasn’t a disaster, was it?” said Thor, hopeful.
“No," said Loki, softly, "that was the biggest relief I have ever felt in my
whole life.”
They laid there in silence for a long time, both awake, both deep in thought. 
“I’m all crusty,” grumbled Loki then.
Thor laughed.
 
 
 
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     Soooo lots of reminiscing in this one. Where you paying attention? I
     feel like I should test you all.
     Ok. Clarifications, then.
     1. "The fateful night" when Loki first saw Sif, was at the
     performance of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof she was starring in with Thor.
     Later that night, Loki tried to die from exposure. By that time he
     had been living in the streets for over a year, self-medicating and
     not taking very good care of himself overall. Chapter 6, was it?
     2. "That night in Manhattan" when Loki remembers Jane throwing him
     the evil eye is the one in chapter (hm, wait a second) 10. It will
     get mentioned again later, by Thor, when they're both cosy and warm
     in bed, having their midnight confessions.
     3. Remembering Tony? Chapter 11. Remembering Sam? Chapter 9.
     4. "Dignity, always dignity." That's from 'Singing in the rain'.
     5. When Loki goes out for a fag, he's thinking of the night in
     chapter 2.
     6. Tim Curry played Frank'n' Furter in 'The Rocky Horror Picture
     Show' and his performance is anthological. Loki was hotter, though.
     Marlene Dietrich is a Movie Star with capital letters, and she really
     knew her way around cigarettes.
     7. If you don't know what happened when Thor went to see M.Butterfly,
     I'll be very, very disappointed. Chapter 12, to the corner with you,
     and don't come back until you've read it!
     8. The "Sloane" Fandral mentions is the play "Entertaining Mr.
     Sloane" by Joe Orton, in which I've decided to cast him. He was great
     in it. It was at the Lyric theatre, which exists, so Wikipedia says.
     'Downton Abbey' you've heard of, haven't you?
     8. The musical parody of The Three Musketeers might exist for all I
     know, but I've made it up. Aramis is just such a great fit for
     Fandral, isn't it? I imagine it as a blend between the Musketeers
     with Gene Kelly and some old-fashioned Gilbert and Sullyvan kind of
     thing. I'd go to see that!
     9. You're not supposed to have heard of that photoshoot Loki
     mentions, or the radio.
     10. "When I'm good, I'm very good. But when I'm bad... I'm better."
     That's Mae West, I think it's from 'I'm no angel' but I'm not sure.
     She was a comedian in Hollywood and theatres in the 30s, before the
     Hays Code came into effect (she probably was one of the reasons they
     got a 'decency code' in movies in the first place.) She was
     outrageous, so openly sexual, she ate her handsome co-stars for
     breakfast (including Cary Grant, go get him, girl!) and her comebacks
     were gold. She wrote most of her own stuff. Goddess.
     11. Yes, Loki reads Asterix because the Odinsons are practically
     continental. (Asterix is a comic book for children by French writer
     Goscinny and illustrator Uderzo. I love them. They're not so well-
     known in the UK as far as I know, but are very famous in Catalonia,
     my country, and a national treasure in France.)
     12. Snuggled up in bed, they're talking about chapter 4 and 6 a lot.
     13. Loki "came out" (incest-wise) to Sigyn in chapter 11, if you need
     to refresh your recollection of how that went
     Don't let it be heard that I don't work my readers as hard as I work
     myself.
***** Chapter 24 *****
Chapter Summary
     New Year's Eve.
Chapter Notes
     So this is how it often goes: Bookie is stuck. Bookie knows what
     should come next, but why? Where's the soul of it, what's the point
     of it in the story? Bookie doesn't know how. Bookie is blocked.
     Bookie runs to Dissie, tugs at her sleeve. Dissie, help. What is it,
     Bookie. I have this problem, Dissie. Dissie listens, she thinks. She
     always takes her time. She lets the characters in, and her mind to
     flow. She sees, she talks. She's got it.
     Now Bookie's got it too. The scene is unblocked. It has a heart and a
     point now. We can carry on. Soon, we'll have a chapter.
     This was the tale of every time thebookhunter asks
     Discontentmadeglorious to get her out of writer's block. She found
     the heart of the "dance-in-the-conservatory scene through Thor's
     eyes" AND "Loki reacts to the thing with Fandral" this time, but
     she's found so many others, so often. I'm sure lots of the stuff you
     love about this story is down to her.
     Yes, I cheat, ok? I have a guardian angel. No, you can't borrow her.
     Get your own. Boo hoo, suck it bitches!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
December 31st
 
Jogging with Sif, following the low dry-wall that encircled the western meadow,
mud squelching under their feet. The ground started to slope up the hill. Heavy
breathing burning in his throat, chest tight with it. 
Sif’s steps became heavier. Colour on her face, breathing hard but under
control, expression perfectly composed, and beautiful. They used to run
together in Battersea Park and heads would turn to watch them both go by. It
seemed her natural state, physical strain. She always looked her best when she
was exercised. Or well fucked. Nuts, the memories. Please, not now…
“Wake up!” she said, giving him a shove.
He laughed, he choked and coughed.
“You old man,” she said, panting slightly. Another shove. “Tag! You’re it!” She
sprinted down the hill, towards the bridge. 
Thor chuckled and raced after her. She was fast, and lighter than him, the mud
had less purchase on her soles. He would not catch her. Still, he tried. 
They stopped past the bridge, panting, puffing clouds of steam as they paced to
cool down. 
“This is so beautiful,” said Sif, looking around her. 
The house had disappeared behind the hill, at their backs; the woods started
ten steps beyond the bridge. The stream still ran, trickling and murmuring
under a layer of ice, broken here and there, wherever a rock or a small
waterfall, a few inches high, disturbed the quiet course. 
Thor felt that stir of ownership inside, and pride —absurd of course, because
how was any of that the work of his hands?-. He had always felt it. On Asgard
grounds, even as a little boy, he would feel the earth under his feet, and
touch the trees, the rocks, the water, listen to the noises of everything
living, and he would feel the mutual tug of belonging, this place to him, and
him to this place, bonded.
“It must have been so cool to be a kid here,” she said, her eyes drawn to the
woods. 
“We use to spend so much time exploring, Loki and I. There’s two little
streams, a couple of shallow caves, lots of old rotting trees, thickets of fern
that used to come up to our necks… the clearings are gorgeous, the beds of dry
leaves one foot deep in parts, they suck you in, and when you lie there…” He
heard himself, he pretended he had stopped for air, “and that one time a deer
came out and got really close… If you’re still, you see badgers, foxes and
hedgehogs, and near the water, there’s birds the size of bloody dinosaurs.” He
laughed. “Loki always told me off because I couldn’t be still. He’s a fidget
himself, but when he wants, he’s still as a lizard. He would leave me behind
when he wanted to go bird-spotting, and then come back with photos of some
birds I’ve never seen, if not on his guidebooks or on the TV. It’s like he has
this affinity with wild animals, they come to him. It’s awesome. He’s awesome.”
He realised he had gotten carried away. He felt himself blushing. He took her
lead, and started stretching his shoulders.
She had a vague, kind smile, assessing him. 
“You sound as happy as a kid who just got his little brother back,” she said.
“It’s great to see you like this.”
Thor smiled. 
“It’s good to have him back,” he said. 
“What were you and Loki fighting about yesterday?” she asked, out of the blue.
That caught him off-guard. He drunk some water, to buy himself a couple of
seconds. What did Loki always say? Lie with the truth.
“Oh, you know. He was feeling left out, and…” 
“Left out?”
“Yes. He said that I was ignoring him.”
“Ignoring him?”
Why did she keep repeating his words?
“Yeah. Which I get, I mean, he doesn’t really know you, and we did sort of talk
a lot about school and all that… Well, I wasn’t very sensitive, I suppose, so
he told me to go fuck myself.” He shrugged. “Brothers’ stuff. Nothing new. We
talked and we sorted it out. We’re good.”
Sif looked pensive. She was stretching her other shoulder now.
“We haven’t seen each other in a long time,” she said, “and he has been seeing
you every day for the last couple of months… I’m sure he has a point, but
giving you a hard time over it… He could be more understanding.”
“He understands," countered Thor. "He wasn’t really moaning about me spending
time with you, he just… He needs attention. And well, you know, we’re brothers,
we have quick tempers. We can get on each other’s tits very easily. It’s fine.”
He laughed. “It’s just the way we are. We’ve learned to de-escalate it before
crockery starts flying, that’s progress,” he joked.
Sif was smiling too, but it was politeness. She did not look amused. 
“Well, anyway, you look good,” she said. “Like a weight has been lifted.”
“I had missed him a lot. He means the world to me.”
“I know,” she said. “Has he, um, changed at all?”
“Changed?”
“Well, from the way you used to talk about him, he was a rather, er, difficult
person,” she said. “And your relationship sounded quite complicated.”
Thor realised that a very, very unfriendly squint was forming on his face. He
wiped it off as best he could.
“Well," he said, forcing a smile, "I’d say we’re both older and wiser.”
“Hm."
Hm, that was annoying, thought Thor.
“What? You don't agree?” he asked.
“Well, he’s a twenty-five-year-old man who gets the hump because his big
brother is having one night with his mates…”
“We were ignoring him,” snapped Thor.
“He wasn’t being very sociable himself.”
“He isn’t very sociable. But it’s hard to be anyway, when you don’t know what
people are talking about.” 
Her tone became softer then, appeasing. She had obviously sensed Thor’s growing
irritation. 
“Yes, of course. You’re very protective of him, aren’t you?” she observed. 
“He’s never had it easy,” he said. “We were all he had, mum and me, for a long
time.” 
“Hm. And he’s used to you doting on him, isn’t he,” she asked.
Thor turned that over in his mind, quietly. Sif was trying to say something
here, wasn't she. It was not like her to go beating around the bush. 
“I’m not sure about that,” he answered. “Growing up, we were either very, very
close, or not at all. I don’t know what he’s used to, to be honest. I do know
he needs me.”
She accepted that silently, and let it drop, although Thor could tell she had
not said her last word on the subject. Not that he was sure what the specific
subject was. 
To get back to the house, they walked. For a while they were silent.
They had talked about this before, about Loki and him, after her mum’s funeral,
on those nights when they would all come together around him, get a bit drunk,
and talk for hours. He had been drowning in sorrow, yearning and grief. He had
opened up more than he ever had before, to anyone. About Loki, he had lied
mostly by omission. Except for the fucking, he had told them pretty much
everything there was to know.
Loki was a spiky issue for Thor, and he was a bit too eager to jump to anyone's
throat if they attacked him, so perhaps she was just trying to keep it smooth
and save herself a headache. He could hardly blame her, but he did wish she
would just say what was on her mind already. He guessed she was just being
delicate, but since when had Sif been one to sacrifice directness for tact.
The air was crisp, cooling down sharply whenever the breeze picked up, making
them burrow in the high collar of their fleecy jackets. 
“So,” said Sif after some time, “who is this mystery new girlfriend we don’t
even have a name for yet?”
Thor frowned in puzzlement. What on earth was she on about?
“The mystery person you’re dating, Thor,” said Sif. “Who is she?”
“Oh!” he said. And grinned, teasingly. “What makes you think it’s a woman?”
Sif arched both her eyebrows in surprise.
“Oh, wow!” she said. “Really?”
Thor nodded, smiling.
“I see…” she said.
“See what.”
“Why you’re being so discreet about it.”
“Oh, that.” Thor hadn’t even thought about the gay angle. Maybe when Loki and
Tony call you a brainless oaf, Odinson, they have a bit of a point.
“So, what does Coulson say?” she asked.
Again, Thor was perplex.
“Coulson? He doesn’t know. Why should he?”
She huffed in exasperation. 
“You’re hopeless. You’ve been doing this for how long? Do you really need
explaining that, if you’re going to be dating a bloke, your publicists and your
agents will have to be told? To give them some time to adjust and prepare, and
know how to react if…? Well, you know.”
Thor was frowning deeply, still unsure how this had become this type of
conversation.
“Unless it’s not serious,” said Sif, misreading his expression.
“Oh, it’s serious,” said Thor quickly.
“Meeting the parents kind of serious?” she asked.
Now Thor only barely managed to stifle a laugh. What a comedy of errors.
“Awww,” she said, misreading him again. 
Thor was going to get a headache. Just how many conversations had they going on
right now?
“Are you very much in love?” she asked.
Thor’s very expressive face (and skin) spontaneously answered for him once
more. 
She looked endeared. She also seemed a lot less stiff now that she had learned
it was not a girl. Women, eh?
“But you haven’t been together long, have you?” she said. “I mean, when we
spoke a few weeks ago, you told me you were not seeing anyone.”
“No, we weren’t together yet.”
“Hm.” Ok, back to humming again. And she seemed suddenly very interested in the
laces of her shoes.
“What?” said Thor.
“I don’t know, Thor.”
“Don’t know what?” insisted Thor, bracing himself for some more difficult talk.
“You are impulsive, and it’s always a bit all or nothing with you…” She left
that dangling there. “Aren’t you rushing into it a bit?” she said. “It seems so
sudden…”
Ok, fully back into uneasy territory. He turned his stare to the distance
again, with a grumpy frown. The house could be seen in full now, the
conservatories and the lead roof planks sparkling like fish scales with the
morning sunlight.
“Look," said Sif, "I don’t want to piss on your crisps, ok? But you’re a
Hollywood star, and deciding to be with a man is not a minor thing. I can tell
you’re in love, and that’s wonderful, and I know it feels great and that right
now you don’t want to think about… well, about anything else but how happy you
are… And all I’m saying here is, make sure you’ve thought this through before
you jump into it head first. Because it will affect you, massively, whether you
decide to try and keep it a secret or whether you want to come out… And I just
can’t see you living happily in the closet, Thor. All of this, over a guy
you’ve only just met…”
“Who says I’ve just met him?” he countered.
That gave her eyebrows some more work. She thought about it for a moment.
“Please don’t tell me it’s that Stark bloke.”
Thor burst out laughing, the strain he was under adding to the ridiculousness
of that thought, and resulting in a much bigger chuckle than it probably
deserved. 
“God, no,” he said, wiping a tear, “it’s not Tony.”
“So… who is he?” she asked, cautiously. “Are we meeting him today?”
Thor smiled, still strained, though the laughter had helped.
“Maybe,” he said.
She squinted in suspicion.
“It’s not like you to be so mysterious, Thor. Frankly, I find it a bit…”
“…A bit what.”
“…Worrying.”
Thor took a deep breath. Why was he so scared. It was not rational. It was not
even very reasonable. These people loved him. Sif loved him. He had done
nothing wrong. Loki would say fear has nothing to do with reason, and neither
does courage. You have guts, don’t you, Odinson? More guts than brains, some
have said. He flicked quick glances at her, his throat dry. He wanted to say
it, right there and then, and fuck it. He really did. It just wasn’t fucking
happening…
“Watch it,” he told her, calling her attention to a sudden plunge in the ground
in front of them. 
He stopped trying, both relieved and disappointed with himself.
 
 
“Is that Fandral?” said Sif, pointing to the eastern conservatory, the one Loki
wanted to fill with citrus trees. 
The sun was just breaking through the clouds, its heavy slant right in their
eyes. When they got closer, they saw it was Fandral indeed, perched on the back
of a bench, cup of coffee steaming between his hands, looking in through the
glass walls.
“Good morning, my dears,” he whispered, a finger to his lips to shush them. He
gestured to the conservatory. 
Inside, in the wide, empty space, Loki was dancing. Holy mother of fuck, that
jump. That drop, that roll. Good God almighty, Thor knew very well how flexible
his brother was, but did legs actually part that wide? It was not exactly a
choreography, neither were they exercises. It looked as if he was just enjoying
himself, letting his body do what felt right. He was so fucking graceful. 
Thor was not an expert, but he could tell his posture and his gestures weren’t
as rigid and precise as proper classical ballet demanded. He seemed to
alternate dancing with capoeira moves, a lot more relaxed and loose, rather
like floating. How could I not be fucking crazy about him, Thor thought to
himself, thinking it must surely be showing on his face, and not giving a damn
about it.
Oh, Loki had always been beautiful when he danced, he had always been graceful,
but he also used to be extremely hard on himself. Thor would see him often,
repeating the same step or the same pose over and over and over, staring
harshly into the mirror, a deep frown, mouth pressed tightly in displeasure,
never satisfied. 
And will you just look at him now, smiling. Loki never used to smile when he
danced. And he had just repeated the same pirouette-jump three times already,
and he seemed to be aiming higher every time, and try for a neater landing, but
it didn’t seem like he was striving obsessively for perfection, but rather
taking pleasure in how strong he was, how high he was able to reach, how
quickly he could spin. He was not trying to coax and discipline his limbs and
muscles into subservience anymore, but relying on them in a harmonious joint
effort. 
Thor remembered asking him why he kept going to the bleeding ballet lessons,
when he didn’t even seem to enjoy himself. Loki never really dignified that
with an answer. To Thor, everything was easy, he didn’t really have to try. To
Loki, as talented as he was, it seemed like everything was a struggle. Getting
up in the morning, stepping out into the street, going to school, being around
people, being in his own head. Didn’t he have enough on his plate already? So
why add to it? Why not cut himself some slack?
Loki must have known that’s not all Thor was getting at. There was so much he
didn’t get about the way his kid brother lived his life. Actually, the ballet
Thor could understand. But why the black nail polish and eyeliner? Why prance
down the high school halls like a princely supermodel? Why sass and flirt at
his bullies instead of running away? Why plaster his notebooks with half-naked
male actors and dancers and fucking David Bowie everywhere? Why were his
presentations always about Oscar Wilde and Glam Rock and Arthur Bleeding
Rimbaud? Just why wouldn’t Loki make things easier for himself?
Thor could see it now, he could feel it, what his mother used to say, and he
had not understood back then. Loki’s strength —his joy, his talent, his
endurance, his stubbornness, his spirit. Loki could have put on a disguise at
any time and turn into whatever he wanted, pretend he was one of the flock.
Instead, he had chosen to throw right into the face of the world again and
again what he was, who he was, even when the world did its best to crush him
for it. But every time Loki had told the world “fuck you, I do what I want!”,
the world had a little less power over him. And look at him now, proud,
triumphant, fucking indestructible, soaring. Thor had only ever seen that Loki
fought and suffered. He had not realised until now that, feeding on that very
fight, Loki could fly. 
How unworthy he felt of his brother then. Loki had never once lied to make
things easier for himself. Thor hadn’t done anything but that, all his fucking
life. 
He needed air.
He walked away, not giving a fuck what his friends would make of it.
 
 
 
                                       *
 
 
(Earlier that morning.)
 
They had forgotten to pull the curtains shut last night. Thor could sleep
through anything, but even those first feeble rays of light had woken Loki up.
And the moment his eyes were open, he couldn’t close them again. His mind could
go from nothing to a hundred miles per hour in the blink of an eye, literally.
And with so much to think about in the first place, there was no way on earth
Loki was going back to sleep.
Right then. 
He carefully slithered out of bed. Thor groaned when a flash of cold bit his
back, but carried on sleeping. Loki lingered a little, taking in the sight of
Thor’s muscled shoulders, his taut neck, those fucking arms. 
He fished for his yoga wear and shoes, and stood by the door for some time,
with his ear out for any movement or noise outside. When he was as certain as
he could be that the coast was clear, he sneaked out quietly out of the
bedroom. He felt like the secret lover in the adultery plot line of a silly
vaudeville. Should he go all out and just climb out the window.
The kitchen was deserted. Perhaps everyone else was still asleep. Coffee,
yoghourt, banana. Peace and quiet. Sometimes getting up early wasn’t all that
bad. Yawn.
When he found Hogun in the conservatory, Loki’s first reaction was annoyance.
He hated having the house invaded. Then came curiosity. He could not identify
the soft, flowing exercise routine Hogun had going on. It had sudden spikes of
spritzy vigour and some downright nifty acrobatics. It was quite fascinating. 
Loki abandoned the shelter of the musty potted ficus he had been hiding behind,
and approached. Hogun spotted him and broke the flow to bow to him, and then
resumed his exercises. 
Loki kept on watching. One particular movement had gripped Loki’s attention.
Hogun must have noticed him unconsciously imitating the drop of his body.
“Would you like to see it again?” he asked. He had that same guttural, hoarse
timbre of voice as his old Japanese yoga teacher, almost a grunt in the
monosyllables. Loki had liked the old man very much, and had been missing him
since he retired.
He nodded. “If you don’t mind.”
He ended up practicing it next to him.
After a while, Loki was showing Hogun his own moves, a blend of capoeira,
Acroyoga, and classical ballet he had developed to suit exactly what he needed.
Hogun looked very impressed, and he didn’t strike Loki as a man who got
impressed easily. He struggled to imagine this quiet, hieratic, hermit-like man
partying with Thor, Fandral and Volstagg. Then again, Thor had already managed
the… well, maybe not the impossible, but surely the highly unlikely, bringing
together —and what’s more, keeping together— this bizarrely diverse group of
people. Getting them drunk and making merry was nothing next to that.
Hogun caught up with the capoeira very quickly, but the ballet was another
story. His grace was not a dancer’s grace. They ended up trading flying kicks
at three heights. It was quite good.
Hogun retired (he said he had been there since daybreak,) and Loki stayed.
He was thrumming with energy. He began to dance to music in his head. Spinning
on himself, jump, fall, roll, jump back up. Arms wide open now. Stretch. Full
back bend. Mid-air flip. Spin-step, spin-step, spin-step. Jump! Higher. Higher!
His heart was pumping hard, the thoughts in his mind reduced to a droning,
featureless buzz. Calm. Electricity. Joy.
When he was stretching, done for the day, he caught a disturbance with the tail
of his eye, and squinted to sharpen his sight. Sif and Fandral were sitting on
the back of the bench outside, looking in. The overgrown hedges and the
slanting sun, behind their backs and in Loki’s face, had kept them hidden from
him all this time. How long exactly had they been there? 
He contemplated his options. He didn’t find “run and hide” among them, and he
made sure he looked in his pockets and under the bed. He covered up, both for
warmth and for armour, hoodie fully zipped, hood up, and stepped outside.
“That was impressive,” said Sif, before Loki could even say good morning.
“Impressive? That was jaw-dropping, absolutely beautiful,” chimed in Fandral.
Loki smiled modestly.
“You’re both too kind. No, thank you,” he said to Fandral, who was offering him
a fag, “I’m trying to cut down.”
“You’re unfairly talented, Loki. Is there anything you’re but mediocre at?” he
said.
Sif sighed impatiently. She had no time for Fandral’s drivel.
“I’ll be hitting the shower,” she said. “See you guys later.”
“I’ll be heading back too,” tried Loki.
“Was this for that photo shoot you mentioned yesterday?” asked Fandral as he
followed Loki inside.
Loki slowed down.
“I was just… well, trying ideas, really,” he said, coming to a stop when he
realised Fandral was going to follow him right to the fucking shower.
“What is it about?”
“Oh, an art gallery commissioned something that, uh, well, that’s easy to sell.
I’ve worked with that photographer before, it’s a sort of favour. She thinks I…
um.” How does one put this. To him, without it sounding like a tease. “That I
would photograph well," he tried.
“Oh, I’m certain you photograph exquisitely,” said Fandral. “Let me know when
this exhibition takes place. Tell her she’s sold a few pieces already…” He
beamed.
Loki rolled his eyes, not too scathingly, and made to go. 
And then froze, because it had suddenly hit him. He turned to face Fandral.
“You’ve watched the sex tapes,” he said.
Fandral’s eyebrows rose and his eyes widened before he could compose himself
again. He did not reply. He did not have to. Loki wasn’t sure what to feel.
“In my defence,” said Fandral, “when I watched them I did not know what they
were, or how they had been taken.” Fandral was burning him quietly with his
eyes. He was not shy and he did not look ashamed, and he stared at him as if he
thought that Loki had nothing to be embarrassed about either. 
“But of course, once you knew the circumstances, you never watched them
again, out of respect," said Loki, irony cutting, spitting venom. "And if I was
to have a look, there is no chance that I would find them in your phone.”      
    
Fandral’s only answer was a vaguely guilty look. 
“At least you’re honest,” hissed Loki.
“My friend sent them to me, saying they were the hottest thing she had ever
seen. She undersold them,” declared Fandral.
“The hottest thing?” snapped Loki, disdainful. “A scrawny whore getting gang-
banged and giving head in an alley?” Loki’s breathing had become puffy, and his
fist was clenching. Now his anxiety was rising. “I had you for a man of more
discerning tastes.”
“My taste is extremely discerning,” said Fandral. “They are the hottest thing I
have ever seen.”
Loki was scowling. 
“Well, it’s nice to have an expert’s opinion. I wish you many happy hours of
mutual company, to you and the fucking tapes.” He turned to leave.
“There is this video,” said Fandral. And for some reason, —Fandral’s sheer
gall, perhaps,—, Loki stopped. “A group of fifteen or twenty guys, they look
like a bunch of jerks on a stag night. They’re rowdy and loud and vulgar. I
don’t know what they expected when they gathered there. I guess they’ve just
heard rumours of an illegal live sex show on the street. They chant ugly hymns
like football fans.” 
Yes, he remembered. He had seen some screencaps that had refreshed his
memories. He got flashes of that night. They had looked fucking scary. The
bouncer that actually liked him had not been there, or he would have not let
him outside. Maybe the other bouncers had expected him to get out there and be
torn to pieces, and that would be that pesky Loki headache gone for good.
“Enters him,” continued Fandral. “The crowd parts to let him through. At first
you only catch glimpses of him through the guys’ heads. He doesn’t say a word.
His eyes are fixed. He’s made his choice. And as he walks, the chanting dies,
and the noise keeps dimming down, until there is no more cat-calling, no more
lewd shouting. By the end, when he is one step away from his mark, there is
silence. They are enthralled. Whatever they were expecting, it wasn’t this.” He
modulated his voice to a richer, more musical timbre. ‘“A stranger come,/ A man
of charm and spell, from Lydian seas,/ …A wine-red cheek, and eyes that hold
the light/ Of the very Ciprian.’” 
Loki turned around, unbelieving. Had Fandral just fucking quoted the bloody
Bacchaeat him. 
Fandral smiled, delighted to have gripped Loki’s attention, and finished his
tale.
“He kisses the lucky mortal, the chosen one, the camera shakes trying to get
nearer, and as you kneel down, Loki, it catches his face, his eyes. Anyone can
tell that kid is thinking ‘me? really?’ When the camera gets to you, and you
look straight into it… Bloody hell. Bloody hell.” Fandral shook his head
heavily, as if it was all too much. “Oh, his face when you’ve finished him. And
yours. You could cut all the cock out and just leave your face and his, before
and after, and it would already be the hottest thing. You exude self-confidence
and self-awareness. It’s as if you’re saying, ‘yes, I know I’ve ruined you, and
now you’ll never see me again, and if I wasn’t so fucking above and beyond you,
I might pity you.’  And when you leave, Loki, head high, that aristocratic
pose, the way you walk, bloody hell, you’re a vision. The way they look at you,
Loki. They came for a hooker, they got a god. They worship you. You own them. I
bet that poor devil is still jerking off to the memory of you to this bloody
day.”
Loki was speechless. 
“You really take bullshitting to the next level,” he said, when he got his
voice back.
“I'm only describing what I saw,” countered Fandral. 
Loki stared at him for a long time, assessing him, scanning his posture and
expression for clues and signs. If Fandral had kept the playful, nonchalant
game on, Loki would have ripped him to shreds. But all he could see in his face
was open, quiet admiration, and a flicker of hope. Loki wondered. How far did
that shameless nerve of Fandral’s go?
“Would you have wanted to have been there?” he asked, lizard gaze fixed on
Fandral’s eyes, unblinking, a predatory tilt in his head. He could make pretty
much anyone very, very nervous with that treatment. People started to babble,
they blurted out things they had not meant to say.
Fandral was not immune to it, but he weathered it admirably.
“I have fantasised about it,” he said, cautiously, faintly aware that he was
being put to a test. “About being that bloke, the one you choose. But in my
fantasy, you take me back inside with you, and I do not share you.”
Loki smirked in response. Lizard eyes and that smirk? Fandral gulped, but held
his stare.
“Do you rescue me, Fandral? Do you take me away in your arms to a better place?
Do you become my saviour?” asked Loki, honey-toned, deadly.
Fandral smiled, his eyes bright, fiery.
“A god does not need rescuing. He is where he wants to be, and he leaves when
he wants to leave.”
Loki looked away and finally allowed himself to blink. Bloody good answer. This
boy had class.
When he glanced at Fandral again, Fandral met his eye. Perhaps he meant all
that crap or perhaps not, but Loki’s internal score panel was already giving
him points for a most brave and gallant attempt, plus a generous bonus for
Euripides. He found himself surprisingly… hm, not furious. 
“Can you keep a secret, Fandral?” he said, with a sly look.
Fandral looked all ears. And glinting eyes.
“It was a rush,” said Loki, his eyes drifting into space as he slipped into his
memories. “Sometimes they would hang around for days, hoping I would turn up.
The tension, Jesus fuck, the fights to get a better spot in the line, to get a
shot at me. The riots when I decided, you know what, boys?, not tonight. God,
the chaos I was able to unleash, just by turning up, just by losing my shirt.
The bouncers hated me, I made them really work hard for their pay checks… My
life was out of my hands, but in that alley, I had power.”
Loki’s eyes regained his focus, and darted a glance at Fandral. He had stars in
his eyes. 
“Are you seeing anyone, Loki?” he said.
Loki laughed. Cheeky, shameless bugger. He was astounded and amused in equal
parts.
“Yes, I am seeing someone.”
Fandral smiled sadly in turn. 
“Damn. Why, of course. How could you ever be single. I know because I’ve been
trying to catch you in between boyfriends for ages. I’ve lost count of how many
times I’ve asked Thor for your number… But when it wasn’t that bloke from The
Rocky Horror, it was that producer, then that actor, then you had fallen out
with Thor… I’ve been so bleeding unlucky, I’m beginning to think I’ve offended
someone up on high.” A disappointed, deflated sigh. “I know it’s absolutely
inexcusable of me to ask but, is it solid, with this person right now?”
Loki kept right on smiling, this time for himself.
“Rock-hard,” he said.
“Forever?”
“I hope so. I want it to be.” And it was none of Fandral’s business, surely,
but it felt good to say that out loud.
Another pitiful sigh from Fandral. “In that case, I wish you every joy and
every happiness, and the best of luck to the both of you,” he said, with a
little bow and a smile that wasn't too bright and took effort, and moved Loki
all the more deeply because of it.
“Thank you,” he said, without a dash of irony.
“Just for my peace of mind, Loki… Would I have stood a chance?”
Loki shook his head heavily, exasperated. Did he ever give up?
“You know, at first I would have said not in your lifetime, but you’re growing
on me.”
Fandral’s face brightened with a playful grin. He was not going to do wordplays
with growingand the prepositions, was he?
“If you gave me my chance," said Fandral, with fervour, "I would steal your
heart and I swear to you, you’d never ask for it back.”
Loki rolled his eyes. Give yourself a break, dear. You’ll sprain something.
“So, who is this lucky gentleman?” asked Fandral. “Is he coming later?”
Loki put on an enigmatic smirk, eyes fixed on Fandral, and made no reply.
“He’s not?” deduced Fandral, astonishment liberally applied on his face. 
Loki kept right on smirking in silence. 
“This favourite of fortune, this one-in-a-billion, this extraordinary creature
who has managed to capture your heart and secure your hopes for the future,
he’s really not going to turn up and be with you on this night of the year, of
all times? Just who bloody does that? Who leaves youalone, tonight?” That
bewildered expression befitted him. The ardour of the expression that followed
suited him even better, overactor that he was. “If you were mine, I could never
miss one day with you. I would always-..."
“Is that the same sort of rubbish you used on my brother?” cut Loki.
Fandral rose his eyebrows, baffled for one second.
“Oh, right, so he’s told you about that…” Faster at composing himself than a
cat turning in mid-air, he was cool as a cucumber, and really quite smooth,
when he said, “As I recall, we didn’t talk very much on those occasions. Not
one to be wooed through his ears, your brother. A man of action, rather than
words.”
Loki grinned at his own internal jokes, dozens of them, and deliberated. To
pull that thread or not to pull. 
“He said it was not romantic,” he said at length, having decided on pulling.
“It wasn’t,” said Fandral. “We’re friends. Your brother is a bit of a hot-head,
and a handsome hot-head at that, and back in the day he found himself in dire
need of distraction and solace. There is only so much of that to be found in
DVDs, the gym and DIY, and I was there, just down the corridor, a free spirit
myself… It was handy, that’s all. Physical comfort, to get his mind off things,
get those happy hormones flowing… He was not in the right mind for romance, and
neither was I. And even if we were, well, it would not be with each other. It’s
just not like that, between Thor and I.”
“What did you get out of it, Fandral? Because it sounds like you just lent him
the use of your body out of the kindness of your heart.”
Fandral gave him an impish leer.
“Well, perhaps as a little brother you may not wish to see it, but your big
brother is a very attractive man, and very, hmmm..., very good company. Believe
me when I say I got out of our dealings as much as I put in.”
Loki laughed. At length. At several things.
“So you don’t think he would have a problem with you… being interested in me
now,” he asked. And now he was just being wicked.
“Oh, I’m sure not. Well, I don’t know. Is he one of those big brothers who
can’t stomach the thought of their younger siblings in the vicinity of sex?”
Loki burst out laughing, and laughed for a year and a half. 
“Oh, dear,” he said, wiping a tear, when he had calmed down somewhat. “I needed
that. Right. I’m going for a shower now,” he announced. “And no, I don’t need
help scrubbing my back, but thank you. And for the laugh. ”
“Loki,” said Fandral. “…I hope this man of yours knows what he’s got. Because
the minute, the second he forgets, I’ll be there, showing you what real
devotion looks like.”
Loki put his serious face on, within his possibilities at the moment.
“Ok. I’m immensely flattered, but I’m in a happy, committed relationship. I’m
out of the market. For good, I hope. So thank you very much, but no, thanks.
And now I am going for a wash.” He walked away. And then he had a thought. “Oh,
a word to the wise,” he said, peering over his shoulder, “if you enjoy solid
food, and wish to keep on chewing it with your own teeth, don’t ever let Thor
know that you’ve watched the tapes. You would not sweet-talk your way out of
that one with him. He doesn’t care for Euripides as much as I do.” He winked. 
He felt Fandral’s eyes on him as he walked away. Well, he had put some decent
work on that arse. It's nice to be appreciated.
 
 
He found Thor in his bedroom, fresh out of the shower, hair still wet.
Apparently, he had listened to Loki and he was growing his beard again. Hmmm…
New sensations. 
“Hm, someone smells nice. And it can’t be me,” kidded Loki. 
Alright, it hadn’t been a great display of wit, but Thor didn’t even crack a
polite smile. He was sat on the bed, head low, back slumped, brooding.
“Fandral wants to have my babies,” Loki announced, pretending he hadn't
noticed. “Two girls and two boys.” He kicked off his shoes and rummaged under
the hundred layers of clothes hanging behind the door, searching for his
bathrobe. He had not been using it much at all before the guests arrived. “He
wants a French Riviera honeymoon. I told him it’s Italy or it’s off.”
Thor was looking at him dejectedly with his puppy eyes (more specifically, a
Labrador), and saying not one word, and it was getting upsetting now.
“Are you alright, brother?” he asked, when Thor remained in that state. 
Thor stretched one arm to him. Loki took his hand, and was immediately dragged
towards his brother with a strong tug, until he half-stumbled against the side
of the bed, between Thor’s knees. Thereupon Thor proceeded to imprison him in
limbs, arms around Loki's waist, ankles crossed behind his calves, and hug
tight, burrowing his face against Loki’s stomach. And still didn’t say a word.
Right.
“Hey,” said Loki. “What’s wrong?”
“I love you so fucking much,” came Thor’s muffled voice.
Right, thought Loki, suspicious. What was that about.
“I know,” he said.
“I want to make you happy,” said Thor. “I want to be good enough for you. I’m
trying.”
“Brother, what the fuck have you been drinking,” asked Loki. 
Thor looked up to him, such a desolate expression on his handsome face.
“Will you tell me what this is about?” said Loki, now with a note of worry. 
Thor buried his face against his belly again. Loki wrapped his arms around his
brother’s head, and waited, at a loss about what to do next.
Loki’s shirt was riding up a bit. Thor’s breathing on his skin. Then Thor’s
lips, then his hands.
“No bloody time, my dearest,” Loki muttered, wriggling in his brother’s arms,
ignoring the tingle in his groin. “We have a house full of guests for you to
entertain, and for me to hide from.” And if Thor had wanted to change the
subject, he had succeeded, with flying colours. Oh well. 
Loki managed to disentangle and get a few steps away, but his brother’s puppy
eyes followed him, merciless. Loki made a big irritated huff (he
wasn't really). He walked right back, cradled Thor’s upturned face in his hands
and took a sloppy, steamy kiss from his brother’s lips.
“Pain in the arse,” he muttered against Thor’s mouth.
He left him looking in higher spirits than he had found him. That’s Loki magic
for you.
 
 
“Fucking finally!” he said to Sigyn and Bruce when they arrived. He held Sigyn
quite tightly and for a bit longer than he usually did. He had bloody missed
her. He enjoyed watching Thor hugging Sigyn and Bruce too. It got Loki thinking
how Thor might feel seeing Loki not getting along with his friends. Maybe, just
maybe, he grudgingly vowed to try a bit harder. 
The tour of the house got him so excited. There was so much to show them. Where
to bloody start. He realised it was the first fucking time in his life he had
some friends of his own staying for a sleepover, how about that. (You’re
pathetic, Laufeyson, spat Inner Bastard. Little Loki, meanwhile, was jumping on
the bed. Yay, pyjama party!)
They were almost done with the ground floor, and heading upstairs, when Sigyn
pulled his sleeve.
“This is beautiful,” she said, “but where’s the Christmas stuff?”
“In a box in the attic, I presume,” answered Loki. He hadn’t even thought about
that.
“Take me, right now,” said Sigyn, as if it was a life-or-death situation.
They left Bruce and Thor to meet the others, and he guided her up the
increasingly narrower, darker, more crooked, more cobwebby flights of stairs.
The dormer windows were caked with dust and splatters of bird shit, and it had
not been the brightest of days even when the sun was at its highest point, so
it was dark and shady and overall quite Gothic in the attic. And in spite of
what his choice of clothing might suggest, severe black head to toe, Loki was
not much in the mood for Gothic today. 
He had not been up here in yonks. They separated to try and find the bloody
boxes, Loki grumbling all the time, not crazy about the dust, the creepy-
crawlies, and the work. There was a lot more junk than he remembered, including
fresh-looking boxes and clothes-rails packed with plastic-covered garments, so
many of them, that had definitely not been there before.
“Oh,” he said, when he realised.
“Did you find it?” came Sigyn’s voice from somewhere. 
And then he heard her approach, because if there was someone who could sense a
drop of distress in fifty cubic metres of Loki’s bullshit, it was Sigyn. 
“What is it, darling?” she asked when she caught up with him, as she scanned
around, trying to understand what Loki was seeing.
“They’re her things,” he said, a burn in the back of his throat. “He’s packed
her away in boxes and shut her up in the attic.”
Sigyn held his hand, and had a look around in silence. She let go to approach
the clothes rails. 
“May I?” she asked.
Loki nodded.
She unzipped one of the covers at random. A shimmer or yellow silk peeked out,
illuminating Sigyn’s face.
“Wow,” she gasped. She pulled the zip further down, and the glorious gown his
mum had worn the day his father won three Oscars was revealed. He recognised it
from the photos. Thor and him had been only little back then. 
Of course he would want to cry. And he did, quietly, and quite sweetly, not
from grief and yearning alone, but love and a gentle melancholy as well. On a
scale of 1 to 10, how fucking absurd did he feel stroking the inner side of the
fabric, where it would have touched the skin of her shoulder. On the same
scale, how many fucks did he not give about being absurd right now.
She saw him cry and smiled at him, briefly holding his hand once more, and went
on to unzip more covers. 
 
“Oh, fuck, I hate this one,” laughed Loki after ten or twelve gowns, some gala
stuff, some daily wear. They had reached Shoulder Pad Times. “Sometimes I
forget that the Eighties happened even to my mum.”
He himself had moved on to the boxes. He wasn’t crying anymore. He opened
mostly with indifference the one with the awards and the one with framed photos
of mum and dad next to big people, that he remembered, without emotion, from
her office and from the mantelpiece in the London flat; Odin must have kept in
London only the ones he was fond of.
He called Sigyn when he found the shoes, six boxes worth. Jesus fuck, dad had
even kept her sleepers… Why did that make him tear up again. 
He proceeded slowly and carefully when a box with personal papers appeared (the
annotated scripts! What a treasure trove.) Her handwriting was everywhere. He
touched the yellowing pages with a faint smile on his face. It froze when he
found her journals, a small stack of them. Apparently, her mum had taken to
sharing her thoughts with the paper at times in her life. He perused them idly,
with a broad, teary smile, hearing in his mind the words on the page spoken in
her voice; her turns of phrase, her humour. Picked up at random like Loki was
doing, they were disconnected thoughts relating to a context he did not have,
domestic details that brought a day so vividly to life. Even skimming over it,
reading one sentence here and there, it was so bloody powerful. Snippets of her
mum’s life, of herself, revealed here, fixed for ever, in his hands. 
When he stumbled with his and Thor’s names, he shut the notebook like he had
been caught red-handed by Frigga herself. He should not be reading these,
should he? Oh, but it was tempting.
He sighed deeply, feeling such a muddle of things. Even his bloody face did not
even know where to start with the expressing —eyes tearing, lips tugging up,
tugging down, and don’t fucking get him started on the twitches of his brow. 
“I think we need some air,” said Sigyn, “don’t you? We’ll try and find the
stuff later, or just go to the village and buy some. Yeah?”
He nodded. She smiled so brightly, and kissed his cheek with a loud smack. A
hearty, no-nonsense kind of kiss that his mum would have approved of.
 
 
“I had not realised he had done that,” said Loki later, as they took a stroll
across the grounds. “I should have guessed. It’s so like Odin, just box her up
and put her away somewhere, and get on with his life.”
“What would you have him do? Live in a shrine to her memory, with all her
things reminding him of her, until the end of his days? What would your mum
have wanted?”
Loki clenched his jaw, refusing to see the sense in what she was saying, and
not doing a great job of it.
“It’s just… I don’t want her up there in the attic,” he sulked.
“Is she there? Is that where you feel her?”
“I don’t feel her anywhere, I’m not a bloody psychic.”
“You know what I mean.”
He did. They strolled on.
“In her studio, sometimes,” said Loki, a long, long time after she had asked
her question. “In the apple orchard. In the conservatory. By the piano.”
She threw an arm around his waist, and squeezed.
“How are things with Thor, darling?” she asked.
He must have bloody blushed, or hearts must have shown in his eyes or
something, because he had not answered yet, and she was already laughing.
“His mates don’t know, do they?” she said.
Loki shook his head, carefully appointing his face to express that he was
perfectly alright with that, and that the thought was barely ever in his mind,
if at all. She nodded, seeing right through it. There were people who might
have started to blather on about what Thor should be doing, what Loki deserved
and blah blah blah, recycled rubbish from the Cosmopolitan relationship advice
section. He was glad she wasn’t. She just took people as they came, didn't she?
She seemed able to sympathise with fucking anyone, and able to judge no-one.
She was always ready to forgive when sincere regret was offered. She was always
ready with another chance, more patience, more time for people to do the right
thing, get their shit together, grow, become better versions of themselves. To
her, pretty much everybody had the potential to be good and decent, and she was
willing to wait while they tried and failed and tried again. Loki would have
thought that should have made her easy to prey on, vulnerable, defenceless
even. Instead, Sigyn seemed to him one of the strongest persons he had ever
met. He guessed there was a lesson there.
He was glad she wasn't giving him any crap about it all. Just because it was
fucked up between Thor and him on a million different levels (and it didn’t
take a therapist of any kind to get Loki to see that), it didn’t mean it was
not the best fucking thing he had ever had. He was ready to put up with a lot
to be with his brother. If that made him a door-mat, so fucking be it, but it
was refreshing to not have to defend himself or his choices to his best friend,
and he appreciated it. And he showed it with a sound hug which she may not have
known exactly where it was coming from, but she responded to it warmly just the
same.
 
 
 
Whoever had the idea of the cheese fondue should both be canonised and shot. It
was a mess. A hilarious mess. And you know, for a dinner that guests are
supposed to make themselves, it was quite a lot of work. Between Thor and him,
they must have done a hundred trips to the kitchen for more of this or that or
the other. 
One of the times, when Loki said he was going to get some more wine, Thor
picked up a couple of empty bottles and dirty plates and followed him to the
kitchen, and then all the way down to the cellar. They made out for a bit
longer than was easily explained away, under the dimly-lit, musty-smelling
vault. They kept the pressure light, trying to avoid going upstairs with puffy
red lips.
Thor pressed their foreheads together and let his eyes droop, cupping Loki’s
face with both hands. Intense, as if he had been starving for it.
“Are you alright?” he asked then, staring straight into Loki’s eyes from one
inch away.
“Hm-hm,” hummed Loki, looking down, overcome. He had not been ready for that
surge of emotion.
“Am I doing fine?” asked Thor. 
“Hm-hm.” 
“Ok,” he heard Thor say.
He kissed him again, a brief but tender, fervent pressing of lips and stroke of
tongues that made Loki’s head feel light.
As he followed his brother up the stairs, a bottle in each hand, Loki tried to
find his nerve.
“Thor,” he said.
“Yes?”
He wanted to say ‘I love you’. Didn’t quite manage.
Thor smiled at him tenderly anyway, as if he had.
 
 
“So how did you children meet?” asked Volstagg, meaning Sigyn and Bruce. They
had polished all of the chocolate fondue by then. Nobody had any room left for
the mince pies, but they were trying.
“It was through Loki, actually,” answered Bruce. “We had worked in the same
place for years, but our paths had never really crossed, until Loki came along.
Sigyn was a fan, and they got on like a house on fire.”
“Then I moved in with Loki,” continued Sigyn, “and Bruce used to ask me how he
was doing…” 
“…And three hundred years later I set them up, because I was up till here of
hearing how sexy Bruce was, and how could it possibly be that Sigyn was not
seeing anyone,” finished Loki.
Bruce had such a sweet and easy laughter, thought Loki, right after that
resounding pat on the back the good doctor had just dealt him, and right before
the stout kiss he planted on his cheek. 
“And where is it that you work?” asked Volstagg.
A guarded silence followed, and a criss-cross of quick looks between Thor,
Sigyn, Bruce and Sif.
Oh, for fuck’s sake. It’s not like there was anybody at that table who did
not know, right?
“It’s a mental hospital,” said Loki, abrupt. “Sigyn is a nurse there, Bruce is
a social worker, and I was a patient.” There were ways to crank up the tension,
and that subject, and the present atmosphere, was making him, hm, playful.
“When they found me after I tried to kill myself, I had been living in the
streets for a while. Bruce specialises in young people in crisis, don’t you,
Doctor Banner?”
Bruce nodded, well aware of the sudden awkwardness and tension in the air, and
not at all intimidated by it.
“That’s right,” he said casually, as if Loki had just reported the fucking
weather. “And look at you now. Hell, look at me!” he laughed. “Back in the
States I suffered several episodes of psychosis, which caused me to hurt two
students and lose everything I had. I pretty much hit rock bottom. That’s why I
came to England, to turn over a new sheet and start again. I’m not one of these
‘everything happens for a reason’ kind of guy but… Well, here I am, happier
than I’ve ever been.” He squeezed Sigyn’s hand and gave her a loving smile.
“And you’re not so bad yourself, are you, Loki?”
Ah, clever doctor Banner. Loki had never been one-upped on this topic among
polite society before. 
“Well,” said Loki, “I’m about to be sick from all the happy, but apart from
that.”
The kick Sigyn dealt him under the table made the crockery shake, but she was
smiling. 
“I’d like to say how grateful I am to you both,” Thor said then, while Loki was
already beginning to roll his eyes, “for helping my brother when I was not
there for him. Loki might not be here today, had it not been for you. And since
you’re going to be sick anyway,” he said to Loki, “I might as well say it now.
I'm so bloody proud of you, ba-…brother.”
Loki pretended to retch, but still let Thor kiss his face, and melted a little
when his big brother held his hand under the table for a moment.
“Happy new year, everyone,” said Volstagg then, raising his glass. He seemed
affected, in a good way.
He was not the only one. Even Sif was looking at Loki warmly when their glasses
clinked.
Loki’s eyes lingered on his brother. He may claim to despise sentiment, but he
was feeling so fucking full of it right now. 
“Happy new year,” he muttered too. It didn't matter at all whether anyone heard
him or not.
 
 
                                       *
 
 
 
When Thor was turning the whole evening on and on in his mind that night,
unable to sleep, it felt like a dream, as if he had not had control over it.
After even Volstagg said he had had enough mince pies, they had moved it to the
music room. Thor had lit the fire while the rest dragged the couch and the
armchairs near to the fireplace. Him and Loki and Sigyn and Sif sat on the
rug. 
The conversation carried on. Fandral had brought out the Cards Against
Humanity. Loki was pretty much unbeatable at it, with his wit and the way his
mischievous mind worked. They had all laughed so much. Thor wondered now
whether his friends, looking back on it, would remember the part where they had
been having fun.
When the games turned to conversation again, Loki had had the genius idea of
playing music, not too loud, on mum and dad’s beautiful vintage jukebox,
stocked up to the brim with soul, blues and classic Rock’n’roll. Seemed like
Loki was having an Otis Redding night. Thor would look at him whenever he got
up to play a new song. He watched him standing by the jukebox, swaying his hips
a bit, just for himself. Loki would smile at him whenever he walked back and
caught him watching.
The conversation was flowing over and around Thor’s head. He was not drunk, but
he felt detached, withdrawn in his own mind, an observer. Whenever Loki’s voice
came through the drone, though, it would wake him up, and his pulse would
quicken. He was like a teenager in love. 
His brother’s skin was blushing with the heat of the fire. He was so fucking
lovely. Thor couldn’t take his eyes off him tonight. They kept trading
lingering gazes, their feet connected a few times. And remembering it now,
their friends had to have seen it. What the fuck had they made of it? What had
they thought it was about? They were fucking flirtingunder their very noses,
for god’s sake. Just what other explanation had they found in their heads for
two grown men basically eyefucking each other over the coffee table, giggling
and playing fucking footsies? 
It was only a few minutes to twelve. Did that have any bearing on Thor’s
decision? Loki was by the jukebox, waiting for the tune he had picked to start.
“These arms of mine they are lonely
Lonely and feeling blue
These arms of mine they are yearning
Yearning from wanting you…”
For a moment, his brother moved ever so slightly to the music, hip sway,
shoulder roll, as if the tune was trying to drag him to the dance floor, and he
was idly resisting —“Not now, my dear, we have guests”. Loki always looked
unbearably sexy when he danced to himself, effortlessly gracious and
unselfconscious, not trying to impress or delight anyone with his movements,
simply doing what felt good. That sensuality came right through, and it was
intoxicating. When he met Thor’s eyes, which must have been brazenly showing
the thoughts in his mind, Loki smiled, almost shy. Then he started to walk back
to the group.
As in a dream, (as if it had been out of his hands, as if he was a little
action figure someone was playing with), Thor got up and walked up to meet him,
blocking his path. Loki stared into his eyes, interrogating. Thor put his hands
on Loki’s waist. Loki held his breath. Thor drew him closer, and encouraged
him to rest his head on his shoulder, their bodies now touching from neck to
foot. He did not know what was going on behind his back, and maybe it was
better if he didn’t. After a moment of hesitation, Loki threw both long arms
around his brother’s neck. Thor shut his eyes, held him tight, and they danced.
“These arms of mine, they are burning
Burning from wanting you,
These arms of mine, they are wanting
wanting to hold you…”
Thor’s heart was pounding strong and fast. He wished he could just fucking
forget his mates behind his back, god knows doing what. He knew he was crushing
Loki in his anxiety, but Loki wasn’t complaining. 
Loki’s lips grazed his neck, his hot breath there. His fingers weaving in
Thor’s hair, his heat and hardness and the bloody swagger of his body as he
danced, swinging to and fro, grinding close to him. He felt so good, and right,
and his. 
Thor would have to face his mates soon enough, but for now, he would just let
himself have this moment. He reared his head and kissed his brother. Loki’s
breath stopped, he felt him shiver. Ah, Loki like a burning flame, trembling
for him. Now Thor did forget himself. This was such a fucking great song to
make out to. So they did, slowly and beautifully.
Thor only barely opened his eyes when he heard some shuffling nearby. Sigyn and
Bruce were also dancing now, bless their cunning, kind souls.
The song quieted down and ended. They blinked awake as if from a trance. 
When he looked at Loki, all that fire and pride and love in his brother’s eyes
hit him like a wave. Loki worshipped him right now, Thor was his hero, his
knight in shining armour. No matter what happened, Thor knew there and then,
without a doubt, that he had done the right thing for the two of them, and that
he would never regret it.
With that strength inside, he held Loki’s hand, and kept it held tight, as he
turned to face his mates.
Shock all around. Thor felt his heart pounding, his chest shaking with it. He
was terrified.
“Yes, we’re together,” he said, cool enough, his grip on Loki’s hand strong
enough to hurt.
There was no reaction from his friends, mouths still gaping, eyes wide. Thor
thought he was going to be sick.
The first sweet, mellow chords of a Billie Holiday song started to play. Sigyn
ex machina, again. 
Loki tugged him away by the hand, leading him closer to Sigyn and Bruce and the
jukebox, where it was friendly and safe.
“Dance with me,” he whispered, surrounding him with his arms, resting his head
on Thor’s shoulder again. 
With his eyes shut tight against everything, Thor followed his lead. 
And then Loki whispered softly, “I love you so much.”
 
At the struck of twelve, it was easy to kiss and hug Bruce and Sigyn, but he
froze with his own friends, a chorus of silent, expectant, blank faces. Next to
him, Loki was standing proud, daring them.
After a very awkward, excruciatingly couple of minutes, Volstagg shook himself
out of it, and got up.
“You crazy bugger,” he said, as he cuddled him, patting his back hard enough to
break him in half. He gave Loki only a slightly more gentle treatment. He
planted one big, firm hand on each of their cheeks, and looked at them as if he
wanted to say something. He gave up, and planted a solid kiss on their faces
instead. 
He turned to Sif, Fandral and Hogun, who were still frozen in a row.
“Happy new year, you cocks. Come over here, give these boys a hug.”
They did, bless them, they all did. Fandral looked stunned, but he kissed and
hugged them both, and after that he looked more disarmed than anything else.
“I'll be damned,” Thor heard him mumble to himself. 
Hogun wasn’t an effusive man. True to his style, he gripped both of Thor’s
forearms tight and established an intense, meaningful eye contact that had Thor
nodding to words that had not been spoken. To Loki, Hogun bowed his head
vehemently.
Sif just seemed… God the fuck knows. Thor was not able to decipher her
expression. She shook her head, lost for words, and then held him for a long
time, tightly. Afterwards, she gave him a long look of… Thor thought it was
disappointment, or aggravation, or just concern. She gave Loki a kiss and a
hug. She was rigid, but she tried. Perhaps Loki wouldn’t see it, but she had.
 
The mood had never really recovered after that, even with Sigyn, Bruce’s and
Volstagg’s best efforts. They had all gone to bed not much later. 
The atmosphere in the corridor upstairs was awkward and quiet. Thor felt every
single mind in the house focused on him and Loki when they shut the bedroom
door behind their backs, which is probably why they snuggled up together in bed
without fucking. Loki didn’t push him, even though Thor could imagine Loki had
had plans for tonight. There was much to celebrate, wasn’t there?
Hell, Thor himself had had plans, tonight of all nights. There were things he
had wanted to do since last year, when it had been Bucky, instead of him, going
away with his brother. He had thought they would be enthusiastically
celebrating the happy change in their circumstances all through the night.
Well, so much for that. Did that mean he had officially managed to ruin
everybody’s New Year’s Eve, then.
Whatever the fuck it had been on Sif’s face, it wasn’t letting Thor sleep. He
went over their conversation early that morning. He should have foreseen that
she would not be throwing fireworks, but it had hurt Thor just the same when
she didn’t. He went from self-pity to fury in a blink, from ‘but I have done
nothing wrong, we harm no-one!’ to ‘fuck you, fucking narrow-minded bigots,
fuck all of you!’and back again, over and over.
He huffed, tossing and turning.
Loki was awake too, he could tell by his breathing. 
Thor reached for his brother, stroking his hair tenderly, his neck. Loki
whipped around all of a sudden, and pretty much pounced on him. As he had his
mouth and his neck plundered and ravished, Thor realised that what was coming
off from Loki in waves was relief. Odinson, you fucking dolt. What the fuck had
Thor been thinking of? He must have been scaring the shit out of him. 
“Hey, hey…” he muttered, cradling Loki’s face in his hands, stilling him,
kissing him blindly, the dark so deep. Calm down, baby, all is well, I’ve got
you. I’m here.
Loki’s pulse, quick like the beat of a bird's ribcage. Brittle bones you can
crush without even meaning to, just by carelessly closing your fist. No matter
how strong Loki was, no matter how much stronger he got, Thor would always be
able to break him, just like that, just being careless.
Thor rolled them over, held Loki down, and kissed, nibbled and nuzzled his way
down his chest. Loki hissed as if it hurt when he started sucking him. Thor had
no mind for teasing or playing, he just wanted to feel Loki, and for Loki to
feel him. The heart of it, what they were. This.
Loki’s fingers weaving gently in his hair. Thor had no mind for gentle either.
He wished Loki would pull hard, push up into him. He wanted to lose himself.
“I want you to fuck my mouth,” he said, in a mutter. He had never thought he’d
hear himself say something like this.
Loki seemed to need a second to take that in. There was a silence. Thor could
not see his face. Panting slightly, Loki pushed him away.
“Kneel on the bed,” he told him, softly. “Back against the headboard.”
Thor could barely make out Loki’s silhouette in the darkness. He obeyed,
guessing the soft, peaceful sensation washing over him was due simply to being
told what to do. Right now, he wanted everything taken off his hands. The
mattress gave in as Loki got up and took position. Thor felt him in front of
him, more than saw him, before there was a hand to his head again, stroking
gently, guiding him. The cold tip of Loki’s cock brushed his lips. Thor fumbled
blindly in the dark, held it in his hand, and took him in his mouth. He licked
the head and toyed with it on his tongue for a bit, until he heard Loki’s sighs
begin to break and shudder. Then he closed his lips around the shaft and
started to bob his head. And then he stood still, Loki’s cock in his mouth, one
wetted hand tight around the base, where his mouth did not reach.
Loki thrusted slowly, the drag of his cock gentle and shallow within the ring
of Thor’s lips. Thor held his brother’s hips with both hands and encouraged him
to move faster and push deeper. Loki’s breathing seemed to stop for a spell,
then he started to move in time with the rhythm Thor’s hands were demanding.
And now Loki was fucking him. His hand on Thor’s hair was gripping tight,
keeping him still as he took what he needed. It was still a lot gentler and
slower than Thor had done it to him, but Thor wasn’t sure he would be able to
keep up if Loki wanted to go much harder. It was enough. He could feel him
shiver and tremble, he could hear his moans become more urgent. Loki was losing
himself in him, deciding his own pace, deciding how he wanted it, and all Thor
had to do was stay still and strong and take it. He had had no idea, no idea it
would feel like that. 
His lips were sore already, what a wuss, he thought to himself. He had an image
of his own face tomorrow, mouth reddened and swollen like Loki’s was at times
the next morning, so bloody obvious. That thought, his friends looking at him
tomorrow and knowing, fuck, the shot of lust that hit him then. He took one
hand to himself, started stripping fast. Loki heard him, and fucked a bit
quicker, nudging the back of Thor’s throat often now, not enough to make him
gag, but a lot more than Thor was used to. Thor groaned, feeling fucking
dizzy. 
“Ah, fuck,” he heard Loki hiss, “Ahhh…”
Come in my mouth, thought Thor, pushing Loki close to him, do it…
Loki’s hand clawed in his hair, gripping tight. He went rigid.
“Thor…”
Thor’s hand on his brother’s arse became iron. He wanted him exactly where he
had him. He jacked himself furiously as Loki came on his tongue, with tense,
sudden jolts, nails in Thor’s scalp, ragged moans. Thor kept him close as he
climaxed, his own spunk warm on his hand and balls and thighs. 
He wiped his hand on the sheets (fuck it, laundry tomorrow) and held Loki
there, forehead against his stomach, panting. Loki’s hands were again gentle on
his hair now. He stayed like that until Thor let him go.
 
“Are you ok?” Loki asked some time later, when they were lying side by side.
“Did I hurt you?”
He said that he was fine.  
“Thor,” he heard Loki’s voice in the dark.
“Yes, baby,” he muttered.
“It will be alright,” said Loki. “They love you. Give them time.”
Thor wanted to believe that so much.
“It’s up to them,” he said, trying to sound brave and proud and defiant, as he
thought he should be feeling, for Loki’s sake. Truth was, he had no idea what
he was feeling right now.
Loki wrapped around him and held him tight, big spoon for once. 
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     1. Loki plasters his notebooks at school with gay icons, but not just
     any gay icons. MY gay icons. Specially dear to my heart are Wilde and
     Rimbaud.
      
     2. The Bacchae, by Euripides. Even if he did not recognise the lines
     themselves (although he probably does, because vast, keen memory, ok?
     Also, he LOVES this one!), Loki would identify the play by the
     allusions to Lydia and stuff, which are specific to the god Bacchus
     (or Dyonissos in the play.)
     I fucking love this play, ok? I'm a classicist, shoot me. I love the
     scene from where these lines are lifted from, because there's this
     king of Thebes, Pentheus, faced with who he thinks is a priest of a
     religion he hates (it's the god himself, but Pentheus doesn't know
     that), and he's had this priest brought to him because he's supposed
     to be spreading this awful cult among the women of Thebes. And he
     should be threatening him and scolding him and making things very
     clear to him, and instead he's like
     "Marry, a fair shape for a woman's eye,
     Sir stranger! And thou seek'st no more, I ween!
     Long curls, withal! That shows thou ne'er hast been
     A wrestler!—down both cheeks so softly tossed
     And winsome! And a white skin! It hath cost
     Thee pains, to please thy damsels with this white
     And red of cheeks that never face the light!"
     (this is the version from The Project Guttenberg, translation by
     Gilbert Murray.)
     And he keeps doing that, bless him. Oh, moral of the play: when
     talking about Ancient Greek gods, you really don't want to be
     blasphemous. You really, really don't. Do like the Romans: embrace
     ALL the gods. You never know which sexy foreign priest is actually
     born out of Zeus's thigh itself.
      
     3. These Arms of Mine, Otis Redding. *sigh*
***** Chapter 25 *****
Chapter Summary
     The first hurdle.
Chapter Notes
     Oh, forget the chapter count. They're breeding like rabbits.
 
Thor muttered something in his sleep and rolled over with a sudden jerk. It was
almost dawn already, a wan clarity was trickling through the gaps in the
curtains. Loki could make out the shapes of Thor’s face. He saw his eyes
twitching, his brow pinching now and then, perhaps dreaming. He pulled the
covers up to tuck his brother in, again. All that tossing and turning had
transformed the bed into a bowl of whipped meringue. They would struggle to
create such a tangle of sheets even in their wildest romps. 
Thor usually slept like a log. And it never took him more than three seconds to
drop off, from the moment his head hit the pillow, unless he was in bed for
reasons other than resting. And so, his brother’s uneasy night’s sleep was
telling Loki all he needed to know about how Thor was coping with yesterday. It
was frightening to see him so rattled. God, Thor’s face when he had told them
“yes, we’re together.” His brother had been scared shitless, it was there in
his trembling, crushing grip of Loki’s hand, and yet he had faced them, head
high, eyes fierce. Loki’s heart had been beating so hard, as if trying to burst
out of his chest. And when Thor had danced with him, when he had kissed him…
Jesus, he could not fucking believe his life. He had felt ten feet tall, ready
to slay dragons. He could have faced Odin himself in the flesh last night.
So when exactly had that glorious feeling started to transmutate into this?
Well, probably since the moment they had gone to bed and Thor laid down two
feet away from him. Well, ok, not literally, but that’s pretty much how it had
felt. What if he can’t handle this?, an inner voice had supplied, his brain
always so eager to help, what if he’s having second thoughts?Sex had not done
much for Loki’s peace of mind, happy hormones or no. It had been so strange.
Thor had needed a lot more than just a fuck from him last night, and Loki
wasn't sure he had been able to provide it. And then of course, whatever traces
of serenity and rationality were left in Loki’s brain by that time, insomnia
had done away with hours ago. He had been working himself into a right state,
little by little, in a downward spiral around circle after circle of hell. 
Fear. It was eating him alive. So many appearances of it, so many ways of it,
so many shapes and noises of it, seeping into every nook and cranny of his
mind, making him look at things with other eyes, making him second-guess and
doubt it all. As if lost in a fun house, each turn he took, each corner he
doubled, revealed a distorted, deformed version of familiar things, a bit
crooked, a bit off. It had become worse and worse as the sleepless hours kept
trickling past him, and soon enough, Loki was wishing he could just duck in a
hole and stop fucking seeing. He was also hyperventilating, but that, at least,
he could do something about.
How the fuck were they going to make this work. What the fuck had they been
thinking. Maybe because Natasha and Tony and Sigyn and Bruce had not batted an
eyelid, they had started to believe that it was all fine, run-of-the-mill-even.
What’s a bit of incest among Odinsons? Clearly they had chosen their audience
well, while conveniently forgetting that what they did was illegal in many
parts of the world, and unspeakable all over it. That, should this ever be
known, it would destroy them. Destroy-destroy them. We’re not just talking
career and reputation here, their family’s good name, their own. We’re talking
self-esteem, fucking spiritual peace. Thor was not used to people hating him,
he was used to worship, love and praise. Loki knew how it felt to be spat in
the face (literally, by the way, and not for money.) Thor did not. It would
wreck him. Sure, he would fight back tooth and nail and be proud, and he would
never give up, but these things corroded you from the inside out. Thor stood to
lose everything. His career first, of course; his friends, maybe; his sense of
self-worth soon after. What would he be left with then? Loki, that's all. How
was that a fair trade, how could Loki ever begin to compensate for all that
Thor could lose over this?
“I would throw it all away, damn it all to hell, in a blink,”he had said once,
full of fervour and boldness, but more than anything, full of shit.
“Yes, I know you would,” his brother had replied, his voice so sad, always
willing to buy his crap, always refusing to see his baby brother for the
bullshit-vending machine he really was. “And after three days you would miss
it, and you would start to regret it, and then you would hate me for the rest
of our lives.” 
Loki detested when people got perceptive on him. He had bitten back, and hard,
that night. Thor made it so easy. Oh, the nerve. Had he himself believed his
own words, even then? Would he really throw away career, public recognition,
the rush when he stepped out onto the stage, the thrill when he killed a
performance, the excitement waiting for the reviews to come out, the sweet,
sweet validation when they were good, and the sound of applause roaring in his
ears, climbing higher when it was him taking the bow? Would he ever be happy
being an anonymous (or rather, defamed) hausfrau, simply being Mrs. Odinson?
(Or whatever other name they were forced to take…) So what if it was actually
Loki the one who, at the moment of truth, after they had both sacrificed
everything, realised that he actually liked his acting career better, and
started to resent his brother for being the reason he had lost it all? How the
fuck could he be sure that it would not happen? Wasn’t he a perfect little shit
in every other way? The look of disappointment on Thor’s face, of betrayal…
Loki was struggling to breathe now, a clammy wave of panic soaking him
throughout. Air. He wanted out. He needed out.
But you can’t run now, you bastard, not after what he’s done for you. He’s
jumped through every hoop you’ve set up for him, he’s stuck his neck out for
you, he has fucking told his friends already… This has no turning back. You’re
trapped. (Can’t breathe…)
No, fuck, you’re wrong. If you have doubts, now it’s the time t-… to end it.
Now. Before it gets any bigger. Just get the fuck out, Loki. Do it. Get up,
pack a bag, disappear. He’s strong, he’ll get over it. Sif will pick up the
pieces. He’ll never want to see you again, but after tonight, deep down inside,
he will know it was for the best.
He imagined it, he visualised it. Sneaking out of bed, opening the drawers
slowly, and where was the bloody bag. Unzipping it quietly, stuffing in
whatever clothes were at hand, looking longingly at all the stuff he would have
to leave behind and lose forever. Tip-toeing to the bathroom for his things.
Then downstairs, mind the wooden steps because they creak, and Sigyn is a light
sleeper. Borrow the car, you can leave it at the station…  (He thought it was
Little Loki’s voice chiming in now, whining, stomping his feet,clinging on to
door frames as big Loki dragged him away by force, "But I want Thor! I want to
be with Thor!" — "Oh my sweet," replied Inner Bastard, honey-voiced and full of
reasons, poison underneath, prising his little chubby fingers off one by one,
“I know you do, but think of him. Things are complicated, and sometimes you
have to do a bit of harm to do a world of good…")
Then he saw Thor waking up hours later, surprised that for once Loki had gotten
up before him. Having a quick look around the house before he goes out jogging,
still not panicking that Loki is nowhere to be found. Asking his mates when he
comes back from his run, “anyone seen Loki?”, but nobody is worried just yet,
except for Sigyn, who knows his flippy side very well. She keeps it to herself,
however, always so loyal, hoping he’ll be better than he really is, and be
brave, and come home. As hours go by, they start smelling something fishy, and
although everybody is insisting that it’s too early for it, Thor just goes
ahead and loses his shit. He’s furious, and sick with worry, and furious, and
confused, and aching, and furious… 
Loki began to cry, big silent tears, muffled sobs. He was feeling bereft and
lost and lonely already. The world was a cold and scary place, and he felt like
he had seen too much of it. And Thor would not fucking get over it any time
soon —don’t lie to make yourself feel better, Laufeyson. He would be torn
apart, and he would feel betrayed, and he would never understand, and he would
hate you for this. He would hate you. (And Loki’s heart was breaking, but his
brain just kept on pounding him.) He would never forgive you, and if you should
ever wish to come crawling, he’d never take you back. He would be forever
afraid that you would pull another one of these on him. You would never see him
again. You would never get to touch him again. He would hate you, for the rest
of his life. 
You selfish son of a bitch. Me, me, me. What about him? Thor loses everything
if you stay, and in the end he’ll hate you just the same. You have to leave,
Loki, for him, and for you, right this fucking minute. Be brave and go. Be
brave and stay. Goddammit, Laufeyson, you’re a fucking coward.
Back-breaking sobs now, he tried to stifle them and he could not. He did slip
out of bed then, he grabbed the first clothes he could feel in the dark (a pair
of lounge pants and a bathrobe), he did tip-toe to the bathroom. He locked
himself there, and continued to cry as quietly as he could, curled up in the
corner farthest away from the door.
Oh, Loki, you sick, fucked up, messed up piece of shit. Your brother did
something amazing for you tonight. He took a step forward and said, “we’re
together.” Because he loves so much, he loves you, and himself, and his
friends, and his huge heart won’t tolerate secrets and lies, not when it
matters. He had been brave and proud for you, and risked his friends’
rejection, and had not backed down, even when he was trembling from fear. Loki
should be feeling ecstatic and brimming with love and joy, and will you just
look at yourself instead. What the fuck is your problem? What if Thor could see
you now, crying in the bathroom in the middle of the night like a fucking
lunatic? How would it make him feel?
And that’s why you can’t have nice things. Because you always fucking ruin
everything. And you will fuck this up, sooner or later. Even if you get through
this night, there’ll be another, and another, and another. No matter how many
fucking pills you take, and no matter how many hours of therapy you get, this
is who you are in the end, what you will always be. Thor deserves better than
this, he deserves better than you. You have no right to ask him to throw his
life down the drain for you. You’re not worth it. I don’t want to be you. I
hate you. I wish you had never been born.
Shut up, shut up, shut up!
Loki beat his head with closed fists, and cried harder, and cried and cried and
cried. 
 
 
From grey, the light outside was turning white. The tears had stopped some time
ago, mainly out of exhaustion, but he was still shaking with deep, sudden sobs.
Although the humdrum of voices was still there in his head, tormenting him, the
most urgent peak of the crisis seemed behind him. Loki guessed he had his
medication to thank for that —without it, there would have been nothing
standing between those voices and his will; and in the bathroom he had
everything he needed to follow through with the logical conclusion of this
particular train of thought he had been crazy-riding on.
He needed to get his shit together before anyone else got up. Hogun was an
early riser, he could be here at any minute. He had to drag himself up on his
feet, now.
He got up stiffly, muscles rigid from the crying and the cold, and washed his
face. His eyes were puffy, injected in red, his face  swollen in odd places. He
could not possibly go back to Thor’s bed looking like that. What would he say
if he woke up and asked him what was wrong? He wouldn’t know where to start
explaining, and even if he did, Thor would never understand. His brain simply
did not do this, it did not work itself spontaneously into life-ruining
meltdowns. 
He ached all over, shoulders, neck, back, his arse from having had it pressed
on a frozen tile floor for what he calculated had been the best part of an
hour. He listened for telling noises in the corridor, poked his nose out.
Deserted. He padded to his old bedroom. The sheets were ice cold, everything
was cold. He covered up to his eyes, shaking convulsively, muscles attempting
to generate body heat. He was spent, and that headache was going to be one for
the books. He made a half-arsed attempt at rolling his shoulders and stretching
his neck to ease off some of the tension. His heart wasn’t in it.
All those terrible thoughts that had risen and grown to a crushing physical
weight, like tons and tons of black water piling on top of him and drowning
him, impossible to elude or avoid or negotiate away, had retreated, or rather
ebbed —they were not gone, and although there was a harmlessly-looking stretch
of sand between them and Loki for now, he could still see them, still hear
them, still smell them festering there, waiting for the next bad moon to rise.
He could still see their reason and their sense, and they were still fucking
terrifying. He did not want Thor to ruin his life over him and regret it. He
did not want to look into Thor’s eyes one day with regret either. He did not
want to wake up one day and realise all they had left for each other was
reproach. The mere idea made him want to run away again, disappear into thin
air.
But no matter how compelling, no matter how persuasive, no matter how
reasonable and inescapable they appeared, they were still only thoughts and
figurations, right? They were not the future, not realities already come to
pass, but mere possibilities, that was all. And possibilities could be
influenced, and shaped, and controlled, transformed into something radically
different, or even avoided altogether, couldn’t they? (He was hearing all of
that in Banner’s voice, by the way. It was Banner’s words that were coming to
his rescue, from previous panics.) You won’t necessarily be overrun by these
things you fear, Loki. They’re not inevitable, and you’re not powerless against
them. You can work at this, and you don’t have to do it alone. I’m here, and
Sigyn is here, and Nat is here, and we’ll help you, we’ll be right by you. And
even if something horrible should happen, we’ll manage, you’ll manage. You’ve
done it before and you’ll do it again. It’s reasonable to be afraid, there is
nothing crazy about it. Some things are very scary. That’s not defeat, not even
a setback, that’s just part one of dealing with it. Now, one foot in front of
the other. What’s next?
Next. Sleeping. Stop fucking thinking.
Loki turned on the lamp and picked a book from the shelf by the bed. The Hound
of the Baskervilles. It ticked all the boxes —beloved old friend with pleasant,
calming associations, far-removed from his present circumstances, engaging but
familiar enough that he wouldn’t obsess over it, and a bloody good read he had
not revisited in a long time. He started turning pages. 
Even when his lids, heavy as lead, spent more time shut than open, and he was
reading the same paragraph over and over again, he kept trying to push sentence
after sentence. He didn’t want to leave one moment, one second of conscience to
think.
 
 
There was some muffled whispering outside, he thought it was Bruce and Sigyn.
The room was light. He felt like he had been crushed by a cartoon grand piano.
He desperately needed pain killers. There were some in Thor’s room. 
Loki dragged himself out of bed, fighting with a tangle of terrycloth from the
bathrobe he had slept in, and once he was sure there was nobody out there, he
padded to their bedroom. Squinting and with a heavy frown, because every
movement made his headache dig its heels in, and we’re talking six-inch
stilettos. 
Inside, Thor was still asleep, curled on his side in a nest of sheets and
blankets bundled around him, like a beast in its lair. A naked, golden beast,
bulging with muscles Michelangelo would have sold his soul for, who growled
like a beast in his sleep, and fucked like an animal too… Focus, Laufeyson, the
headache. He found the tablets, and chased them down with water from the jug on
the bedside table. Now, coffee would be nice, but he wasn’t ready to face the
world. Not by himself, that’s for sure. He took his clothes off and climbed up
into bed next to his brother. He tried to pull some covers over him, carefully.
Not carefully enough. Thor stirred awake. He blinked dozily, bright blue eyes
sparkling, and crept over to him, arm and leg over Loki, dragging him close.
Loki felt both kind of annoyed at the manhandling (who the fuck did Thor have
him for? His personal human teddy, shoving and pushing him this way and that?)
and instantly comforted at the same time, the heat so bloody nice after being
cold for hours. He laid there, warm and soothed and safe and owned, and waited
for the throb inside his skull to subside.
Next time your brain wants to go on one, Laufeyson, remember this, this exact
sensation, the weight and the glow and the smell, the push of his chest against
your body as he breathes, while sweet, blissful oblivion in the form of sleep
weighs your eyes down and enfolds you. And keep repeating to yourself that
you’re allowed to have this, that you deserve this. Not because there is
anything extraordinary about you, but because you’re people, and you deserve to
be loved as much as anyone else. (Jesus, how fucking hard it was to say that,
even in his own mind —especially in his own mind—, even in Sigyn’s voice.)
Repeat it to yourself until it fucking sinks in, like a mantra. Don’t try to
reason yourself into this, because you’re much too fucking clever for it, and
you’ll always find fucking counterarguments. No, you’ll have to take it on
faith. You need no justification. Because it’s there, and Thor wants you to
have it, and that has to be good enough for you. No debates, no convoluted
argumentations, no discussions about your merits or lack thereof. Just tell it
to yourself until it’s law.
You deserve this. You can have this. You already have it. So just fucking have
it.
 
 
The next time Loki woke up that morning, the watch on the bedside table said it
was half past eleven. He sat up carefully, expecting a hammer strike of pain to
his head that, mercifully, did not come. He was tired and his thoughts felt as
slow and thick as trickle, but it should be manageable. Only, it was time to
face the lions, because coffee, for pity’s sake…
“Thor,” he said, shaking his snoring brother’s shoulder. “Thor, wake up.”
He got a deep rumble in reply. A deep grumble that bypassed his ears and
resonated directly in his groin.
“Thor, it’s late, wake up…” Shaking, shaking.
Thor turned onto his stomach, with another tingle-inducing groan. 
Loki huffed, not best pleased. He got up and trudged heavily across the room to
throw the curtains open. Light poured inside. It was a bright day, mineral blue
skies. Thank fuck. After yesterday, it was nice to have the weather lend a
hand. His brother grumbled in protest, and with some obscenity or another, he
turned on his back and shoved a pillow on his face. 
Oh. It seemed that Thor was not totally asleep then. Loki smirked at the sight
of the tented bedcovers. And even with the reminders of his headache throbbing
bluntly in the back rows, he felt himself getting, hm, bothered. There were
things that were not too taxing. He was willing to try one or two. He lied down
beside his brother, taking a moment to admire the rise and fall of his chest,
and slithered one hand under the covers. With his eyes closed, he brushed down
his brother’s chest and stomach, stopping at the pubes. Thor let out a long,
heavy breath, but didn’t move. 
“Thor…” he whispered, as close to his ear as he could get with that fucking
pillow still over Thor’s face, fingers playing with the curls at the base of
his brother’s cock. “Brother…”
A groan, and Thor rolled onto his side, back to him. Hm. Loki turned too, and
got close, spooning him. His own erection fell neatly at the cleft of Thor’s
magnificent, nut-cracking-hard arse.
“Brother, wake up…” He peppered his shoulders with tiny kisses, and rolled his
hips idly, getting but a light stroke. Enticing, nothing more yet. 
Thor’s breathing had changed. There was a long, long groan as he arched against
him, stretching his back. Then one big hand fell on Loki’s hip, with a grope,
and Thor’s arse pushed back against him, pressure on Loki’s underbelly. He
kissed Thor’s neck, lazily, messily. His brother took the pillow off his face
and offered more skin for Loki’s mouth, with a sort of gruff mumble.
“Good morning, brother,” said Loki between kisses.
Thor grunted something back, hoarse, and pressed against him. Oh, he was so
fucking horny… He was rutting against Thor’s arse, desperate to get a bit more
serious now. If only he could get a better grip… He slithered one hand
downwards, between Thor’s thighs, and nudged them apart. Thor got it, and
opened them, and Loki positioned himself to better… ah, that’s it. Where the
fuck is the lube (he contorted to reach on the bedside table, felt blindly, hit
the gold, and ripped a packet with his teeth. He probably got it all over the
underside of the bedcover as he reached under it to slick his cock. Shivered
—it was cold.) Finally, he was thrusting into a tight, hot, narrow space. Thor
was very thoughtfully staying firm for him, and then a bit of a hip roll… Ah.
Loki’s hand crept over and downwards, looking for Thor’s cock. They had done
this so much when they were kids, but the positions were always reversed. It
was making his head light. He closed one slick hand around Thor’s erection, and
heard him sigh.
“Are you awake yet?” mumbled Loki breathily, his hand jacking Thor slowly, as
he thrusted between his thighs.
A gruff little chuckle. Thor clenched around him. Ah, god. It was not fucking
but… His brother’s hand closed around his own, and Loki remembered he was
supposed to be jerking him off as well. Well, excuse me brother, if I’m not as
practiced at this as… ah, fuck, hmmm…, as you are. Thor clenched tighter,
tensing his thighs. Loki had completely forgotten about his brother’s cock now,
and it seemed that Thor had too. Both Thor’s movements and his own were focused
on his cock. It was a heady sensation, to have his brother rolling his hips and
clench his muscles to better pleasure him. Again, it was always the other way
around…
Because it wasn’t proper fucking (and because they were having so much sex,
probably) this seemed to be taking forever, and Loki was getting frustrated. 
“Ah, shit.” He stopped after a while, panting hard, his headache rising and
threatening to spoil the mood. He pulled back and turned onto his back, still
breathing hard, seething with dissatisfaction. 
Thor rolled over to face him, eyes puffy with the rough night, lips also
slightly puffy from a not-rough-at-all little face-fuck. 
“Hey,” said Thor, eyes still heavy, voice dry, hoarse from sleep. “Want to
come?” 
Loki nodded, hoping his headache didn’t notice.
His brother pulled down the covers, Loki gasped with the unexpected cold. Thor
felt his cock, found it slick enough, and started stripping him. Loki jolted
from the sudden sensation, and felt it coming over quickly. He knew Thor was
watching him, but didn’t put on any theatricals for him. He just let go. His
hips did thrust up, seeking that clash of Thor’s fist on his crotch that sent
tingles up his spine. 
“Are you close, baby?” said Thor, just by his ear.
Loki got on the stretch home right then. He went rigid, arse hovering one inch
above the mattress.
“Don’t stop… Like that...” His jaw went slack as his brother jerked faster.
“Yes… yes… god, yes…”
“Come on, baby…”
“…Ah, fuuuuuck…!” 
He shuddered as he came, his brother watching him and stroking him through it.
Thor’s hand slowed down as bliss washed over him, loosening all his knots. He
felt himself begin to melt into the mattress straight away.
He opened his eyes one sliver, humming a sound of content. Then he saw the
frown on Thor’s face.
“Have you been crying?” asked his brother, very much awake all of a sudden.
Fuck. His mind was just too thick and tired to think of an excuse or an
explanation. He scrubbed his eyes hard. What a way to come down from that high.
“’S nothing,” he mumbled, from behind closed eyes.
He heard the wheels and cogs of Thor’s brain in the silence that followed.
“Won’t you tell me what it is?” asked his brother kindly, with a note of worry.
“I said it was nothing, forget it.” And just because he knew Thor would not let
it go just like that, “I felt all emotional last night.” Whatever that meant.
“You were crying in the night? And I didn’t notice?” He sounded so helpless.
“Yes but it’s nothing” he said, too quickly. “Have you seen your lips?”
“My lips?” Thor felt his mouth. “What’s wrong with them?”
“You may want to look in the mirror…”
Thor chuckled, still hoarse, still dry, still looking knackered, bags under his
eyes, still unnaturally beautiful.
“Won’t you tell me why you were crying?” asked Thor.
Loki sighed, exasperate.
“I was emotional,” he repeated, knowing it wouldn’t get him anywhere.
“What does that mean?”
“Jesus fuck, Thor,” grumbled Loki, getting up stiffly. “Just… emotional, ok?”
Now Thor looked… unimpressed.
“We need to get our arses in gear,” said Loki, going for the distraction again,
“we have guests…”
Thor sighed.
“Can’t I just stay here?” he sulked. Even that expression suited him. 
Loki kneeled by the bed, close to him, letting himself gaze at his brother with
unreserved adoration, for once.
“I want to get out there with you and brag,” said Loki. “I want to hold your
hand, and grab your arse, and kiss you for all our friends to see. I want to
rub it in.”
“Rub what in?”
“That you’re mine.”
Thor’s blue eyes locked with his. He grinned with the corner of his mouth. He
seemed both pleased and taken aback. Then he remembered himself, or he
remembered his predicament.
“We could fuck really, really loud,” he bargained. “You can call me brother as
much as you like.”
“Oh, we can do that too, I owe you one,” offered Loki. “In the shower, though.”
Thor sighed.
“Don’t sound so excited,” said Loki, giving him a shove.
Thor smiled half-heartedly. After some time, he dragged himself up to sitting,
reluctant, slumped on himself like a giant puppet left on the shelf. Loki
decided to cut him some slack and give him a bit of time. 
When he bent over to get the bathrobe from the floor, he heard his brother hum
appreciatively. He gave him a look over the shoulder, with a smirk.
“In the shower, you say?” grinned Thor.
 
 
 
                                       *
 
 
 
“Is that what you’re going to wear?” asked Loki, quizzical eyebrow, hair
slicked back, one perfect love-bite poking just above the collar of his shirt.
Thor examined the jeans, plain t-shirt and knit jacket he had picked and spread
on the bed before the shower. 
“Yeah…?” he said, hesitating. It was pretty much what he always wore around the
house. Loki had never seemed to have a problem with it before. “No good?”
Loki assessed the outfit critically, and had a rummage in the wardrobe. Thor
ended up in the new-ish black jeans and a deep red shirt, not tight, but rather
fitted. He checked himself out in the mirror. He didn’t really look overdressed
so much as nicely put together, but still. At least his brother allowed him to
wear the weathered boots he had bought in New Mexico while shooting Blood
Meridian, even though Thor suspected that Loki believed they reminded him of
Jane. Loki himself had also made an effort. Instead of jeans or leather, smart
charcoal grey suit trousers that framed his butt so beautifully, in a very,
very nice cloth (you could touch the wool in it, and Thor did, lots,) and the
deep green shirt he had worn on their first date, instead of a baggy jumper.
All in all, they walked out of the room like the rather good-looking couple
they were. So, Loki had meant it when he had said he wanted to brag. Just how
fucking cute was his baby brother.
Even after the extra few hours of sleep he had scrounged up this morning, Thor
was bleeding knackered. He had not managed to sleep for ages, and when he did,
he kept waking up. He had all those family therapy sessions to thank for having
identified his problem as probably anxiety. He hated that he was being tossed
around by unnamed, irrational fears, and he didn’t see a point in just laying
there doing nothing about it, so he had decided to try and untangle the knots
and brambles in his head  —pin down the main sources of his restlessness,
narrow them down to something he could work with, and get to fucking work on
it. Tidy up and rationalise, Odinson. You have nothing better to do at the
moment.
So, what was he so afraid of? He was afraid of the morning, when he would have
to go out there and face his friends, d'uh. But why, exactly, goddammit?
They’re not going to fucking bite. What are you afraid is going to happen? And
be honest. Well, after much deliberation, he had had to accept that, pathetic
and ridiculous as they were, it came down to three main things: he was scared
of being judged, he was afraid of beinglooked at funny, and he was afraid of
losing them.
So that was that. Eureka, you got it. Good for you. Now, rationalising your
fears. First, the judging. He so, so did not want their friendship to end on a
matter of fucking sexual morality. Just… anything else but that, please. But
don’t just lose your cool as a pre-emptive measure, Odinson, you don’t really
know how they feel about this. They had barely had time to get over the shock
last night. Whatever was in their faces or in their heads at that point, Thor
shouldn’t really hold them to it, and he did not intend to. Tomorrow was
another day. And come on, man, you know these people, they’re just not that
type. He had felt nothing but affection and support from Volstagg. There had
been a strong pledge of unconditional loyalty in Hogun’s eyes and the grip he
had on his arms. Fandral… Well, Thor would have never thought he would ever see
Fandral in shock, he had believed him unflappable. Their past history may have
a weight in, which Thor was not able to deduce, and Fandral’s present, uh,
interest in Loki may also have an influence in his hm, opinion on the whole
matter, but Fandral was a fuck and let fuck kind of person. Now, Sif… Well, Sif
was bound to have serious difficulties with this, wasn’t she? But still, he
could not possibly imagine her plastering a scarlet letter on Thor’s forehead
and condemning him to the flames of hell. Whatever she was feeling about this,
it would not go down that route. That was simply not Sif.
But anyway, let’s forget it’s your friends now, he thought. If worse comes to
the worst, if they are so sickened by this they don’t want anything to do with
you anymore… Fuck them. Seriously, fuck them. They did no harm to anyone with
this, Loki and him. So what if it was a sin, or taboo, or just plain repulsive
to people? Fuck people! Thor was a moral man. He had always had a strong sense
of right and wrong, inherent to him, and he trusted it. And there was nothing
wrong with this. He had no doubts about that, not one. So what if it freaked
people out, what if it horrified them? To hell with all of them. Even his
friends, if it came to that.
But how could he feel so certain about this, and still get the jitters about…
what? Having them look at him like a weirdo? It was ridiculous, and
humiliating, and he objected to himself so fucking strongly over it, and yet
there it was, clear as day. Well, (rationalise, Odinson,) he wasn’t fucking
used to it, was he? He needed no-one pointing out to him just how mainstream
his public life and persona had been until now, and how rarely, if ever, had
anything he had done been frowned upon (except by his dad, but that was a
completely different story.) So, being the freak, being pointed at and called
things, being looked at funny and talked about behind his back. The idea made
him uneasy, ok?, he feared it, and denying it wasn’t going to do anyone any
good. 
So you may come downstairs, and someone, or everyone, might turn and look at
you like you’re a fucking freak. It may happen. It’s a possibility. So? Toughen
up, Odinson. Hadn’t Loki had much worse all his bloody life? Thor had had it so
easy for so long. It was finally time that he stood up and got his fair share
of looks for how unorthodox his private life really was, and stop letting Loki
be the only one with the “freak” sign hanging from his neck.
And last but certainly not least, he was afraid of losing them. He loved them.
He had felt more himself and more at home among them than he had ever felt in
his whole life. They were like family. They shared some interests and a
particular sense of humour, lots of stories and experiences, but to be honest
he could not pin it down to a specific set of reasons. They just came together
so bloody nicely, a little world complete in itself, greater than the sum of
its parts. He just loved hanging out with them. They made him laugh, and they
kept him grounded. He felt that, as long as he had them in his life, he would
not lose himself to fame and flattery. In summary, he valued their friendship
very, very much, and he was terrified that this might break it. 
He was hoping so badly that they would prove to be the kind of people he had
always had them for, that they would be able to overcome their prejudices, or
their ickiness, or whatever, rise above it, and see Loki and him for what they
were, good for each other, better together, and support them. Because what he
had told Loki still stood. If they could not accept them, and welcome Loki
among them, he did not want them in his and Loki’s life. Because they did not
do any harm to anyone, and just as important as that, because Thor did not like
people who built opinions on other people based on who they shared their life
and their bed with. 
So, his fears, here they were, all spread out, laid bare, examined, analysed,
rationalised to the best of his ability. And just as fucking frightening as
they had been to begin with. The ball of lead was still in his throat, no
matter how much he tried to swallow it down. He had fallen asleep from utter
nervous exhaustion, but his brain had kept churning them through the night, and
here they were again, as he stood in front of the kitchen door, his grip of
Loki’s hand a lot tighter than it needed to be. 
There were animated voices and some laughter coming from inside (Volstagg’s
booming, hearty chuckles were unmistakeable), but it was his heartbeat he was
hearing more than anything. And he was so fucking tired as well. Where was he
going to get the strength to get in there and… well, stand proud, hold his
brother close, and confront them? He had never had a more pressing urge to run
and hide. Next to him, Loki gulped. He was not as aloof and self-possessed as
he wished to appear, and Thor’s hesitation in front of the door probably wasn’t
helping. They would have to fake it. He relaxed his clasp on Loki’s hand, but
for a brief squeeze, and smiled at him, with a wink. He’s big brother, he’s got
this.
He pushed the door in. 
“Morning, everyone,” he said, smiling, making eye contact, walking briskly with
Loki in tow. He spotted quick glances dart down to their entwined hands and
flick away.
“Afternoon, more like!” said Volstagg, patting his paunch. 
Everybody said good morning, everybody met his eye with a nice, friendly
expression. Except for Sif, who seemed extremely disapproving of her cup of
coffee, between her hands on the table. She seemed weary and tired herself, as
if she hadn’t had much sleep either. The conversation resumed naturally enough.
There was no sudden, strained silence. They were talking about drama school,
for Sigyn and Bruce’s benefit it seemed, since they were asking questions. Thor
wondered, was it a good or a bad sign that Loki and him had not walked in on
them talking about the elephant in the room? The fact that they weren’t
discussing the subject, was it an indication that they weren’t that bothered,
or a sign that it was such a sensitive issue that they were steering clear of
it? Oh, Odinson, stop right there. Just breathe in, breathe out, and what will
be, will be. Right?
“Want eggs, baby?” he asked Loki, who nodded quietly and got on with a fresh
pot of coffee and the toasts. They moved around each other effortlessly, having
fallen into the easy morning routine they had already built together over the
past couple of weeks. Except of course for the making out, the heavy petting
and the array of other things that kept happening in that kitchen, or at least
starting in it. Thor did not want to make anyone uncomfortable by being that
slobbery couple who can’t stop being all over each other, but hell, they were
that slobbery couple. It was one thing to be respectful of guests, and it was
another to be shy to the point of insincerity, right? So as he walked past Loki
with the dishes, he planted a kiss on the back of his neck. His very sensitive,
very reactive brother squirmed and flustered, the sexy thing.
When he went to find a chair, Thor realised there was only one left. Sigyn had
just vacated it, and was now perched on his boyfriend’s lap. Alright then. Thor
took the empty chair, at the head of the table (dad’s chair), and put both
plates down in front of him.
Now Loki turned around, a coffee mug in each hand, and swept the room with his
eyes. Before he blanked it out, for a brief second, he looked forlorn. Thor
knew that face well. Left out again. Pathetic. Loser…  
“Loki,” Thor said, patting his thigh with a bright smile.
The expression that dawned on Loki’s face then was a poem, washing over him
like a coat of glitter, making him shine. Pride, triumph, a sudden burst of
self-confidence, bordering on arrogance, giving an extra smug spring to his
swagger as he walked around the table towards him. He took his rightful place
on Thor’s lap with an air of nonchalance, as if it was nothing, as if they did
this every day, and Thor wrapped a possessive arm around his waist. What a
fucking prince, thought Thor, a puddle at his baby brother's feet. He couldn’t
take his eyes off him.
He caught his name. Volstagg had been talking to him while Thor was on cloud
nine.
“Say that again?”
“I was asking,” Volstagg said, in the tone of a school teacher who’s just
caught his favourite student up to no good again, and knows he should be taking
him to task, but can't never be hard on him, “if you were still up for that
chat we talked about, come March. The kids are so excited about it.”
“Yeah, sure,” said Thor. He had forgotten completely.
“And what about you, Loki?” asked Volstagg. “Would you be willing to give a
chat at my seminar? They idolise you there.”
Loki swallowed his mouthful.
“What kind of a chat?” he asked, always so cautious.
“Anything you like, really. You can talk about your method, about the way it
works in the circuit, about your experiences…”
Loki frowned, flashed a pointed look at Volstagg.
“Would these kids’ parents be happy to have me come talk about my experiences
to their innocent little darlings?”
Volstagg chuckled.
“All my little darlings, both the innocent and the not so much, are over
eighteen, so it’s not up their parents anymore.”
Loki had liked that answer, said that smirk. Whether or not he had been swayed
by it, it was too soon to tell.
“I’m sure they’re bored of hearing about it anyway,” said Loki, dismissive.
“And I’m sure they would be thrilled,” insisted Volstagg, enthusiastic. “It
would be a treat.”
“What’s Thor going to talk about,” asked Loki.
“My own time at school, how it has enriched my acting.”
“Selling them a place they’re already paying for?” said Loki, without real
heat.
“Actually, you were going to tell them about the hard time you had of it in the
beginning, weren’t you, lad?” chimed in Volstagg.
“You had a hard time?” asked Loki, incredulous.
Thor shrugged, and took a big bite of his eggs on toast, to save himself from
having to answer.
“Rotten,” said Volstagg. “The teachers were out to get him because he was an
Odinson, and the students all treated him like he had the plague because he was
a movie star, the snobbish little shits. He was isolated and getting hate left,
right, and centre.”
Loki was frowning, searching his brother's face. Thor was so not looking back
right now, his face starting to boil red.
“He almost dropped out, didn’t you Thor?” added Sif. “He was the very picture
of misery the first time I saw him at Hogun’s class. You weren’t eating much,
were you?”
And then Thor had to sit there and listen to a thorough review of his first
months at school, as told in turns by each of his friends, with a lapful of
frowning Loki. Even Hogun had stuff to contribute. Thor left them to it,
attention on his toasts, and trying not to drop crumbs over his brother’s
smart, carefully chosen clothes, which meant a spot of contorting. 
“It wasn’t as bad as all that,” he did say, eventually, as the anecdotes kept
piling up. Everybody was being so supportive, so compassionate. Poor Thor, boo
hoo. And in the meantime, his brother, who had been through real, proper hell
and back several times over, listened quietly and thoughtfully, and god only
knows what he was feeling.
“So thank god we found you, eh?” said Volstagg, rising his mug of tea in toast.
“What would you have done without us.”
Thor nodded in acknowledgement, and clinked his mug with his, with a nervous
bite at his lip. 
“I didn’t know any of that,” said Loki. 
Thor wiped his no doubt oily palms on a napkin, and put both hands around
Loki’s waist, looking up. He sought his brother’s face, trying to read him.
There was a frown there and a squint, but basically all Thor could see right
now was just how fucking lovely he was from that angle, all sharp planes and
cutting bones. Loki dipped his head down to kiss him, eyes closed and all, and
if his expression was impenetrable to Thor, at least his kiss was not. There
might have been a brief, crackling silence in the room, but everybody seemed to
decide that they had not noticed.
“Anyway,” said Sigyn, cutting the moment short. “Loki, we need to get our arses
in gear if you’re going to show Bruce and me the village. And we need to go
shopping if we’re cooking tea. You’re all staying for tea, aren’t you guys?”
she asked in general.
There was a round of yesses, and then they all started to pass plates over to
Volstagg, who was the one nearest to the sink, and clean up the table. Loki and
Thor were still finishing their breakfast. Loki wolfed what was left, and
gulped down his milky coffee already standing up. He lingered when he was
kissing Thor goodbye, while Sigyn tugged at his sleeve. Thor did not check
anyone’s reaction this time either. Loki seemed to want his fill of kissing him
in front of everyone, and after all they had been through, Thor wasn’t going to
begrudge him that.
Volstagg said something then about going to phone the family (“if they’re up,
that is, the lazy buggers!”), Fandral walked out to the kitchen garden with the
pack of cigarettes already in hand, and Hogun simply stepped silently out.
And now Thor found himself alone in the kitchen with Sif, and a second cup of
black coffee still too hot to drink in front of him. Sif had started to clean
the dishes.
“Siffy, don’t bother, I’ll do it,” he said.
“No bother. Got nothing better to do,” she mumbled.
“I’ll rinse then,” he offered, leaving his coffee on the table to cool down.
“If you want.”
They worked stiffly side by side, the silence awkward. He could not remember a
more uncomfortable situation with her since the morning after they had slept
together. Thor knew he had to bring the subject up somehow, discuss this. He
was already wondering why she wasn’t.
“So, Sif…” he tried, hesitant and clunky, “I guess it was a shock, right?
About… Loki and me.”
“Hm-mm,” she said, and carried on in silence, posture rigid. So, she wasn’t
going to make this easy for him, was she?
“So, what do you… Um, what do you think?” he asked.
She snorted, derisive.
“You don’t want to hear what I think, Thor.”
He swallowed. Right. 
“Yes, yes I do,” he said, a massive bluff.
“Alright then,” she said, curtly. “I think you’re out of your bloody mind.”
Thor tensed up, his hands clenched around the towel he was holding. Breathe,
Odinson.
“Why,” he asked, calm enough.
She whipped her head around, eyes wide, unbelieving.
“Why? He’s your brother, Thor!” 
“I know that,” said Thor, still composed. His repressed anger seemed to be
coming out as sass. “And?”
She was speechless, aghast.
“You really have to ask?”
“Well, there are so many problematic things about it,” he said, trying to
appear light and unfazed, and sounding downright cocky, “I just wondered which
one was yours. Or which ones.”
Her mouth was hanging open. Cocky was so not the right approach with Sif, not
when it was serious. He could not help himself.
“I don’t even know where to start!” she said, indignation making her voice
falter.
“Try,” said Thor.
She squared her jaw, met his challenge.
“Alright,” she said. “My first problem is, how the hell are you going to do
this? Are you planning to have facial surgery and move to a quiet place in
Siberia, where nobody knows you?”
“No,” said Thor.
“Oh, right, so you're still going to be an actor, is that it?”
“Yes,” said Thor. “If I can.”
She shook her head, a caustic smile.
“So you’re going to keep this a secret, right? In the internet age. Is that the
plan?”
Thor pondered his answer. Sif did not wait.
“You don’t even have a plan, do you?” She scoffed. “To hell with you, Odinson!”
Thor inhaled, exhaled.
“Why are you so angry?” he asked.
“Why are you so stupid!” she shouted. “And arrogant, and presumptuous, and…
Ugh! Jesus Christ!” She dropped the plate she had been scrubbing obsessively
for a while now, with a loud clatter, and started to pace the kitchen floor.
Thor inhaled, exhaled, decided to give her some time. In the meantime, he would
just finish the fucking dishes. Once he had set the last bit of cutlery aside
to air dry, he turned to face her, wiping his hands. 
“Why am I presumptuous?” he asked.
“Why are you…? A spoilt brat, is what you are!” she snarled. “You think you’re
fucking untouchable because the sunshine comes out of your arse! You always get
what you want and you always get your way, so you think you can get away with
fucking your own brother and still have an acting career! With Oscars, of
course! Because Thor Fucking Odinson is invincible and there is nothing he
cannot do, and nothing he cannot have!”  
“Do you think this is a whim?” he said, cutting. “Do you think I woke up one
morning, saw Loki, thought hm, cute butt, I’m gonna tap that, and there you go,
incest? Is that what you think?”
She looked at him with a completely different expression then, compassionate,
aching, and her voice calm, although still stern.
“No, that’s not how I see it at all.”
“How do you see it then?” he asked.
“Do you really want me to say?” 
Jesus fuck. Might as well. How much more hurtful could it be? (Famous last
words.) He nodded.
"Please." Sarcasm.
She nodded too, with an expression of resignation, as if she was going to a
place that had no turning back.
“I see a lonely, needy, sick little boy who only had his mum and his brother in
the whole world, and then one day he found out he was adopted, and it broke
him. And then his mum died, and all he’s left with is his brother, who is not
his brother anymore. And I see a kind, generous man, protective and caring,
loving to a fault, who blames himself for all that’s happened to his kid
brother, and would do anything for him, anything.”
“What the fuck are you trying to say, that Loki is my… pity fuck, or
something?”
Sif held his stare, defying him. Thor snorted.
“Well, that’s not how it fucking is, at all. You can get that out of your mind
right now.”
“So how is it, then,” asked Sif. “Because then what I see is a man who seemed
to have a brain in his head and his life on track and then bang, little brother
returns, and suddenly you’re willing to throw out the window everything you've
worked so hard for all your life?”
Thor gasped at the fucking bluntness of that. It had hit him right in the solar
fucking plexus.
“Do you think he… manipulated me into this somehow?”
“If he had, it’s not like you would know, would you?”
He rubbed his brow, struggling badly now to reign in the urge to start flinging
things around and shouting really, really loud.
“Nobody manipulated me into this, ok? This is what I want, what I've always
fucking wanted. I love him. Always have. Like a brother, and more than that.
Ok? This has been a long time coming.”
“What do you mean, always?” she asked, with a squint. “How long?”
She had to ask, of course. Well, he would answer.
“I was fifteen when we slept together for the first time.”
She shut her eyes, in despair and exhaustion.
“This just keeps getting better and better!” she said. “For god’s sake, Thor!
How… what…? …What are you fucking thinking? How the hell did you get it in your
head that this was a good idea? No matter what you feel, you two are a fucking
mess as brothers, how on earth do you expect it’s going to be any better as a
couple? This is unhealthy, Thor, how the fuck can you not see it! And you’re
both insane if you think you can pull this off!”
Thor’s knuckles were white from holding to the side of the worktop so hard. He
really wasn’t trusting himself with a civilised answer right now. But he should
have tried, because Sif was not fucking finished.
“You’re a smart man, Thor, you can always look after yourself, but for him! You
have like a blind spot for him! Don’t you bloody see it? So what more do you
have to do? How much more does he need? Tell me! For him to believe that you
love him enough? When you wreck your career and your reputation, will that
suffice you think? Will he believe you then? Will that satisfy Loki? Or will
you still be constantly freaking out that, the moment he suspects you don’t
love him like he needs you to, he’s going to try and kill himself again? Is
that how it works between you two? Just explain this to me really slowly, Thor,
walk me through the whole fucking thought process that turned hooking up with
your own little brother into a perfectly reasonable, practicable idea!”
Thor’s stare now was sure to be able to curdle milk, and his muscles were
fucking aching from holding back his fury. He forced himself into a long,
controlled breath. 
But whatever he was going to say died on his tongue when the kitchen door
opened, and there Loki was, standing under the threshold. Colour drained from
Thor’s face, a deep, cold shudder made his insides turn and his stomach clamp
up. Loki’s eyes were burning with a poisonous green fire, spite and hurt,
hatred and self-loathing, and so much more, radiating physical heat. Sif
returned his stare, taken aback but standing her ground, and hostile. How had
Thor missed that she disliked him so much. He braced himself for whatever was
coming from his brother’s sharp tongue, but Loki just smirked sourly, turned
around, and walked away.
Thor staggered, caught between a wave of murderous wrath against Sif, and worry
over Loki. He barged past her on his way out, not giving her the dignity of one
look.
“Baby, wait,” he said, catching up with Loki in the hall, on his way out. “How
long have you been there? How much have you heard?”
“Why? Did I miss the part where she listed the positives?” he said, abrasive.
“She was talking out of her arse, Loki, forget everything she’s said, don’t
listen to one word.”
“Actually, I think we should listen,” said Loki, still walking. “All she did
was look at you, and then look at me, and draw some logical conclusions. It’s
what the rest of the world is going to do.”
“I don’t care!” said Thor.
“Hm, but maybe I do,” said Loki.
Thor continued the chase now across the garden.
 “Baby, wait! Don’t bloody go like that, we need to talk!”
“Not now,” threw Loki over his shoulder.
“Yes, fucking now! Talk to me!” insisted Thor.
“I said not now,” hissed his brother.
“Don’t go by yourself!” cried Thor behind his back.
That made Loki stop, and turn very slowly. 
“Why? Are you afraid of what I’m going to do to myself?” he asked, tone sweet
with poisoned deliberation. 
When Thor frowned, realising his mistake, Loki’s smirk grew wider, more cruel.
Thor hated that face, he hated it with all his heart.
“She’s right, isn’t she?” said Loki. “I really have you wrapped around my
little finger with this. I can play you like a fucking fiddle.”
“No, she’s not fucking right,” said Thor, “she’s not right.”
“Repeating it a thousand times won’t make it so, Thor.”
Thor was fucking trembling with all of it now, boiling with it. He still
managed to bring himself back.
“Loki, forget about her, ok? Just…” A huff. “Stay with me. Let’s talk. Please.”
“Are you really afraid I’m going to cut my veins or something?” said Loki,
tartly. “You still have no idea how this works. You’ve lived with a depressive
person half your life. How can you still be so fucking ignorant about it?”
Thor was about as fucking strained as he could get, and now he snapped.
“How am I to know?!” he shouted. “You never fucking tell me anything! You
always just fucking run away!”
“Never?” repeated Loki, affronted. “Always?”
“Since we were kids, you always keep it all to yourself, and I’m the one doing
the fucking guesswork! And you blame me now because I don’t always get it
right?”
Loki was livid with indignation.
“Are we going to bring up our whole fucking childhoods whenever we have an
argument?”
“Don’t fucking change subjects!” roared Thor. “And I’m talking about this
argument here, now!”
“No!” snarled Loki. “You’re talking always! And never! I never tell you
anything. I always run away!”
“So we’re discussing semantics now?!
“I’m fucking talking about how everything I do every fucking day doesn’t count
for dick!” screamed Loki. “You have no idea, no idea how fucking hard I try!
Why do I fucking bother!”
“So fucking tell me! Talk to me!” insisted Thor. “It’s all I’m bloody asking!”
“But I don’t want to fucking talk!” shouted Loki.
He looked so vulnerable for an instant, that Thor was thrown off balance.
Loki’s chest was heaving agitatedly.
“I want to be alone. Leave me the fuck alone. Don’t fucking follow me,” he
said, restrained. The anger was still there, just underneath, simmering low and
bitter.
Thor watched him walk away and disappear under the stone arch leading to the
meadow. He was suffocating in impotence and fury, nostrils flaring, tears
pushing to come out, a roar burning in his throat. 
He felt a gentle hand on his arm, and whipped around, startled. It was Sigyn,
with a kind smile.
“I’ll go find him,” she said.
Thor remembered how his mum would always tell him to give Loki time and space
when he asked for it. He still nodded, and he watched Sigyn follow his
brother’s trail with a mixture of gratitude, jealousy and guilt.
 
 
                                       *
 
 
Loki wiped two stray tears and no more came. He felt depleted, exhausted,
empty, not even furious. He didn’t go far. He found himself a log to sit on
without getting a wet arse, and lit up a fag. 
The trudge on the grass behind his back alerted him that someone was coming. He
huffed, irritated. They couldn't even give him ten bloody minutes? Not even
five? Jesus fuck.
“Hey," said Sigyn. 
"Leave me alone," he groaned.
A silence.
"I know what you’re thinking, you know?” she said. “I know what you’re saying
in your mind. ‘Here she is now to give me The Chat. And I have to sit here and
pretend to listen as she goes on and on about how everything is going to be
alright, when I know better. I know the truth. Because I alone know the real
Loki, his selfish heart, his sick, twisted brain, and how no matter how hard he
tries, he always fucks up. All her words about not giving up apply to other
people, people who are worth more than him, stronger and better. It’s not going
to be alright for him. And all these nice, stupid people can talk until they’re
blue in the face to convince him that he’s wrong, but that’s because he has
them all fooled. Out in the real world, it’s full of people like Sif, people
who Loki hasn’t managed to trick, who see him for what he really is, and do not
love him. And they’re right, and all of these fools are wrong. So she can talk
all she wants, but it’s not going to change anything, and I should just give
up.’ Isn’t that what you’re thinking?”
Loki scrubbed the tears in his eyes before they could swell and fall, and took
a long, long drag. He didn’t even feel like trying for a smart comeback.
Sigyn squeezed next to him on the log. It annoyed him no end.
“Do you know how I know?” said Sigyn. “Because that’s how it is inside my head
half the time.”
He threw her a look then, but still said nothing.
“I know what Sif said was hard to hear,” she said, “but Thor is right, she
doesn’t know anything about you, about your history together.”
“That’s not going to stop anyone before reaching conclusions. It never has
before.”
“Maybe. So? Fuck them. You’ve said it. People will think whatever they want to
think, no matter what you do. Why worry.”
“Oh, yes, very reasonable,” he said, sarcastic, “So how well does that ‘why
worry’ shit work for you? And how well does it work for Thor? Of course I’m
going to fucking worry. And logic doesn’t fucking help one bit here.”
“Yes, I know,” she said, resigned.
He sighed too.
“I get tired of this,” he said. “So fucking tired. Battling the world, and
Thor, and myself. She’s right. This is never going to work.”
“Oh, darling…” she said wrapping an arm around him. “You’re under a lot of
stress. These last couple of days have taken a big toll, haven’t they? You
don’t see things clearly. With Thor it will get better, not worse. You’re still
adjusting to each other. And with the rest of the world… You’ll get a thicker
skin. As you’ve always done. It’s just your nature. You’re unsinkable.”
“You keep saying that, and I’m constantly on the verge of one breakdown or
another.”
“You’ve said it yourself. You’re constantly on the verge, and yet here you
are.”
Loki huffed. 
“That’s a lot of fun for me.”
“That’s just the way it is,” she said. “You’re also extraordinarily talented
and clever and full of passion.”
“And hot.”
She laughed.
“And hot. It’s just your lot, sweetheart. Make the best with what you’ve been
given.”
Loki drew a long drag and stubbed his fag.
“I’m going to fuck this up,” he said, his tone matter-of-factly, his heart
breaking underneath. “I just know I am.”
She hugged him tight, both arms. 
“Darling…” 
He shed a tear or two in her arms and pushed away as soon as he could, rubbing
his eyes.
“There’s nothing special about this fear of fucking up, you know?” she said,
after some time. “Why do you think I could not sleep the week after Bruce told
me that he loved me?”
“How does that fucking help me.”
“Aren't you a charmer.” 
He gave her a contrite look. She smiled, and patted him square on the back. 
“Come on, get up.”
He shook his head no, feeling the knot in his throat tighten. She held his
wrist with a strong grip, tugged at it.
“Go to Thor, right now. Remind yourself of why you’re doing this. Don’t just
sit here with your thoughts.”
Loki didn’t move. 
“Sweetie, don’t stay here by yourself. Go to Thor, and then talk to him, or
don’t talk to him, just let him be with you. This thing with Sif hurt you both.
You don’t have to deal with it alone. He needs to be a part of it too. Just let
him know that you see him.”
Loki shook his head once more, the choke in his throat making it hard to
breathe, feeling his feet turn to lead. He did not want to face him after what
had been said. He did not want to fight again. He wanted for things to
magically sort themselves out. He wanted to be in Thor's arms. 
“Come on, get up, we’re going back,” she urged, pulling him up with strong
hands used to lifting, restraining and manhandling uncooperative patients. 
He let her drag him up the hill towards the house, content to just trail behind
being impossible, while somebody else made the decisions. If said decisions
seemed to fall in with his own wishes, undercutting his pride, well, that was
just luck.
 
 
                                       *
 
 
“JESUS CHRIST!” roared Thor, and kicked some gravel. He was stomping in the
drive, with Fandral, Hogun and Volstagg keeping their distance, waiting for him
to cool down, their usual approach the couple of times Thor had gone into one
of these in their presence before. He was feeling quite ridiculous, to be
honest. He was not a fucking five-year-old, and yet the urge to scream “this is
unfair!” was pretty fucking difficult to resist right now. 
“FUCK!” he barked instead. 
Bruce appeared from inside the house and took a few steps towards him. Not a
good idea. Thor glowered at him warily. Stay back. Not one more step. Stop
right there. No, don’t fucking talk to me…
“Listen, man,” even Thor himself could hear how husky his bottled fury was
making him sound, “I know you mean well, but…” But if you like your nose the
way it is right now you’ll back the fuck off…
Bruce gave him a bright, open, frank stare against which all of Thor’s anger
would always bounce back and never leave a dent. So there you have it, that’s
how a man like that would get through to Loki.
“Shall we go find your brother?” said Bruce.
Thor snorted. 
“He doesn’t want to see me,” he groaned, hearing the hurt laced in with his
anger and his spite.
Bruce took another step.
“Of course he does. I bet he’s petrified that it's you who doesn’t want to see
him.”
Thor grimaced, showing teeth. Now he was feeling exactly like when he was a
kid, shouting “why does it always have to be me?!”and his mother patiently
replying, “because you’re the oldest, my darling”. He prudently shook his head.
“Not now. I just… I can’t right now.”
Bruce nodded, understanding, and just stood there, still with the same frank,
compassionate expression, holding Thor’s stare, impassible, all his attention
on him.
“I get so fucking fed up of screwing up with him, but I don’t know how to do
better,” said Thor, taking himself by surprise. With Bruce listening like that,
it had suddenly become so fucking hard not to let it out. “I just… I don’t
fucking get him!” he roared, kicking gravel again.
“You get him,” said Bruce. “He's not easy, neither of you are, but you get each
other where it matters. You would have killed each other by now if you didn’t,”
he smiled.
Thor wasn’t in the mood.
“He’s right though,” he said, bitter. “I’m always afraid of what’s going on in
his head. I know I only ever see the tip of the iceberg, and I don’t know where
to start with the rest. It scares the ever-living shit out of me. And I know I
only see what he lets me see. And it drives me up the fucking wall. I can’t be
asking how he’s feeling all the bloody time, can I? Not that he ever fucking
tells me…” He was working himself up again, nuts. “And he lies… He says ‘oh
it’s nothing’ and it’s bollocks. And I haven’t got the faintest idea what’s
really happening underneath because I’m fucking dumb like that and I can’t
fucking read him. So what the fuck do I do, eh?”
Bruce nodded. 
“You’re completely right,” he said. “Loki needs to be more open.”
Thor nodded vigorously. Finally, someone understood.
“It’s like…” he was on a roll. “With Loki nothing is ever simple. I mean, I get
hit by a rock, I get a bruise, maybe I’ll get a scar, maybe it hurts like a
motherfucker or maybe it even breaks a bone or something. But that’s it, that’s
that. But with Loki, it’s like the stone sinks in, and you only see the ripples
on the surface, and no wound, but the fucking rock just sinks and sinks and
stays there forever, and ages later it’s still there, and it’s now the size of
a fucking bus, and it turns out it has become radioactive and it’s poisoning
the whole fucking lake. The things Sif said, they will stay there festering
forever, and who’s to say in a few years Loki hasn’t been overthinking it so
much that what were her words he now puts them in my mouth? Because he’s done
that before. And I’m totally powerless here. It’s all in his fucking head, and
I’m not allowed there, and there’s lots going on there that affect me, and what
the fuck do I do with that, tell me, what?”
Bruce shrugged, a calm little smile, warm black eyes.
“One day at a time,” he said. “How do you think the rest of us do it?”
Thor sighed, deflated. Bruce risked one hand over Thor’s shoulder.
“He’s the one who needs to hear all of this,” said Banner. “Don’t you think?”
Thor looked away. He wanted to be left alone. He wanted to stay there and
sulk. 
“Let’s go find Loki,” said Bruce. “Come on.”
Thor made his way back inside the house, guided by the good doctor’s hand on
his shoulder. He passed his quiet friends, who had just witnessed a feat of
extreme courage, the taming of the wounded beast. You really need to learn to
get your shit together before you go off on one of these, Odinson. The fucking
shows you put on, at your age, what an embarrassment. What would your mum and
dad say.
 
 
They found Loki by the kitchen table, with a cup of tea, Sigyn sitting in front
of him. When Thor walked in, Loki looked up, sheepish expression, eyes red.
Thor’s anger evaporated, an overwhelming need to cuddle him surging up instead.
There was a tense silence for a few seconds that felt very long, and then Loki
stood up, not meeting his eyes, as if ready for a scolding.
“Do you still want to talk?” he said.
It wasn’t an apology, but then again, Thor wasn’t sure apologies were in order
right now, or who owed whom. He nodded.
Loki picked up his mug.
“Then let’s go.”
Walking past him, their arms brushed, their hands. Somehow (Thor would bet his
life neither Loki nor him would ever admit first move,) their little fingers
hooked, and then the rest of their hand. Thank fuck. Fingers firmly
intertwined, they made their way to the music room, and sat stiffly side by
side on the couch. Loki untangled their hands to hold the steaming mug with
both of his.
“Where’s Sif?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I don’t care,” groaned Thor. Even the mention of her name got
his blood boiling.
A long silence. Then Loki sighed deeply.
“Thor, a lot of what goes on in my head…” he began, “it’s not worth bothering
with, you know?”
“No,” said Thor, more shortly than he had intended. “What do you mean.”
“I mean… They come up and wreak havoc but… they’re not real. Well, they are
but, I mean, they don’t…” He huffed in frustration. “They start in my head and
that’s where I want to keep them. I deal with them and they go away. And I need
time to make that happen. Not letting it out. Not talking about it. They’re not
worth the time. I don’t want to give them any more importance than they have.
Ok?”
“Do they, really? Go away,” said Thor, with a pissy note of skepticism.
Loki felt it, and he didn’t like it. He glowered at him.
“I deal with them,” he repeated, curtly. “My mind hoards tons of shit, there’s
nothing I can do about that. That doesn’t mean I have to nurse it and pay it
attention. I try not to.”
Thor pondered that, chewing on his bottom lip. He felt Loki still tense by his
side, waiting for the next point of contention to reveal itself. Well, if he
wanted Loki to be open, he had to be open as well.
“I never know what’s in your head,” said Thor. 
Loki sighed.
“Do you need to?”
“If I don’t know what the problem really is, how can I not screw up? When I’m
not sensitive enough, when I stick my foot in my mouth without even realising?”
“But you don’t,” said Loki. “Stick your foot in it. Often.” An almost-smile.
“You’re good at this. Me. Loki-wrangling.”
Thor snorted, humorously this time.
“You don’t have to know everything that’s in my head every single minute,” said
Loki. “You have to… you have to fucking trust me a bit more.”
“I trust you.”
“Like hell you do.”
Thor felt his spikes standing up again.
“I’m just fucking scared, ok? I worry!” He had raised his voice. He saw the
tension in that clench in Loki’s jaw. A deep breath, trying to tone it down.
“You were crying last night and I didn’t even wake up. If I miss the signs, or
I can’t understand them, who’s to say if…? Fuck.” His voice broke. “How could I
forgive myself if…?”
“Brother…” Loki exhaled loudly, rubbing his face, sounding at the end of his
tether, “for the last fucking time, it was not your fault! Stop blaming
yourself! Mum and dad didn’t see it either! I made sure nobody fucking did! I’m
pretty clever, and I did what I had to so that nobody knew!”
“Right,” countered Thor, “first of all, that thought? That you can hide it so
well? Not fucking helping. And second… I did know! I saw how fucked up you
were, and I didn’t do anything! So how the fuck can you tell me that it was not
my fault?”
“It was nothing to do with you, Thor! You didn’t fucking cause it, and you
didn’t fucking let it happen! I did the fucking thing, me! Stop making it like
it’s all about you!” Quick breaths. Furious. “And rest assured that, if I
really decide to kill myself, you’re not going to be able to stop me!”
Thor wondered whether they should call in Bruce and Sigyn to mediate, because
this talking thing was not fucking working. In fact, things seemed to be
getting distinctly worse.
“You were sixteen,” said Loki then, with a softer voice. “You didn’t have a
clue. I’m not sure you understand it now, so how could you have understood back
then?” He raised one hand in appeasement when Thor was going to protest
something. “I don’t mean it as a horrible thing,” said Loki, “this time. The
not understanding. I’m-I’m sorry about earlier. You’re fucking right, ok? I do
keep a lot to myself, and I don’t explain what I’m feeling, and that’s got to
be frustrating, I get that. I’m sorry. I am. But I…” He rubbed his forehead
hard, eyes scrunching shut. “A lot of what’s inside, I don’t want you to know,
ok? It’s fucking horrible. Ok? And insane. And I hate it. So I’m not going to
tell you. It would hurt you, and there’s no need. Because it’s me but it’s not
me, it’s the fucked up me, and fucked up me talks with his arse. That’s what I
mean when I say it’s not real. Seriously, my mind just goes on one and it turns
everything upside down and it messes it all up for a while but… But I handle
it, and I can make it so that… so that it’s as if nothing had happened. Except
if I told you, you would freak out. And then it becomes real, and now it’s a
problem. So I need time and… and for you to keep your head and just let me take
care of it.”
Thor shook his head, unconvinced. 
“What if I think it’s a… one of these, but it’s the other, one of the really
bad ones,” he choked out.
“You’re not sixteen anymore,” answered Loki. “You know what it looks like now,
you know what to look for. But anyway, if I go down again, and I get anywhere
near that bad, it’s not going to happen overnight, and there is no way I’ll be
able to keep it from you. And from Sigyn, and from Bruce and from Nat. This is
not just on your shoulders, Thor. Well, it never was. You have to stop worrying
so much, and even… if I’m having a strange day, uh, it would help if you did
like you don’t notice. Well, you can be extra sweet, that you can do. But don’t
freak out, and don’t ask me to tell you what I’m thinking, because it’s not
going to help. I really need you to trust me.”
Thor looked at him warily, brooding. That was so not what he fucking wanted to
do, turn a blind eye.
“Listen…” Loki sounded on the verge of tears, and so very tired, “I promise,
ok? I won’t let it get that bad. If I feel I’m not handling it, I’ll look for
help. I promise.”
Ah, Loki’s promises. Always read the fine print. Look for help, but from whom?
And where? Thor wondered if what he was going to ask would make it rain shit
and grief over his head for a year. He asked anyway.
“Promise you won’t run away on me again,” said Thor.
The way Loki looked at him then, wide, sad, guilty eyes. Thor choked up, an
automatic response, an instinct. What the fuck, Loki? He pushed harder and more
urgently than before.
“Promise me.” He tried to swallow the burn. He gave it a moment’s thought.
Cornering Loki… never a good idea. Wait, escape clauses. “What I mean is… If
you’re ever… If you need to leave, you’ll tell me. You won’t just up and
disappear on me. You’ll sit down with me and tell me. Swear it. Please.”
Loki’s tears started to fall. Thor waited. Loki sniffed, wiped his eyes, but
tears kept coming. He opened his mouth as if he was going to say something,
closed it as if he had changed his mind. He nodded.
“I swear,” he said, with a small voice, looking at his hands, which were
tearing a paper tissue to long, frayed strips.
Thor raised his hand tentatively. He hesitated before he placed it around
Loki’s neck, his thumb stroking under his sharp jaw. Loki leaned into his
space, eyes shut, and Thor pulled him closer until their foreheads touched.
“Thor…” muttered Loki, with his eyes still shut, his voice thin as if talking
took a huge effort, “promise me that, if this becomes too much for you…” his
voice broke. “Don’t stick with this just because you have to,” he choked out.
“What do you mean,” asked Thor.
“I mean leave. Leave me.” Tears started falling. Loki ignored them. “If you
think you’re going to regret this. I-I know you love me, I don’t need you to
throw it all away to prove it. I don’t.”
Thor crushed him in his arms. 
“Oh, baby… I know,” he mumbled close to him. “She’s wrong. She doesn’t know
you. I know you. I love you.”
Loki cried harder. Thor wasn’t sure what to do right now. He kissed him, and
Loki kissed back hard enough to hurt, before resuming his crying against his
chest. Which was fine, that was fine. Thor knew he still only understood ten
words out of every fucking paragraph there was to Loki, and he guessed that
would never change, but as long as he could do that… He held him tight, while
Loki’s crying ran its course, and eventually subsided. Loki pulled back,
sniffing, wiping an angry hand on his face.
“Look at us,” he grumbled, “fucking drama queens.”
Loki’s eyes looked even greener with tears, crystal-sharp, cut emeralds. Loki
tolerated his awed gaze for another three seconds before he gave him a shove.
“This fighting business,” said Loki. Sniffle. “Unless it ends with an angry
fuck against the nearest wall, let’s just not anymore, shall we?”
Thor laughed and drew him close for a kiss again, lazily now, slow tongue,
until Loki’s breath started to sound deeper. Loki pulled back, with a slight
yet unmissable fluster. 
“What are you going to do about Sif?” asked Loki.
And if he was trying to spoil the mood, he couldn’t have chosen better. Thor’s
nostrils flared, fury bubbling up again.
“What am I going to do?” he repeated. He didn’t have the answer. He would be
the first to admit he was pretty hopeless at introspection in that mood. His
decision-making process was not at its finest either.
“You need to talk to her,” said Loki.
“We’ve said enough,” he hissed. “I don’t want to hear any more.”
“You can’t leave it like this,” said Loki, frowning. “She’s your best friend…”
“She’s not my friend,” snapped Thor, way too fast. It hurt the second it left
his mouth.
Loki rolled his eyes.
“Don’t be an idiot” he said. “Of course she’s your friend. She’s worried sick
about you, that’s where all this is coming from. She doesn’t trust me. Why
should she? She doesn’t know me. She just wants to keep you safe from harm,
because she knows just as well as I what a big dumb oaf you are. You said it
yourself, she doesn’t have a clue, right? So, enlighten her.”
“She’s made up her mind,” said Thor, bitter.
Loki scoffed. 
“Oh, come on. Give her a chance. If you’re not going to try it with her…”
“I can’t fucking believe you. After what she’s said about you…”
That must have hit a chord, because Loki looked away, with a quick frown.
“I’ve had worse. At least she was talking out of concern for you.”
Thor was clenching his jaws, brooding, refusing to let go of his anger. 
“Thor, I’m bored of this now. She loves you. She doesn’t have all the facts.
Don’t let your fucking temper and your stubbornness ruin this. You’ll hate
yourself for it later.” A sigh. “For me. Please?”
“When did you become so reasonable,” grumbled Thor.
“You don’t share a flat with Sigyn the Wise for years without her rubbing on
you one way or another,” he said.
“She’s put so much sense into you,” said Thor, “you sound just like mum. Except
for the swearing.”
Loki smiled, not a lot, eyes sad, looking tired.
“I miss her too,” said Thor, “so much. All the time.”
Loki smiled again, still cheerless, still tired. 
“See?” he said, “you read me like an open book.”
 
 
Everybody was already there when they walked into the kitchen, holding hands
again. This time, all eyes turned to them and a silence did fall, zooming with
static, as Thor’s stare zeroed on Sif. Loki squeezed his hand. Thor inhaled,
exhaled, and promised himself he would not shout. 
“Sif, I’m going to say what I have to say now, and I would prefer it if you
didn’t say anything until I’m done.”
She was staring back right into his eyes, but she looked thoughtful and grave,
not as if she was making a stand. That helped.
“I know you mean well,” he began. “I know you love me and that you worry about
me. I know you only want the best for me. But so does Loki. You may not
understand it, and maybe you don’t believe it, but it’s true. And this…” he
glanced at Loki now, his brother’s face so pale and tense, “is not an impulsive
decision based on Loki pressuring me or manipulating me or playing me up. And
this is not me making up for any guilt or responsibility I may feel. I have
always loved Loki, and I have always wanted for us to be together, since we
were kids. And we’ve both had a long, hard think about this before we decided
to do it. Now, although I do fear what might happen if this comes out, nothing
matters more to me than Loki. Because I know I can make him happy, and because
he makes me happy as well, happier than I’ve ever been or I could ever be with
anyone else. I’m finally where I belong. And if this means I can’t be a
professional actor anymore because my reputation is ruined, so be it. And if
this unleashes all the furies in hell, we’ll face them together. And if you
can’t understand that, if you don’t understand why I would put the one I love
before fame and glory and reputation, then you don’t know me, and you never
have. That’s it. That’s all I have to say right now.”
He turned and left, tense as a bowstring and fearing that, if he stayed another
second, he would snap. He walked out the front door, and he faced the open
meadow, arms crossed, heart pounding. Soon after, he felt arms surrounding his
waist, and Loki’s lips on his neck. Thor turned to hug him back, and saw him
about to cry.
“What?”
Loki rolled his eyes, wiped the corner of his eye.
“The things you said in there, you big oaf,” he said, his voice shaky. And he
mumbled, still not meeting his eyes, “You should have fucking warned me…”
Thor smirked. 
“Ok.” he said. “How much warning do you need?” 
“Well that depends, doesn’t it?”
“For your garden variety I love you?”
Loki was already shaking his head in dismay, but he was also trying to contain
a smile.
“Hey, Loki,” said Thor.
Loki tried to look exasperate, and braced himself for the sappiness. Thor found
himself suddenly not wanting to joke. 
“I love you,” he said, solemnly, “you hear? More than anything.”
Loki looked down, then flicked his eyes up briefly. 
“You too,” he mumbled.
“Come here.” Thor hugged him.
“That was not garden variety,” protested Loki, voice muffled against his
brother’s neck. And after some time, “We definitely need to time our fights
better. You look like fucking sex on legs when you’re angry.”
Thor laughed. If his brother needed the mood to be lighter, he would indulge.
“The moment the last one of our treasured guests walks out that door,” rumbled
Loki, still in his arms, “I’m going to make you fucking furious. You’ll be so
mad at me, you’ll have no choice but to bend me over your knee and…”
Just then, Sif turned up. Thor saw her over Loki’s shoulder and his good humour
just pooffed and vanished.
“Can we speak?” she asked.
Loki pulled apart.
“I’ll go inside,” he said. He gave him one last mischievous look and a wink,
maybe trying to lighten his heart and address the present situation with some
generosity. 
Once his brother was inside, Thor faced Sif. She offered a small, tight-lipped
smile. He recognised it for the show of good will that it was, but he was not
moved by it yet. He had a huge reserve of anger still to get through. 
It would not do to be so uptight.
“Let’s walk,” he said. Perhaps a stroll would help to ease his temper, or at
least make the silences less awkward and tense.
They walked around the meadow at the front of the house, not speaking for some
time. Then she cleared her throat.
“I’ve talked to Sigyn and Bruce while you were away with Loki,” she said, her
steps long and slow, her words chosen with care, “and I’ve done a lot of
thinking. I’ve been thinking about our conversation yesterday morning, and
about the way I’ve always thought about Loki, from what you told me in the
past. You see, I’ve always believed that what you had with him was a very
unhealthy relationship, so extreme, and involved, and so obsessive. I
remembered how much you’ve suffered for him through the years, and how guilty
you felt about it all, things that I could understand you might feel
responsible for, and things I just could not, and it disturbed me. It just
didn’t make sense to me how a bloke like you, who seemed so level-headed, and
grounded, and rational, with a healthy sense of self-esteem, could lose his
sense of proportion and his direction and his balance when it came to his
brother, and become such a complete and utter mess.”
He must have glared at her.
“Let me finish, please. Please?” She smiled again, and carried on. “When you
and Loki reconciled a while ago, I thought all my worst fears about the two of
you were confirmed. I mean, he comes into your life again, and very soon after
you break up with Jane, and suddenly all you talk about is him, and you look so
glum and dejected all the time… And I blamed Loki. I didn’t know what power he
had on you, but to my mind, you seemed to be one way with him and another with
everyone else, normal and happy with everyone else, and miserable with him, and
you would not, or you could not, take a step back and get yourself away from
what to me was obviously a toxic relationship. That’s how it appeared from the
outside. And yesterday you tell me you’re together like that and… bloody hell,
of course I was going to blow a gasket! It was the apotheosis of fucked up! And
how was I going to see it any different? I did not have the whole story. But
after talking with Sigyn… I just didn’t realise you had always felt like that
for each other. And although at first that made it all sound even worse, it
actually makes a world of difference to how I see it now. Because when you look
at your relationship with Loki simply as that of two siblings with lots of
issues, it all sounds supremely messed up. But when you look at it as the story
of two very young kids very much in love with each other, in a very, very
complicated situation… Well, it might not be a model relationship, but let’s
just say everything suddenly makes a lot more sense. And you make a lot more
sense, why you could not settle with Jane, why you just could not move on or
get yourself away. Even what you told me yesterday about your fight the other
night becomes a lot more reasonable under this light. It felt out of
proportion, and bordering on the pathological, that a grown man should complain
about his big brother ignoring him all night. But when it’s a boyfriend… That’s
another story, isn’t it? And I have to say, you did ignore him, and you are a
cock.”
Thor laughed —a quick, nervous burst he could not hold back. She smiled.
“That was only half of the fight,” admitted Thor.
“Let me guess the other half. Fandral?”
Thor snorted.
“That obvious?”
“What can I say, Thor, I did my best to ignore it that night, but yes, I saw
the murder in your eyes. I didn’t know you were a jealous man…”
Thor laughed again, although the subject to him wasn’t funny. 
“I just didn’t realise how fucking hard it would be to watch people flirt and
make passes at my boyfriend under my very nose, while I can’t say or do
anything about it. And I guess I’ll have to get used to it. Everybody wants a
piece of Loki…”
“It goes both ways, though,” she said. “You get your fair share of attention
yourself, don’t you?” 
“There’s no competition,” he declared. “To me there’s Loki, and then there’s
the rest of the world. It’s always been like that.”
“I’m beginning to see it.” A lightless, knowing smile. “But it’s him you should
be telling this, not me.”
“I know. He struggles with… with this kind of thing.”
“You’ll have to get him used to it then… And you shouldn’t worry either. He
only has eyes for you,” she said. “Anyone can see it from miles away.”
Thor smiled, maybe blushed a bit, there were definitely butterflies.
“I’m sorry I did not hear you out before I opened my big mouth this morning,”
she said. “I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions. And I’m sorry you had trouble
with Loki because of me. And please, tell Loki I regret all the things I said
about him. Tell him that I was wrong, and that I know that now. And that I want
to tell him myself, if he'll hear me.”
“I’m sorry I lied to you all this time,” said Thor. “I wish I could have told
you.”
“You could have,” she said, earnestly. “At any time.”
He nodded, feeling choked up.
“It must have been a heavy burden to carry by yourself,” she added, softly. “I
wish I could have helped you.”
“You can,” said Thor. “You are.”
They walked in silence some more. 
“You know, a part of me wants to ask you a horrible question,” she said after
some time.
Thor didn’t say anything. He did throw a glance at her. She was looking away,
eyes drifting.
“It’s the part of me that will always be jealous of him.”
Crap.
“What’s the question,” said Thor, knowing he would probably regret he ever
asked.
“I can’t help but wondering, after having met him, and knowing what I know now…
Did you…?” She tried for words. “Us. Was it because I… reminded you of him?”
Thor sighed with exhaustion from the bottom of his soul. Jesus fuck. Really?
Now?
“That is a horrible question,” he said, stalling.
“You’re right. Don’t answer it.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
She gave him another of her kind, tight-lipped smiles. It still struck him, how
beautiful she was.
“Are you happy, Thor? Is this what you wanted?”
Thor felt like he was about to burst into tears now, elation and relief and
pent-up tension released, all at once. He nodded once more, while he found his
voice.
“It’s not easy, because of the way we both are. I mean, temper and all. Issues.
Like, shedloads of them, a lifetime’s worth. Well, you’ve seen it. But at least
this time I feel like… I feel like I’m doing him good, you know what I mean?
That it does him good that we’re together. And that’s…” He sighed, feeling so
full of the thing, emotion, as if about to burst with it. “It feels so fucking
good. And it does me good. He does. I don't know how to explain this. I feel
like everything is finally there, you know what I mean?, all the pieces. I
feel alive. Yes, I’m so bloody happy. I want to shout it from the rooftops.”
She smiled so wide, even with that tinge of sadness still in her eyes.
“Come here, you clod,” she said, throwing her arms around him. He hugged back
tight. “You do look happy. Hell, you’re glowing…”
She patted him strongly on the back before she let go. 
“So what now, Thor? What’s the plan?”
He harrumphed.
“We don’t really have one,” he admitted. “Pressure is, um, not good for Loki.
Or for me, really. Adjusting is tricky enough as it is. We’re taking it one day
at a time.” 
She looked thoughtful then.
“Are you going to tell your father?”
Thor went pale. She smiled, gripped his shoulder, gave it a shake.
“Forget it. Listen,” she blew a stray lock of hair from her eyes, “there may be
tough times ahead, but I want you to know that you can count on me, for
anything you need. I’ll stand by you. Always. And Loki.”
Thor was moved down to his core. He could not have got a word out if he tried.
She seemed to get that.
“I know you don’t want to, but you will have to start thinking about the
practicalities,” she said then, cutting the silence short. And then she went on
a rampage of questions regarding the nitty-gritty of the immediate future, from
Thor’s living arrangements in London to the fate of the apartment in L.A. and
the wisdom of keeping it or not, and on to the oncoming public appearances in
both their diaries and the press tour for their movie. Soon enough, Thor had a
dry throat and a lump of lead in his stomach from all the stuff he hadn’t even
realised he was going to have to worry about. Well, that's Sif for you. She was
practical. She wanted to make up for what had happened and she wanted to help,
and that was her way, and reality, from the ground up, her domain. And you know
what, once Thor got over the vertigo, he would be glad she had brought up all
that stuff, and he was sure that her help would prove invaluable. But right
now, he just could not think about any of that. 
“What?” she said, when she realised he was not listening.
He was grateful. Grateful, and relieved, and worn out. He just hugged her. 
 
 
                                       *
 
 
“Alright, darling?” asked Sigyn, for what had to be the third time. And once
again, Loki nodded.
Around the kitchen table, a tranquil, civilised conversation was taking place
that he should be taking an interest in, because it involved himself, and his
brother, and Sif. Sigyn seemed to be acting as his mouthpiece in this dialogue,
replying (discretely of course) to the questions concerning him in his stead.
Volstagg and Fandral (and maybe Hogun too, but it’s not like he was going to
tell) wanted to know more about the story with Thor, (delicate questions, just
an overlook really, to know what was what) and Sigyn wanted to know more about
Thor and Sif (same). He was trying to tune in and listen, but soon enough his
mind would just wander away. Even with Sigyn on his lap, physically grounding
him, he could not be still.
He had told Thor what he thought he needed to hear about his black thoughts to
put him at ease, and hopefully get him off his back. He had made it sound as if
he had a lot more control over it than he actually believed he had. But then
again, now that he had thought about it some more, he guessed he had not lied.
He had handled it last night, hadn’t he? He had not gone into complete
meltdown, and he was still here and not on the fucking Eurostar. Did it matter
in the end how close to catastrophe he had felt, or how thin his grip on
himself, and how far away had he been from asking for help? He was here. He had
handled it, and Inner Bastard was back in the fucking pit where he belonged.
And now he was sworn to Thor. Would that help, when push came to shove? Would
that ground him even more? Or would it rip him in half? Jesus fuck, he had made
him swear. (Yes, but you’re a liar who lies, Loki-boy.Oh, just shut the fuck
up.)
They were going back to London very soon. Awards season was upon them, and Thor
was presenting at the Globes and at the Oscars, and expected to show his
handsome face at a lot of events for the press tour of Master and Commander,
Post Captain. The cold six thousand,which had aired while they were shooting
Mariners, was up for a bunch of awards, including best actor for Thor. All
those red carpets, all those interviews. He had been talking again about Loki
taking him shopping for winter clothes, he had been talking about several
restaurants and places he wanted them to go to, he had been talking about Loki
showing him this and that and the other, he had been talking about how excited
he was to be moving back to London. 
And Loki was shitting bricks, as was his way, from vertigo, from reality
suddenly becoming too real. Because now it starts, doesn’t it?, life together.
That was uncharted territory. Loki had a picture in his mind which showed the
landmarks of their past (Thor’s old couch in his old room in mum and dad’s
house in London; Asgard; Iceland; Thor's first flat in L.A.; other places Loki
did not want to think about;) and their present (Thor’s hotel in London, where
they had talked again for the first time in four years; Nat’s house in
Manhattan, where Thor had held him for hours in that bone-crushing hug, while
he cried his eyes out; Tony’s tower; the streets of Toronto at night; that
parking lot of the hotel in Savannah where he had given Thor a birthday kiss;
the pickup truck where they had spent so many hours together; the little
Indonesian place; his flat; Asgard again.) And then there was a big empty space
for the future, unknown, with one single legend,“Here be dragons.” Dragons
indeed, some more scary than others. A chat with Natasha. Perhaps a meeting
with Coulson. A sit-down with his shrink, because that mood roller-coaster he’d
been on these past few days needed looking into, perhaps a tinker with his
meds, or perhaps just keeping an eye on. Then house-hunting for Thor. Soirées
at Chez Odinson with these people, where he would always remain the outsider.
Within a few months, a press tour he was dreading, which would probably include
fucking talk-shows and interviews, double-fucking press conferences, triple-
fucking junkets, way too many airports, jet-lag, deadly boredom, punishing
anxiety, and lying and deceiving and paranoia on a scale neither Thor nor him
had really begun to envisage. He would definitely be needing more pills,
wouldn’t he?
But the big surprise was, dread was not his only feeling when he thought about
the future, right now. He was already wondering what other landmarks he would
be adding to the map, what crazy nights together would make him pinch and
treasure a soap bar from a hotel in god knows what country, what memorable
evenings would make him hold on to cinema and play tickets and restaurant
calling cards, and what other little scraps, material or immaterial, he would
be collecting, keeping in a drawer, or in a box in his head, and reviewing them
every now and then, with a foolish, dreamy smile on his face. Even bearing in
mind all the dangers and all the monsters, he was excited, full of
anticipation, and was that bloody optimismhe was experiencing?  “If this
unleashes all the furies in hell, we’ll face them together”, his brother had
said, brimming with self-confidence, his determination tangible. And Loki had
believed him with all his black little heart. And he was still thrumming with
it now, this faith in him. In them. Maybe he had lost his mind and his grip on
reality, but he believed that they could do this. They were together now. They
could do anything. 
“Darling,” Sigyn’s voice. “Ok?”
He focused on her, nodded, meant it. She smiled, kissed his hair. With his eyes
shut, he could almost pretend that it was mum. Was that all kinds of fucked up,
or was he allowed to, every now and then?
Enter Thor and Sif, at bloody last, and Sigyn almost ended on the floor, bum
first, when Loki practically jumped up from his chair. He searched their faces
(their harmonious, regal faces, what a king and queen of something they would
make,) as they both looked at him. Thor walked over, with an air of
tranquility, wrapped an arm around his waist and drew him close for a kiss.
When they pulled apart, he saw that Sif was looking on, and smiling fondly.
Glory fucking hallelujah and god bless.
 
 
They never went to the village that day. Sigyn said that he owed her. They
ransacked the pantry instead, and rustled together some sandwiches, chasing
them down with wine left over from yesterday. Loki sat on Thor’s lap again to
eat, being shaken and stirred every time his brother moved and when he laughed,
one arm around Loki’s waist, always. There was a lot of laughing around that
table that afternoon, the atmosphere twinkling with relief from the mightily
heavy boulder that had lifted from their collective shoulders. 
Loki kept taking a mental step back every now and then, looking around, and
wanting to pinch himself. Here he was, on his brother’s lap, in a room full of
happy people, and not being the topic of conversation. How the fuck was this
his life. Thor would press a kiss to his nape every now and then, to that spot
just at the top of the spine that made him shiver and get goose-bumps all over
his neck (and made his nipples hard as fucking pebbles, that too,) and Loki
kept turning to look at his brother’s perfect face, and often enough their eyes
would connect and stay locked, and time would fucking stop, and all there was
then was the rise and fall of Thor’s chest with his breathing, and his warmth.
“Oh for Christ’s sake,” grumbled Fandral at one point, “are they always like
that?” 
Sigyn laughed.
“They’re worse.”
“God help us,” said Hogun.
“Kids today! Get a room!” laughed Volstagg.
“Don’t encourage them,” said Sif, but she was smiling.
 
***** Chapter 26 *****
Chapter Summary
     Awards season.
     They do say distance makes the heart grow fonder.
Chapter Notes
     It's funny how you can be plodding painfully through a chapter for
     over a month thinking "meh, I just need to get this out of the way,
     it's never going to be my best but anyway here's Wonderwall, and we
     move on to the next", and 4 drafts later, all of a sudden, within a
     2-day span, something starts to happen, everything starts to happen,
     and I think I've written one of my favourites yet.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
(L.A.)
 
“The Migthy T! Just the man I was looking for,” said Tony Stark, with a back-
breaking slap on his shoulder, as he took the armchair opposite him in the VIP
lounge of the hotel, deserted at this time of day. He put his drink on the low
table, got rid of the jacket, draping it on the backrest of the chair, loosened
his tie. Tie and jacket, thought Thor. Meeting with the big guys.
 “So, how’s it been, how’re you kids doing?” asked Tony, after taking a
medicinally long gulp of scotch.
“We’re good. And Stark Enterprises?”
Tony chuckled.
“Seems like the film division will live to see another opening night,” he said.
“You’re not in trouble, are you?”
“When am I ever not in trouble,” a cute smirk.
“Anything to do with… with Mariners?”
Tony shrugged, another sip of his drink, probably to stall.
“Anything to do with Loki?” insisted Thor.
“They will shut their faces when they see the first rough cut,” said Tony
fiercely. “And Heimdall says he can have one in a few weeks. Financially they
haven’t got a leg to stand on. I covered for it when we went over budget. Don’t
tell Loki,” he warned.
“You’re a good friend, Tony.”
Tony tipped an imaginary hat to him.
“Tell me about your delectable little brother,” he said. “Oh, dear me, look at
you, hearts in your eyes. Bless your sinful, forbidden love,” he raised his
glass.
Thor gave him a disapproving glower. Tony smirked.
“Ok, seriously now. How are things with the two of you.”
“It’s good,” said Thor, “it’s great. We’re… adjusting.”
“You have your own place in London now, right?”
“Yes. It’s only a few streets away from Loki’s flat.”
“For convenience and discretion.”
“Exactly.”
“And how’s life in the incest closet?”
Thor found himself checking the room again for prying ears, a sort of
unconscious reflex by now. One he fucking hated.
“Not a lot of fun at times,” he said. “Like, whenever we’re out of the bloody
house.” 
“I can guess.”
“The other day, we were at a bar after a concert, and they kept hitting on him.
Like, half a dozen blokes in less than an hour. And I got to sit there and
watch, and try not to look like a fucking creep, which was not easy, I can
assure you, when those fuckers were actually coming to the table, and then
propositioned him, asked him his number or offered theirs, and said things like
‘well, that is, if big bro here doesn’t mind.’ And I was like…” Thor’s fists
clenched in frustration. “Don’t people have fucking manners? We were bloody
talking! At least the girls that hit on me didn’t come to the table, they
waited until I was at the bar or something, instead of barging in while I was
engaged in conversation with the person I actually came to the place with.
Fucking rude.”
“Men are assholes. What did Loki do?”
“Get grumpier and grumpier, say no thanks a lot, then fuck off. He didn’t enjoy
the attention. I think he blamed it all on the tapes. Which he shouldn’t, he
looked out-of-this-world beautiful that night. I mean, he always does, right?,
but he was all in black and had been laughing and dancing and he looked so
fucking sexy…”
Tony nodded thoughtfully, like the fine connoisseur that he was.
“And all I wanted to do is grab him by the neck and shout fuck off, he’s mine!
And maybe punch a nose or two. I’m afraid I’m going to do something stupid one
of these days.”
“You know Loki only has eyes for you, don’t you?” said Tony.
“That’s not the problem,” said Thor, rushing to clarify, “it’s not like I think
he’s going to take anyone on the offer. It’s not that I’m jealous or… Well, you
know. I do get a bit… But it’s totally irrational, and I know it. I trust him,
I think he’s committed to me and all, and I think that, in his own way, he
believes that I trust him. He still gets anxious anyway and gets the urge to
defend himself. It’s just…”
“…The way he is.”
“Yeah. No, that’s not the problem. The problem is that… I fear he’ll think less
of me because I’m not grabbing him by the scruff of the neck and shouting he’s
mine, do you know what I mean? That he’ll resent me, or think that I don’t care
enough, because I just sit there and watch it happen, instead of, you know,
stating my claim.”
“Yes. Loki likes a possessive streak,” smiled Tony, and was that nostalgia in
his tone? “As long as he gets to poke it and watch it flare up.”
Thor nodded, a bit peeved by Tony’s knowing undertones, whether he admitted it
or not.
 “Yes, well. It’s that but it’s not only that,” he said. “I’m worried because…
he struggles with this secrecy thing, he always has. It’s not that he hates
lying as much as he… well, he may say he understands why we’re keeping it this
way as much as he wants, but I think he believes that for me it’s a convenient
excuse, you know? That ultimately, it all comes down to the fact that I’m
ashamed of him, of being with him.” Thor sighed. Hitting raw nerve here. “And
if I know him half-well, I'm sure he thinks it’s not just about the, you know,
incest thing,” (that had been a mutter), “but about him in particular, because
of his mental health and his past and… And him in general, because, well,
Loki’s self-esteem. I don’t know.” A frustrated huff.
“Sounds… unpleasant,” said Tony, the flippancy finally gone from his tone.
“When you said you were doing great…?” he left it dangling there.
“It gets all sorts of fucked up the moment we walk out the door, but at home,
Tony…” he sighed, happily this time. “It’s even better than my fucking dreams.
We’re… good, really good. He’s… I just…” He laughed at his own inability to
formulate coherent sentences. “We’re disgusting Tony, you have no idea. We’re
that incredibly annoying couple that can’t take their hands off each other. We
start dancing waiting for the kettle to go off. I bring him breakfast in bed.
And lunch and dinner and fucking snacks, whatever he wants. He made me a
goddamn mixed tape. Well, a playlist. We watch movies we loved as kids. It’s
such a simple thing, but it feels so good. We share so many jokes and
references that are just ours since we were little. It’s like having the best
of both worlds, a person you’ve been married to all your life and you know
inside out and share everything with, and that sexy new love that still gives
you butterflies. We have fun. I just…” He was bursting with it. “God! In
previous relationships, I knew I was missing something, but I just didn’t have
a fucking clue how much it really was… I’d never thought I could stay in bed
from morning to evening and consider it a day well spent. Not just fucking, I
mean…”
“Sleepy sex, breakfast, nap, leftovers lunch, making out, tub sex, naked pizza,
movie, sex, whatever’s left of the movie, cuddling,” recited Tony.
Thor’s eyes snapped up, whip-fast, inflamed with anger, body tense, ready to
pounce over the table and gut someone. And he might have —so unbearably, so
intolerably clear had been the picture Tony’s words put in his mind, burning
him like an acid—, had it not been for that fleeting glimpse of melancholy in
Tony’s expression. And what the fuck was that, dousing Thor’s rage to an ember,
guilt? He often forgot that Tony’s nonchalant façade was just that, a façade.
“Should I not be talking about this with you?” asked Thor, cautiously. His
frown was still deep and angry.
“No, it’s fine, I did ask.” said Tony, sounding as light and untroubled as he
had one minute ago. “But I may be excessively blunt, insensitive, and
inappropriate at times. I’m told it’s a coping mechanism. Sorry about that.”
Right. And now Thor did not know how to feel, let alone what to say. 
“You meant a lot to him,” he tried, going on instinct. “You still do. He told
me.”
“There’s a before and after The Stark Experience” he beamed. He sounded hollow.
More mechanisms.
Thor sighed. Anger was gone, and jealousy was absurd. He had Loki now. And
though he may not have known at the time, he had always had Loki.
“Anyway,” said Thor, rubbing his eyes with both hands, “it’s a bit of a roller-
coaster. But nobody said it would be easy, right?”
Tony nodded, acquiescing quietly.
“How is he,” he said then.
“He’s fine. Well, he… He had a rough time in Asgard. Mentally.”
“Yes.”
“He had to sort out an appointment with his doctor the moment he set foot in
London.”
“What happened?”
“Ah, all sorts,” said Thor, bitterly. “I’m such a twat. I just never thought-…
What a pair. I don’t think, and he overthinks everything. I just assumed he was
doing fine, because he said he was, and because… because it’s what I wanted to
hear, right?”
“…And what happened?” repeated Tony, because Thor had not even begun to answer
the question.
“Just taking him up there was a bad idea to begin with. It was my idea, by the
way, and he wasn’t crazy about it, and I should have just listened. He’s
supposed to keep away from triggering places and people and situations, and in
comes big stupid Thor, and I take him to the very spot where his whole life
started to go to hell. Which is also the place where he last saw mum, and the
village is still full of the jerks who used to bully him as a kid, and that’s
without mentioning… well, our last memories of the place, his and mine
together, are kind of sour, and sad, not very happy at all. And I didn’t even
think about all of that. I just asked him if he was alright with it, and he
said he was, and I just took his word for it. So just being there was already
taking a toll on him. But of course, I had invited my friends over for New
Year’s Eve. We had been together less than two weeks, Loki and me, but of
course I could not just be patient and take our time, I had to see my friends,
and I had to have them meet Loki as soon as possible. Again, I didn’t even
think about… you know, Loki and new people, not so great, but even worse than
that, I never even stopped to think about how it would actually work, to have
them all together under the same roof, in this situation we are in. I mean,
being with Loki in secret and all. I never took a minute to formulate a plan of
action or something. And of course, I had to come out to them without having a
clue how they would react. And it was all pretty fucking dramatic, and some
seriously hurtful things were said, things that Loki didn’t need to hear. And
basically I dropped him into every stressful situation I could, one after the
other.”
“Thor…” said Tony, nursing his drink. He was going to say something Thor wasn’t
going to like, wasn’t he?
“Tony,” said Thor, already guarded.
“You’re doing it again,” said Tony.
“Beg pardon?”
“You’re doing it again. You’re blaming yourself for everything again. You’re
not his nurse, you’re his boyfriend. You don’t have a job description
consisting of keeping Loki from stress and protecting his mental stability at
all costs. Your job is to make a life with him. Sometimes life gets messy. It’s
no-one’s fault. Not even yours.”
“Is it really not my job to not fucking pressure him into things that are not
good for him?” countered Thor.
“Ok, first of all… You went to your family house in the country to spend the
holidays together, you introduced him to your friends, and shared with them the
news about your relationship. It’s not like you tried to push him to do crystal
meth. And second of all… pressure him, how? Because this is Loki we’re talking
about.”
Thor grappled for examples in his mind.
“Well, I told him it would make me happy.”
A raised, annoyingly patronising eyebrow.
“Doesn’t Loki get to try and make you happy?” 
Rhetorical question. Don’t answer that.
“Listen,” groaned Thor, out of counterarguments by now, “he’s my baby brother,
ok? I’m wired to want to look after him. I can’t help it.”
“Well, I don’t know who just died and made me Oprah, but looking after him is
one thing, and blaming yourself for everything whenever things go pear-shaped
is another. Come on, am I wrong? Fight me on this.” A few seconds to make his
point, which Thor spent brooding. “If Loki said he was fine with it, he thought
he would be fine with it, and perhaps he even was. Yes, even if he had to see
his shrink right after. Don’t second-guess him, big brother. And anyway, how is
he now? How did it end with your friends?”
“He’s fine.”
“And your friends?”
“Fine,” he admitted, reluctantly. “We talked it over and we’re alright again,
no harm done.” A tiny smile. “He loves it when they come over to the house, can
you believe that?, because he gets to flaunt it. He becomes a giant barnacle,
or the most annoying housecat ever, the minute I sit down he’s all over me.
It’s so bloody cute.”
“Lovely. I hate to say I told you so, but I told you so,” said Tony.
“You don’t hate it.”
Tony offered a wink and a smile.
“Why isn’t he here anyway?” asked Tony, downing a solid gulp of his scotch. “I
thought we might see him, at least for the Globes.”
Thor grimaced, worked at it, turned it into a passable imitiation of a smile.
“Yeah, me too,” he said. (And leave it at that. Water under the bridge,
Odinson.) “He says he doesn’t want to be stuck in a hotel room all day while I
do my thing. That tired Me and bored Him is a recipe for disaster.”
“He has a point,” said Tony, “but I guess you could have used the support.”
“I was never going to win,” said Thor. “I didn’t expect it. I was fine.”
“Thor, it’s me. It sucked. You should have won. John Hamm was the easy choice.”
Thor looked away, hoping Tony would drop the subject.
“He worries,” he said, “Loki does. He’s told me that, when I come back, we
should be seen less often in public together, that he shouldn’t sleep over as
much as he does.”
Tony made a gesture with his head that could be agreement or anything else. 
“It’s sort of ironic,” mused Thor. “I used to be the paranoid one, back then,
and he was the one who wanted to hold hands down the street. Do you think… do
you think I believe I’m in fairyland or something? That’s what Loki says. With
more swearing.”
“I think it’s easy to get caught up in a feeling of complacency,” said Tony.
Whatever the hell that meant.
“I hate this,” said Thor. “Hiding. Lying. Pretending.”
“How ironic for a professional actor.”
Thor was not amused. Tony nodded, commiserating. Patted his knee.
“Anyway, my dear, away I must go. I have a meeting with Miss Peggy Carter.”
“Oh, the mystery project.”
“Oh, worry not, the mystery will soon be unveiled, when you receive the
script.”
“Should I be excited?”
“You should be holding on to your knickers or whatever it is that you do in Ye
Olde Kingdom. You’re going to fucking love this. Oh, you can ride, right?
Because I told her you can ride. I mean horses.”
Thor chuckled.
“Like the wind,” he beamed, and winked.
Tony smirked. Now a pat to his shoulder as he left, and a kiss on the top of
his head.
“Tell Loki I said hi. Tell him I said he is to drag his pert sorry ass here, to
keep my biggest star happy and personable with the press. You need to get laid.
Doctor’s orders. Because I’m a doctor, ever told you that? Several times over.”
“You have. And I don’t think I will,” smiled Thor. “I appreciate the sentiment,
but something tells me that Loki won’t.”
Tony laughed. It made him look thirty years younger.
 
 
 
Up in his room, Thor tried to settle down for a nap, although he wasn’t so much
sleepy as he was knackered. When he couldn’t get to sleep, he went for a shower
instead, and almost regretted he wasn’t much for baths —not by himself anyway.
Then the news, his mail, room service dinner, and an eye permanently set on the
little red dot on the laptop screen, next to Loki’s name. The minutes seem to
turn into trickle when you’re waiting for someone.
And the time for their cyberdate came and went. Loki was late.
This videochat thing. He had used it with Jane, and had always found it, er,
difficult. He preferred the phone. Cam sex had been a definite no. Just…
awkward. Feeling shy and self-conscious didn’t make for quality sexy times.
With Loki… well, everything was always different with Loki, wasn’t it? He had
him sold on it and hooked before the end of their first call. He was a natural.
Just put a camera on his face (or…) and watch the magic unfold. Thor’s blood
was rushing now just thinking about it. He still felt a bit silly himself, and
a bit tense at times, but under the attention of his smooth, über-confident,
über-sensual, shameless brother, he was getting the hang of it, and a taste for
it too.
They hadn’t done anything last night, because Loki didn’t have time, and Thor
was fucking bursting at the seams. And his brother was making him wait, and he
had to get up early in the morning, and he was driving himself out of his mind
checking the fucking red dot every three seconds. Just where in the almighty
fuck was Loki.
Ping! Green dot. He was online.
Thor’s hand hovered. Should he give it a couple of minutes, try not to look so
desperate? …What the fuck, Odinson. He hit call. It must have been ten seconds,
but it felt so much longer.
There he was. Black eyeliner, hair slicked back, his sharp face softened by the
calm, watery light of a London’s winter afternoon.
“Hey,” said Loki, his voice so warm, silken.
“Hey,” said Thor, hearing in his own voice the glow he got just from setting
eyes on him. “You’re late,” he said, without reproach; just an observation.
“Yeah, sorry about that,” said Loki. “I wanted to get this thing over and done
with. The photoshoot.”
“You’re still wearing make-up.”
“Am I?” Loki turned his face this way and that, eyes somewhere on the top left,
checking his face in the viewer. “Hm, so that’s why the cabbie was throwing me
funny looks.”
“You look gorgeous,” said Thor. He could not help himself. 
Loki lowered his gaze, a demure little smile. 
“So are you done with it now?” asked Thor. “The photoshoot.”
“Yes. Four days are more than enough, a lot more than I was planning to do.
Woman is a perfectionist, which is fine by me, but I’m not fifteen anymore.” He
stretched his neck with a grimace, for illustration.
Thor laughed.
“I can’t wait to see the result. Any nudes in the end?” 
His brother flicked him an impish grin. “Maybe.”
The stab to his groin. Thor doubled over with it.
 “Fuck.” He tried to laugh it off. “I’m so fucking horny, baby…”
“So how’s the tour,” asked Loki. We should do more than just sex, he had said a
few days ago, what are we, animals?
Thor replied with a long, heavy puff.
“I see,” said Loki.
“Six hours today, back to back,” said Thor. “You have no idea how much bullshit
I have to produce and dish out with a smile on my face, the same recycled
babble again and again and again. At least with Ed we have a laugh, but Jesus
fuck… I earned my salary today, I can tell you that. Every penny.”
“Oh, boo hoo,” sniggered Loki. 
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” snapped Thor. "Give me a break. At least let me moan a
little.”
“Was this the last day?”
“I bloody wish. One more.”
“And then?”
“Ellen, the piece for GQ, and the photoshoot the day after, a lot of work
lunches, press and execs and stuff, three parties, two photocalls, and then the
Oscars. And that’s it, free.”
“Until the next one,” said Loki.
“Until the next one,” sighed Thor. He smiled tiredly. He gave the bridge of his
nose a good rub. “I’m dying here, baby. I miss you so very much. Every single
waking hour…
Loki looked to the side, towards the window. The way the light hit him then, it
took Thor’s breath away. 
“I miss you too,” said Loki.
“Come over,” begged Thor.
“No.”
“Please.”
“No.”
“Why not,” sulked Thor, petulant, remorselessly so, crossing his arms in the
universal pose of a spoilt brat in a huff.
“Because you’re busy and tired, and you get cranky when you’re under stress. I
don’t have any wishes to go rot in a fucking hotel room for days on end. The
paps in L.A. are fucking worse than in London. They would wonder what the fuck
I’m doing there, and possibly bring up the tapes shit again, and thanks but no
thanks. We’ve talked about this already. Don’t make me repeat myself so much.
Do you think I’m enjoying this?”
Thor huffed, still sulking. He knew he was not being reasonable, but he missed
his brother, alright? Loki was checking the black polish on his nails, no
sympathy for his plight.
“I know you hate L.A., but you could fly to New York,” he suggested. “I could
fly over for a day or two, and then we could spend a few days when I’m done
here, see everyone, have your birthday party there.”
“No, we couldn’t,” said Loki, cutting. “I don’t celebrate that anymore.”
“You don’t celebrate… your birthday?” repeated Thor. Was he getting that right?
“No. I haven’t for ages.”
Thor had an instinct that he had to tread with caution in this matter.
Something in Loki’s voice.
“Why not?” he asked.
“Because it’s not my birthday.”
“I don’t follow.”
Loki let out an annoyed huff and proceeded to explain himself, in a tone that
said that it was self-evident and he really had no time for this.
“The date on my birth certificate is not authentic. Nobody really knows the day
I was born. So it’s not my birthday. So I don’t celebrate it. I haven’t since I
found out about the adoption.”
Thor took a moment to process that. No birthday? But… Don’t make me repeat
myself so much.
“I-I didn’t know that,” he tried, just to say something. 
“Now you know,” replied Loki, checking his nails again.
Thor grappled with the heavy silence.
“I already got you a present,” he said, and he instantly felt like slapping
himself,you idiot. But if it wasn’t the whisper of a smile there in Loki’s
eyes, softening his frown…
They stared at each other through the screen. It was only for a few heartbeats,
but it felt like time had stopped. Thor was so very tempted to reach for the
flat image of his brother’s face, brush his fingertips on it, and make believe.
But he’d never hear the end of that, would he? He abstained. 
“Have you written much today?” asked Thor.
“I was fucking dancing all morning, my dear.”
“Right, of course. Is it taking shape?”
“Yes.”
“What shape.”
“A play.”
“Ooooh,” said Thor. “Can’t you tell me what it’s about yet?”
Loki deliberated, biting the inside of his cheeks. Thor wanted to reach for the
screen again. Not being able to touch and being forced to just observe instead
had its own rewards. Even with the less than perfect definition of the webcam,
he noticed more details, things he probably saw just as well when his brother
was in front of him, but with the rest of his senses overwhelmed by Loki's
physical presence, they didn’t register. He enjoyed seeing thoughts and
emotions touching his face with quick brushstrokes.
“It’s about mum,” said Loki at last.
“Oh,” said Thor, cautious again. “What about her?”
Loki pondered some more. He seemed unsure, wary of how his words might be
received.
“I found her journals,” he said after a spell. “In Asgard. In the loft.”
“I didn’t even know she kept any. Have you read them?”
“No. I did have a quick browse. But it felt as if trespassing on her privacy.
It was not written for anyone else to read, was it? And she must have written
without reserves there, god knows what I would find. Better not. But I… I still
took them with me. I’ve got them here.” He looked up anxiously, perhaps
expecting a reprimand. Thor didn’t feel the need for one, so Loki carried on.
“Anyway, I started thinking about what might be in there. She had a whole
secret life, she was a whole secret world all to herself. We all are, of
course, but… I’ve been wondering what she was, who she was, besides our mum.
And just like that, I started writing conversations with her, things we used to
talk about, things that-… that we should have talked about and never did.
Because I-… I talk to her in my head at times, since I was last in hospital.
Don’t laugh.”
“I’m not laughing.”
“Well, I started to… How can I put this. To think of all her different facets
as if they were different characters. Not just “mum” or “wife” or “actress” but
the fury who never took shit from Odin, the ambitious and ultra-driven young
woman she must have been in the beginnings of her career, the voice of wisdom
when she wanted to comfort us, the more frivolous, almost childish young girl
she became with her friends, the woman who still got teary-eyed when she spoke
about her mum and grandmother and the summers of her childhood in Norway… I’ve
even been wondering about the woman who got the hots for Odin.”
“Loki…” laughed Thor, with a discomfited fluster.
“What? She was sexual too, she must have had other lovers besides him. Don’t
you ever wonder?”
“I try not to.”
Loki smiled and raised a dismayed eyebrow at his brother’s squeamishness.
“Well, I have,” he declared. “And then all those aspects of her started talking
to each other, as if they were separate characters. So basically I’m writing a
play in which a dozen Friggas discuss youth and maturity, and prime and
decadence, and this and that and the other, around a couple of Lokis and one
Odin.”
“Whoa,” said Thor, always so eloquent. “Sounds ambitious. …No Thors?”
“No, my dear. I did not feel this was the time to explore issues of
brotherhood. I’m afraid they would take over the play and leave no room for
anything else. Thors tend to do that.”
Thor grinned at the light taunt.
“Well, sounds fascinating, baby. Can’t wait to read it.”
“Yeah, well,” said Loki, lighting a fag. “At times if feels like I’ve bitten
more than I can chew.”
“Why?”
“How am I qualified to write about… life, the universe and everything? And in
mum’s voice too. Who do I take me for?”
Thor didn’t rush to talk. It took a lot of skill, tact, and opportunity to
compliment Loki successfully. 
“Well, if someone is qualified, it’s you, brother. You understood her well. And
it’s not like you want to write a biography, right?, it’s a… a meditation. It
doesn’t have to get the answers, but I’m sure you’ll come up with all the good
questions.”
Loki lowered his eyes, with a thoughtful, only moderately displeased
expression, and did not call him a brainless oaf. Thor counted that as a win.
“Do I get to read it?”
“Maybe,” said Loki. “Not yet though. It’s too rough.”
Another win. You’re on fire tonight, Odinson. 
“Well, I’m looking forwards to it.” Thor tried not to look too smug. Then he
noticed the frown on Loki’s face. “What is it?”
“Hm,” Loki bit a nail. “There’s this character, older Loki. I still don’t have
a name. Anyway… I’m thinking of… I’m going to offer it to Bucky. If this
materialises.”
“You’re not going to play it yourself?”
“No. I want to direct it.”
“Right.”
“So you have no problem with it?”
Thor shrugged.
“Would it change anything if I did?”
“That’s not what I’m asking.”
Thor sighed, gave it some thought.
“I’m not worried about Bucky,” he said.
“Ok.”
“Although…”
“Yes?”
“What was it with him? You’ve never really told me. You dated, you fucked,
what? You’re always texting…”
Loki reclined in his chair, drew a long drag.
“We fucked on and off for a few months. We were both, um, pining for someone
else. As you know well.” A knowing eyebrow rise. “I’m very fond of him. We have
stuff in common. He’s a bit broken too. He’s like a kid brother to me. And he’s
a wonderful actor that I want to see succeed, in the name of art. Ok?”
“Ok,” said Thor. “A very hot kid brother you used to fuck. Why does that sound
familiar.”
Loki laughed. Thor took in the sound, the wrinkles on the corners of his eyes.
Even through the screen, even from beyond the bleeding ocean, Loki must have
felt Thor’s longing. He stared right into his eyes. And he stared. And he
stared. Thor’s heart started to pump faster.
“Do you want to get off?” said Loki.
Thor blinked, startled out of his daydream. He rubbed his face. There was no
point in playing it cool, was there?
“Yes,” he admitted, “please.”
“Want to watch or go first?”
Holy fuck. Thor squirmed in his seat, already starting to get hard.
“Watch,” he said.
Loki smirked, and started unbuttoning his shirt, slowly.
“What do you want to see?” he purred, his voice low and whispery.
Thor swallowed.
“What do you want to show me?”
Loki penetrated into his soul with those tremendous eyes of his, as he kept
undoing his buttons. He took his shirt off, movements languid, and gave Thor a
moment to feast his eyes and stew in the anticipation. He knew what it did to
him, there was no shyness and no doubt. He just fucking knew. Why was that so
impossibly sexy.
“More,” said Thor.
Loki’s smile grew wider and naughtier. He stood up, pushed the chair out of his
way, rearranged the angle of the cam, and his elegant hands dealt with with his
button and flies. Thor unconsciously licked his lips as his eyes followed the
happy trail down to where it thickened. Loki began to peel off the black
leather trousers. Thor gasped when they started to come down, Loki’s cock,
plump and heavy, popping into view, his pretty dark pink balls. Then his thighs
appeared, and for a bloody quarter of an hour, they just kept on appearing.
Thor’s breathing had turned shallow.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, baby,” he muttered, his hand kneading lazily the
bulge in his boxer shorts, already so taut. “You’re not fucking real. You’re a
bloody extra-terrestrial.”
Completely naked now, legs slightly splayed, back straight, proud stance,
graceful, Loki gave his hardening cock a few leisurely strokes. Thor swallowed
again, his throat bone dry.
“I miss you,” said Loki, low and rumbly, tugging and thumbing the head of his
cock, now fully erect. “I miss how fucking strong you are, how big inside me.
Your weight on top of me, crashing against me. I miss how hot you get, how your
breathing feels on my skin when you’re fucking me, the sounds you make.”
Thor shifted in his chair, and fumbled with himself to get some relief from the
strain. He got his cock out through the slit of his boxers, and he was careful
not to get too enthusiastic stroking and pulling. He wanted this to last.
“I miss you too,” said Thor, husky. “Like you wouldn’t believe.”
Loki turned his back to the camera, and Thor almost whimpered at the sight of
his perfect white arse, mirror-smooth. Loki bent over a little, arched his
back.
“Jesus,” gasped Thor, his crotch clenching sharply.
“I have this toy,” announced Loki over his shoulder, carelessly running his
hands over the sides of his thighs, over his butt, those two dimples at the
small of his back that had Thor salivating. “I got it some time ago, when I was
pining so hard for you. Do you want to see it?”
Thor swallowed again. He had heard about the kind of toys Loki had experienced
with. He was not sure he was ready for some of them, not through a fucking
webcam, and not without a bit of forewarning.
“What is it?”
“Only a dildo, nothing kinky,” smiled Loki, sensing his brother’s caution. 
Thor laughed, feeling like a prude.
“Alright, show me.”
Loki disappeared from view, there were some noises. When he popped back into
frame, he was holding a generously sized, realistic-looking dildo that got Thor
blushing for some reason.
“I saw it and I thought of you,” said Loki, with the tone other people would
employ to present to someone a pair of earrings or a book. He was running a
lazy finger on the rubber thing, base to tip. “It has a base you can stick it
to, to ride it.”
“Fuck,” breathed Thor, already getting the picture in his mind, lots of
pictures.
“I used to fuck myself on it thinking of you. You were still with Jane. They
were angry, angry fucks, I can tell you,” said Loki, with a wicked smile.
Thor’s heart was pounding hard. This thought was both unsettling and pretty
fucking arousing. 
“Do you want to see?” asked Loki.
They would only find a puddle in the morning, that’s all that would be left of
him… He nodded.
“Right, ok,” said Loki, assessing the possibilities with a quick look around.
“Ok. Let me see if I can…” He manoeuvred the chair again, got what look like
the base strapped to the seat, then clicked the dildo into place.
“You’re going to… fuck the chair?”
“If I fuck the floor you’ll miss the action, dear.” He was already pouring lube
on the thing.
“Hey, you’re not going to prep?” asked Thor, alarmed. The thing was, um,
girthy. “Don’t hurt yourself.”
Loki winked at him, put a foot on the table. Now Thor had a very good view of
Loki’s slicked fingers sliding into his own arse, but not his face while he did
it. Which was the suckiest thing about the narrow frame of the webcam. And with
Loki being so bloody tall, to get both his face and the rest of the fun in one
single space, he had to move half-way across the room, and then you missed the
details. Oh well. No-one could accuse his brother of not being resourceful:
what Thor was missing in facial expressions, Loki was making up for in sounds,
withholding his breath as he went in, then releasing it in short, vibrant
hisses as he scissored his fingers, while he kept fisting his cock slowly with
the other. Thor’s heartbeat was all over the goddamn place by now, cock
leaking, a wet patch in the cotton around the base of it.
Loki pulled out, put his foot down, his face came into view. He had the cutest
concentration scrunch on his nose as he adjusted the frame again. Right, all
ready. He looked up, playfully wiggled his eyebrows. He straddled the chair,
hands propped on the armrests, and wiggled his arse, searching for the right
spot, his eyes fixed on his brother. Thor’s heartbeat reached new heights. 
Loki lowered himself slowly. Now his eyes rolled back and lids fluttered, his
mouth fell open, and Thor gasped as if he had been punched, when he realised
what had just happened. Carefully, with a wince now and again, erection
flagging, Loki kept lowering himself down onto the chair, until he stopped, his
chest heaving quickly, his jaw hanging, his eyes hazy. He licked his lips, and
stared at Thor.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” said Thor, out of voice, “you’re the hottest thing I
ever… Jesus.”
“It has an on switch,” said Loki, voice choked, “shall I turn it on?”
Thor nodded, his eyes glazed as he followed Loki’s gesture, reaching down. A
low buzz was heard, and Loki’s eyes rolled white again, a shiver down his
spine, a gentle roll of hips, his erection perking up.
“God,” he muttered, licking his lips, breathing hard now, “It’s not going to
take long…”
“Fucking hell, baby…”
Loki started bucking his hips, lifting himself up and down gently, with a
strangled whimper. Thor’s cock twitched, he gave the head a twist, more pre-
come pearling at the tip. Loki’s expression, scrunched up in exquisite agony,
was fucking driving him out of his mind with lust.
“I fucked myself so many times on this… thinking of you and her…” Loki was
saying. He was rolling his hips, moving, moving. “I’d go so hard. Like a-… god,
like a punishment. Because I couldn’t get you out of my head… Because I wanted
you and no-one else… And I hated you… God… I hated you… so much…”
He was starting to fuck faster, working his thighs. Thor wasn’t sure he wanted
to hear that, but his cock was fucking loving it. His fist was trembling with
the effort of holding back. He didn’t want to miss a blink of what was going on
in the screen. Loki was falling hard on the thing, the wet slap, slap, slap.
“I fantasised of coming to you… I had the whole fucking story in my head of…
how you’d cheat on her with me… You couldn’t help yourself… and you were so
angry with yourself… How hard you would fuck me… You’d make me feel it, how
fucking wrong it was…” Fast and frantic now, propped on the armrests, muscles
of arms and chest tense and bulging, stomach rippling. God fuck, so beautiful.
He wanted to come, and it was costing him. He couldn’t jack himself and keep
bouncing up and down at the same time, he needed his hands for support. He was
getting tired…
“My fucking thighs…” he laughed breathily and slowed down. And fixing his eyes
on Thor again, he stopped humping the thing and started to circle his hips with
more deliberation, small, pulsing movements, to get the vibration right where
he needed it. Thor was cupping himself strong enough to throb. 
“I can’t fucking believe…” said Loki, whispering, short of breath “I’m doing
this for you now… with this thing… That you’re watching me like this… that
you’re mine…” He threw his head back. “Ah, Thor… god, fuuuck… Brother, look at
me…”
“Baby…” Thor had no fucking breath.
Loki’s breathing spiked, he panted fast, faster, moaning, moaning, and he went
still. He started to shake up and shiver and come. He arched his back and neck,
jolting suddenly, sharp breaths, the aftershocks running through him. When he
stopped, with a soft whimper, he licked his lips. His eyes took a second to
refocus. 
“Holy fuck, baby,” gasped Thor, as his brother reached down to switch the thing
off, his movements sluggish. He remained impaled on that thing for another
moment, getting back his breath, still propped up on the armrests. Thor hadn’t
missed a detail of his face, not a twitch. Finally, Loki unmounted, with a
wince, and cleaned himself up with some wet wipes, which he had been keeping
handy on the desk since they had started doing this.
“Are you ok, baby?”
“I’m just relieved I don’t have to dance tomorrow,” said Loki, still short of
breath. “My knees are weak.”
Thor laughed. The image on the screen jumped and shook. When it settled, he saw
that Loki had relocated to the bed with his laptop, chest heaving, a glint of
sweat on his brow. The view wasn’t too dissimilar to what Thor saw beside him
in London when he opened his eyes in the morning, a bittersweet thought. He
craved for his brother’s touch so badly that he wanted to cry like a little
boy.
“You haven’t come,” noted Loki, fuzzy and sated and glowing.
“I want you to tell me what you want to see.”
Loki smirked, a greedy cat stuffed on cream, and still willing to make room for
more.
“You like me telling you what to do?”
Thor may have blushed.
“Sometimes.”
“Will you do anything I ask you?”
“Within reason and means,” said Thor.
Loki grinned, both languor and mischief dancing in his eyes.
“Alright,” he said. “Strip.”
That tone of voice did things to Thor he wasn’t yet sure how to classify. He
got up just the same, took a step backwards, to get into frame, and took his t-
shirt off. He didn’t try for smooth and languid, like Loki had, because he…
well, because he still felt self-conscious doing this, and a bit ridiculous. To
take his boxers off he had to manoeuvre his very hard, very big erection back
through the slit, and be careful not to catch it with the elastic. He felt
clumsy, ungraceful, and not sexy in the least.
“Hmmm…” Loki ran his eyes all over him. Apparently, he didn’t agree with Thor.
He was lying on his side, head propped on one elbow, still feline and still
hungry. “Turn around.”
Thor did, offering his back, not sure what to do with his hands. His breathing
was rushed with nerves and arousal. He remembered complaining often about
photographers (and early on in his career, directors) making him feel like
nothing but a lump of meat. Well, he wasn’t complaining now. There was
something about being his brother’s lump of meat that was obviously a big
fucking turn on.
“Face me,” said Loki, that tone of voice again, no vacillation, that clench in
Thor’s crotch.
Thor did, hands clasped in front of him, shifting on his feet, edgy. Of course
Loki could sense his nerves, and hence that self-satisfied grin. It was all
part of the fun. His cheeks hollowed around his cigarette, with intent. He left
him there for some time, just watching. He didn’t need words to get Thor’s
heart beating faster.
“Why don’t you lie down on the bed?” said Loki. 
Thor fiddled with the webcam to make sure the bed was in frame. 
“On your front,” said Loki, puffing smoke.
Thor obeyed, taking care not to snap his very hard, unyielding cock in half.
The pressure made him moan. Now what.
“I want you to fuck the mattress,” said Loki. “I want to see your arse
flexing.” And he mused, “I never get to see it from this angle.” 
Thor did as he was told. He was so fucking horny, and this was nowhere near
fucking enough. He pumped his hips, raising his arse to try and get some
friction. He rubbed sideways, pressed on it. No, nowhere near enough, not in
the same fucking galaxy, but the thought of Loki watching him like this… He had
not done anything like it since he was a horny teenager fantasising about
fucking. It felt… private, naughty.
“We’re absolutely going to get a mirror for the ceiling,” purred Loki. “I’m
going to order it today. You should see yourself, brother…”
He had realised by now that Loki used ‘brother’ like he used ‘baby’. He fucking
loved it. Did that make him a pervert? 
“Part your thighs. I want to see your balls and your hole.”
Thor obeyed. He was moaning into the pillow. He had bunched up the bedcovers
underneath him, and was bucking into the slightly raised bump they made. The
sensation was barely buidling up, but it was enough to have him panting and
whimpering with an even more intense feeling of frustration.
“If I was there right now,” said Loki, a hot whisper, “I’d sit between your
legs. I’d want to feel your arse like that, so hard, so smooth… I’d sit closer,
and you’d feel the tip of my cock on you…”
Thor’s breathing changed. He humped faster.
“Maybe my tongue… You’re spread and open for me… Would you like to feel my
tongue on your hole, brother?”
Thor heard himself, a pleading whimper muffled against the pillow.
“I’d like to slip a finger inside you, to feel you clench around me as you
fuck.”
This was definitely getting somewhere now. He’d be skinning himself raw to get
there though. 
“Fuck your fist, brother,” said Loki. “Reach underneath and fuck your fist.”
Thor spat on his palm, pushed his knees up to get some space beneath him, so
that he could move his hand more freely.
“Yes…” purred Loki. “Look at you. If I was there now, brother, I’d have my cock
inside you.”
“Ahhh fuck…” Thor was fucking desperately into his hand.
“I’d stay still, I’d be on my knees behind you, and I’d watch you fuck yourself
on me, looking for the right angle… I’d be looking at my cock slipping inside
your body… How fucking gorgeous you would look, taking pleasure from my cock,
desperate for me to start moving, to push you down and fuck you…” 
“Ahhhhh…” Thor went rigid with his orgasm. Pumping himself slower now as he
spurted on the sheets, face pressed against the pillow, seeing sparks.
After some time, he rolled onto his back, and hazily contemplated the ceiling.
That had been as intense as it had been dissatisfying, too slow to build up,
too quick when it came, and fucking hell, there was something painfully missing
and Thor was flustered thinking of what it was. Loki was quiet, patiently
waiting for Thor to recover.
“You should be here,” he muttered, as he sat up, scratched his hair, his pubes.
He threw Loki a quick glance. Did he get what he…? Oh, what the fuck had he
meant by that, exactly. Didn’t matter, Loki took a drag and faced the window
for a spell. 
It was Thor’s turn now to fetch the laptop and take it to bed. He rested it on
top of the pillow, next to him. After a sip of water, he looked at his quiet,
pensive brother with intent.
“Loki, do you ever… I mean, before. Did you use to…?” What’s the fucking word.
“…Top?” guessed Loki.
“Yes.” Blushing like a little boy.
“Yes,” said Loki.
“And did you… do you like it?”
That closed-lip smirk that put dimples on his cheeks. Adorable.
“Very much,” said Loki.
“Right.” Ok, right. Images in Thor’s mind. With Tony. Jesus. Bucky. Oh, fucking
hell… He gulped.
“Alright, brother?” asked Loki.
Thor smiled guiltily, in response to Loki’s smug, knowing look.
“So why haven’t you…?” asked Thor. “With me.”
“You get tense whenever I get near the general vicinity,” said Loki. “I just
assumed it was not your thing.”
Thor chuckled, flustering,
“Yes. Hm. The couple of times somebody has had a play there… I didn’t like it,”
he confessed.
“Tell me,” said Loki. 
“They were just… one-night stands. I guess I wasn’t feeling it. Didn’t like
it.”
“You didn’t trust them,” said Loki. “And they were obviously not very good at
it.”
“I guess,” laughed Thor.
“And no girlfriend has ever…?”
“No.”
“Straight sex is so weird.”
Thor laughed.
“What about Fandral?”
“Fandral,” said Thor, still skittish around that subject. “It wasn’t about
experimenting with Fandral. I just wanted to get off. He never really pushed in
that direction. So, no. We… never.”
“Did you fuck him?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Nothing,” grinned Loki, all sweet and innocent. “I just like to imagine the
two of you together. I could use some more details.”
“Get out of here,” said Thor.
“It turns me on.”
“Well, we’re not talking about that, ok?” said Thor, heat on his face. “Make up
your own details.”
Loki shrugged, put out his fag.
“So, Loki…” Throat dry all of a sudden. “Do you think you would like to…?”
“…To fuck you?” completed his helpful brother. “Yes. I would. Immensely. Would
you let me?”
“I’m… I’m willing to try whatever you like. Well, you know.”
“Within reason and means,” smiled Loki. 
“Yeah. I know I’m kind of… vanilla. I don’t want you to feel like you’re
missing out with me. I want you to be, uh, satisfied.” He made himself giggle
with how bloody stupid he sounded in his own ears.
“Darling,” grinned Loki, sweetly, “do I seem unsatisfied to you?”
Thor chuckled again.
“Don’t do it for me, brother,” said Loki, “do it for yourself. Is it something
you desire? You seemed to enjoy the fantasy…”
Thor reached for the water bottle on the bedside table, to buy himself a couple
of seconds.
“Well, I’ve obviously thought about it, since you seem to enjoy it so much. So
yeah, I guess I’m definitely, uh, curious.”
“Is that all it is, curiosity?” Loki’s eyes were glinting, his expression
intent.
Thor stared. Since they were talking candidly, he might as well…
“I like it when you grab my hair and fuck my face,” he confessed, and it
instantly made him feel… bolder. He stared into Loki’s eyes. “I like it when
you tie me to the bed and ride me. I like it when you take over. I like to
feel… like you’re, uh, using me for your pleasure. Like I’m your toy.”
A pause, in which Loki seemed to have forgotten how to breathe. It made Thor
feel quite smug. He was usually the one at the receiving end of these. 
“Good answer,” said Loki, husky.
“Must be, look at your pupils,” chuckled Thor.
Loki laughed.
“But I’m… well, I’m also nervous,” confessed Thor. “If we did… I mean, when we
do, I’d-I’d need you to be patient.”
“Of course, brother,” said Loki, all gentle solicitude. “Is it the pain you’re
not sure of?”
“Er, yes. I’ve only had fingers in there and it hurt. And it felt so fucking
weird too, I don’t see how a cock… Anyway, yes. I guess it’s a factor.”
Loki licked his lips, and got comfortable on the bed, grinning.
“I can prep you so that you’re soft as butter and dying for it,” he whispered,
rather kindly.
Thor gulped, he forced out a laugh. 
“I have no doubt. Have you…uh, done many virgins?”
“A few. I can give you references. But they all came back for more, if you were
wondering how that went.”
Thor laughed again. His brother’s eyes were going to brand him, they were that
hot.
“I’m going to eat you out for half an hour. All of half an hour, you can time
it,” whispered Loki, a hot, droning sound Thor could feel inside his ribcage,
like a panther’s purr. “You’ll be on your hands and knees, your cock so hard
dangling between your thighs. I’ll lick you so, so good while I work your cock
with my hand, sucking it now and then. You’ll be so relaxed, so aroused. I’ll
slip one finger in, and you won’t even feel the burn. You will only know I’m
there because you’re going to feel like you never even fucking imagined, when I
start working your prostate. You’ll be sobbing into the pillow, and I’m going
to take my time. I’ll make you come like that first, one finger inside you,
sucking your cock between your legs, and it will be the most frustrating orgasm
of your life. I’ll let you lie down, on your back now, not one solid bone left
inside your body, so, so relaxed. I’m going to start going down on you again,
until you’re so hard you can’t fucking think, and while I’m swallowing you all
the way down, I’m going to open you up. You’ll have my fingers inside you, and
your cock in my mouth, and you’ll be fucking gagging to be fucked. And then,
only then I will take you. And I’ll be so gentle, I’ll make it last forever,
and you’ll beg me to go harder, but I won’t, because after you come, brother,
with tears in your eyes, because it will be that good, I’m going to fuck you
again, and this time I’ll fuck you hard, and you’ll feel me there, so deep
inside you, for days.”
Thor’s mouth had dropped a while ago, and it was still gaping. He was trying to
find his voice.
“Ok…” he muttered eventually, thinking that some sort of reply might be
expected from him.
“That would be a nice birthday present,” said Loki.
“What.”
“Your cherry.”
Thor laughed, feeling heat on his face.
“I thought you didn’t celebrate that anymore.”
“Well worth making an exception,” rumbled Loki.
“It’s a deal,” said Thor, and sort of smiled, throat dry. “All you have to do
is come and get it…”
Odinson, what the fuck. This is a pretty fucking serious carrot to dangle.
“I might just do that,” said Loki, with a playful look in his eye. 
Thor held his gaze, wondering if a handful of measly pixels were able to carry
his love and his yearning all the way across the ocean.
“Anyway, I better let you go, right?” said Loki. “What time is it over there?”
“Just gone 1 a.m.,” said Thor.
“You need your beauty sleep. I shouldn’t have kept you.”
“It’s ok,” he sighed. “I miss you like crazy, baby. I love you so much.”
“Me too,” said Loki.
Thor stole another few more seconds.
“Have a nice afternoon,” he said then.
It was Loki stalling now, staring in silence for a long time, as if he was
trying to work up the courage to say something, or as if he was trying to
commit to memory every detail of Thor’s face. Or perhaps both.
“Sleep tight,” he said at last. “I love you. Bye.”
Loki out.
Thor sighed, again. It felt so lonely in that room all of a sudden. Like
flipping a switch, and the light was gone, and it had taken with it all the
shapes and colours. 
He dragged his sorry arse to the bathroom to sort himself out and get ready to
go to sleep. When he laid back on the bed, he crossed another day in the
calendar in his mind. He tried to convince himself to cheer up, reminded
himself they were on the homeward stretch now. Didn’t really work. He was a
glass-half-full kind of person, but he had tasted what it felt like to have it
brimming and overpouring in his hands. It wasn’t easy to come back to Earth
from that high up and not shuffle your feet a little.
 
 
                                       *
 
 
(London)
 
Loki turned on his back and mapped out the cracks in the ceiling for a while.
He was still drowsy from his orgasm, and if you add to it the time of the day
and the very little, rather unsatisfying sleep he had been getting, the result
was a mighty urge for a nap. For the millionth time that day alone, he toyed
with the idea of jumping on a plane, today, right now. With a sigh, he walked
himself once more through the reasons why he wasn’t. If you go now, you ass,
you’ll be stuck in a hotel room doing nothing all day but pretending you’re not
there, and hoard up resentment. No sightseeing, because of laying low, because
you hate L.A., and because you hate sightseeing. With luck, Thor would join him
up a couple of hours in the daytime, dog tired, stressed out and talked out,
and would dash out soon after, on this or that other engagement which Loki
would not want to attend, even if he was invited. Thor would be even more
exhausted and short-tempered when he came in for the night, only to find Loki
climbing up the walls, needy and grumpy and up till fucking here, and whose
idea was this, and why the fuck did I even come over for this. So, being apart
sucked, but at least they got to tease, flirt and fuck, and talk, and yearn,
and ache exquisitely for each other. In conclusion, Laufeyson, you are to stick
to the plan. You’ll stay here and endure this, and fly over in time for Oscars
night, and it will be a wonderful surprise, and Thor will adore you for it, and
everybody happy. 
He did hope it would make it up to Thor for his no-show at the Globes. He knew
his brother had been sorely disappointed, and Loki had felt like shit. He had
used Tapesgate as his excuse —there had been a very unpleasant buzz wafting
from the network broadcasting The Cold Six Thousand, to the effect that they
hoped Loki would stay away, to keep the viewers from associating him with his
brother. Thor had been furious, Loki had coasted on it to avoid going with him.
Truth was, he did not want to be there. Even from home it had been fucking
agony, and at the critical moment of actually calling the Best Actor Award, he
had shut himself up in his room and avoided seeing and hearing the fucking
thing unfold. He had kept himself away until he was sure they would have moved
on to something else. Over there, next to Thor, it would have been unendurable.
Loki remembered the three tons of bricks that had landed on his head last year,
as Thor lost the Globe, the BAFTA and the bloody Oscar forBlood Meridian, one
after the other. The lump of lead in his stomach, heavy and corrosive, thinking
what Thor must be feeling… So no, Loki could not fucking be there. It was
unimaginable. He simply could not fucking stand to watch him lose, not his
beautiful, magnificent, glorious brother. Among many other horrible, disturbing
feelings, some of them so slight and subtle he couldn’t even grasp them and
still them, to try and find out what the fuck they really were, (whatever they
were, they took him back to being a little boy and doing better than Thor at
school, to watching him struggle at things that were easy to Loki, and how
fucking awful that felt for some reason,) what that shit was bringing home,
once more, was how much he sucked at comforting and supporting him, and being
there for him in any meaningful manner, when Thor was in pain. Because what
could he do, what? A consolation blow-job? He didn’t know the words to ease
what he knew hurt like a motherfucker, he was shit at cuddling, rigid and
awkward and self-conscious, and had you even fucking seen him trying to lift
someone’s mood? Geez, no. Loki decided to leave that job to Thor’s friends,
which is what they were there for. Loki was there to… God fucking knows why
Thor wanted him there, unless it was to receive lessons in self-pity from one
of the finest contemporary masters, or to talk about the nature of
disappointment with someone who had spent most of his life being one. Deep
fucking sigh. 
He got up and took himself to the bathroom for a long, hot shower. He had
sometimes had good writing ideas in the shower, and at this moment in the
process he was in dire need of one. He had the whole thing in his head, a
vision of what he wanted, even some scenes and shreds of dialogue that could
work, but the fucking structure, the moment in the storyline to call “action!”,
was still elluding him. Without that, he felt as if flapping around without
sense or direction. Then again, there were too many things he wanted to say in
that play. Until he didn’t focus, until he didn’t manage to clear the grounds
and unearth the true heart of it, the point of writing it in the first place,
the lack of structure was really only a minor glitch. Oh, the woes of creation.
You surely like to make life hard for yourself, Loki-boy.
He let the spray hit his shoulders and back. They were knotted and strained
from dancing and holding some pretty extreme poses. He was worn out. He didn’t
recover as quickly as he once did. Well, whether he blew the candles or not,
years just kept fucking passing on him, didn’t they? He’d be turning twenty-
six, or thereabouts. So said his birth certificate, that exotic piece of
yellowing paper in Cyrillic he kept in a discrete, plain-looking folder, in the
back of a drawer, tucked away under a pile of jumpers in several shades of
black. Twenty-six years since he had been admitted in that orphanage in a
shitty area of Moscow, including the eight months the faceless civil servant
who entered him into the register had decided Loki was upon arrival. The same
person who had plucked his official date of birth, first of March, out of thin
air. Did it have some sort of significance for that person? Who knows. But he
could be older than that, or he could be younger. From what his adoptive
parents had told him during that fateful chat, the minders (they could hardly
be called nurses) could not agree on whether he had been born prematurely, or
whether it was the state of neglect that made him so small. Whichever it was,
Loki guessed he should be grateful that his development had not been impaired
in any way. 
Or perhaps it had been. Was he supposed to have been even taller, or smarter?
Not funny, really. Not funny at all. Was he supposed to not have been a
crackpot? Did the conditions of his birth or his first months of life made him
this way? Or did he get it all from his biological parents? Where they fucked
up in the head too? Was that why they did not keep him? Had his real mother
killed herself in a bout of depression? Or Laufey, right after he dumped him?
And why did it matter so much to him who he should have been, who he might have
been? It wasn’t just about parallel universes in which his parents kept him, or
somebody else adopted him, or nobody adopted him at all. This unknown genetic
heritage he carried, it was like living with a stranger that got to make a hell
of a lot of decisions for him, without consulting him, who knew all his
secrets, even the ones Loki didn’t, who knew him better than himself, because
he had been there in the first days, and at his birth, because he had met his
parents. A stranger who could see his future. Would everything make more sense
to Loki if he knew where it all came from, if he could look at his biological
family and see what was theirs and what wasn’t, and where did it lead to. Would
it make it any easier. 
Whatever. He should bless his luck and be grateful. He had not had a very
promising start, and even he could tell he wasn’t doing bad at all. Yes,
intellectually, on the rational level, he was capable of being grateful.
Really, he was.  If his trip to Moscow had accomplished one thing, it was to
really drive home for him just how blessed, how lucky he had been, how very
different it would have happened for him without Odin’s ex-machina
intervention. He had seen the orphanage, he had seen those kids. He could have
been one of them, one of the ones that don’t get families, who get sent to
other, even more fucked-up places when they grow too old, and god knows where
they go from there, but he was pretty sure their story did not end in a pretty,
warm, red terraced house in Kensington. 
In one of his least favourite, most insidious and persuasive twists of mind,
Loki felt as if there had been a pre-determined path for him, written in his
stars as it were, and this, where he was today, was not it. That this was not
supposed to have been his life, and that was why he sucked at living it. As if
what Odin had done had been an act of unnatural arrogance that had offended the
cosmic equilibrium, and his mind had been pulling all his life to drag him back
to who he should have been, to what he had been born for, to his true path. Of
course Loki did not truly believe in an imaginary grand scheme of things that
actually gave a shit about little old him, but even so, he sometimes looked
over his shoulder, afraid of the day somebody somewhere remembered the little
Laufeyson runt, and came back to correct that monstrous deviation and drag him
to where he really belonged.
The reasonably balanced young man he had become knew to count his blessings. He
pictured in his head the moment Odin’s eye had landed on him, and was very
bloody grateful for whatever that guileless baby had done to make up his
father’s mind. He could even picture the little thing’s hand gripping tight one
of Odin’s short, stubby fingers, and although Frigga had told him that, by that
time, Loki had not yet known how to smile, he might have looked up at the old
man’s face, and expressed something that had reached his adoptive father’s
heart. After having seen those sad little things in Moscow, left in their cots
for hours without any human contact, he wondered what it had been for that
forgotten, unwanted creature he once was, to feel cuddled and warm against
Odin’s chest, and then put in Frigga’s hands, who would have kissed him and
hugged him close; and was it the next morning, perhaps, when they brought in
Thor? Had his brother loved him there and then, the very first moment he held
him? Oh, make no mistake, Loki was grateful. If he thought he was fucked up
now, what could it have been without this? Without them? 
But for the perpetually resentful, unquenchably angry, sick creature within,
all of that counted for nothing. That creature saw no greys, had no empathy,
and could not forgive a wrong. And oh, the wrong done to that creature. It
understood only that Loki had been lied to, that he had been told he was one
thing, and allowed to build his whole sense of who he was, and what right he
had to be in the world, upon that lie, and that they did not have to do that.
They could have told him the truth. They had no need to make him feel any
better, any more deserving, any more than he was. That it had been heartless to
let him believe that he belonged, when the rug was to be pulled out from under
his feet sooner or later. That thing within thought that it would have been
less painful if Loki had grown knowing, no false illusions, no pointless hopes.
He did not have to say that he loved me. Oh, here we go. It’s what we always
come down to, isn’t it, you cry baby? Daddy doesn’t like me, daddy doesn’t love
me. Grow the fuck up already, Laufeyson, how much longer will you let this get
to you like that? Oh, but Loki could not give it up, could he? He just had to
wonder how many times Odin had looked at him and regretted. How many times had
he wished he had gotten the idea out of his wife’s mind. Did Odin see him as
anything else but a big bloody thorn in his side, his greatest mistake, this
alien, sick, ungrateful, disagreeable little shit who brought nothing but
headaches and heartaches to his house? Loki had been a decision Odin made, it
had been in his hands. Everything could have turned out completely different,
for all of them. Did he hate himself for it, for the pain it had brought to his
wife? Was he making Loki pay for the fucking moment that little baby tricked
him into picking him and not another one, was that it?
Deep, deep down inside, at his core, lived a part of him that would never
believe he had a right to this life, the life of a son of Odin and Frigga; that
would always see himself as a cuckoo in that nest of golden birds, taking the
spot of another child who would have been more deserving, with a stronger
claim, with a kinder heart. Was that where his permanent feeling of being an
impostor came from, his need to keep his walls up? Was that why it was so hard
to open up and love people more? Because if it's not yours by right, if you got
it by lying and cheating, it can be taken from you at any time, and no-one will
shed a tear for you. It's no sin to steal from a thief.
Loki turned off the shower, tried to visualise all that mental diarrhoea
running down the drain. His first therapist had told him about that one. It
only half worked. He stepped out of the plate, rubbed a circle in the steamed-
up mirror, checked his face. No, not for fucking wrinkles, actually, for traces
of make-up, thank you very much. Although there were some light wrinkles —on
his forehead, on the corners of his eyes. Not that he wanted to have a baby
face all his life. He was an actor, dammit. He needed character, not smooth,
unblemished skin, right? So if he went through his ablutions with extra
insistence on the moisturising routine, it was not because of anxiety about
getting old, or losing his looks, or anything of the sort, absolutely not.
Just, you know, good housekeeping.
Even as he sat at his desk, he knew that he wouldn’t manage any writing today.
He had a quick read of the more recent scenes he had been working on, tweaked
the text a bit here and there, but his mind was not in it, or his heart. 
He reached under the table to pet Minnie, her little head on his bare right
foot. He had kept her locked out of the room during his chat with Thor,
(because seriously, impossible to get anything going with the ball of fluff
around, least of all a hard-on) and she had followed him in after the shower.
Don’t know about you, sweetie, but I think I need to stretch my legs and clear
my mind.
“Fancy a walk, old girl?” he asked her. 
The magic word had been spoken; her ears stood up and her stumpy tail started
wagging. She scrambled onto her legs with less of a bounce every day, but she
ran for the door just as full of spirit as a three-month-old puppy. There was a
lesson there, thought Loki, in how animals live their lives, if only one could
learn from it.
It was already dark out in the street, puddles in every crack and hollow, gloom
and doom everywhere he looked. Ah, London in the winter. His feet lead him
straight to Thor’s door. Nothing special about it, just another Victorian
terrace, with a bunch of posh upgrades inside (the thorough soundproofing and
the huge jacuzzi sort of worked together there), and a pretty, well kept little
patio at the back, with a sleek zen-garden feel, and a totally incongruous red
metal BBQ. They had jumped on it after the first viewing. It was comfortable,
discreet, and so blessedly close. Perfect.
Loki turned on the lights, fixed himself a cup of tea, and burrowed on the
settee with his dog, under a thick afghan. The heating had been off. It was
very cold. The place still felt rather empty, only half-lived in. Furniture
wise, it had only the bare minimum (Thor had turned out to be surprisingly
picky, and with very clear ideas about what he liked and didn’t like in
interior design, can you fucking believe that?) and there was even less in the
way of personal touches —no art yet, no plants, only a few books and photos.
The photos had come from Thor’s bedroom in their parents’ house in Kensington.
Thor had been there one afternoon to gather a couple of boxes. It was stuff
Loki had not seen in a long, long time, in a different life, and shook him deep
when they started to pop out of the box. They came mainly from the huge cork-
board that had been in Thor’s bedroom, where he used to pin photos, concert and
theatre tickets and leaflets, press cuts and other mementos. When Thor had
moved to L.A. at eighteen, he had taken some of that stuff, but left most of it
behind. Loki used to see the board when he walked down the corridor past Thor’s
room, and never dared to touch it or disturb it, for some reason. He wouldn't
even get near it. Well, it had that feeling about it, Thor’s room, like an
abandoned sanctuary, still holy. Their parents had made it so, preserving it
untouched. 
And all those photos of Iceland. Thor had never taken them down, even after
everything had gone to hell. Loki had had questions about that, never spoken
them out. How could Thor bear to look at them? Of course, at the time, Loki had
just chucked it to Thor being a shallow jerk, who had not cared as much as he
had, but that didn’t hold water back then, not really, and it didn’t even hold
fucking air right now. He still did not know the answer though, to this day.
His brother was such a puzzle sometimes. He felt deeply, Loki saw that, but in
a very different way, along patterns pretty much incomprehensible to him. It
bugged him. Loki did pride himself after all in his keen insight into people’s
thoughts, feelings and motivations, but he often felt like an idiot stumbling
in the dark when it came to his own brother. That is, Loki thought he could see
into his head just fine and read him clearly, but then that big blond hunk
surprised him with something completely different and unexpected, something
Loki hadn’t even seen coming, again and again. He probably projected too much,
his own assumptions and his own emotions got in the way and made him stupid and
blind. He couldn’t help it with Thor, how could he. Just don’t tell anyone.
And now here they were again, all those things Thor had left when he moved out,
back on display. Look at them both, a pair of lanky teenagers staring back at
him from the past, young Thor cocky, so sure of himself, young Loki shifty,
oscillating between his willingly blind faith in his brother, and the warnings
of common sense, telling him that these were the last happy days of his life,
nevermore, nevermore.
“Jesus, look at your clothes. Did you ever wear anything that wasn’t
fluorescent?” Loki had said when Thor started to take the photos out of the
box, to break the thick silence. They had laughed.
“How beautiful you were, even then,” Thor had muttered a few minutes later, as
he slipped carefully inside a frame a photo of fourteen-year-old Loki, sitting
by himself under the never-setting sun, against a backdrop of black volcanic
terrain. He was smiling at the camera with a complicit gaze, trying to look
sexy for his brother, and managing cute at best, pathetic at worst, depending
on who was passing comment (no points for guessing.) The colour was faded and,
even in that frame, you could still see the pinprick holes and the wear and
tear on the corners. Thor had put it on the mantelpiece, in pride of place. It
had touched Loki’s little black heart. He had not said that Thor had never
stopped getting handsomer, that he couldn’t even imagine how he would look in
ten years time, twenty, and that he almost, almost, could not wait to see it.
It might have shown in his eyes anyway, judging from the fervour of the kiss
that followed. That one had ended on the bare floorboards. Loki had been fine
with it, “as long as I’m on top.”
For all his doubts and his fears, for all his paranoia and anxiety about the
future, he had to admit that, so far, it was working. It wasn’t all downhill,
of course not. Not a lot of new relationships, he was sure, started with so
many arguments. That fight when Thor decided what every room in the house was
going to be used for without consulting him, and Loki had complained about it,
and Thor had given him the old well whose fucking house is this then? It had
gone from there, and quite loudly so. And two weeks before, it might have been
a problem, and it would have required a sit down and a discussion and some
other contrived efforts to mend it. Well, they had been moody and avoided each
other for the rest of the afternoon, but when the time had come to order take
away, they had resumed their bickering and teasing as if nothing had happened.
They were making out on the settee soon after, no apologies offered or needed,
no need to fucking talk. It was a great place to be. They were becoming more
like brothers again, every day. As brothers, they had always been invincible.
Nothing could split them apart, no matter what was said, no matter how loud it
was said. So much care and negotiation went into keeping a boyfriend, but a
brother… You can fucking hate your brother at times and yet you never doubt
your love, or his. You don’t get over your brother. It was safe in that place. 
Thor appeared to be feeling happy and safe as well, in what they had, and in
how they were having it. Too safe, if you asked Loki. Overconfident even, cocky
perhaps, and bordering on brazen. The jumpy teenager who once could not even
put one arm around his brother on the street, let alone hold hands, was now
teasing and flirting in public, just like that. Not that it wasn’t fun. Buying
the bed, for example, had been a lark. Oh, the eyefuck Thor had cast his way,
as he tested the resilience of a sturdy, solid oak headboard with a good shake.
Loki was not impressed with that bed, and he was not to be outdone either. He
had returned the stare while running one slow, caressing hand over a black cast
iron headboard; he had intentionally let his scarf catch with one of the
curlicues, and gave it a good tug, to demonstrate the superior qualities of
that particular piece —as in, you could tie things to it. His brother’s eyes
had gone wide. That was the bed they had gone for in the end. They had only
just barely started to explore its full potential, but already it showed great
promise.
Buying clothes had been fun too. All those shop assistants fawning over him,
and Thor stepping out of the changing room shirtless to ask for another size,
or not bothering to pull the door or the curtain shut as he undressed down to
his underwear. And always, always, making sure Loki was looking. Make no
mistake, Loki drew an immense, wicked enjoyment out of the double entendres and
the private jokes, the flirting in broad daylight, the satisfaction of knowing
he would be the one taking home that golden god the whole world sighed for. He
wasn’t even getting jealous, no matter how bold and shameless were the women
who flirted with his brother, or how much Thor flirted back or basked in it;
even Loki with all his fucking issues could see just how supremely uninterested
Thor was, how his focus was permanently, unerringly set on little old him. And
if Loki was over-enthusiastic and extra-dedicated in their love-making
activities later that day, and deployed his finest moves, who was to say it had
anything to do with anything.
It was fun. It was naughty. It was spicy and exhilarating, to share that
shocking, outrageous secret and walk right on the edge of blowing it up. It’s
all fun and games until someone loses an eye. When Loki said they were probably
going out on too many dates, and that they should try not to be seen together
so often in what could easily (and correctly) be read as romantic settings,
Thor got grumpy and called him paranoid. “Nobody would ever believe it, baby,”
he said. Loki wasn’t sure whether his oaf of a brother underestimated the real
danger they were in, or… Well, he was impulsive, wasn’t he? Hiding and lying
would never sit comfortably with him. What if Thor was just pushing it and
pushing it, hoping it blew up in their faces? Consciously or unconsciously,
maybe that was it. Just fuck fear and precaution both, let the secret out, see
what happens, and deal with the consequences as they present themselves. Much
better than crouching here waiting, cheating and lying, wondering what might
happen, just let it fucking happen already, bring it on. That’s so like you,
brother. Summon up the thunderstorm and have the presumption to assume that you
can deal with whatever it brings.
 
 
When he got home, Sigyn had just made it back. They reheated leftovers and
sprawled on the settee, half on top of each other like the couple of housecats
they were at heart, flicking through the channels on mute.
“DVD?” suggested Sigyn, losing hope. “Oh, wait.”
Thor’s beautiful face was on screen. It was yet another piece on him in a
celebrity gossip show. There had been dozens since before the Globes. ‘Is it
new year, new love for Hollywood’s most desired bachelor?’ read the flashy
caption, half superimposed on blurry candids of Thor and Sif. ‘With Mystery
Brunette around town’. Leaving a restaurant, walking down the street, stage
door of the theatre where Fandral’s play was on (and there Loki was too, right
behind, in front of Fandral. —And bloody hell Fandral, take it down a notch;
the way he was looking at Loki’s arse, geez.) They looked beautiful together,
Thor and Sif, the press was loving it. Look at those smiles, Thor’s hand around
her waist as he hails a cab. And oh, here we go now, a bit of history: old
footage of Thor with previous girlfriends, for comparative purposes, one
surmised. There he is with Jane, holding hands crossing a street, and there
they are again, on a red carpet or another, Jane in a flowing gown of pink
chiffon, delicate as orchid petals, the most beautiful astrophysicist that ever
was, just how goddamn gorgeous was that girl. Old story really, both Sigyn and
him watched with a mild interest. But wait, what’s this then? Thor and him.
Loki’s stomach took a plunge. What the fuck? ‘Full reconciliation with his
brother’.  
“We never even noticed they were there,” muttered Loki, as he looked at a
string of photos of Thor and him together on the street, different clothes,
different days. “How do they fucking do that?”
“You don’t seem to be paying much attention to your surroundings,” quipped
Sigyn.
Loki threw her a glower, but she was right. His brother and him seemed lost in
their own private bubble. 
“What a gorgeous couple you make,” mused Sigyn at a photo of the two of them
looking intensely at each other like… like two idiots in love.
“How the fuck do they not see it?” said Loki, stunned, a metallic wash of fear
in his mouth. “How can they not notice? Is the world bloody blind?” Another
one, Thor’s arm around his shoulders, laughing, intimate. “Seriously, I’m
beginning to think they could get a photo of us fucking in an alley and the
caption would be Formerly Estranged Brothers Making Up For Lost Time.”
Sigyn giggled.
“Well, I’m sure it doesn’t hurt that he’s been seen around with Sif,” she said.
“I guess. Should I get me a beard too? Can I borrow Banner?”
She laughed. Now came the promotional bit, a clip from The Cold Six Thousand,
Thor looking unmeasurably sexy in the early 60s characterisation, cream old-
fashioned suit, sleek hair, haggard expression (his character had a really
tough time in that show.) Thor on the red carpet at the Globes, too hot to live
in that tux, his gorgeous, perfect face the moment when John Hamm had a word of
commiseration for him, his brother’s warm smile, a small head tilt, absolute
gentleman that he was (they really don’t come better bred than the Odinson
kids.) Now Thor signing autographs and goofing around with the fans at another
red carpet, on opening night of Master and Commander: Post Captain. Laughing
and joking with Eddie Redmayne, who played Maturin, and Natalie Dormer, who
played the mutual love interest, Diana. And a clip from the movie, Thor in
costume, doused in sea spray, in that beautiful, fittingly weathered uniform of
the Royal Navy that looked so fucking good on him, the long, blond hair coming
undone from its ponytail, eyes fixed on the horizon, a hungry, fierce look in
his eye, all intensity and electricity and raw physical power, coming off the
fucking telly in waves. Just how beautiful, how magnificent and extraordinary
was that god on the screen, that god in his bed. Loki sighed, a quiver inside.
He could not fucking lose him again, he couldn’t.
“It only takes one person,” said Loki. “Doesn’t take a lot of imagination, just
the right kind. One person calling it out to the right listening ear, and we’re
screwed.”
She listened, didn’t offer anything back but for that worried, sympathetic
look. 
 
 
 
                                     _____
 
 
(L.A. Oscars night.)
 
The yearly Oscar party at Chez Stark was a smallish affair, two hundred
attendees at best, mostly people who worked for Tony actually making movies,
and that he liked. Loki felt as out of place as he always did at these things,
but at least there were more familiar faces than usual. It had been even nice
to see some members of the Marinerscrowd again.
“Everybody shut up, here they come!” Tony grabbed the remote and turned the
volume all the way up. A few bars of the theme from Master and Commander played
as Thor Odinson and Natalie Dormer took to the stage. He had gentlemanly
offered his arm, lest there was an accident with the long train of her deep red
gown and those heels. They made their elegant, sliding way to the podium.
Natasha threw him a look. Loki kept his eyes glued to the screen. His brother’s
smile was outshining the ten foot tall golden statuette behind his back. Thor
was smooth and relaxed and he was an absolute delight. Not that Loki was
biased. No, seriously. If he was biased, it was in the other direction: he was
the biggest second-hand-embarrassment capacitor in the northern hemisphere. His
brother had fucking killed it. With a tiny, nostalgic smile, Loki remembered
Thor’s stiff, shaky performance at the Globes almost ten years ago. He
remembered too the rush that night, as it became more and more obvious to him
that Thor still wanted him. He remembered the churning of anticipation in his
stomach, as they drove back to that craphole that was Thor’s first ever
apartment. He remembered the pounding of his heart in the kitchen just before
they kissed. He remembered Thor nervously preparing him before he fucked him,
for the first time in his life, and himself wondering where had he learned to
do that, and with whom. 
The gorgeous couple left the stage, while at Chez Stark’s there was loud
cheering and clapping. Loki checked his watch. He calculated another three good
hours at least before Thor finished the ceremony and the party circuit and
could make it to Tony’s place. An optimist would say only three more hours, but
seriously, fuck optimism. Right now what he really wanted was to sit in a
corner, feel sorry for himself and sulk.
Well, he shouldn’t have fucking hired Natasha for an agent. When it came to
Loki, she was all for beating them when they’re down. It’s easier to break in
and get under the skin when it’s soft and bruised already…
“I can’t keep ressorting to Sigyn for updates, you know,” she said, not-so-
subtly blocking his way with her tiny, perfect body. “You said you would call.”
“I was pretending to be too busy,” said Loki through gritted teeth.
She smirked. “You’re not afraid of me, are you?”
“Of course I am," he said. "You’re my agent.”
“Oh Loki, you wound me. Is that all I am to you?”
He held her stare. 
“Well, we’re talking now,” he said.
“Yes we are,” she grinned. “So, being realistic, how long do you think you can
endure the situation with your brother as it is now?”
Well, if it isn’t Miss Natasha Doesn’t Fuck About Romanova, thought Loki to
himself, and stalled.
“What situation.”
Natasha gave him the head tilt. You won’t go far that way, Loki-boy.
“As long as it takes,” he said.
“I said, realistically.”
“What other option do we have?”
Was that actual compassion on her face.
“What are you telling me, that there is no hope?” he said, with a note of
hysteria in his voice. 
“No, I’m saying that tough choices are ahead,” she sentenced, and this time it
was definitely thoughtful compassion there, softening her eyes.
”No,” said Loki. No what. No to everything.
“Are you afraid that, if he’s made to choose, he won’t choose you?”
He winced. Fucking hell, Nat.
“No,” he said. “I’m afraid he’ll choose me and come to regret it later. He must
not be made to choose. Ever.”
She considered that.
“Loki, if anything was possible, anything, no restrictions, if it was possible
to be rid of this, and for you and Thor to fall in love with someone else and
lead normal lives, what would you choose?”
Loki didn’t reply straight away, but not because he didn’t know the answer.
It’s not as if he had not asked himself the same all his life.
“What do you want to know, Romanov.”
“I want to know how can I help you, really help you. What do you want? An
easier life, or…?”
“Him,” cut Loki. Tell your deepest wish to the sorceress so she can cast her
spell, and be true, because the magic will backfire if you’re playing silly
buggers. “I want him,” he said.
She nodded thoughtfully.
“Will you help me?” he all but pleaded.
That cunning, strategy-devising crunch in her brow was filling him with hope.
“I’ll do the best I can,” she said. And then, after a sip of her drink (as
black as her outfit), “Who is the girl he’s been spotted with?”
“His best friend,” he said. He tried to read her, and tried to fill in the
blanks. “She knows. About us. And so do his friends, they all know. He believes
we can trust them.” Her sly stare made him clumsy. “I’m fine with it. With…
her, I mean. Whatever it takes.” Right, Laufeyson. First, don’t defend yourself
if nobody’s accusing you, because it makes you instantly guilty. Second, overly
fervent conviction sounds like make-belief, you amateur. 
Her gaze was intent, inquisitive, and saw right through him.
“Be careful. With yourself. Don’t overthink.”
He put on a sarcastic expression of relief and joy.
“Oh my god, why didn’t you say that before! I’m cured!”
She tilted her head again, ducky pout, unimpressed.
“Anyway, tell me about that play you’re working on,” she said, with another
sip.
 
A lot of shop was talked that evening. Peggy Carter’s offer was the runaway
winner.
“If you really want me, get me to sign before the Mariners junkets start. I’ll
be regretting I ever set foot in Hollywood by then. You would not convince me
if you were offering the title role in a biopic on David Bowie.”
She laughed that dazzling, jaw-splitting smile of hers. 
“Well, Mr. Laufeyson, that’s a thought.” She clinked her glass with his. “We’re
going to have so much fun.”
 
“Really? You sure?” asked Bucky, with a light in his eyes, when Loki mentioned
to him his play.
“Of course I am, airhead. I wouldn’t tell you otherwise.”
“Wow, man, I’m so… Wow.”
“I’ll send you what I have when it’s at reading stage, to give you an idea of
what I’m on about.”
“Sounds awesome, Loke. Difficult too.”
“If I can fucking write it, you can fucking play it.” 
Bucky laughed.
“I don’t know how that works, but yeah, whatever. If you want me so much,” a
playful leer.
“I’m not going to fall for that,” said Loki.
Bucky laughed again. It was a good thing to see.
“Steve did great,” said Loki, sweetly. Bucky always brought his softer side to
the fore. “He was charming.”
“Yeah, he did good,” beamed Bucky. “He still gets so nervous at these things,
and he thinks he’s going to make a mess of it, but he just goes out there
anyway and does it. It’s like when we went to all those auditions back then.
Sometimes they wouldn’t even let him past the door, and it took guts to just
keep trying, but he would always pick himself up and come back again. I swear
he must have landed that first part on sheer stubborness.”
“Your eyes are shining,” mused Loki, making him blush. “You’re doing well, the
two of you, I could tell from miles away.”
“Yes. It’s so weird though. It’s like we forget, sometimes? That it’s a new
game now? Like, I sometimes want to, you know, kiss him or whatever, and my
first instinct is still to hold back.” Oh, that blush. “And let me tell you
something,” he lowered his voice, “I’m so grateful for… you know, the crash
course. Because if it had been all down to him, we’d still be on second base.
Lots of enthusiasm, but no fucking clue.”
Loki laughed with delight, and then feigned some hurt.
“A crash course? That’s all it was to you?”
Bucky’s face changed, became grave and intense.
“Joking, Bucky,” and now Loki was in frank retreat.
“I got so much from it, you hear? So much,” he said, fervent, and he hugged him
and kissed him full on the mouth. Which felt nice, too nice. It was not because
they were bored of each other that they had stopped what they were up to.
“So how’s your situation?” asked Bucky, putting some air between them, with a
slight catch in his voice that pleased Loki immensely. “You still owe me a
story, I haven’t forgotten.”
Loki smiled.
“Some day.” He tugged a flock of hair behind Bucky’s ear, and basked in the
warmth and affection in those huge, dark eyes. 
“He’s in the closet or something?” asked Bucky. “Is that what it is? Is he
super-famous too?”
Loki looked away.
“It’s complicated,” he conceded. “What happens with you two? Are you going to
come out?”
“Steve wanted to. Like, the day after we…” A glorious fluster. “I told him to
give us both a moment to pick up our breaths… It’s not even three months yet. I
don’t know about him, but I want some space right now, not a swarm of paparazzi
following around everywhere we go.”
“But it’s in the horizon.”
“Yeah, totally. Coulson’s aid mentioned keeping it under wraps, with the old
‘why do you need to go public with it? it’s your private life, who cares?’ and
Steve nearly blew a gasket. He was shouting at the poor kid ‘if it was a woman
you’d be wanting to put signs on the fucking bus!’ It was great. To be honest
with you, I do wonder if the aid was just acting on Coulson’s instructions. You
know, sounding Steve for reactions.”
“Wouldn’t be surprised.”
“Do you agree?”
“With coming out?”
“Yeah. Because… I don’t know, I’m a nobody, but Steve… I feel almost selfish
for letting him do this. Because he may keep on making movies, god knows, the
public does love him, but… likely not as a lead, and no more romantic parts for
him unless it’s as gay best friend or brother of the bride or… He’s an action
hero, and that will be gone. That’s a pretty big sacrifice to make, his whole
career for, you know…er, me. But he says he has no choice, that there are not
two options here. And he doesn’t say it as a negative, even. He says he is what
he is, and he is not going to pretend he is something else, because he couldn’t
live with himself or look at me in the eye. He says he stands for something and
that, if he was to hide this, that would be finished anyway. Like, what kind of
hero hides something that’s so big, something that costs other people lots of
pain and suffering. He says that, if we can help make it a little bit safer for
other people to come out, or even if it helps people understand what being a
bisexual means… Hey, you alright?”
“Yeah. I need to… I need a fag. No, you stay. Please.” Loki made his way to the
terrace in a hurry. He heard Bucky’s voice a few steps behind.
“…But give me a shout if you need me, eh?” Though Bucky knew just as well as he
that he never would.
 
Fresh air therapy. Yeah, in Hollywood? No chance, even on the hills. With all
that polution, you don’t even need to breathe into a paper bag to get a fix of
CO2. So deep breaths it was. Then a fag, with shaky hands. Then three. He had
to calculate how many Mississippies he could allow himself before Natasha was
on his heels.
 
Loki was heading back to his group, after a restroom detour, and a refreshed
face and neck, when he heard Tony’s voice, somewhere in the room.
“The Mighty T! He returns triumphant!”
Loki’s stomach did a flip. He craned his head and stood on his tip-toes,
seeking with his eyes. There he was, there, look at him. Be still my fucking
heart, he looked bleeding godly in that tux, breathtaking, and Loki could swear
that his brother soaked up the light in the room, because everybody around him
looked plain and dull and dim, while he blinded and dazzled. Loki always
managed to forget somehow that, as gorgeous as Thor was on screens and photos,
he was actually even more handsome in the flesh. 
He was walking and talking with Tony, looking like a man who had had enough.
Then his eyes lifted for a cursory, disinterested sweep across the room, and he
spotted Loki. And his face, bloody hell, not even Inner Bastard had any power
against that. Thor’s eyes were shining so bright that, if someone got in the
way, there would be sunburns. Loki stood still, shivering like a leaf, as his
brother strode towards him. After the first moment of surprise, would Thor be
pissed off at him? As late as this morning, Loki was still maintaining the
fiction that he was in London and with no intention of moving, and being quite
unpleasant to Thor when he begged him once more to fly over.
His brother closed the last two steps and scooped him up in a bone-grinding
hug. Loki would have sighed in relief, if Thor’s arms had not crushed the
breath right out of him already.
“You lying bastard,” his brother muttered, his voice so warm. “You completely
had me.”
Loki smiled, drunk in Thor’s scent, his brother’s strong arms squeezing out of
him every doubt and every fear.
“I can’t breathe, Thor,” he said, eventually.
“How can you talk, then,” whispered Thor.
“Brother, they’re beginning to stare,” he mumbled, starting to push him off.
“Let them,” said Thor, hugging tighter, the beginnings of a boner.
Loki’s gaze found Bucky. That slight frown on his face, as he looked from Loki
to Thor, and back again. Loki’s throat went suddenly Gobi desert-dry.
“Hey, my boys! Group hug!” that was Tony’s voice somewhere, and then he entered
Loki’s field of vision. He saw him patting Thor determinedly on the back. “Come
on, sweetheart, come on, come on, come on. I’ve saved you a chair in the cool
kids’ table.”
The cool kids’ table, a pair of long couches and armchairs around a coffee
table, covered mainly in beer bottles, was presently accommodating Tony’s girl
Pepper, Natasha and Clint, Phil Coulson there in the corner, Peggy Carter and
her girl Angie, and Bucky. They all shuffled to make room for the newcomers,
including Steve, who had also just arrived from the after-ceremony party
circuit. Steve and Thor exchanged a few words, while they both lost their
jackets and bowties and undid the top buttons of their shirts. It was cute how
the conversation around the table dropped for a moment, and neither of the two
hunks who were the cause even noticed. 
Tony was grinning at Loki, patting the spot next to him on the couch. He sat
down while his brother kissed and hugged everyone. When Loki dared to meet
Bucky’s eyes, he found him staring. There was a question there. When Thor
squeezed into the narrow space next to his brother, threw an arm over his
shoulder and kissed his face, Loki couldn’t help but look towards Bucky again.
Bucky flicked him a little smile. 
Well, that was that then.
There was a brief interlude mocking Thor’s presenting skills, which his brother
took in stride, with good humour. His laughter sounded so light, like he was
treading on air. Loki had not heard him like that for days. And his body so
warm against him. They were glued from shoulder to foot. Loki felt him under
his skin whenever he talked, laughed, breathed. So near, so fucking far.
“So is this going to be explicit or subtext?” he heard Coulson’s voice. Loki
tuned back in.
“I’m done with subtext,” said Peggy. “We are just going to go for it!”
“Two gay parts in a row, Odinson?” asked Coulson. 
“Technically, Lancelot will be bisexual,” answered Thor, cocky smile. That was
not the question, brother, thought Loki with a sip of champagne, and neither
was than an answer.
“As if the general public could tell the difference,” mumbled Bucky.
“Well, we’ll enlighten them!” said Steve.
He clinked his beer with Thor’s. 
“My king,” said Thor.
Steve laughed.
“My best and hottest knight,” he beamed.
“I told you you would love this, Thor,” said Tony. “Didn’t I tell you? Never
you forget ’twas I who suggested your name for Lancelot. Because look at him,
for god’s sake. Or should I say, by Merlin’s beard?”
“No beards,” said Peggy. “Our Merlin will be clean shaven, won’t he, Loki?”
Loki felt lots of eyes turning to him, under a matching number of raised
eyebrows.
“It’s still a yes, isn’t it?” asked Peggy.
He smiled angelically. Thor’s gaze was also on him, and pretty darned intent at
such close range.
“But he has conditions,” said Peggy. “Can I tell them, Loki?”
Loki counted the bubbles in his glass of champagne.
“He will play Merlin as long as he also gets to play Morgan le Fay,” she
announced.
“Oh my god!” exclaimed Tony. “Really?”
“Guinevere was taken,” said Loki, with a shrug.
“That’s fucking genius!” said Tony. He grabbed Loki’s face with both hands and
planted a solid smacky kiss on his cheek. Annoying. “Can’t you see why I love
this guy? I love this guy! You’re a genius! …What’s so funny, Bucks?”
“Steve is going to get it on with both brothers,” said Bucky, chuckling. “The
symmetry.”
Thor and Steve burst out laughing over their respective flusters. Loki looked
at Bucky, quizzical. Bucky raised his beer in salute. Loki smirked, threw him a
wink. 
“So… what are we talking about here, then,” said Coulson.
“Just a kiss, Phil, relax,” said Peggy. “Hard as I tried, I could not squeeze
in a roll in the hay with Lancelot and Arthur. Timeline didn’t allow it.”
“Awful shame,” said Pepper, with a smirk. There were several responding
sniggers. Steve covered his face, Thor laughed it off.
“Are the big guys going to go with this, Tony?” asked Coulson. He had a shitty
job sometimes, thought Loki, playing Devil’s advocate. 
“Oh, the big guys can kiss my sweet little ass,” said Tony.
“Not that little,” said Loki. 
Tony gave him a sarcastic mockery of a smile.
“Definitely sweet,” smirked Loki wickedly. “Isn’t it, Pepper.” And yes, he felt
Thor’s glower. But Pepper laughed, reaching around Tony to clink her glass with
Loki’s.
“This is not simply a story of gay Camelot,” protested Peggy, lighting up with
the passion that had sold Loki into this project. “The love these two men have
for each other is a crucial part of who they are, but it’s not all they are. It
will be a movie about fealty, about power plays, about crossing lines, about
confusing duty and honour for emotion and desire. About flawed heroes that are
larger than life, and still intensely human. About their strife for an ideal,
failure and redemption. About passion, of many kinds, and love, of many kinds.
But yes, I want them to take that last step. I want them to bloody kiss
already! I think it’s going to be amazing.”
 
 
                                     ____
 
 
“Not the mouth,” had panted Loki when his brother had jumped him in the back of
the limo. 
Two bloody hours they had had to stay. Loki had felt Thor’s growing impatience
and frustration in his fidgeting and his mood, getting snappier and shorter. 
“Let’s fuck off,” his brother had whispered in his ear, and he had very nearly
dragged him away when Loki was still saying goodnight to Bucky (with a
meaningful, fixed stare that Bucky had returned, followed by a quiet nod.)
The tension as they made their way out of Tony’s mansion side by side,
shoulders brushing, arms, hands, waiting for the limo to pick them up. Inside
the car, Loki’s heart had been hammering in his chest. He could feel Thor’s
eyes locked on him, blistering hot. Jesus fuck, thought Loki, I’m about to be
ravished. The limo made its way into the motorway.
“Need to talk to you about dad,” Thor had said.
Loki had almost panicked for a second, his frown of puzzlement completely
genuine. Then Thor hit the button that raised the screen between the driver and
them, and Loki realised with relief that it had just been an excuse. For each
and every one of the three seconds (at best) that it took for the screen to
slot into place and block them from view, Loki could feel his own breathing and
his own heartbeat.
Then it was a fucking whirlwind. The back of a limo looks huge until one, being
over six foot tall, is dragged forcibly onto one’s brother’s lap, also over six
foot, and a spot of impromptu, sitting-down dry-humping is attempted.
“Not the mouth,” had begged Loki, neck crooked, head squashed against the roof
of the cabin.
“Fuck it,” had said Thor, pulling Loki close to plunder his lips. 
Loki may have whimpered before he groaned and shook himself off.
“We can’t fucking walk into the lounge of the Plaza looking like we’ve
justhmmmmpphhh…” He pushed him away. “I’m fucking serious, Thor…” But then his
brother had grabbed two handfuls of Loki’s arse and squashed their groins
together, and Loki’s voice was lost in a moan. Thor’s mouth on his neck (oh my
fuck, that beard was so fucking soft, he didn’t have a clue!) as he pumped his
hips up. Loki was in clear and present danger of coming in his pants.
“Ok, no, fucking stop it right there, mister,” he groaned, a firm grip of
Thor’s hands, which were now on Loki’s fly. “We’re not fucking in the back of a
limo less than ten minutes away from a fucking hotel room,” he had warned, his
voice full of conviction and finality, his force of will teetering right on the
edge.
Thor had stopped. He was panting heavily, scorching hot breath against the
sensitive skin of Loki’s throat. He reared his head and looked at him as if
Loki was the fucking sunrise, through an awed squint. He cradled his jaw and
made to kiss him. Loki was going to pull back, but Thor’s grip on his jaw
tightened, as his lips touched lightly, safely, on his. He hugged him tight.
“Surprise,” said Loki then, between his arms, still straddling his lap, making
Thor chuckle. That deep breath Loki had taken then, it had been just to calm
himself down, of course, nothing to do with trying to get as much of Thor’s
scent inside him while he could, to make up for a whole fucking month living
off the fucking memories.
 
They had walked out of the limo looking a bit rumpled, but not much worse for
wear than any other party-goers at the end of a long day, and an even longer
evening. According to plan, they made a, er, date for a late breakfast tomorrow
at the restaurant in the attic, publicly and audibly, while they waited for
their keys at reception. They said goodnight as the doors of the lift slid in
front of Loki’s nose. Thor had his ridiculously luxurious suite on a higher
floor, paid for by the studio, where he was to wait for him. 
Loki changed into something more comfortable (and less eye-catching) in his own
room, made sure he had everything, and after a good twenty minutes, he made his
way to Thor’s room. 
He found the door unlocked, and his brother sitting nervously on his bed like a
lemon. When Thor saw him, he rushed to his feet and barged towards him like a
fucking transatlantic. He had not fucked him against the wall, but he had
pressed against him and dry humped him quite a lot, and then slipped one hand
under Loki’s pants and fingered him open while thoroughly ravishing his ears,
mouth and neck, until Loki was seeing double. Loki had escaped when Thor put
him down to take his clothes off, and had started losing his own clothes all
the way to the bed. The look on Thor’s eyes as he followed him made his heart
fucking flutter. He felt the side of the bed against the back of his calves and
climbed on the mattress, crawling up, eyes wide when his brother got the last
of his clothes off, because Thor looked even fucking larger than normal. He
threw him the lube in a nice curve. Loki’s breathing had spiked with
anticipation, his arse clenching in need, as Thor was slicking himself off.
Then Thor grabbed Loki’s ankle, pulled him down towards him, and flipped him
over, in a show of physical strength that would have had Loki creaming his
knickers, if he had been wearing any. Loki on his hands and knees on the bed,
Thor with his feet firmly planted on the floor. The head of Thor’s cock
nudging, cold.
“Oh my fucking god,” had muttered Loki, breathless, when he felt his brother’s
hand closing in his hair. Every fucking hair in Loki’s body now on end, fucking
shivers.
The head breached him. Thor’s hand raked down his back as he pushed in, in, in.
Loki heard himself sob. Thor didn’t give him more than half a second before he
started to fuck him, fast and hard, each fucking thump reverberating from the
bloody tailbone to his fucking throat. He had had to brace himself on the
headboard. Thor’s grip of his hips, unyielding, his thrusts relentless. His
gruff huffing and gasping, and no words. Like being fucked by a fucking animal.
Loki was trying to be quiet too. He soon fell into almost a trance, in which
only his brother’s mindless, silent lust existed. 
Then Thor took it up a notch. And Loki was definitely sobbing now. He was going
to come from this. He was going to come un-fucking-touched. 
One word.
“Harder,” he begged.
Thor obliged. One hand on Loki’s shoulder, another raking deep in his scalp, a
handful of hair making Loki throw his head back, arch his neck, and that slight
change of angle.
“There… fuck, brother… there…”
Thor’s breathing was growing more laboured and more anxious. He was close too,
if not just about.
“Oh fuck, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come…” 
Thor fucked him ruthlessly as he burst on the sheets, to the tune of some
pretty embarrassingly desperate sounds. 
“Need me to stop?” groaned Thor, husky, slowing down.
Loki shook his head, even though he was pretty fucking sensitive. But oh, he
loved this, when Thor’s heavy breaths started to flesh out into moans, his
thrusts lost all tempo and coordination, his hands on him tightened even more,
and he went stiff with his orgasm, his breathing catching with every spurt of
come spilling inside Loki’s body.
Thor had stayed inside, recovering his breath, for a beautifully long time.
Loki had been thinking some seriously metaphysical shit relating to heaven and
god and all his singing angels. 
“That was almost worth one month,” he had mumbled, as he collapsed, boneless,
on the mattress.
Thor had chuckled, crumbling down next to him, and grabbed his hand, chest
heaving.
 
When Loki came back from the bathroom, Thor was lying on his front, eyes
droopy. It was late afternoon for Loki still, he was abuzz with energy. Thor
was clearly on his last mile, but he was fighting to stay awake.
“Hello,” he said, a dozy grin.
Loki smiled faintly, a little eye-roll. Don’t be lame, brother. He began to
trace invisible patterns with his fingertips on his brother’s luscious back,
alternating with a flat palm from neck to thigh, and everything in between.
Thor’s breathing became heavier and regular, his eyes closed. 
“You still want to go to New York?” asked Loki, tracing, tracing.
“I want to go home,” mumbled Thor. “I want to go to Asgard.”
Bless him, he sounded so beat. 
“We can do that,” he offered, slowly running his hand down his brother's back,
delaying on that glorious rump.
“No we can’t,” grumbled his brother. “I need to start training for Lancelot.
Horse riding in armour, fighting with heavy weapons, fucking jousting.”
Loki laughed quietly.
“I guess I need to dust my magic books then. It will be like playing knights
and wizards,” he mused, nails softly raking up, on the counterstroke.
Thor laughed, muffled, against the pillow.
"I thought that too," he said, a deep rumbling sound.
Long strokes up and down his brother's body, from the back of his knees now to
his hair. On a brush up his thighs, Thor parted his legs, and Loki found his
eyes open then, staring at him from just a few inches away, pretty intent.
“Happy birthday,” mumbled Thor.
Loki’s heart fucking stopped. 
“It’s not the first yet,” he said, voice choked. Talk about lame.
“Could be any day,” countered Thor. “Could be today.” And he fucking parted his
thighs a little bit wider. 
He was fucking joking, right?
Not with the way he was looking at him, he wasn’t.
Right here? Right now? With no fucking warning? 
“Come here,” mumbled Thor then, throwing an arm around Loki’s neck and dragging
him close for a kiss. When he turned his face to the pillow, and Loki found
himself kissing the back of his brother’s neck, it felt pretty fluid. How he
ended up laying flush on top of him, draped all over his back, his cock
hardening between Thor’s legs, god only knows. Where Loki’s fingertips had been
it was now his lips. As Thor’s breathing became shallower, Loki made his way
down, kissing and nuzzling, thankfully still floating in a cloud of what the
fuck is going on is this happening for real it can’t possibly be can it. His
eager brother lifted his hips when he felt him getting near. Loki didn’t think
twice. He plunged for it guns blazing, licking and nuzzling and sucking. He
wasn’t thinking of proving himself. To be fair, at that point he wasn’t really
thinking. He just wanted to fucking taste him. And the sounds he was getting
from him. He had never heard Thor so desperate, struggling to keep still so
that Loki would not stop what he was doing. 
“You know what they called me at the club?” he whispered, just by his brother's
perineum, “Loki Silvertongue.”
And he was working him to the best of his ability even as his brother
whimpered,
“Silver? Who the fuck got the gold?”
Loki laughed, and Thor laughed, rolled over.
“Come up here,” he mumbled, blue eyes glinting. 
Why was Loki’s throat dry again all of a sudden. He found himself wrapped in
arms and mighty thighs. Thor hesitated for half a second before he kissed him.
He must have felt how hard Loki was against him. 
“How do you want me,” Thor whispered.
Jesus fuck almighty, what the fuck was breathing, his head was going to
explode. How do I want you, brother? Let me count the fucking ways…
“You’re more nervous than I am,” chuckled Thor, so warm and strong and so much
of him, all around him. He cradled Loki’s face and pulled him close for a
kiss. 
Calm the fuck down, Laufeyson, you can do this. With his brother’s mouth
working his lips to a throbbing, glorious mess, Loki reached blindly for the
lube on the bedside table. He saw Thor open his lids one sliver, keeping an eye
on things. He buried his face in Loki’s neck as Loki coated his finger in lube
and reached down from behind him.
“It will feel weird,” whispered Loki. 
Thor nodded silently against his neck.
God bless his silver tongue, Thor was fairly relaxed. His thighs clenched
suddenly around Loki's hips just the same when he breached him. Loki made sure
Thor’s cock was not forgotten, or the sensitive shell of his ear, or the crook
of his neck, while he worked his way in. He reared his head to watch Thor’s
expression when he started to stimulate the knot of nerve endings inside. It
took a few deep breaths, and some expertly targeted manipulation, for Thor’s
frown to become something else, fluttering eyes, glazing over. 
“Yeah?” asked Loki against his brother’s mouth, some time later, as he circled
his anus with two fingers. "Alright?"
How Thor’s expression had changed then, when Loki started to push in. It wasn’t
yet bliss, but it was something perhaps Thor had never felt before, and it
looked a lot like greed. 
“Fuck,” he whispered, with a shudder. 
Loki’s cock throbbed deeply at that. This was going to happen. It was going to
happen tonight.
His brother wouldn’t loosen his grip on him, arms and legs, and Loki’s
movements were very restricted. Whatever worked for Thor was fine, he guessed,
but finger-fucking was out of the question from that angle. Another time. Three
fingers, just burrowing in, widening the passage. 
“Breathe,” he said, and Thor chuckled, and kissed him. 
After slicking up, Loki held himself and rubbed the head against Thor’s hole.
He was rock hard, Thor wasn’t. He rolled his hips within the tight grip of
Thor’s thighs, pushing, pushing, not fucking in yet, just… Their bodies were
swaying together now, Thor’s mouth insistent on his. It was almost an accident
when the head found the spot and on an upward thrust it slipped in. Loki
gasped, Thor was holding his breath. Ok, this is not a drill. Don’t stop moving
now, slowly, but don’t stop. Careful now, gently, gently. Their hips were
rolling together, Thor was whimpering ever so quietly. With his face in Thor’s
neck, breathing deeply, Loki kept pushing until he was in. Don’t stop. Keep
moving, keep moving. The burn he’s feeling will soon become a spicy edge if you
just keep moving. 
“Fuck…” whispered Thor then, as Loki risked broader movements. 
“God, fuck…” he moaned. “Thor… ah, fuuuuck…”
Reduced to an inarticulate babboon. He was fucking Thor… And now his brother
was tilting his hips and pressing against him, his fingers probably leaving
prints on his back where he was clinging for dear life, and his breathing was
shuddery, almost like sobbing.
“Loki…” he muttered. “Loki…”
This had to be the most artless fuck in the history of fucking ever, no
technique, no sprezzatura, just slow rutting, and this fucking animal need to
bury himself ever deeper, to get closer, to get more of their skins to touch.
Thor’s hands feeling his arse as if it was a crystal ball, revering and greedy.
And his cock was hard again, pressed between their rippling stomachs. 
He really had no fucking grip on the situation anymore, if he had ever had it
at all. He had lost it when Thor had started to fuck up properly, his hot
breath right by his ear as pace picked up, and became more anxious, hips
slapping together fast and dirty, the wet slick and slap and their breathing,
kissing then, kissing. Loki propped himself up on his hands to fuck faster, and
nearly fucking lost it when Thor arched his back, lost in pleasure now,
clenching around him, his cock jutting up, hard and demanding. Loki fucked that
bit harder, and Thor had a hand to himself, stripping fast. He felt it when
Thor came, it was fucking beautiful, and he could let go now, thank fucking
god, and down the mountainside he tumbled right after, his brother’s heels
kicking the small of his back, his fiery blue eyes fixed on him, his mouth
welcoming him when Loki buried himself deep and collapsed on his brother as he
spilled.  
 
 
He thought Thor had fallen asleep. He was on his back next to him, where he had
stayed, spread-eagled, after Loki had peeled himself off his body. It was a
long time before either of them moved. Now Thor sat up carefully on the edge of
the bed, Loki watching him closely, heart pumping hard all of a sudden. That
frown on Thor’s face.
“Is it always like that?” his brother asked.
“Like what, what is,” babbled Loki.
“This… sensation. I can still feel you.”
What the fuck does one say to that, with the swarm of rabid bees that used to
be in one’s underbelly suddenly crowding in one’s throat.
“You get used to it.”
His brother’s face had never looked more impenetrable. Loki wanted a fucking
answer, but he guessed it would come, in time. Thor stood up, pensive still.
With verticality came some new sensations. Suddenly his brow scrunched up with
confusion and alarm. And Loki burst out laughing, his apprehension turned into
a mild fit of hysterics.
“You get used to that too,” he said.
Thor laughed, thank fuck, and made for the bathroom with a, er, distinct
rigidity to his step. 
Loki could murder for a fag. His addiction was psychological, and he could put
the things down for weeks when he pleased, but right now he felt a very
physical craving. Fuck L.A. It wasn’t legal even on the bloody balcony. Not
that he would ever set foot on Thor’s balcony, where he could be spotted…
His turn in the bathroom. In the mirror he stared at himself. You’ve just
fucked Thor Odinson, how are you feeling. Like I should be chucked out of the
guild in disgrace, what the fuck was that? Was his brother awfully
disappointed? Not exactly what he’d been sold… Jesus fuck. You’ve just popped
Thor Odinson’s cherry.
“Hey,” said his brother drowsily from bed when Loki came back. Thor was clearly
settling down for sleep, but his eyes opened wide when he saw what Loki was
doing.
“What are you doing?” he asked, quite unnecessarily, if you asked Loki.
“What does it look like I’m doing,” said Loki, buttoning up his flies.
“You’re… you’re not leaving are you?”
“It’s half past two, of course I’m fucking leaving. I’m not going to get up at
five in the morning to sneak out when I’m awake now.”
Thor was speechless.
“You could not possibly have expected me to spend the night,” said Loki. And
rolled his eyes at Thor’s totally busted look.
“Loki, just… We’ll tell them we were drunk celebrating and you passed out.”
“Tell who? The maid? The reception guy? The people we meet in the corridor?
They’re not going to ask, they’re just going to wonder, and before you know it
they don’t wonder, they suspect. Because what you said would be a perfect
explanation, if only we weren’t actually sleeping together.”
“Loki, you can’t fucking leave after…” That look on his face had taken twenty
fucking years off him.
Loki sighed. And why the fuck was there a sting in his eyes.
“Don’t fucking do this,” he said, rubbing his face, sitting back down on the
bed. “Don’t put me in this position every time.”
“What position.”
“Being the sensible one.”
Thor’s frown, getting pissed off now. Fucking great.
“I can’t bloody stay, you know I can’t. It’s too risky. And no, don’t give me
that bleeding let them think whatever they want mumbo-jumbo. We don’t let them
think, period, end of. We protect this, ok? We’re brothers. We’re fucking. It
has its downsides. We take what we can and we’re grateful for what we get. And
don’t fucking sulk at me. It’s as if you think I get a kick out of this. I hate
it more than you. Yes I fucking do, don’t look at me like that. I was already
hating it at fourteen, I have seniority.”
The sour twist in Thor’s mouth almost broke with a smile. There was a storm of
expressions wrinkling his forehead and darkening his eyes, as he possibly
fought to refrain himself from keeping the discussion going, when Loki had
obviously made up his mind (not to mention that he was right, and Thor fucking
knew it.) Loki was grateful for that at least.
“I can’t fucking believe you’re leaving,” said Thor, desolate, with but a
thread of voice. 
Loki sighed deeply again, wondering if they were OK for a kiss. Perhaps the
question was in his eyes. Thor grabbed the neck of his shirt and pulled him
down towards him, claiming his mouth, maybe one last attempt at cajoling him to
stay. 
“See you in the morning,” Loki whispered, an inch away. Thor kept his eyes
shut, and his hand on Loki’s neck strong.
“I love you,” he grumbled, “and I hate this.”
Loki’s throat knotted tight.
He cried alone in his room for half an hour.
 
 
 
 
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     How about this Lancelot thing. I fucking love it. Petition for this
     movie to happen for real.
     And Loki's play? Just like Lancelot, more of the kind of magic that
     flows when brainstorming with Discontentmadeglorious.
     Oh, Eddie Redmayne, Natalie Dormer and John Hamm are all real actors.
***** Chapter 27 *****
Chapter Summary
     A fuck-up is a fuck-up is a fuck-up.
Chapter Notes
     Meh. It was necessary, because there were unfinished things from the
     last one, so I wrote it. Next one should be better. Anyway, here's
     Wonderwall.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
 
Thor had come to hate the sound of his phone alarm with the strength of a
million suns. For the last month, it had been timely buzzing him out of bed to
another day of gruelling press circus away from London. When it went off that
morning, he had been awake for a long while, lying on his back, brooding,
getting himself steadily more riled up. And so, when the bloody thing started
with the thrice-accursed tinkle-bell tune, he was clumsy with rage as he
fiddled impatiently with the touchscreen to shut it up. Once he finally managed
to turn it off, the thing went flying half way across the room (and landed on
the thick carpet — luxury suite. Angry, not stupid.)
He had a solid, stable, sour twist on his lip. It had also been there a while.
The night before had seeped gently into his conscience as he woke up, the whole
suite of emotions replaying in quick succession as it all came back to him, so
it had been a smile there at first. It had vanished as the flow of events
neared its conclusion. Thor had started to get upset last night already,
shortly after his brother had bailed out on him; he had gone to sleep still
upset, and he was upset right now, and increasingly more so. 
He had a thousand things to say to his brother about last night, and he was, in
his mind. Loki had made it sound so unavoidable, so mandatory, but there were
 many other alternatives to leaving less than thirty fucking minutes after
they… Was it even really necessary that they slept in different rooms? Was
anybody really paying attention to where Loki Laufeyson spent the night? This
hotel was like a tiny city, for god’s sake, and it was jam-packed with
celebrities of all categories right now. How famous did Loki think he was,
tapes or no tapes? But in spite of that, if Loki really believed he absolutely
had to go, was it such a fucking sacrifice to get up early, in exchange for
spending a bit more time together, when they hadn’t seen each other in a month
and they had just…? Yeah, very thoughtful of you, Loki, thank you. Hey, you’ve
only just popped my fucking cherry, no biggie! By all means go and get your
sleep.
Deep, huffy breath, the twist in his lip still there, and still twisted. 
When he sat up to go to the bathroom, he felt a pinch in his butt and an
unexpected urge to cry. He was overcome with fury and self-pity. What the fuck,
Odinson, man up. Gritting his teeth, he walked stiffly to the ensuite, cursing
Loki under his breath with every step (and feeling pretty awful for it, but not
so much that he really tried to stop). He splashed cold water on his face after
he washed his hands, and then some more, and then some more, trying to freshen
the fucking crying out of him. Because seriously, what the fuck? He was a
grown-ass man, what was that all about? Was it really about the goddamned
cherry? Jesus Christ, man, it’s fucking symbolic, ok? That was emphatically not
the first time you’ve ever had sex, which is what this cherry thing is really
about. You’re getting all softie and teary over a fucking posture.
But it kinda felt like a big deal to him, ok?, so shoot him. He had been
anticipating this for weeks, maybe even years, if he was totally honest with
himself, and this is not how he had imagined the after-party. He had always,
always been there for Loki in the aftermath of these big ones, ok? Always. He’d
been there to cuddle and comfort and soothe. Wasn’t that what one did? And yes,
alright, they had been younger and all, sure, and the dynamics between them
went in the direction they went, and the hugger here was Thor, sure, and Loki
wasn’t exactly a lynx when it came to other people’s needs, but… Goddammit,
would it have killed him to stay for a fucking cuddle? Fucking hell, brother.
He sat on the bed (that weird, burning throb again) and took yet another deep
breath. He didn’t want to be so bloody angry. He wanted to be able to chalk it
to Loki being Loki, and not think twice about it, but be glad that his brother
was there and put everything else to one side. Because it was not like Thor
believed that Loki had done it on purpose, was it? His brother had just
balanced his priorities and, Loki being Loki, his paranoia had come on top. And
if they were going to get anywhere as a couple, Thor would have to get used to
negotiating this kind of disappointments, and not start to build up resentment
over them, because Loki was Loki, and he would always be Loki, and Thor could
not let it get to him too much and…
…And fuck him, fuck this, fuck everything!He roared out loud, fists clenched
tight. Damn!
Well, what he was absolutely not going to do right now, is fucking deal with
this in the bleeding Sunroom restaurant, in full view of the fucking crème of
the American entertainment industry. He was very much not in the mood to put on
a fucking matinee show of platonic brotherhood, alright? Not when he was still
rigid from having been incestuously buggered just the night before. Ok?
Fuck.This.
He went to fetch the phone where it had landed (his tailbone area complained
when he bent forward). He got typing.
“Skipping breakfast. Meet me here when you’re done.” There. Civilised enough —
no cursing. He furiously pressed send.
He ordered room service, laid back on the bed to wait for it, and sulked.
Rightful indignation, it itched so good. He was not a patient or a tranquil
man, but this?, this he could do for hours, stew in acid on a low simmer, and
have a lovely time with it. Perhaps he was a bit of a kid like that. So?
(“Thor, come right back here and make peace with your brother!” No way! He
started it!)
 
 
                                       *
 
With the noise of the hair dryer, it was a while before Loki realised he had a
message. He had achieved a reasonably frizz-free, straight finish, but it had
taken him a while. That length was an absolute nightmare. Not his favourite way
to employ thirty-seven precious minutes of his life.
So he wasn’t in the best mood to begin with and, upon discovering the handful
of words his brother had deigned to address him with, Loki became aware of the
physical curling of his top lip as it happened.
He was expecting this. Fearing it, more like. Expecting it, however, as it
turned out, didn’t mean being prepared to take it with good grace. Neither did
being right, and have his gifts as seer confirmed, contribute to ease his
aggravation one single tiny bit. Just this once, he would have preferred to be
proven wrong. Because, after the way things had gone down yesterday, Loki was
shitting bricks. He had been hoping against hope that he was overreacting, as
usual, but with a cold blade of anxiety in his stomach, he was now pretty sure
that he was not overreacting, that he should be shitting bricks, and that he
was welcome to go ahead and consider the romantic partnership he was a half of
as officially past the doors of the realm of Not Okay.
And it was Loki’s fault.
(And it wasn’t bricks, but rather the fucking huge concrete blocks they build
wave breakers with.)
Laufeyson, you complete and utter moron, you should have stayed last night. The
thought had hit him this morning like the slap of a wet fish across the face,
so bleeding obvious, clear as day, and unmissable. Too fucking late of course,
always too late. He should have stayed, and he had not, and there was no fixing
that now. He always, always did this shit, he was forever fucking up like this.
He was a cold, thoughtless prick, self-centred and oblivious. It’s not like he
didn’t care for other people’s feelings (he had had enough contact with shrinks
that they would have spotted any hypothetic psychopathic tendencies if he had
them, yay for science). It was just that he patently sucked at acting in
consequence. It was so glaringly self-evident this morning, and yet it had not
even crossed his mind last night that his brother might need him there. Or
maybe it had, but it surely had not made a dent in his obsession to get out as
soon as possible and run to safety. So yeah, not a psychopath, only that his
thoughts were not on other people’s feelings, but somewhere else that mattered
more to him, as they always were. How many times had he pulled shit like that
on Sigyn, how many times had he failed to see that she needed something from
him when it mattered. Not an hour later, not days after the fact, but when it
mattered. And, of course, by the time the news reached Loki’s thick skull, and
until the day they started to build flying DeLoreans, there was nothing Loki
could really do to put things right. 
Learn from it, Sigyn said at times, when he was in full self-pitying mode. Ever
the optimist. And Loki would promise himself that he would (Sigyn’s optimism
was catchy. Not that it ever stuck, not with Loki’s immune system anyway), but
then, next time, he fucked up all over again. Count on Loki for anything from
forgetting her birthday to neglecting to ask about her mother’s health, after
only that morning she had mentioned that she was having surgery, with a special
mention for Loki’s personal favourite, frequently dumping on her all the
contents of his mind and heart, and never finding three bleeding seconds to ask
“and how are you, my dear?”
Sigyn had the patience (or the pseudo-masochistic disposition, or both) of a
saint. She endured Loki’s fuck-ups, acknowledged and accepted his apologies
when he could bring himself to surmount the hill of shame and offer them, and
the next time it happened, there was a clean slate for Loki to merrily carry on
fucking up again. Furthermore, Sigyn seemed to expect less and less from him in
that department every time, and she also seemed to appreciate it even more
whenever Loki surprised her (and himself) doing something attentive. And so,
Loki rested more or less reassured that what they had with Sigyn could go the
distance — even if, for Sigyn’s sake, it might not be entirely fair that it
did.
Now, Thor… Goddammit, if there was someone on this planet who should know not
to expect much from Loki, that would be him. But, well, Thor was not Sigyn, was
he? And if Loki was wondering how many passes did he get with Thor, before his
blunders started counting, here was his answer — not many.
So Loki was a sack of oblivious shit, that was a fact. A fact he faced every
day and, not that Thor would believe him, but Loki suffered for it. Yes, he
fucking did, ok? He didn’t want to be a bad person. He didn’t want to be a
neglectful twat. He wanted to be considerate and caring, and be able to
magically anticipate Thor’s emotional needs and provide for them. He wanted
Thor to never doubt that he loved him. But of course he would want that —
wasn’t Loki after all a selfish little shit? It was in his own interest to keep
his golden brother happy, fulfilled, desperately in love with him, and just
plain old satisfied.
Being brutally honest now, Loki-boy, but how many chances did he have of that
happening, when he was always pulling this shit on him? In Thor’s language (in
human language, goddammit), didn’t being a self-centred prick who’s never there
when it matters translate into “he doesn’t love me, not that much, not really”?
Wasn’t that exactly what he was communicating every time he fucked up like
that? And bloody hell, he fucked up like that all the bloody time. Perhaps not
in such a big way, but when you’re like Thor, and not a martyred saint like
Sigyn (and when you’re a lover, not just a friend), the little things count,
they add up, and they nibble at you, eroding the relationship little by little.
Having said that, soul-searching was all good and fair, and Loki may be a sack
of shit, but Thor wasn’t a saint either. And Loki had surely fucked up with him
but, with one god or another as Loki’s bloody witness, so had Thor. And sure,
it’s not like fourteen-year-old Loki forgave and forgot — more like took it,
punished Thor for it, and went back for more —, and he very certainly hoarded
up his wrongs and reproaches like a greedy little squirrel, all there for the
day when he needed to make things worse, but still… He might not have the right
to ask his brother for some fucking leeway, but you know what, it wouldn’t kill
Thor to offer some, out of the kindness of his heart if nothing else, and just…
turn up for bloody breakfast, and give Loki one chance to fucking say sorry at
least, or something.
And this breakfast thing was in Thor’s own interest too in the first place,
damn him! What did Loki have to do to fucking get that into his head? He was
not asking him for a favour! It was not as if Loki enjoyed this either!
Couldn’t Thor put aside his grievances for an hour and do what was best for
both of them? Oh nay, not I, the son of Odin, I shall not demean myself to put
on an act, for I am too high and mighty for that. And if it all goes to hell
because I was too proud to lie, well, at least my honour is intact. Right?
Right?Wasn’t that it, in a bleeding nutshell? Ah, Loki had his black, mean,
self-centred little heart to blame for many of his mistakes, but Thor had his
pride and his arrogance and his temper. Even in that, his brother was a radiant
prince with shiny, dignified reasons, and Loki the despicable lowlife, but the
fuck-up was a fuck-up just the same.
Anyway, fuck you, brother, and fuck your shitty-arse message. And if you
expected a reply, well, better luck next time.
Loki went up for breakfast indeed, showed his face amid the industry A-listers
from out of town, and even exchanged a few words with a couple of the theatre-
loving ones who recognised him and engaged, and from there he went straight out
and into a cab to meet with Peggy Carter, who was able to make time for him
this morning, even on last minute warning. He didn’t let Thor know. Fuck him.
 
 
“Excuse me for one second,” said Loki, as he felt inside his satchel for the
phone, which had just pinged with a message alert.
“Where are you”
Well, look who it isn’t! It had only taken Thor five fucking hours to inquire
as to Loki’s whereabouts. I could be lying dead in my room, he groused to
himself in silence, with a sour expression that made Peggy ask if everything
was ok.
“Yes, just a moment,” he said, as he quickly typed, “Meeting. Peggy.” Send.
There. “Sorry, what was that again?”
Thor did not text back. And fuck you too very much, Mr. Odinson.
The conversation resumed. It had begun with a quick read of the script, only
Loki’s scenes (it would be a long movie), and then a broad summary of their
first thoughts. They compared their visions for the characters, see if they
met. As it turned out, rather than disagreeing, each had been considering
different aspects, and so, now that they were putting their thoughts in common,
what they were getting was a richer, more nuanced, more intricate picture than
either of them had started with. How very promising. Loki called it a good
omen.
From there, they had moved on to technicalities (smoke and mirrors — they
discovered that they both delighted in visual magic and camera tricks, and got
really excited sharing their mutual enthusiasm for the type of old-school,
handcrafted effects Francis Coppola had used in his Dracula). After that, it
had been crossdressing, androgyny, and Loki’s previous forays into feminine
roles. John Boorman’s Excalibur came next, Nicol Williamson’s Merlin and Helen
Mirren’s Morgana. By then the conversation had a life of its own, and soon
after it sailed boldly into Arthurian lore, chivalric virtues, medieval epic,
the nature of heroism in different cultures, history, fame, folklore, myth,
love and death. They had had lunch brought in so that they wouldn’t have to
interrupt it, they were so embroiled in it.
“Why Lancelot?” Loki had asked at one point.
“Oh, I really like the idea of the best knight of them all striving for purity
and perfection, and failing so miserably,” she laughed. “His defeat is so
human, and underneath all the mythology, Lancelot himself is so human. In a
story of kings and lords and divinity and magic, this part is still about three
excellent human beings who love each other, and never meant or wished to do any
harm, and yet they manage to shatter each other’s hearts, and bring down
Camelot with them, this perfect time that had been what they had joined
together and striven to bring about; and when it’s all said and done, they
still carry on loving and respecting each other. I have always connected with
that. And poor dear Lance, he’s powerless against his passions. I can’t help
but love him more because of the nature of his flaw. Which is not even really a
flaw, is it? It’s just life. They started telling these stories centuries ago,
and yet it could have happened this morning.”
Loki had a good look at her, and decided to bite his tongue. Dearest, it’s not
Thor you should have cast as Lancelot, he was thinking. But she worshipped
Steve so much, she couldn’t even see him as the heartbreaker, but the
heartbroken one. Her pure and perfect knight, always trying to do what was
right, and make everyone happy, so earnest and good and decent, and he had just
gone and dumped her for his childhood friend. And her response? To love him
even more for it, and write him and epic to sing his praises to the world.
These two, I swear…
They parted shortly after Thor’s message, but not without arranging a future
appointment that was to take place in London (since they would be shooting at
Pinewood and on location in Scotland, fucking perfect), and would already be
involving the production, costume, make-up, and special effects designers. Loki
had even let her kiss him goodbye. He admired her. Passion, brains, courage,
conviction, and the well-furnished, perfectly organised, fully confident brain
of an army general. No wonder Tony was trusting her with a production of this
size, even though she had never directed a movie before. Tony had a good eye
for people’s capabilities, and Miss Carter surely came through as a leader able
to harness the power of a crew of hundreds, and leading a star-studded cast
through literal (if pretend) battle, and into cinematic glory.
 
Thor’s text, and his silence afterwards, had refreshed in Loki what his
conversation with Peggy had succeeded in putting out. From eager to reunite
with his brother and excited to share all this great stuff with him, and keep
talking Lancelot, he was back to a bitter, corrosive miff. And so, it would
seem he was not heading back to the hotel just yet, because fuck you, that’s
why. And he had promised Bucky a phone call and a chat after all.
“Where? There’s a nice place just opposite…” Bucky was saying.
“Nowhere public,” cut Loki. “Prying ears.”
“Oh, right,” said Bucky. “My motel, then?”
 
Bucky came to greet him in the lobby, gave him a hug and a kiss, as he always
did, cuddly kitten that he was, and led him to his room. The motel was a
refurbished, old-fashioned place from the 1950s, only two storeys, horse-shoe
shape, a small pool within the crescent. It was busy, mostly people from the
industry, Loki wagered, judging from the high occupancy of the rooms and low
use of the pool. They made their way under the covered corridor that ran along
the inside of the horse-shoe, dodging smokers and talkers, and got into Bucky’s
room.
Loki had brought along his tablet with the rough draft of the play. He let
Bucky have a quick browse. He pointedly did not tell him his were the first
pair of human eyes to see it, besides his own. He didn't want Bucky to make a
big deal out of it - or himself, because if he went down that route, he'd start
to feel guilty that he had not shown it to Thor and Sigyn first. He didn't want
to make a big deal out of it, period, although all that mental jazz probably
indicated that he already had. (And specifying “human” because he had written
lots with Minnie’s moist nuzzle on his arm.)
“It’s the evening before a big event, an award ceremony,” explained Loki, to
give Bucky the context. “There’s this Great Actor who will be receiving a
lifetime achievement award. For the time being, we’ll call him Odin, for
example. Then there’s this Great Actress who is his wife, we’ll provisionally
call her Frigga, getting ready to leave. The curtain rises on their bedroom-
cum-closet-cum-boudoir, royal proportions. Odin walks in and out of scene like
a headless chicken, needing his wife for everything —what shoes, what shirt,
what tie, what cufflinks, what socks, everything. He’s anxious and under
pressure, but he’d never admit to it. Instead he just gets cranky and short-
tempered. Frigga is even-headed, calm and in control, majestic even. She’s
sorting herself out, and her husband, and also handling their little boy, (he’s
eight or nine, we’ll call him Loki for now), who just won’t be made to stay in
bed, with all the hassle and excitement. His mother is very patient with him,
she makes him feel important asking him what he thinks of this dress or these
earrings, asks his help to button up or zip up, and keeps answering his
questions, even though she’s clearly in a hurry.”
Bucky had a warm look on his face, full of fondness, and perceptive. Loki
pushed on ahead, as if he didn't see it.
“Anyway, Odin gets more and more obnoxious, and another Frigga steps in to call
him to order. She’s harsher, sterner, the actress that plays her is a bit older
than the other, and she’s not dressed to leave. She puts him in his place. Then
turns to talk to the first Frigga, and they have a good rant.
“Frigga 1 and Frigga 2.”
“Yes. About Odin, marriage, professional jealousy, yada yada. And at some
point, another Frigga turns up, a lot younger, wilder, full of fire. She’s
completely overwhelmed by the burden of family, and exasperated. And more
Friggas keep appearing.”
“Do they represent like… her different ages, or…?”
“The different voices in her, her personae. All that she’s been, all that she
is. Actress, mother, immature young fury, mature wise woman, so on. They’re the
same person, but have slightly different perspectives and different
priorities.”
“Do the other characters see them? Do they interact with them?”
“Yes, mostly just one at a time, although there is one scene where several of
them are talking around Odin, and Odin can hear them, and he’s going a bit
insane. The idea here is that her complexity baffles him. It’s a bit difficult
to explain, it will be clearer in rehearsals. Anyway, that’s the play. Friggas
talking, Odin coming in and out, and Little Loki in the middle, who sees them
all and understands nothing. Little Loki can only talk to Mother Frigga, and
the rest he sees and hears but can’t interact with them, he doesn’t get them.
But then, one third into the play, Older Loki comes in. That’s you.”
“Huh-huh.”
“Older Loki can see and hear everything, even the audience. These are Older
Loki’s memories, of course, he remembers this night and what comes after —
decadence and absence and melancholy — so the tone of the character is
bittersweet. What he is discovering tonight is all the other Friggas. He’s
seeing them for the first time, like an epiphany. So he’s just as puzzled as
Little Loki in many ways. Of course, he understands more, and he can translate
it for him, and he even tries to protect him from the things that are harder to
take for a little boy — like, for example, that he is not the only axis of his
mother’s world —, but at several times in the play, he’s just as confused as
the rest. You have a few long speeches. Anyway, it goes from there. What do you
think?”
Bucky smiled, scrolled down the screen of the tablet, and nodded.
“So cool,” he said. “Can’t wait to get started.”
“It still needs work,” said Loki, retrieving his tablet and exiting the
document.
“How much longer?”
“Ugh, I don’t know. Sometimes everything fits and it’s a toboggan slide, other
times it’s like wading through the Swamp of Despair. But at least it feels like
the structure is solid and it won’t need any major overhauls. It feels locked
now, like it won’t crumble on me, and I won’t lose it. It’s just a matter of
sharpening the dialogue, cutting off the flab, and there’s a few scenes that
need digging deeper, but that’s all.”
“Do you have the finance?”
“Natasha has started to look into it. But I’m fronting the money, so worry not,
it will be happening.”
“Are you that rich?” asked Bucky.
“I have my mother’s inheritance. Anyway, your dialogues are not finished, but
your longer speeches pretty much are, I’ll send them to you. If I can stop
tweaking them, that is, can’t keep my hands off for long. But the meat is all
there. I’ve only been working on them my whole life after all.”
Bucky gave him one of his looks, the kind that said, “I see you.”
“You’re putting everything you’ve got into this, aren’t you?” he said.
Loki returned the look, laden with meaning.
“Not everything,” he said, with intent.
Bucky held his stare. What was he waiting for, permission?
“So,” said Loki, looking away now. “Any questions? About not the play,” he
said. There, permission granted.
Bucky took a second.
“Just one, really,” he said. “Thor. Is it what I think it is?”
Loki threw him a sideways glance, and nodded. He assessed his reaction out of
the corner of his eye. Bucky had a thinking frown. He seemed grave, disarmed
rather than shocked, and definitely not repulsed. Soon, his frown was
dissolving into a humorous, commiserating grin.
“And I thought the situation with Steve was complicated,” he said.
Loki smiled without joy.
“How long has it been going on?” asked Bucky.
Tricky question, thought Loki. Let’s start with the simple answer.
“After the shoot,” he said.
“I see.”
“Do you.” Loki was not so sure.
Bucky looked at him as if he had something in his gut.
“What,” prompted Loki.
“Uuuuh… Feel free to tell me to mind my own business but, how did you guys…? I
mean, it was so hard for me to realise that what I felt for Steve was not, uh,
friendship, and you know how difficult it was for us to actually... get it out
in the open, and take that step, and we were only best friends. I mean, he’s
your brother. How did you even know? Was it when you guys found out you were
adopted or…?”
A weary, lightless smile touched Loki’s lips. He really, really didn’t feel
like it, not today.
“One day I’ll tell you the whole story,” he said, “I promise.”
“Alright,” conceded Bucky. And after a spell, “Anyway, it figures.”
“What does.”
“I always thought it would take someone pretty special to hook you up right.
This… well, it suits you.”
“Does it now,” said Loki, bristly all of a sudden. “Because I’m a freak of
nature?”
Bucky gave him a face.
“No, asshole. Because you’re so… out of the ordinary. You don’t play by anyone
else's rules, do you?”
“Nobody asked my opinion when they wrote them,” said Loki, subdued now, in
spite of the subject matter.
Bucky smiled and ruffled Loki's hair. Had it been anyone else, he would have
bitten their hands off.
“So, anyway, how is it going. The relationship,” asked Bucky.
Loki clenched his jaw.
“Not good?” asked Bucky.
“Today or in general?”
Bucky gave him an eyebrow.
“What’s wrong?”
“Don’t fucking get me started,” Loki grumbled.
“Oh, come on, what is it?”
Loki weighed down for a moment whether talking about it would do any good. He
went for it anyway. He was clearly desperate for a good rant.
“We were supposed to meet up for breakfast and he stood me up,” he said. And
then he elaborated, because judging by Bucky’s quizzical look, he was clearly
not managing to convey just how bright the flame of justice shone on his side
of the argument, and how right he was in being upset and up in arms. “I had
told him we needed to show up and look brotherly in public, after that hug he
gave me yesterday. But no, of course, he can’t be fucking bothered.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it?” repeated Loki, outraged. “He sends this pissy text this morning,
and then it takes him five hours to want to find out why I didn’t reply.”
“…You didn’t reply for five hours?”
“He was basically summoning me up to his chambers when I was finished with my
peasant duties, to which he could not debase himself. He didn't even bother
explaining or apologising or anything. So no, I don’t fucking reply to this
kind of thing.”
Bucky raised his eyebrows.
"So... He's there, you're here, you're both pissed off in your corners, and now
what?"
Loki shrugged, petulant. Bucky laughed. Loki went white with affront.
“Sorry,” said Bucky, holding his hands up, still laughing. “It’s just… it
sounds like such a brothers thing. Next you’re going to tell me that he started
it.”
Loki looked daggers.
“Hey, listen,” said Bucky, more composed now, “I don’t know what this is about,
I think I’m not getting the whole picture. I’m not saying you don’t have a
cause here, all I’m saying is, you’re not going to patch this up thinking like
brothers.”
“What?”
“I mean, guys, you're a couple. You can’t go to daddy with this."
“Go to daddy…?” growled Loki.
“Thor’s your man now, right?” challenged Bucky. “You want to win and score
points, or you want this fixed?" And he didn't wait for Loki's answer. "Then
get off your high horse, get back there and tell him you’re sorry.”
Loki’s mouth gaped wide to utter a deafening protest, probably full of
profanities. 
“Tell him you’re sorry and can we please talk,” cut Bucky. “Fix this thing, get
talking like civilised people, and then you can start airing the dirty laundry,
once you’re on good terms again. But don’t just fucking stay here nursing your
hump.”
Loki frowned, mouth thin with a pout that seemed unassailable to reason.
“You want to sort this out or not?” insisted Bucky.
Loud, crabby, eloquent silence from Loki. 
“So get your ass over there, already!” urged Bucky. "Fuck your pride!"
“Is that what you do with Steve,” grumbled Loki.
“If we should ever fight, sure, that’s what I’ll do.”
“He lets you win, doesn’t he.”
Bucky smirked, cocky, gorgeous.
“I’m sure he wouldn’t but, you see, he has to. I’m always right.”
 
 
 
“Jesus Mary and Surfing Joseph!” exclaimed Loki, taking a hand dramatically to
his chest and all, upon opening the door of his hotel room and finding his
brother there, lying on his bed, fiddling with the phone. “How the fuck did you
get in here? No, don’t fucking tell me. You sweet-talked a maid, didn’t you?”
he snapped. And he looked away, with a wince, because that didn’t sound a lot
like I’m sorry or can we please talk, did it? Damn.
His heart was still beating madly from the fright. He looked at Thor’s stormy,
sullen expression, and took a deep breath. After putting down his satchel and
emptying his pockets, he rubbed his forehead, tried to bring himself up to do
what he had spent the last half hour psyching himself up to do. 
“Where the fuck have you been all day,” asked Thor, cold, curt, interrupting
his brother’s efforts.
Loki flicked him a glare of indignation at that tone, but quickly took it away,
and breathed in deep.
“Working,” he said, very short himself. “I had a meeting with Peggy. I told
you.”
“Couldn’t it wait?” snapped Thor.
That tone, brother, that bloody tone. And he wasn’t giving him much room to
slide so much as a little I’m sorry in edgeways. It was way past starting to
annoy Loki.
“Well, since she was here and I’m here,” he said, pissy.
“Yes, and I’m fucking here too, did you forget that?”
“No,” said Loki, and he modestly thought that his own tone was a considerable
triumph of will over burgeoning vexation.
“And it was more important than me?” said Thor. “More important than seeing
me?”
“You were not exactly tripping over yourself to be with me this morning
either,” retorted Loki. “And it was five fucking hours before you even began to
fucking wonder where I was.”
Another wince of regret. Shit. First you get on civilised terms, then the dirty
laundry.
His brother returned a dark, nasty look, full of spite. It was turning Loki’s
stomach.
“So you were making me pay then,” said Thor, cryptically. “Great. Thanks.”
Loki frowned. What was he on about. And more disturbingh than that, why wasn’t
he yelling at him yet.
“Is that all you did, meeting Peggy?” asked Thor. 
And Loki was now starting to feel a churn of unrest. Why did it sound as if
Thor already knew the answer.
“What do you mean?”
“Are you telling me the meeting lasted all day?”
Cold, cold in Loki’s belly.
“What are you getting at, Thor,” he said, warily.
Thor fiddled with his phone and held it up in front of him, screen to his
brother. Colour drained from Loki’s face.
“I fucking hate L.A.,” he muttered, with a shudder. 
A local online celebrity gossip website. Low quality photos, probably taken
with a mobile phone by another guest, of Loki and Bucky in the motel, hugging,
kissing, walking all cosy together, going inside Bucky’s room.
“Anything to say?” said Thor.
Loki suddenly felt almost sick with shock and outrage.
“You don’t fucking believe I-…?” he gasped.
“I didn’t fucking believe anything until you just stood there and lied to me,”
cut Thor, very cold.
Loki was nearly speechless for a moment.
“I didn’t even think about it!” protested Loki. “And it wouldn’t be the best
fucking time to mention it anyway, since you get the fucking jitters whenever
Bucky is concerned!”
“Ex-fucking-cuse me?” barked Thor. “I think I’m pretty damn reasonable,
considering you all but fucked him in front of my very eyes just to spite me,
only one year ago!” he roared. “And what the fuck am I to think? You disappear
all day and don’t say a word for hours, and I know you’re pissed off with me
and sulking, and then this? Spending the afternoon in Bucky’s fucking room,
Loki?”
“We were bloody talking!” yelled Loki. “He saw the hug you gave me yesterday,
as did the rest of L.A., and put two and two together! I had to fucking talk to
him and do some damage control, and I couldn’t really fucking do it in a
fucking diner for all the bloody parishioners to hear!”
Thor’s expression was contorted with anger. He wasn’t swayed, not one bit.
“Ok,” conceded Loki tiredly, spiteful but very calm — a deceiving calm,
controlled fury seething just underneath. “Believe whatever you fucking want.
We were fucking all afternoon. Because I was in a huff with you, I went and
fucked Bucky. Well, of course I would, right? I mean, I’m Loki. I do these
things just to spite you.”
Must have been the flare of self-loathing in his voice that did it. It seemed
to quash Thor’s rage. His brother sighed deeply, rubbing his face with both
hands.
“Baby, I never really believed that you-…”
“So what the fuck is this about then?” snarled Loki, cutting him, spirit of
reconciliation be damned. Because there are fucking limits, and Thor had just
stomped on them with both of his big, clumpy feet.
“It’s about you fucking disappearing without a word and spending all day away,
when I haven’t seen you in a month and I’m fucking missing you!” yelled Thor.
“You were missing me so much, you couldn’t fucking wait to stand me up at
breakfast!” Loki yelled back.
“Oh, for god’s sake, sod the fucking breakfast! Forgive me if I didn’t feel
like putting on the brothers act when I’m still fucking limping from
yesterday!”
And that quick look of hurt in Thor’s eyes… Loki went pale, his stomach turned
again. Fuck, fuck, fuck. This is about that.
It sounded as if Thor had heard himself. He looked almost embarrassed. The
silence in the room snapped, crackled and fucking popped, as Loki struggled
with the sudden choke of guilt and terror. His throat was sandpaper dry. There
was an elephant in the room the size of a fucking whale.
Your move, duh-brain.
“About that. Uh, yesterday,” he said, a thread of voice, about one year later.
“I’m-I’m sorry. I should have stayed.”
“Yeah, well, it’s done now,” grumbled Thor, pretty fucking harshly.
“I said I’m fucking sorry!” screamed Loki, whining, panicky under his
indignation. “What the fuck do you want from me, a pound of flesh? It’s like
you’ve never fucked up in your whole life! Don’t I get some bloody-…”
“Calm the fuck down, Loki!” cut Thor, losing his cool good and proper now, eyes
shut tight, hands in his hair. “That’s not what I… Jesus fuck!!” A roar.
“Fuck’s sake!” Another. Pacing. Definitely stiff at the hip, a slight limp.
Loki checked his hand. It was shivering. He was so bloody anxious, he had not
even reacted to being told to calm down, one of the things he hated most in the
whole fucking universe when he was in this kind of mood. He plummeted on the
bed, head low, shoulders slumped. Thirteen weeks, he thought to himself.
“We’re not going to make it, are we,” he muttered, only a whisper.
“What?” said Thor, turning to him.
“It’s not getting any easier. We fight all the time. Look at you, you’re
miserable. You can’t do it, can you?”
Thor had gone pale.
“Do what?”
“This. Us. The lies, the secret. It’s not going to work out, is it?”
Thor scrubbed his face. He looked flat out exhausted, hanging by a thread. The
thought occurred that Loki going on a meltdown was not what his brother needed
today, but he could feel himself tumbling down the rabbit-hole already.
“Loki…” Thor seemed to be thinking furiously, but he looked so tired. He was
the voice of calm and reason when he spoke next. “It’s been a very long month.
We don’t fight all the time back home, do we? And we’re not doing so bad with
the secret thing. It’s just that, over here… It’s so fucking infuriating. We
don’t only have to hide, we have to put up an act as well? We don’t do any
fucking harm!”
“And you think that would make any difference to anyone?” said Loki, fiery
again with his own fury. “I don’t know you, but I’m not hiding to protect the
fucking public, alright? This is for ourselves! If this ever comes out, it’s
not just our jobs we’re going to lose! This world is full of people who think
they have every right to tell perfect strangers that the way they live their
lives is disgusting, and that they should burn in hell, and lots more things
that are not half as nice! Do you understand this, how fucking mean and
horrible people are? Of course I fucking hate this, of course I find it
humiliating and repulsive that we have to live in fear and hide and pretend,
but… fucking hell, Thor, we would get hate, we would be spat at in the street,
they would fucking organise campaigns against us! And the press? The press
would have a field day with this. It’s not only what they would publish. They
would also chase around like bloodhounds, stalk us wherever we went, set up a
fucking camp in front of our door, and shout all sorts of shit at us to get a
reaction and a photo. How proud and happy to be with me would you feel then?
And have you thought what it would do to d-… to Odin? He’d have a fucking
stroke! It’s not just the shock, he would also pop a vein fearing that his name
and his legacy will now be covered in this! Do you think we would survive this
kind of shit storm? You and me, as a… whatever the fuck we are? It would
fucking wreck us, Thor! You’d end up hating the day we…!” his voice broke.
“Yes, yes, I know,” said Thor, shaking his head heavily, rubbing his eyes. “I
know all that. You’re saying exactly what was on my mind all these years. Why
did you think I was keeping away? When I didn’t go through with it the night of
M.Butterfly, why do you think it was? I knew this part would be hard, and that
I would struggle. I just thought I could handle it better. But it just makes me
so fucking furious!”
And that was that, then, thought Loki, seeing a black, forbidding wall rising
before his very eyes, unsurmountable. He could see no escape clause, no way
around this. Thor would never be ok with it, it repulsed his nature. And maybe
he might learn to manage it, but he would never be happy with it. He would
never be happy. It was impossible. This was impossible, and sooner or later it
would fall apart on its own.
And here come the waterworks. He walked away to one corner. Silly, yeah.
Somewhat, locking himself up in the bathroom sounded even worse.
“Baby…” muttered Thor, stunned. He approached him, one careful step, then
another. “Baby, don’t cry…”
More easily said than done. Would Loki end up in the bathroom after all.
Thor decided it was safe to hug him, or maybe just expedient. He closed the
distance between them, took him in his arms, and held him tight.
“It will work,” he said, as he shushed him. “We’ll make it work. I’ll do
anything it takes, anything. It’s hard but… Fuck it, it’s not hard. We’ve dealt
with worse, so much worse, haven’t we? This is nothing. I’ll try harder.
Because it’s worth it. You make me so happy, baby. And you don’t want this to
end, do you? Are you unhappy with me?”
Loki was shaking his head before he could think what was the most useful
answer. Instead of cunning, he was sincere.
“I love you so much, baby,” muttered Thor by Loki’s hair. “I want to be with
you, nobody else, always. I’ll do whatever I have to do. We’ll deal with this,
we’ll figure something out. I’m not miserable at all. You make me so happy,
baby, there’s nobody else for me but you. We’re good together. I’m not going
anywhere. We can do this.”
Loki was overwhelmed, the shower of words of love washing through him and
soaking him, dissolving the spiral of anxiety into wet rags. How did his
brother do that. Not that Thor planned all that much, but usually his instincts
with Loki served him well. He was rocking him in his arms, surrounding him,
magically dispelling the blackness and keeping it at bay. Loki could still see
it there, and his brain was telling him that all those thoughts were real and
reasonable, and that a hug wasn’t going to change shit, that he should still be
feeling panic and despair. And yet… How did Thor do that?
 
They had relocated to the bed, and had been lying together on the covers for
some time, tangled in each other. Loki was not sobbing anymore. Thor was still
petting his hair in long, slow strokes. Loki had his face close to Thor’s
chest, his brother’s breath hot on his forehead.
Do better, Laufeyson, is what he was thinking. Just because your brother can
put up with an unfair amount of your shit, and still come back for more,
doesn’t mean he should. Do better. And when you fuck up, you try and mend it
too. Actually really fucking try. And then try some more, and try harder.
“Thor,” he muttered, after a shedload of psyching up.
“Yes, baby,” said his brother, one big hand on Loki’s waist, thumb stroking.
Come the fuck on, Laufeyson. Spit it out, now.
"I'm sorry. A-about today. I should not have disappeared like that. I was a
brat."
"I'm sorry too," said Thor. "I should have done things differently."
Ok, thought Loki, phase one, completed. Now for phase two. He swallowed.
"And I'm sorry about yesterday,” he all but whispered. “I really am. I should
have stayed.”
“…Ok,” said Thor, still petting.
Do Better. Try Harder.
“It was a totally shitty thing to do. Y-you would have never done it to me. I
don’t know what I was thinking.”
Thor gave him a little squeeze. Perfunctory, thought Loki. Actually Really
Fucking Try Harder. Loki pulled away to meet his brother's eyes. Wasn’t easy.
“Are-are you alright?” he asked.
“I’m fine, baby,” said Thor, with a tight, cheerless smile.
“I know it was a big deal.”
Thor smiled wearily again. He didn’t say anything, so Loki did, resisting the
mighty urge to bite his nails. 
“It was a big deal for me too,” he said. Impossible to meet Thor’s eyes now.
Wouldn’t be able to get it out if he did. “Huge. It meant so much to me, that
you… That you wanted this with me. That you trusted me.”
When he dared raise his eyes now, he found Thor’s warm gaze on him. It felt
unguarded now, soothed, brighter. Loki felt a bit bolder. 
“I know it wasn’t… shit, I know it wasn’t what I had advertised. You caught me
out cold. I wasn’t expecting it. I got… I was nervous, ok? I was overcome by…
well, the situation, and-and you. H-how it felt. I sort of lost track of what
it was about. It should have been about you, not me.” And now his tone turned
from remorseful to pleading. “But don’t decide you hate it just yet, I swear it
can be great, I-…”
“Baby, baby, hey, shh…” cut Thor, “baby, it was amazing,” he said, gently but
with conviction.
Loki frowned, baffled.
“It was amazing,” insisted Thor, a warm smile still. “It felt… incredible. It
was like… I don’t know, like a completely different story, like a completely
different place we had never been together before. Sounds sappy but, the
connection, it was... I fucking loved it.”
Loki had a skeptical squint on.
“You should have seen yourself yesterday the way I saw you, baby,” expanded
Thor. “You’re usually so smooth and fierce and in control, and I love it, you
know I do, but to see you like a lump of warm butter, melting in my arms… I had
never seen you like that. It was fucking wonderful.”
Ok, that didn’t make any fucking sense.
“I thought you wanted to let go and let me take charge,” argued Loki.
“Yeah, I do. But I also enjoy watching you become a total ruin because of me,”
Thor smiled brightly, a bit on the cocky side.
Loki was puzzled on so many levels. 
“Don’t you know I always am,” is all he could think of saying.
His brother smiled, stroking his face, a thumb over Loki’s lip.
“I can’t wait to do it again,” whispered Thor.
Loki’s eyes opened wide.
“But not right now,” Thor rushed to clarify. “I’m still a bit…”
“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” jumped Loki, anxious. “Did I get too rough? To be
honest with you, right now I don’t really remember what I did. I got a bit, uh,
carried away.”
“No, no, no,” hurried Thor. “No, you were very gentle, nothing hurt, not one
bit.” A reassuring smile. “But I just feel… you know (harrumph), weird. Um,
stretched. My lower back sort of… throbs?”
A broad smile now spreading over Loki’s mouth. This was kind of adorable. Thor
was.
“It got me thinking about, well, the first time,” mumbled Thor. “What a bloody
animal I was. I went in like a bulldozer. Sorry.”
“What did we know,” said Loki, faraway eyes for a blink, reminiscing.
“I must have hurt you a lot,” said Thor.
Loki shrugged.
“Well, you are big, and with no prep... But the way I remember it, you were
very careful. Not to mention that you lasted, what, three seconds?”
“Oi,” said Thor, giving him a shove. But then the reminiscing bug caught up
with him too, and he smiled, dreamy eyes. “God. I remember thinking I’m fucking
Loki I’m fucking Loki I’m fucking Loki. The thought was even more overpowering
than the sensation. What is it about sticking your cock in that seems so
fucking important.”
Loki was grinning too, similar thoughts in his mind. Where his brother had said
‘important’ he would have said ‘earth-shattering’, but that was just a matter
of literary styles, and Loki had always been more for the hyperbole.
They looked at each other, an eternity contained between two blinks. Loki found
it hard to breathe. Thor put one big hand on his brother’s face, and Loki
nudged into it, eyes closed. It was inconceivable that, only half an hour ago,
he was convinced that he had to let go of this without a fight, that there was
not one shred of hope for them, and no future. Right now, Loki felt as if it
would take a crowbar to pry him apart from his brother, and from this. That he
would fight tooth and nail for it, and that he could. He wondered with a
shudder whether this feeling of certainty was just another sway of his faulty
mind, or whether this was his sane self, finally seeing through the anxiety,
and appraising the situation as it actually stood. 
“So how long does this usually take?” said Thor. 
Loki focused. He saw that Thor’s eyes were cast down, shy.
“What?”
“You know. Before we can do it again,” said Thor.
Loki grinned, with a pinch of mischief.
“Depends. Couple of days. Maybe even tomorrow.” He had butterflies, can you
believe this? They had been shagging each other’s brains out for weeks, and
Loki was getting bloody butterflies over this.
“Look at us, silly schoolgirls,” mused Loki, with a snigger. His tone was
dismissive, but there was a fluster there, undeniable.
“Looking forwards to it,” mumbled Thor, rosy cheeks.
“I’ll make it worth the wait,” murmured Loki, suggestive, turning on the
naughty, because a schoolgirl he was not, goddammit. Staring intently. “There
are so many things I want to do to you…”
Thor swallowed.
“There are so many things I want you to do to me,” he replied, apparently not a
schoolgirl either. He sounded a bit short of breath already.
So did Loki.
“I want to ride you,” said Thor, husky. “I’ve fantasised so much about it. Get
on top of you and tease you and torment you and tear you to pieces, like you do
to me.”
Loki gasped. Bloody hell.
“Who are you and what have you done to my brother…” he said.
“I want to get on my hands and knees and let you take what you want. I want to
get on my back again to see your face when you come inside me.”
Loki’s heart was racing, blood pooling south.
“You’re a tease…” he said, admiration in his tone. “I’m impressed.”
“I want you to bend me over dad’s desk in his studio, in Asgard,” whispered
Thor, too bloody naughty to say it any louder.
Loki’s breathing stopped, his heart hammering now.
“Fuck…” he breathed, eyes fixed on Thor’s, burning. “You better not be teasing
about that…”
Thor smirked, cockeyed grin, positively lewd.
Their teeth clacked when they simultaneously plunged in for the kiss.
“Ow…” moaned Loki, but his brother was already going to town on his neck, as he
fumbled with Loki’s clothes and his own. When they kissed again, they managed
to hit the lips.
“Want me to fuck you?” asked Thor, busy with Loki’s flies.
“I want you to suck me,” whispered Loki.
The heat in Thor’s eyes, bloody hell…
“Do you want me on my knees?”
“Fuck, yeah," panted Loki, "get on your knees.”
Thor tugged strongly at his brother’s trousers, and dragged him down the bed
with them. He had to delay for an anti-climatic minute to deal with Loki’s
shoes, before he could get it all off him. With his bottom half undressed now
and perking up, Loki sat up on the edge of the bed, propped on his stretched
arms. Thor kneeled on the carpet between his legs and dived in without giving
him a second to catch his breath. He was working him furiously, no teasing now.
Wrapping his legs around Thor's shoulders, Loki held on for dear life on his
brother's hair. Thor groaned around his cock and Loki nearly fucking came right
there and then. When he met his brother’s eyes, he almost did again. Thor was
sucking him like his life depended on it, jerking him off whenever he needed a
breather, and in no bloody time Loki was off, jolting, shuddering.
He whimpered when he saw Thor wipe his mouth. His brother started to open his
jeans straight after, still in a frenzy. Loki moved to reciprocate, got Thor’s
jeans and pants just halfway down his butt and leaned over to take him in his
mouth. Thor barely let him have a taste before he gave him a forceful shove
that left him sprawling on the bed, and a fierce, sloppy kiss to make sure he
stayed there.
“Lube?” he grunted, already having a roam in the pockets of Loki’s trousers on
the floor.
“Bathroom,” panted Loki.
The look on his brother’s face when he returned had him spreading his legs
spontaneously, without any prompting. Thor took position, slicking his majestic
erection with one hand and Loki with the other. Eager, aren’t we? He grabbed
both of Loki’s legs to rest them on his shoulders, lined himself up, and pushed
in. He went at it like a dog. Although it wasn’t possible for Loki to get hard
again so soon, if there was such a thing as a mind boner, he was getting one.
He couldn’t take his eyes off Thor’s face as his brother plundered his body,
entirely focused on himself and his own pleasure, his gruff grunts, his
shuddery breathing, the whole thing playing on his face. It was almost a shame
that nobody else would get to see this. In that starving, unreservedly selfish
mode, his sounds and his actions were so raw, artless, so revealing, almost
like watching him when he was alone. So fucking sexy. He slowed down as he
came, burying his face against Loki’s neck, his breath and the sound of his
voice, strangled in climax, making Loki's head swim.
They stayed just as they were until Thor’s softening cock slipped out, his
breathing slowing down and becoming deeper. Then he reared his head and stared
at Loki with that look he got sometimes, which usually came with a lack of
words and Loki’s major, urgent need to hide his face or fly away, overcome with
the intensity of it.
“When you look at me like that I don’t know what to do,” he confessed. He
caught Thor smile when he briefly looked up.
“This is just fine, baby,” whispered his brother, still short of breath, sweat
matting his hair where it touched his face, “just fine.”
Loki shut his eyes for the kiss, a fair compromise.
 
He had been resting half on top of his brother’s chest, Thor’s arm draped
around his neck and down his back, when Thor jerked as if waking up from a
dream.
“Shit. Tony. Dinner. Remember?” He sounded drowsy.
Yes, he did now. Tony had invited them to his place. It would just be him and
Pepper.
“Are we going?” mumbled Thor.
Loki sighed. Getting out of bed right now (and away from Thor’s arms) sounded
about as appealing as a talkie session with his shrink, but the time had been
steadily approaching to begin talks about where his brother was going to spend
the night, and Loki had not been looking forwards to that either. This was an
out. He was going to take it.
“Yes,” he said, dragging himself upright, rubbing his eyes, stretching his
arms, a triumph of mind over matter. He could feel Thor’s gaze over his back.
And sure enough, here was his fingertip, tracing the ridge of Loki’s spine, one
thumb searching the dimples at the small of his back. He relaxed into it. 
“I keep fearing he’ll suggest a foursome,” joked Thor.
“I’m not having anything to do with her,” he warned. “She’s all yours.”
Thor chuckled.
“You’d rip my eyes out if I laid one single finger on her,” he said.
“Along with any other parts of you that had got anywhere near,” said Loki.
Thor chuckled some more, gruff, sexy.
“Not my type, really,” he said.
“No? I thought you were into the flat ones now,” risked Loki. Too far?
Thor poked into the softer flesh just above his hip bone. Loki squirmed. It
tickled.
“I don’t like any,” said Thor after a spell. Where he had poked, he was now
stroking. Loki’s lids became droopy. “I’m spoiled for the rest of humankind.”
Loki grinned to himself. He thought, I know the feeling.
 
 
“Sweethearts, come on in!” beamed Tony, spreading his arms wide open. He was
wearing a black apron with the company logo on it. (On the bloody aprons too?
Oh, Tony…) He kissed them both, while Pepper hollered "Hello!" and "Just a
minute!" from the kitchen.
“Somebody is definitely glowing,” said Tony, with a playful eyebrow wiggle. 
Loki noticed his brother’s slight fluster and ached to kiss him. Tony closed
the door of the castle behind their backs.
“Somebody is definitely… limping?” said Tony then, a few steps behind.
Loki froze.
“Oh my god, Tony!” came an exasperated, embarrassed shout from Pepper, still in
the kitchen.
Loki was checking his brother’s reaction with anxiety. And he nearly melted
right there, when Thor threw a glance over his shoulder with a cockeyed grin,
looking fucking smug. He put an arm around Loki’s waist, and kept right on
walking, without trying to disguise the slight rigidity in his gait. 
Loki could not refrain from slipping his hand into the back pocket of Thor’s
jeans and help himself to a nice, possessive feel and a squeeze. Tony put on an
expression of feigned shock, and then walked right after, laughing.
 
 
“Are you alright?” asked Thor softly. He had followed Loki into the terrace
when he went out for a fag. “You seem a bit out of it.”
Loki nodded, lighting his cigarette. He enjoyed the night breeze, and the sight
of his brother’s hair flowing in it.
“I’m fine,” he said.
“Ok,” said Thor. His tone said he did not believe him.
It had been a nice evening. Pepper knew, so no need to hide. A double date, no
tension, no drama, like a soothing balm. Their moods were lighter, their
thoughts brighter. They had needed it. 
 “I told you they were after a foursome,” joked Thor.
Pepper had offered them to spend the night when the subject of the separate
hotel rooms had come up.
“So, are we staying?” Thor made some whimpery puppy noises. 
Loki scoffed, but it was rather cute, whether he liked it or not.
“All our things are back at the hotel,” he said, without conviction. “And it’s
going to look weird if neither of us turns up.”
“Nobody will notice,” said Thor. “And if they do, they won’t make anything of
it.” He stole nearer, put his hands on Loki’s waist, kissed him. He mumbled,
“And we don’t need much, do we? You’ve got your meds, right? And I’m sure they
have a couple of toothbrushes we can borrow. As for the rest, I’m sure we’ll
think of something.” He started kissing his neck.
This is an illusion, this evening, mused Loki to himself, as he shivered under
his brother’s touch. It’s not real. We keep stealing these moments of
normality, but tomorrow we’re back to pretending and lying and hiding. This had
not been their last argument about the subject, the pit of despair that gaped
in Loki’s heart when he thought about the future had not closed. Thor seemed to
believe his own words when he said they could make this work. With Loki, it
came and went. At times he felt that every single fucking thing in this world
was against them, even Loki himself, his pitiable human skills, his fucking
mind. Even in his brother’s arms, Thor’s love and his lust urgent and warm
against him, Loki was not having a confident night.
“Pepper, they’re at it again!” said Tony not too far away. “It’s very hot, do
something!”
Thor chuckled against his throat. Loki squirmed, beard tickling.
“If it’s popcorn you’re after, you can get it yourself,” came Pepper’s voice
from inside the house. She must still be sorting out the projector. “Anything
else, you know where to find me.”
Thor laughed, low, husky, holding him tight.
Well, the real world would still be there tomorrow, thought Loki, so where’s
the rush. A wise man once said, when having an incestuous relationship with
your Hollywood superstar brother, you take what you can and you’re grateful for
what you get. 
“Tony, we’re staying,” he said, Thor’s hands now on his butt.
“Pepper, where do we keep the popcorn?” called Tony, getting back inside.
Thor laughed some more, pinched his earlobe between his lips. Loki clung on
tight, and wished he could stop thinking.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     They were not even supposed to fuck in this one. These kids! Oh well,
     I guess it had been a long month...
     John Boorman's Excalibur is a beautiful movie from the eighties that
     we adore in my house, about King Arthur and Merlin and the Round
     Table. You know, the works. It has an awesome atmosphere, the
     medieval setting is gritty and dirty and great, and the armours feel
     so heavy and clunky, and Merlin is fantastic, at turns funny and
     domestic, and at times terrifying. I think it's a really awesome
     adaptation of the Arthurian legend, human when it has to be, and epic
     and magic when it needs to. I really recommend it. I think it's going
     to be a huge inspiration for Peggy's version.
***** Chapter 28 *****
Chapter Summary
     An audience with
Chapter Notes
     I felt distinctly uninspired with this one. Disappointed, because I
     had been looking forwards to it. I even thought of scraping it
     altogether, but since things happen that are relevant to the plot,
     and right now I'm out of alternate ideas, and since I'm feeling quite
     threadbare myself, imma just put it out there, and we move on to the
     next, which hopefully will be more... true? Organic? Brighter? I
     don't know.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
 
Ok, he was not going to lie, Thor was so bloody glad this chat at the drama
school was behind them. It had been fun, liberating, and fucking exhausting. 
Loki’s sleepy head fell on his shoulder. He had taken one of his pink pills
before the show, so he was bound to feel drowsy, now that the adrenaline had
stopped flowing. Thor checked in the rearview mirror where the cabbie’s eyes
were at. You know what? Fuck it. He threw an arm around his brother, holding
him close, and kissed his head. 
Loki seemed totally knackered, scoured raw. It had been two very intense hours
at the end of an increasingly tricky week. His anxiety had been mounting, short
nights, cranky days, two serious crying fits (serious enough that he could not
hide them from Thor; there might have been more), and several instances of
“please just leave me the fuck alone!” often followed by a door slam. Thor was
dearly hoping that, after today, things would start getting back to normal. As
normal as they got between them anyway.
It had been Volstagg’s suggestion that they did this Q&A together, and he
guessed it had not been a bad idea, although anticipation had ramped up to
stratospheric levels, and the buzz in the social media had kept Natasha and
Coulson’s people working around the clock. The place was jam-packed, seemed
like the whole school was in attendance, including professors, former students,
and all the free-loaders who had managed to sneak in. Rocky Horror costumes and
Loki’s Army t-shirts abounded. There were kids sitting in the corridors, piling
up at the doors. Health and safety regulations were being contravened here,
here’s hoping there weren’t any fires, and that nobody got into trouble. 
From the wings, where Loki and him were waiting for their entrance, the noise
in the auditorium was like an oceanic rumour, with sudden spurts of squealing
and chanting, excitement intensifying as the time of truth drew near. 
“You ok?” Thor asked his brother.
Loki nodded absently, his eyes looking beyond Thor towards the slice of
auditorium visible from where they stood. He was bouncing one leg quickly,
nervously. 
The kids out there would be treated to the full Laufeyson experience: after
fretting all week about what to wear, he had decided to put on his armour.
Leather, velvet, silk, and his full length coat, without the furry collar. Kohl
around his eyes, hair slicked back. Majestic. Nobody would be able to see past
all that and spot the wary little boy shaking underneath.
“You look fucking gorgeous,” muttered Thor, just a whisper, though nobody could
have possibly heard him with all that rumpus out there.
A tight grin spread over Loki’s mouth. He threw him a quick-once over, enough
to make Thor’s blood run faster.
“And you’re going to give a few fangirls a heatstroke,” said Loki. Thor was in
jeans and a t-shirt, long hair in a messy bun. “That top on you should come
with health warnings.”
Thor smiled broadly. Yeah, the material was thin and it was, um, fitted, and
the neckline could get rather low. So? They were going to stare, might as well
give them something to stare at…
Volstagg was addressing a few words to the audience, explaining how this was
going to work, and instructing the kids to keep their collective shit together.
“I’ll tell you how this is going to be. You’re going to be reasonable, polite,
mature, and respectful, because they don’t owe you a thing, and if you annoy
them, they’ll just get up and leave, I can guarantee you that. Please be
understanding if there are things they don’t want to talk about. And remember,
kids, theatre questions, this is not Jeremy Kyle. You have a once in a lifetime
opportunity here, something for which journalists around the world would pay
for and still never get, so don’t spoil it for yourselves.”
“Have you seen all the Loki’s Army t-shirts out there?” said Thor. “They’re
here for you.”
Loki looked skeptical.
“Wanna bet?” said Thor. “Ok, maybe not all of them, but just have a look out
there. I bet you could just bring them to their actual knees if you so much as
asked.”
Loki put on half a smile, but his mind was elsewhere. There was a quick flinch
in his brow, an apprehensive clench in his jaw. Even with the pink pills, there
are no such thing as miracles.
“Baby, look at me,” said Thor. He didn’t say it will all be alright, or I’m
here for you or I love you, but Loki looked back intensely, as if he had.
Now Volstagg was saying their names, with the grandiose, theatrical intonation
of a seasoned ringmaster.
“Shall we?” said Thor.
Loki took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly. He nodded.
A solid wall of sound and light from a thousand flashes assaulted Thor’s senses
as he stepped out on to the stage, making him grimace. Hollering, waves of
applause, high-pitched squeals, his name in screams. He stood right by the
orchestra, and waved hello. The resounding response almost made him step back.
He was alert, focused, but he did not fear them. There was nothing to fear.
This theatre was not so big that he could not see their faces. It was a
relatively intimate setting, human-scaled. They would be fine.
But where the fuck was Loki, he had not followed him. He turned, and saw his
brother still lurking in the wings. When the hysteria of Thor’s entrance
abated, that’s when Loki showed his face. Jesus Christ, that was loud. Loki
walked slowly to the centre of the proscenium, while Thor took a seat and let
him get his due.
It was pretty fucking amazing, how Loki could go from skittish, shaky little
pudding, to big black scary alpha wolf, in about two seconds flat. He was
standing there, arrogant, cutting a tremendous figure in that coat, staring the
audience down, taking their worship. He either kept his head high and proud, or
tilted it down to a predatory angle. Every single eye in that place was on him.
He radiated something, power, presence. He was Odin’s son through and through
tonight, blood or no blood.
After a good few minutes of sustained applause, whistling and shouting, Loki
lifted a finger to his lips. And there was silence. Thor had never seen
anything cooler, or hotter, in his whole life.
“My brother says you’re here for me,” said Loki, self-possessed, in control,
projecting his voice, his Shakespearean training serving him well. “Is that
so?”
A burst of sound responded, unintelligible. He lifted one hand and silence was
made again.
“Is that so?” he repeated.
Clapping, whistling, screaming, “Loki! I love you! Looookiiiii…!”
One gesture, they shut up again. Loki began to pace.
“If you’re here for me, say my name,” he instructed.
Uncoordinated screams of Loki! Loki!climbing on top of each other.
“Say my name,” urged Loki with a gesture, pacing, pacing.
“Loki!” hollered the audience.
“Say my name!” demanded Loki, a roar now.
“Loki!!”
He planted his feet, opened arms to full wingspan, threw his head back.
“Say my name!”
“LOKI!”
An explosion of applause, screaming and whistling. With every phone in the room
flashing now, Loki rewarded his minions with a pleased, wolfish grin. 
And if they had not been here for him before, they surely were now. Thor was
looking up to his brother like a teenage fanboy, dumbstruck, with a solid
boner. He had never experienced in his life such a strong, overpowering urge to
bend the fuck over and spread his legs for anyone. 
As Loki took his seat, which was now a throne, he must have smelled it on him.
He winked, and Thor’s stomach took a plunge. Damn.
Volstagg was delighted with the display, laughing and clapping enthusiastically
from his seat. Now, on with the show. There was a few volunteers in the stalls
with mikes, and they would be granting the right to speak to those who could
come up with the decent questions. Volstagg would moderate.
“What are you guys working on right now?” came a shaky voice from the back of
the house.
“Loki?” invited Volstagg.
“I have two small parts in a movie, which I can’t talk about yet, and I’m
writing a play, which I also intend to direct.”
“What is it about?” burst someone from the boxes.
“What’s it called?” jumped another.
“Children,” admonished Volstagg, “respect the turns.”
“My play will be called Sonder, I think, and you’ll know about the plot in due
time,” said Loki.
“Thor, what are you working on?” asked Volstagg.
“I’m training for a movie. Can’t say much yet, but it’s set in medieval times
and I play a knight, so I’m learning to ride in armour and preparing battle and
jousting sequences. Peggy Carter will be directing, and I’m heading the bill
with Angie Martinelli and Steve Rogers.”
A small explosion of yelling and cheering.
“Would you guys say that Thor is the intuitive actor, and Loki the technical
actor?”
They looked at each other. Thor gestured for Loki to take that one first.
“Thor has always been of the James Cagney school of acting,” said Loki, and
modified his voice, accent, tilt, “‘you stand on your mark, look the guy in the
eyes and tell the truth’. You used to hate directors that did a dozen takes,
didn’t you? They messed up with the spontaneity of it. I think you’re doing
better with that now. Anyway, there’s a raw authenticity to the way he
approaches the work. I’m not like that. I’m more inhibited, I hide more. I
build the character around me layer by layer and I wear it like armour. Thor
summons in himself the feelings his character is supposed to feel, and he’s
honest like that, but I wouldn’t say it all happens by magic, he does work one
hell of a lot.”
“There is that,” said Thor, “but Loki is every bit as natural as me. He’s
always had a bigger eye on the method, and he always prepares very thoroughly,
but if you watch us when we were children, like in The Secret Garden, for
instance, Loki was immensely superior, long before either of us took one hour
of acting school. He’s so expressive, he has so much nuance. He is also like
that in real life. I mean, you people only tend to see his poker face, which is
the one he shows, but in private he’s… Well, he’s something else.”
Loki had colour on his cheeks. He looked fucking adorable. Thor looked away,
fearing hearts would pop up in his eyes if he didn't.
“Next question?” invited Volstagg.
“How was it working together?”
“Fun, so much fun,” said Thor, with a broad smile. “We read each other’s minds,
don’t we? We get each other so well. We were playing brothers, and I think we
got that part down pat.” He laughed, the audience too. “And he ups my game. I
mean, it’s a bit daunting too, Loki can express several different emotions at
once, and at times it made me stop and think, as the character and as a
performer even, just all the things that were going on there, and how should I
respond to them. And he makes it look so easy… So like I say, it can be
daunting, but at one point we were really... It was like dancing, a bit,
wouldn’t you say, Loki? When you know your partner so well you can anticipate
their moves. And he’s so generous-…”
Loki burst out laughing.
“...As an actor,” completed Thor. “I mean that he will do whatever is needed so
that everyone can give their all, to get the best possible scene. He's not a
diva who wants the focus permanently on him, even if that ruins the interaction
with the characters. He always keeps the whole picture in his mind. It’s going
to be awesome, I can’t wait to see this movie.”
Applause. Attention turned to Loki.
“How is it to work with my brother, hm... Quite electrifying, really. He has
raw physical presence, if he’s there you have to look at him. Bobby is such a
difficult part, it's a character who bottles his emotions and his thoughts. An
inferior performer would have played him as a brick wall. But with my brother,
you can see it all, every thought and every feeling, breaking through the mask.
Do you people know how hard that is? To play a hieratic, reserved, tightly
self-controlled guy, and actually get the audience to know what’s going on
inside every single minute? He deserves every bloody award there is for this
performance. ...Apart from that, and considering our past history together, it
was a relatively painless shoot. Not a lot of bloodshed,” he joked.
“And we’ve hidden the bodies well,” grinned Thor.
Laughter, more applause. Thor was grateful for it. Praise from Loki was like
praise from his father - pretty fucking overwhelming. He did not take it
lightly. He couldn't if he tried.
“A question for Thor. There is a sex scene in this movie that’s supposed to be
very steamy, with another man. Is it a worry for you, how this character will
affect how your fans see you?”
Thor took a moment to locate the kid asking the question in the auditorium, and
look at him directly.
“It’s not a worry. I’m looking forwards to the audience seeing me as capable of
playing the widest range of characters possible. I mean, I’m hardly a
chameleonic actor, there are only so many characters I can make believable with
the way I look, but within that range, I want to be able to play anything.
Having said that, I get that is eye-catching, but I have to say that I would be
disappointed if the sex scene is all the audience is left with when the credits
roll. I mean, I’m perfectly aware that same sex scenes are not common, least of
all in Hollywood, so it’s bound to draw attention. And it is a focal point,
crucial in the plot, and I think Bucky and I got the chemistry right, but
hopefully with this performance I’ve achieved a lot more than just…
convincingly faking an orgasm.” 
Laughter, and possibly several pairs of weak knees as well, judging from the
squeals when Thor said ‘orgasm’.
“Was it weird to shoot?” asked someone on the first row, out of turn. Thor
answered anyway.
“No, not at all. Bucky and I were very comfortable and at ease with each other
by then. We had rehearsed it, and talked about it, and we get along very well,
he’s a great guy, a good friend to both of us.” (He ignored the isolated
sniggers and the whistles. Obviously, they had all seen the photos in that
motel in L.A., and drawn their conclusions. Loki by his side had not flinched.)
“Anyway, I’ve never really struggled with these scenes. I don't make a big deal
out of them. It does depend to some extent on your partner, the atmosphere in
the set, all that, but I just… I don’t know, a bit of sense of humour goes a
long way. In the end it’s not such a big deal. But if what you mean is, was it
weird to shoot because we’re two blokes, I don’t know what to tell you. I’m
bisexual, so to me there’s really no difference.”
Loki’s eyes snapped up, he stared at him with laser beams for eyes. For a
breath, the silence in the theatre became solid. 
“My fucking brother, ladies and gentlemen,” said Loki, with admiration.
The clapping and cheering took Thor by surprise. So, he had just come out. He
looked around, taken aback. Loki leaned closer, mike covered.
“You have some balls on you,” he muttered. “Had you planned this?”
Thor gave him a wink. Loki’s eyes were dazzling bright, love unbound. He kissed
his temple hard, eyes shut, and the theatre nearly fell on their heads.
“I love you,” said Loki, for the whole house to hear.
“I love you too,” said Thor, and the applause grew even louder, people standing
on the chairs and cheering.
"You ballsy, crazy bugger," said Volstagg, as he came for a hug.
Loki had no intention of using his taming powers to cut that ovation short. He
sat in his chair, and let the kids run riot. Thor nodded every now and again,
in acknowledgement, but otherwise he had no clue what to do. Did they expect
anything else from him? Should he take a bow, do a curtsey? The reaction felt
kind of over the top at one point, almost irritating. Refraining a scoff, he
thought about the fucking charmed life he led. There had been no standing
ovations for Loki back in the day.
Volstagg called the auditorium to order after a couple more minutes. He had to
insist, and then get stern. He gave permission for the questions to resume.
“Thor! Thor! Over here!" said a voice from somewhere around the right hand side
of the stalls. "You were already a very successful actor, what made you drop
everything and join this school?” 
Thor located the speaker in the sea of faces, while he organised his thoughts.
“I had had one job after another since I was sixteen, and I had not really
stopped to think where I was going, or what I wanted to do, what I wanted from
this job. Your priorities at sixteen and at twenty-something are very
different. I got to a point where I had to re-think where my current path was
leading me, because I realised I did not have a great respect for the job-…”
“Bollocks,” deadpanned Loki. His long legs were crossed, he was checking his
nails, the very picture of nonchalance.
Thor chuckled. “Ok, well, but in any case, it did not reflect in the parts I
was picking,” he continued. “I was building up a career based on box office and
popularity and-…”
“Somebody was scared shitless of being compared with somebody’s dad,” pointed
Loki.
“You bastard," Thor said. (There was some laughter, while Loki smirked, showing
teeth.) "Listen, I’m not a very introspective person. Maybe I was trying to put
some distance between my father and me, I don't know. Apart from making it big
somehow, I didn't really have a plan. Anyway, I got to a point where I was not
enjoying myself, and I decided to go back to basics, try something different,
and see where that led.”
“You joined the school after you and Loki had that big fallout. Did that have
anything to do with it?”
They both turned to stare at the brave soul on row two (the balls on that kid),
then at each other. There was a murmuring silence, Volstagg tense, waiting to
intervene.
“Yeah,” said Thor, after a spell, because why not, dammit. “Losing Loki turned
my whole world upside down. It was a big shake-up. Lots of things that had
seemed vital before, didn’t seem very important after that. Things that had
satisfied me before, did nothing for me then. I needed time out. I found it in
this place, and some true friends who got me through the worst times when our
mother died. I had to work hard to get respect and opportunities, probably for
the first time in my life. I think I left this place a better person than I had
been when I went in. And then I got my baby brother back, and that was the best
thing that could have happened to me.”
Loki stared intensely at his nails while the whole theatre went “Awww…”
“Loki, can I ask you a question about stripping?” said a kid from one of the
boxes.
“If you dare,” said Loki, with a grin that managed sweetness and intimidation
at the same time.
“Did it affect your acting?”
“Everything affects your acting,” answered Loki. “You draw from every
experience in your life. But that’s not the answer you’re after, is it?” He
bit his cheeks in, gave it some thought. “Alright. There are many things I’m
not going to go into right now, because I don't bloody feel like it, but this I
can say. Stripping changed the way I saw myself. I had never had the impression
that I gave the vibe of a particularly sexual person. I saw myself as... I
don't know. I was too skinny and bony and not at all what I like in a man. I
held back, I kept people away, I struggled meeting people, I struggled getting
intimate. I had never dated much at all. So, I was never the most popular kid
in class, and that sort of affects how you see yourself, right?, it makes you
compare yourself unfavourably with the cool kids, and notice all the ways in
which you're different from them, all the ways in which you're lacking. I
thought my appeal in this area was rather… niche, if you will, and definitely
not something that came through on first impressions. I mean, look who I had to
compare myself with growing up,” he gestured to Thor, who flustered and laughed
it off. "Honestly, I had no chance."
There was some wolf-whistling that earned a severe finger-wagging from
Volstagg. The noises calmed down, and Loki resumed his answer. He avoided
looking at Thor while he spoke.
“Stripping I discovered that strangers wanted me, not because of my personality
or my conversation or my piano playing skills or what have you, but because of
my body. That was a revelation. And it did have a direct impact in my acting.
When I played Frank in The Rocky Horror, for example. I don’t think I would
have had the gall, the self-confidence, the sass it takes, without it. Not to
mention the experience I got singing and dancing all by myself, with nowhere to
hide, every night in front of a live audience, with that cabaret vibe, the
interactions. I’m a shy person, nobody bloody believes me but it’s true, and
I’m not going to say stripping cured me, but it gave me lots of tools to
negotiate it. And I’m a better actor for it.” Loki took in a breath,
contemplated all the things hanging in the air, unspoken. “It was liberating in
some ways.  Even my dancing changed. When I did ballet, it was all tightly
controlled, an intellectual exercise, carefully measured, carefully performed.
Nobody gave a fuck how perfect or precise my movements were at the club, and
what a bloody relief that was... It was like breaking out of a very tight
mould, and finding things that felt right instead, intuitively. But I wouldn't
recommend it as part of your training. Because liberating it may be, but also
pretty fucking seedy, and there are lots of things about it you carry with you,
that you wish you didn't have to. As you all know, stripping was not the only
thing I did in that place, and this kind of thing changes you. The way I did
it, at least.”
“What do you mean?” asked Volstagg, gently.
“I mean this is a thing you can do with a healthy or an unhealthy attitude. I’m
talking about prostitution. My attitude wasn’t healthy, because I wasn’t
healthy. At the time, to me this was not just a job, it was a way of punishing
myself, and others. People I loved, who loved me, and because of how I felt,
because of my illness and my-my issues, I took it upon myself to shame them and
hurt them by doing this. And make no mistake, they were shamed, and they were
hurt, and so was I. It's left scars, and it’s taken me a long time, and some
serious soul-searching, to be able to look back on those days with a bit of…
balance. To put it in its place, and leave it there, not drag it with me where
it does not belong. Anyway, even with the scars, whatever damage I was trying
to cause, to myself or to anyone else, it wasn’t permanent. We're dealing with
it.”
Warm applause, cheering, shrilling expressions of love and support. Thor held
his brother’s hand, and gave it a squeeze. Loki returned a tight smile.
“What job are you guys most proud of?”
Thor didn’t have to think.
“Bobby in Mariners.”
Loki considered that question as it deserved.
“Hm. Hamlet, maybe. It was my first big professional job, and it’s so iconic,
has so much gravitas. It meant a lot to me at the time, the mental health
angle, which as I’m sure you all know, hits me very close. It also built a
reputation for me on which I was able to rely on when I started to put my life
back together again, and take up my career where I had left it. People who had
noticed me thanks to this part, now believed I could do more. Not sure that
would have happened without Hamlet. It was momentous as well in that it brought
people into my life who were touched by it, and are now very, very important to
me. This sort of gave me a… something to lean back on, to judge my own worth
by, and find myself worthwhile, at a point in my life when I was needing it
badly. You know, we’re just actors here, we don’t cure cancer. There’s so much
frivolity, so much hot air to this profession, that sometimes you do wonder if
what you’re doing, all the effort you’re putting into it, is worth anything at
all, whether it is all nothing but vanity. But I happen to know someone for
whom that Hamlet actually made a difference, and I’m proud of that.”
Applause, lots of applause. 
Volstagg decided it was a good point to finish, to the great dismay and
disappointment of the audience. Thor and Loki took theatrical bows as the
auditorium all but crashed on their heads, thundering with applause. The relief
on Loki’s face was almost tangible, but there was also a gentle expression of
satisfaction that made Thor sigh with relief himself.
They signed autographs on their way out. Volstagg took them to a side exit
where they would expect a taxi that was already on its way to whisk them away
towards safety, peace and quiet. 
“Loki!”
They both turned. Thor saw his brother’s expression open up like the bloody
sunlight through parting clouds. Sam Wilson was rushing at them from the stage
door to hug Loki tight. In his arms, Loki closed his eyes, blissful smile on
his face. The taxi parked next to them but they paid it no mind. Thor gestured
the cabbie to give them a minute.
“How are you, babe. You look fantastic,” said Sam, his eyes so warm.
Every bristle on Thor’s body stood on end. Babe?
“I’m fine,” said Loki. “Have you met my brother? Thor, this is Sam.”
“Man, what an honour!” Sam shook hands with him. “I’m a huge fan!”
“Thank you,” said Thor, making an effort not to sound too stiff. “It’s a
pleasure.”
“You were there all the bloody time?” asked Loki. “And you didn’t tell me?”
“Didn’t want to get in the way,” beamed Sam. “You were awesome, guys.”
Thor bowed his head. Loki seemed to be gathering the courage to say something.
“I never got to thank you properly for your letter,” he said, after a moment.
“It meant so much.”
Letter? What letter?
“That’s alright," said Sam. "You must have had a lot on you plate. How’s that
thing going anyway? You dealing fine?”
“I’m... ignoring it, more than anything,” shrugged Loki.
Sam smiled, a knowing look in his eye, full of tenderness. He stroked Loki’s
face, cupped his jaw. Loki didn’t recoil or stiffen up. He didn’t even flinch.
He seemed comfortable.
“You’ll be fine, babe,” said Sam. “You’re hard as nails, and much, much bigger
than all of that crap put together. It will be fine.”
There was a fucking moment, as they held each other’s gaze. Emotion rose to
Loki’s face, and he nodded.
“Anyway, I’ll leave you to it, guys, you must have had enough today. But you
still owe me a coffee and a talk, yeah?” said Sam. Loki nodded again. “Take
care for me, babe, won’t you? And great to meet you, man.” He shook hands with
Thor again, gave Loki a hug and a kiss on the cheek.
“Bye Sam,” said Loki.
His ex-boyfriend turned to flash him a smile.“See ya, Loki. Call me.”
 
 
“What letter?” asked Thor, as the taxi drove them away.
Loki tensed up by his side.
“Oh. When the Sextapesgate affair, he wrote me a letter.”
“Oh,” said Thor. “How come you never told me?”
“We weren’t on speaking terms at the time,” replied Loki, and he offered a
tight little grin, which Thor duly returned. 
There was a noisy, bustling silence as the taxi made its stuttering way through
the London streets.
“He just…” said Loki after a while. “The letter was just to, you know, to say
he was there for me if I needed him, as a friend.”
Thor nodded.
“Did you keep in contact after the break-up?”
“No. The occasional text. He asked me to, but I just… I’m no good at this. I
don’t know what’s, uh, acceptable. I don’t know.”
“He seems like a great guy,” said Thor, because it was sort of expected.
“He is,” said Loki, quickly. “You’d like him.”
Thor smiled to that, and hoped it had not come through too fake.
The silence that followed ended at the door of Thor’s house, and only to talk
to the cabbie. 
 
                                       *
 
 
“I’m running a bath,” informed Thor. “Will you be joining me?”
“Hmmm…” mumbled Loki to the cushion. He was sprawled face down on the settee.
He had been pretty much since they got home, fifteen minutes ago. It was too
early to go to sleep, it would mess up his already fragile cycles. Just a
couple more hours, Loki-boy, you can do it. Bath. Thor. Nice.
“Hmmmyeah, ok,” he said, and he gathered all his willpower to push himself up
to a sitting position, otherwise he would be snoring by the time the bath was
ready. He rubbed his eyes, stretched his back and arms.
This heavy drowsiness was the anxiolytic’s doing. So was the hazy curtain
between his current worries and his emotions. He felt calm, at ease, his mind
cooly reflecting on the evening’s events, and contemplating the elements of
danger they contained. Sam. Thor coming out. Flirting and acting like a couple
of loved-up idiots in front of a whole theatre armed with recording devices. He
sighed, his mind pleasantly sedated, able for once to shrug it all off and tell
itself whatever it is, it is, it’s done now, why worry. It seemed so frigging
easy, didn’t it? He was stretched very thin nonetheless, threadbare in places.
Whose bloody idea was this, and why had he gone along with it. Interviews were
hard, tiresome and annoying, but to spend two hours just spilling your thoughts
and points of view and feelings and memories and opinions to a full auditorium
of greedy ears, which kept drinking their words like cool fresh water, sucking
and sucking and sucking — they would drain you to the bone if you’d let them,
and then suck the marrow —, that had been a soul-wrenching exercise he would
not be looking forwards to in the future. How ironic was that? At fifteen, he
would have given an arm and a leg for one single soul to sit there and ask him
what he thought, what were his opinions and hopes and dreams. Was it maturity
or something else, the fact that he felt less and less like talking about
himself? Having said that, he had spilled the beans good and proper, hadn’t he?
God knows how they would be cutting up their words, taking them out of context,
blowing them out of all proportion, and defining and judging them by these
headlines alone.
It’s done, said the pink pill-induced haze. Nothing to do about it now. The
back of his mind was as good a place as any to sweep it all away until a later
date.
“Baby, it’s ready,” came his brother’s voice from the bathroom.
 
 
Thor was already soaking when Loki got there, with his eyes closed, water just
below his chest. Loki smirked, imagined that ballsy kid in the fourth row at
the Q&A: "Loki, how does it feel to have an actual living god for a boyfriend?"
Ah, my dear, he would reply, if there are words for it, I do not have them.
He undressed and slipped in. His brother welcomed him in the space between his
legs, and wrapped his arms around his waist. Loki rested his head on his
brother’s shoulder. Thor took a deep breath, and his glorious chest pushed
against Loki's back as it rose, and then fell. There was a drip drip drip,
their breathing, and nothing else. After the all-out attack on the senses of
this afternoon, this was heaven.
“You ok,” whispered Thor, as if unwilling to disturb that spell of calm they
had conjured.
“Hm. You?”
“Hm.”
He was stroking Thor’s forearms, Thor’s hands were brushing his sides. It was
very nice. And they were both going to fall asleep and drown, and the police
would find them there, and... and frankly, not even that managed to stir
anything in Loki, except a vague impulse to snigger.
“Did you remain friends? With Sam,” said Thor, out of the blue.
So much for drowsiness. Loki's shoulders tensed up.
“Yeah,” he said. “We still had a few weeks to go. Working together I mean. We
sort of had to get along, whether we liked it or not. But we would have anyway,
he’s-… Well, he's a proper grown-up. And a gentleman. And he’s kind.” 
A long silence followed his words. Where was Thor going with this. They
could not possibly be in trouble, could they? Surely not over Sam? Gracious,
Odinson, don't tell me this is going to end up in tears, or screaming, or both,
please... Loki's shoulders were getting tenser and tenser.
“Was it painful. The break-up," asked Thor.
He wished he knew what Thor wanted to hear, what he was ready to hear. There
are many ways to tell the truth, not lying as such, but perhaps, uh, package it
appropriately, pad it up, even, to obtain a certain effect, or, hm, soften a
reaction. Loki was totally ready to use whatever padding this matter needed -
he really was not looking forward to argue over Sam -, but he simply could not
read Thor's toneless voice, his lack of inflections. Then again, he was a
little bit high, the barrier between his usual fears and preventions and his
mouth, dissolved into a nice haze of easiness.
“I’m not sure,” he said, sincerely. “He’s so mature, so serene, and with me at
the time he was very generous, very gracious. He never blamed me or made me
feel guilty about it. But I felt guilty anyway, and stupid for passing on him.”
Words spilled out of his mouth without any pruning. God, he was lit.
“Are you going to call him?” asked Thor, after a spell.
Again, what’s the right answer to that.
“I don’t know,” he tried. “I did promise.”
Thor was very quiet behind him, probably thinking that Loki was avoiding giving
a clear answer, and being very fucking right about it too. Sorry, brother.
Anyway, they do say the best defence is a good attack. After lagging behind
since they started talking, Loki decided to move this conversation forward with
a yank.
“Where are you going with this, Thor?” And he may be intellectually afraid of
the answer, but he sure wasn’t feeling it.
“I just… I know he… Jesus,” stuttered Thor. “I know he meant a lot to you. That
he was important.” A pause. Loki let it flow. “I don’t know where I’m going
with this. I don’t know what I want to know, ok?” 
Loki remained quiet, waiting for inspiration to strike, his brother or himself.
Thor’s breathing was a bit faster, huffier. Loki’s own heart was thumping
harder.  Drip, drip, drip. It was a long time before Thor spoke again, or so it
felt.
“You were so relaxed around him. You’re always… jumpy around people who try to
touch you. Even Sigyn. And I remember you both at the stage door after the
play. You looked up to him. Leaned on him.”
“Leaned?”
“Yeah. You trusted him, you relied on him. The way I see it, with Tony you were
like, I don’t know, Benedick and Beatrice, you were on the same level-…”
Loki couldn’t help a snort. His brother ignored him.
“With Bucky, he looks up to you, he’s like a kid brother, you said yourself.
But with Sam, you… What am I trying to say here. I got the impression that with
Sam you were a bit like you are with… with me.”
Loki focused on the tips of his toes, popping out of the water. Breathe.
What was it Thor needed? Reassurance? What did he want to hear? Where was Sigyn
when you needed her?”
“Does it bother you?”
Drip, drip, drip.
“It’s nothing you’ve done,” said Thor.
“Is that a yes?”
Thor sighed. 
“It’s not bother. That’s not what it is. I’m not even… I don’t even think it’s
jealousy. I don’t know what it is. I just... I wasn't ready for it.”
Drip, drip, drip.
Perhaps what Loki had to do was just be open and honest. Perhaps that's what
his brother needed right now.
“He helped me feel comfortable fucking again. I was feeling so… dry, so hollow.
I felt no desire and no lust and I felt so off. It was the-the prostitution and
the depression and my self-loathing and all of that, and terror of opening up I
guess. I felt that, after loving you, I had nothing left to give. No matter how
common or how normal my therapists said it was, the lack of libido or whatever
they call it, I was fucking petrified. I thought I would never have sex again,
that I would never want to again. It scared me. Sam, he… he asked for nothing,
he offered whatever I wanted to take, nothing, or everything, or anything in
between. He made it seem simple and… He was there for me. And there was so much
shit going around in my brain, and Sam got me out of it. I don’t know how he
did it. He's smooth as fuck... He really cared for me. And he made me feel it,
he made it get through my thick skull. And I guess I-I loved him too, in my
way. Which felt good. Made me feel, I don't know, a bit normal again. Not
normal, that's not the right word. With him I felt that I could just be me, and
still be alright. That yeah, I may be fucked up, and I may never be fixed, but
that it wasn't such a terrible thing anyway. That I was still someone worth a
good, kind, solid guy like him.” Drip, drip, drip. "He reminded me of you. The
ways that count."
Thor’s chest pushing against his back, his breathing controlled, his arms
crossed enfolding Loki's waist, his hold unquestionable. It felt good. Should
he mention that.
“You should call him,” said Thor, after an age.
Loki half-turned to face his brother, not sure what he was looking for there.
He found a small, warm smile, not too bright, but honest.
“I mean it,” said Thor. “Sounds like a great guy you should have in your life.”
Loki returned the smile. He reclined back on his broad, welcoming chest. His
brother’s hold tightened around him. 
 
 
The mattress seemed to suck him in when he laid down on it. They had had
leftovers for dinner with the news on, practically on mute, and dragged
themselves upstairs like zombies. The movie star life, eh? He burrowed against
Thor’s body, may have gratuitously crushed his romp against his brother’s
groin. He thought they were settling down to sleep.
“The thing you did at the start, your grand entrance,” said Thor after a while,
whispering as if mum and dad were down the corridor. “Fucking hell, baby.”
Loki was grinning now, eyes closed.
“I saw you had enjoyed that,” he teased, words slurred.
“You have no idea,” purred Thor, the rumble of his voice so pleasant.
“Oh, I can imagine,” he said. “I may lay it thicker with the pageantry, but I’m
not the only one here who faces an audience as if he fucking owns them.”
Thor laughed.
“You win this one,” he said, and he definitely did a little hip roll, no doubt
this time. “Had you planned it?”
“I improvised.”
“You’re incredible.”
“Had you planned it?” asked Loki. “The smoothest, most casual coming out I have
ever seen, I mean.”
Thor laughed some more, so warm and gruff.
“I had thought about it. I thought that, if the right opportunity should
present itself, this was a good place to do it.”
“When did you decide you were going to come out?”
“Don’t know. Been thinking about it for some time.”
“You didn’t say.”
Thor shrugged.
“It’s all over the internet, did you see?” said Loki.
“Yup.”
“Are you worried?”
Thor sighed.
“I’m not. Coulson, on the other hand…”
“Oh?”
“Been texting. I told him to calm his tits, that’s what’s done is done, and
we’ll talk on monday.”
Loki smiled to himself.
“I was bursting with pride. I could have snogged you right there and then. I
very nearly did.”
Thor laughed softly.
“You would have, just to do one better. Nobody steals your show.”
Loki chuckled.
“After than entrance of yours,” said Thor, nuzzling against the back of his
neck, “you could have had me right there on that bloody armchair. Hell, me and
anyone else in that place.”
Loki chuckled. He pictured it. Hmmm...
“On a scale from one to ten, how sleepy are you?” asked Thor, a hot grumble.
“Twelve.”
Thor chuckled, then pressed against him, held him closer.
“Same scale, how randy.”
Loki’s turn to chuckle softly, mischievously. They hadn’t fucked in four entire
days. Although it was probably just what Loki would have needed, he had been
too cranky to let him near.
Thor was humping him slowly, getting hard. Loki’s cock was responding, hot,
electric tingles radiating from his crotch all through his body.
“Off the charts. But I am tired.” He sighed. The fucking pink pills.
“Then, allow me…” purred his brother, low and husky, kissing his neck,
breathing by his ear. 
Loki turned his face, then the rest of him, for Thor’s deep, slow kiss. He
hummed into it. Without breaking the gentle, unhurried, sweet love he was
making to Loki’s mouth, Thor’s hand palmed him through the bed sheets, stroking
and brushing as Loki got hard. The light, teasing touch tickled his balls, the
sensitive inner side of his thighs. A single wet spot appeared at the cusp of
the tent he was making. 
Loki winced when clarity hit his lids. Thor had turned on the light.
“Don’t fall asleep on me,” he said.
Loki opened his eyes, drowsily.
“Then I guess it’s not a day for extended foreplay. Sorry.”
Thor laughed. 
“Not a problem.”
He turned to get the lube from the bedside table. Loki spread his legs.
“Nuh-huh,” said Thor. He got on his knees, straddling him, and with his fingers
coated in lube, he reached behind himself.
Loki’s cock twitched at the sight, his brother’s expression tensing up as he
fingered himself open. Ever the fast-learner, Thor had got the gist of that
very quickly. Loki took the lube from him to slick himself up, long, lazy
strokes, milking the head as he watched.
Thor wiped his hands and leaned over to kiss him, then wiggled his butt as Loki
held his cock in place. They both sucked in a breath when they found the spot,
and then Thor sat upright and pushed down, with a bite on his lower lip and his
eyes closed. Loki didn’t want to miss a beat, he fought to keep his eyes open
against the sleepiness and the heat clamped tight around him. His brother
circled his hips and shifted, as if he could take him deeper like that. He
began to rock and sway, hands on Loki’s chest, leaning over him, his hair
framing his face. He tried to hold it back with one hand and he looked like a
fucking pin-up, so fucking hot.
“Are you awake yet,” he said, working his thighs.
Loki ran his hands on his brother’s chest, his straining muscles. Then his
cock. Thor threw his head back, he clenched tight around him.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Thor…” said Loki, in awe. He gripped his brother’s hips
and he tried to hold him up, so that he could fuck up into him. Thor’s pace was
much too leisurely and too gentle, and Loki was going to fucking implode.
“Easy…” whispered Thor.
“If we go any easier I’m going to fall asleep,” he groaned. Liar liar your
pants are on fire…
Thor laughed, and kept fucking himself like they had all night.
“You want it your way?” he cocked a smile. “Then take over.”
“You bloody cheat…” said Loki, shocked at his brother’s cunning and his own
fucking stupidity. A honey-trap if he ever saw one. He was panting with
frustrated want, his brother not even pretending to fuck anymore, just rolling
and teasing, that indecent smirk, that wolfish stare.
“Fuck’s sakes,” grumbled Loki. He sat up, toppling Thor on his back with a good
shove, though Thor was more than happy to oblige. He clenched his thighs around
Loki’s hips as he entered him again. He fucked him fast, snaking his hips. And
how Thor’s expression rewarded him, as he lifted his hips to meet his thrusts. 
“Fuck,” grunted Thor, Loki ramming into him. “Fuck, Loki…”
It was ‘baby’ when Thor was fucking him, and his name when it was Loki topping,
mused Loki, as he took it up a notch. A psychoanalyst would have a field day
with this, even without the incest. 
The moans out of that fucking perfect mouth, in time with his thrusts, the slap
of flesh on flesh.
“I’m close,” panted Loki, “touch yourself.”
“No, you finish,” said Thor, husky, “I want to come inside you. We’ll flip.”
Fine by him. Loki went faster, shallower, to serve his own need.
“Come on, baby,” said Thor. “Yeah, that’s it. That’s it. Come on.” He was
digging his nails in his buttocks, there would be perfect fucking red
fingerprints there in the morning. 
The pressure was mounting, all of Loki’s focus now on coming. His brother’s
moans, so gruff and dark, were driving him fucking nuts. 
“That’s it, brother… fuck me… fuck me…”
Jesus Christ! He kept fucking as he came, and when he thought he was all spent,
he rolled his hips, wringing it out, shuddering, until he let himself melt in
his brother’s arms. His sex talk was not innovative, he thought, panting
against Thor’s chest, but bloody hell, it was effective. He laid there
recovering his breath, blissed out.
“Hey, don’t fall asleep yet,” said Thor, poking his side, where he was
ticklish. “Come on, I’m about to burst.”
Loki slid off Thor on to the mattress.
“Mmmhow do you want me,” he mumbled against the pillow, on his front, still
boneless.
“Just lift,” said Thor, and he slipped that roll cushion under his hips when
Loki did as he was bid. (They had bought that cushion in that shape for this
exact purpose, giggling like idiots when they were paying for it.) Butt in the
air, hand-warmed lube in his hole, and then the blunt head of his brother’s
cock opening him, those big hands stroking his butt, anchoring on his hips. The
fullness was very fucking pleasant. And there was heat in his underbelly when
Thor started to fuck him. He liked the pillow. There was something about this
posture. He was rocking to and fro under his thrusts. He loved to play blow-up
doll for Thor.
“You’re mine,” groaned Thor, all of a sudden, slamming hard against his arse.
“You’re mine…”
“Jesus fuuuuck…” moaned Loki. Thor had to keep that for after he had come?
“Say you’re mine…” grunted his brother, as he pounded him into the mattress.
“Goddammit, Thor…” said Loki. “I’m yours. God, I’m fucking yours…”
“Yes, fuck…” grunted his brother, choked up. He sounded right on the edge. He
was going very fast now.
“Claim me,” sighed Loki. “Come on. Nobody else, ever. I’m yours. Claim me.”
“Fuck, baby, fuck…!” he groaned as he came, another hard thrust, another,
another, Loki shivering with Thor’s shivers, the heat of his body when he
draped himself all over him, scorching hot breath on the back of his neck, so
heavy. He tangled their fingers together.
Loki mouthed yours.
 
 
“Were we too obvious, today, at the Q & A thing,” came Thor’s voice then, in
the dark.
They had cleaned up, Loki had been served a glass of mineral water his brother
had gone to fetch for him downstairs, naked, and he was spooning him again.
And Loki huffed, because that was it, he was scraped to the bone now, he needed
to fucking sleep already.
“Naw. Probably. I don't know,” he said. Wasn’t it fun, surreal even, how little
interest he was feeling, how little apprehension.
“Are you concerned,” said his brother.
Was he?
"We can think about it tomorrow.” Pretty please.
His brother hugged him tight. He muttered I love you. Loki burrowed into him.
He may have said I love you back before he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     Sam. When I started to plan his reappearance, I realised I had not
     thought through just how important he would have been in Loki's life.
     So I went back to chapter 9 and made some additions, in case you're
     interested.
     Jeremy Kyle is the host in one of those awful reality TV shows in
     which people come to air their dirty laundry and get publicly
     humiliated and tongue-lashed by the audience and the host, as they
     get judged harshly for their past mistakes, poor life choices, and
     lifestyle in general. Jezza started in the UK, his move to the US was
     a matter of time.
***** Chapter 29 *****
Chapter Summary
     Thor is not happy. Loki is shitting bricks.
Chapter Notes
     This just keeps getting harder and harder. I become hyperaware of all
     my tics as a writer and UGH. Anyway.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
 
With his eyes closed, Thor returned his brother’s lazy, languorous kisses. He
felt drowsy and delightfully heavy, lying there, enjoying the light press of
lips, the hot flashes of tongue, and the blind touch of Loki’s skin, how his
brother’s flesh yielded under his hands. His hips were pumping mindlessly, as
Loki's hands stroked up and down his body, no rush, knuckles and nails. He
shivered when a fingertip barely brushed his side, where he was ticklish.
Loki’s low chuckle made him smile. He felt a thigh sliding between his own and
pressing. Thor pumped up again, with a hum. He wove his fingers in Loki’s hair
and arched his neck, leading his brother’s mouth to his throat. His cock was
tugging as it got hard, trapped between their stomachs.
“Oh my fucking god, Thor, again?” rumbled Loki. “So soon? You need to see a
doctor…”
Thor laughed and palmed him, his brother’s cock twitching too, filling.
“Look who’s talking,” he whispered.
“I’m shocked,” muttered his brother, playful, and nibbled a pinch of skin off
his neck, as he pressed up with his thigh. “You’re randier now than at
fifteen.”
“I had not seen you in a whole week. What do you expect.” 
He winced as his dry cock refused to slide between their bodies. Loki wetted
his palm and reached down. His fist closed around Thor’s cock, making him
groan. He stroked and squeezed gently, their lips coming together, his tongue
so fucking hot.
“Give me your mouth,” murmured Thor.
“Hmmm… Definitely a case for medical science,” Loki purred, climbing down his
body, delaying on a stiff nipple, one hand still on him.
He settled between his thighs and took him in his mouth. Thor was more than
half hard already. A few more minutes of this, and he’d be ready to take his
brother for a ride. He let his eyes close, focusing on the feeling of Loki’s
touch. Tongue, strong and slick, hot, nimble and playful. Lips covering teeth,
smooth and hard, taking him in, tugging at him as he sucked, his fist keeping
him in place, squeezing and twisting. The soft, slick noises, the hums and
groans, Loki’s hair between his fingers. Pressure building up in the base of
his cock, in his underbelly.
Keys at the door. Sigyn’s voice.
“Sorry, boys! It’s started to rain! Minnie is getting soaked!”
“Damn,” said Loki, raising his head, mouth red and wet, eyes hazy, ravished and
gorgeous. He smiled weakly at him.
Thor sighed, disappointed, one last slow run through his brother's hair.
“I’ll hit the shower,” said Loki, getting up. 
“Come here,” said Thor, gripping him by the wrist, pulling him down to him.
“Tho-oor…!” protested Loki, but he still yielded. “I need to leave in…” he eyed
the clock on the bedside table, “less than two hours. Fuck.” 
He let Thor kiss him anyway, and Thor was not in a hurry. He stole a good feel
of Loki’s arse and heard him sigh. Then a good smack, and he let him go,
because if he knew him a bit, Loki would be starting to get unpleasant in a
minute. No point.
His eyes followed as Loki made his way out, stark bollock naked and shameless,
his cock still plump and quite obvious, a pink flush where he had just been
smacked. He heard him and Sigyn out there. Thor surmised Loki must parade
around naked a lot, because she did not sound like she had so much as batted an
eyelid at the spectacle.
The shower started running soon after, and Loki’s voice came through, mellow,
raspy, with a hot, slurred drag.
“Honey, baby, won’t you cuddle near,
Let sweet mama whisper in your ear,
I’m wild about that thing, it makes me laugh and sing,
Give it to me, papa, I’m wild about that thing…”
Thor stretched his back, arms, legs, sprawling all over the bed, his erection
forgotten and softening, his sight drifting on the ceiling, out of focus. So,
that was his lot. He should not expect to get any more quality timewith his
brother perhaps for another week, not with the way things had been going
lately. Their daytime schedule was full: The rehearsals for Lancelot had
started for real, and Thor was still putting in hours in the gym every day, and
training for the fighting and jousting sequences. Loki’s parts were smaller,
but there were two of them, and technically very challenging. If that wasn’t
enough, the production for his play Sonder had begun. Nat had delivered,
finding him finance and a venue; a crew was coming together, and Loki was now
busy with the casting. Which at the moment meant wining and dining his
potential Friggas as and when they became available (they were all very busy,
Loki aimed for the best), armed with his charm, his very excellent play, and an
extensive knowledge of the actresses’ biographies and careers (he prepared very
thoroughly), to flatter their vanities and sweeten their dispositions towards
this new, untried young author.
So Loki and him were busy. Fair enough, and long may it last. They could hardly
spend their lives glued at the hip. That was not the problem. The problem was
that, since the Q&A, Loki had decided he would not be staying overnight so
often at Thor’s place. Not so often had turned out to be fucking never. “I’m
too tired to fuck anyway,” he had been saying whenever he turned Thor down,
adding insult to injury. That was not the reason, of course, but Loki’s
paranoia, rearing its ugly head once again. He was terrified that the
neighbours would start noticing, and wondering. Nothing Thor had offered so
far, no reasoning and no bribe, had made a dent in Loki’s resolve, or in his
fears.
So every now and then, they would steal a couple of hours in the daytime for
lunch or a cuppa or, circumstances allowing, they would make a mad dash for
Thor’s place for a quick romp. That regime, needless to say, didn’t even begin
to satisfy Thor’s hunger for his brother, and we’re not just talking fucking
here. 
And so, that morning, even though he knew Loki had a work lunch with one of his
intended Friggas, and wanted to spend the morning revising her life and deeds,
Thor had turned up at the flat, a man on a mission. Sigyn, always so
perceptive, immediately announced she was taking Minnie for an extra-long walk,
and they had fucked like dogs right against the front door. That had taken all
of fifteen minutes. Laughing and panting, they had collapsed on Loki’s bed, and
soon enough they were ready for round two. His brother had eaten him out until
Thor was begging for his cock, and Loki had fucked him slowly and lazily,
draped all over his back. And yes, he had been very much ready for another go,
before they had been so rudely interrupted, damn the London spring.
“Do it easy, honey, don’t get rough,
From you, papa, I can’t get enough, hmmm…
I’m wild about that thing…”
Even after that thoroughly good seeing to, Thor’s good mood did not last. He
was sick of spending his nights alone in his stupid bed, with his brother alone
in his, only three streets away. 
And Loki did have a point, he did, it’s not that Thor believed he was being
unreasonable. Thor tried as hard as he could to see it his way, and just take
it one day at a time, not look too far ahead, grin and bear it. He told himself
that this was all temporary, that they would not always be so busy, that the
kind of job they did would put stress on the most mainstream, most orthodox of
couples. It was not working, because he was constantly feeling like bashing in
things and sinking fists into walls. His fighting instructor had to remind him
often to save some of that energy for the shoot.
“If you want to satisfy my soul,
Come and rock me, baby, with a steady roll, hmmm…”
His mind turned now to that day back in L.A., what Loki had told him, with that
vacant, hopeless expression, "You can’t do this, can you. The lying, the
secret. It’s not going to work, is it?” Thor had reassured his brother that
day, and he had believed every word, with his whole heart. Yes, they would make
it. Everything would be fine. Because they would fight and they would win.
Because their cause was fair and right. And because Thor willed it so, and the
universe had a weakness for the heir of Asgard House, right? Just like in
Iceland. He was fifteen again, and he was going to make this work against all
odds. (Hear me out, brother.) He was going to overcome every obstacle, love
would win the day in the end, and they would live happily every after. Wouldn’t
they?
Shit.
“What’s the matter papa, please don’t stop,
Don’t you know I love it and want it all, hmmm…”
He had made a promise. “Yes, it will, it will work. I’ll do anything it takes.
It’s worth it.” He shut his eyes, but he could still see the abyss opening
under his feet whenever he looked too far ahead. Because if this was going to
be their life as a couple, if this was what their relationship was going to be
like… Shit, shit, shit, he could not even begin to think about it. He was
choking.
“Come on and make me feel it, I’m wild about that thing…”
It's not that he did not understand the situation. He called Loki paranoid in
his head, but he didn’t mean it. He even agreed, on an intellectual level if
nothing else, that they lived under a great risk, and that he should be
grateful for what they had. That wanting to have it all came at a price. They
had to pretend, dissimulate and lie to protect this, simple as that. Because
all hell would break lose if this should ever come out, right? The skies would
crumble and fall, the earth would stop turning, the seas would boil, natural
order would turn into chaos, and life as we know it would be over. Right? Such
high stakes, for such an insignificant, harmless thing as two people who wanted
to be together. Such finality.
“I’m wild about it when you hold me tight,
Let me linger in your arms all night, hmmm…”
Protecting this, he thought, the choke in his throat burning. Protecting this?
Loki, baby, we’re killing it.
“Come on, hear me cryin’, I’m wild about that thing…”
The shower stopped. Loki was still humming and singing, and soon the hair dryer
came on. Thor rubbed both hands on his face vigorously, trying to wipe the
choke away. He got himself up, threw some clothes on, and focused solely on the
thought of putting one foot in front of the other and making himself a cup of
tea.
Sigyn was at the dining table with her laptop, a Minnie-and-terrycloth burrito
on her lap. 
“Hey,” she said, turning with a commiserating smile. “Sorry.”
He returned the smile, leaned over to kiss her head. 
His eyes drifted to the screen, and became glued to it, and snapped wide open.
She noticed something had caught his attention, and then she realised what.
“Oh, bollocks,” she was blushing bright red. “God, I’m so, so sorry. I didn't
think. I don’t reblog these, but some people I follow do, and…”
“Shh,” he hushed her, a reassuring squeeze on her shoulder. “What the hell am I
seeing?”
She explained, to which he frowned, to which she offered to do a quick search,
for illustration purposes, with due warnings. Her Tumblr dashboard became awash
with images.
“Oh, my…” he scrolled down, baffled. “Awww, that's cute. ... Oh, good god… Holy
shit…!”
“I know,” she said, with a nervous giggle, her ears red.
“Oh… Oh…” Thor was pretty sure his own ears must be in flames, and that his
cheeks were not so much pink right now as deep cerise. He tried to laugh it
off. “Look at that, is this even anatomically possible?” he joked, pointing.
“Oh, I don’t know. For a couple of fit lads like you?”
He laughed again.
“Nobody is that fit.” A noise somewhere in the flat reminded him that they were
not alone. He sobered up. “Shut this off, don’t let Loki see it.”
“Don’t let Loki see what?” said his brother, all suited and booted, neat and
trim and hot as hell in black jeans and shirt, that messy bun, and that glow on
his skin that could just as well mean “hot shower” as “just orgasmed”. He had
been gifted with a talent for opportunity, hadn’t he? 
Thor watched impotently as Loki approached The Screen of Doom, mentally
adopting the brace position. 
“What the…” said Loki, opening his eyes wide. He crowded Sigyn and took control
of the touchpad, scrolling quickly down, his face a mask of horror. “What the
fuck am I looking at?”
“Thorki fanart,” said Sigyn.
“Thorki?” repeated Loki.
“We should try this one here,” said Thor pointing, wagging eyebrows, an ill-
disguised attempt to make light of the situation. 
“Oh my god, don't," laughed Sigyn, hiding her face, all ruffled.
“You think this is funny?” said Loki, pale, his expression set, eyes fixed
under a deep, furious frown. “People are drawing pictures of us fucking, and
putting it up for the whole bloody world to find, and you think it’s funny?”
“It’s been going on for ages,” said Sigyn. “And there’s fanfiction too, manips,
the works. I thought you guys knew. Although it has escalated quite a lot since
the Q&A.”
Loki’s jaw fell. He was aghast.
“Baby, don’t freak out,” said Thor. “It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just kids.
They like to imagine things and… fap to it, I suppose. They’ve done it with
almost every guy I worked with, and many that I haven’t even met. Nobody
believes it’s real.”
“Oh,” said Loki, eyes fixed on him, sardonic. “So all is well, then. Because
all these guys they drew you with, were you actually sleeping with them in
secret, and were you trying to keep it that way as well? How did that work out
for you? Were they also a close relation?”
Thor sighed, conceding that point, and tried a different angle.
“It’s been going on for ages, hasn’t it, Sigyn? And we’ve only just heard about
it. This is, like, the furthest reaches of the internet. Nobody from the real
world actually sees this.”
Loki drew his eyebrows up, in that look that said “oh my god, just when I think
my brother can’t get more colossally idiotic, he goes and outdoes himself.” It
used to infuriate him as kids, but Thor guessed he had it coming this time, for
trying to play his brother for a fool.
“Nobody sees this?” scoffed Loki. “Oh, no, of course, silly me. Nobody sees
this. Except maybe for the people at Buzzfeed, but nobody notices them either,
right? Oh, and perhaps every single fucking interviewer you’ll ever sit down
with at a junket. And talk-show hosts, but who ever watches those? And it’s not
like they would ever whip this kind of thing out to get a few cheap laughs
making their guests uncomfortable. That never fucking happens, does it?”
Thor had his mouth shut now, scolded, but Loki was not satisfied.
“So, my dear brother, what happens when you’re on Graham Norton next, and he
asks your opinion on this one?” Loki pointed at a particular illustration,
involving their naked selves, red heels and fishnets and not much else, some
bondage gear, and several painstakingly rendered drops of assorted bodily
fluids, not excluding tears. Thor averted his eyes, because it was very fucking
weird to look at. Even in manga style, the likenesses were uncanny.
“I’ll say that the art is astounding and the subject whimsical,” he attempted a
smile.
Loki’s responding sneer cut like a knife. He changed his tone, the lilt of his
voice and his accent to say, 
“So, Thor, is it still incest if he’s adopted?  Ha ha, only joking.”
Thor’s mouth tightened in indignation without his permission when he heard
that, and Loki’s point was made. 
“So what do you want to do about it, Loki?” he said. “Send mass ‘cease and
desist’ letters? Write to each and every kid who makes or circulates this kind
of thing and tell them to stop it immediately? Seriously, Loki, what can we do
about it?”
“I’ll tell you what I’m going to do,” said his brother, “I’m getting a beard,
that’s what I’ll do.”
Thor laughed. Loki didn’t.
“You’re joking,” said Thor.
Loki’s expression turned softer with a concerned frown. No, he was not fucking
joking. Thor would have expected by now this conversation would have evolved
into screaming and yelling and things flying, not this. He would have preferred
the screaming.
“No,” he said.
Loki sighed, taking patience. And again, could Thor just have some screaming
instead.
“It makes sense, Thor. I’ve been thinking about it for some time.”
“You’ve what?”
Loki sighed again.
“Let’s sit down.” He led them both to the settee. If that was supposed to calm
Thor down, it was achieving pretty much the opposite.
“Listen to me, please,” said Loki. “When photos of Sif and you began to appear,
I felt a bit safer. Didn’t you? And when the candids with Bucky came out. I
sort of felt like, if you give them an answer, they don’t have to look for them
themselves. It gives them a bone to gnaw at. So, if I start showing up with
somebody consistently, instead of trying to guess what I am actually doing,
they get busy trying to get a photo of me and that guy kissing or holding hands
or wearing coordinated tuxes or whatever. It might keep them from asking too
many questions.”
Thor looked from Loki to Sigyn, who was still sitting quietly at the dining
table, by the laptop. But she wasn’t paying attention to the screen, and from
her lack of reaction to Loki’s words, she had already heard about it.
“Do you agree with this?” asked Thor. Or rather, challenged her to take up a
side.
“It’s got nothing to do with me,” she said. “It doesn’t matter what I think.”
Which left both him and Loki unhappy. 
Thor’s breathing had turned huffy. He could not put his objections into words
right now, they were coming pure and raw from the gut. And he could give no
reasons, certainly not civilised ones. All he could think was hell, no, not
that.
There was a moment in which nobody talked. Thor’s anger was on a low simmer.
Then he had a thought.
“Not that I’m agreeing to this,” said Thor, “but hypothetically, who would you
ask?”
Loki cast his eyes down and cleared his throat. Oh dear.
“Well, I thought,” harrumph, “uh, Fandral.”
Like a paper cut, it took a moment for the blood to rise. Thor’s eyes shut
heavily, a caustic, very fucked up smile twisted his mouth. 
“This just keeps getting better and better,” he said.
“Who would you have me ask?” said Loki, tone edging on whiny. “Who else is
there that we trust and knows about this? Would you prefer Tony or Bucky? I
mean, not that I ever would, because of Pepper and Steve, but… Volstagg is
married, and who would believe me and Hogun? Shall I ask Bruce? Who is there
that’s single and believable?”
“Believable,” repeated Thor, cutting.
“Yes, believable. Tall, blonde, my type,” said Loki, wanting to sound
dispassionate and matter of fact, and coming out rather meek.
“Tall, blonde and hot, you mean.”
“Well, you tell me, you liked him well enough once,” taunted Loki.
That pissed Thor off.
“Fuck’s sakes, he’s not even a natural blonde,” he grumbled.
And Loki pursed his mouth, trying not to laugh. What Thor had just said reached
his own brain, and he had to smile, against his will.
“Goddammit,” he said, as his brother started laughing.
“That’s the kind of detail that will really come in handy,” said Loki, his
anxiousness coming out in a fit of giggles.“Anything else I should know?
Birthmarks? Tattoos? Shaved or natural? Cut or uncut?”
That last one made Thor throw him a fresh scowl, and Loki sobered up,
chastised. He bit his lips in.
“Sorry. But Thor, think,” he begged, “ just think. When the press for Mariners
begins, there’ll be so many eyes on us all the time, and lots of people with
hours and hours of airtime to fill, desperate for something to talk about. It’s
a matter of time before they get to this kind of thing,” he gestured to the
general direction of Sigyn’s laptop, “and if our movements up and down have not
done so already, the rumours will start. They will. And parts like Bobby, with
a script like this, and a director like Heimdall, they come once in a lifetime,
Thor, just once. This is what you want to have people talking about, not…” He
did not finish that thought. “You could get an Oscar for this. Dammit, you
should. It would be unfair that you didn’t because a bunch of middle-aged,
bigoted academics have heard some wild shit about your private life, and are
getting their knickers in a twist, fearing that it might end up tainting the
holiness of their bloody statuette, or whatever goes on in these people’s minds
when they’re deciding who they vote for…”
“If that’s how this works, they can stuff their fucking Oscar,” said Thor.
“You know this is how it works,” said Loki. “I know you’re proud, and stubborn,
and I know you mean what you say, and I fucking love you for it, but… Hell,
Thor, think about… If you didn’t get it because of this. Of me.”
The edge in his voice, Thor didn’t miss it. He resented the guilt trip, but he
also knew this was not an idle threat, but Loki knowing himself all too well.
“I’m not saying we lie,” said Loki. “I’m not saying we take our beards on
holidays, or announce a fake engagement, or do a press release or something.
All I’m saying is, we show together at a couple of events, go on a couple of
dates, we get papped, and when people draw their wrong conclusions, we don’t
correct them. That’s all I’m saying. Is that so different from what you've
already done with the photos with Sif, or me with those candids with Bucky? It
would be just until the Oscars.”
Thor threw his head back against the recliner. He did not want to see the sense
of it. He refused to. He reminded himself that his brother could talk an eskimo
into buying a fridge, and yet that did not make it sensible.
“Loki…” he rubbed his brow. A headache was setting in. “After the Oscars,
there’ll be something else. There will always be a premiere, or a press tour,
or some awards. And no matter how much spin you throw at it, if there’s going
to be rumours, there’s nothing you can do to stop them. What happens in a year?
What happens after that?”
And that was as close as Thor had got to broaching The Wider Issues. And he had
not wanted to broach The Wider Issues today. This was a conversation that
terrified him.
“After the Oscars we think about it again,” said his brother, in a murmur,
willingly ignoring the ramifications of what Thor had just said. “We take it
one day at a time.”
“I don’t like this,” he groaned. And he meant a lot by ‘this’. 
“Do you think I do?” muttered Loki.
He rarely could beat his brother with arguments, even when he had them. He just
knew he hated the idea, and that they could talk about this until they were
blue in the face, and Loki would not have moved an inch, and he would still be
hating it.
“And I guess you’d want me to ask Sif to be my beard,” he said, resignation
setting in.
Loki shrugged one shoulder.
“Whoever you think is best.”
“And you’re telling me you’re ok with that. With everybody assuming I’m with
her. With dad assuming I’m with her.”
Loki shrugged again.
“I’ve been until now, haven’t I?”
I don’t bloody know, brother, have you? Would you tell me if you were not?
Dammit, Loki.
“I just want to buy us some peace of mind,” muttered his brother. “I could use
it.”
Thor could not see any peace of mind coming from this, but right now he had
nothing to counter Loki’s reasonings. He sighed, very fucking unhappy about his
life at the moment, but relented. He even agreed to call Fandral and Sif to
invite them over for dinner next Friday, to broach the subject in a calm,
controlled environment.
“Thank you, brother,” said Loki, still subdued, unusually docile. And he
hesitated for a second before he leaned down for a kiss, as if he was afraid
that Thor would snap at him or turn his face away or something.
 
“A dinner on Friday and a party on Saturday?” asked Sigyn within Thor’s
earshot, when Loki was gathering his things to go out. “Will you be alright?”
“I will. I have to be,” Loki said, putting his jacket on. “It’s too late to
call off the party, isn’t it?
The party, remembered Thor miserably. Great. A few weeks ago, when his mood was
brighter, he had realised all their friends would be in London at the same time
for once. We should have a party, have them all meet, he had said. We could
even invite Sam. Well, he was not up to much frolic and merriment anymore, but
Loki was right, too late to call it off. He would have to grin and bear it. He
should have that on his fucking coat of arms, it was fast becoming his fucking
life motto.
Thor realised he had spaced out when the tapping of Sigyn’s quick fingers on
the laptop’s keyboard drew him out of it.
“I best be off, then,” he said. “Get myself out of your way.”
“You’re not in my way,” she said, tapping away.
He guessed it would be rather rude to just take off straight after he got what
he had come for. He made two cups of tea and sat at the table with her.
“How are you, Sigyn? Loki told me you’re going on a holiday.”
“Yeah, we’re going to the US to meet Bruce’s family.”
“That’s brilliant. So it’s going well for you, guys.”
She gave him a meaningful look, and a tight smile.
“Yes, it is. It’s going great.”
“I’m happy for you," he said, trying for a nice, warm grin. He wasn't a petty
man. “Can I ask you something, Sigyn?” he asked. “What do you really think
about the beards idea?”  
She didn’t reply straight away, but Thor was willing to bet it was not because
she didn’t have her mind made up about it. She was choosing her words, either
to protect Loki’s confidence, or to keep the peace between them.
“I told Loki I don’t think it’s the solution, and that you would not take it
well. But he challenged me to come up with something better, and of course I
couldn’t, so.”
A silence. With Loki being as reserved and cautious with his words as he was,
Thor was often tempted to go to Sigyn for the things Loki kept from him. He
usually resisted, because it wasn't fair to put her on a tight spot, and Loki
could easily freak out if he thought Sigyn was tattling and revealing his
secrets behind his back, even to his own brother (or specially to his own
brother, perhaps). But, hell, he had seen Loki only twice in two weeks, and
talked but sparingly on the phone (they still hated small talk, and they
struggled to make time or find energy for the other kind), and he felt
disconnected from him, kept out of the loop precisely at a time when there
seemed to be a hell of a lot going on in his brother's life. She would
understand and take pity on his conundrum, wouldn't she? It's not like he
wanted to pry...
“How is he with you?” he asked. “What does he tell you?”
Again, she weighed down her words carefully before she spoke them. 
“He’s both very excited and very stressed out about the play. Massive mood
swings, you know, one day he’s a ball of energy and positivity, the next day
he’s dispirited and anxious and wants to quit, and move to a desert island.”
She smiled because Thor had smiled. She looked intently at him. “And he knows
you’re not happy. He’s worried.”
Oh.
“About what.”
“About everything, you know him.”
Thor laughed, without humour.
“He’s terrified of what would happen to you if you were discovered.”
Thor raised an eyebrow.
“To me? What about him?”
“He thinks he already has a reputation for depravity and immorality as it is,”
she grinned. “And he thinks he can take whatever the world throws at him.”
“Well, he’s sort of proven that already. Does he think I can’t?”
“He says you don’t know how it really feels to be universally hated and
despised. That it would destroy you, and you’d blame him for it, and end up
hating him.”
Thor gasped, wounded deep.
“Jesus. How can he think I…?”
“Anxiety disorder logic.”
He felt like crying.
“For the record,” he said, “I would never blame him, if the worst should
happen. For anything. And I could never hate him if I tried, ok?”
She smiled kindly.
“And I’m not as soft and tender as he thinks," he added. "I’m my father’s son,
and I worked in fucking soaps and made dinosaur movies. Believe you me, I know
what it is to feel despised and to face severe disapproval for my choices.” 
It was only half a joke, so Sigyn only half smiled.
“I don’t give a shit what the world thinks,” he blurted out. “Oh, I don’t know.
Am I being arrogant?”
“Yes.”
He laughed. He sighed.
“It’s this hiding and pretending that does my head in, as if I should be
ashamed of this. It’s just… Lying to spare someone's feelings? Sure, that’s
fine with me, no problem. But looking people in the eye and pretend I’m not in
love with Loki? That just turns my stomach. It’s wrong. I feel like I’m hurting
him and betraying us both every time I do, it makes me feel like the worst kind
of coward. Every time we’re walking down the street and I’m not holding his
hand, every time I want to kiss him and I don’t, just in case someone might
see. And you know what I don’t get? That this same thing used to drive him up
the wall when we were kids, he could not stand it. The tongue-lashings I got
for it, well, you can imagine. Why is he alright with it now?”
“He thinks he’s being mature and sensible. He thinks he’s protecting what you
have.”
“He thinks? What do you think?”
“I think living in fear all the time sucks, and it wears a relationship down.
But I’m not a movie star, and my father is not Odin Borson. I have privileges
you guys don’t. And you know what, I appreciate that, I really do. I appreciate
how important your job is to you both. Because it’s not just work, it’s your
mother, your childhoods, and it’s a calling, and it’s the pressure you’ve both
grown under, and it’s doing something you both are simply really good at, and
the joy this brings. Pretending that all that doesn't count and should not
matter is unfair and unhelpful. A person’s life is made of many things, and
being able to do the work you love is one of them. You guys don’t have it easy.
Don’t think for a moment that anyone who knows you and loves you thinks it is.”
Thor sighed. Those were arguments he had not let himself hear in a long time.
On top of everything else, he had been taking things for granted that he
shouldn’t.
“This is not what I wanted for us,” he murmured. “Sometimes I even think I…
That I should not have…” He struggled, that burn in his throat. “I don’t think
things through sometimes. Or I’m not honest enough with myself. I get carried
away by… I was going to say optimism, but I guess very often it’s nothing but
wishful thinking. And others end up paying for it. Loki. Loki pays for it.”
She mulled his words.
“You did not drag him into this against his will,” she said.
“I know, but… I did push him. He literally told me he wanted to try and be
brothers and I…”
“Would you have managed that, you think? Being just brothers.”
“Perhaps. In time. Perhaps if we had stopped seeing each other long enough, got
older, met other people, perhaps the fire would have died down… Maybe we should
have been stronger, I don’t know.”
Sigyn stared at him quietly, lots of thoughts dancing in her eyes, things she
would not say.
“Do you regret it?” she asked at last.
Thor felt a sharp choke.
“I can’t. I owe him that at least. But I wish I knew what to do.”
She reached over to hold his hand and gave it a squeeze. Thor’s eyes were
stinging and he would start to cry very soon.
“Why don’t you stay over for dinner? I feel like something that takes forever
to cook. What say you?”
Thor smiled.
“Fine by me.”
“Would you be an angel and do the onions?” she said, getting up, making for the
kitchen.
“Sure. I’m already crying anyway.”
“Oh, sweetie… Apple crumble for pudding? With custard made from scratch?”
“Cures all woes,” he said.
“Doesn’t it just.”
 
                                   ________
 
 
Another long, lonely week, exhausting himself in the gym, until his coach had
to tell him not to overdo it. Grumpy and sour even through texts with his
brother, laconic on the phone. He was pretty sure Loki was just pretending he
wasn’t noticing anything, that all was fine. Thor always put the phone down
thinking he’d try to do better next time, but by the next call, he had already
worked himself into another huff. 
 
Friday. Costume fittings. When he finished with his own, Peggy let him have a
look at photos of the rest of the cast.
“Steve dirties down beautifully,” he joked.
“Doesn’t he just,” she said, with that luminous smile of hers.
Steve had grown a bushy, messy beard, and longer hair. It aged him somewhat,
gave him lots of gravitas. Angie looked ethereal and magnificent as Guinevere
the queen, in white, blue and gold, and powerful and carnal as Guinevere the
woman, in earthy, warm colours. Thor himself didn’t look half bad, he thought.
Quite a striking figure he cut in those clothes, not to mention in full armour.
It almost made it worth the pain of putting it on. And wearing it. And taking
it off.
But Loki’s Merlin…
“Wow,” said Thor, bringing the photos closer to appreciate the details. “Wow.”
“Amazing, isn’t it?” said Peggy. “He came up with the main design himself. And
there’s a reason behind every single thing he’s wearing, down to the last bone
bead. He’s thought up a whole theory of magic for Merlin, based on modern
archaeological and anthropological studies and books of sorcery, medicine, and
natural philosophy, dating from Antiquity to Early Medieval times. And you know
he made the face and body paint himself, with period-accurate materials found
and used around the year one thousand? Your brother doesn’t do anything by
halves!”
“That, he doesn’t,” said Thor, bursting with pride, and re-examining Loki’s
costume with even keener eyes. No pointy hats for him, but trousers of rough
leather and coarse woollen felt, a hooded cape made from animal hides and furs.
Underneath, a helmet that seemed composed of a primitive celtic helm and the
skull of a horned beast, painted in pigments that certainly looked
‘historical’. On his face and his naked chest, painted dusky blue, strange
lines and patterns, some resembling tattoos and ritual scars, and an array of
esoteric-looking amulets. And a wooden staff topped with a large, blue, gem-
like stone. He looked primitive, and wild, and ginger. He wore a long,
straggly, rust-red wig, a few braids woven with leather thongs and gemstone
beads.
“Incredible,” said Thor, fascinated. This movie was going to look amazing.
“What about Morgan Le Fay? I haven’t seen any photos.”
“Oh,” laughed Peggy, “that’s because he does not allow us to take any until the
costume is completely finished, and Morgan has four gowns, and he keeps having
them tweaked.”
“Yeah, he’s hard to please like that,” said Thor, smirking at his own private
jokes. 
“He’s trying on the court dress right now, and it should be the last fitting.
Maybe he’ll let you see it. Would you like to?”
Would he like to?
“Hell, yeah,” he said.
He followed her with a hot churn in his stomach. The last time he had seen Loki
as a woman… Well.
 
 
“Loki, are you decent?” she knocked.
The door opened to a messy room, full of rolls of fabric and trimmings and
mysterious tools of a craft Thor knew nothing about. There was a mirror all
along the one wall, and in front of it, a curvy red-head in a deep green gown
of velvet and brocade, and black, gold and ermine-fur trimmings, with an
exotic-looking headpiece, between a turban and a hat, finished with a sheer
veil and a barely-there golden chainmaille. You could not tell it was not a
woman from the back, and it was only that smirk in the mirror that betrayed
her.
“Mother of f… Wow,” gasped Thor. That was one fucking hot early medieval female
courtier his brother made, with a glorious pair of tits, nice and generous to
balance his broad shoulders, that realer-than-real creamy white, freckle-
dusted, cosy cleavage, where Thor wanted to bury his face in right the fuck
now.
Loki’s grin in the mirror became wider, his green eyes playful and smug, made
greener with the mahogany red hair, and the crystals of his jewelry, in an
array of shades of emerald and peridot. A very skilled makeup artist had been
there to soften the sharp bones of his face and smooth out his skin, as well as
giving it the delicate translucence that often comes with red hair, adding a
smattering of freckles on his nose and cheeks that was nothing short of
adorable on him. They had also dusted his eyelashes and brows with gold or
something, they had become nearly invisible… His brother was grinning with
delight, his lips made ever so subtly thicker and fleshier with a clever,
slight touch of pink, but he was keeping still for the seamstress, who was
doing something around the waist of the gown with needle and thread. He seemed
amused by the fact that Thor could not get his eyes off those tits.
“So what do you say, Thor, convincing?” asked Peggy.
Thor opened his mouth but could not find the breath to speak.
“There,” said the seamstress, saving the day. She broke the thread and took a
step back to examine her work.
“Is it finished now?” said Peggy.
“It’s only basted at the waist,” said the seamstress. “Otherwise, it is. But
you need to stop losing weight now, love,” she told Loki.
Loki hummed vaguely in agreement, checking himself in the mirror, turning his
face and body this way and that. There was some engineering at work in how they
had cut that dress, using the natural bulge of his butt to enhance his waist
and give him round hips.
“Give us a spin,” asked Peggy.
Loki did, and he did it in character — that dainty wrist, the way he held his
head, even the posture of his back and shoulders. Exquisitely subtle, but oh so
feminine. 
“You look ravishing, brother,” joked Thor, but the joke never reached his eyes.
He hoped he wasn’t being too obvious.
Loki’s responding grin was also only two parts humour; the rest was something
else entirely. 
“So, Loki, what do you say? Can we call this one finished and take some
photos?”
Loki pursed his mouth in mild displeasure, still checking the costume.
“Hm, I guess,” he said.
Yep, that was Loki, alright. Satisfaction? Not his thing.
 
“It’s alright, Thor can lend me a hand, can’t you, brother?” said Loki after
the photos had been taken. They had sent for the seamstress to help Loki out of
his dress, but word was sent back that she was busy right now seeing to some
extras, so she'd be there as soon as possible. Peggy was also needed elsewhere.
Alone in the room now, the fabric over Loki’s fake breasts getting taut with
his slightly accelerated breathing — could be that corset cinching his waist
in, or it could be something else —, and Thor’s eyes not being able to lift
from them.
“Do you like it?” said Loki, the rasp from his voice smoothed out. It was his
M.Butterfly voice, a hot, rich mezzo soprano.
Thor looked him up and down. When Loki had played Song in M.Butterfly, the
costume and makeup had been so exotic, so overpowering, his brother got a bit
lost underneath it, and all you saw was the character. Not so this time. This
time Loki was there, and how, just a different incarnation of him, one that had
his brother’s mind reeling. 
“Very much,” he said, a tad husky. “You’ll make a killing. I don't know how you
do it."
That pleased Loki. He smiled, delighted.
“Help me,” he said, turning his back to him and dragging the veils and the
cascade of red hair away from the laces that ran down the back of the bodice.
“I have no idea how to do this,” said Thor, approaching. He met Loki’s eyes in
the mirror.
“From the top down,” said Loki softly. “You’ll work it out.”
Thor felt all thumbs as he tugged and pulled. Loki was staring at him through
the mirror.
“Careful,” whispered Loki, when Thor approached the waist. “The basting.”
Thor reached the end of the laces, and undid the buttons on the skirt too, the
gown now open to a point well below the buttocks. There was nothing but a semi-
transparent linen shift under there. Nothing.
“Fuck,” he said, throat dry. 
When he looked up at Loki in the mirror, his brother raised his hands to touch
his fake breasts through the bodice.
“They’re incredible,” he said, a soft murmur, “some sort of next generation
silicon, with a layer of skin over the cleavage. They even have a nipple.” A
calculated pause. “But of course, you're the expert. Do you want to feel them,
tell me if they pass muster?” 
Thor took a step back. Loki's eyes on his were searing.
"Would you like to know what it would have been like to have a sister instead?"
said Loki, still that whispery, softer voice, his woman's voice.
Thor swallowed dry, closed his fists by his sides.
“What the fuck are you doing."
Loki rolled the fake tits in his hands.
“I dare you.”
“You dare me,” repeated Thor, caustic. “You dare me.” He snorted. “You won’t go
on dates with me just in case someone suspects. You won’t stay overnight,
because neighbours might notice. You’re making us get fucking beards, because
you need to set your mind at ease. And now you dare me to fuck you in a
changing room, with two hundred people outside that door, and a seamstress that
will be here at any second? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Make up your
goddamn mind, brother.”
Loki looked indignant, baffled, and hurt. Thor picked up his jacket and went to
the door. 
“Remember we’re having dinner with Fandral and Sif. See you later.”
He would carry Loki’s face with him the rest of the day. He looked like he had
just been slapped.
 
                                      ___
 
“What are you making?” said Loki. He was just in from the street. They had not
talked since the changing room situation, except for a text from Loki asking if
anything was needed, and Thor's dry reply, "No."
Thor didn’t lift his eyes from the worktop, where he was chopping onion and
chillies. He was not done sulking.
“Kerak telor, Javanese egg-crust rice.”
“Hm, sounds lovely,” said his brother pleasantly.
“A favourite of Sif’s,” said he, tersely.
Loki’s silence in response to that was heavy and thick. 
“I brought pudding,” announced his brother, making an effort at sounding light,
lifting the grocery bag for him to see. “Everything we need to make Eton
mess.” 
“Put it in the fridge,” said Thor, without looking.
Now he heard his brother mumble something under his breath. He didn’t ask
what. 
“Need any help?” asked Loki. His tone was showing strain.
“Nope.” Thor kept chopping.
Loki may have made a sound, and may have even whispered, “well fuck you, then”.
Thor kept right on chopping.
 
 
They had just finished their puddings, and now they had turned to Loki’s extra-
sweet Tunisian style mint tea, which apparently he had learned from Bruce
Banner, who seemed to have done a lot of travelling between forsaking his
career in the US and settling down in the UK.
“So what’s this about, then,” said Sif, brusquely. “This, tonight. Why are we
really here?”
“Yeah, tell us why we’re really here, Loki,” jabbed Thor. Because even though
Fandral had made him laugh all through dinner with anecdotes and gossip,
dramatising conversations in his flamboyant style and impersonating voices, and
the banter between all of them had come almost as easy as ever, Thor was still
in a pretty rank mood underneath it all.
Loki returned a resentful leer to him. To Sif, a meeker expression. He still
did not entirely manage to relax around her.
“Ok, alright. So, as you both know, the junkets for the movie will be starting
soon. There is going to be a lot of attention on us both, and we thought-“
“Loki thought,” corrected Thor.
His brother threw him a nasty squint.
“…And Thor agreed,” he said, cutting, “that we need some sort of distraction,
to prevent rumours from…”
“Beards,” cut Sif, abrupt. “You need beards, and you want us to be your
beards.” Shooting from the hip, as was her way.
It was hard to read her when she spoke like that. Could be hostility, or she
could be simply being direct. In spite of the day they had had, Loki turned to
his brother for support.
“Yes, that’s right,” said Thor, because he was still not immune to those
helpless  month-old kitten eyes.
Sif and Fandral shared a look.
“Well,” said Fandral, reclining in his chair. “I certainly wasn’t expecting
that.”
“You don’t have to do this,” said Thor. “And it would only be temporary. After
the Oscars, we’re done. Or at any point before that, whenever you say so.”
Loki had nothing to add to that.
“What would it entail?” asked Sif.
Thor let his brother take this one.
“Just showing up together at a couple of events, maybe dinner every now and
then, where we can be spotted. No need to answer any questions and no need to
lie. If they ask, we’re just friends. They will be busier if we keep them
guessing.”
Fandral had a thoughtful, yet amused expression. He had a sip of tea, and made
an appreciative sound.
“And Thor says you’ll be offended, but you’ll be compensated if you wish,”
added Loki, anxious. “Anything within our power.”
“Thor’s right, I’m offended,” said Sif. Then she tempered her words with a
smile, because Loki had flinched. He did not know her as well as Thor, and with
the way his brother processed things, there was no way he’d be taking that as a
show of humour.
“Well, I’ll be happy to let you pay for dinner and take me out dancing,” said
Fandral. “That’s all the compensation I shall need,” a broad, flashy smile. “I
accept, of course. It will be my pleasure and my privilege. Sif?”
Sif was staring intently at Thor. Thor was keeping his eyes low.
“Not if this is going to cause a rift between you two, or with us,” she said.
“There should be no problem, should it, Thor?” said Loki, between his teeth.
“Since we had already discussed this and agreed it was the best way to go, and
we were alright with it. Weren’t we, Thor?”
Thor's jaw showed his tension, his eyes still low.
“Right. Come on, you,” Sif said to him, standing up and patting his arm. “I
want to talk to you. Alone.”
 
 
Upstairs, because they could hardly take this to the back garden, where
neighbours might overhear. They took the room that doubled up as studio and
small, makeshift gym. They closed the door.
“Ok, what’s the problem,” said Sif.
“Where do I start,” he grumbled.
“Let’s have an overview, a quick summary."
Thor exhaled noisily, like an angry, puffing bull.
“Everything about this sucks. Everything.”
Sif had eyebrows to say to that.
“I’m going to need you to be more specific,” she said.
Thor had still not worked through his gut feelings. All he had were
impressions. He blurted them out as they came.
“He’s insecure enough as it is,” he said, “and he overthinks everything. And
now he wants me to believe he will be perfectly fine with everyone thinking I’m
officially dating someone else?” He did not add ‘you especially’, but he was
pretty sure she could fill this in herself. “And he knows how I get with him
and other people. And I’m not saying I’ll be getting weird, but I can so see
him getting defensive and worked up and… And all I can see coming from this is
fighting and aggravation and fucking headaches, and I’m stretched thin enough
as it is.”
Her open, attentive expression urged him on.
“I’m up till fucking here with this bloody double agent life,” he confessed. A
storm of every single thing that had been annoying him lately was mounting up
and about to break out. If he started, he would never bloody stop. “I’m not
fucking happy, Sif. I’m just… Fuck.” Too much. Too much.
“You guys need to talk,” she said.
Thor snorted again. As if.
“Why not?” she asked.
“He’ll freak out. He’ll panic and go into meltdown. And right now, I… I’m not
sure I’d have the words to talk him out of it.”
They both sat in silence for a moment, the direness of the situation heavy in
the air between them.
“Why are you doing this, then? The beards thing. Are you just going along with
it because you don’t want to upset Loki? Do you see any positives in it at
all?”
Thor took a deep breath, and confessed.
“I think he has a point that giving people something to think about might stop
them thinking too much. And I know that people are interested. It’s not that I
think it’s a stupid idea, or even unnecessary, I just… I fucking hate it. I
hate it. It turns my fucking stomach to have to do all this. We do no fucking
harm, and we should not have to hide, it’s as simple as that. But it is what it
is, right?” A bitter smirk that broke when his lip trembled. “It’s just, I
can’t see me doing this for the rest of our lives, Sif. I can’t do it.” There,
he had said it. It was out.
He was taken aback when she got up to give him a quick hug. She was not
demonstrative or affectionate. He returned it with some awkwardness.
“Listen, Thor, I said I’d do whatever you guys needed to help you both, and I
meant it. I can do this, no problem, no worries on my part, if you think that
it will help. But I won’t if you think it’s going to do more harm than good.”
“Frankly, I don’t know,” he said.
“You need to talk to him, Thor.”
“Yeah, I know.”
She patted his thigh.
“Come on, let’s go downstairs.”
 
 
They found them both smoking in the back garden. 
“I said yes, under some conditions,” announced Sif, without ado. “First, I want
you guys to have a proper conversation about it, discuss all the implications
candidly, and then decide if you want to go ahead with it. If you say yes, I’m
in. But the moment I get an inkling that this is stirring crap between you two,
or between you and us, I’m out. Is that acceptable to you?”
Loki looked from Sif to Thor, and back to Sif. He nodded with big, worried,
vulnerable eyes. Thor just wanted to cuddle the hell out of him right now, and
that annoyed him.
“Thank you, guys,” said Loki. “Thank you, Sif.”
 
 
Sif had started the bike. Thor was holding the helmet for Fandral while he put
on his jacket.
“Are you really alright with this, man?” asked Thor.
“Yes, my dear, completely. Sounds fun,” said Fandral. “Why? Don’t I look it?”
“Well, you know, with… with what there was between us, and, uh, I knew you
really had it for Loki, so…”
“Hm,” Fandral pursed his mouth in thought. “The question should be, are you
alright with this?”
Thor sighed. He was so fucking tired right now.
“Oh, dear,” said his friend, smiling. “You do know I have no bloody chance in
hell with him as long as you draw breath, don’t you? And even if the
unthinkable should happen, I’m sure I’m not even top of his list.”
“It’s not that,” said Thor.
Sif revved up the engine.
“What is it, then,” said Fandral.
Thor shook his head heavily. Too fucking much.
Fandral put two warm hands on Thor’s shoulders, and gave them a firm squeeze,
with a bright, affectionate smile.
“Fair enough,” he said. “Anytime you feel like talking. Or sitting down,
drinking and looking into space and not talking, but with a friend.”
Thor nodded.
“Hey,” he said, spur of the moment thing. “Have I ever told you how grateful I
am? About, you know, you being there for me when my mum died.”
“You have,” said his friend, a twinkle of amusement and mischief in his eye.
“Many, many times, in your own wonderful way.”
Thor tried for a smile.
“You did me a lot of good.”
“I know, I was there,” grinned Fandral. “’I’ll take your words of gratitude,
since you offer them in good grace, but it’s not necessary, you know that. It’s
not like I was not, hm, gratified, shall we say, and many times over, at the
time,” he winked.
Thor offered a weak smile which troubled and dimmed Fandral’s own.
“Anyway, I’m sure Sif had words of wisdom for you. Consider them co-signed.”
Fandral wagged a finger at him, mocking a severe gesture. “Think about it,
young man.”
He smacked a kiss on his cheek before he left.
“Good night, love,” he said, climbing on the bike behind Sif, “see you
tomorrow. It’s still on, isn’t it?”
He waved good-bye as they rode away.
 
 
He found Loki in the kitchen. He had finished loading up the dishwasher and was
now piling the bigger pots for scrubbing. Thor noticed how thin his arms
looked.
“How come you’ve lost weight? Is it for the part?” asked Thor.
Loki didn’t look at him.
“Hm-hm.”
Oh, aren’t you full of rubbish, brother.
“Are you not eating well?” insisted Thor.
“I eat very well.”
“Just not enough, then.”
“I’m busy.”
Thor sighed, frustrated with Loki’s lack of cooperation. One fucking worry at
the time, for pity’s sake. Loki had finished what he was doing. He leaned on
the worktop drying his hands absently, an unhappy frown on his forehead, his
mouth thin and tight, his eyes low.
“What does she want us to talk about?” he asked.
“Do we have to do this now?” said Thor.
There was a flash of something in Loki’s eyes that troubled him. Alarm. Hurt.
“I see,” said his brother. “Excuse me.” He brushed past him without looking. 
“Fuck,” muttered Thor to himself.
He gave himself a couple of minutes. When he did follow after, he found him in
the back garden, smoking, withdrawn. He should have gone. He would have gone.
But he had nothing to say right now that would make it any better. Which was
pretty damned fucked up in and of itself. He plummeted on the settee and closed
his eyes.
He heard the doors slide open and shut, then nothing. He opened his eyes to
Loki’s silhouette, hazily cut against the artificial twilight of the London
night. He could not see his face. Nobody said a word for a while.
Fuck. This was not what… Damn it all to hell. He extended an arm, a peace
offering. Once Loki would have been too proud and stubborn to take it, but he
guessed they were growing up, because he did. Thor dragged him closer, closer,
until Loki was sitting on his lap, and his face buried in the crook of Thor’s
neck. He hugged him tight, breathing in deep. This was what it was all about.
This, now.
“Are we this fucked up?” murmured Loki weakly after some time.
Thor had to force his words out.
“No, baby,” he said, “no.” But that was all he had, so he just hugged him
tighter.
 
They fucked almost in silence. Too dark, he could not see Loki's eyes. It felt
lonely somehow. After, his brother cuddled up under his arm. That was something
at least.
“Listen,” said Thor after a while. “If we do this beard thing, I’ve got
conditions too, ok?”
A silence.
“Ok.”
“First, the minute, the second your mind starts spinning out of control and
going to ugly places, you speak out, and we deal with it. We don’t let this
mess us up, ok?”
Loki was quiet. It’s not like Thor did not know this was a hard promise to
keep, even with the best intentions. Loki’s head worked the way it worked, and
if he could magically sort it out by force of will, he would have done it by
now, wouldn’t he? But Thor still asked, and after a while, Loki agreed. What
else could he do.
“Second, it’s not so much a condition as…” 
Loki waited for it, his breathing on Thor’s neck, his heat against his side in
the dark. 
“We have to be together more. I can’t survive on…” Damn, it was hard. “I miss
you, ok? And if we do this, we need to be solid as a rock. I need to see you, I
need to be with you, I need to…” his voice faltered. I need you to remind me
what is it we're fighting for.
Loki hugged him tight and nuzzled into his neck. Thor tightened his arm around
him.
“I’ll try,” said his brother.
So it was a night for wishful thinking then. Well, fair enough. He breathed him
in, hair tickling his lips.
“I love you,” he whispered.
“Me too,” Loki whispered back.
Loki’s head was raising and falling with the heave of Thor’s own breathing. 
“And you’re going to eat properly, alright?” Thor said, sternly.
“I’m not very hungry lately,” said Loki. “Working so much. I guess I’m stressed
out.”
“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “You make yourself eat. Yeah? Or I’m going to start
chasing after you with a fucking lunch box.”
Loki chuckled.
“Yes, mum.”
Thor kissed his hair, stroked it. 
It did not constitute ‘a proper talk’ by anyone’s standards, and they both knew
it. 
 
 
___
 
 
“Honey, baby, won’t you cuddle near,
Let sweet mama whisper in your ear,
I’m wild about that thing, sweet joy it always brings.
Give it to me, papa, I’m wild about that thing…”
Thor took a long gulp of his beer, watching his brother across the room. He was
singing and playing at the piano, with Fandral sitting nearby with a glass of
wine and Sigyn on his lap, and Sam Wilson accompanying him on the blues guitar.
Sam and Loki were keeping the rhythm with their bodies, communicating with nods
and smiles, beautifully synchronised, and clearly having a lot of fun. Sam
adored Loki, it was plain to see. As a friend or something else, or perhaps
just as a musician at this point, who knew. Did it matter? He teased him
without mercy, but seemed to know how far he could push. Loki seemed
comfortable with Sam pushing him further than anyone else, except maybe Sigyn.
Was Thor jealous, or upset, or suspicious, or did he feel threatened? He would
like to say of course not. Who the fuck knows. He was discomfited somewhat,
puzzled. He was not used to this Loki, that shy fluster he carried around Sam,
that softness. This Loki felt at home with this other man, his walls were down
with him. A few months ago, Thor would definitely have felt jealous and
threatened. Tonight he was feeling mostly listless, apathetic, and overall
pretty damn low.
They were not out to everyone there, and it would not do to just drop it on
their friends like that, so they were keeping their hands off each other. It
had not seemed such a big deal before the fact, or no worse than usual, anyway.
But, of course, Thor had not really thought it through, had he? Because this
was not the street, or a restaurant, or the sodding Pinewood Studios. This was
their home, and these were their friends. Pretending was grating on him to an
unanticipated degree, which added to the already crushing pile of aggravation
he was under because of this situation. So he finished his beer, much too
quickly, and went to the kitchen to get himself another.
He found Volstagg and Hilde, Pepper and Tony there. They were having an
animated conversation about producing, and getting on like a house on fire.
They let him through to the fridge without paying him much mind. Volstagg
ruffled his hair warmly before Thor left.
In the living room, Clint and Hogun, Nat and Sif had taken over the dining
table, and they were playing cards with olives, nuts, and shots of tequila.
Keeping a straight face seemed to be an important part of the game, and Clint
kept losing. If Thor had to bet, his olives would be between Hogun and Nat.
The settees were taken by Steve, Bruce, Peggy and Angie, who half climbed on
her girlfriend's lap to make room for Thor. They were talking and laughing. He
looked around — Bucky was in the back garden, having a fag. All accounted for,
all seemingly having a good time, and getting along. Thor was trying to keep
his attitude light, at least, but he must not be doing a great job of it,
because whenever someone got hold of him one-on-one, they would ask him if
something was the matter. Tired, was his go-to explanation. Which may not have
been the whole truth, but at least it was not a lie.
Bucky returned from his nicotine break and sat on the armchair. The pat Steve
gave his shoulder was more a pal touch than a lover’s. Were they keeping it
clean for Peggy, or were they just following through with the habits of a
lifetime? He almost resented them for a moment, because they could touch as
much as they wanted to, and they weren’t. 
He turned to his brother, and caught him looking, but Loki didn’t hold his
stare.
He suddenly thought about Jane. He remembered being at parties with her, being
the gentleman, getting her drinks, having her sit on her lap, people
complimenting him on his taste and his good luck, and teasing her about hers.
She would turn to look at him with humour in her huge hazel eyes, so much love
there, and he would tell himself, you are a lucky bugger, but he didn’t feel
it.
Loki was laughing now, teeth flashing, and his ex-boyfriend was laughing with
him.
There were a few empty glasses and bottles scattered around. Thor picked them
up, and went through the kitchen and the utility room to put them in the bins
in the covered alleyway, one by one, taking as long as he could, relishing the
quiet. It smelled damp out there. There was some moon glow coming from each end
of the alley, but the little light there was spilled from the little porthole
in the door.
He fell into a daze, so he was startled when he heard Tony’s voice.
“Mighty T, you look crestfallen. Talk to me.” His friend stepped into the alley
and closed the door behind him.
“I’m tired,” Thor said. “The fighting instructor is working me very hard.”
Again, the truth, but far from the whole truth.
Tony’s face was half in shadows. 
“So your lack of spirits has absolutely nothing to do with that fine prize of a
man currently singing raunchy Bessie Smith classics with your brother.”
A spike of irritation made Thor huff.
“I’m not having a jealous fit, if that’s what you mean.”
“Is that what I mean?” Tony asked himself. “Not necessarily, no.” He sipped at
the drink in his hand, something rummy. The rim of the glass twinkled when it
caught some light from the house. Thor realised Tony was giving him time.
There was so much on Thor’s mind, not least of all beer.
“They were fine together, back in the day,” he said. “Loki and Sam. He was
trying to make himself a life with a good man.”
“I know,” said Tony. “He told me.”
“You know what he told me? That he had broken up with Sam the first chance he
got, after I went to see him after The Rocky Horror.”
“I don’t know where that leaves me, since I came in right after Sam, but
anyway. What of it?”
The first part did register with Thor. He always stuck his foot in with Tony,
didn’t he? 
“I can’t help but think, is this fucking worth it? Is this why he dropped
everything for? This?” he pointed at himself, the air in front of him.
“You’re making a big deal out of a guy’s guitar playing skills,” said Tony.
“Take some lessons or something.”
Thor chuckled miserably. He leaned against the wall.
“What are we doing, Tony,” he said, after a while.
“What do you mean?”
“Hiding and sneaking and lying. Barely seeing each other, just in case someone
suspects. Getting ourselves beards, for heaven’s sake. How the fuck is this a
life. For him or for me.”
Even with half his face in the dark, Thor could see Tony’s expression, the
raised eyebrows and wide eyes and ducky pout he thought of as Tony’s facial
exclamation mark.
“If I could see this as temporary. Because of work or whatever. But there is
always going to be a movie, a play, a premiere, some awards coming. I thought
we would work something out, but… When does it fucking end? When do we start
living?”
“Life isn’t perfect,” said Tony. “Actually, most of the time, it downright
sucks. But at least you boys get to suck it up with the love of your lives. Is
it such a bad deal?”
Thor let out another sour chuckle. He shook his head heavily.
“This isn’t fair. No, that’s not it. It’s not right, that’s what gets to me.
And it’s getting to him. And we can’t go on like this indefinitely, Tony. Or I
can’t.”
They both went very quiet for a while.
“What are you saying, my good man,” asked Tony, cautiously.
“I don’t know what I’m saying.”
Another long silence. 
“Where are your words of comfort and wisdom, Tony? I could use some now.”
“Talk to Nat. It’s all I’ve got.”
Thor chuckled darkly. He made sure the lids were secure on the bins, and made
to go back inside.
“No, wait, I’ve got something,” said Tony. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
Thor snorted.
 
By the piano, there was a little chorus singing.
“We will run and scream, you will dance with me,
We’ll fulfil our dreams and we’ll be free.
We will be who we are, and they’ll heal, our scars,
Sadness will be far away…”
Thor watched Sigyn lovingly wipe a tear off his brother’s eye and kiss him.
Loki must have seen him walk in, but he didn’t turn.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     A couple of people (like, two) said they would have read more of the
     Q&A in the last chapter, and a couple more said it would be a fun
     idea for people to submit questions and for me to answer them as Thor
     and/or Loki. If anyone’s up to it, I’m all for it too, sounds fun. If
     I get enough questions, I’ll publish them as a separate chapter.
     Ah, we had not had one of these in a while, had we? "I'm wild about
     that thing" is a song by pianist Clarence Williams sung by Bessie
     Smith, guitar by Edie Lang, included in the record Empty Bed Blues.
     My musician brother introduced me to all these incredible people, and
     then some. Bessie Smith is a force of nature, this song is amazing,
     and y'all need to go find it and listen to it because they don't make
     them like that anymore. So much joy and fun and cheekiness and lack
     of shame or guilt. I like to imagine Loki purring to this and I get
     palpitations.
     OH! I was forgetting a thing. The other song they sing at the end,
     that's Mumford & Sons "Not with haste."
***** Chapter 30 *****
Chapter Summary
     Loki has a date.
     (Do you like your angst well done, medium or rare.)
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Loki jumped one foot in the air when the phone in his hand went off. He’d been
halfway through typing the accursed text he’d been trying to compose for a
whole fucking hour. 
It was Thor, of course. Loki’s heart was hammering in terror. He should have
called him, he should have made himself call. Now it was too late. He had
fucked up. Laufeyson, this time you’re well and truly rogered.
Jesus, it would go to voice mail. Do not let it go to fucking voicemail, you
doofus, he’ll think that, on top of everything else, you’re avoiding him. With
a shaky hand, he pushed ‘answer call’.
“Hey,” he said, and forced a cough to clear that choke in his throat.
“Hey, baby. How are you.”
“Fine. Busy. Fine. You?”
“Fine.”
Nobody said anything for several, very frigging long seconds. Oh, shit.
“Fandral told me you’re going out together tonight,” said Thor.
Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. Loki swallowed, paralysed in fear. He couldn’t
reply, he couldn’t come up with anything that didn’t seem to dig him up into a
deeper hole. 
“You didn’t tell me,” said Thor. His voice was calm, casual even. Should that
be freaking him out as much as it was?
“I w-was going to, I mean, I just…”
He fucking wasgoing to. He had been making himself pick up the phone, and his
finger had hovered over the fucking call button at least two dozen times, and
that was just today. He just couldn’t fucking do it, afraid of Thor’s reaction.
There was always later and tomorrow, until there fucking wasn’t. He opened his
mouth to explain, but it sounded like a cheap excuse. It cannot be so hard to
simply pick up the phone, can it? He was aware of how ridiculous it all was,
how childish and irrational, and that only made it harder. And now all hell was
going to break loose. 
“It’s ok,” said Thor.
“Is it?” said he, baffled.
“Yeah. It’s fine. No worries.”
Now Loki was disarmed. What was his brother on tonight?
“Alright,” he said, deciding to just take the money and run.
“What’s the plan?” asked his brother. “What are you guys doing?”
Loki gulped again. Because to finish it all up, this was so bloody weird. 
“Opening night of the new Shrew, then dinner. Maybe clubbing.”
A moment of silence that Loki’s panic filled with all sorts of scary potential
outcomes.
“Sounds fun,” said his brother. “Have a nice time.”
Thor had to be lit. There was no other explanation. Sif had dosed him with
tranquilisers. She had seen Thor charging like a mad rhino towards Loki’s place
after Fandral had given him the news, and she had shot a dart into his shapely
butt.
And what to say to that, ‘I wish it was you, not him’? He did, he so, so wished
it was Thor he was going out with. But he could not say that, it sounded like
he was fishing. He did not have the gall.
“I’m nervous,” he confessed instead.
“Are you?”
“I don’t know him that much.” It was only reason number thirty-eight why Loki
was nervous about tonight, but hey ho, his brother surely could surmise the
other three hundred.
Thor laughed.
“You’ll be alright. You know him enough. He’s fun.”
Will he look after me?(Don’t ask that.)
“Thor."
Thor gave him a moment, then urged, “Yeah?”
“Thanks,” said Loki, hesitant.
“…What for?”
“For not… not going berserk on me or freaking out or… You know. I-I should… I
mean, it should have been me, the one to tell you. I just… I didn’t know how
to… How you would-…”
“Ok,” cut Thor, softly.
Loki gulped again.
“Yeah?” he said.
“Yes.”
“Ok.”
And he was out of things to say again.
“Have fun, baby,” said Thor, just like that. “Enjoy the play.”
“Thank you, brother.” And then, in a natural enough voice, “I love you, Thor.”
“I love you, baby.”
And that was that.
 
Well, so that was that hurdle conquered. Loki still did not know which drug or
deity had granted his brother that peace of mind, but he’d take it gratefully,
and go back to fretting over… well, just about everything else about tonight. 
Right now, the most urgent of all his worries was the bloody outfit. Just what
the fuck should he wear. There were so many things to bear in mind. This was
not so much a date as a photo opportunity. They were there to get papped, and
he was Loki Laufeyson, Public Enemy of Decency Number 1, Corruptor in Charge of
the Youth of Britain, and he had a public image, and a legend to live up to. Or
he would disappoint fans and foes alike. 
But, this was supposed to be a real, private date. If he turned up in clothes
that screamed “Look at me and this relationship I’m so very publicly involved
in all of a sudden”, with his leather and velvet and kohl and feather boa,
would people suspect it was a sham? 
And there were even more things, things he didn’t even want to acknowledge to
himself, because it was beyond ridiculous and he knew it, but it wouldn’t stop
nagging at him. It happened when he was buttoning up the velvet trousers (usual
date attire as of late, they were so lush), and was checking his butt out of
habit: if he looked too pretty, would Fandral think that he… he meant it? Would
Thor? And then he had quickly slipped those trousers off, thoughts of all the
things that had happened with Thor while in them (or fresh out of them, or
halfway into them). 
Then again, he had to fucking try a little. It had to look like a fun, romantic
night out for a new courting couple, and he had to dress accordingly. 
God, what a mind-fuck. When he was debating with himself the pros and cons of
this bearding business, he had thought it might cause Thor some heartburn, but
he had not foreseen how much it would mess up with his own head. Oh, for fuck’s
sakes, where was Sigyn when you needed her. Oh, right, in the fucking US of A
for three weeks, on a special mission to charm the in-laws. Dammit, Gyn, we
can’t all have lives at the same time. We should take fucking turns. You’ve had
a whole fortnight now, get your arse back here and help me out with mine! 
Ok, so, what would Sigyn say if she was here? She would probably remark on what
a pain he was, and moan that he’d be the death of her, and then perhaps… Yeah,
she’d say he didn’t need to go to extremes. Middle terms: Look pretty, look
Loki, but don’t put a red light on your head. Right? That would totally be her
advice. She was kinda boring and sensible like that, and oh so wise.
Door bell.Fuck fuck fuck fuck, fuckity fuck shitty-ass fucked-up fuck.
“One minute!” he bellowed, hoping his voice would carry through the open window
of his bedroom all the way to the street.
He hurried into a pair of tight jeans, a silk shirt, the leather bomber jacket,
all in black, plus a green and gold silk scarf (he always carried something to
protect his voice), and half-stumbled downstairs with the motorist boots in his
hand. He unbolted the street door with his heart pounding, from the rush and
from le daily panic. 
“A very good evening to you,” said Fandral, with a bow and a wide smile. He
looked dapper in a charcoal grey three-piece suit.
“Hello,” said Loki, weakly, crouching to put on his boots. “Sorry, I’m running
a bit late.”
“Not at all, not at all,” said Fandral. And gave him a second. “You look very
nice.”
“Uh, thank you. …Nice shoes,” replied Loki. God, he sounded like somebody was
squeezing his balls. 
He stood up, his breathing still rushed. Fandral leaned in to kiss his cheek,
and Loki sprung back, startled.
“Oh, dear,” said Fandral. “I am sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“No, uh, I wasn’t expecting it, that’s all,” said Loki, donning that deer-
caught-in-the-headlights look that was so fashionable this season.
“Well, I hope I can help you relax,” said Fandral.
“What?” squeaked he.
Fandral laughed and shook his head, as if Loki had made a joke.
“Ready?” he said.
No, not even remotely.
“We’re not going on the bike, are we?” said Loki, alarmed. He had spent forty
fucking minutes on his hair!
Fandral laughed again, amiably. 
“Of course not. We cannot risk helmet-hair tonight of all nights, can we?”
 
They took a taxi. Fandral offered his hand to help him off it, to which Loki
frowned. Ok, this was a date, but did he look like fucking Cinderella? Once at
the theatre, in the foyer, they came across a few familiar faces, and many
double-takes occurred. It was rather strange to think that people were at that
very moment drawing conclusions about them. It was nowhere near as fun as he
would have thought.
When the lights went off, and Fandral gave him a friendly (a third party would
probably say “loving”) look, Loki got the jitters again. It really didn’t make
any sense. This was not really a date, he wasn’t really trying to impress or
seduce anybody, nothing was going to happen at the end of it, and he should
just fucking be able to psych himself into finding some fucking chill. He
focused on the play. The production was a bit bland, but Kate was quite good.
Fandral would elbow him amiably to share a laugh. Loki tried his best to just
roll with it.
The lounge at the theatre during half-time was packed with personalities, and a
photographer was doing the rounds for the Twitter feed. A flash went off a
scarce three feet away from them, leaving Loki half-blinded. 
“Thanks!” said the photographer, one thumb up.
Fandral gave him a playful eyebrow wiggle. They were photographed again as they
left the theatre, this time by fans with mobiles too. When they were getting
into the taxi, Fandral gave his butt what in other conditions would have been
nothing but a friendly slap. It would read completely different in that
context. And so the rumours start… (Could Loki please go home now.)
Over dinner, as they chatted, Fandral kept throwing him lingering, intent,
obvious looks, and smiling one hell of a lot. Flirting, basically. Loki
struggled to so much as look at his face, like a shrinking violet at her first
debutante’s ball. He had not fucking thought about this. He had been
visualising the finished product, the premiere photos in shiny tuxes and the
fuzzy candids, in which just having two people in the same frame already makes
it look like they’re a thing. He had not thought about how they would actually
have to be out and about together to make those photos happen, and what the
fuck would they be doing in between the flashes. It had not even crossed his
mind when he was trying to sell it to Thor, that once they were out there
trying to pass for a couple, they would have to… to fucking try to pass for a
couple. Fandral may have thought about it, because he was doing a very fine job
of it, eyefucking and smiling and listening like Loki’s words were honeyed
gospel. He was dancing through the act, smoother than a pair of velvet panties.
It was so bloody weird to have someone who wasn’t Thor staring at him like
that, and to be expected to fucking respond to it in turn. And how he sucked at
it. Jesus Mortimer Christ, Laufeyson, weren’t you supposed to be a professional
actor of some talent? So get your shit together and act!But his will kept
getting snarled around his mind, which reminded him that Thor would be hearing
these rumours and seeing those photos too. This was not just fucking acting.
And it felt so goddamn wrong.
He really, really wasn’t looking forwards to the club. They had chosen it
because it was popular with celebrities, and paparazzi would be stalking the
doors, hoping to catch a drunken WAG as she climbed on a taxi, flashing her
knickers, or lack thereof. The kind of media who were interested in this shite
may also be interested in the story of outrageous actor former prostitute and
pole dancer son of British Entertainment Royalty with his hot new boyfriend out
on the town.
And so, here they were now, in the kind of place Loki abhorred and usually
tried to avoid like the bubonic plague. It was claustrophobic and overbearing,
the music loud enough to crush brain cells dead, the patrons of the footballer,
city wanker and celebrity Big Brother participant variety, and their notion of
a fine night out, getting hammered, do coke in the toilets, and rub their
crotches against models’ and celebrity wannabes’ twerking bums. Loki holed up
in a booth while Fandral went to get them some drinks (just a glass of
champagne for Loki, he was on the pink pills tonight).
This place brought up all sorts of iffy memories for him. Moscow. The first
time he had… 
“Are you ok?” asked Fandral when he returned, trying to make himself heard
above the hammering thud-thud-thud that was messing up with Loki’s heartbeat.
“I have a headache,” yelled Loki.
“We won’t stay long then,” replied Fandral by his ear.
They sipped at their drinks for some time. Loki was worrying obsessively at an
imaginary spot on the base of his long-stem glass. It was impossible to have a
conversation, they didn’t even try. They observed the people dancing, the
garish outfits, the ugly blatant flirting, people in and out of the restrooms
and making out all over the place. The decadence of the Western Empire, thought
Loki, with distaste. 
“So,” said Fandral after some time, as he took off his jacket and rolled up his
shirt sleeves.
Loki looked on, alarmed.
“So?” he said.
“Shall we make a show of it?” Fandral gestured to the dance floor.
Loki must have paled or something. He had a look around. They could hardly
spend another half an hour, or whatever it was, just sitting there. They had
come here to be seen. They had to give people something to fucking look at.
He drank down the rest of his champagne in one gulp, hoping for some bubbly
courage to come his way. Fandral took his hand and it shocked him — if felt hot
and dry, bit sticky perhaps from that purple thing he had been drinking, and it
just was not Thor’s hand.  
“Relax,” Fandral said.
Loki went rigid as a board. The mightiest, ugliest flashback had just hit him —
the noise, the people, the shady atmosphere, his mind telling him “you need to
pretend to like it,” and a voice he did not trust whispering in his ear
“relax.”
“Hey, are you ok?” said Fandral. 
Loki’s stomach was turning. Deep breaths. Fandral jerked his head, gesturing
for the restrooms, saying something Loki didn’t hear but could surmise. But he
wouldn’t be fucking caught dead in those restrooms, and his face probably said
it loud and clear. Fandral’s expression was saying “so what now."
He began to dance, at a distance, without touching him. He had moves. Well, of
course he had them, what did you expect. He beamed at Loki’s appreciative look,
and took it up one notch, swaying unselfconsciously and joyfully, having fun.
Loki began to move, tentatively, and Fandral’s smile shone even brighter. And
then Fandral started to fucking moonwalk. Loki was horrified, but he hadn’t
seen anything yet, because next came the fucking robot. Loki wanted to find a
hole to hide in. By the time Fandral started to do the Egyptian, all Loki could
do was laugh, disarmed. Which seemed to have been Fandral’s intentions all
along. He took a giggling, embarrassed Loki by the hand, and pulled him in for
a quick spin, Fred and Ginger style, which got him giggling even more. He let
himself be pushed and dragged and bent backwards for a lovely, elegant fall.
When Fandral lead him for a step-perfect tango promenade, he followed happily.
When they turned, Loki grabbed his shoulders, did a couple of feline, sexy
crossed-steps, wrapped one leg around him, and arched his back from the waist,
almost folding in half, making all the action around them both freeze still.
Fandral’s jaw had dropped, there were hearts in his eyes. 
And they danced. They had both received training in ballroom dancing,
apparently, and were keen to brush up their skills. Still laughing, they
carried on with a tango that would have made Gomez and Morticia proud, and went
on to dance to their own music and have fun. Loki forgot himself. Ballroom
dancing is like acting anyway. That spark of humour always there in Fandral’s
eyes, which was kind of infuriating a lot of the time, because one could never
fucking tell when he was being serious or not, tonight was helping Loki to play
along. Although they kept it scrupulously clean, hands never straying from
backs, shoulders or hips, a lot can be done with just the eyes. At some point,
he thought he’d ask Fandral if it was a .38 in his pocket. He had not been
wined, dined and romanced like this in a while, and in spite of it all, he was
having fun.
And then, a whole two hours had passed somehow, and it was that time of the
night when a couple on a date that was going swimmingly would usually make
their move. Fandral yelled in his ear, “Shall we go?” 
 
They jumped on the taxi together, and they spotted some flashes then as well.
Loki was exhausted, his hearing dull, his head full of white noise. He let
Fandral take charge, and didn’t think anything at all as they made their way
through town. His date very thoughtfully just looked out the window and gave
him some peace and quiet. By the time they got to the flat, Loki was feeling
relieved and calm.
And then he was slipping the keys in the lock, and Fandral was right beside
him, and Loki realised he was coming up with him to the flat. Kiss your fucking
chill goodbye, and try to make light of it when he dropped the keys twice,
because his hands were shaking so badly again.
The flat was very quiet, and very empty. Not even Minnie was there — Sigyn had
left her with her mum while she was abroad, since Loki’s days were so long.
Loki’s heart was racing as Fandral hanged his jacket next to his, his stomach
dived when he saw him loosen his tie and unbutton the top of his shirt. He
might have just taken his pants off, for what it did to Loki’s pulse. 
“Do-do you want anything?” asked Loki. He instantly blushed deep red, his
cheeks burning. “Uh, to drink,” he specified. And since when there was a
fucking echo in this flat? 
Fandral smiled luminously, untroubled, that spark of fun in his eye. As if he
was reading Loki’s mind, and found it awfully entertaining.
“Well, since you offer,” he said, “I could murder a cup of tea.”
 
 
“It went well, don’t you think?” said Fandral, from the settee. “I bet there
will be some gossip online before the morning.”
“Uh, yeah,” said Loki, when he returned with Fandral’s cuppa. He had poured
himself some fizzy water. 
“You’re still nervous,” noted Fandral, always with a smile, as Loki sat down
rigidly on the armchair. “How come? Haven’t I convinced you yet that I am not
the big bad wolf out to eat you?”
Loki smiled weakly.
“That's exactly what the big bad wolf would say." He tried for a bigger smile.
“I’m alright. It was more fun than I expected.”
“Why, thank you very much, I guess,” said Fandral. Even his sarcasm sounded
splendid, devoid of nastiness.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” said Loki.
“I know,” said Fandral sweetly. “So? Why the nerves?”
Loki took a moment.
“Oh, I don’t know,” he gave up. “This is all so…”
“Weird,” helped Fandral, when Loki remained stuck. “Yes, a bit. Confusing.”
Loki smiled, not too brightly.
“Well, I myself had a lovely time,” said Fandral. "Thank you very much."
“I-I enjoyed it too," said Loki. "But I kept thinking, what will Thor…? He gets
a bit… you know,” he confessed.
“Hah!” exclaimed Fandral. “If Thor gets a bit you know about this, please send
him my way for a thorough spot of ear-pulling.”
Loki found the visual amusing.
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, after I've pulled his ears, I’m also going to bloody flatten out that
pretty nose of his. I consider myself a good friend of Thor’s, one of the best,
I take our friendship very seriously, and I bloody well expect him, after all
those years, to have put this notion through that thick skull of his. You are
indeed utterly seductive and enticing, and surely one of the sexiest creatures
I’ve ever come across, and you are indecently fun to be around, but,” and he
paused for emphasis, “you are with Thor. This overrides whatever my basest
leanings might suggest. To make it completely clear, if you were to throw
yourself at me right now, I would have to decline. You can even test me on
that. Try me.” His tone was firm, almost solemn, but that bloody spark of
humour in his eye.
“I will not, if that’s all the same to you,” smiled Loki, demure. And he gave
Fandral a long, assessing look. Had he misjudged Fandral even more than he
thought.
“You look baffled, and more than one bit skeptical,” said Fandral, with a
chuckle. “Oh dear, oh dear, the impression I must give.”
That made Loki laugh. Oh, you have no idea.
“I believe you," said Loki. "If nothing else, because he seems to attract
decent people. And he manages to hold on to them once he has.”
“He is quite an extraordinary man, isn’t he?” said Fandral. “When one is around
Thor, one finds oneself thinking in terms of old-fashioned, bright coloured
emotions, values even, not one shade of grey to be seen, like bravery,
sincerity, honour, and loyalty.  I don’t claim to be a highly moral or
principled person — I don’t claim to take anything very seriously at all,
frankly —, but I sometimes think, in a different time, I would have followed
him into battle or some such nonsense.” He chuckled at himself.
“So he’s not just my knight in shining armour alone, then," said Loki.
“You worship the floor he treads on, don’t you? It's very moving."
Loki blushed and looked away.
“That meathead? How dare you,” he muttered.
Fandral laughed.
“It must be quite a thing, to fall in love with one’s own brother,” he mused.
“I don’t know anything else,” muttered Loki. And then, because courage and
sincerity, “Yeah, it is. Even at the worst of times, I feel fortunate for…" He
tried to find the words. "The older I get, the more I realise not a lot of
people get to experience what we have. I did not know that as a kid. I thought
being in love was always like this, for everyone.”
“It takes a certain kind of person to experience things in a certain way,” said
Fandral. “You have to be wired like that.”
“Are you wired like that?”
“I’ll give you three guesses,” beamed Fandral.
Loki laughed.
“Righty-ho,” said Fandral, slapping his thighs and standing up, making Loki
startle. “What do you think? Shall we call it a night?”
Loki had not thought about that part either. 
“Oh, right. Yeah. I guess.”
“It’s been a pleasure, my dear,” said Fandral at the door. “Looking forwards to
next time. Hopefully we’ll get to go to a nicer place for dancing. Can you do
the swing?”
Loki liked that idea. Thor’s moves were pretty much restricted to jumping up
and down for the quick ones, and clinging like an octopus for the slow ones.
“Wait,” he said then. He hesitated a second, but he went for it: he quickly
ruffled Fandral’s hair, messing it up. It felt rather intimate. Fandral raised
an eyebrow, and Loki explained. “I-I put out on the first date.”
Fandral smiled, and Loki was pretty sure he had flustered. 
“Oh, Loki,” he sighed, as he made a show of fanning his face, “the fun we could
have had.” He kissed Loki’s cheek, and then pinched it.
 
Loki watched from the front window as Fandral climbed on his motorbike and
left. He checked the slight tremor in his hands. He was wired, and well beyond
that point of exhaustion where he would not be managing to bat an eyelid if he
went to bed. And he was feeling lonely and anxious, and he was aching for… 
What time was it? Too late, of course, Thor would be asleep. Tomorrow was a
Saturday, they had a breakfast date, he should just let his brother rest.
Fandral’s words circled in his head, like leaves caught in a little whirl.
Courage, sincerity, honour, loyalty. Loki’s breathing was becoming laboured and
wet. Courage. Sincerity. Honour. How the fuck does that fit with faking
relationships and lying to their fucking friends, and to the whole world. Of
course Thor was fucking chafing, of course he was unhappy. Hell, Loki didn’t
know how he had not been torn in half by now. Perhaps because his brother had
been keeping his head down, one day after another, and he hadn’t dared to look
far enough ahead so far. The things Thor was willing to put up with to be with
your sorry humble servant. 
Anyway, judging from Thor’s behaviour lately, subdued, deflated, resigned
perhaps, he had now. Looked far enough ahead, that is. And he wasn’t too
chuffed about what he had seen. Had he thrown the towel in yet, is that where
Thor’s calm reaction earlier was coming from? Had he just accepted this wasn’t
going to work, and had he stopped… god, had he stopped caring? 
The moment your mind starts to go to ugly places, Thor had said, and he had
made him promise. But he had probably meant if Loki got all worked up or
jealous over Sif, right? Although this place Loki's mind was right now was an
ugly place indeed. He was mouthing, anxiety choking him, gasping for air like a
fish out of water.
Wouldn't Thor worry if he suddenly burst into the flat in the middle of the
night? Should he just leave him alone and talk about this at a reasonable time,
tomorrow? Shouldn’t he try to keep his shit together for just a few more hours?
Oh, Sigyn, what would Sigyn say? You’re always overthinking things, you lemon.
Take a step back, and tell me what feels right.What would Thor prefer, what
would make his brother feel better, to carry on sleeping obliviously and find
Loki in a right state by breakfast time tomorrow, or for Loki to wake him up
and ask him for a hug right now?
Loki went to put on his hoodie and his sports slacks (hisincest ninja outfit,
he called it). He was feeling very fucking pleased with himself. For once, he
could see the answer so clearly, and did it feel good or what. Keys, mobile,
skulking by the back door, through the back garden, to the alleyway route over
to Thor’s. Some would say he was making progress, perhaps even himself.
 
 
                                       *
 
 
Thor had not been asleep, dozing at best. He jerked alert when he heard noises
downstairs, until he heard the fridge door open and close. It had to be Loki,
of course, using the alleyway entrance, helping himself to a glass of milk.
Then nimble steps up the stairs, the wood that creaked in the landing, and
finally the bedroom door. Thor stayed still and quiet, listening, trying to
make out the blacker than black silhouette of his brother undressing in the
dark, very carefully and slowly, and slipping into bed in slow motion, his
breath held. He was taking every pain not to wake him up, how cute.
“Hey,” he said, in a normal tone of voice.
“Jesus!” jumped Loki, as Thor chuckled. “You bastard!”
“Yeah, need to work on those ninja moves, babe,” he teased.
And he found himself suddenly covered in Loki, wrapped in arms and legs, ankles
tangled, his brother’s face burrowing in the crook of his neck. Once the rustle
of the bed clothes had quieted, Loki let out a deep sigh of content. Thor
hugged him tight and kissed his forehead.
“Ok, baby?” he asked.
Loki scooted even closer for an answer. Thor chuckled. 
“Sorry I woke you up,” muttered his brother.
“I wasn’t asleep.”
Loki’s shoulders became tense.
“Were you… were you thinking about…?”
“I was thinking about work,” said Thor. And yeah, about the date, but it wasn’t
anything awful, just a vague worry about Loki and paparazzi, and importune,
upsetting questions, and the goddamn tapes (the trial was happening later that
same month). But he kept all that to himself. “I’m looking forwards to next
week. Can’t wait to work with you again.”
“You mean, in the general proximity of one another,” jabbed Loki.
It was finally Merlin and Morgan’s sessions. Lancelot did not have any dialogue
with them, but they did share a couple of group scenes.
“Whatever,” said Thor. “I can’t wait to see Merlin in the flesh. Morgan I’ve
met, but I wouldn’t mind seeing her again…” His voice had lowered to a playful
purr, to which Loki did not respond. Ok, so not in the mood then. “Steve says
that Bucky speaks wonders about you. Uh, as a director.”
Loki laughed at the specification.
“What exactly does he say?”
“That you’re very patient, that you listen to everyone’s opinions and thoughts
and ideas, that you are a great motivator, and you really know how to make
yourself heard and understood. That you're really good at setting up an open,
buzzing and creative atmosphere. And that you’re managing your girls very
cleverly.”
“Managing, that’s a word for it,” laughed Loki, the vibrations of his chuckles
thrumming against Thor’s chest. “Remember that spat between Moira and Louise
early on in the week? Well, because we were focusing on that scene again, in
the morning there was some tension. So over the coffee break, I started talking
about mum. I told them about when I was little and I was sick so often, and she
would take me to rehearsals with her. So before they know it, all the veterans
are sharing their own memories about working with her, or having met her, this
anecdote, this conversation. Not one single dry eye left in the room, Bucky
with the worst of them. No more rehearsing for the rest of the morning. We
break for lunch. When we come back, not a peep. I got Moira to say the bleeding
lines exactly the way I wanted, and Louise didn’t make another sound except to
say her own lines.”
Thor had chuckled here and there while Loki spoke.
“I mean, I’m glad for their input, and I do listen to everyone. I have a
bazillion years of theatrical experience in that room, and I intend to squeeze
it down to the last drop. But some things I’m not going to budge on. It’s my
bloody play after all. It’s my mum.”
Thor gave him a squeeze.
“The things they said, about her,” added Loki after a while, “it was so… odd.
They surprised me, or got me thinking. And I got this feeling all over again, I
get it all the time, that there’s so much I don’t know, and I’ll never know.
Even if I was to sit down with every person who so much as crossed paths with
her and grilled them for all they could remember, she would still escape me.
And I get this void in my stomach. I hate that… that… that she will always
escape me. I don’t want her to…” his voice faltered. "I wish I could pin her
down and be able to..."
Thor hugged him tight.
“I miss her too,” he said. "I miss touching her. Her movies help in a way,
because it's her voice and her facial expressions, and I love hearing her laugh
so much, and it is as if she is alive again for a while, but in so many other
ways, it's just... She's bottled there, and I crave for new things... I miss
not knowing what comes next." 
A silence while Loki’s breathing quieted.
“I almost could not fucking look at the script in the afternoon,” he said. “It
felt just wrong, or... fake, I don't know. Those new things I had learned
today, those new impressions, I had not counted on them when I wrote the play,
and now it’s all… It's not true enough. I felt it crumbling in my hands. It
always feels about to crumble, ten times a day. But I need to just get a grip.
You can never really know anyone.”
“I don’t agree,” said Thor, softly. “I think you can. You did. You do know her.
The core of it, the things that matter. Those details, those anecdotes, they
don’t really change who she was. You can’t put everything a person is into a
play, but that doesn’t mean you have not written the truth. She is there,
brother, I feel her there, I hear her. It’s very… it’s overpowering. When I
first read it, I cried so much. Her voice and her humour and her turns of
phrase, things I had forgotten… You know what I've said about craving new
things from her? That's how it felt, like you had brought her back to life and
had her talking and saying things I had never heard her say, but rang so true
to who she was. It’s so beautiful, baby, it’s a wonderful work of art you’ve
made. And she would be so proud. …And in a way, I believe she is. I mean… I
don’t know.” He laughed at his own words.
Loki stayed in silence for a long time after that, but felt blindly to grab his
brother’s hand. 
“Unna said something,” he said mutedly. “He knows what I’m doing. Odin, I mean.
Did… did you tell him?”
“He asked me how you were doing and what you were up to. Yes, I told him.”
A silence.
“Has he read it?” Loki asked.
“Not that I know of. Not through me.”
“Did he ask to?”
“He said he would like to, but didn’t ask directly.”
“Should… should I let him?”
“It’s up to you, baby. You don’t owe it to him, though. It’s not like he shares
his work with us before it comes out.”
“But this is different, Thor, he’s actually in it.”
“There is a character called Richard in your play with echoes of Odin Borson,
and also Richard Burton and Larry Olivier.”
“But it’s him. He’ll know it’s him.”
“Are you scared?”
“I don’t know. Should I be? I’m not too kind to the husband in the play.”
“You’re not cruel either. He appears as a bit of a git at times, but mainly
what you get is a man who loves his wife deeply, admires her, and is baffled by
all she is. I don’t see how that could upset him. Anyway, does it matter so
much to you if he does get upset?”
“I guess I should say no. But to be honest… I’m not sure.
They went quiet. Loki’s breathing was now regular and peaceful. Thor was
stroking gentle circles on his back.
“Did the date go well?”
Loki’s shoulders became stiff again.
“It was ok,” said Loki. “It was weird. We started kind of uptight, or I did,
but in the end we relaxed a bit. I had more fun than I was anticipating.”
A pause.
“More fun than you were anticipating?” repeated Thor.
Loki’s breath caught as he replayed his own words in his mind.
“No! That’s not what I…!”
Thor began to laugh.
“You bastard!” Loki kicked him, and then pinched him too.
“Ow…!” He was still laughing. He calmed down a bit. “Did you get papped?”
“Yes.”
“Mission accomplished, then.”
“I guess.”
The air became thick with the many things they were both afraid to bring up.
Thor decided to change subjects.
“Can’t wait to see you in that green dress again,” he said, in what he hoped
was a sexy whisper. “God, those tits… I wanted to lift your skirts and fuck you
right there in that changing room…”
He had hoped Loki would come back with some sexy noises about Lancelot and his
armour.
“You have a hell of a way of showing it,” his brother murmured instead.
Fuck. The hell had he been thinking…
“Sorry,” said Thor. “I was so harsh that day. I’m sorry.”
“No, you were right,” said Loki, a meek whisper. “I had it coming.”
“Oh, baby, don’t say that,” said Thor, squeezing him tight. “That was no way to
talk to you, brother. Even if… Shit. I-I meant what I said, I guess, but I
never wanted to be horrible to you. I should treat you right always, even when
I’m upset. You don’t deserve me being an unpleasant arsehole…”
“I’m horrible to you all the time,” murmured Loki.
“That’s bollocks, Loki, stop that now,” said Thor, severely. “And I know you’re
trying, and I see it, ok? I appreciate it. A lot. You’re doing great. Yeah?”
A long silence. Thor felt strangely, disturbingly aware of his own breathing. 
Loki nuzzled closer against his neck, sending pleasant shivers down Thor’s
spine.
“What would you have done to me in that dress?” he whispered. 
Thor chuckled. Well, it seemed like Loki had decided it was a good idea to fuck
themselves out of these muddles. Fine by him.
“I would have bent you over that worktop,” he whispered, as he tangled their
legs together even more closely. “I would have mounted you from behind, I would
have grabbed those tits and fucked you like a dog.”
Loki pumped his hips against him. He was getting hard.
“Is that all?” he said.
“Baby, it had been a week. Do you think stamina grows on trees.”
Loki laughed. Thor went for his butt to pull him closer.
“How would you have wanted me?” he whispered right into Loki’s ear, his finger
tracing the cleft of his arse.
“Sit on your lap, skirt around my waist, your face in my tits…” he rumbled.
“Put your cock between them. Watch you fuck them.”
Thor pressed even closer, their cocks rubbing, finger circling Loki’s hole. 
“How would you have had me…?” whispered Loki.
“I’d put my head under that skirt…”
“Would you have eaten my pussy?”
“I would have fingered you…” He licked his finger and pressed it in. 
“Ah…” Loki sighed and stood still for him. “Lube…”
Thor reached behind him, slicked his fingers, and passed it over. Loki slicked
the palm of his hands and their cocks, and rubbed the heads together. Thor kept
fingering.
“Would you like me to have a pussy…” muttered Loki, voice breathy, wanking them
both.
“You have a pussy…” He fingered him faster, harder. Loki tightened his hold
around their cocks, but the rhythm of his stroke kept faltering.
“Fuck…” He untangled and pushed off, rolled on his front, face in the pillow.
“Fuck me…” 
Thor got on top of him, lined up and inched it in. He began slow, covering Loki
with his body, letting him feel his breathing on the back of his neck. He
tangled their fingers together, and worked his hips gently, feeling the drag of
his cock inside and out of Loki’s body. His brother was breathing deeply. He
was so quiet. 
“Hey, are you alright?” asked Thor.
“Hmmm yeah, don’t stop…”
But he was so goddamn quiet. Thor pulled out after a while and asked him to
face him. Loki clung onto him with arms and legs, and hid his face in his
brother’s neck. Thor kissed him gently as he came. He finished Loki while still
inside him. Took longer than usual, as if Loki’s mind wasn’t really in it.
“You ok?” he asked after they had cleaned up and were settling down to sleep.
Loki said “fine” and turned for Thor to spoon him. Thor began to pet his hair.
There was a lot in Loki's head, obviously, but he obviously didn't want to talk
about it. Fair enough, he wouldn’t push it. Perhaps they’d try tomorrow, more
rested and awake, over a nice cooked breakfast, or some fresh pastries, or
both. He wanted to treat his brother, because Loki had been trying. 
Things had changed somewhat after their rather fraught chat about the terms and
conditions of acquiring beards. Loki was making a point of staying overnight
several times a week. He would cover up with a hoodie and indistinct clothes
and take the alleyways to get there, which irritated Thor for some reason, but
he was coming. He was also phoning more often, and if he didn’t feel like
talking, he would send a photo, of himself or something that had caught his
eye, just to show he cared and was thinking about him. He had even agreed to go
out on a date, dinner and a show. Just one, you say? Yeah, and they wouldn’t be
doing that again anytime soon. It had been depressing to be reminded at every
turn of all the things normal couples on a date took for granted that they
couldn’t have. They both were using work as an excuse to not go out again, but
Thor was quite sure neither was fooling the other. So many subjects were
becoming conversational minefields as of late.
And so, they had been having their quiet evenings at home, they watched a movie
or a show if they were up to it, they fucked if they were not too tired, they
laughed, they bickered, sometimes they screamed at each other, but overall he
guessed it was not so different from many other couples’ daily routine.
So what’s your fucking problem, Odinson. What was keeping him up at nights,
what was sapping the life out of him. A few months ago, if Loki had gone out
with his best friend, would Thor have taken it like this? With this apathy,
this indifference? Was he maturing, or was he drying out, withering to a
fucking chunk of dead wood? 
The best hours of his day were at the studios. He loved Lancelot, he loved what
they were doing, the elegant tension between the epic and the intimate, the
melancholy and the vigorous elements in the story. He fucking loved working
with Steve. They laughed, they fooled around, and then Peggy would call action
and it all felt intense and important. Thor could not wait to go to Scotland
for the exterior shots and the bigger battles. He was so excited. He fucking
loved this job. And sometimes, very often actually, he took it for granted. His
position in the business, the opportunities he was offered, the parts he opted
to. And he should not do it. His success had always come so easy, it felt like
a natural, direct, unavoidable consequence of his efforts. He seldom remembered
to be humble, to factor in accident, chance and good luck. He held a position
of privilege in the industry, but that was far from secure or guaranteed, and
it could all end tomorrow, through no fault of his own, for reasons beyond his
control. And he would bloody miss it if it did. 
He had the best job in the world, and the most beautiful creature in existence
bending himself backwards to try to please him, and here he was, unable to
sleep, dissatisfied, unhappy, permanently irritated. And feeling very fucking
guilty about it, because he knew Loki was worried. Worried, what a way to put
it. He had a haunted look at times, he sunk into an absent silence. It reminded
Thor of some very, very fucked up days, the months after Iceland leading up to
that February in which Thor's whole fucking life had knotted into a black hole
of fear and despair, affording him a glimpse of what true fucking hell could
be like.
Loki in his arms was breathing peacefully, but he was not asleep. Thor pressed
his lips on that smooth shoulder, lingering there. Loki did not stir. If he had
been asleep, he would have.
“Baby,” Thor whispered. 
“Hm?”
He tightened his embrace. 
“I just want you to know... I can see what you’re doing, and I appreciate it.
It means a lot. Thank you.”
“Ok,” said Loki.
Thor felt he should say more.
“I know things are not great right now, but I love you very, very much.” A
moment for courage. “When we were younger, and things weren’t going well, you…”
Loki tensed. “You struggled,” said Thor. “Loki, if you were… if you were, you
know, struggling, you’d tell me, right?”
It seemed to take for fucking ever until Loki replied. It was a shy mutter when
it came.
“I’m not suicidal.”
Thor’s breathing stopped. Well, that wasn’t exactly reassuring.
“I am struggling,” said Loki. “A bit.”
Thor couldn’t think of what to say for some time. He had been expecting that
answer, had he not? Why did it feel like a fucking bucket of ice water?
“What can we do?” he tried, after some time.
“We can sleep,” said Loki.
Thor petted his hair.
“We can try.”
 
Try he did. As Loki’s breathing quieted down and became heavy with slumber,
Thor felt like he was walking alone in the dark and leaving his brother behind,
thoughts circling obsessively inside his head. He was unhappy, and Loki's
illness was rearing its ugly head, and all the fears that had once warned him
from trying to pursue a relationship with his brother were becoming a reality.
He was scared, and angry, and very fucking sad, and he just did not know what
to fucking do. It was all nice and well to tell himself to sit tight, try not
to think too far ahead, carefully focus on the day to day, ignore the bigger
issues, and... wait for a miracle, he guessed, but at some point, somebody was
going to have to grab the bull by the horns and fucking do something. He just
wished he knew what.
 
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     The "Shrew" Loki and Fandral go to see is Taming of the Shrew by
     William Shakespeare, no particular production.
     The actresses working with Loki are not intended to refer to anyone
     in particular.
***** Chapter 31 *****
Chapter Summary
     A very busy, momentous few weeks
Chapter Notes
     Unusually short, I know. I struggled with this so much, again. It was
     a monster, and it didn't work. So I got cutting, and it got better.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
(Press cuts from the Mariners publicity tour.)
 
Question: This is your second assault on Hollywood. Are you here to stay this
time?
Loki: We shall see. I do have another movie coming out some time next year. But
I don’t have any specific designs to make a career in Hollywood. I just want to
do what interests me, be in the West End, Off Broadway, or even Bollywood, if
they’ll have me. I’m open to suggestions.
Q: What attracted you to this part?
Loki: It was more the whole project, really, from the moment I read the script.
I could see so clearly what Heimdall wanted to do, and it was exciting. I then
read the book and learned the story behind it, and it just gripped me. I knew
it was going to be special. I just had to do it. I had to be in it.
Q: You and your brother were not on friendly terms when you were both initially
cast, is that right?
Loki: We were not speaking to each other, no.
Q: Was having your brother in this project a deterrent to you, or a further
stimulus to take it up?
Loki: I would say neither. I agreed that Thor was the right choice for the
part, and I knew he’d be a perfect professional. I don’t know, I suppose it was
an interrogation sign.
Q: Were you hoping this project would bring you back together?
Loki: No.
(awkward silence)
Q: Did it come as a surprise when it did?
Loki: No.
(another awkward silence.)
(change of subject follows.)
 
________
 
Q: You have said before this is a very personal project for you. Do you feel
you have a lot in common with this character and his story?
Thor: No, not really (laughs). Oh, I don’t know. In some ways. In many other
ways, however, not at all. And people are trying to draw parallels between
Bobby and me that I personally don’t see. The character of the father, for
example. Bobby’s and Johnny’s father is a tyrannical figure who casts a heavy
shadow over both of his sons, even after his death, and has almost succeeded in
crushing his eldest son’s spirit. When people compare this to my life and my
father, frankly, I’m offended. My father’s name, achievements and reputation
are indeed a tough act to follow, even a burden at times, but the man himself
has never tried to thwart me or limit me or crush me. If anything, my father
has always pushed me to try for more and aim higher. At some point, you could
say he believed in my talent as an actor more than I did myself. He’s a man
famously hard to please, that’s true, but he’ll be the first to tell you when
he’s proud of you.
Q: This is the story of two estranged brothers who reconcile…
Thor: (laughs) It’s the story of two brothers who haven’t seen each other in a
long time and reunite. 
Q: (laughs) Right.
Thor: The funny thing is that, when they do reunite, they feel like strangers,
and they have to get to know each other again. Johnny’s worldview has changed
completely, and there’s a big secret killing Bobby from the inside. Now, my
brother and I, well, we had issues we needed to work through, and bridges to
mend, and a lot of catching up to do, sure, but he never felt like a stranger.
I can’t say it was as easy as sitting down together and bam, best friends
again, but in many ways it felt a bit as if we were picking up where we had
left it. 
Q: What about the subject of sexual identity, how do you relate to that?
Because you recently came out as bisexual.
Thor: Yes.
Q: Congratulations.
(Audience claps and cheers. Thor nods in acknowledgement.)
Thor: I can relate with the feeling of what lying about who you really are can
do to your self-esteem. But I’m lucky that I never suffered as much as Bobby
over it. We live in different times, we come from completely different
backgrounds. 
Q: Is it a relief, being out?
Thor: I don’t think I was ever ‘in the closet’ like that. I mean, it was never
a big problem for me, I didn’t live it as an oppression. I lived this part of
my life with the same discretion as I try to live the rest of it, and I was
never questioned or harassed about it, so it didn’t feel like I was hiding
anything. Perhaps that’s why I never felt the need to make it public.
Q: What has changed? Why did you decide to go public?
Thor: It felt like the right thing to do. My perspective is what has changed.
It’s a bit broader now. For a long time, I used to believe that my sexual
orientation was my own business, nobody else’s. That it should not matter at
all. And I stick to that, it absolutely shouldn't. But we’re not in that world
yet, this is not the reality we live in. The fact is that, to a lot of people,
it matters, and it matters a lot, in a very real way. People who are either in
the closet because they don’t feel safe or comfortable coming out, or people
who are out but face homophobia and discrimination every day, who may have been
rejected by family and friends and, all too often, may even have been
physically threatened and even harmed for trying to live their lives in the
open. People get killed over their sexual orientation, some people kill
themselves. I realised that, for these people, hearing a person like me, who
has nothing to fear, say that this doesn’t matter, it must only add insult to
injury. So it does matter. I have a position of privilege, I have the public
projection, and even though I can’t change the world on my own, I do believe
that, every time somebody somewhere comes out, another pair of eyebrows stops
rising, and perhaps one more kid somewhere gets to feel a bit safer and a bit
less alone. It felt like a responsibility I could not shirk. It felt right, so
I did it.
(Audience claps, some people stand up.)
Q: You say you have nothing to fear. You’re not concerned about how this
revelation might affect your career?
Thor: I don’t fear for my physical safety, my financial position is perfectly
safe. Everything else is really first world problems. Besides, I’m impenitently
optimistic. Who knows, this may broaden the range of characters the audience is
ready to see me in. But if it should kill my Hollywood career, so be it. The
world doesn’t end when you leave America.
Q: Do you feel safer coming out while you’re in a relationship with a woman?
Thor: (pause) That has nothing to do with anything. This is the private part of
my personal life I was talking about, the part that really doesn’t matter. And
it’s not something I’m going to discuss right now.
 
_______
 
Q: Jealousy?
Loki: In a family of actors? Of course not, where do you get that (laughs).
Seriously though. With Thor and me, I think we’re just so different, from how
we look to how we work, that this has pretty much dealt with the direct
competition issues between us. I could not have played Bobby or the boy in
Blood Meridian, or Kirk in Dinosaur Island, for that matter, and I doubt that
Thor could pull off Frank in Rocky or Song in Butterfly, although he is very
talented, and more versatile than he’s been allowed to show so far. We could
not compete for the same roles if we wanted to, or for the same careers, for
that matter. So that’s that. And I would not want to, to be honest. I enjoy too
much the work I do, and I’m not sure I would enjoy a lot of the kind of work
that a career in Hollywood entails.
Q: Like gargantuan publicity tours.
Loki: Precisely.
Q: Like this interview.
Loki: (grins)
Q: But in this movie, the really eye-catching character is Bobby…
Loki: His journey leads the narrative. He’s the more mainstream character in
many ways, the one many people in the audience might feel closer to when the
journey begins. But we see the story through Johnny’s eyes, and Johnny is an
outsider, he’s a bit broken, a bit off. My job was to make the audience connect
with that feeling and empathise with Johnny. I think we all feel a bit wrong
and a bit off sometimes. I know I do. I wanted to tap into that feeling in the
audience, make them walk in his shoes. To make what was alien and other,
familiar and understandable. To alter a few perspectives, even after the movie
ends, if I’ve done it well. Might not be as eye-catching, but I enjoyed the
challenge.
Q: You say you sometimes feel a bit broken and a bit wrong. Do you want to
expand on that?
Loki: I’ve done it so many times already.
Q: You’ve endured terrible hardship in your life.
Loki: I don’t look back if I can help it.
Q: But you have been forced to look back on some of it recently, precisely
while making this film.
Loki: (long pause) Do you have a question?
Q: What has it meant to you, to be reminded of certain times of your life, and
to see them thrust under the public eye like that?
Loki: (long pause) It’s been hard, but I’m doing better now. Next question?
 
_______
 
Q: How much has finding out about the adoption changed things between your
brother and you?
Thor: It hasn’t.
Q: But your relationship must have changed.
Thor: What are you asking me here? Has our relationship changed, since he was,
what, nineteen, and I was twenty-one? Yes, of course it has. Life has happened
to both of us. We’ve lived more, we’re older. So have things changed? Well, how
could they not? 
Q: Do you see each other differently?
Thor: (long silence) What do you want from me? (pause) You know what? No,
actually, I don’t. He remains the most important person in my life, just like
before. Alright?
 
____
 
Q: Has the news about your adoption changed anything between Thor and you?
Loki: You don’t expect me to start dissecting my relationship with my brother
in a ten minute space in a talk show, do you?
 
____
 
(Interviewer shows Thor slashy fanart of Johnny and Bobby)
Thor: Astounding. People are so talented.
Q: Why do you think people make this kind of thing? 
Thor: I assume they enjoy it. There’s no account for taste.
Q: Is this not uncomfortable for you?
Thor: This has nothing to do with me. This is not me, it’s a character. This
has happened with most of the characters I’ve played, paired with my male and
female co-stars alike, and even with people, men and women, I’ve never even
met. It was weird to begin with, but I’ve had years to get used to it. It’s
fiction. It has its own rules. So no, it’s not uncomfortable. 
Q: But this is your brother.
Thor: (pause) So you thought it might make me uncomfortable, and you decided to
show it to me anyway.
(change of subject follows.)
 
____
 
Q: Quite a year you’ve had.
Loki: Yes.
Q: What would you say it was the highlight of your year?
Loki: I’ve been so busy, and working in really fascinating things, but I
suppose I would have to say writing and putting together my first play, that
only happens once in a lifetime.
Q: What about the highlight of your personal life?
Loki: (in good humour, but caustic) Why do I feel you’re asking questions you
think you already know the answer to? Am I even needed in this interview?
Q: (laughs)
Loki: Reconciling with my brother was the highlight of my year. There, you have
your soundbite. What else.
Q: The trial over the tapes from your past concluded a few weeks ago.
Loki: You can say ‘the sex tapes’, it’s not like we don't know what we're
talking about.
Q: Do you consider the matter settled? Has justice been done, so to speak? 
Loki: (pause) I still don’t know how far and how much these tapes have affected
my career. What I do know is that, if other people had been in charge of
Mariners, I would surely have been fired. I only stayed because Tony Stark and
Heimdall, and Thor of course, stood up for me, at great risk to this movie,
which may still sink because I’m in it. So does a fine and some knuckle rapping
make up for this? Ask me again in a few years time, but from where I stand, I
kind of doubt it.
Q: What about you as a person? Is there any way to get you justice and
retribution?
Loki: (long pause) The rational part of me tells me I did nothing wrong, that
it’s only sex, and that it shouldn’t embarrass me or make me feel ashamed in
any way. But there are less rational parts of me that don’t see it quite like
this, and know that the world is full of people who don’t see it like this
either, and they all make me feel quite (—) humiliated about these (—) tapes. I
know that, if somebody some day writes a book about my life, this is going to
be in it. That it’s going to chase me for the rest of my life. They’re still
out there, and they’re going to pop up now and again, probably when I’m only
just managing to forget about them. So how do I get retribution for that?
Anyway, it’s what it is. It’s what I chose at the time, and now I have to live
with it. All I want is to put this behind me, not that they’ll ever let me. I
try not to think about it much. It’s all I can do.
Q: Thank you so much for being so open and so honest with us.
Loki: Don’t (—) mention it.
 
_____
 
 
Q: Your name is mentioned very insistently in the polls for the Oscar
nominations. Are you optimistic?
Thor: Oh, who knows. There’s been so many really strong performances this year,
the competition is fierce. It would be a great honour.
Q: You’ve had to deal with some disappointment in that area recently. Do you
think this is the part that will break the unlucky streak?
Thor: Could be. I try not to make a big deal of it. It’s not my priority.
Awards are great, but you know what my father says? (impersonates) ‘Nobody
remembers who won the Oscar last year. But your performance, that’s what they
won’t forget.’
Q: Fair point. But your father has, what, six Oscars?
Thor: (laughs) Ouch. Touché.
 
_____
 
Q: Your first play Sonder is going to open very close in date to the world
premiere of Mariners in London. Is this intended?
Loki: How I wish I could say that it is. I wish I could say that it’s all been
carefully engineered by a world-class team of expert publicists, and that the
success of the play is guaranteed because of it. I’m afraid that the truth is a
lot more banal. It’s entirely accidental. It was very, very hard to find an
opening in the schedules of my outstandingly talented, and outstandingly busy
cast, and get it to fit with the availability of the theatre. So we’re opening
and running pretty much when we’ve been able to. I haven’t even asked any
publicists if this is going to help or hinder us. I don’t want to know. What
will be, will be.
Q: How confident are you feeling?
Loki: I’m confident that I’ve done all that I was able to do within my ability.
Same for the cast and crew. I think it’s a good play, I think it’s worth the
price of the ticket and the trip to the theatre. Confident that it will
succeed? I don’t know. I’m hopeful.
Q: We wish you good l-…
Loki: (interrupts) Don’t bloody say that!
Q: Oh my god, so sorry. I meant, break a leg.
Loki: Better. Thank you.
 
___
 
Q: So what’s next up for you, Thor?
Thor: We finished shooting Lancelot a few weeks ago. I do have a few things
lined up, but nothing is set in stone yet. What I’m really looking forwards to,
right now, is a holiday.
Q: Christmas at home or somewhere warm?
Thor: Home, always.
Q: Thank you very much, Thor.
Thor: Very welcome.
 
 
                            _______________________
 
 
 
(December. Asgard Hall)
 
The pile of blankets and quilts on the bed was so high, it reminded Thor of the
story about the Princess and the Pea. This particular princess, however, seemed
able to sleep not only through a pea under twenty mattresses, but also his
brother’s nudges, kisses, whispers, having every single curtain in the bedroom
drawn open, and perhaps a hurricane, judging from those snores. Although to be
honest the light out there, even at the peak of noon, was nothing to shout
about. It was a bleak winter day, with a broken white sky. Thor carefully
pushed the hair out of Loki’s face and tugged it behind his ear. His brother
didn’t even stir. 
“Loki…” he whispered, “baby…”
His brother turned his face away, with a groan. God knows how many blankets he
had on, and he had managed to get his shoulder uncovered. In spite of spending
a good couple of hours last evening lighting half a dozen fireplaces, and it
spite of Thor’s efforts this morning to rekindle the embers and keep them
burning high, it would take days before the central heating began to dispel the
chill in the air. They had gone to bed in sweatshirts, sweatpants and socks,
but Loki’s ballet sweatshirt, while very sexy with that wide boatneck, was
perhaps not the most practical thing for warmth. It had fallen off his
shoulder, again. Thor tucked him in and stroked his hair. 
Should he let him sleep? The last few weeks had been very intense and utterly
exhausting, between the premieres of Mariners (five cities in two weeks), with
the associated press insanity (interviews, photo shoots, photo calls, red
carpets, TV and radio appearances…) and the opening night of Loki’s play, with
the craze of the last minute changes, dress rehearsals, and test runs. It was a
miracle poor Loki had not completely imploded. 
He had looked very damn near to collapsing on opening night, standing there, at
the front of the proscenium, while a standing ovation from a full theatre
thundered around him. He looked so pale and wan, so tired. He had taken his
bows, then let the cast hug and kiss him, he had accepted the bouquet of
flowers when they handed it to him, and continued to acknowledge the applause
raining on his head. And then, finally, he had turned to Odin on the second
row. Their father had not stood up to applaud the cast, but he had got to his
feet when the author came on stage. He was still applauding. Loki took a deep
bow, from the waist. Their father returned it. Not one dry eye in the whole
theatre. Or so Thor would swear, he was crying a fucking river by then himself,
sobbing like a little boy, while Sigyn by his side kept handing him tissues. It
had been quite a night.
 
“Dad’s here,” Thor had said, backstage, after hugging his brother breathless.
“I don’t want to see him,” Loki had said, looking alarmed.
Thor’s disappointment must have shown in his face.
“I mean, I can’t,” Loki had said, and tried for a little smile, “Not right
now.”
 
The play was doing great. Award talks were rife. And sadly, all that Loki
seemed to be able to feel right now about it was relief. 
It had been their first anniversary during the Berlin premiere. Thor had had a
present ready for months, the fanciest pocket watch he ever did see, solid
silver, carved with an intricate, art-noveau leaf design on one side, mirror-
smooth on the other, over one hundred years old, perfect working condition. He
had had the underside of the lid inscribed with their initials and the date. He
had given it to Loki on the limo on the way there. 
“You couldn’t wait until after I had to show my face to the whole of fucking
Berlin ?” had said Loki, wiping his eye. “Good job I decided to pass on the
goddamn mascara tonight…”
That had been worth it at least.
“I got you something too, but I need a piano. I’ll give it to you in Asgard. If
I survive until then.”
 
Well, it turns out, they had both made it. Barely.
 
“Loooki…” Thor sing-songed. “Wakey-wakey…” He nuzzled and kissed his neck until
he got a groan and some movement.
“Mmmh… whatimezit,” mumbled his brother.
“Half past twelve,” said Thor, still kissing. 
Loki rolled over, and with a long groan, he stretched his arms and his back in
a feline arch. He gave him a drowsy smile when he half opened his eyes and saw
the hungry, adoring look on Thor’s face. 
“You made me breakfast,” said Loki, his words slurred. “How sweet.”
Coffee, toasts, jam and orange juice. Nothing fancy, but Loki seemed delighted.
He clutched Thor’s jumper to pull him close for a kiss. Close-mouthed, because
Loki was self-conscious of morning breath (although he shouldn’t. He always
tasted like fresh dew and mountain snow to Thor, smoker or not). Then Loki
dragged himself upright, sluggish movements, piled up the cushions, and
reclined against the regal, carved wood headboard of that fourposter bed, which
they had been talking about only yesterday, on the drive over to the house.
Loki seemed to have plenty of ideas involving those posts and a variety of
bindings.
“When did you get up?” asked Loki, mouth pouting to blow on his coffee. His
voice was still hoarse from sleep.
Thor had made himself a cup of tea. He took a sip.
“About eight. I went out for a run.”
“Reconnoitring the grounds?” 
“Yeah,” said Thor. “Everything in order.”
Thor had had every intention of letting Loki have his breakfast in peace. He
was going to wait at least until his head was clearer before attempting
conversation of any kind. But something must have been showing on his face, his
anticipation perhaps, some concern, and Loki caught it. His sharp green eyes
were fixed on him over the rim of his mug.
“What is it?” he asked.
Always so perceptive, so observant. He read him like an open book. And then he
proceeded to misconstrue everything he read, but that was another story.
“What’s wrong? Spit it out,” urged Loki, since it was taking Thor more than two
seconds to reply.
“Nothing is wrong,” said Thor. “At least, I don’t think so. Don’t panic.”
“Don’t tell me not to panic. Now I’m panicking,” snapped his brother, putting
down his mug and sitting up in bed, rigid.
Thor chuckled and held his hand. He stroked it gently.
“I just want to ask you something, but I’m not sure how it’s going to go down,
that’s all.”
“Let’s fucking have it, Thor,” said Loki. “Put me out of my misery, already.”
“Ok, ok…” said Thor, appeasing. “I wanted to ask you…” Crap, he didn’t dare.
“Thor!” snarled his brother, on edge.
“Come to the Oscars with me,” he said, finally. “I mean, let’s go together. No
Fandral, no Sif. Just you and me.”
A quick succession of emotions flickered across Loki’s face, dominated by
alarm, and a deepening frown. And then, all of a sudden, his brow crumpled up
and he broke down in tears. Big, fat ones, deep sobs that shook him whole. Thor
had no idea where that was coming from.
“Baby,” he said, rubbing slow circles on his brother’s slumped back. “Loki,
baby, hey… What-what did I say?”
“It’s nothing,” said his brother, face buried in his hands, shoulders shaking.
“It’s nothing.” He straightened his back and forced his chin up, wiped his
tears. He was making a visible effort to pull himself together, even though he
was clearly not finished with this. 
Thor handed him a tissue. Loki blew his nose, ever so delicately. He was still
sobbing.
“Yeah, ok,” he said. “We’ll go.”
Thor wanted to be as ecstatic as he thought he would be, but that broken smile
and those red eyes, still wet, didn’t exactly fill him with joy.
“I’m fine,” said Loki, responding to the worry in his brother’s expression.
“I’m just… It’s been a long month. Lots of stress, lots of anxiety, and I’m so
tired. My emotions are all over the place.” He forced a smile, wiping the tears
as they kept coming.
It was a reasonable explanation. It should satisfy him. He wished it did. But
to Thor, Loki looked more than tired or stressed out right now, he looked
forlorn. And this thing right now, it didn’t strike him as a sudden surge of
random emotion. For a moment, Thor had thought he saw Loki’s heart breaking,
and he did not understand what that was about.
“Hey,” he said, holding his hand. He just didn’t know what to ask, or how, to
get through to his brother, and get a sincere, clear answer he could make sense
out of.
“Please,” said Loki, wiping his eyes, “I just need some space, ok? Some time.”
Thor nodded, but he was not happy.
“Your meds are… You’re up to date and all that, aren’t you?” He was willing to
risk Loki’s indignation to quell at least that one doubt. 
“Yes,” said Loki, not furious, “it’s all under control. Don’t… don’t worry
about that.”
Thor would just have to accept this answer.
“Do you… do you want me to leave you alone?” he offered.
Loki thought about it for a moment, then he nodded. Thor’s own heart sunk a
little. Which was unfair, especially since he had offered, but there you go. He
went to kiss Loki’s hair, but Loki met him with his mouth instead, his eyes
shut tight, latching onto him intensely, and sod morning breath. It gave Thor
both a pleasant shiver, and a very uneasy feeling in his stomach, all at once.
“I love you baby,” said Thor, staring into his eyes.
Loki’s lips began to tremble again, and he nodded, but he didn’t reply, a fresh
fit of crying surging. Thor left him to it.
 
 
                                       *
 
 
After Loki had cried his fill, his eyes drifted, unseeing, to the whirl of
liquid in his mug as he stirred it absently. He had a headache, and he had lost
his appetite. He still downed his coffee and made himself take as many bites of
his toast as he could down, chewing and chewing before he could swallow, as if
they were made of rubber. It was not like an empty stomach was going to make
this easier on anyone, right?
He had been forcing food down for a while now, since this whole circus started.
Well, he had to face the facts, he didn’t have the constitution for Hollywood.
It had not been completely awful, it had even been fun at times, but it was
simply too fucking much. After each encounter with the crowds, after every
interview, he would have needed days to recharge and regroup, by himself,
somewhere quiet. Instead, all there was after one long day of public exposure,
was another long day of the same, full of people who wanted a piece of him and
expected him to be unfailingly gracious, charming, loquacious, endlessly
patient, and able to deliver fresh and insightful replies to questions he had
only been asked thirty times that very day alone. And if he was made to face
another sea of flashing objectives, having his name called here there and
everyfuckingwhere, this one wanting a smoulder, that one wanting a smile, he
was going to fucking scream. There had to be some truth to that old
superstition about photos stealing your soul, because that was pretty much how
he felt right now, empty, drained, scraped bare, sagging. And he still had the
BAFTAs and the Globes and then the fucking Oscars coming up. He really didn’t
know how he was going to fucking make it. 
The Oscars. He should be looking forwards to that, shouldn’t he? No public
appearances programmed after that. A holiday. Yay! So why was Loki fucking
dreading every day that got him closer to that, instead of crossing it out of
his calendar with relish? Well, you see, after the Oscars, Thor was going to
dump him.
Why was Loki so convinced about that? Were things miserable between them? Well,
no, surprisingly. They had been appearing with their beards a lot as of late.
Had that been a problem? Depending on how you look at it. The press loved both
couples. Sif and Thor looked like royals, so classy and tall and composed and
so frigging gorgeous. And himself and Fandral, if he may say so himself, did
not lag behind. Even Fandral’s most innocent smile looked flirtatious, and how
could Loki help himself, with such a keen audience, now that the ice had been
broken between them? When the press cheered them on, the tabloids already had
them looking at rings and venues (as if) and Thor got so delightfully
territorial? The sex they had been having lately, hot damn. 
So no, they were not miserable. They were too busy, and too horny. They had so
much fun together, and Thor acted so loved up, that there would be days when
Loki would wonder why he was so convinced that his brother intended to break up
with him after the Oscars. But then they would get a couple of days off, and
they would spend them cooped up in Thor’s house, Loki hiding when the delivery
guy came in with their takeout, and there it was, there, that sour gesture in
Thor’s mouth, that black thundercloud over his head. And Loki would remember
that this strange month they were living was a honeymoon, a fantasy, and that
real life was always there, lurking around the corner. And that even in their
best times, Thor would look ahead, and see this as their future, and he would
think that this was not the life he wanted for them both. That this was not
what he had signed up for.
Perhaps Loki was being extra-paranoid, but it may have started when Thor met
Sam. His bullheaded brother, his knight in shining armour, he would not walk
back on his promises, and he had promised this was for good. Loki had no doubts
that, if it had been just down to Thor and his own dissatisfaction, his brother
would continue to lock horns with this situation, until it broke him. But this
was not about Thor, in Thor’s own mind, was it? Oh no, this was about Loki’s
depression too. This was about Thor thinking he wasn’t good for Loki. This was
Thor thinking Loki would be better off with somebody else.
So, this crazy month they were having, this folly of lust, escaping in the
middle of an after party to fuck in broom closets (ok, the once; usually they
were in the convention hall of a hotel and they managed to find a room), and
this shit about wanting to go to the Oscars like a fucking couple, that was his
brother making the most of their last weeks together. Because he was not going
to break up in the middle of a press tour that forced them to see each other
every day, of course not. He would wait until the public commitments were over,
so that they could both go lick their wounds with some measure of privacy and
peace. Loki wagered Thor planned to move back to L.A., to give them both some
space, give Loki his city back, and let him piece his heart and his life
together again, with Sam, probably, if Thor had his way. And if anyone had
thoughts about the two of them because of the Oscars, who cared? By the next
day, there would be nothing to hide.
He broke down crying again. It didn’t last. He felt so spent.
He had even begun to wonder, if Thor’s courage should waiver, if he hesitated
because he feared hurting him, should Loki do it himself? Because what kind of
a person clings on to someone they know to be so deeply unhappy? A good person
would not let this drag out of selfishness. A good person would not leave to
Thor the responsibility, the burden, and the awful guilt, of making the final
call.
So, yeah, this last month had been a fucking bitch, and the next one wasn’t
going to be all that great either, but to Loki, the approach of the finish line
was no light at the end of a tunnel, unless it was the light of an oncoming
train. 
He wished he was able to put it all to the back of his mind, and make the best
of what was left, he really wished he was. Instead, all he wanted to do was
curl up in bed and cry.
He took a deep breath, and dragged himself from underneath the pile of blankets
and quilts, the sudden chill sinking its claws in, and shaking the last dregs
of sleep out of him. He needed painkillers, he needed liquids, he needed a
shower, he needed his brother. They didn’t have that much time left. He should
spend as much of it as possible with his eyes wide open, right?
 
 
                                       *
 
 
They were sitting together at the piano, on the little bench. Loki’s fingers
were dancing on the keys. It was a simple, sunny, almost childish theme that
played over a more complex, more melancholy background. Every now and then, a
few notes would echo a fragment of a song they both loved. It was so fucking
beautiful. Thor was speechless when it concluded. Loki kept his eyes on the
keys.
“Happy anniversary,” muttered Loki.
“That was… Baby, I’m…” Emotion wouldn’t let Thor get his bloody words out. He
just hugged his brother tight. Tight. Tighter.
“I can’t breathe, Thor,” whispered Loki after a while.
“I don’t give a toss,” he laughed, still hugging, feeling teary. “That was the
most beautiful… Damn.”
“Ok, I get it. You liked it.”
“Liked it? You arsehole. Come here.” He kissed his brother with all he had, and
he felt him soften in his arms. 
When he pulled apart, Loki opened his eyes as if from a sleep, with a blink.
“You’re unreal, you know that?” said Thor, still overwhelmed. “I fucking love
you, baby, so so much.”
“I know,” whispered Loki.
Thor laughed and gave him a playful shove.
“Fuck you, Han. Hey, what about that song you sing sometimes with Sigyn?”
“You’re going to have to narrow it down,” said his brother.
Thor hummed the tune. Loki lifted his eyes, and what the hell was that look,
resentment? Thor didn’t really have time to examine it properly before it was
blanked out. Loki played, but he didn’t sing. Thor did mumble the chorus. In a
mutter, because he felt a little shy. Loki could sing so well.
 
“We will run and sing, 
You will dance with me,
We’ll fulfill our dreams and we’ll be free
We will be who we are
And they’ll heal, our scars,
Sadness will be far away…”
 
“Scream,” said Loki, after the last notes of the long, anthemic finale that
Thor absolutely loved to watch him play,  his fingers so nimble, flying over
the keys, his upper body swaying as if he needed his all to push that powerful
melody along.
“Pardon me?”
“It’s ‘We will run and scream’” he said.
“Right,” said Thor.
The fire was crackling pleasantly. It smelled nice. Loki turned to face him,
with a strange expression, intense. Thor thought he saw a note of despair in
there. Again, it was gone too quick, and he lost the thread anyway when Loki
grabbed his face and plunged in for a deep, urgent kiss. Thor gave in to it
without a thought. Soon, Loki was climbing onto his lap, little whimpery noises
as their mouths went desperately at each other.
“We’re going to break the bench,” muttered Thor, when Loki gave him a breather.
“On the rug, then,” whispered his brother.
 
“I’ve got nothing on me,” said Thor, firmly trapped between Loki’s thighs in
front of the fire, on the rug.
“Try the jar on the mantelpiece,” said Loki. “Maybe there’s still some from
last year.”
There was, there fucking was. Better not check the date on the packet. Thor
fucked him slow and deep, the clothes they had not wanted to take off because
of the cold getting in the way, in the most erotically frustrating manner,
everything pulling and tugging and crushing, movements restricted, only inches
of skin to touch and feel. Loki’s ice cold hands shook him whenever they
slipped under his clothes and met his flesh. 
“No one has a body like yours,” muttered Loki, melancholy rather than praising.
“No one.”
“Baby, look at me,” said Thor, as he got on the home stretch. 
Their eyes connected. It was an unusually loaded moment, even for them. Thor
came thinking he would remember this fuck in the future. Why exactly, or what
for, he could not tell.
 
They had had a nice, quiet day. They had had a walk around the grounds, they
had sorted through the mail, they had been in the attic looking for the
Christmas decorations, they had been to the village to buy a tree. They had
cooked. It had been fucking lovely, just perfect. And yet, Loki had looked so
sad.
Curled in bed together, settling down to sleep, Thor hugged his brother and
kissed him.
“We’ll get some gardeners in, come Spring,” he said. “We’ll get those roses in
the ground, ready for the summer.”
“Shut up,” whispered Loki, with a little shudder. “Please.”
 
 
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     The song, again, is "Not with haste" by Mumford & Sons. I keep
     hearing Thorki in so much of what they write, (White Blank Page is
     actually Thorki musical fanfiction, fight me on this!) although the
     song by M&S that really reminds me of the Dog is Lover's Eyes. I feel
     teenage Loki would have seen himself so much in that one, poor baby.
***** Chapter 32 *****
Chapter Summary
     And the award goes to...
Chapter Notes
     I want to thank wonderful Thorctopus for beta-ing this chapter, and
     hopefully the next... You're brilliant gurl. Remaining blunders are
     mine.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
Thor woke up with a start. Where was he? Oh, right, on a plane, flying home. He
had fallen asleep pretty much when the engines started. He had been so
knackered, he stood no chance against that low, soothing humdrum, the perfect
temperature, that cushy seat.
He stretched his arms, with a groan.
“Um, sorry,” he said, yawning, when he realised he had invaded his brother’s
air space.
Loki was looking out the window, towards the Atlantic Ocean expanding in all
directions, patched here and there with towering white clouds. He was swaddled
in a blanket — the good stuff, first class issue, because what’s the point of
being a movie star if not traveling first class on transoceanic flights,
goddammit — and he was quiet. Come to think of it, he had not been saying much
for the last couple of days, after the Oscars. His expression too was hard to
read, mostly blank, but not quite. Thor didn’t know what to make of it.
He didn’t have a clue about what was on Loki’s mind these days, but whatever it
was, it had made Loki’s reactions even harder to predict than usual, and it was
keeping Thor on his toes and constantly baffled. For example, when Tony had
suggested they fly up to New York after the Oscars and spend a few days in the
tower there, to see everyone. Thor had taken a look at his brother, who seemed
exhausted beyond words, depleted of energy and spirit, and said, “Thanks, Tony,
but…” Loki had turned to him with a look of alarm and dejection. What had that
been about? "Do you want to go?" Thor had asked. Loki had shaken his head, and
let his eyes drift into space, expression gloomy. Thor didn’t understand. He
would have bet his life that all Loki would have wanted now, after two soul-
wrenching months of hard labour on the publicity treadmill, was to shut himself
up somewhere quiet and isolated, maybe Asgard, and forget about the world for a
while. 
He had been speaking very little, and smiling even less. He didn’t act angry or
annoyed, he just… he seemed to have lost all his fire. It was very fucking
worrying. Whenever Thor asked if there was a problem, Loki’s reply was always
“tired” and/or “stressed out.”  Perhaps it was him Loki did not want to talk
to? Was Thor the problem here? He had to mention it to Sigyn and Bruce, and
quickly. Somebody had to try to get something out of him, before the therapists
had to get involved. Or was it too late for that already?
“Stop staring,” muttered Loki, face still turned to the window.
Thor leaned closer and stole an impulsive kiss off his brother’s head. Loki
didn’t react in any way, and the smile faded from Thor’s lips.
Perhaps all Loki needed was to recharge his batteries. He had been giving and
giving and giving for weeks on end. Whatever he had left, he had mustered and
burned it on Oscars night, in a dazzling, climactic bonfire. What a day it had
been, Loki had been abuzz with energy, unstoppable, bouncing off the walls,
bordering on manic. He had been hilarious too, expansively, luminously camp,
chatting up everyone they came across, enchanting assistants of different
strands, hair stylists, hotel concierges, ushers, cleaning ladies, limo
drivers, the fans. He dipped in and out of all these people’s lives in a whirl
of charm, glamour, joy, and class, the kind of celebrity encounter grandkids
end up hearing about — the night I met Loki Laufeyson. But as delightful as it
was, Thor struggled to take real joy in it, because he knew it was an act. Only
the day before, he had caught Loki in the middle of his nth crying fit that
week. On Oscars day, Loki had made one last colossal effort, he had pulled
himself together, he had dressed up, and he had played his part. 
The performance was also for Thor’s benefit. He had realised in the limo, where
it was just the two of them, blocked from the driver, seated facing each other.
If there was a moment for Loki to relax and drop the act, rest for a moment,
gather his breath, it was then. Instead, Loki began to run one foot up and down
the back of Thor’s calf. 
“How long till we get there?” he had purred, a mischievous glint in his eye.
“Not bloody long enough, so don’t even think about it,” warned Thor, already
flustered. He had been wired all day, you understand. He was also smiling,
could not hold it back.
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” said Loki. “Doesn’t look like it would take
long…” A wicked grin, as his shoe caressed the back of Thor’s knees.
“I’m going to have to walk the red carpet with a massive boner if you don’t
stop right now,” said Thor, hoarse.
“Is that supposed to dissuade me, or encourage me?”
Thor laughed. Loki smirked. 
“Come here,” murmured Thor, leaning across. 
Loki scooted over for a kiss.
“We should just fucking do it,” said Thor then, a whisper, eyes blazing. “We
should just get out there hand in hand, and fuck it.”
Loki didn’t even dignify that with an answer. An eye-roll would do. They made
the rest of the short drive in silence. 
Thor’s heart-rate went steadily up as they approached, catching on from the
excitement that was mounting outside, even with their windows up. The streets
were getting crowded, the noise was rising from a rumour to a roar, and there
was a small lightning storm ahead where the photographers were clustered to
greet the celebrities as they arrived. No other red carpet they had walked the
last few weeks, whether for a premiere or an awards ceremony, really prepared
you for the scale of this one. The Academy still did glamour and spectacle like
no-one else, without a hint of self-consciousness or humility. And Thor was not
here to present, or to attend, he was a guest of honour, a nominee. Yes, fuck,
he was a little nervous, alright? If the whole set-up did not make your knees
wobble a bit, thought Thor to himself, you had better check out if you have a
pulse, mate.
He never wanted to make a big deal out of his own nomination, but it seemed
like everybody else did. He felt so many eyes on him, with so many
expectations. It reminded him of that fateful MTV Awards night many years ago.
Judging from the talk he got from agents, publicists, and press, it seemed like
his whole life was going to begin, or end, based upon one measly award. Well,
his life did suffer a dramatic turn that night, but the award only had a cameo
appearance in that particular plot twist. Because that’s Loki for you, and in
any show he took part in, and certainly in Thor's life, he was never going to
be anything but the star. Thor could never think about that night without an
uneasy churn in his stomach. And he was feeling it now again. He hoped it was
an echo, not an omen.
The limo came to a stop. Loki had one hand on the handle. 
“Hey.” Thor stopped him. One more second, just one more. He hooked one hand
around the back of Loki’s neck to draw him near, and kissed him.
Loki smiled, mostly with his eyes. 
“Nervous?” he said.
Thor nodded. Loki stroked his face tenderly, and let his eyes roam on it, wide
and adoring.
“Go on, son of Odin,” he whispered. “Go claim your crown.”
Thor smiled in turn.
“Does that make you my queen?” he asked.
“Why should I be the queen? You’re the long-haired blondie with the big tits,”
jabbed Loki. He gave him a shove. “Come on. They’re waiting.”
 
The screaming when they stepped out of the car, fucking hell. So this is how it
sounds, and how it looks, and how it feels, to be on top of the world. The
crowd’s attention was like a twister, swaying this way and that, ebbing and
flowing, and the moment Thor appeared, it turned to him, it gathered around
him, it roared, and it submitted. Thor waved, smiled, flashes sparkled. He fell
into step with the dance and led it with ease, without hesitation or self-
doubt, supremely unselfconscious. A perfect professional and a gentleman, and
it all came as naturally to him as breathing.
He only snapped out of the zone to keep checking on Loki, although his brother
seemed to have it all under control. Where he had once affected a relaxed,
casual attitude, that night he held himself like a prince. Gracious, smooth,
and regal, there was nothing easy or approachable about him tonight. He was
happy to let himself be admired from a safe distance. How much Thor ached to
stand there beside him, and tell the fucking world that this remote, unearthly
creature belonged to him.
 
Mariners was nominated tonight for five awards: Photography, Adapted
Screenplay, Best Actor, Director, and Motion Picture. The big ones. The ones
that came at the end, so their group — Heimdall and his wife on Thor’s right,
Loki on his left, Tony and Pepper right behind them, with Bucky — had a long
wait before they needed to start getting nervous. They had done great at the
BAFTAs, not so great at the Globes. Thor himself, however, had lost the BAFTA
to Daniel Day-Lewis, who could not put a foot wrong if his life depended on it,
and the Globe to Leo DiCaprio, who was now the bookies’ favourite. The buzz was
that the Academy considered that Thor had a long career ahead of him, and that
Leo was long overdue, even if this was not his finest performance. And since
this was not really a contest of merit, but a popularity one, like his father
wisely said, and decisions about whom to vote for were made upon this kind of
considerations, Thor was not holding his breath.
Loki was. He was thrumming with anticipation, and not in a nice way. They were
sitting side by side, and Thor was able to feel the tension in his brother’s
whole demeanour and posture as it coiled and built up inside.
“Stop fucking staring like that,” Loki had murmured at one point, somewhere
between Sound Effects and Costume Design. “The camera is right fucking there.”
The clip to introduce Mariners for Best Picture was a scene from inside the
cabin of the pickup truck with Johnny and Bobby remembering their dad,
conflicting feelings playing up in both their faces and their voices: nostalgia
for their childhood days; yearning for a father whose love came in brief,
brusque outbursts, and then, just as abruptly, was withheld, and all but
vanished for weeks or months; pain from looking back to those days when these
two men, two strangers now, had been everything to each other. And seeping into
the conversation, both in the words and the silences, a feeling of near
impropriety, as if that intimacy that had ended should not be disturbed. No
fucking wonder the slash-prone fans shipped Johnny and Bobby, goddammit. There
were so many things simmering just under the skin, perhaps even a melancholy
old-lovers feel among them.
He remembered shooting that scene. He remembered a long break between takes,
their silence not as tense as it had been, but still far from comfortable.
Impossible to make small talk when it seemed to Thor that any wrong word, any
wrong step, was going to thrust them into a conversation Loki was at that point
still refusing to have, and send him into a fit of panic-induced rage. Thor
remembered Loki’s hands on the leather of the seat, noticing they had taken on
some colour. He remembered thinking he had not seen Loki’s skin with a tan
since Iceland. He had been burning for his brother that day, fucking burning,
so near and so far. A bit like right now, really.
Loki kicked his shin, without dropping the charming, yet fake smile.
“Cut it out,” he muttered between grinning teeth.
Thor woke up from his reverie and saw his own face, larger than life, on the
screen. It had shown him to the world looking at his brother with the fondest
expression. And if people knew what they were seeing, they would recognise it
for what it was — the face of an adoring husband, bursting at the seams with
love.
Bucky presented an award. The look of pride on all their faces made Thor smile.
Loki’s especially — it could have been his son there. The boy was going places.
But why, wondered Thor, was he going without Steve? They had been talking about
coming out for a while, hadn’t they? Thor had asked Loki about it a few days
ago. “Bucky is putting him off,” Loki had told him. “He doesn’t want Steve
fucking up his career over him.” That had given Thor some pause. “And what does
Steve have to say about that?” he had asked. And Loki had been the one lost in
thought then.
They lost Best Photography to the Coen Brothers’ film, but they snatched
Adapted Screenplay from right under their noses. It could have gone either way,
to be fair. Heimdall remembered the real Johnny and Bobby in his speech, he
thanked the author of the novel and her family. Tony wondered out loud during
an ad break whether that award meant Heimdall was not getting Best Director.
The clip they chose to present Thor’s performance was the scene immediately
after the fuck, when Johnny walks into the restroom, catches on to the strange
vibe between the hustler and Bobby, and just knows. Thor had felt completely in
character while shooting it, and an echo of that feeling was coming back to him
as he watched the scene unfold. He was not desensitised to it yet - he was not
used to seeing himself as Bobby and Loki as Johnny. Bobby was backed against
the wall, and Thor could feel again the cold, hard tiles and the terror, his
character falling apart because the worst thing that could have possibly
happened to him has happened: his awful, shameful secret is out, and his
brother knows. The counter-shot showed him a close-up of what Thor was actually
seeing while they were shooting, Loki/Johnny’s frown of passing confusion
lifting and resolving into realisation, and then relief flooding his face. And
at that moment, Bobby doesn’t understand what’s happening, but Thor did. The
best thing that could have possibly happened to Johnny has happened. Yes, he
knows. He finally knows what has been killing his brother, and thank god, he
can tell him to stop suffering now, he can tell him it will be fine, and it
will be the truth.
“Who the hell are you?” grunts Bucky/The hustler on the screen, protective of
Bobby. It rang true; the sex scene had established the connection, the empathy.
It was his only line in the whole film; the rest he did with his body and his
eyes.
Loki/Johnny said softly, eyes on Bobby, “I’m his brother.”
Bobby is still wary, still doesn’t understand why there’s no disgust and
contempt in his brother’s eyes. When Johnny moves forward, he hesitates between
flight and fight. Johnny moves slowly, as if trying not to startle a cornered
animal, and in his eyes there’s fucking everything, his love, his acceptance,
his pleading, and his hope — you don’t have to hide anymore, you don’t have to
run. Don’t push me away this time, brother… A whole string of emotions,
confusion, self-loathing, shame, and a lifetime of regret, are flickering on
Thor/Bobby’s face. Another shot of Loki’s eyes, so green, as open and sincere
as they could get, and then, on the counter-shot, Bobby’s walls, cracking. It’s
subtle. He’s a stoic, reserved man, military, mid-20th-century, who’s been
hiding and repressing his emotions all his life. It was a very powerful moment.
It came after about an hour and a half of both brothers getting more and more
deeply entrenched in their mutual lack of understanding, their reproach and
mistrust, their desolation and their disappointment, which by then had them
both convinced that they had lost each other for good, and feeling lonelier
than ever. Now, Johnny is reaching for Bobby, putting his arms around him,
awkwardly, with caution. After a moment, Bobby responds, and after yet another
moment, they hold tight. They were playing two 1950s guys with a serious
problem with notions of masculinity, so the hug had to be as clunky and stiff
as they came, but it also had to show all the love these two brothers had for
each other, their joy at being properly, really reunited at long last. When
they were rehearsing, Thor had told Loki he was channeling the quick hugs
between Odin and Bor, their granddad, and they had gone for that. It worked.
Wooden, rusty, and strong enough to hurt, that embrace marked the turning point
in the story, the moment both these characters’ lives are changed forever, and
if Thor was allowed to say so himself, they had pulled it off, with flying
colours. Yes, fucking hell, Oscar or no Oscar, he was very damn proud of that
performance. And Loki, who had asked not to have his name submitted for any
award, should be bloody well proud too.
The roar of applause took him by surprise. The whoops and whistles even more.
The audience had not reacted so warmly for any other candidate’s clip. He
turned to Loki, who for that one instant could not conceal a thing. If there
was ever a perfect moment for a kiss.
Ok, it was time. 
“And the Academy Award goes to…”
Loki’s nails sunk into his wrist. He looked pale, his mouth a thin, faded,
tense line. Thor stroked his hand, and gave him a look of reassurance. It will
be fine, baby. 
Chiwetel Ejiofor was taking for fucking ever to open that bloody envelope, and
even Thor was nervous now.
An explosion of white noise. 
No, not white noise, applause. A solid, bordering on painful back pat from
Heimdall shook Thor out of it. People around him were getting up on their feet.
It was his name on the screen. He stood up.
He turned to Loki, also standing now, fire and triumph in his eyes. Thor was in
a dream. He hooked his hand around Loki’s neck to pull him close. Their
foreheads touched. At the very last fucking second, Loki turned his head, and
the kiss fell on his cheek instead. His arms wrapped around Thor. He whispered
in his ear, I love you. Thor squeezed tight. I can’t breathe, Thor, said Loki,
as he pushed him off.
Thor was getting jostled, shaken, patted, shoved, and hugged. Tony smacked his
butt, Bucky kissed him, Heimdall hugged him. Their lips were moving, Thor
couldn’t hear. 
As he walked down the aisle towards the stage, friends, acquaintances, and
strangers alike reached to him to shake his hand or pat his back. 
With the thing finally in his hand, he faced the auditorium, who had given him
a partial, yet pretty fucking impressive standing ovation. They were sitting
down now, the applause dying, and they were waiting. Damn, the speech. I want
to thank the Academy…
“I wish our mother was here,” he said.
He gathered his wits, and he thanked Tony, he thanked Bucky, he thanked
Heimdall, he thanked the crew, he cracked a joke about being only five down on
his dad. Then he searched for Loki in the sea of faces.
“With this in my hands, I can now say for sure that the best thing to come out
of this project was getting you back. I love you, Loki.”
The music swelled, and they whisked him away for press and photos. Last he saw
of him, Bucky was holding Loki in his arms, and Loki was crying a river. And he
was far away, and the spotlights were on Thor’s face, but it seemed to him that
Loki didn’t look so much moved or bursting with emotion as he looked
distraught, and just plain sad.
 
 
                                       *
 
 
 
On the plane. There was a patch of land way below. The screen said it was
Greenland. Thor had fallen asleep again, slumped against him. He looked placid
and childish and beautiful. The hostess was not paying them any mind, or
pretending not to. She had flirted with Thor during the half an hour he’d
stayed awake. Loki guessed she might have been Thor’s type, once upon a time. 
Well, then, Laufeyson, you’ve made it. You’ve made it to the Oscars. You’ve
made it past the Oscars, even, how about that. There had been many times when
he had not been sure. He had thought he would be needing to call the whole
thing off, and wait it out in London, with Sigyn, maybe even book a room in her
establishment.
There was a golden statuette in Thor’s bag, with his name on it. Dad would be
so proud. Thor said he didn’t know where he was going to put it. When Loki
asked Tony where he was going to put his, Tony had wiggled his eyebrows: “The
metal cabinet,” he told him. Loki knew he meant the cupboard in which he kept
his sleek collection of metal sex toys, but Thor didn’t. “What do you mean?”
said the sweet golden oaf. “Come over to New York for a few days and I’ll show
you,” said Tony. Bucky had said “oh my god, yes!”, very excited. Thor said he
would rather just go home. And Loki’s heart had shrunk. 
He had not feared that his brother would dump him the days immediately after
the ceremony, while they were still on a high. But in Stark Tower, among their
friends, they could have prolonged the honeymoon a bit longer. They would have
been among people who knew, and they could have made believe for a few more
days that they were normal. It was a pleasant fiction. Back in London, back to
routine, restricted to their apartments and the petty daily miseries of trying
to keep their secret from the world, keeping it clean in restaurants, at the
theatre, at the movies, walking down the street with their hands stuffed in
their pockets, while surrounded by couples holding hands, Thor would be
remembering soon enough that they were not happy, that Loki’s health was a
worry, that being with the one you love shouldn’t feel like this. And sooner
rather than later, he would tell him sit down, we need to talk, and that would
be it.
There was a whole lot of blue sky out there, but below them, the clouds were
closing in. The metaphor would be complete when they began their descent,
leaving the sunshine behind to face the rain and the gloom of the English
winter. Loki was singing in his head, “They’re writing songs of love, but not
for me, / There are lucky stars above, but not for me…” A bitter scoff, which
went unheard under the roar of the plane. Time was ticking.
 
 
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     "They're writing songs of love / But not for me./ There are lucky
     stars above/ but not for me. / With love to lead the way / I've found
     more clouds of grey / Than any Russian play could guarantee. / I was
     a fool to fall and get that way / Hi ho alas and also lackaday / And
     though I can't dismiss / The memory of her kiss / I guess she's not
     for me...
     (One by the Gershwins, Ira and George.)
     The Coen Bros usual cinematographer is Richard Deakins. I was mixed
     up, I thought they did it themselves and used a pseudonym, but that's
     what they do with the editing. My wonderful beta Thorctopus got me
     out of that mix up.
     I'm sure Mariners would have been nominated for the editing as well.
     And yes, Heimdall won Best Director, and himself, Tony and Pepper got
     up there to get their Oscar for Best Picture, because fuck you,
     that's why.
***** Chapter 33 *****
Chapter Summary
     "It had been almost two weeks since the Oscars, and still nothing.
     Today, Loki’s mind was somewhere else. He had not been expecting it
     anymore.
     “Loki, I… I need to talk to you,” said his brother."
Chapter Notes
     I have to thank my beta Thorctopus very... uh, muchly this time. You
     probably should thank her too. She didn't only save me from
     embarrassing spelling mistakes (and hilarious ones), helped bring
     clarity where there was a jumble, and improved punctuation and
     grammar and bad English, but she also suggested a retake on the final
     scene which I believe improved it massively. Basically, if you find
     yourself jumping up and down a little by the time you finish reading
     this chapter, it's largely thanks to her.
     Thank you for your hard work, gurl, you're awesome!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
(The past)
 
“Are you sure I can’t stay?” pleaded Thor, already with his satchel slung over
his shoulder, school uniform peeking from under the hem of that leather bomber
jacket he was favouring these days. “I won’t bother him.”
“You have to go to school, darling,” said Frigga, gently nudging him along.
“Come on, you’ll see him when you get back.”
“I just… Won’t he be mad that I’m not here to greet him?”
Frigga smiled warmly, tugging a stray lock of hair behind his son’s ear, and
taking the chance to stroke his face.
“He needs peace and quiet. It’s a big step already coming home. He’s… afraid,
he’s dreading that he won’t cope, that he’s not ready yet, that he’ll relapse.
He’s afraid of what coming back here will make him feel. We’re trying to ease
his way, remove all the pressures and expectations as much as possible. Your
dad will be leaving too, and I’ll go and pick him up by myself, so he’ll have a
few hours to get used to being in this house again, without anyone asking
anything from him. He doesn’t need a reception band. What he really needs is
that we try not to make a big deal of it. I know it is, but he doesn’t need to
have it thrust in his face while he’s facing some very big concerns of his own
already. But he’ll be here when you get back, I promise. And he’ll have had
some time to himself, and he’ll be more ready to see you.”
Thor’s eyes had filled with tears. “Won’t he think I don’t care?”
“Oh, darling…” Frigga hugged him. He was already taller than her by a couple of
inches, and much wider, but whenever she held him like this, he felt like a
little boy again. He wished he could curl up on her lap. “He knows you care.”
 
Loki was coming home from the clinic today. He had been away more than four
months. 
Thor sniffled all the way to school, didn’t give a damn what people he crossed
on the street made of it. In class, he was distracted at best, completely
withdrawn at worst, head in a cloud. The teachers didn’t make as many
allowances for him as they did right after the event, but since he was usually
a cheerful, energetic, boisterous teenager who paid attention, and although
rowdy, was not disrespectful or mischievous, when they saw him like this, they
assumed it was about his brother, and they let him be. 
Four months. 
Thor had been to visit at least twice a week. He had found his brother subdued,
quiet, listless. He wouldn’t say Loki was a zombie, but he didn’t have much
life in him at all. 
“What do you do here all day?” Thor had asked early on, when Loki first moved
to the clinic.
“Read. Watch telly. Nothing,” answered his brother.
“Do you play? They have a piano downstairs, don’t they?”
“I don’t play.”
“Don’t you miss it?”
“No.”
“What about dancing?”
Loki had huffed, irritated. 
“Stop grilling me.” And it was the biggest show of energy he got from him that
day.
They struggled to find things to talk about. They sucked at small talk (they
were brothers, they had never fucking needed any small talk) and the bigger
issues were verboten. Thor had been instructed not to bring up the suicide
attempt, not to ask for explanations or reasons, not to ask Loki to open up
about that. He was told the whole thing was being tackled at therapy, and that
Loki would address the subject in his own time, when he was ready. And of
course, Thor was terrified of bringing up… well, the other thing. Even if they
had been in a more private setting, which they were not… what was there to say?
Or what was there to say that he dared mention? If it was a sore issue for him,
how sore must it be for Loki? What kind of awful damage could Thor cause if he
tried to talk about that? So he kept the chatter to new videogames, school
gossip, mum and dad’s work, and little else. 
Loki never seemed happy to see him, and he didn't really cooperate to make
things run more smoothly. He was quiet and distant on his best days, and a
snooty, petulant child on the bad ones. Their mother said it was a defensive
strategy. 
"He thinks you don't really want to see him, that you hate going there. That
you're angry with him for what he did, and only show up out of duty, because we
make you."
That had felt like a stab in the fucking heart. Thor learned one thing that
day: to wit, that believing that Loki had stopped loving him didn’t hurt as
badly as Loki believing Thor had stopped loving him.
"Look, I'll fuck off if you don't want me here, ok?" snapped Thor one
afternoon, when Loki was being particularly impossible. “I’ll fuck off and
never come back, if that’s what you want.”
"We'd never fucking hear the end of it," said Loki tonelessly. "We'd be nagged
to death." His face was turned to the window, with a view to the garden in the
small courtyard (the “sensory garden,” with aromatic plants to smell, and
fleshy and prickly ones to touch, a fruit and vegetable orchard to taste,
flower patches arranged by colour... Therapeutic, you see?). 
"So that's why you put up with me, then? Because you can't be bothered with the
fuss of asking me to stop?"
Loki shrugged. "Isn't that why you keep coming? Because they don’t leave you
alone otherwise?"
"I fucking miss you, arsehole!" Thor had snapped.
Loki had looked away, lips tight, brow scrunching. Thor didn't know what to say
now. He reached for Loki's hand and gave it a quick squeeze. Save for a couple
of awkward hugs in their parents' presence, it might very well have been the
first time he touched him in fucking months.
"I miss you too," Loki had muttered, with nothing but a wisp of voice, as he
pulled his hand away.
They hadn’t felt close for a while before Loki… The big scare. By the end of
September they were already arguing like cat and dog. October was bleak, the
sex was angry. In November, Thor got that part in the Channel 4 soap, while
Loki buried his nose in school work, music and singing. They barely saw each
other, and they sneaked out to be together less and less. December had been
dismal. Loki wouldn’t even look at him. Thor stopped knocking on his door. In
January, Thor thought they were getting over it, or at least used to it. He
felt quite numb. Then February came.
When Loki did it, it had been weeks since the last time they had been together.
It had come rather out of nowhere during the Christmas break, in Asgard, once
their visiting relatives had left. After ignoring each other all of December,
coexisting in silence, their paths seldom crossing even while living in the
same house, Loki had begun to give him the long looks again. Thor had felt that
hot rush of blood pumping in his veins, and the electric tingles of
anticipation and desire, as fresh and powerful as ever. Nothing was dead there,
just buried, and all it took was a sign of intent from his brother for Thor to
find himself burning for Loki again.
Thor could not remember how it had actually been. They had slipped together
into a guest room, and they had sex, but he couldn’t remember much besides. Had
it been anything special? Had it been a good shag? Had it been tender and
loving, or rushed and wild? No fucking idea, like it never happened. A blur.
But Loki had been deeply depressed by then, and when he wasn’t a quiet, furtive
shadow, he was a snarky, unpleasant, moody jerk. Thor, meanwhile, had taken to
either ignoring him or being snarky in return (which in retrospect had been
awfully insensitive of him, but he didn’t fucking know). Considering all of
this, it didn’t sound like the recipe for a great fuck. Which was pretty
fucking sad. He wished he had known it would be the last time. 
The sudden fear hit him like a bloody transatlantic: was Loki saying goodbye
that day, was that what it had been about? Dear fucking god, was that Loki
wanting to be with him one last time before he…?
“It was not an impulsive decision,” one of the therapists had explained to
Thor. Everybody was so invested in helping him understand, so that he did not
fuck up with his brother. “He had meditated his options thoroughly, always
within the logic of his depressive thinking, and had arrived at the conclusion
that it was the best for everyone. He planned it carefully, and he executed it
cooly.”
“But why that day? Why?” insisted Thor. “What happened that made him decide to
do it on that particular bloody day?”
The doctor had repeated the “depressive logic” argument, with different words,
since Thor had clearly not understood the first time. And Thor nodded and
dropped the subject, but he did not let it go. It felt like such a silly,
inconsequential, meaningless day, that fucking Tuesday. He had been planning it
for weeks, hadn’t he? So they had told Thor. There had to be something that
tipped Loki over the edge, something that helped him make up his mind… Was it
something Thor did? Something he did not do? Didn’t they understand? If they
did not identify that trigger, how could they be sure that they would not
accidentally activate it again? 
“It’s nothing you did, Thor - it has nothing to do with you,” mum would explain
again and again. “It’s nobody’s fault. Loki was ill. His illness affected the
way he felt and the way his thoughts worked and operated. He was in despair, he
was experiencing a lot of pain, and he had no hope that the situation would
ever improve or change. That’s what his illness does. In the end, the only
solution his brain allowed him to believe in was dying. Again, that’s his
illness. Do you understand?”
No. “Yes.”
“It’s not your fault, not my fault, not Loki’s fault, it’s nobody’s fault. If
he had cancer instead, would you blame yourself?”
He usually ended these conversations crying himself into a puddle. He felt so
fucking guilty, and her words did not console him, they did not bring him any
relief, because she did not know. She didn't know about them. Thor could not be
sure that she would still say the same thing if she knew the whole extent of
Thor's part in this.
“Do you think he’ll let me hug him?”
“Why wouldn’t he?”
Oh, she didn’t have a clue. He had been so close to telling her a few times, so
close to confessing it all. He was so desperate for comfort, for guidance. He
was desperate for a true hug from someone who knew, and still was willing to
offer. Without that, it all felt null and void, both advice and gestures of
comfort, and he struggled to accept them or find solace in them.
But he could never tell, of course, certainly not without discussing it with
Loki first, at a point in time when Loki was in the position of making this
kind of decisions. If nothing else - even if Thor delivered the most graceful
“post-incest-and-early-teen-sex” confession he could conjure up in his head -
he would bet his ass that, even in the most positive and accepting scenarios,
therapy and counselling would end up featuring somewhere. And Loki had enough
on his plate as it was. 
And so, Thor swallowed his true doubts, and he listened to advice and guidance
about how to deal with Loki which only half applied to them and their reality.
He felt as if he was stumbling in the mist, afraid of breaking things that
could not be mended, by saying the wrong word, or doing the wrong thing. Once
he had felt there was nobody closer to his brother than him, that nobody could
read Loki or understand him better than Thor. Now he seemed to him like a
closed book. Or even worse, a book for more mature readers, people a lot
smarter and more sophisticated than him. He had been all along, and Thor only
realised that now. He had been handling this delicate object, this mechanism of
precision that was his brother's mind, his emotions and his thoughts, as if it
was a preschool toy. Nobody would ever convince him that it had not been him,
being immature, clumsy and careless, that had broken Loki.
“Loki doesn’t blame you,” the one family therapist kept saying.
“How do you know?”
“He’s told me.”
(So you don’t know, Thor had thought.)
He was supposed to know Loki better than anyone. He was supposed to look after
him. Instead, he had been blind, and careless, and oblivious. He had shrugged
off the burden that belonged to both of them and moved on, leaving Loki behind
to carry it all alone. It didn’t even fucking matter whether Loki blamed him or
not. It was his fault. He should have been there and he wasn’t. He should have
seen it coming, and he hadn’t. And you people can cling on to your medical
books and your list of symptoms and your bow-tied diagnoses all you want, but
the fact is that you just don’t know.
 
 
When he got home that afternoon, it was quiet. It wasn’t strange to come back
to a quiet, empty house when his parents were working, but Thor knew they were
in today, so it felt eerie. He found mum and dad in the living room reading
quietly, a Richard Attenborough documentary on the telly on mute.
“Hello, my darling, how was your day?” asked his mum when he gave her a kiss.
“Your brother is in his room.”
Just like that.
“May I?” he asked.
“Yes, of course.”
Could he? Loki’s room was at the end of the corridor, which at this moment
seemed to stretch on for miles. Thor had been to that room often while Loki was
away, but he always felt like he was trespassing. Loki had always been jealous
of his private space. You went in by invitation only. Without it, Thor felt
unwelcome. He tried not to disturb anything, but still. Their mother had kept
it open and ventilated, had had it dusted and vacuumed, had moved a couple of
plants in, and visited every day. She did not want it to become a shrine, so
whenever she found Thor there, she would walk in and talk with him, as if their
presence and their chat could bring some life to the room. But it looked so
tidy, so lifeless. Loki wasn’t there, the organised chaos he liked to keep
around himself wasn’t there. Frigga had moved a number of things little by
little to Loki’s room in the clinic, so there were big gaps on the shelves. In
spite of Frigga's best efforts, the place felt abandoned, or haunted. And Thor
always left the room in a rush, as if an invisible presence (an absence,
rather) was chasing him.
Now he hesitated at the door, hand up, ready to knock, undecided.
 He heard the sound of paper rustling as a page was turned. It came as a great
relief, for some reason. He knocked.
There was no "come on in". Instead, a brush of clothes, bed creaking, the pat
pat pat pat of bare feet on wood. 
There he was, in comfy, loose clothes, baggy on his slimmer frame. Not as
skinny as he had got at one point in hospital, but still reduced in a way,
diminished, smaller. It made his eyes look bigger, gave his face a childish
air. And he was still the most beautiful boy Thor had ever seen. But there was
no rush of blood, no pull of lust, no impulse to reach and touch. They had gone
back to the time before puberty hit Thor, when he had admired his brother like
one admires something precious, fascinating, a miraculous work of handicraft,
meant to be looked at, not held. Thor guessed it should be a relief, but it
felt like loss. The physical part of his love for Loki had been such a
overpowering force, intense and confusing and exhilarating. Now that it was
gone, Thor felt empty, bereft, and he mourned it.
He had been staring in silence for ages. Loki had waited patiently enough.
“Yes?” he urged.
Thor swallowed. He should have fucking thought about what he was going to say.
He was making this more tense and awkward than it needed to be. He remembered
something.
“Hey,” he said. “I got you… Sorry, they gave me these.” He searched inside his
satchel for the stack of notes and homework Loki’s teachers had entrusted to
him a few days ago.
Loki had a quick, disinterested look.
“Ta,” he said.
Thor was still there, feeling stupid. He guessed Loki was nervous too, and
that’s why he was being so laconic, but he didn’t look nervous, and it was
making Thor very very uncomfortable. But he didn’t want to leave yet. He was
not finished.
“They don’t need it anytime soon or anything," he said, to fill the silence.
"It’s just for you to… to keep up with what they’re doing.”
“Ok.”
“Do… Do you need help with any of it?”
Loki quirked an eyebrow.
“With schoolwork? From you?” And there it was, just there, the faintest tug in
the corner of his lip. The little shit.
Thor smiled irrepressibly. Loki smiled too. Not so brightly, but a proper
smile, his eyes warm with it. He guessed that was what they call a moment.
“Jesus, sorry,” said Thor, sniffling. He had begun to cry. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s ok,” said Loki, softly. And with some hesitation, he put his arms around
him. 
Thor was full-on sobbing now, clinging tight. There was so much to say. But it
would not come, or it was coming all at once, and it stuck in his throat.
Things he was not supposed to say anyway, things he had been explicitly told
not to say. Loki, baby, you scared me so much. What would I do without you,
baby. Please, never do this again. I love you so much. I’ve missed you. I need
you. Please tell me you’ll never do this again, please baby… - “It will not
make him feel loved or cared for. In a way, he’ll feel you’re attacking him and
blaming him for your pain, which he cannot help. Even now that he’s doing
better, he doesn’t feel that he is worth all that suffering in the first place.
He already feels very guilty about causing us so much pain, he loathes himself
for it. Let’s not give him any more sticks to beat himself up with, ok?” — Oh,
Thor had been well lectured about what he should not be saying, alright. He
just wished he had got some orientation too about what he should say.
Loki was stroking his back, the stack of papers still in his hand. It was a
clumsy touch. A shy, teenage kid brother’s touch. What had they fucking come
to.
“I can’t breathe, Thor,” Loki said at last, when Thor couldn’t stop squeezing.
Thor sniffed, snorted a chuckle. 
“How can you talk, then,” he said, as he released him. He wiped his nose with
the back of his hand.
“Gross,” said Loki. But he gave him a small smile. “Thanks for these,” he
raised the papers, and he went back inside. He pushed the door closed.
Thor, too, retreated into his room to cry his eyes out.
 
 
It would become normal again to have Loki home. In time, their interactions
would become a little less strained, a little less clunky. They never got easy
or smooth again. They wouldn’t until years later. It felt like a whole
lifetime, almost. And if Thor had known that, he would have sunk into a pit of
despair. As it was, he lived day to day, celebrated every small victory, tried
to not dwell on the little steps back. After a certain point, there was very
little to no improvement, but Thor would only be able to see that in hindsight.
Back then, he just hoped tomorrow would be better.
 
Loki did not return to high school that year. By the time he got out of the
clinic, the course was almost over anyway. He worked on his own, got some
private tutoring, and passed his exams without much trouble. Meanwhile, to make
sure he wasn’t cooped up in the house all his waking hours, mum would take him
to the movies, to the theatre, sometimes to a museum. Odin took him on day
trips on the train and in the Jag, to the seaside or to a monument or to some
nice town. Thor was kind of jealous. Sometimes he'd get back from school to
find Loki and Odin on the settee watching a film together, huddled close, dad’s
arm around Loki’s shoulders, the same black and white light of the screen
dancing on their faces. It always made him stop and look on, as if some kind of
rare cosmic event was unfolding in his parents’ very living room.
 
When he did come back to school, Loki was as lonely as ever, but now he took to
hanging around with Thor and his friends. He didn’t really interact much with
them. He used them as a screen, to pretend he was not a complete social
outcast. Which he was. People said things behind his back. People said things
to his face. And Loki didn’t hold his chin up, proud and haughty, as he once
had, and he never responded.
Thor did instead. And what a huge relief it was to see clearly for once what he
could do for his brother, and just go ahead and do it. Big, strong Thor, who
had been told so many times he had to be mindful of his own strength and his
physical advantage, that he had to be gentle (with Loki, sure, and with the
other kids, both in the playground and on the playfield), he saw no fucking
reason to be careful and restrain himself this time. Heartless bastards,
bullies, mean, cruel shits, all of them. If they could do that to a suffering
boy who had tried to commit suicide, they were fucking scum and didn’t deserve
his mercy. They had had it coming. He got into fights, he caused some black
eyes, he bloodied a few noses. And he was being careful, believe you him. He
could have bashed in some heads and broken a few bones. The school was lenient
on him, because they were aware of the bullying, and knew where Thor’s rage was
coming from, and what caused it. Odin and Frigga weren’t. Thor had ended up
having to pull out of the Channel 4 soap as a punishment. Odin had been looking
for an excuse anyway, so Thor thought. 
Worst of it all? Loki did not look up to him anymore as if Thor was made of
sunshine and gold for fighting in his name. He acted like it had nothing to do
with him. 
His brother was a shadow. He was apathetic, disinterested, vaguely bored. He
had no fire and no fury. It seemed to Thor that he only went through the
motions of living, because he had to. For his family perhaps, out of
responsibility, because he had seen the devastation in Frigga’s face when he
woke up in hospital, the terror in his dad’s. Thor could not know what Loki had
seen in his own face. Mum told him something like this comes with its own
sequelae. As if he had been in a terrible car crash, it would take time for
Loki to recover, to build up his mental and emotional muscles again. 
“He will get better, I promise,” his mum said. 
But when, when? Thor was afraid that if Loki didn’t improve and get strong
again soon, he would become depressed again. He was still so lonely, and people
could be so cruel.
 
Drama school. Frigga started to nudge Loki about it, more and more often. 
“Why don’t you give it a try?”
 Loki would say maybe, but kept putting it off. 
Over the dinner table one evening, Thor found out that Loki had decided to
join. Some time later, Frigga was asking them both about their day. Loki got
talking about drama school, and there was a spark in his eye. 
“I’m so glad you’re enjoying it, darling,” said their mum. 
Enjoying it?, thought Thor, Loki looked alive.
And during that year, whenever they went to watch him in a play or a sketch,
which the school put on regularly, Thor wanted to sink down on his knees and
give thanks. There he was, his brother. He was back. He was rage and humour and
electricity, he was gracious and poised, he controlled every muscle of his body
with precision, and wielded them well, and he stood head and shoulders above
each and every other pupil in the school, and probably his teachers too. What a
feeling it must be for him, after all that isolation, all that rejection, all
that contempt, to revel in the worship and applause of an enraptured audience.
Whenever he was on stage, all eyes were focused on him. On a stage, Loki the
outcast was a god.
He was just so bloody good at this; he had a future in this, he could become
great, really fucking great, and make not just a living, but a name for
himself. Loki’s whole life stretched before him again, and for the first time,
it seemed that he was looking forwards to it. 
 
The Work had saved Loki’s life, it had given it meaning and purpose, when their
love had nearly ended it. This was the essence of it, the distilled wisdom Thor
had learned from that time of their lives. And so, during all those years that
followed, Thor had denied himself and Loki what they both wanted, because of
the scandal, sure, because of Thor’s career, and also, ultimately, because of
this.
 What he had learned in the last few months, however, was that nothing is ever
as simple as that. That their love was not just death and illness to Loki. That
he too could help make him happy and whole. 
But not like this.
Thor was passionate, and impulsive, and had a romantic streak, but he was also
a realist. He did not fool himself with the belief that love can overcome
everything. He did not believe it was the answer to every question. He had
learned the hard way that, just because two people are crazy about each other,
that doesn’t mean they’re good for each other, or that they belonged together,
or that they were entitled to a happy ending. Even if they deserved it, even if
they had worked so hard for it and earned it. Sometimes life just isn’t fair.
He had told himself that he had thought long and hard about it all before
jumping into this. He hadn’t. He had simply put all his fears aside and gone
with his gut.
They could not go on like this. He was unhappy. It was making Loki unhappy, it
was making him ill. Because Thor had been so afraid and so full of doubts and
confusion, and because their lives had been so intense and complicated for so
much of last year, he had had to sit and watch how things deteriorated, without
being able to do much about it. Now there was no excuse anymore. Putting it off
would be procrastinating. 
Yes, he was afraid, he was uncertain, he was terrified. Loki seemed so fragile
to him still, so complicated. Thor could pull or push too hard and break him.
 But somebody had to do something, and Loki would never do it. It came down to
him. He had to be brave, the knight in shining armour his brother had once had
him for. For himself, and for Loki.
 
 
 
                                       *
 
 
 
 
“New kink?” said Loki as he finished loading up the dishwasher and turned it
on, while his brother watched from the door. “Shall I wear a French maid
costume next time?”
Thor put on a vague, dim smile. He looked concerned, a serious frown on his
beautiful face. He had something on his mind, it was pretty obvious. It had
been there for a few days, since they came back from Hollywood. 
Loki knew what it was. He knew what was eating his brother up. The first few
days, he had spent them expecting the “we need to talk” to pop up at any
moment, from the minute he woke up to the time he went to bed. When it hadn’t,
and then another day had passed, and another, and another, and still nothing…
Well, he had not forgotten about it, but he had put it a bit further to the
back of his mind, and sort of… relaxed. Thor clearly couldn’t bring himself to
do it yet, not while things were still ok.
Now and then, the bloody suspense got on Loki’s nerves. It made him irritable
and short-tempered. Oh, grow a fucking pair, he almost snapped several times,
when a silence between them would stretch too long, and there was clearly
something Thor was trying to say and didn’t.Just fucking do it already. 
Thor was awfully clingy too, like he was trying to make the best of it until
the last minute. Plenty of sex, very feelsy, lots of long stares, lots of deep,
passionate kissing. Too feelsy at times, even. His brother could get very
intense. Loki sometimes felt overwhelmed. But for all of Loki’s eye-rolling and
his very colourful put-downs, no matter how annoyed he pretended to be (and how
very anxious he was really feeling), none of Thor’s shenanigans was making it
any easier for Loki to accept the end of things. It was too bloody nice,
frankly, feeling that his brother couldn’t get enough of him. It was so easy to
get his hopes up...
So it had been almost two weeks since the Oscars, and still nothing. Today,
Loki’s mind was somewhere else. He had not been expecting it anymore.
“Loki, I… I need to talk to you,” said his brother.
Loki felt a sudden, breathless void in his stomach, the blood leaving his face.
Details began to register for some reason. The cables on Thor’s jumper, spots
on the apples in the fruit basket, crumbs by the toaster, asymmetrical laces on
his brother’s shoes. So, this was it. Today. Deep breaths, deep breaths. 
Thor had that frown still, a thinking one. He did not look like he was
distraught or in terrible pain. Instead he seemed focused, reflective. Was he
trying to put up a front in preparation for Loki's meltdown, because someone
had to keep their shit together? Or had this been such a long time coming, Thor
had already done his mourning all by his little self? 
Thor opened his mouth, couldn’t find the words. He gave him a nervous smile.
“I think we better sit down.”
Loki was going to puke. He wondered why he wasn’t crying. He guessed he was in
shock. He had thought he would be ready when the time came. He wasn’t.
They sat down; Loki on the settee, Thor on the armchair. Thor held his
brother’s hands in both of his. Loki was fucking shaking. Another nervous smile
from Thor, even tighter than the previous one. Was it intended to be
reassuring?
“Loki, I… I know it won’t come to a surprise to you that… that I’m not happy
with-with how things are right now in our lives.”
White noise flooded Loki’s mind. He was physically fucking shaking, his teeth
would clatter if he wasn’t clenching his jaw. He was going to be violently sick
all over the goddamn coffee table. And his brother was surely noticing, but he
seemed to have decided to just push on ahead.
Thor was talking but it wasn’t registering. Words came through now and then.
“…this situation… not what we wanted… Something needs to… you and me…”
“Just fucking say it already,” he interrupted, the tossing and tumbling of
apprehension in his belly now all-out painful.
Thor chuckled. He chuckled? Loki paled with outrage and shock. How could he
fucking laugh, the heartless bastard?
“Ok, ok, don’t bite me,” Thor said, stroking his hand, still chuckling. He was
shaking a bit as well. “Loki, baby… Jesus, this isn’t as easy as…”
“Thor!” he barked.
Thor looked him full in the eye, holding Loki’s hand firmly between his own.
“I-I want you to move in with me.”
Loki stared, blank. 
“I want us to live together.”
Shocked frown. Utter confusion.
“I want us to come out.”
Loki’s jaw fell open. Thor was squeezing his hand too fucking hard.
“What…?” managed Loki.
“I want to come out,” repeated Thor. “I want us to go public.”
Loki stared, unblinking, for an eternity and a half, mouth still gaping. He
whispered, because he didn’t have voice for more. 
"You have completely lost your mind."
Thor smiled broadly now, dazzling, blinding.
“No, baby, I haven’t. I’ve thought about this a lot. A whole lot. For months
now. I am sure.”
“Insane is what you are,” said Loki, still more wheezy than anything. “You do
not fucking confess to the world that you’re shagging your own brother! You
haven’t thought this through!”
“I have, actually, for once,” said his brother pleasantly. 
He acted so smooth now, he looked so relieved. He had probably thought how this
showdown would go, and it seemed things were going as he had anticipated, so he
was calm and in control. His hold on Loki’s hand had relaxed from desperate to
firm. He was stroking it gently. He stared right into his eyes again. 
“Loki, this is how it is. I’m never going to give up on you, ever. You’re the
only one I want, the love of my life, my soulmate, whatever you want to call
it. You’re my husband, ok? My one. And I’m so blessed to have you, I’m
privileged. Most people live their entire lives without ever experiencing what
we have. So I refuse to give up on you just because it’s complicated. As long
as you want me, I want to be with you. But not like this. We can’t go on like
this. This situation is poison. It’s killing us both. Something needs to
change, and I believe it’s not us.”
“It’s not an option…” whispered Loki. “It’s unthinkable.”
“We can’t hide the rest of our lives, baby, it just won’t work, it's
impossible. I’m not getting another beard. People will wonder what the fuck I
am doing. And they’re going to pry, and they’re going to start suspecting, and
one day, someone will out us. It can’t be helped. It will happen. I refuse to
sit here and wait until they do. I refuse to let anyone else take this from us.
I want to step up and tell the world that I’m not ashamed. That I love you,
that we’re together, and that it’s brilliant. That I’m proud to be the one you
love. I want to get out there, in everybody’s faces, with you. I want to live
with you, I want to go out with you, I want to hold your hand down the red
carpet, I want to…”
“Hold your horses, there, handsome,” interrupted Loki, sardonic. “If we do
this, no more red carpets for you, because you’ll never fucking work again.”
“Fine,” said Thor, not one hair out of place, “no more red carpets.”
“You’re just saying that,” argued Loki, skeptical.
“No, I’m not. I’ve had a good run in Hollywood, a good career I can be proud
of. Better than many, many other people in our business with picture-perfect
lives. I’ve done well. I’ve left my mark. And yeah, sure, coming out may well
mean I never work in Hollywood again. But, first, my career could have ended at
any point, for reasons beyond my control. I could be unlucky and have a few
flops in a row, and there you go, I’m yesterday’s news. It could happen,
nobody’s immune. And second, there are other places. Who knows, maybe the BBC
doesn’t mind so much about my private life. Maybe a small theatre somewhere. I
don’t know. But even if it’s a complete disaster and I never get to act again…
the fear of losing my job is not a good enough reason to give up on us, Loki,
it just isn’t. Not anymore.”
Loki’s mouth was getting dry, he had been gaping so long. His brother had
thought this through, indeed. He had answers for everything.
“…And what about my career?” he tried. “I’ll be the poster boy for perverts and
deviants if we do this. I mean, even more than now. I’ll be accused of
corrupting you, I’m going to fucking bet money on it. Have you thought about
that?”
Thor nodded.
“Yes, of course. You have to be onboard with this too. It’s going to be hard.
We have to be strong together.”
“And if I’m not onboard with this? Then what? We break up? Is this an
ultimatum?”
Thor’s frown had returned.
“No. If you’re not onboard with this… I don’t fucking know. I-I don’t think I
could do it. Leave you. So… I don’t know.” He looked into his eyes and lit up
again. “But I think it’s what you’ve wanted all your life. Since we were kids
and you wanted to hold my hand down the street. Since you insisted that we
fucked in broad daylight and without a stitch on in Iceland, for the fucking
sky and sun to see. You’ve never once been ashamed of this, you’ve never seen
the wrong in this, you’ve never wanted to hide. You would have told mum and dad
if I had let you. That’s who you are, and I love you so much for it, baby.
Because you want to stand there and shout: fuck you, I’m Loki Laufeyson, I do
what I want!”
“These are just words, Thor. I very much do not do what I want.”
“But what I’m getting at is,” said Thor, “that I think you’re more worried
about this for me than you are for yourself. That it’s on my account that you
don’t want to go public, even if it’s killing you inside. And I think that
keeping your head down, being denied, everybody thinking I’m with someone else,
this is all hurting you and gnawing at you. This won’t work, baby. You have to
be happy, you have to feel good being with me. You can’t just work your head
around into thinking that it’s alright to be a dirty secret. It’s not right,
baby. I am proud of you, I’m proud of being the one you love. I don’t want it
to be a secret. You don’t have to do this for me, understand? I’m not afraid
anymore. I’ll be alright. And I don’t want to keep hiding. I want to be with
you in the open and never once have to lie about it again. Because I’d rather
get a bad look on the street or a thousand bad words in the press instead of
the twist in my stomach I get every time I want to hold your hand in public and
I don’t. I loathe myself for it, for every lie, for every time I deny you. So
what if the bigots and the jerks hate us? What if some lunatics in the Bible
Belt burn us in effigy? We’re not doing anything bad, we do no wrong to anyone,
I have nothing to be ashamed of. I’m not ashamed of loving you, but I’m ashamed
of hiding. Do you understand me, Loki?” 
He was squeezing Loki’s hand tight again, his expression intent, earnest. Loki
was holding his stare, speechless, hesitating between screaming and fainting.
Maybe he’d just do both.
“I know it’s not going to be all downhill after we come out. I’m not saying
that all our problems will evaporate and everything will be perfect, and I
don’t expect it to be. And I know that we’ll never be normal. So what? Fuck
normal! But we will be who we are, and I believe with my whole heart that we
will be stronger and happier for it. Even if it means facing haters and looks
of disgust and contempt and the wrath of the Daily Mirror, even if it means we
never fucking get to work again. I’ll still go to bed feeling better than I do
now. I’ll be fighting the good fight, next to the person that makes everything
worth it for me. I won’t have to look at my Oscar with resentment anymore.
Awards and recognition and all that crap have been turning to ash in my mouth,
baby. Even when a fan comes to me on the street I just can’t… I feel I’m a big
fat fraud and a liar. That the person they admire would not hide something as
big as this. That I’m taking advantage of them, even, letting them believe in
something I am not. I’m not enjoying it anymore, I don’t want any part of it.
But if we do this, I’ll feel alright in my skin again. And I don’t know what
I’ll do, but at least I won’t be hating myself when I do achieve something.
There is no downside to this, baby, there just isn’t.”
Loki was out of words, out of arguments, out of his fucking depth, and probably
out of his mind, because his brother’s reasoning was starting to make sense to
him. Thor stroked his hand again, called Loki’s attention with a squeeze.
“What is it? What are you thinking right now?” asked Thor.
Loki’s deepest fear. He was so afraid, he didn’t even want to think of it, let
alone say it out loud, just in case his words conjured it up and caused it to
happen. 
“What if this ends tomorrow?” he said, in a small whisper. “One year from now?
Five years from now? Then what? Your reputation won’t bounce back from that,
you’ll be… tainted forever. And you will have lost it all for nothing.”
Thor shook his head, with a warm, loving smile.
“For nothing? How can you say...?" he cut himself. “Not for nothing, baby…” He
turned his eyes down to think. He pressed his lips together. This was a hard
thought for him to entertain too. “Nobody can see the future. I’m sure every
lover that ever was thought that their love was eternal. I know we’re not
special like that. Can this end in a few years? Well, yes, of course. I can’t
fucking see it, but... But that’s still not a good enough reason not to try.
Because we don’t know what’s going to happen in five years if we do come out,
but I can tell you what will happen in a few months, at best, if we don’t. That
we’ll kill this, baby. It will die in our hands. Because I’m not happy, and
you’re not happy, and if we’re not happy together, then what’s the point? And I
can tell you something else that will happen. That I may be on top of the
fucking world, the greatest fucking star Hollywood has ever known, and get ten
Oscars, and get a billion dollars per movie and the best parts and all the
bloody awards, and I’m going to be there, alone and bitter and hating all that
I have, because I traded it for you, I chose that instead of a chance to make
it work with you. I know because I’ve been there. I was up there with that
piece of junk in my hands and it did nothing for me, baby. Once the thrill was
gone, that’s all it was, a piece of junk. A badge I got for lying.”
Loki scrutinised his brother’s face, aghast. Had he been so deep in his own
misery that he had failed to realise that? He had believed Thor was happy…
“And baby,” Thor squeezed his hand, “I’ve loved you all my life. All my life. I
know you well, and I never get tired of you. Everybody else is a shadow next to
you. You’re my fucking everything. And I believe you feel the same about me. I
believe we can last the distance, baby, and have a fucking great time doing it.
I believe we have what it takes. I’m sure our relationship will evolve and
change and god knows where it will end up, but I can’t see a time when I don’t
want you by my side. I can’t walk out on this without trying. Whatever happens
in the future, this should not end because we don’t try. I said I would do
whatever it took. And this is it, this is what it takes. Let’s fucking fly into
the sun together, baby. Let’s give it everything we’ve got. Even if we fail,
we’ll live happier in our own skins, because we tried. We did not hide, we were
not ashamed, we made a fucking splash. If it has to end, that’s how I want it
to end, not watching it wither and die while it fucking poisons us. Don’t you
agree?”
Loki could not think, could not speak, could not… anything. Thor’s blue eyes
were on him, warm, radiant with hope. 
“I know I’ve disappointed you before. I know I’ve taken you for granted. But
now I know what I want, I know what is important and what isn’t. I know this is
scary. I’m scared too. I know I’m asking a lot, I know it’s a huge leap of
faith. But believe in me, baby. I’m up for it. I’ll be true to my word. I am
worthy.”
Loki felt a clutch in his heart.
“What if I’m not?" he whispered. "What if I can’t endure it? ...What if I stop
being in love with you?”
Thor returned a small, caring smile.
“I know how hard this is for you. I know you have fears and thoughts I can’t
fully understand. I know you struggle to see yourself the way I do. If you stop
wanting me, you stop wanting me. It will not be the end of the world, we will
have had our run. That’s fine. That’s fair. That won’t make you bad or evil, it
won’t make me hate you. And whatever happens, I will always be there for you,
in any way you need me to. I know you’ll be there for me too. But I believe in
us, baby. I believe we’re fucking invincible. I know we can make it, together.
We’re made for each other. We’re good for each other, bloody great. I believe
in you, baby, I believe in us. Believe in us, baby.”
And Loki was fucking choking, chest heaving in great gulps of air. He stood up,
shaking his hands as if he had burned his fingers, Thor’s warmth still on
them. 
“I-I need to…” he paced up and down, breathing in shallow, accelerated
breaths. 
“Baby, are you alright?”
Loki touched his throat, he rubbed it.
“I can’t fucking breathe,” he choked out.
 
____________
 
 
“What’s the emergency?” Sigyn burst into the room, eyes wide in alarm. She was
flustered, hair disheveled; she must have run from the flat. She took in his
pathetic recumbent form on the bed, where Thor had carried him, up the stairs,
bridal style (even though Loki had protested that he could walk by himself. Ok,
fine, he tried, it’s just that he didn’t have much of a voice to protest
with). 
She dashed to his side.
“Loki, darling, what is it?”
Loki burst into tears, dry to Niagara falls in two seconds flat. He was sobbing
violently.
“He-he-he… He w-w-w… he w-w-wants to… He w-w-wants to c-c-come out…”
She raised her eyebrows, baffled.
“He what, who, what?”
“Th-Thor…” sobbed Loki, “he-he w-w-wants to c-come out.” 
Sigyn put her arms around him with some hesitation, as if unsure about how to
proceed without a clear diagnosis.
“You mean he wants to…?”
“H-he wants to t-tell the w-world we’re to-together…” he said, still between
deep sobs.
“Sweetie, are you crying or laughing?” 
“I don’t even k-know!” exclaimed Loki, wiping the tears as they kept coming.
Yes, he guessed he was sending mixed signals. A fair reflection of his present
state of mind. “That arsehole! That c-crazy, crazy arsehole! He’s insane and
stupid and ridiculous and I’ve never f-f-fucking loved him more!” 
She smiled from ear to ear, endeared, with a big “Awww…” printed on her face in
bold pink lettering, Comic Sans. 
He made an effort to control his breathing, and felt himself calm down
slightly.
“You have to do something, Gyn,” he pleaded. “He’s delusional and irrational
and he thinks he’s the knight Saint George or something, and he’s thought about
this a lot, because every argument I can come up with, he’s got it covered
already, and I think I’m losing it too.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because he makes it sound reasonable.”
She laughed and hugged him. 
“My silly boy,” she said, holding his head against her chest, “Look at you.”
“All I can see is boobs right now,” he grumbled. 
She petted his hair and his sobbing abated. Anxiety rose instead. He sounded a
lot more calm, but when he spoke next, what he was feeling inside was a deep,
cold shudder.
“We have to stop him, Gyn. He’s going to fuck up his whole life, and it will be
my fault, and he’s going to hate me for it.”
“You don’t really believe that.”
“But my brain says I should.”
“That’s your anxiety kicking in.”
“No shit, Sherlock. Sorry, sorry, sorry, filter fail, sorry.” Deep exhale. “Oh,
Sigyn, I don’t even know what to think anymore…”
“Why don’t we all sit down, have a cup of tea, and calm down a little? Thor,
can you put the kettle on, please?”
“Oh my god!” gasped Loki, “He’s been outside all this time? You could have
fucking told me!”
 
 
__________
 
 
 
It was a long chat, which started at the kitchen table and eventually relocated
to the settee, Thor at one end, and Sigyn at the other, with Loki sitting on
the floor, between her knees. 
“So, basically, darling,” said Sigyn at one point, trying to summarise Loki’s
whining and his ramblings and circular arguments, “what you’re really, really
afraid of is that Thor doesn’t mean what he’s saying. That when he says he
doesn’t care about not working again, he’s… what, lying?”
Loki shifted on his ass, which was getting sore, even with the fluffy rug
underneath.
“Not lying,” he mumbled. “Just… not being realistic. Getting himself wrong.
That he’s so fed up with this, and so eager for things to change, that he’s
just trying to make himself believe that… I don’t even know anymore. That he
will be alright with things that, when push comes to shove, he’s not going to
be alright with.”
Thor let out a minimal huff of frustration. They had dealt with this several
times already, over the course of the evening (the sun had set on them, talking
about this). Thor had made repeatedly his impassioned arguments about the
purity of his intentions, and the thoroughness of his self-examination before
he dared mentioning this coming out thing to his brother. And here they were
again, pretty much exactly where they had started. He was probably beginning to
fear that they could talk and talk and talk until they were blue in the face,
and it would be for nothing. Well, grumbled Loki to himself, in the absence of
empirical evidence, this was a matter of faith. Did you peg me for a person who
takes people on their word? 
But he was getting anxious that he was testing his brother’s patience, and that
he would be dumped right there and then, simply because of being such an awful,
untrusting pain in the butt. He tried to explain his reservations once more. He
tried to keep calm and sound reasonable.
“You say it yourself, how impulsive you are, that you’ve let yourself be led by
wishful thinking before, and then regretted your choices…”
Thor clenched his jaw and looked away. Loki unconsciously dug his nails in the
flesh of his palm. 
After a minute of strained silence, Thor got up to pace, rubbing his brow. Loki
cringed in fear, “Now you’ve done it, Laufeyson. Now he’s pissed off.”
“How can I convince you?”, grumbled Thor from the other end of the room. He
sounded at the end of his tether, out of arguments or reasons or words. He had
tried them all. “How?”
Loki took a deep, shuddering breath.
“It’s a very big fucking thing you’re offering to do,” he mumbled, after a
moment. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I suffer from self-esteem issues.
I struggle a little bit with, oh, I don’t know, feeling I’m fucking worth
losing the adoration of millions.”
“Loki…” admonished Sigyn, as Thor turned a dark look towards him. Loki tried to
make himself small.
“I also suffer from defficiencies in my sarcasm filtering mechanisms,” he
muttered, eyes low. “Sorry.”
Thor’s scowl dissolved slowly into a tiny smile. He took his seat again on the
settee and patted his thigh.
“Come here?”
Sigyn gave him a nudge, then a shove. Loki dragged himself up, and sat across
his brother’s lap. Thor manoeuvred him so that Loki’s side was leaning against
his body, head on his shoulder, face against his neck. 
“I can’t convince you, but I can prove it to you,” whispered Thor. “Let me
prove it to you.”
Loki said, with his eyes closed,
“I’m afraid you’ll think I’m just making up excuses because I don’t really want
to do it. But I’m also afraid of saying yes straight away and you jumping on it
without thinking it through. I need to-to be sure you have really thought about
it.”
“I have thought about it. For months. I’ve considered all the possibilities.
This one doesn’t even seem so big right now. I’m not afraid anymore, and I’m
even struggling to believe I was so scared before.”
“That’s not reassuring at all,” mumbled Loki.
Thor gave him a squeeze.
“Look, I have had enough experience in the business to be pretty sure that,
from this job, it’s acting I like. So, if worse comes to the worst, we’ll just
have to fund our own projects, and if there are one hundred, fifty, ten fucking
people on this sweet earth who don’t give a damn that we’re brothers and we’re
together, we’ll act for them. And if we have to move to a fucking desert island
for ten years until the press forgets about us and leaves us alone, we can do
that too. I don’t know, baby, I just don’t think it will come to that. I think
we can say goodbye to Hollywood, but there are so many other places, so many.
And sure, the paps will hound us for a while, but sooner or later the public
will get used to the idea, we’ll become old news, and we’ll be able to live in
peace. I’m probably never going to run the NSC like dad wanted, but that was
never my dream, it was his. I’ll have to get used to working on a different
scale and find my feet again, but I can do that, don’t you think? Aren’t you
always telling me how stubborn I am, that I never give up, no matter how
hopeless? Well, I’m determined to pull this off. I have very good reasons.”
Loki listened in silence. Thor had one more thing to add.
“And I think your fans have already proven that they’re beside you, through
thick and thin,” he said. “I think we’ll always find someone who wants you in
their play, even if you live with your own brother…”
Loki sighed.
“I’m just fucking petrified that this has no turning back,” he said. “We can’t
rehearse it, we can’t fucking sound the audience for a reaction before we
premiere, we can’t go back to the editing room if it doesn’t work. We can’t say
it was a joke. Once it’s done, it’s done.”
“That’s true,” said Thor. “But it’s true for so many other decisions we make
everyday. There are not many that are worth risking everything for. This one
is.”
Loki was quiet now. He was tired of arguing; he was tired of hearing his own
voice. He was scared and full of anxiety, and he wanted to crawl back to a safe
place and not be made to make up his mind about something so fucking massive. 
“I’ll tell you what, Loki. What you guys need to do is talk to Nat,” said
Sigyn. “She’s been thinking about this for a while. She has given every
possible scenario a lot of thought. I think she has some ideas about how to
make this easier and less traumatic for everyone involved. Perhaps you’ll feel
more confident after you hear what she has to say, Loki.”
Both brothers turned to her, perfectly synchronised.
“Nat has thought about this? About us coming out?”
“Since before you got together, actually,” said Sigyn, smiling sweetly. “She
told me it was her job to try and cover for every eventuality, and that knowing
you both a little, that particular eventuality was top priority on her list.”
“And you’re only telling us now?” said Loki.
She shrugged.
“You didn’t ask.”
 
 
 
_____________
 
 
 
Loki was curled up on his side in bed, in the dark, waiting for his brother to
finish whatever the hell it was he was doing in the bathroom. He was not
sleepy. He was still revved up from the earthquake-slash-hurricane-slash-
tsunami earlier today. Sigyn had recommended an anxiolytic. He still didn’t
expect to get so much as a wink, but at least he wouldn’t toss and turn all
night and get up feeling completely frazzled and uptight tomorrow morning. 
Thor slipped into bed behind him, and ever so gently moulded his body against
Loki’s back: a suggestion, an open invitation. It was warm and cozy. Loki crept
back a couple of inches. His brother got the message and cradled Loki’s thighs
with his, spooning him. He threw an arm around his waist, and nuzzled against
the back of his neck.
“Hey,” Thor whispered.
“Hey.”
“You sleepy?”
“No.”
“Me neither.”
Thor pushed his hips ever so lightly against his rump, tentative. He was half-
hard. Loki exhaled deeply, languid.
“Good idea,” he muttered, reaching around the back of Thor’s head and offering
his throat. Open-mouth, hot and wet, slight sucking. Loki groaned and pressed
against his brother’s hardening erection, grinding. He could ride that to
oblivion and back several times. It felt so fucking good knowing his brother
had never intended to go anywhere, that every time they had fucked these last
few days, he had not been thinking that it could be the last time. That his
hunger was just that - hunger.
Loki pressed and circled and massaged; Thor’s breathing caught. He must be
feeling rather squashed, but his response was to nip the crook of Loki’s neck
and suck. How he loved to hear Thor’s breathing picking up, to feel it steamy
hot on his skin.
Loki turned his head looking for a kiss. When he couldn’t get it as deep and
full as he wanted it, with that awkward twist, he turned in his brother’s arms
to face him. Thor grabbed his ass to pull him close, and Loki threw one thigh
over Thor’s hip. They embraced tight and Loki found his brother’s mouth with
his own. They made out like a couple of randy teenagers.
“You said to Sigyn before,” mumbled Thor between kisses, “that what I said made
sense. You said you had never loved me more.”
Loki groaned.
“Do we need to keep talking?” And as he tightened his thigh around Thor’s hip,
their bare cocks pressing together, he licked into his brother’s mouth.
“I think a lot about… when we were kids,” continued Thor, even as Loki tried to
kiss the words off his lips. “I think… of every time you… tried to… hold my
hand on the street… or make out… in the movies… and I pushed you away…”
Loki broke the kiss and huffed, exasperated. Without pulling away from Thor’s
arms, he put his head on the pillow, and gave in.
“Yes, and?” he said, impatient. He could barely make out his brother’s features
in the dim light from the street lamps outside. He guessed more than saw that
little, apologetic smile on Thor’s face. Was he sorry he was killing the mood?
Damn, Loki was sorry Thor was killing the mood too.
“I remember how you looked at me,” said Thor, “how much I had disappointed you.
You expected more from me, you expected better. And then I think about early
last year, when we got together again. You weren’t angry or disappointed that I
was holding back this time. You didn’t expect anything else. And it made me… It
made me so fucking sad that you had come to see me as that person you could not
expect better from. Or expect everything, even. I was your hero once, wasn’t
I?”
“I’ve finally grown up and seen sense,” said Loki, sarcastic. “Sorry, that
didn’t come out right. What I mean is that… that reality is what it is. People
are not meant to be heroes.”
“Well, that sucks,” grumbled Thor. “I liked being yours.”
“Even when I held you to impossible standards, and put you up on a pedestal,
only so I could watch you fall from it?”
Thor was quiet now, probably wondering what the fuck Loki meant. 
“Have you ever thought how nice it felt to be me back then?” said Loki. “To
leave the shitty job of being sensible to you, while I relished my rebellious
ways? That because you were being the reasonable one, I didn’t have to? I got
to push and push and push, even when I knew how dangerous and stupid it was,
because I knew you were there, inflexible, with your feet on the ground,
protecting us both. It was a very comfortable position for me to be in.”
“But in Iceland…” argued Thor, “we were pretty much out in Iceland. And we were
happy then. You fucking dazzled with pride whenever we kissed or got cute in
public, whenever somebody spotted us. You didn’t take on the part of the
sensible one then. And why does either of us have to be the voice of reason in
this? Why can’t we both just be a little wild and a little mad this time, and
fuck it?” He was toying with a lock of Loki’s hair. “Let’s be a bit wild and a
bit mad. Let’s be brave, and proud, and rebellious. Let’s set the world on
fire, together, you and me.”
Loki’s eyes were stinging furiously, that lump in his throat was growing to the
size of his fucking fist. The things his brother had said today. It was
overwhelming, to see Thor becoming before his very eyes the man Loki had always
thought he could be - his knight in shining armour, his hero.
Loki kissed him, holding his face still and close, putting every emotion he
could not articulate into the pull of his mouth. He pressed hard against him,
and he felt Thor’s cock twitching, hardening up again. He pressed and moved and
pressed some more. Thor’s hands were on his butt now, kneading, guiding. His
low, hot groans were driving him insane. 
He pushed Thor on his back, and climbed on top of him. He was still kissing his
pliant brother within an inch of his life while he reached for the lube and
prepared them both. He sunk onto Thor’s cock a lot faster than he probably
should have, because he saw white for a moment. His brother growled, his
fingers dug into Loki’s hips. They were connected, gaze and flesh, both short
of breath, both shaking. 
Loki ground his hips, opening himself more, making Thor’s jaw fall and his
expression tense up. He began to move up and down, he began to bounce — Thor
wasn’t even breathing.  His brother’s arms lent him some strength, and helped
him keep the rhythm, because he was fucking melting, and by himself he would
just fucking lose it. Thank god, Thor was breathing again. One could tell
because of the breathy moaning.
Thor began to fuck up, their hips coming together hard and fast, slamming at
the highest point of their respective curves. The powerful clash reverberated
up Loki’s spine, making him see stars.
“Oh my fucking god…” he moaned. “Fucking hell, Thor…”
“Fuck yes, say my name,” panted Thor, “say my name…” 
“Make me…” whispered Loki with a smirk, voice breathy.
Thor’s hands grabbed onto his hips hard. Thor began to slam him down as he
thrusted up like the powerhorse he was. Someone wouldn’t be sitting down for a
few fucking weeks… Loki gritted his teeth, whimpering like a fool, and as his
brain turned to mush, he just…
“Ah, Thor…” 
“Shout it, baby…” said his brother, huffy breaths, “let’s… wake up… the fucking
neighbours!”
Loki was fucking himself fast and dirty, while his brother spat in the face of
fucking gravity, his arms bulging, biceps the size of Loki’s fucking head.
“Thor… oh fuck, fuck, Thor… Fucking hell, fucking hell… brother!”
Thor came right then, growling, with sudden, sharp jolts that shook him whole. 
Panting heavily, looking totally undone, he jacked his brother off to
completion while Loki kept grinding and circling his hips, Thor’s still hard
cock inside him, until he came with soft sobs. 
And Loki stayed there, above him, panting, watching his brother underneath,
that obscenely gorgeous chest rising and falling, painted with Loki’s own come
and glistening with sweat. Thor was stroking gentle circles on his hips with
his thumbs. He couldn’t see Thor’s face, so he touched it. He tugged the wet
locks away from his brother’s face, then from his own.
“I fucking needed this,” he said, struggling to regain his breath. A bit more
composed, a couple of seconds later, he mused, “If somebody ever organises the
Sex Olympics, we should apply, don’t you think?”
Thor laughed, a low growl of content. His cock twitched inside Loki’s body with
his laughter. It felt fucking incredible.
 
“It was the ‘brother’ thing that did it, wasn’t it?” whispered Loki in his
brother’s arms, a few minutes later. “You kinky bugger.”
Thor laughed again, as he held him tight.
 
 
 
“Yes,” whispered Loki, a while later. 
Thor might be sleeping, for all he knew.
“Yes?” said his brother. 
So, not sleeping then. Loki gulped. 
“Yes,” he repeated. “Ok. We’ll do it.”
A moment of frozen quiet, followed by Hurricane Thor, and then a near-death
experience when his brother forgot himself and squeezed Loki between his arms
with all his might.
They didn’t say anything else that night. They didn’t really need to.
 
They slept pretty damn well, considering.
Chapter End Notes
     Well, how about that? How you guys feeling? Because I needed that
     too, goddammit.
      
     Fun fact: I was going through the comments to find out which
     insightful soul had given me the idea for the initial flashback. The
     comment suggested that it would be interesting to find out more about
     what had been going on in these boys' heads, around the time of
     Loki's attempted suicide, and after. I noted the idea down, began to
     nurse it, and it finally found its time in this chapter. I wanted to
     thank this person for giving me the idea.
     Heh, it was Thorctopus, my wonderful beta. XD
***** Chapter 34 *****
Chapter Summary
     Natasha has a plan. Thor and Loki need to get the ball rolling, and
     the first hurdle is a pretty fucking tall one.
Chapter Notes
     Do you notice how nicely the text flows? The excellent grammar and
     punctuation? That's Thorctopus' work, that is. She's also responsible
     for the much more coherent, more complete, more in-depth scene at the
     office, and she was the one who said "there's something missing at
     the end, I want to know more about this and this and this."
     Basically, she's a fucking dream of a beta. I love you and adore you,
     Ctopey.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Thor had his knuckles on the door, ready to knock, when Loki pulled at his arm.
“Can I stay here?” he begged.
It was so unfair, so unfair, and Loki did feel like absolute shit about
chickening out on him like that, and he had totally meant to do this with him,
together, cross his little black heart and hope to die. Sure, of course he had
anticipated he’d be shitting bricks, but he had wanted to be brave and strong,
and just grab Thor’s hand and walk in there and get this over and done with.
But he couldn’t, he fucking could not, sorry brother I’m so friggin’ sorry,
please let me off the hook one more time, please… Not that he could say any of
that out loud, but he could squash his brother’s hand to a boneless pulp, that
he could do. He could also stare at Thor with balloon-sized pathetic eyes, and
if he wasn’t careful, he could be sick on the two-hundred-year-old Persian rug,
but that was the extent of his capabilities at the moment.
Did Thor throw it in his face? Did he remind him that he was a grown man on
medication, with lots and lots of therapy behind him, and that he should be
able to pull himself together and get the fuck on with it? Did he? Oh no.
Instead, he squeezed his hand, and smiled.
“Sure, baby.”
And that was it. Just like that, Loki could breathe again. Thor even fucking
hugged him. Surely, brother, you don’t want to be rewarding this kind of
behaviour, do you? Oh, well.
“Do you think you will come in, later? I mean, if there’s no immediate danger.”
He said it as a joke. Ha ha, funny. 
Loki nodded, and meant it, but he always meant so many things, and then, when
push came to shove…
“Wish me luck,” said Thor, and kissed him. He lingered on it, as if there was
serenity or strength to be gained from it. Well, brother, good luck with that.
Thor steeled himself, squared his shoulders, and knocked.
“Come on in!”
Before he shut the door behind his back, Thor threw him a wink. If he thought
Loki had missed that his hands were shaking… Well, he hadn’t.
 
After staring for a couple of seconds at the closed door like a forsaken pup,
Loki took a seat in the private waiting room. Yes, there was a waiting room.
Several, actually. This one was the smallest, for friends and family only.
There were more, for the plebs, for the patricians. The office where Lord
Borson of Asgard Hall, Peer of the Realm, National Treasure, held his court,
occupied the entire top floor of that grand old building in central London. It
was able to accommodate the meetings of the array of foundations, charities,
boards, and committees of which Lord Borson was a member (more often, the
chairman), and the little army of administration staff it took to pull that
off, plus run both the financial and intellectual estates of Frigga and Odin
Borson. Thanks to the finely tuned engine that was this place, he still found
time to grace the juries of this or that other film festival, or make an
appearance in a movie every now and then, if a friend was asking, or the part
was enticing. 
Loki hadn’t been here in an age, but it hadn’t changed at all. It had a patina
to it, with its mahogany furniture and oak panelling, the precious antique
books on the shelves, the rich, thick carpet in red and gold, and the museum-
quality art on the walls (governments just kept gifting it to him, alongside
the huge paychecks they forked out to persuade him to head their national
theatre companies). The greatest names of the world’s entertainment industry of
the second half of the 20th century had walked these hallways, or wished they
could, as well as many high priests of other spheres of the culture and the
arts, a choice selection of prima ballerinas of international politics, an
assortment of Nobel Prize winners, so on so forth. Their pictures were on the
walls. Shit, Odin apparently had shaken hands with fucking everyone.
Time seemed to have stood still in this place, so the main office must have
remained pretty much the same as well. Loki remembered the
sumptuous Tudor style deco, the paneling on the walls, which concealed actual
secret cabinets, the windows from which you could see the cupola of Saint Paul.
And that colossal carved desk must surely still be there, dominating the room,
and would forever remain so — it would take ten fucking elephants to move it,
and they didn’t fit in the lift. And Thor would be sitting in one of those
regal cushioned chairs in front of it, across from his father, telling him
that…
Jesus fucking Christ almighty.
What were they so afraid of? Correction: what was Loki so afraid of? Why was he
gnawing his nails to throbbing stumps? What could the man fucking do? Strongly
disapprove? Yell? Disown them? 
You’re not scared of anything he’ll do, you’re scared of what you’ll feel, said
Sigyn. But hadn’t Loki already felt fucking everything there was to feel about
the old man in that room? He had loved him and worshipped him, he had been
desperate for his approval, he had hated him to death, and all the stages in
between. And here he fucking was. 
He had been looking at old photos the other day, god knows what got into him.
Thor was already snoring; Loki couldn’t sleep a wink. Thor had called Odin that
morning, asking to see him. Frankly, Loki, it doesn’t take a genius. Anyway.
Those photos. Thor had made some trips to their parents’ flat when he first
moved back to London, and with the old man’s blessing, he had taken a few
mementos. “We have almost no photos from when we were little,” he had said.
They had had a look together when Thor brought them in, and they selected a few
to frame and put on the wall and on the mantelpiece. The ones from their
teenage days got harder to look at. Loki was vain, and he didn’t like to look
at that twiggy, gangly little shit, no matter what Thor said about his dancing
legs and arse. Then they got to a small stack of photos from those trips to the
seaside Odin had taken Loki on, when he was off school, after he came out of
the clinic. And those, Loki had refused to look at one year ago. They had been
taunting him all this time, haunting him, from that drawer. What were they even
there for? Why had Thor taken them? Was he expecting something would stir in
Loki? Because it sure as hell had, but it didn’t bring him any closer to
reconciling with that time, or with Odin. Or had it been Odin who asked Thor to
take them? Because he didn’t want them there, or because he too hoped that…?
Oh, who the hell knew. And since Loki was the king of Never Fucking Asking
Anything Ever, he’d probably never find out. 
So many things he never asked. Why the hell did Odin even take him on these
trips? His mother claimed it was his idea, to get Loki out of the house, take
his mind off things, breathe some fresh air (Ha, of course Odin would be of the
“exercise and sunlight cure all ailments” school of thought). Almost
definitely, there must have been an attempt at bonding or something of the sort
behind it all, because pleasure couldn’t possibly be the point of it; Odin
looked as if he was passing kidney stones most of the time.
But then, there were all those photos. Odin enjoyed photography, and needless
to say, he excelled at it. He enjoyed the process; we’re talking rolls of
negatives, red-lit darkrooms, trays with chemicals, actual printed images at
the end of it. So that explained the photos of sweeping seascapes,
architectural details, interesting people, curious shopfronts, all those things
Loki saw Odin snap his camera at, as he trailed behind him, sullen, morose,
hating with intensity the fucking English weather, and the bloody
great outdoors. 
But a passion for photography alone didn’t explain all those father-and-son
shots. This was before the Selfie Age, so Odin would stop some passer-by on the
street, and kindly ask them for a moment of their time. Ah, the faces of those
people when they realised this was not just an inoffensive old man taking his
grandson out for a walk; the double-takes, the looks of awe and disbelief (“my
goodness, it’s him!”), just as shocked as if it had been the Queen herself,
stopping them in the street for a little favour. Did Loki feel a teeny tiny bit
smug at the effect his father had on the common populace? Hm, yeah, a teeny
tiny teensy bit, perhaps. He was fifteen, give him a break.
He had refused to see those photos back in the day. This was the first time in
his life that he saw them. Look at him, fifteen-year-old, scrawny and gaunt,
his face a fucking skull, so pale. He didn’t eat much in those days — enough to
get the doctors and his mother off his back, but certainly not enough to make
up for the growth spurts that kept pulling and stretching him to new heights
every few weeks. Didn’t his body get the memo? Its current occupant had no
sodding interest in puberty, fucksakes! He had never intended to see his
fifteenth birthday anyway, and yet he kept on not just living, but changing,
growing, becoming! To his teenage, depressed self, it was as if his own fucking
flesh and bone was telling him “it’s just a phase.” 
Hell, he looked awful, sickly, and to top it off, moody and stiff. He hated
having his photo taken. He was shy, ok? Yes, him. He hated seeing himself, that
stupid horse face he had back in the day, the chicken neck, the fucking
eyebrows he had not yet learned to trim. But he condescended to pose for them,
most of the time, because his father insisted. (Yes, his dad. Because Loki
could scream at the world whatever he wanted, he could repeat ‘he’s not my
father!’ until the cows came home, but he himself wasn’t having any of his own
shit, not anymore, and he hadn’t for some time.) Odin not only insisted, but he
also took great care to find a nice background, he’d take pains to put both of
them in the right place for the optimum shot, he’d instruct the kind passer-by
taking the photo about what he wanted, and asked them to take several shots, to
get a better chance of success. He cared about getting them right. It mattered
to him. Loki couldn’t bloody well imagine his old man staring at them lovingly
at home, with his mum, but he guessed it must have happened. He wasn’t sure he
could process that, then or now.
And look at him, in those photos, the old man. His hair was already grey, his
face had always been weathered, wrinkled, full of character and nerve. He was
older than mum, and he had already been of a respectable age when Thor was
born. Even in those amateur candids, his presence and his intensity came
through. He stared into the objective without fear. He was accustomed to it, he
mastered it. He didn’t know how to look at a camera any other way. But his arm
around Loki’s shoulders was stiff, he leaned rigidly towards his son, a space
between them, and his smile seemed forced. He looked… Hell, he looked nervous.
You know, for such a self-possessed, articulate, eloquent man, who clearly
enjoyed the sound of his own voice very much, his dad had been very quiet on
those trips. They would drive for hours without one word, only the radio with
some music on, to alleviate the silence. Whenever they stopped to see the
sights, they might say a thing or two. Odin would say, “Look at this. Over
there.” Loki would look, and say not a lot, or nothing at all. It was not that
he didn’t like it, but he was uncomfortable, and he felt self-conscious. He was
supposed to know this man, and this man was supposed to know him, but they were
like awkward acquaintances. Two complete strangers would have found something
to talk about at least — what’s your name, where do you come from, where do you
live, what do you do. They didn’t even have that. They needed to go to a deeper
level, and they obviously weren’t ready for that. 
Sitting at a terrace, if the afternoon was nice, Loki would ask for a
milkshake, or some ice cream, or lemonade, anything, really, to give himself
something to do while they sat together in silence, staring at the markings in
the formica table top, the rust poking through in the cracks in the
paint, where the salty sea breeze had got to the metal underneath. He’d pretend
he did not notice that his dad kept putting his mineral blue eye on him, the
frustration and yearning in those stares almost toppling Loki off the fucking
chair. This man, whose mouth had spoken the most eloquent words ever written
about the whole range of human emotion, who knew so many of them by heart, just
could not find anything to say to his teenage son.
If Loki had known how, if he’d been feeling braver, and more at ease in his own
skin, he might have been able to get over himself and tell his dad that he
didn’t have to say anything. That he already knew. That he had told him in his
own way, when Loki came to in his arms last February, Odin’s panicked shouting
coming through a thick fog, “What have you done? What have you done? Goddammit,
Loki, wake up! Tell me what you’ve taken! Loki! Loki!”
“Dad…”
“Oh, thank god, thank god…” The sheer, luminous relief in his father’s voice,
that bone-grinding hug that went on forever.
Perhaps Loki had dreamed it all. He dreamed that his father had picked him up,
and carried him, stumbling, huffing and puffing under Loki’s weight, to get to
the phone. It would have made more sense to leave his son where he was for a
moment, make the call, and come back, but in his dream, his dad didn’t want to
leave him, not even to be reasonable, or practical. He had crushed blurry-eyed,
nauseous, half-conscious Loki against his chest while he phoned 999, and he
never moved from his side. He rocked him in his arms, and himself, to and fro,
to and fro. He’d slap his face every now and then, to startle him out of
unconsciousness, and he never stopped talking to him. 
“Don’t sleep, son, come on, up! Up! Come on, boy! Open your eyes! Look at me,
Loki, look at me! That’s it, that’s it, there you are… Look at me, son. Stay
awake. You’ll be alright. Come on, Loki, come on… You’ll be alright… You’ll be
alright…”
“I've sometimes wondered whether it would not have been better for him and for
all of us if I had just picked another one.”
Loki lit up a fag, and smoked it down to the filter in five deep, long, furious
drags. (Yes, you could smoke in this place, and there were several ashtrays to
prove it. Odin Borson does what he wants.)
To anyone who should ask, he would have replied that he didn’t give one single
fuck about what Odin thought of Thor and him being together. Good job nobody
was asking. His acting skills, much to his own chagrin, did have limitations
after all. And the truth of the matter was that, right now, what he was seeing
in his mind was what their father would be imagining when he heard the news.
He’d see his brother and him, fourteen and fifteen, a couple of kids, together,
naked. They were his sons. They were brothers. Well, Laufeyson-was-Odinson, no
fucking wonder you can’t face the music in there. For the first time in your
life, this situation is making you feel, really feel, like a fucking pervert.
 
It didn’t seem so bad that night, at Natasha’s place in London. They met up for
dinner (Clint was cooking), and while sitting and chatting relaxedly around the
table, waiting for the meal to be ready, drinks in their hands, Loki took
advantage of a gap in the conversation, and casually made the announcement.
“We’re going to do it, by the way. We’ve decided to come out.”
No shock, no alarm, no panic. Just that little smirk of hers, so blessedly
reassuring.  
“Do you have a plan?” was all she said.
“Not really,” said Loki. And with a sarcastic grin of his own, “They tell me
you do?”
“I do,” she said. “We do it in stages. First, we let rumours filter and do the
rounds. We build it up, from the social networks to the mainstream media. We
expose the general public to the idea slowly, so that they start getting used
to it. We enlist a series of allies with lots of sway. They foster debate,
and engage in it when it arises. They lead it our way. There’ll be resistance,
but wherever there is a positive response, we make sure we nurture it - we
amplify it and spread it. We create the right conditions, and then, when it’s
time, we confirm it. A press release or a press conference, we shall see.”
“How exactly do we start the rumours?” said Loki.
“You just start living your lives,” said Natasha. “By which I mean, you spend
the night at each other’s when you feel like it. You go on dates. You are
affectionate in public. You show up together here and there…”
Thor’s face was a poem. A hallelujah anthem, to be precise, luminous with hope
and elation. He was already loving this plan. 
“Affectionate?” said Loki, more cautious by nature. “Define.”
“Holding hands?” jumped in Thor.
“Not straight away,” said Natasha, with an eyebrow tilt of commiseration to
Thor’s puppy-eyed disappointment. “This too, we build it up. We start with
ambiguous gestures that make people think, and look twice, but are not too
obvious. Before we hit them with the news, I want them to ask questions, and
start contemplating the possible answers. As time goes on, we can escalate it.
You will be able to be more open, more flirty. When it’s close to revelation
day, by all means you can hold hands. I wouldn’t let them catch you kissing in
public just yet. Not on the mouth anyway.”
Thor blushed like a schoolboy. It had to be her clinical approach.
“How long will phase 1 go on for?” asked Loki.
“It will depend. We’ll have to gauge the response we get, and modify your
behaviour accordingly. We’ll know when the time is right. I expect anywhere
between two months and half a year, and no more than that. But it’s not
something I’ve ever done before, and we have no precedents for it, so it’s
really just a shot in the dark. Does that sound reasonable to you?”
Thor and Loki shared a look. Thor was smiling.
“There is one condition,” said Natasha. They stood to attention. Her tone was
cautious, her stare unyielding. “I would strongly recommend that you don’t give
the full, true version of the story. I recommend you declare that your romantic
and sexual interest in each other only appeared after Mariners. Not in your
early twenties, and certainly not in your teens. I think you should say you
already knew you were not blood brothers when you first became attracted to one
another.”
Natasha’s stare remained firm and serene. Loki turned to his man. Tendons had
become apparent in Thor’s neck. Even Clint in the kitchen had stopped
pottering.
“You can always tell the whole story when you’re old and wrinkly and don’t give
a damn anymore,” said Natasha. “But at this point, it’s about getting this
under control, and giving yourselves the best chance at coming out, and living
your lives after that, without having it destroy you. As a couple, as
individuals, and as actors. You are free of course to do as you wish, but in my
opinion, this one lie will make your relationship much more palatable to the
public. There will be many who, even feeling shocked by the idea of two
brothers romantically involved and together as a couple, will still wish you
well, and wish to keep liking you, and this will give them the disclaimer they
need to come to terms with your relationship.”
Thor’s knuckles on the table were white. Loki grabbed his hand.
“What do you think?” asked Thor.
“What do I think?” repeated Loki.
“Yes. Is this a problem for you?”
Oh, Loki felt tired. And stretched very, very thin. And so very fucking
anxious. Coming out was exciting, sure, when you considered it in the abstract,
but when it came to the actual thing, Jesus fuck, there seemed to be a new
terror around every corner. All he wanted right now… Scratch that. Rephrase.
What he absolutely didn’t want right now was to be made to think any fucking
more. In his humble opinion, he had done his fair share of life-changing
decisions this year, and then some, and he wanted a fucking break, to last him
all the way into the next decade at least. What he wanted was instructions, a
plan he could follow step by step, some clear, specific motions to go through,
so that he would not need to look too far ahead. He wanted to keep his eyes on
his feet, instead of the uncertain future that awaited them, a grey wall of
mist which concealed who knows how many unexpected horrors. Basically, he
didn’t fucking care what version they told the world. But he couldn’t really
say that, could he? Thor had turned to him for fucking reassurance. Right?
Dammit.
“I just… I want this to work out and be together,” he said. “We trust Nat.
That’s why we’re here. If she thinks that this is the best course of action… I
say we do what she says.”
Thor went all broody and pensive, and Loki thought, we’re fucking screwed. Thor
was an all-or-nothing, bullheaded, noble, magnificent, beautiful oaf.
“Fine. We do this Nat’s way,” said Thor. He didn’t sound enthusiastic, but he
did sound determined. It was more than Loki had expected (do try not to praise
the heavens out loud, Loki-boy, your brother might take it as sarcasm.) “What
happens then? After we confirm.”
“After the announcement, you leave London for a while. Go on holiday somewhere
nice and quiet, and let us weather the first wave of the shit storm. Have fun,
get some sun, enjoy your new life in the open.” A knowing smile (then again,
all her smiles were knowing). “When you come back, phase two begins. Once the
first surge of hysteria has abated, we schedule a number of extensive
interviews with respectable, liberal-minded people, and you disclose what is
needed to satisfy, and thus diminish, the public’s curiosity about your
relationship. We’ll fabricate a version you’ll have to stick to. You will be
asked questions you will consider invasive. I recommend you don’t shut down.
You can decline to answer, but bear in mind that, the more open you are, the
less room you will leave for imaginations to run wild to fill in the gaps. To
put it bluntly, the less it seems you are withholding information, the less
dirty it all looks.”
“Less dirty? Not if I give my version…” smirked Loki, feline.
Thor snickered like a fool, with a healthy blush. Doofus.
“For a period of time after the coming out, we will have to manage your public
appearances carefully. You can’t disappear completely. You have to show up
together with some regularity, to quench the thirst for news and updates, or
the value of any gossip or image related to you will go through the roof, and
every vulture in town will come to stalk your doors, with long-range objectives
and drones and god knows what. There will be hunger to see gestures of intimacy
between you. There will be a race to get the first image of you kissing,
dancing, out on a date. We will sabotage that race by providing those images
ourselves.”
“Do we set up an Instagram or something,” said Loki, sarcastic — but not
entirely, because who knows…
“You leave that to me. Now, as for the first official public appearance
together. That will be a huge event. We’ll have to choose the occasion. People
will be waiting to see how you’ll act toward one another.”
“How will we act?” asked Loki. 
“I’m still thinking about it. It will depend a lot on what the situation is. I
can only anticipate the public’s reaction to a certain extent. I guess we’ll
have to see. After that, and for the first times — I’m talking years —, we’ll
have to tread with care, and be clever. We’ll do periodic overall assessments
of the situation, and adjust your public exposure accordingly. More joint
interviews or fewer, more panel shows or fewer, more premieres together or
fewer…”
All this talk about managing appearances and doing the rounds on the TV was
winding Thor up. Loki could see it in that clench in his jaw and that wrinkle
in his brow, getting deeper. Well, what did you expect, brother? That they were
going to stand up together in Speaker’s Corner and shout to the crowds, “We Are
Boning!”? Natasha read the signs too.
“I know this will be trying for you,” she said. “You have to keep thinking
about the ultimate goal, which is to make the public and the media eventually
lose interest in you. I will not ask you to hide and lie for the sake of it,
and certainly not any more than the bare minimum to get us by. Because I know
it’s not what you want, and because I don’t think it’s what we need. I think
showing courage and acting with normality will play in your favour. It’s just a
case of being a little crafty, acting with some deliberation, and yes,
manipulating public opinion to our best advantage. But the objective is not to
court their attention or even their goodwill. What we want is to bore them to
death, so that the public will, one day, leave the two of you alone.” 
Thor had a petulant, contrary air about him, still broody. 
“Any questions?” said Nat.
“The adoption,” said Thor, his blue eyes pinning her down with defiance.
“What about it?”
“It changed nothing for me. I feel exactly the same as I ever did about Loki.
To me, he is just as much my brother as he ever was, blood or no blood. If they
should ask me how I feel about-…”
“You just lie, Thor,” sighed Loki, exasperated. The man was stubborn, for god’s
sake! His uptightness was infecting Loki, who was at the end of his tether
anyway. “Are you afraid of going to hell or something? Because I’ve got some
news for you, brother…”
Thor threw him a resentful glower, upset that Loki wasn’t showing more sympathy
for his plight.
“Would that be a problem for you? Lying about this?” intervened Natasha, more
diplomatic, her direct, business-like approach easing up the building tension
somewhat.
“Yes,” declared his brother, ignoring Loki’s renewed sigh. 
“Fuck’s sakes, Thor!” exploded Loki. “I know the truth, you know the truth,
does it matter so much if-…?”
Thor began to say something (loudly) in response, when Clint’s voice came from
the kitchen.
“You can’t possibly know what the experience of having siblings is for anyone
else but you. Nobody can. I’d leave it at ‘it’s complicated,’” he said.
“Works for me,” said Natasha.
“Can I use this reply for all the questions?” grumbled Loki.
He sighed, cooling off. Thor was still pouting by his side. Tentatively, Loki
stroked his brother’s hand under the table, a peace offering. Thor grabbed his
hand again. They threaded their fingers together. 
“Then that’s that,” said Nat. “Well, ideally, soon after your announcement,
something big should hit the news, and take the heat away from you.”
“Perhaps Russia could be persuaded to invade a former Soviet state or two,”
said Loki.
“Leave that to me.” 
Both Loki and Thor raised their eyebrows. She smirked.
“So, when do we start?” said Loki. 
Natasha shrugged. “Right now?”
Thor smiled, turned to Loki.
“And how does it start?” he asked.
“Why don’t you go out together for a drink tonight? And if you look at each
other the way you do in private, I guarantee the rumours will start.”
They laughed. They may have even blushed. Loki rolled his eyes.
“Just look?” said Thor, although that once-over he threw Loki could hardly be
described as ‘just looking’. 
“No, you can be affectionate. I wouldn’t hold hands down the street just yet,
but… you guys are tactile. Without making it too obvious, do what feels right.
Before you start properly courting in public, however, we need to tackle your
father.”
They looked at each other blankly, like a pair of idiots.
“Fuck,” said Thor, “I forgot about dad.”
Clint laughed from the kitchen. Loki laughed too, because at the time he had
thought it was funny.
“We want to know where he stands as soon as possible, so that we can prepare
for his reaction, whatever it may be. Any clue how he’ll take this?”
“He’ll probably have a heart attack and die on the spot,” said Loki. “Is that
good or bad, from a PR perspective?” 
He spotted Thor casting his eyes down, frowning. Way to fucking go, Loki-boy,
always so sensitive. He leaned closer to his brother, and in a contrite mutter
he said, “Sorry.”
Thor sighed, deflated.
“It’s ok. You’re probably right.”
 
It had taken several nudges from Natasha before they dared approach Odin. By
that time, the internet was already thrumming with it. It had not taken much,
just three or four nights out with the whole gang, in which there may have been
some flirting, one arm around the waist as they walked home, and lots and lots
of sleep-overs (these Tumblr people, with their minds permanently in the
gutter). But Odin was a hurdle they had to overcome before Operation Public
Courtship could begin, so Thor eventually found the guts to make the terrifying
phone call, and set an appointment. The office, not the flat, because Loki
wasn’t up to going there yet.
And now here they were, Thor inside, Loki burning a groove into the carpet with
all that pacing up and down, wondering what the hell was taking them so long.
There still hadn’t been any screaming, be it Odin casting his son out of his
sight, or from Thor, yelling for an ambulance. They must be talking. What the
fuck about? What was going on in there?
 
 
 
                                       *
 
 
 
“Come on in, son.”
His father had stood up to greet him, and approached to deal him one of those
brief, blink-and-you’ll-miss-them, back-breaking hugs, just like the ones
between Odin and his old man.
“I thought your brother was with you.”
“He is outside.” Thor cleared his throat. He found it sandpaper dry.
“Oh, I see.” That smile on Odin’s face could mean a million things. “Well, I
hope he’ll join us later. Please, have a seat.” The way he talked always had an
abruptness to it. Quick words, long pauses in odd places. Made you listen. 
They both sat down. Not at the desk, that was too formal, but there were a
couple of armchairs and a couch by the windows, facing each other over a coffee
table. His father poured them both a glass of water from a fancy, heavy crystal
set. His hand, as Thor followed its arch as it tilted the bottle, had acquired
a transparent quality with old age. His pink scalp was visible where his bright
white hair had thinned. He looked frail. Consciousness of his father’s age hit
Thor, as it did every time he saw him lately. If you visited more often, he
admonished himself severely, those changes would seem more gradual and they
wouldn’t shock you so much. —After today, would he ever be seeing him again? He
gulped.
“So what is this very important thing you had to talk to me about,” said his
father.
Thor inhaled, exhaled.
“I-I wonder if you’ve heard the rumours; on the internet,” he stuttered. He
cleared his throat again. “About L-Loki and me.”
“You’ll have to be more specific. I don’t keep up with all the babble.”
Another quick huff. Yes, of course Thor would have to fucking specify.
“The rumours that we… That we…” Come on. Like removing a fucking plaster. One
strong pull, and it’s done. Come on. “The rumours that Loki and me, that we,
that we’re together.”
Odin’s eye lingered on him, scrutinising. Thor tried to hold that stare with
all his might. He blinked, but didn’t look away. His father nodded in silence.
Thor made himself breathe, he heard the shudders in his exhale as if amplified
by the quietness in the room. London was not all that noisy from this high up,
unfortunately.
“Well, at some point in the next few weeks, we’re not sure when exactly yet,
there is going to be a press release, or a press conference,” swallow, “con-
confirming them.”
“Confirming the rumours,” repeated his father, slowly. “The rumours that you
and your brother are a… uh, a romantic couple.”
Inhale, exhale.
“Y-yes.”
Odin’s one eye left Thor for the first time. His posture didn’t alter, he
remained apparently as relaxed as he had been. Then again, he had fine control
of his expressions and his body. There simply was no fucking telling. Thor
drank down his glass of water, and took the liberty of pouring himself another
without asking.
“How long has this been going on,” asked his father.
“After we finished shooting Mariners,” replied Thor, automatically.
“No, I mean, before that.”
“Pardon me?”
“When you were kids. Was there something going on then?”
Thor’s mind blanked out, jammed. He must have turned pale.
“So your mother was right,” said his father.
Thor’s eyes opened wide.
“M-mum?”
“You were not as subtle as you think,” smiled his father. That’s right, he was
fucking smiling.
“She-she knew?”
“I had my suspicions, but she was quite certain.”
Thor’s entire life passed before his fucking eyes, or so it felt in his
stomach.
“How did you… Why didn’t she…? Why didn’t you… do anything?”
“What would you have had us do?”
Thor gaped like a fish out of water.
“We were out of our depth, I must confess,” said Odin. He was so calm, so
tranquil. With age, his voice had lost some resonance and gained a raspy edge.
“We debated about it long and hard. First of all, we didn’t know for sure what
was going on. Second of all, whatever it was, it seemed to be making you both
very unhappy. We were concerned, of course. Frigga wanted to talk to you, but
even she wasn’t sure what she would say, or how to approach you. Telling you
both about Loki’s origins was a possibility, but one that frightened me, both
of us, very much. And we feared the consequences for you, for your relationship
as brothers, if we came to you with this, and we were wrong. So you see, son,
it’s not so much that we washed our hands of it so much as… well, we just
didn’t know what to do, and while we pondered our options, your brother… Well,
when Loki went to hospital, we had more urgent problems in our hands. And then
of course, when he came back, things seemed to have changed between you, so it
seemed unnecessary to complicate things further by bringing the subject up. We
agreed to postpone the discussion until it became relevant again, but somehow,
it never did. Or so we felt. Until today.” Odin drained his own glass in one
gulp. He asked, “Did we do wrong? Should we have intervened?”
Thor was rubbing his forehead. His head was throbbing. The cacophony of
questions that jostled in his own mind seemed to be locking heads with each
other like a fucking rugby melée. 
“I-I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know.”
Although Thor could hardly say he had felt ready to get in there in the first
place, he had been contemplating the potential scenarios, the many ways this
conversation could develop, to give himself at least some options. But this
possibility had never even entered his mind. He simply didn’t know where to go
from here. His father didn’t rush him. 
“What did she think of… Did she… Was-was she… Was she alright with this?” Thor
said at last.
Odin reclined more deeply in his armchair. His posture expressed easiness,
reclining to one side, one elbow on the arm of his chair, but his hand, quickly
clenching and unclenching, said something else.
“She had… mixed feelings,” he replied. “She had many questions. Nothing
prepares you for something like that. She wasn’t against it, if that’s what you
want to know. She never talked about separating you. She wasn’t horrified, or
disgusted, or appalled. And the realisation about what was really going on
dawned on both of us very gradually, so I can’t even say there was a moment of
true shock. We just witnessed your relationship become more and more intense,
passions running high, teenage angst loud and sweeping, and then there was a
suggestion here and there that there was more to it than… Well, two teenage
brothers with stormy temperaments, so close in age. Whatever shock we
experienced, it came in lots of small doses, and we dealt with it separately,
on our own, before we sat down together in Asgard Hall one evening, after you’d
gone to bed, and discussed our suspicions for the first time. We laughed that
night, you know? It was a relief for both of us.”
“A relief?”
“It was good to speak of it out loud. There had been so much tension in the car
that day. And we might have felt a tad… uncomfortable, what with those burning
looks you used to throw to each other, as if we had even fewer eyes between
your mother and I than we had.”
Thor chuckled, and it was a relief for him too.
“Oh, god,” he said, his mind in the past for a moment.
“Nothing prepares you for something like that,” said Odin. “And you were both
so young. And at fifteen, you already looked like a man, but your brother…”
Thor’s stomach turned. He held his father’s stare. There seemed to be something
unspoken there, lingering. 
“I never meant for it to happen,” he confessed. “We knew it was a mess, and
yes, a lot of the time it didn’t make us very happy. It was so complicated, and
we were so afraid of being caught. But I was swept away by it. I couldn’t…” He
huffed, blushing deep red. “I guess I was overwhelmed by what I felt. I
couldn’t help myself.”
“Was your brother swept away as well?”
Thor stared up.
“What do you mean?”
Odin’s eye wandered, he measured his words.
“One of our chief concerns in all of this was… Well, you were fifteen, and you
had… well, you had dated. Your brother, as far as we knew, had not. So one of
the questions your mother would have asked you both is… Well, she would have
wanted to make sure the pace you had set for yourselves was one you were both
comfortable with.”
Thor narrowed his eyes to a squint, weeding out the intention hiding in that
carefully constructed and delivered jumble of words.
“Did she think I was taking advantage of Loki? Or for-forcing him to…?”
“Did you?”
“Did I…? No!” Burning, his neck, his face, his ears, his bloody hands were
burning. “Is that what you thought as well?”
“My son,” smiled Odin, “I’ve always believed, and I told your mother so, that
your brother plays you like a fiddle. That no matter what was actually
happening between you, the one pulling the reigns was probably always Loki.”
Thor gaped, appalled.
“Loki does not play me!” he protested, indignantly. Gritting his teeth to
control the volume of his voice, gripping the arms of his chair tight. “I’m
nobody’s fool.”
Odin hadn’t even flinched. He had always been hard to rattle, and he reacted to
his son’s bouts of temper with a still, relaxed composure Thor had always been
intimidated by.
“I didn’t say you were,” said his father. He carefully withdrew his gaze and
softened his voice. “That did not come out the way I intended, my apologies to
you, and to your brother. What I meant to say is, that you’re a good man, and
you were a good boy, and that I could not, then or now, imagine a universe in
which you would do anything to hurt Loki. I don’t believe you had the impulse,
or the necessary guile, to convince him to do anything he did not want to do.
He’s much too clever. In other words, I don’t believe you could take advantage
of your brother, now or then, if you tried, but neither do I believe that you
would ever try.”
Thor was not entirely pacified by that.
“Loki does not play me. Alright? We love each other. I don’t know how it came
to be what it is, but we got there together. Yes, he was young, but…” His face
flamed red. He had just had a flash of his brother’s scrawny, fourteen-year-old
naked body in the tent, in Iceland. “But whatever happened between us, happened
because we both wanted it. Today, and in the past. Always. Alright?” 
Thor didn’t know who he was standing up for, himself or his brother, but his
conviction managed to make him win for the first time in his life a staring
contest with his father.
“Well, although I never doubted you, it’s still a relief to hear that,” said
his father, as he distractedly turned the wedding band on his finger. Thor had
only started to notice that gesture of his after Frigga died. 
“That’s good to hear,” he said, now calm.
“I am sorry you were so frightened when you were kids. I do wish we could have
let you know you had nothing to fear from us. I will never know how things
would have been if your mother and I had spoken to you back in the day. For
you, for your brother. Perhaps some things would have been different, or
perhaps not. But perhaps it doesn’t matter so much. Does it? Am I being
presumptuous if I say all’s well that ends well?”
“Loki and I… We don’t want to pretend the past never happened, but we have
worked very hard to… To not let it get to us and dictate our present
circumstances. We have our whole lives ahead.”
“True.” Odin smiled, nothing but a flicker in the corner of his mouth. “Why
don’t you call your brother in?”
Thor swallowed, his throat dry again. 
“Is this…? Are you…?”
“All is well, son,” said his father calmly. “Please, call him in.”
 
 
Loki was standing by the window with a fag when Thor walked into the room. He
sprung one foot in the air when he noticed him. Thor offered his hand.
“He’s asking for you. Come in?”
Loki looked like he’d rather have the hairs of his ballsack removed one by one
with tweezers. And yet, he put out his fag, and approached. He took his hand.
Thor gave him a proud, supportive beam. 
They stood by the door of the office, but neither dared take another step
inside. Odin stood up, and took one step closer, but no more. His one eye went
from Loki’s face to their hands, tangled together — fusing into one flesh soon
enough, their grip was so strong.
“He knows, Loki,” said Thor. “They’ve always known.”
“They?” asked Loki.
“He means your mother,” said Odin, and again took his seat. A meticulous actor,
always aware of body language, perhaps he judged that sitting down might make
his children feel less intimidated. “Will you please sit down.”
Thor gave his brother’s hand a squeeze, and they both walked to the couch.
Every creak and screech of the old furniture seemed louder in that frozen
silence. Loki was better than his brother at staring contests, and except for
his breathing, slightly shortened, he was still as a lizard; and like a lizard,
his stillness was full of tension, always ready to spring. 
“Your brother tells me that you intend to go public with your relationship,”
said Odin. Loki didn’t bat an eyelid. No question, no answer. “For what it’s
worth, I think it’s the right thing to do. You must do this before anybody else
does it for you. It has to be on your own terms, at the time and place of your
own choosing. You must not let people think that you are afraid, or ashamed, or
they will make you suffer for it. They admire people with guts, and they make
allowances for those they admire. And you must not be afraid. The public
perception of both of you as individuals is that you are out of the ordinary,
somewhere above and beyond the common experience. Take advantage of that.
Extraordinary people do extraordinary things and live extraordinary lives. And
whatever they do, they own it. If you are proud, they will respect you for it.
So be proud. You have no reason not to.” 
A frown had set on Loki’s brow, and on Thor’s own. What the hell was in that
water?
“As for me,” proceeded Odin, “I will do whatever you need me to do. I will
speak out to support you, or I’ll be quiet, whichever serves you best.”
Thor turned to his brother, whose eyes were narrowed with caution. They had
been bracing themselves for anything from tears, to screams, to coldness and
rejection, to a fucking medical emergency. They didn’t know what to do with
this.
“The reason I’m doing this…” Odin choked. When he spoke again, his voice
sounded thick, laboured. He kept toying with his wedding ring. “If your mother
was here today, she would have stood by you both. She would have offered her
support. She would have told you to live your own way, and do whatever you need
to be happy. I'm striving to live up to the love she…” Choked again, his bottom
lip was fucking trembling. 
Meanwhile, Loki’s fucking fingerprints would end up marked on Thor’s skin, his
grip was that strong. His brother had an expression of astonishment so pure and
open, it took twenty years off him. Thor himself didn’t fucking know what he
was feeling. He couldn’t breathe for how much there was. 
Their dad took a resounding breath, to try and steady his voice. He couldn’t
look at them.
“I’m striving to be worthy of it, the love she bore me. For her, and for you,
both of you. You have my blessing, my support, and my… my love. I love you
both.”
A stunned silence. Thor wanted to take that old man in his arms and hug him
tight, but they just didn’t do that, did they? His eyes were wet. As for Loki,
he looked so calm, so serene. It wasn’t even as if a weight had been lifted,
but as if it had never been there in the first place.
Odin huffed and puffed a few times, as he stemmed the tears. He wiped his eyes
and his nose, and straightened up.
“Loki, if I may, I would like to speak to you alone for a moment. Is that
possible?”
Loki turned to Thor, still looking serene and composed.
“Please, wait outside,” he said. “I’ll be alright.”
He was much more collected than Thor right now, what a plot twist.
 
Less than three minutes later, Loki was out of the office, with a slight frown.
“What… what happened?” asked Thor, as they walked down the hallway towards the
lift. “What did he want to tell you?”
“I don’t know,” said Loki. “He didn’t say anything. Please, let’s go home.”
 
They were in the taxi, collapsed bonelessly on the backrest, knackered, quietly
processing the events of the last hour in each of their own heads, when Loki
said,
“He held my hand.”
Only then did Thor realise he hadn’t stopped rubbing it since they got out of
the building.
“He got up from the chair, and leaned over,” added Loki. “He scared the shit
out of me, I thought he was going to hug me or something. He just held my hand
really tight, and he looked like he wanted to say something, but he didn’t.
Then he let go. That’s all.”
Thor was smiling, deeply moved. He would have liked to see that. 
“He’s always sucked at this,” said Loki, a while later. He too was smiling.
 
 
Later that afternoon, they had stretched on the couch, filling it from end to
end. Loki was pressed all along Thor’s back, his hands playing in his brother’s
hair. Allegedly, they were trying for a nap, and Thor felt exhausted, sure, but
he also felt wide awake. 
“She knew,” said Thor, when it became apparent that Loki, still playing with
his hair, was not sleepy either. “Mum.”
“What did dad tell you?”
Thor filled him in, more or less. He made a bit of a mess of it, but hopefully
the idea was clear.
“God,” said Loki. “She did repeat many times ‘is there something you want to
tell me’, but I thought she meant… I don’t know, the depression, being gay, the
bullying, I don’t know.”
“And perhaps she did.”
“Yes, I guess. I tried not to be paranoid.” He snorted, a little giggle. “What
do I always say? You can’t ever fucking know a person.”
“She always tried to explain you to me, what was in your head. When she was
gone, I felt so lost. But you know what was worse? Back then, when you were
still in the clinic and we talked about you, and everybody tried to help me
with, you know, how to behave around you, what not to ask, what not to say,
what not to do… And mum would try to help me too, but all I could think was
that her advice just wasn’t good enough, because she didn’t know about this.
Made me feel even lonelier. And angry. Irrational, I know, but… I wanted to
yell at them ‘you’re not really fucking helping me, so leave me the fuck
alone!’”
“Well, she knew,” said Loki. His fingers in Thor’s hair made long, sweeping
brushes. “So whatever advice she gave you was sound. I hope you listened to
her.”
“I don’t know, you tell me. Did I treat you right, when you came back?”
A silence. Oh.
“You didn’t treat me much at all,” said Loki. “But neither did I, with you.
So.” 
After a moment, when Thor didn’t say anything, Loki wrapped his leg around him,
hooked their calves together.
“It mustn’t have been easy for you,” he muttered. 
Thor felt a choke. “It felt like there was a chasm one thousand feet
deep between the two of us in those days. I thought I’d lost you forever.”
“So did I.”
“I thought it was what you wanted.”
“…So did I.”
Thor rolled over in the confined space of the couch, and wrapped one arm and
leg around his brother, hiding his face in the crook of Loki’s neck. Loki
returned the cuddle.
“I thought I wasn’t good for you,” he whispered. 
Loki didn’t say anything. He just kept cuddling. They had talked about this
before. 
“I didn’t mean to play with your head,” Thor whispered. “With your feelings. I
never meant to hurt you. Ever.”
“I know. I did mean to play with yours, several times. And I did mean to hurt
you on occasion. I’m sorry.”
“It’s in the past,” muttered Thor.
“Precisely,” said Loki. “So quit whining.”
Thor chuckled, and hugged strongly. After a while, he felt Loki’s fingers in
his hair again, but they were tugging. Wait a minute.
“Are you braiding my hair?” he asked.
“Yes.”
Fair enough. Thor sighed deeply against his brother’s neck, smiling. 
“There, done,” said Loki, as he pushed him away. 
Thor met his eyes, met his smile.
“You know what, Laufeyson?” he said. “I think I’m going to take you out on a
date. I’m going to wine you, dine you, and romance you. In a nice, fancy place,
with lots of people around us. Saturday evening. What do you think?”
“I think not, Odinson,” said Loki. He smirked to Thor’s expression of baffled
disappointment. “Because I’m the one who is going to take you out on a date.”
Thor grinned blissfully. 
“Oh really? So, what’s the plan?”
“Nothing special. But if you’re lucky, I might let people see you touching my…
shoulder?” teased Loki.
Thor feigned shock.
“So forward,” he rumbled, burying his face in his brother’s neck.
“I might let you escort me to my lodgings,” whispered Loki, pressing against
his brother. “I might let you kiss my hand.”
“Hm-hm?” mumbled Thor. 
Loki’s voice, playful and teasing, became a soothing rumble. Thor made some
noises, and tried to follow, but before he realised, he was asleep. 
 
 
 
                                       *
 
 
“Thor?… Thor!”
Loki huffed in irritation. His brother had nodded off, and he was trapped
against the backrest of the couch by what felt like two hundred pounds of
muscle. But that wasn’t the worst of it. The worst of this was… what the hell
did he do with that boner? All that nuzzling and talking Thor had been doing
right by the skin of his neck… Bloody hell, he wasn’t made of stone.
Thor’s breathing crushed his chest. He was drooling on Loki's silk and baby
alpaca sweater. Loki sighed, and petted his hair. Thoughts of mum and dad in
his mind - making him smile, how about that. The intensity of his father's
stare as he crushed his hand, earlier that afternoon. The sharp, small nods, as
he tried to communicate what he could not put down in words, his eye red. The
old man had been begging him, imploring. And Loki had nodded back, and relief
had flooded that old face, along with tears, and a broken smile, not too
dissimilar from the one Loki remembered waking up to one afternoon in February,
when he was fourteen years old. 
 
'Is there anything you want to tell me, darling?', his mum's voice. 'You know
you can talk to me, whatever it is. Nothing will shock me so much or make me so
angry that you need to be afraid to tell me. I'll always love you, no matter
what, always.' 
He saw himself, fourteen years old. He'd listen to that, nod, and tell nothing.
He knew it all back then, didn't he? And to his fourteen-year-old self, his
secret was the biggest, most fucked up, most unspeakable secret in the
world, ever. You don't know what you're saying, mum,he'd reply in his mind,
with a world-weary sigh.You wouldn't be saying that if youknew.
She had known. She had guessed. She had kept on loving him, in spite of it. 
'Is there anything you want to tell me, darling?'
Yes, yes there is. I love him, mum. I'm in love with Thor. I want to be with
him. I don't know how it came to be, it just did. He's the only one I ever
wanted. And now he wants to come out, and I want that too, but I'm frightened.
And I wish you were here to hold my hand and you're not, but maybe you are, I
don't know; sometimes it feels you are, a little. Never mind. I'm a certified
loon, ain't I? And possibly a bona-fide pervert. Does it matter, mum? Do I
still get to have this?
She would have smiled, maybe even laughed a little. She would have stroked his
long hair out of his face. Loki couldn't put words in her mouth right now, he
couldn't figure out what she would have said to that. His mum was dead, he
would never know what she would have answered. But the ghost in his mind had
heard him, and was still stroking his hair, and she was still smiling.
 
“Can you believe that we’re doing this, baby?” he whispered, trying not to
disturb his brother. “That we're really going to get out there and tell the
fucking world?” 
For a spell, he tried to imagine it. Down the street, going somewhere,
anywhere, holding hands. Heads would turn. Would they manage to meet their
eyes, hold their chins up? What would it be like, to kiss his brother on the
mouth in the middle of fucking London? What would it be like, to simply get on
with their lives, together, as other people did? - Don’t jump the fucking
horse, Loki-boy; a normal existence was still a long, long way away, if it ever
even came to happen...
You know, there were times when the whole idea of coming out had him nauseous
with terror, but there were others when he couldn’t fucking wait. 
He petted his brother’s hair in long, slow strokes, and tried for a nap
himself. He’d be making Thor pay for falling asleep on him in the middle of
fucking foreplay, but for now… He tried to get comfortable. And Thor was so
warm, he smelled so good. It wasn't too hard.
 
 
 
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     I know it took long. These guys matter a lot to me, and telling their
     story takes a lot of work, so it's always slow going. I hope it was
     worth the wait.
***** Chapter 35 *****
Chapter Summary
     Operation Public Courtship, go.
Chapter Notes
     *sobs* this was so hard, so hard... I thought I'd never make it.
     Worst case of writer's block since I started writing again. Thought
     that was it for me, that my run was over.
     Unfaithful next, and Musketeers, when they let me.
     Thank you Ctopey as always, to the sweet anon who let me know they
     were waiting for this, to Angrymadsygin for the encouragement, to all
     of you who have dropped in a kind word. (hits on "post" with immense
     relief.)
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Thor was early. He checked his watch again, as if that would make time move
faster, and perched on a stool by the bar. He ordered a drink, for something to
do with his hands. He was charged with a nervous energy that had him tapping
his fingers on the counter. He had not been to this place before, so he had not
known what to expect, but the stylish, sleek decor, the low, warm, reddish
lighting, and the fancy uniforms of the staff, screamed “singles bar.” 
He didn’t get why Loki wanted to meet there, instead of leaving home together,
but since it was Loki’s treat, Thor decided to just roll with it. He did have
the impression that his brother had put in a lot of thought into this date, and
that he had planned it down to every tiny detail, possibly taking some cues
from the landing of Normandy, so he decided to keep his mouth shut and follow
the program. After all, it wasn’t just a date, was it? It was some fine PR
wrangling of the most subtle order. He was sure that Natasha had asked for a
thorough summary of the night’s events to be submitted for her approval.
Operation Public Courtship began tonight.
Thor checked himself in the mirror again, and thought he’d end up wearing out
the bloody suit from brushing off fluff that wasn’t there. And a nice suit it
was, made to order especially for tonight, three-piece, deep maroon, black
shirt, no tie. With one last look at his reflection in the hallway mirror
before he left the house, he had thought to himself, yup, my dear fellow, you
shall go to the ball. It was also a throwback to another suit he had worn ages
ago, on that fateful MTV Movie Awards night that had haunted his and his
brother’s lives for a long time, the night when that accursed article in
Variety dropped the bomb about Loki’s adoption. He hoped that Loki would get
what Thor was getting at with it. New beginnings. Let’s go back to the start,
where everything went to shit, and let’s do this again. This time we’ll do it
right. 
“Can I buy you a drink?” 
He turned to the voice, a beautiful woman, nicely coiffured. 
“Thank you, but no, I’m waiting for someone.”
“Oh.” She drifted away, disappointed. 
Thor had a sip of scotch.
The second caller didn’t take long, nor the third after that, or the fourth.
The novelty was being approached by a man this time as well.
“No, thanks, I’m waiting for someone,” he kept repeating.
He guessed it was his fault for being so early, but he had been climbing up the
walls with nerves, checking himself out in the mirror thirty times, and
starting to second guess his choice of outfit when it was way too fucking late
to do something about it. He figured he’d just get himself out of the house
before he did something stupid, and they started tonight on the wrong foot. 
He stared into his own eyes in the mirror in front, his reflection a ghostly,
confusing, prismatic image amid half-full bottles, glass shelves, sparks of
light. A deep breath. He would be lying if he didn’t admit that part of him was
chickening out. It was a pretty big thing, tonight. He knew Loki would be
nervous too. Thor was apprehensive about, well, repercussions, about stirring
the waters and dragging shit to the surface. Yes, a part of him just wanted to
text Loki “forget it, let’s go home.” The other part of him straightened up his
suit, took another deep breath, and smiled. His brother was taking him out on a
goddamn date tonight. With the express purpose of being fucking seen going out
on a date, together. He didn’t know what plans Loki had, but whatever they
were, this was starting in a bloody singles bar, and that was promising.
“Are you here alone?”
“No, sorry, I’m waiting for some-…” said Thor as he turned to the voice. He cut
himself off, and smiled. It was Loki. “I’m waiting for someone,” he finished,
with a smile and an intent stare.
“Been waiting long?” asked Loki, meeting his gaze, and matching the intensity
of Thor’s with interest.
“A while,” said Thor. “I was early.”
“Hm, eager. Hot date? Important occasion?”
“Both. And you?”
Loki smiled, “Same. Can I get you a drink while you wait?”
“I’m good. Can I buy you a drink instead?”
“Won’t your date mind?”
Thor smiled.
“Maybe.”
“Jealous?”
“Very. And possessive. I kinda like to poke him with that. I like the reaction
it gets me.”
“Like scratches across your face, for example?” said Loki with a reptilian
smirk, casually letting Thor see the classy black polish on his nails.
“And along my back,” said Thor.
Loki’s eyes widened with something that gave Thor a slight shiver. 
“Dump that loser, baby, I can show you a real good time,” teased Loki, feigning
a thick American accent of some description.
“Maybe I will. What can you do for me?”
“Don’t want to spoil the surprise, but I promise it will be fun,” said Loki,
with a wink.
Thor had a sip of scotch, and pretended he was thinking about it. Then he asked
for the check. Loki picked it up. The bartender looked from one to the other
with faint puzzlement. The whole interaction, what with the looks they had
given each other, their heads close together, the low mumbling, had been
equivocal, to say the least. That too gave Thor a little shiver of
exhilaration. 
“After you,” said Thor. And he proceeded to follow his brother, in his black,
three-quarter length suit, long coat with seal-fur collar, the antique, silver
pocket-watch Thor had given him for their first anniversary in the pocket of
his velvet-trimmed waistcoat, decidedly Victorianesque ankle boots, with a row
of small round buttons up the side. His hair was up in that messy bun he must
know Thor couldn’t get enough of (it reminded him of Loki’s tussled after-sex
hair). His eyes were lined with kohl. He was like the dashing villain straight
out of a dark, steampunk-themed graphic novel. All he was missing was the tall
hat and a long cane with a silver skull handle. He had dressed to impress, and
to draw attention, and damn, wasn’t he succeeding. 
Once outside, with the same air of initiative, Loki stopped a cab. They hopped
in. Loki gave an address to the cabbie.
“Where to?” asked Thor.
“Told you, it’s a surprise.”
For a heartbeat, their eyes connected and locked. After they broke, with some
flustering, Loki appraised him head to toe.
“Ok, let’s have it,” said Thor.
“Have what.”
“My suit. You’re dying to say it, so let’s get it over and done with.”
“Say what?” snickered Loki, but he sounded baffled.
“Yes, it’s fucking red. I look like a pimp or a mobster or something.”
“Why would you chose it, if you thought I would take the piss out of it?” asked
Loki.
“Because I knew you’d like me in it, no matter how many jokes you made.”
“You know me that well, huh?”
“Like my own brother,” Thor winked.
Loki’s eyes on his face, on his mouth.
“It’s not red, it’s deep maroon. The Sixties cut is lush, and you should always
wear a waistcoat. I find it classy as fuck, and you look hot as hell in it,” he
declared, in a discreet mutter, for Thor’s ears only.
“Thank you,” said Thor. He didn’t have the words to return such an unexpectedly
thorough and candid compliment. “You-you look stunning as well. A-amazing.”
Loki barely smiled with his lips, but his eyes expressed satisfaction. They
glinted as they took in the city that rushed past them. 
“Can you believe we’re doing this?” whispered Thor.
“Feels pretty surreal. We can still change our minds. All we’ve done so far is
confuse a bartender.”
“You want to? Pull back.”
Loki threw him a piercing glare.
“Do you?”
Thor didn’t hesitate for one second.
“Hell, no.”
“Then, neither do I,” smiled Loki.
Thor checked where the cab driver’s eyes were, and reached for Loki’s hand. He
wanted to find out if it was trembling. It felt stable.
“Are you ok?” he whispered.
“Surprisingly, yes,” Loki smiled warmly. “I’m feeling… hell, I’m excited.”
Thor squeezed his brother’s hand tight between both of his for a moment, and
kissed it before he let it go. When their eyes met again, they both smiled.
There was a time when he could have sworn Loki would never be able to look so
calm and smile to him so sweetly.
“Ah, here we are,” said Loki a moment later, as the taxi pulled over. 
 
Thor got the door of the restaurant for him. 
“Laufeyson, table for two,” said Loki to the maître. “I requested the
courtyard.”
“Indeed, sir. Do you wish to leave your coats in the cloakroom?”
She lead them there.
“Allow me,” said Thor, and helped Loki out of his coat. 
The intimacy of the gesture, out in the open, even if it was just witnessed by
a maître and the cloakroom girl, made Thor’s pulse race. Loki just stood there
with his back to him, nonchalantly, elegantly unbothered, as if it was an
everyday occurrence, but Thor saw his brother’s Adam’s apple bob in his throat
when he stroked his hands down Loki’s shoulders and arms, and Loki turned his
head to him. Made Thor think of other situations in which he got his brother
out of garments. It had him shivering with anticipation, as if this was their
first date. When Loki turned to face him, Thor said softly, “The scarf.” He
grabbed one end, and pulled it slowly from around his brother’s neck. The
gentle, sensual caress of the fabric on his skin made Loki’s Adam’s apple bob
again. 
The whole thing had played out before the rapidly blinking eyes of the
cloakroom girl, and the completely inexpressive face of the very professional
maître. Today, every gesture and every look had meaning and carried a weight.
It was thrilling. 
“If you’d be so kind as to follow me,” said the maître, with a tiny bow. 
Heirs of Odin and Frigga Borson that they were, they knew how to make an
entrance. Heads did turn, both among staff and guests, some jaws fell open,
some eyes went wide. They somehow always managed to look one foot taller than
most anyone else in the room, and they do not just hand out this Hollywood star
quality in raffles, alright? Glamour, magnetism, physical impact, call it what
you will, it’s an aura, a thing that’s in short supply, but both Thor and Loki
had it, and how. Dressed in their finery as they were today, they looked like
actual fairy-tale royalty. 
They walked past the outer ring of tables, where some medium mixed groups, and
even a family, were having an early meal, and were escorted to an indoor
courtyard with a glass-vaulted ceiling, under which a tangle of real cherry-
tree branches in bloom criss-crossed and hung low above their heads. Thor gazed
up, in awe. Loki seemed quietly pleased. Thor got the chair for him.
 “This is beautiful,” said Thor, once the maître had left them alone.
“Apparently, it was recently named the most romantic restaurant in the world.”
Thor had to smile pretty much from ear to ear. In spite of his cool, unfazed
expression, his brother was faintly blushing.
“How did you find it? Don’t tell me you googled-…”
“Banner recommended it,” cut Loki, his blush intensifying.
“Banner? You went and asked Banner for romantic restaurants?”
“I did no such thing. I was talking to Sigyn about, uh, this, tonight, and he
happened to listen in. He heard I hadn’t made up my mind about where to go for
dinner, and he suggested this place. Ok?”
“And you went for it, the most romantic restaurant in the world.”
“We were looking to send a message, weren’t we?” snapped Loki.
“Aggressive…”
“Nervous,” confessed his brother, tempering his last outburst with a shy little
grin.
There was a long silence. Not totally uncomfortable, but it was apparent they
both wished to break it, and couldn’t think of how. Thor’s gaze wandered. He
took in the delicate pink blossoms above their heads, entwined with a string of
fairy lights, set out against the purple, darkening London sky above, the
fireplace on the far wall, the low, warm lighting… and the shifty, curious
looks of the rest of the patrons, who flinched when caught ogling, and quickly
looked away. 
And then he caught his brother looking. Swooning, even. 
For a moment, they just stared at each other. The smiles turned to broader
smiles, turned to pursed lips, turned to a nervous fit of giggles.
“Oh, sweet Lord, I’m fucking shaking…” chuckled Thor, wiping a tear from his
eye. 
Calm down, Odinson, let’s all keep our heads. He tried to think of something to
say.
“Right. Uh. So, Loki. Uh, you were saying the other day, you felt like doing
theatre next?”
Loki seemed quietly amused with his brother’s awkward, clumsy attempt at making
conversation, the little shit, but he threw him a line. 
“Yes, I am looking forwards to being on a stage again. Ideally, something
involving singing and dancing, but at present, none of the offers on the table
really grabs me by the balls.”
“Maybe you’ll have to write it yourself,” Thor said.
“Well, depending on what happens in a few weeks, I may even have to fund it
myself, attend it myself, review it myself…”
Thor’s smile fell for a second.
“Oh, please,” said Loki, kicking him under the table. “Cheer the fuck up, it
was a joke. What about you? What’s next? You’ve not mentioned anything about
new projects for some time.”
Thor scratched his beard as if he was pondering. Truth was, he was buying
himself a second. 
“I’ve been thinking… I’d like to make a comedy. I’d like to dress in casual
clothes and be silly and goofy and make people laugh, for a change.”
“Oh dear.”
“What, you don’t think I can?”
“What, make people laugh on purpose?”
“Ha ha. Aren’t you funny.”
“Certifiably so.”
“No, seriously now, Loki. Do you think I shouldn’t? Or that I can’t?”
“I think there is something especially disarming about an actual living god of
beauty smashing into doors face first and tripping on banana peels. I’m
thinking Carole Lombard, Marilyn Monroe, Katharine Hepburn, Cary Grant. You’d
be delightful. And hilarious, I’m sure.”
“Did you just call me an actual living god of beauty?” smirked Thor, all smug.
Loki could roll his eyes until he saw the back of his head, but there was no
disguising that blush on his cheeks. Ah, Loki was in a most delightful mood
this evening, at times snarky and demure, and this was already the nicest
fucking date night ever. Thor brushed his foot against Loki’s under the table
and hooked their ankles together, with a broad grin.
 
 
“We’ll have the Chocolate Sensation for two,” said Thor, when it was time for
dessert.
Loki gave him an indignant stare, but didn’t protest until the waiter had left.
“I was actually between the Hot Goat Milk and Tahiti Vanilla rice pudding and
the Millefeuille,” he said, miffed.
“We can have those to go,” joked Thor. And in a whisper, with a searing stare,
“I just remembered the things you used to do with those ice creams in Iceland.”
“Is that a dare?”
“It’s a double dare.”
“You’re toying with forces beyond your ken, Odinson. Are you sure you can
handle this?”
“Bring it,” said Thor.
“Ok, you asked for it. It’s on.”
They both followed the plate with their eyes as it was set on the table.
“Well, then,” said Loki, once the waiter had left. “I’m waiting.”
Thor had a quick look around. People must have grown accustomed to their
presence. He detected no shifty glances. With his pulse beginning to race, Thor
thought that this was about to change. He loaded up the spoon, taking some care
to fill it too with some of that burnt honey ice cream and Armagnac jelly.
“Go on then, come get it,” he muttered, holding the spoon up. 
Loki got up, leaned over, and took it in his mouth. He hollowed his cheeks
around it, and pulled back slowly, his lips dragging on the metal. When the
rich chocolatey goodness hit his tastebuds, he let his eyes droop languidly,
and he moaned with delight. Thor’s middle was shaken by a deep shiver, as a
surge of hot blood suddenly deluged the area. Loki sat back on his chair, with
a smarmy grin, savouring the morsel in his mouth, with his eyes branding hot on
his brother. When he licked his lips, Thor oomphed quietly, as if he’d been
hit. He remembered Iceland very fucking vividly right now, his brother teasing
him like that, back in the day when Loki was too squicked to put his mouth on
him, and Thor’s imagination ran riot with ideas of how it might feel.  
When he had a look around, he noticed several astonished expressions. They
simply did not understand what was going on, because the simplest, most obvious
explanation for what they had just witnessed was unthinkable. Well, think
again, thought Thor, with a wolfish smile. His heart was hammering with the
thrill of it, electricity running in his veins. Fuck yeah, now we’re fucking
talking!
“This is gorgeous,” purred his brother. If he had noticed the reactions around
them, he wasn’t showing it. Supremely oblivious and unflappable, he loaded up
his spoon. “Want to taste?”
 
They left as they had arrived, princely and magnificent, with an Olympian
nonchalance and uber-confidence that you really had to be of a certain special
temperament to be able to pull off. Which they were, alright. 
But once they were in the cab, they burst out laughing.
“That was insane!” said Loki, between giggles. “Did you see that woman’s face?
The one in the pink dress with the pearls? I thought she was going to fucking
come slip a twenty inside your pants!”
Thor couldn’t stop to breathe, let alone to speak. He didn’t remember the last
time he had laughed so much. 
“Oh god,” he whimpered, when they started to calm down. “Best date ever. Thank
you, baby.”
Sobered up all of a sudden, Loki threw a nervous look at the cabbie. And that
sobered up Thor too.
“It’s ok,” said Loki quickly, smiling. “Just takes some getting used to.”
 
 
 
“Ballet?” said Thor with very little enthusiasm, as the taxi pulled over by the
theatre and he saw the posters and signs.
“You haven’t heard of Sergei Polunin?” said Loki, guiding him to the door. 
“Uh, you know I don’t really keep up with this world. I only ever enjoyed
ballet when it was you dancing.”
“In that case, I think you will be pleasantly surprised.”
Thor didn’t make any more comments, but braced himself for a solid hour of
boredom. He loved to see Loki dancing, but he had never really gotten into the
dance thing himself. He disliked the snobbery around it when they attended
Loki’s performances, the snooty audience, so prim and stuck up, and Loki’s even
snootier teacher (or coach or whatever they called him), never satisfied, never
a word of praise, always staring down at his charges, Loki among them, as if
they were tiny repulsive things the Lord had burdened him with to atone for
past sins. What was worse, it made Thor feel stupid, because he didn’t get it,
didn’t feel it, its secret code flying right over his head.
 
It was a small venue, intimate. The audience was very close to the stage.
Lights dimmed down, silence fell.  A single dancer appeared, barefoot, topless,
covered in tattoos, naked but for a nude-coloured leotard ending above the
knees. His very presence radiated something sexual, urgent. You could not look
at him without being affected. Thor felt the energy in the place change, become
charged, the air thrumming.
There was no music. The dancer moved with such a compelling, perfectly balanced
blend of brute strength and grace. The thumps when he hit the floorboards after
a jump made the audience flinch. His performance was expressive, dramatic,
hypnotic. Thor had feared it would be too abstract, too hard to penetrate, and
he was sure he was missing most of the nuances that an eye trained in the
language of dance could appreciate, but he was enthralled. Perhaps there was an
entire story in that choreography he was missing, but he was gripped by it just
the same.
After a while, when the first dancer was already sweaty and strained, although
his movements remained impeccably smooth, another male dancer appeared. They
circled each other, an undertone of aggression in their posture. They engaged,
their clashing impulses and sheer muscular power releasing a wave of energy.
They rolled, jumped, shoved each other, threw each other in the air, and held
each other close, and there was so much passion now, a fraught, tormented
romance unfolding without words before the audience’s eyes. They met in a
corner and kissed, and it felt as if everybody in that place was holding their
breath. They embraced, they spun around each other, they kissed again, and the
dance had now become an elegant, stylised version of fucking, soundless but for
the heavy breathing of their physical strain, the sensuality of it all hitting
the audience, which returned waves of arousal. An entire auditorium being
treated to the most beautiful, classiest sex show imaginable, and reacting with
shivers, muted gasps, and discrete squirms.
When it ended, with the dancers/lovers in a heap on the stage, there was a
second of intense, suspended silence before the applause began to rise. And
Loki was watching him. Thor returned the stare. Look at us now, Thor commanded
the audience in silence, feeling still electrified. See us. 
“I think you enjoyed that,” said Loki, when the applause finally began to quiet
down and people were picking up their things. 
Thor discreetly tucked himself in, with a quiet snort.
 
 
 
It was a very pleasant evening; spring was in the air. The street was full of
tourists and revellers, and they were just another couple, walking side by
side, enjoying the atmosphere. Some people did a double-take, but most just
kept on walking, too busy enjoying their own lives to mind anybody else’s
business, which was nice, for a change. Thor put an arm around his brother’s
waist, and Loki stiffened up for a moment, but didn’t push him away. After a
while, Loki put his arm around him too. And Thor wanted to howl at the moon and
tap-dance up the walls in sheer fucking unbridled joy. 
They ambled aimlessly for a while, just enjoying being together on such a
lovely night, having a good time, like couples in love do. Such a simple thing,
yet so powerful, washing away months and months of frustration, self-loathing,
and mounting disappointment, dissolving it all into a fresh feeling of content.
He was a lucky man; the stars smiled on him, life was good tonight, and the
future was full of promise.
“So, what now?” asked Thor.
“Hm, original plan? Home.”
“The plan has changed?”
“I sort of… It’s such a nice evening. Want to stretch it out a bit. I feel like
going dancing.”
“Do I have to dance as well?” asked Thor, wary.
Loki laughed.
“You can just watch.”
Fucking hell, Loki.
“Lead the way,” said Thor.
 
 
A small club with a rainbow flag at the door. The bouncer’s eyes got as big as
footballs when he spotted them in the queue, and he didn’t so much gesture to
them as fucking curtsey. The queue parted before them like the waters of the
Red Sea. Sometimes, this celebrity thing had its perks. They strutted
obliviously amid a chorus of awed expressions, as if it was all their due, and
thus nothing to make a fuss about. Which was, of course, the trick. A couple of
flashes did go off, but some voices rose in admonishment, “Leave them in
peace!” 
Once inside, the dull rhythmic thud resolved into a disco song. They got rid of
their coats and suit jackets, and in their waistcoats and shirts, they went in.
Thor shouted for drinks at the bar (between his natural low key and his
theatrical training, no barman ever ignored him), and they squeezed between
groups of punters until they found a spot by the back wall. There was no point
in trying for conversation with that noise, so for a while they just stood
there, observing, and trying to give off “nothing to see here, please move on”
vibes. 
The music was anything from Lady Gaga to the Bee Gees. Compared to Loki, Thor
couldn’t dance for shit, and tended to get stiff as a board trying, unless he’d
had a few, so he was happy to stay at the back. Loki, however, was already
swinging, little shoulder rolls, the thing he did with his neck. He doesn’t
realise, does he?, thought Thor. He thinks he does, he plays with it, but he
simply hasn’t got a clue just how fucking sexy he is. It’s something about the
way he moves and about the way he stands still, a liquid, feline elegance,
effortless, perfectly harmonious, and simply out of this fucking world. In that
complicated, hazy time between childhood and puberty, back when Thor’s feelings
for Loki had already departed the shores of a passionate though straightforward
brotherly attachment, and had entered the confusing stage, but had not yet
resolved into, well, specifics, Thor used to interrogate himself about what
made his brother so intensely, uh, watchable. He didn’t look like a girl, and
he didn’t move exactly like a girl, not quite, but neither did he look like
most boys Thor knew, and certainly didn’t move like them. Loki was Loki, he
walked his own path, he set his own rules, and that shone through even in the
way he occupied a space in this world. And Thor fucking worshipped him for it.
What a strange realisation, that even then he sort of knew that Loki was the
only one for him, the only one Thor could see himself loving and wanting for
the rest of his life. 
He leaned to whisper into his brother’s ear.
“Dance for me.”
There was a shiver there, and his brother turned to face him, his eyes darting
from Thor’s eyes to his lips, and back again. He never got tired of the effect
he had on him, of witnessing Loki trembling like a flame because of something
Thor had done or said, sometimes just from a look. Would that ever wear off?
Would Loki one day just get used to him, and the thrill would wear off?
Well, watching him dance now, Thor could not envisage a time when Loki would
ever stop working on him. His arms thrown up, head tilted back, eyes heavy
lidded. The classy bugger, he needed nothing more than to swing his hips just
so to make Thor’s throat feel dry as sandpaper. After some time, when it suited
him, Loki went for it, his feet flying as if gravity was something that
happened to other people. He was dancing for himself, for his own enjoyment,
making love with the music, smiling so much. 
Of course, by now they had both been spotted and recognised, and whereas there
were still a few souls brave enough (or high enough) to keep moving in the same
area as Loki Laufeyson, the Lord of Dance, most had just taken a step back to
enjoy the show, and avoid unflattering comparisons. There was a thrum of
excitement running through the place, as if a special covenant was taking
place. Which it was.
  In the following hour, Thor was accosted several times, with polite overtures
he had no problem in turning down without explanation, eyes fixed on his
brother. The come ons Loki was getting were of a more physical nature - men who
approached and invaded his space, trying to catch his eye. Loki ignored them
all, except for a couple who hovered near with some decent moves. Then it was
Loki who insinuated himself between them both. The lucky buggers welcomed him
in their space with broad, excited smiles, and the three of them danced
together. Nobody touched anybody anywhere but on the hips, and not that much,
but they did not need to, to put on a pretty suggestive, racy show. And as Loki
spun and swerved and snaked between his two pretty dancing partners, he kept
throwing his brother long looks, which Thor could see were being noticed.
Again, people seemed puzzled; he spotted confused frowns and people talking
into each other’s ears. No way to know what they were saying, but Thor would
put his money on, “But aren’t they brothers?” He was smiling himself, high with
excitement and desire and the wild rush of it all, feeling like they were
racing down a steep road with no brakes. There was no turning back from this.
This was going to happen. Sooner rather than later, he would be out in this
world with his brother who was also his lover by his side, and everyone would
know. They would see them together and know what they got up to behind closed
doors. And they would both be able to just stare them in the eyes and own it
all. No more pretending, no more hiding, no more lies.
Thor stepped onto the dance floor, reached for his brother, and pulled him
close.
“Home, now,” he said into Loki’s ear.
Loki’s eyes dazzled with electricity. He blew a kiss to his dancing partners,
and they walked out riding a wave of baffled attention from the entire place,
their leaving together like that spelling out for all to see in the universal
code of dating, “bedtime.”
 
They had an arm around each other’s waist again as they walked to find a cab,
and by now it felt as natural as breathing. People were watching, but Thor
forgot to take notice. He kept his eyes on the flowing stream of cars, waiting
for a taxi to turn up. Loki was watching him with a look that made Thor feel
ten feet tall and made of precious metal. He was so tempted to kiss him, right
here, right now.
“Taxi!”
They sat close together inside, slumped against the backrest, tired. Thor’s
hearing was numb. What a night.
Distractedly, he began to stroke his fingertips on Loki’s thigh. He felt a
ridge underneath the cloth. He frowned.
“What’s that?”
Loki crossed his legs, and pulled his pants up just a tad to uncover his
calves. Thor’s jaw dropped. He was wearing fucking fishnets. 
“And the rest,” smirked Loki.
“Jesus, Joseph and Mary,” mumbled Thor, making his brother laugh. Loki lead
Thor’s hand to another area. Was that a fucking garter? Thor gulped. “God,
you’ve had them on all night?”
“Stupid question, brother. Why wouldn’t I?” Loki uncrossed his legs and covered
up. With a low, sheepish look, he asked, “Is that alright?” 
“Very alright,” rumbled Thor, shifting on his ass to accommodate his semi. 
Loki looked so relieved, and so damn pleased with himself. He was adorable.
Loki noticed the endeared expression on his brother’s face and rewarded it with
a kick on the shin. Thor threw his head back, smiling in bliss.
“So, you planned out the entire night?” he asked.
“Yup.”
“All of it.”
“All of it.”
“And what’s the plan now?”
“Giving you the best orgasm of your life, that’s the plan,” whispered Loki into
his ear.
Thor felt a plunge in his stomach, the caress of Loki’s breath sending shivers
down his neck.
“Tall order. How do you intend to do that?” asked Thor.
“Surprise.”
“Can I get a clue?”
“Props.”
“Oh…”
“Nothing kinky - don’t be afraid, brother.”
Thor raised an eyebrow
“Afraid?”
Loki smiled broadly and turned his eyes to the window. Thor returned to tracing
idly the ridge of the garter and the stockings through the fabric of his
trousers.
 
 
Ten minutes later, Thor had his brother pressed against the inside of the front
door of the house, one thigh between Loki’s legs, hands on his arse, kissing
the living daylights out of him. The little pleading, whimpery noises he was
extracting from his brother had Thor grinding his semi against him like a horny
teenager.
“Need some water,” said Loki between kisses, while his brother was busy
ravishing his neck. “And some air to breathe would be nice too.”
“A good pounding is what you need,” rumbled Thor, grinding, grinding.
His brother chuckled and gave him a shove. That sound, though. Hmmm...
 
 
Thor had poured them both a glass of water. They were taking a breather, acting
civilised, and drinking in silence for a moment. Thor’s ears had not yet
recovered from the decibels at the club. The current peace and quiet were
soothing.
He stared at his beautiful brother in front of him, that slight fluster on his
cheeks and neck, his mouth still pink and swollen from the makeout downstairs.
Loki saw him staring, met his eyes, held them. It did things to Thor, that
stare. It was cunning, it sparkled with mischief, and with whatever it was that
Loki still had in store for him. 
After Loki put down his glass, Thor crowded him against the worktop and stared
him down, delaying the kiss. Loki wrapped his arms around Thor’s neck and
pulled him close. He tilted his head back and got on his tiptoes, waiting for
Thor’s mouth. Thor pulled back, because he wanted to see that face for a bit
longer. His brother looked lovely waiting for a kiss, his lids heavy, mouth
parted, glowing with a very immediate, very carnal kind of yearning. 
“Goddammit, Thor,” grumbled Loki, as he sunk his claws in his brother’s hair
and drew him in, crushing their mouths together with brattish demand. Thor let
out a hungry growl, and pressed his entire body against his brother’s. He
palmed Loki’s lingerie-clad legs through his clothes.
“I want to see it,” he mumbled, hands busy with the fastenings of Loki’s
trousers.
“Wait wait wait,” Loki held them still. “Wait, I’ve got… I had something in
mind.”
Damn, baby, thought Thor with a shiver.
“What thing?”
Loki pushed him away.
“Living room,” he whispered, and lead him by the hand.
Once in the living room, he pulled out a chair and made Thor sit on it. Thor
obeyed without protest, intrigued. Loki went away to put on some mellow, sexy
music. Ok, now Thor was really intrigued. Loki turned around, already undoing
the buttons of his waistcoat, and soon his shirt, with a very subtle, almost
unconscious hip swing and shoulder roll, barely acknowledging the music. Thor
swallowed. Loki dropped his shirt, let his hair down, kicked off his shoes, and
unbuttoned his trousers. Slowly, teasingly, he began to ease them down. Thor
took a deep breath as the whole set-up was revealed: lacy knickers, garter
belt, garters, fishnet stockings, all in black silk and black lace, with dark
green ribbon in cute tiny bows, and a rich, deep green velvet trim. Loki was
biting his bottom lip as he waited for his brother’s reaction. Thor couldn’t
possibly fathom why on earth, but his brother seemed anxious about it.
“Fuck,” was all Thor was able to say, once his brother was standing in front of
him in nothing but his lingerie. His eyes were running mad up and down those
never-ending legs, over the bulge of Loki’s not inconsiderable manly bits
cupped in black silk, the contrast of the absolutely fucking charming,
delicate, sheer, lacy set, against that slim, but toned, and definitely
masculine torso, those strong arms and shoulders, that long neck. “Fuck,” he
said again, short of breath. 
“Like what you see?” said Loki, more relaxed now, reassured by that reaction.
“I wish I had my heels.”
And Thor gave him a look, because, frankly? He needed readjusting, again. He
was throbbing. 
“Come the fuck here now,” he growled.
Loki strutted closer, swinging his hips. When he was one step away, he started
dancing. He twisted and spun and snaked his hips, offering himself up from all
angles for Thor to appraise. And hell, the back side was just as jaw-droppingly
enticing as the front. He should have imagined he would have never seen a pair
of knickers fit so perfectly as they did on his brother’s fucking perfect butt.
Thor was panting. He reached up to touch, but Loki swung his hips and dodged.
Then he straddled his lap, and rolled his hips, grinding his arse on Thor’s
erection. Thor raised his hands to hold him.
“Huh-huh, not allowed,” whispered Loki straight into his ear, and stood up to
turn over and keep dancing, running his own hands on his body, teasing,
eyefucking, in full burlesque mode now.
Throbbing and panting as he was, Thor felt an unpleasant tumble deep inside all
of a sudden. A memory flashed in his mind of that club, the smell of it, the
feel of the cheap velvet of the chair where he had sat when Loki had danced for
him, and the mess in Thor’s head and in his body. He remembered disgust mixing
with a guilty, fucked up desire, the sickest feeling he had ever felt for his
brother. All those bastards slipping money into Loki’s leather pants, shitbags
who didn’t give a shit that Loki was so young, and so messed up and sick, so
helpless, and so lonely, who were instead happy to take advantage of that, and
were not at all disturbed by the fact that they were taking part in helping
Loki destroy himself, his self-respect, his sanity, his future; hell, his
entire fucking life, as long as they got their cheap thrills. Thor didn’t want
to be like them, but he had watched Loki dance half-naked around that pole, he
had had him grinding his ass on his lap, and his cock had been hard. He wasn’t
above it, and he feared that maybe, if it hadn’t been his brother, he too would
not have cared to learn the story of the kid dancing around the pole. Was he
just like the sad, sleazy motherfuckers in that club?
Loki was straddling his lap again, working him. Thor grabbed his hips. Loki
went to say something in admonishment.
“No, none of that,” said Thor, with a serious frown. “I get to touch you. And I
get to kiss you.”
Loki’s eyes narrowed for a second. He had caught the hardness in Thor’s voice.
His own expression softened and became tender. He dipped in to kiss him. Thor
held him tight to take his mouth. 
“Do you want me to stop?” whispered Loki.
Thor grabbed his silk-clad arse and drew him close. He bucked up his hips. Loki
got him, and grinded down. Thor gasped, buried his face in his brother’s neck,
listened to him panting, whimpering. 
“Hold me. Kiss me,” asked Thor. 
He cupped Loki’s face and crushed their mouths together again. Loki wrapped
both arms around Thor’s neck and worked his hips as they kissed, rubbing and
pressing just fucking right. Panting, Thor didn’t seem to get enough of the
feel of those knickers under his palms, Loki’s legs through those fishnets.
Foreheads touching, trading kisses, feeling his brother’s erection poking over
the hem of those knickers, plum-soft skin through a whisper of lace.
Breathing hard, Thor grabbed Loki’s hips and held him still.
“I’m going to come in my pants,” he warned.
Loki smiled with drowsy abandon. 
“We can’t possibly have that, I love that suit,” he mumbled. And into his ear,
“Take me to bed.”
Loki stood up, with mussed up hair and ravished mouth. Didn’t even blink when
Thor loaded him onto his shoulder, palming his arse as he hopped up the stairs,
slipping his fingers under the fabric. He only chuckled lowly, or gasped with
feigned shock when Thor’s hand lodged between his thighs.
Thor dumped him onto the bed without ceremony and jumped on top of him. Loki
purred into the kiss as he wrapped his thighs around him. Thor slipped his
hands inside his knickers and pulled them down.
“Hm, wait,” whispered Loki. “Let’s get you undressed.”
Thor kneeled up on the mattress and set to work on his own shirt, as he let
Loki undo the fastenings of his trousers and drag them down his butt. He
enjoyed Loki palming him through his pants, cupping his balls. Thor laid down
on top of him. Between tugs and pulls, they got Thor out of his clothes. With
Thor completely naked, and Loki in his knickers, garter belt, and stockings,
they made out at leisure, grinding lazily against each other, the night ahead
of them as long as they wanted to make it. 
“So that orgasm of my life thing…” rumbled Thor.
“Hm, oh yeah, that… Get off me. Lie down. Belly up.”  
From the bed, naked, sprawled, hard, Thor watched his brother get up and go
straight to his side of the wardrobe. There was a small black box Thor hadn’t
spotted before - not that he went prying. Loki returned with a strange
contraption, the weirdest fucking dildo Thor had ever seen. 
“The hell is this?”
“This, my dear brother, is called an Aneros. It’s a hands-free prostate
massager. Want to have a look?”
Actually, yes. Thor examined it. It wasn’t particularly thick or bulgy or, uh,
threatening. 
“How does it work?”
“You insert this bit, which presses right against your prostate. This other bit
rests on your perineum, massaging from the outside. This is a handle to move it
from the outside. You operate it yourself, by contracting your body around it.”
“What makes it so special?”
“You’ll see. It takes some practice, but I can guarantee you, you’ve never felt
anything like it,” said Loki.
“You’ve tried it?”
“Not this particular piece; this one is brand new for you. But yeah, I have
tried one like it. When you date Tony Stark, you try everything at least once.
Or almost everything.”
Thor turned the thing this way and that, unimpressed.
“I can help,” said Loki, “but you have full control all the time. It’s not even
powered.”
“I’m not scared,” said Thor, raising an eyebrow. “I’m just skeptical.”
Loki smirked.
“By the end of this, you won’t be. Your self-love practices are about to change
forever.”
Thor shrugged. The thing seemed harmless enough. 
“Ok. Have at it.” 
“Can you get the lube for me? It’s in your drawer,” said Loki, that low, silken
voice of his. “Lie down. Spread them. Knees up.”
Once Loki had the business end of the thing nice and slick, he took position
between Thor’s legs. 
“Want to do it yourself?” he asked.
“No, you do it.”
Loki kissed his knee, and stroked between his buttocks, gentle circles on his
hole, Thor’s breathing deep and calm. He let his eyes droop and focused on the
sensation of his brother’s touch.
“Are you ok?” asked Loki, softly
“Yeah.”
“I’m going to put it in, now.”
“Ok.”
Loki gently, lovingly, inserted the thing. It was not particularly thick or
long or girthy, and a lot thinner than a cock. Thor really didn’t see how…
“Clench your butt,” said Loki. 
“Hm?”
“Clench.”
It took Thor a moment of concentration. His erection had flagged while Loki was
busy preparing the thing, and now his cock was resting on his stomach. It
twitched and bobbed whenever he tightened up around the thing. As he squeezed,
the toy moved and pressed inside him, the bulbous head stroking right on his
sweet spot again, and again, and again. There was a deep, remote, subtle kind
of sensation. Hardly mind-blowing though, at least so far. It was pleasant at
best, a low simmer.
“I’m clenching,” he said. “Is this it?”
“Keep going,” said his brother, as he laid down beside him, propping himself up
on his elbow, and watching his face, his eyes like embers, burning quietly. 
“How long does it take?”
Loki laughed. 
“Just keep going. Good things come to those who wait.” He dipped low to kiss
him, and stroked slowly down Thor’s body, delighting in the way his muscles
bulged as Thor bucked his hips up to increase the sensation.
“Touch my cock,” begged Thor.
“You’ll thank me for not doing it,” whispered Loki, ghosting his fingertips
along his hip grooves, over his thighs.
And yeah, ok, it was slow, kind of low-key stimulation, but it was building up.
His breathing was getting short, his eyes drooping. He did not need Loki urging
him on now, or himself; his body seemed to have caught up with the brief.
Without prompting or suggestions, Thor tried new moves. Pressing against the
mattress, rolling his hips, bucking up.
“Hmm…”
“I know,” said Loki. “Can I do it for a bit?”
Thor nodded, spreading. His brother grabbed the tiny handle and worked the
thing inside him, side to side, in circles, in gentle fucking motions. 
“Hmmm...” Thor spread them wider, closing his eyes. Ok, that was very, very
nice.
Loki stole a lazy kiss and let go.
“Carry on.”
When Thor clenched tight again, sensation had climbed up a few marks. He hummed
low. That relentless pressure exactly where he needed it, it seemed to both
scratch and excite an itch at the same time. It was almost frustrating. But it
was intensifying, and Thor was beginning to get now what Loki had been talking
about, because if this got him anywhere in the end, after working on it for so
long, it had all the makings of something colossal. He kept at it, panting
turning to whimpering, his hands hovering close to his cock, aching to touch.
He grabbed the headboard rails above his head to avert temptation, and Loki
purred in approval.
“God…” moaned Thor. “Fuck…”
Loki was staring at his face, his considerable erection squashed against Thor’s
thigh. Thor was slipping into sensation and fast losing dignity and self-
control, pretty desperate by now to keep making that maddening feeling inside
get stronger. He was bucking his hips fast, nervous jerky movements, grinding
and rolling, anything and everything to just keep that bulb inside moving and
stroking and pushing. Thor’s knuckles around the rails were white. He was
shuddering, whimpering, begging without words. It was coming, it was, but it
was coming from so fucking deep down, he feared it would never peak. He whined,
desperate, pleading. His bloody arse was getting tired. Loki noticed. He
reached between his thighs again, grabbed the handle, and worked the toy inside
him. Thor whimpered, sobbed, shook up, shuddered. He was right on the verge of
something.
“Fuck, fuck…”
“That’s it…”
Like a rolling wave that swelled and swelled and swelled.
“Fuck… Loki… fuck…”
“Keep going, baby…”
Thor went at it again, and the sensation finally, finally crested, and it began
to wash through him. Thor worked himself frantically, jerking, shaking, chasing
that full, overpowering orgasm that was surging from a place he didn’t even
know was there.
“Oh my god, oh my god…”
He kept on clenching and bucking his hips, screaming through the longest, most
overwhelming climax he had ever felt, eyes pinched so tight he was seeing
sparks. 
It left him shuddering, panting, and boneless, a puddle on the sheets. But as
he came to earth, he realised he hadn’t ejaculated, and that he was still hard.
“Did… Did I do it wrong?”
Loki chuckled, and kissed him. He shook his head.
“Was it good?” he asked.
Thor nodded heavily.
“Don’t take it out,” said Loki. 
Thor shook his head no with his eyes closed. He was still floating, so relaxed
and limp he felt ready to melt through the cracks in the floor. 
Loki was doing things beside him. Thor opened a lazy eye. Saw that Loki had
taken his knickers off, but left the stockings and garters. He grabbed the
lube. He straddled Thor’s hips and began to prep himself. He didn’t spend a lot
of time on it.
“You think I can, so soon?” asked Thor.
Loki winked. Sitting on Thor’s thighs, he started to slick him up. When his
fist closed around him, to stroke him to full hardness, Thor shook up, and that
made him clench up, and, oh…
“Nnn…”
Loki laughed. He took position. With drowsy eyes, he lowered himself on Thor’s
cock, and bore down hard to breach himself.
“Fuck…” huffed Thor.
Loki laughed a little, his chuckles dissolving into sighs and gasps as he kept
taking him in. Fully seated now, he rolled his hips, and every move Loki made
had an echo deep inside Thor, where the toy was still lodged.
“Oh my fucking god…” he said, with a strangled voice. “How is this even
physically possible… and why didn’t I know about this until now…”
Loki laughed again, straddling him, hands on Thor’s chest. He petted his face.
He started to move. Faster. He started to bounce, slamming down hard.
“Jesus Christ…” gasped Thor, hands loosely on Loki’s hips, being torn to
fucking shreds. Soon, he was sobbing again, pleasure building up steadily, as
his beautiful brother fucked himself relentlessly on him. Thor began to buck up
his hips, seeking the clash that made that thing inside him push on his sweet
spot, and the movement that made him clench around it, sending fucking waves of
heat through his core. He made himself keep his eyes open, to watch Loki riding
him quickly and furiously, biting his lip hard, panting, huffing, a sinful
expression of mounting pleasure and strain.
“Fuck… I’m going to come again…” sobbed Thor.
“Hold on, oh god, wait…” pleaded Loki, taking it up a notch. Which only made it
worse for Thor. This time it felt completely different, strangely frustrating
in a way, a lot more like an insanely tantalising itch he was never going to be
able to scratch. He grabbed his brother’s hips firmly to make him really bear
down hard. Every hit of Loki’s body against him echoed deep inside. He was
getting on that strange ride again, feeling almost possessed, his body taking
over, fixated on the idea of that orgasm that teased him from a place just
beyond his reach. He rolled his hips and grinded up and fucked his brother,
anything to get that hit.
Whimpering, Loki took himself in hand and began to spill, come warm on Thor’s
chest and abdomen. Thor didn’t stop fucking up, hell-bent on coming again, but
it was when Loki began to roll his hips again, pressing down, crushing Thor’s
hips against the mattress, and then fucked in shallow thrusts, that Thor came
again, a long, intense orgasm that was nothing like he had ever felt before in
his life, cold instead of hot, and left him flat on his back, mind blank,
unable to move.
Loki above him was panting hard, chest and shoulders heaving, arms trembling.
He leaned closer to give him a slow, deep kiss. Thor half-opened his eyes for
but a second.
“Fucking hell,” he sighed.
“Can’t bloody move,” chuckled Loki, as he tried to climb off, legs weak.
Thor pulled him into a hug, rolled them both over. On their sides, he wrapped
around his brother.
“Ew, sticky,” grumbled Loki.
“Don’t care,” murmured Thor, crushing him tighter. “Never moving again.”
“I should have guessed this thing would turn you into a cuddly sap. You need to
take it out by the way.”
“No.”
Loki laughed.
He was boneless and knackered and just wanted to sleep, but Loki made sure that
would not happen yet. After much prodding and elbowing, and some pinching, Thor
relented to move. They tidied up, washed, drank some water. 
While Loki was in the bathroom, Thor struggled to stay awake. With his eyes
closed, he went over the whole evening again. Well, full marks for showing a
bloke a good time, brother, he thought with a smile. He breathed deep, feeling
calm and content down to the marrow of his bones, like he had not felt since he
couldn’t remember when. He was relishing the memory of every surprised or
confused look they got tonight, and of every moment he had felt like touching
Loki, and he fucking had. He had anticipated some frustration at having to
measure and curb how affectionate or how obvious they were, but he had found it
actually quite sexy. It was almost like a prolonged tease, a game between them
both. Because they had to show restraint for now, but the day when they
wouldn’t have to anymore was in sight, and Thor found that he could wait, if
this was how they were going to while away the time.
The sudden flood of clarity pouring through the bathroom door made him open his
eyes a slit. And the vision of Loki strutting in those fucking fishnets and
garter belt, black lace and velvet delightfully framing his cock and balls, and
his perfect white butt as he sat down on the bed, ensured he kept his eyes
open. He never would have predicted he’d be into that, but then again, maybe he
should have seen it coming.
“Leave them on,” said Thor, when Loki made to take off his lingerie. Loki
indulged him, with a smug little grin, and laid down with a happy sigh. Thor
spooned him from behind, nuzzling against the back of his neck. 
“Wait till you see me in my heels,” whispered Loki.
“But warn me first, and remind me to write my will.”
Loki laughed.
Thor was breathing deeply, feeling heavy as a stone, the mattress sucking him
in, as relaxed as he had ever felt, sleep claiming him.
“I can’t believe you kept this hands-free massager thing secret from me,”
mumbled Thor.
“You didn’t like to play in that area for a long time, remember? And also… Hm.”
“What.”
“It was hot, and I wanted you to try it, but… You were on a different planet.
So, cool for solo play, but frankly, I prefer you to enjoy yourself a bit less,
and be here with me a bit more.”
Thor kissed his neck, happy that his brother wasn’t seeing what even he might
have called a stomach-turning, disgustingly endeared, loved-up, sappy grin. His
fingers were idling and ghosting over the side of Loki’s thigh, right where the
stockings clung to his skin, and slipping under the garters, over the sensitive
skin of the back of Loki’s thighs and butt.
“Stop it,” squirmed Loki. “Tickles.” 
He rolled over to face him, big eyes. Thor stared back, brushed the hair out of
his brother’s face. 
“I thought it would be scarier,” said Loki, whispering. “I was so nervous, but
it was… Hell, it was fun, wasn’t it?”
“It was great,” agreed Thor. “Best date night ever. The looks on people’s faces
was the cherry. Thank you, baby.”
“Are you happy?” asked Loki.
Thor kissed him.
“Yes, I fucking am.”
His brother smiled blissfully, and burrowed close. Thor gathered what little
will he had left to grab the quilt and tuck them both in. He wrapped Loki in
his arms. He was asleep the moment he closed his eyes.
 
Chapter End Notes
     The restaurant Loki takes Thor to is the Clos Maggiore in London.
     Look it up. It's ridiculously beautiful. (I've never been, but I
     fucking will).
     Sergei Polunin, the guy that performed in David Lachapelle's vid of
     Hozier's "Take me to church."
     Oh, inspiration for Thor's outfit, from Mr. Hemsworth's recent
     photoshoot for Modern Luxury. Imagine it with Thor's long hair. (let
     me die here).
     https://41.media.tumblr.com/f62a7e4500a3d75dbb7da2f0430421f1/
     tumblr_o4h7voRDOz1rv1d8ho1_500.jpg
     (Loki's outfit not based on any particular image, although perhaps
     I'm thinking a bit of Thomas Sharpe. As one does.)
***** Chapter 36 *****
Chapter Summary
     "The last eight weeks had been a shitstorm of end-of-days
     proportions, and his celebrity adoptive brother, and your humble
     servant, had spent it at its very eye..."
     The time of truth has arrived.
Chapter Notes
     As always, thank you Ctopey for working me hard, and making this
     better with your suggestions.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
Loki put away the fag he’d been trying and failing to light, and just stared
into the horizon, the wind of high altitudes buffeting his face and tousling
his hair — very dramatic. It was peaceful up here. If one is in need of
perspective, the roof garden of Stark tower, sixty-seven floors above the
ground, is a good place to start looking for some. You can be reminded that the
world is vast and crowded and busy, and that most of the people way down below,
just going about their day, gave not one single flying, crawling, or burrowing
bit of a fuck that two celebrity adoptive brothers were going to announce to
the world tomorrow that they were shagging each other. New York had been a good
call, Romanoff. Everyone here is in far too much of a hurry to care.
Perhaps they should have come earlier, because it felt like the rest of the
world did care about their little celebrity pseudo-incest situation. The last
eight weeks had been a shitstorm of end-of-days proportions, and his celebrity
adoptive brother, and your humble servant, had spent it at its very eye, and
pretty baffled and annoyed at that, since they had always been told that the
eye of the storm was supposed to be the calm spot. Well, it turns out, when one
is riding a whirlwind from hell, like one of those desert storms that involves
hurricane-speed winds and demonic blazing tumbleweed twisters, there is no calm
spot.
Yes, it was all intended. Yes, it was all going according to plan. Yes, they
had tried to prepare themselves. No, it had not fucking worked — or maybe it
had, and they were actually coping well, who knows. Hard to tell.
It was the geometric progression of the escalation that had left them
breathless trying to keep up. It began as a murmur, and for a long time that
was all it was. They started “living their lives” while Natasha’s people peeled
their eyes and ears and waited. From the prayers of the shippers — which not
even the shippers themselves must have taken seriously — after their First
Public Date, it had grown to a clamour of whispers in the far reaches of the
internet — “It is said,” “it is rumoured,” “they’ve been spotted,” “they’ve
been seen.” Some of those accounts, by the way, were very accurate. But it was
still so wild, so unthinkable. Only the accumulation of incidents, which in
isolation could be easily explained away, lent it a shred of credibility.
Therefore, only the wackiest, most scandal-thirsty media outlets would take it.
Which it made it sound even more absurd and implausible, and so, nobody in the
real world seemed to be giving it credit. At times, it even felt like they
would be able to live like a normal couple after all, simply because the world,
blinded by their familial bond, would refuse to believe what they had before
their eyes.
But then, as they continued to show up together, as they continued to let
themselves flirt in public a little bit more, be a bit more demonstrative,
become a bit more brazen, the clamour grew to a roar, and climbed up a couple
of tiers closer to the surface of the mainstream social media. At this point,
the bigger tabloids did pick it up, online first, the printed rags soon after.
But they still gave the rumours little to no credit, and they either completely
misinterpreted them, or they deemed it a publicity stunt. The articles were
very vague, and contained mostly questions. What are these boys up to? What are
they trying to make it look like? Is this intentional? Should they sack their
PR team? We all know Loki is, well, the way he is, but why does Thor let
himself be dragged into it? Concerned readers want to know. The serious media,
meanwhile, wouldn’t touch the issue with a ten foot stick. Too scandalous, too
outrageous. They could see that there was smoke, and they were definitely
intrigued about the fire, but they were not going to report such a ridiculous
thing and be accused of spreading unconfirmed faff.
Now, just because they weren’t reporting it, doesn’t mean they weren’t looking
into it. Both the media and many private citizens, always armed with their
phone cams, waiting to catch the million pound image that would throw some
light on the subject (and lots of zeros into the bank account of whosoever
succeeded in capturing it and selling it first). And so, “start living your
lives,” which sounded wonderful on paper, soon became a nigh unfeasible feat.
At first, the surveillance had been discreet, something they could just ignore
— the snap of a phone, sly, persistent looks at bars and clubs, a car that
starts right when they jump into a taxi. That wasn’t too bad. They still
managed to go to the shops relatively undisturbed, take Minnie out, walk to the
tube and back. Thor could still go running in the park. Loki could still get by
foot to the studio of his new acroyoga-capoeira guru, T’Challa. They still
managed to dine out almost in peace with their friends. But one by one, they
lost all these tiny liberties, starting with date nights. Yes, dates drew gluts
of attention towards them, and helped to speed up the process and the road to
Revelation Day, but they had turned into a fucking freak show. The last time
they tried dinner and a movie, they were spotted, reported on Twitter, and soon
they were being chased around town, besieged whenever they went indoors, and
hounded to the separate doors of their respective houses — because by then they
were both in a bloody awful mood. Besides, thinking of a horde of paparazzi
downstairs, waiting under their fucking windows like a distorted, nightmarish
twist on the balcony scene in R & J, is hardly a turn-on.
They stopped going out on dates, but the “damage” was done, thank god. Like a
crack in a dam that keeps getting wider and wider as the water trickles
through, two paps camping at each of their doors became four, became six,
became a dozen, and then an entire fucking swarm of them, tremendously keen on
documenting for posterity every time they ran out of milk. Instinctively, this
made them more cautious and more discreet. Counter-productive. The pressure of
the press reached a plateau.
One night, after spending the whole day cooped up in the flat, hiding away,
having observed for some time the paps across the street, fraternising over
Starbucks and Costa, cameras hanging idle, Loki had a moment of clarity. This
thing needed a good shake-up. He slipped into his battle-dress — velvet
trousers, flowing silk shirt, leather jacket, things he knew turned his brother
wild, and screamed “date” with flashing blue lights — put on big sunglasses so
that hopefully he wouldn’t be blinded by the flashes, and pushing on through
the cloud of reporters, he walked to Thor’s house. They were photographed
abundantly, and probably got an instant tan when Thor opened the door and
drew Loki in with an arm around his waist. The flashes were still going off
even after the door was closed. What the fuck were they trying to get?
He spent the night there, and in the morning he called a cab back to his flat,
again being photographed from every single possible angle on the short walk
from house door to car door. He shut it behind him, and exhaled. There, he
thought, now they had a nice caption to put under their photos: Loki Laufeyson
leaving his brother’s house in the morning, after an overnight call.(The fact
that on that particular occasion they had spent such a night watching films and
then cuddling together on the settee, and that all their activities could be
classified as suitable for General Audiences, that was merely a footnote.)
The papers did pick it up this time, and reported it. But they still resisted
believing it. The tone was almost indignant: Just what the hell was going on?
What were these kids playing at?Why aren't they denying it? - That was still
miles away from where Natasha wanted to take them, a frank, open discussion
about sibling incest among consenting adults.
Anyway, for Thor and Loki, that was the end of life as they knew it. The cloud
of paps never cleared off again. It was annoying to them, but it was making
Sigyn’s life impossibly complicated. She was on board, and wholeheartedly
supportive of their plan and their goal, of course, but she still had to get to
work and back every day through a swamp of photographers and reporters, who
didn’t seem to tire of screaming impertinent questions at her, no matter how
steadfast he was in ignoring them. And it would only be getting worse and
worse.
So Loki sort of expected it, and he had even thought to suggest it himself, but
he had not yet brought himself up to do it, and was still taken by surprise
when she said one day, over dinner preparations,
“I think I’ll go to Bruce’s until this whole thing settles down.”
Loki put down the knife he had been slicing vegetables with, very slowly.
“You’re not angry, are you?” said she, pleading.
“Not angry,” he replied, a choke in his voice.
“Oh, darling…”
He protested that he was fine, but she hugged him tight just the same, and he
held her back with bruising strength, for a long time.
This day had to come. He had only put back having to think about it, but it was
always going to catch up with him in the end. You see, when this settles down
was a hazy little spot in the horizon, maybe years from now. This would only
get crazier and crazier until it exploded on Revelation Day, after which the
plan was to take a long, long journey (not sure where yet, but Thor talked
about a tour around the world with sparkly eyes). And after that, they would
return home as the most infamous couple in the universe, or they would either
have to take up a little spot under a rock in the desert, or buy themselves a
remote Scottish island, but in any case, Thor wanted them to live together. As
in, together as a couple. As in, not with Sigyn. It was always going to happen,
sooner or later, one way or another. Bruce and Sigyn were not too traditional
(neither was much for official papers or house and kids and all that chuff),
but they had been together for years, and, well, perhaps it was time to evolve.
In short, this was goodbye. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Loki hugged tighter,
and tried not to break down altogether.
A couple of days later, Loki was watching her taxi speed away down the street,
amidst a blitz of flashes that followed her like a retreating thunderstorm. The
place felt a lot emptier than it had any right to be. She hadn’t even taken her
things yet. But Minnie’s bed and her food and drink bowls were gone, and that,
for no reason in the world whatsoever, surely, hit him harder than he could put
into words.
 
When he could not fucking get out of the house to get some fucking bread that
evening, that’s when his melancholy turned into an almighty rage. He hadn’t
even seen Thor in a week.
“Romanoff, get us out of here. I can’t stand this anymore.”
“Pack for a long trip.”
She had a car at their respective doors in under an hour, ready to take them to
Sif’s place. Once they got there, they jumped onto a rented nondescript Toyota
with tinted windows, and they drove off to Asgard.
Decompression. The city around them thinned and vanished like a cloud of smoke,
and it felt that, with every mile across the countryside, so did the pressure
of the press. They both sighed when the familiar sights of Asgard Hall greeted
them around the curve.
Since they now had people coming in every week to air the place, dust, and
check that everything was running smoothly, the house did not have that dead,
abandoned feeling. It felt suspended in hibernation instead, ready to open up
and blossom for them.
Natasha had warned them to stay behind the gates, order in whatever they
needed, and not show themselves around much, to give themselves a break from it
all, but they were so eager to walk down a street without having to contend
with the paps, that they went to the village for supplies several times. Which
meant that, by the fourth day, they had photographers camping outside the
gates, and soon enough, blurry photos taken with a ridiculously long-distance
objective of the two of them walking the grounds, with captions along the lines
of “H iding together in the family home. Does father know?”
“Does father know what!” screamed Thor at his phone screen, open to the news
site Nat had referred them to. “Just fucking say it already, so that we can get
the fuck on with things!”
In spite of the renewed siege of the press, it wasn’t a bad few days at all.
Yes, tele-objectives could catch them whenever they went outdoors, and man,
that was annoying, but at least the vultures could not get physically near
them, so they could get the illusion of peace and freedom, and some sun and
fresh air too, and could almost pretend they were getting on with their lives.
They managed to keep busy too. Thor kept doing the rounds, changing lightbulbs,
oiling hinges, screwing loose screws, noting things that needed seeing to by
professionals (it was a listed building after all), taking care of the minor
repairs he could do himself, and pottering in the garden. Wood to chop and pile
up to dry, undergrowth to tidy up, paths to clear, Frigga’s rose garden to
increase and tend to. He returned muddy and sweaty and ruddy-faced, manly
smell. There were jokes about Lady Chatterley's Lover, and finding a nice
sturdy tree deep in the woods.
And then, after all that, Thor still found the energy to go for long runs
around the grounds, for the rowing machine and the other workout devices Thor
had added over the last couple of years. His brother would strain the poor
things until they creaked and all but steamed, because under the collected and
quiet exterior his brother mostly managed to keep on these days, Thor was
fucking fuming. He hated the media pressure with the fire of a thousand suns,
and he hated even more that he couldn’t in fairness lash out against it because
they needed it. They needed the buzz to grow, to clamour even more loudly, to
jump the gap from tabloids to serious press, from gossip to legitimate
discussion. They couldn’t turn against it, they had to court it and nourish it
instead, but to say that such a thing was repulsive to his nature was an
understatement of the same caliber as describing Donald Trump as a bit of a
twit.
And so, there were some bad moments. Thor was a liiiiittle bit cranky and moody
at times. And Loki was not always as patient as perhaps he should have been,
and there were raised voices now and again. This was your idea in the first
place was always at the tip of Loki’s tongue, and he didn’t always succeed in
biting it. Because he didn’t resent Thor for this. He didn’t, honest! But
fucking hell, Loki was struggling to keep the pool of anxiety from rising above
his knees, because frankly, would they even make it to Revelation Day? Or would
the time come and they’d be “actually, you know what? Forget it, we changed our
minds about this whole being together thing anyway. I can't fucking stand this
asshole.”
Thor apologised after every outburst, and so did Loki (most of the times,
practically always, almost), but what really seemed to help right now was sex.
So they started to do a lot of that. More than usual, that is. They ended up
making a considerable dent in a certain private to-do list of theirs, and were
well on their way to completing the first tour of the house. The first ‘tour,’
you know, nudge nudge, wink wink. They were working their way up to their
father’s office, but not quite getting there yet. Loki had done some shit, but
fucking in their dad’s sanctuary, for some reason, was up there with the
kinkiest stuff; so much so, it was a little intimidating. And that, coming from
a man who was fucking his own brother.
Loki too had found himself stuff to do for when he wasn’t frolicking with Thor
around the house. He had been sorting through the boxes in the attic with their
mum’s stuff. Odin had just lumped it all together and put it away, unable to
have it lying around, but now it was time to have a systematic look, tidy up
and classify the contents, and select the things that did not belong in a box
in the attic and should be out there in the world instead. The awards, the
annotated scripts, photos with public figures, and some correspondence with
leading names of the culture and the arts, all that kind of stuff needed to go
to the archives of The Frigga and Odin Borson Foundation. Some of the gowns up
there were worthy of the V&A’s collection, for craftsmanship and reputation. A
part of him stood up in arms at the thought of losing such treasures. The
yellow gown especially, custom made for her, he predicted really big problems
in parting with. He slid his hand once more under the shoulder piece where it
would have touched her skin. The silk had a warm, soft feel, almost living. He
imagined it behind a glass in a museum, where he could never again feel the
fabric under his hands. Yes, he would struggle. Where he completely came apart
where with her shoes, everyday clothes, her underwear, her last fucking pair of
slippers. Except for charity perhaps, there was no compelling reason to help
him make up his mind about what to keep and what to give away. He was able to
select a few things he could use himself - Frigga loved rugged manly woolen
gansey jumpers, which sat perfectly on her tall, athletic frame; they would fit
him snuggly. They would fit Thor more snuggly still, that would be worth
seeing. She also had a thing for rustic silk scarves. He took a pair of leather
gloves that didn’t really fit him, but that Frigga had worn a lot; just
slipping his hands where hers had been took his breath away, in the best
possible way. But for the most part, he just put everything back in its box. He
wasn’t able to give away one single pair of knickers.
So they kept busy in Asgard Hall, which was just as well, because trips to the
village soon had to stop. The vultures had followed them to the country, and
were becoming a nuisance with the neighbours. The traders were happy about the
sudden spike in the business, but most people were not amused. The upside was
that a swarm of paparazzi preying on a small village in the countryside finally
had the TV taking an interest in the affair. And while they debated the old-age
conundrum of celebrity culture, and where should the limits between private and
public interest lie, they had to address the underlying issue: the reason why
the paps were suddenly so obsessed with the Odinson kids, the crazy rumours,
the conspiracy theories, questions of why don’t they issue a denial, why don’t
they talk, what the hell are they really up to, do they even realise what it
looks like.
Which was great, really; perfect, excellent, just what they needed, but the
neighbours had never signed up for this. After a couple of weeks, they told
Natasha they had to leave. She considered their time in Asgard very well spent
strategy-wise, but she agreed. She said, “How about Stark Tower?”
As they walked from the taxi to the airport, the swarm of reporters closed in,
standing in their way, thrusting recording devices in their faces, blocking
their path. Thor held his hand to help him through. The blitz of flashes left
Loki seeing sparks all the way across the Atlantic ocean, but the photos of the
two of them hand in hand, looking so much like an updated version of Liz Taylor
and Richard Burton, big sunglasses and vintage fur collars and all, had
instantly flooded Twitter and the websites of newspapers and magazines.
When he was looking at those photos on the plane, something stirred inside him.
He realised that up until this point, it had not really sunk in. Now it dawned
on him at last what they were doing: Together, in public, for real. Thor and
him. Thor and him. Something too wild even to allow himself to dream of it when
he was a kid. It shouldn’t have happened, not in a million years, but it had.
It was happening right now.
The buzz of the cabin had put his brother to sleep about five minutes into the
flight. The bastard was handsome even with his jaw hanging and snoring gently,
his golden mane of hair framing his noble face, a napping lion. There were
other passengers around them, flight assistants walking up and down the aisles.
With some trepidation, Loki leaned in, and kissed his brother on the corner of
the mouth.
When soon after, Thor’s head fell on his shoulder, Loki didn’t shove him off.
He kept on reading his book, but inside, he was reeling. He had a strange
thought: I think I’ve just seen the future. And isn’t it half nice.
 
Stark Tower. A sixty-plus floors golden cage. They avoided the public areas and
the offices, but that still left them with a decent patch to stretch their
legs. They had a suite near the top, but it had to be said for Tony’s
employees, no rumours of them sharing lodgings with only one bed (albeit big
enough for a small family, provided that its members didn’t fidget too much and
got along) were detected in the press.
And so, from their lovebird’s nest, they sat back and watched as the rumours
became news. It all really took off when Ellen dedicated an entire show to
real-life, non-famous incestuous couples, and referred to Thor and Loki by name
(though only after clearing it with Natasha). Her treatment of the subject was
her usual sympathetic, humorous, non-judgemental approach, and one was left
with the feeling that these things happened more often than people believed,
and that it could be no big deal if they didn’t make it so. She was the first
to use the i-word in the vicinity of their names in mainstream media.
Also, it was out. The pact of silence had been breached. Now incest was the new
fucking black, and many other talk-shows tackled it, with differing approaches,
from the most sensationalist to the more moderate and thoughtful. The society
pages of a leading show-business magazine printed the now famous airport photos
and ran a brief note, “Can it be true?” (This made Thor pull his hair by the
way. “What the fuck else do we have to do?” he roared.) More in-depth articles
soon appeared, summarising the events of the last few months - finally, Loki’s
exquisite care in planning their first public date paid off: every known detail
of that night was looked into for clues about the truth. And the conclusion was
that it wasn’t even subtle.
In the tabloids, the hunting season started for real. They had become the
hottest property in town, and new levels of paroxysm were reached. There had to
be something about them every single day. One would have thought that there was
enough material to go around from the last couple of years alone (god, but they
had been busy!), but they soon had started to dig further back. The dossiers
Natasha sent them became a sort of near-death experience: they could see their
whole lives flashing before their eyes. Even things they thought lost, things
they didn’t even know existed. Someone had gone to some considerable lengths to
find photos of Loki’s production of Edward Scissorhands! (Whoa, ok, fucking
embarrassing, the stick-insect Siberian-gulag-chic looks he sported back then.
And oh my god, Matt! Loki wondered what had happened to him. The second boy to
kiss him, after Thor. So fucking strange, he hadn’t thought about him for
ages.) And so many other rarities. Once you put aside the permanent terror that
images from Iceland might start popping up, and fuck up the purged,
editorialised version of the relationship they were going to try and sell (it
never happened), and after the stomach-dive of the initial shock, it was
actually kinda nice to see there was a record of those half-forgotten things.
Yes siree, the researchers for those rags were earning their wages.
On many gossip and entertainment talk-shows, there were now permanent panels of
self-appointed experts in Thorkiology, ready to pass comment on every single
shred of material they threw at them. They went through all that stuff the
researchers unearthed, from the remote past to the most immediate present, and
elaborated their theories about what was going on, since when it had been going
on, who was in on it, who was out, and why, and a long et cetera. They analysed
the possible meaning of every sentence down to the last fucking comma, and
every photo or video down to the smallest facial twitch. The body-language
experts had a good year — they had never been in such high demand.
 
Because Thor and Loki were unavailable for comment, the press turned to the
next best thing: known acquaintances, extended family, former relationships.
Odin had absconded to a friend’s Swiss Alps hideaway weeks ago, to save himself
precisely this kind of harassment. As for the rest, Natasha had of course
prepared for that, contacted people in advance and offered advice about how to
tackle the press, from informing them thoroughly about their rights, to a range
of strategies to avoid them. Thankfully, everyone declared something in the
region of, “I don’t know, I don’t care, I love them and wish them the best no
matter what.”
For Thor and Loki, the time had come to inform those closest to them who still
did not know. Odin said he would take care of the family and make sure they
kept their peace until the official announcement. That left their friends.
Heimdall was intimidating to tackle, because the man was intimidating himself,
but he had simply arched an eyebrow and said, with a smirk, “oh really, I never
would have guessed.”
With Peggy, the problem was another. Thor was afraid that the long shadow of
this whole thing would darken the chances of Lancelot, and Peggy’s directing
career.
“I should never have taken the part,” he said. “Or at least, I should have told
you what my personal situation was. I abused your trust.”
“Don’t be daft,” she told him. “We don’t know that this will affect Lancelot
negatively. We already turned our backs on a large portion of the audience when
we had Arthur and Lancelot kiss, didn’t we, and good riddance. But anyway,
whatever happens with that movie, we’ll be alright, and my career will be all
right, and besides, why the heck are you even thinking about that now? You are
going to come out! You’ll get to live out in the open!” She gave them both that
blinding smile of hers. “This is important! This is your life! Don’t let a
bloody movie put the smallest damper on it. Certainly not on my account. I’m
happy for the two of you.”
 
Loki invited Sam over to the Tower. He took him up to the roof garden. They
ambled for some time, catching up on little things. Sam went along with it, but
he kept darting looks. He knew Loki was up to something. It took quite a long
tour of the goddamn roof before Loki could bring himself up to it.
“Sam, I-… There’s something I need to tell you,” he said, shaky.
And he got stuck there for an uncomfortably long time. He wanted to do this in
slow increments, instead of dropping it on Sam like a bucket of ice. He could
not think of anything. He was afraid of every word that came to mind; he picked
them up and discarded them slowly, as if he was handling explosives.
Sam threw him a line.
“Is it about Thor?”
Loki’s eyes widened, he gaped.
“Yeah, I thought so,” said Sam. He had a kind, serene air about him. “Is it
true, then? The rumours? You and Thor are… you’re together?”
Loki gulped. He nodded. Which was not how he had wanted this to go, but there
you go, it was done.
They ambled on in silence for another minute, but it was a strained silence,
full of tension.
“Aren’t you shocked?” Loki asked at length, baffled. “Or sickened, or
something? I mean, with the-the brothers thing.”
“Well, I’m not sure, babe,” said Sam. “You know how I think, live and let live.
And you've always kinda done your own thing, haven't you? Besides, I’ve had a
few months to process this. With the rumours and all, things started to fall
into place, what I had seen of the two of you together, what I knew about you.
It explained a lot. About you. About us. This has been going on for a while,
hasn’t it?”
Loki nodded. He felt weirdly bashful admitting this to Sam.
“A very long time,” he said, eyes low. “Pretty much f-forever. On and off.”
“Tell me one thing,” said Sam after a moment, eyes low, stance thoughtful, his
voice soft, with an effort to make it non aggressive. “You left me for him? Was
that the reason?”
Loki’s stomach dropped. He probably looked pale. Get yourself together, dammit.
“Not-... Not like that. I did not…” He tried to think of a nice-ish way to put
it; they were all pretty awful, so he just picked one at random. “I did not
jump from your bed to his. That’s not what happened. I didn't even hope
that-... By then, I didn't really believe there was a chance w-with him. But,”
he gulped, wondering just how hurtful this would end up coming out, “when he,
when he came back into my life, I realised I…” He could not. It was
excruciating.
“You realised he was the one, not me,” said Sam.
God, fucking kill me already. He guessed he owed Sam a verbal answer, but he
physically could not produce any with his throat choked down to a fucking knot.
He exhaled, and he nodded. Again.
Sam nodded too, still thoughtful.
“Thanks for telling me.”
Loki contributed yet another entry to the nodding festival.
They walked in silence some more.
“You look happy,” said Sam. “Well, not right now, right now you look green,
but, you know. Are you happy?”
Loki’s eyes fucking flooded. He was a bloody mess.
“Yes,” he pushed out.
Sam gave him that sexy, cheeky, dimpled smile that had caught Loki’s eye the
very first day.
“Better be good to you. Better make you laugh a lot,” he admonished. “Tell him
I said so.”
Loki smiled, and that made the tears fall down. He wiped his eyes and nose, and
like one of those stupid car ornaments, he nodded again.
 
Compared to that, Steve seemed a piece of cake. Well, it wasn’t.
They were sitting in the couch of their suite, after dropping the news. He was
frowning deeply, angrily, looking from Thor to Loki, and back to Thor.
“Since when?”
They offered a brief summary. The unedited story. Steve's frown became deeper
and deeper. For a few moments, he was quiet, and seething. He turned to Bucky.
“You knew about this?”
Bucky nodded. He looked resigned, his defenses lowered. If Steve got upset with
him for withholding the truth, he would have it coming.
Steve did not lash out. With his breathing shortened to furious huffs, he stood
up and left.
For two whole days, Thor was extremely quiet and withdrawn.
“I would have not pinned him down as the judgemental kind,” told Loki to Bucky
on the phone.
“That’s not what this is about,” said Bucky. “He feels betrayed. He had not
given the rumours any credit because he thought that, if there was something
there, you would have told him. He’s upset that you’ve kept it from him for so
long, that I knew and he didn’t. He’s hurt that you have not trusted him with
this. Not that he's actually said any of this out loud, of course, that's me
guessing, but I'm quite sure that's what it is. He’s pretty devastated. But
it’s about the secret, the fact that Thor kept something so massive from him
for so long, not the-, you know.”
Loki was dumbstruck, poleaxed. This was fucking awful. They had fucked up so
bad. Thor would be torn apart. Hell, he would start tearing himself apart over
this. They had become really close during the shoot, Thor and Steve, in that
manly, "we don't really talk that much but we're two peas in a pod and he's my
bro" kind of way. It was fucking disaster. The hell were they going to do?
“Hey, it will be fine,” said Bucky to Loki’s stunned silence. “I’ll talk to
him. When we’re on speaking terms again, I mean. I’ll make him see your side.
He just needs some time.”
Loki wasn’t sure which he would have preferred, revulsion at the incest thing,
or betrayal. He would have hated to have to cast out Steve out of their lives
on petty sexual morality grounds, but didn’t the guilt over how they had
handled this feel half shitty.
Steve did come around. He knocked on their door about a week later, looking as
if he had had to physically climb to get out of his pit of fury,
disappointment, and feeling of betrayal, and the climb had been grueling. He
apologised for his initial reaction, said he was sorry that he had made it all
about himself when it wasn’t, and offered his full support. His jaw was grit
all through it.
Thor wanted to explain himself. Steve endured about two minutes worth of
reasons and apologies, then he stood up.
“I really can’t do this right now, man, sorry,” he said. And he left.
Thor had tears of anger and frustration in his eyes by then. Anger at himself.
Frustration that there was no turning back time to do this right. It was a
matter of time now. Too bad Thor wasn't great at patience. It weighted on him,
having to sit it out.
 
 
Then there was Jane. She too would need directions (Natasha called them
“suggestions” or “guidance”) about what to tell the press. About the official
version they were going with, that is, to avoid confusions, because she knew
the uncensored story. Thor felt he had to be the one to do it, not Natasha or
Clint or one of their minions, but he was terrified. They had not talked in
years. He kept putting it back, and Natasha had to nudge him into it several
times.
Loki saw him pick up the phone, and clearing his throat profusely while he
waited for an answer. He realised what his brother was getting ready to do and
left him to it.
“It’s done,” announced Thor afterwards. He looked a bit pale.
“Is she on board?”
“Yes. She’ll just say she doesn’t have a clue about anything.”
“Are you ok?”
He had a serene look on him, a lightness to the set of his shoulders, like a
weight had been lifted and he was finally able to stand up straight. His eyes
were bright and fond.
“Yeah. She’s fine. She recently got a long-term research tenure and she’s
collaborating with NASA. She’s dating a guy that sounds great. She sounded… She
sounded good. You know, happy. She congratulated us and wished us good luck.”
Well, damn. Not that they should have expected anything else - the girl had
always had class.
His brother had a better taste in women than Loki had given him credit for in
the past. Take Amora, for example. When she was approached by the press, she
said, “Oh honey, if it’s true, could you blame them?” Loki even liked her a
little bit after that.
 
A part of Loki, he must admit, simply luuuurved to not only stand in the eye of
the hurricane but also be the cause of it. All those people (friends, family)
jumping through hoops and bending themselves backwards to help them out. Who
knew so many people cared? Yes, a part of Loki wanted to just bask in it.
Another part of him, probably planted there by Frigga (it was an undeniably
British trait), was awfully sorry about the fuss.
And just how much bigger did the aforementioned fuss need to get? Natasha was
still not satisfied. The story was still pretty much relegated to the
entertainment and gossip sections of the serious media, and the open,
reasonable discussion she was hoping for had yet to start.
But as the press circus mounted, some people who always have time for this kind
of thing decided that whom a couple of British actors was fucking was indeed
their business. Down in Texas, a merry gathering came together around a bonfire
of assorted items (DVD’s of Thor’s old movies, a few copies of the book
Mariners, photos of Loki in Frank’n’Furter costume…) and they waved signs with
quotations from the Bible, while chanting slogans the essence of which could be
summarised as “sinners burn in hell.” They recorded everything and uploaded it
on youtube. Now, that was a proper fuss.
Loki had forgotten the unpleasant chill this kind of thing sends down your
spine. Watching your face go down in flames while people spew hate about you,
screaming they wished horrible things happened to you… You think your skin is
tough, but this kind of shit still gets under it.
Thor was angry. How dared they. Loki reminding him that they knew this was
coming didn’t help. Telling him that one day they would be snogging on the
streets, rubbing it in their faces, and being the most disgustingly handsy
celebrity couple ever, that worked a lot better. Reminding Thor of those people
when they fucked worked really, really well. For Loki, that is. Imagine they
can see us. Imagine they can hear us. Imagine they’re imagining we’re doing
this right now . All the hours Thor was spending  in Tony’s gym, burning off
his irritation and sweating out the cabin fever, was paying off, and how. He
was in Olympic form. Ow. So fucking worth it. As in, fucking against the wall?
Lovely, lots of it, but totally amateur. They’d been doing this thing, where
Thor reclined on his back, Loki on top of him facing up. Thor fucking grabbed
him around the back of his knees, and lifted him bodily, and let him drop to
slam him down onto his cock. All Loki had to do is enjoy the ride. Which he
did, immensely, while simultaneously marveling at the sheer fucking power
unleashed by that mighty titan that was his brother. Loki was far from a twink,
and Thor could still push him this way and that like a feather pillow. He loved
his brother’s spirit and his personality, his kindness, his intelligence, his
sense of humour, his joy of living, sure, but, damn, those muscles. With no
little shame, Loki thought Thor could be half the man he was inside, and Loki
would still be a complete slut for that magnificent outside. He was only half
joking when he said that, with guns like these, decency, intelligence, and
personality could go take a hike. Provided the sense of humour remained, that
is.
 
Anyway, the Texas ‘barbecue’ incident was only the first of many, and so it
came to be that this Odinson Brothers affair finally hit the big time. The New
York Times ran a cartoon, an editorial, and a piece about (gulp) incest. More
articles appeared, tackling the issue from all fucking angles: historical,
cultural, statistical, psychological, theological, biological. The National
Geographic published a very long piece, pretty much covering all of those. So
much to learn.
Meanwhile, on TV, what the experts seemed obsessed with defining was whether
what Thor and Loki might be doing did or did not constitute ‘proper incest.’
Needless to say, those debates were not run along the lines of a scientific
convention, so they pitted those who treated the thing from a cultural
perspective against the legalists, or the theologians against, say, the
psychologists, and nothing even remotely resembling a conclusion was ever
reached. Hah, they should have asked Thor. These discussions got on his nerves.
According to him, yes, it fucking was incest, absolutely, incest of the most
incestuous variety, Incest with a capital I. He did not want a get out of jail
free card on this. He was an incestuous incester who incested, ok?, and proud.
“You’re a sick, kinky bugger, Odinson,” Loki purred, with a grin.
And he made a point of moaning “brother” a lot when he was riding him a few
moments later.
 
Over last week, the evening prime time talk-shows started to have fun with it.
Proper fun. They had mentioned it before, when it was a media craze, but now
they had started to tackle The Issue in their opening monologues. The Right
Wing had a field day blaming it all on the devastating effects of the Obama
administration, legalising gay marriage, the consequent decline in family
values, and those godless liberals. According to them, the Homosexual Agenda
now also included legalising incest and making the youth of America start to
fornicate with their blood relatives. Sodom and Gomorrah, cats and dogs laying
together, mass hysteria, the Apocalypse has arrived, repent, repent. Meanwhile,
the godless liberals all sent a similar vibe, bless their souls: “ok, it may be
true, so what?”
 
This morning, they got a call. Romanoff.
“Ok, boys, it’s time.”
And she told them she was calling up a press conference for tomorrow. That they
could either be present, or not.
“We’ll be there,” said Thor. “We’re done hiding.”
Loki didn’t say much. His throat was suddenly parched dry.
 
The announcement made the tabloids implode. They were running around like
headless chickens, speculating. What would they be announcing? It had to be a
confirmation! Couldn’t possibly be anything else! Everyone to battle stations!
They were going to confirm!
Friends had been dropping by all day, and many had forgotten to leave. Clint
was never far, and Tony and Pepper of course were always around, but soon Steve
and Bucky too had arrived, then Peggy and Angie, Sif, Fandral, Hogun, even Sam,
and Sigyn and Bruce were expected any moment now. Volstagg couldn’t make it,
but he sent warm regards and strength.
They were there for support, but Natasha put them to work. Nat needed more eyes
and ears to keep abreast of the surge of press activity. Some shows had even
announced vigils to wait for the great moment, for god's sake. Hundreds of TV
networks worldwide had requested access to the press conference, and asked to
broadcast it live. It would be the biggest show of their careers.
MTV was running several vids, showing apparently every single fucking time they
had ever so much as looked at each other with a camera present, with a
selection of classic love songs for a soundtrack (from “With or Without You” -
an inspired choice for their early years -, to “Nothing Compares 2 U” to
illustrate takes of some pretty obvious looks they had exchanged through the
years. Regina Spektor’s “Us” was a surprise. Loki decided he should learn to
play it. Mumford & Sons “White blank page” had a fucked up feel to it that was
just so right). That was kinda sweet. Loki may or may not have downloaded some
of those vids for keepers, cheesy as they were.
Other TV broadcasters were not being as charitable. They really liked to run
ultra-condensed short clips about their lives. And my, my, my, wasn’t Loki’s
biography colourful. At that frantic, almost-30-years-in-under-2-minutes pace,
with the emphasis always favouring the flashier bits, it seemed that he had
spent his days dedicated to nothing but subverting society’s moral codes. Fox
News was even using extremely pixelated frames of the fucking sex tapes, for
which Natasha was studying whether or not to sue.
Meanwhile, in England, The Sun had managed to unearth posters that used to hang
on the walls of The Dark World, and now they were everywhere. And that was how
Loki finally became, officially, and pretty fucking literally, poster-boy for
the depraved, the corrupt, and those who would surely end up roasting in the
flames of hell.
“Nothing makes one so vain as being told that one is a sinner,” wrote another
poster-boy for depravity in his day. Well, there was that. But it still got to
him when they compared these kind of images to ones of Thor looking angelic and
wholesome, next to this or that other girlfriend, next to Jane. The narrative
was downright mean: While Loki was away from Thor’s life (presumed dead, or in
mental hospital, or in a club selling his body), the older Odinson had been
normal , successful, he had thrived. Then Loki returns, and Thor’s life starts
going down the drain; first he comes out with the bisexual thing, and starts
playing perverts in movies, and now this? What next? Well, they were delighted
to show you “what next”, Babylon rising! They showed photos and clips from the
queues lining up to see The Rocky Horror Show, all those people in outrageous
costumes; they were only children for god’s sakes. Loki Laufeyson was the
devil, his influence was poison and it corrupted everything it touched, and he
had to be stopped.
Loki rarely wasted any time wondering whether he was corrupting anyone. He saw
himself rather like a beacon to galvanise the misfits and make them feel safe
in numbers, and proud. But you know? Those who said he had “turned” his brother
had a point, albeit a very small one. He did manipulate Thor into giving him
their very first kiss after all. And things had changed between them after
that, ever so slightly. Had he been the one to set the ball in motion all those
years ago? Would things had gone differently if his young gay self had not had
his heart set on not receiving his first kiss from a random female stranger,
but from the handsomest, most dashing boy he knew? (Oh, Laufeyson, honestly,
who fucking cares at this point.)
Thor held his hand through the onslaught of the prophets of the apocalypse who
had named him the Antichrist, and Loki made a point of shrugging and looking
unaffected, so as not to trouble his brother. And he largely was unaffected. He
knew this would happen. He didn’t like it, but he’d seen worse. However, when
some (famous, respectable) voices in England threw their hands in the air and
tore their tunics about what something like that would do the family’s
reputation and to Frigga’s legacy, and how that stain would forever mar
everything their parents had achieved, that was a bitter pill to stomach.
They were absolutely right, of course. Nobody would ever tell the story of the
family again without remembering this. It couldn’t be helped. They couldn’t get
their mother’s blessing, so their dad’s would have to do. And that, they had.
It was too late to change their minds anyway; what they had done so far would
already brand the Odinson name for the rest of their days, and beyond. The only
way was forward. That was what Loki told himself at least. Didn't dispel any of
the blame, but helped getting on with things.
Thank the merciful heavens, it was not all doom and gloom. Several magazines
had all coincided in filling a page with one or another glossy photo of the two
of them during the Mariners press tour, looking gorgeous and dapper and über-
glamorous, with the caption, “With a brother like this, who cares about a
little taboo.” And ain’t that the truth, sister.
Last but not least, the Tumblr nation had taken to the streets and were slowly
congregating in several meeting points in cities around the world, many in
costume, others in Loki’s Army t-shirts, a sea of signs with shows of love and
support, flooding the internet with their selfies and their joy. The BBC were
at this very moment broadcasting from Trafalgar Square, where the poor reporter
was being crowded by a bunch of euphoric fans who were trying to get the camera
to show a “Thor and Loki Forever” banner, a stencil of a manip showing the two
of them kissing, surrounded by hearts and arrows and all. There were at least
two hundred people having a picnic on the stairs of the National Gallery, and
more kept coming fast. They intended to spend the night there, the reporter
said. The Mayor of London would have something to say about that, she added,
but if the Metropolitan police should come to disperse them, no worries, dozens
of pubs were announcing lock-ins for the fans of Thorki.
“God, I hate that fucking word,” Thor was grumbling.
“I think you’ll have to get used to it,” said Natasha. “It’s been trending on
Twitter since the announcement.”
 
 
                                       *
                                        
                                        
Loki had given up on the roof garden, but the wide terrace of Tony’s penthouse,
a couple of floors down, was somewhat more protected from the elements. He
found Bucky out there. He had had the same idea as he.
“Hey,” said Loki, as he leaned on the veranda next to him, and lit up a fag.
“Hey,” answered Bucky, also busy indulging his nicotine craving.
“Nice bling.”
Bucky pulled that smug cock-eyed grin of his, and touched the ring on his
finger fondly, as if it was a pet, a living thing that could feel.
“Yeah, not bad, eh?” he said.
“May I?” asked Loki.
Bucky slipped it off and handed it over. Loki laughed slowly. Engraved on the
inside of the platinum band, two names joined by a fucking heart.
“Oh my god,” said Loki.
“I know, right?” laughed Bucky. But he slipped it back on with reverence.
“When?”
“Sometime in Spring.”
“God. You are serious, aren’t you?” he grumbled.
Bucky grinned.
“Whatever Steve wants. It’s his party.”
Loki huffed in dismay.
“I swear, if you dare wearing matching white tuxes, I’m disowning you.”
Bucky laughed. “I’ll let him know.”
After a quiet moment of contemplation, with his eyes lost somewhere in the hazy
Brooklyn skyline, Bucky said, “Can’t fucking believe it’s happening.”
“Who are you telling,” muttered Loki. “It wasn’t Romanoff, was it? She didn’t
pressure you into it or anything. Right?”
“No,” laughed Bucky, “it wasn’t Nat. Steve’s been wanting to do this for a long
time, and I had run out of arguments to get it out of his mind that don’t sound
like I just don’t want to do this. I’m as scared about his career as I always
was, but… I guess he’s not a child, right? I have to trust that he knows what
he’s doing, I guess? All I can do is stick with him through thick and thin, and
keep my fingers crossed for him. For both of us. And for you guys.”
“Yeah, we’ll need all the luck we can get.”
“Well, if timing our announcement a couple of days after yours will help,
that’s what we’re going to do. That’s the only thing Nat did, suggest that we
timed it.”
“We are thankful,” said Loki.
“So are we. We needed that push. Hell, it seems like all you ever do is push
us. God knows where would we be today without your goddamn pushes, Steve and I.
Definitely not engaged to be fucking married, that’s for sure.”
Loki gave him a nudge.
“Anytime.”
He went to lit another fag. His hands were not too steady. The hesitant,
stuttering gesture, not like Loki’s usual sharp self, called Bucky’s attention.
“Hey, slow down,” he said.
Loki sighed, defeated, and put the cigarette and the lighter away. For a
moment, they said nothing.
“What you’re going to do is pretty damn amazing, you know,” said Bucky softly.
“Pretty damn fucking terrifying.”
“If anyone can pull it off, it’s you. I mean, you and your brother. You guys
are made of some special stuff, you know?”
“Almost as special a stuff as Steve?”
“Almost. And that’s saying something,” smiled Bucky. He elbowed him gently on
the side. “You’ll be alright.”
Loki sighed again, came out a bit shuddery.
“From your lips to god’s ears,” he muttered.
 
“Hey, sorry to interrupt,” Thor poked his head out the door. “Sigyn’s here.”
“About bloody time!” grumbled Loki.
Five seconds later, he was squeezing the living daylights out of her.
“Where the fucking hell have you been!” he mumbled to her hair.
“Nice to see you too,” she said to his neck.
 
An early dinner of assorted take-aways was served on the cramped coffee table
in their suite, with people crowding all the surfaces of the settee, including
back and armrests, more people sitting on the rug, and others on chairs dragged
in from other rooms. (Clint had even brought in his own comfy armchair in the
lift. Thor helped.) About a dozen smartphones were scattered between the food
containers, vibrating and whirring as messages kept coming in.
As for Loki, he was sitting on the rug next to Sigyn, between his brother’s
feet. Every now and again, Loki would nudge his head against Thor’s knee, and
Thor would give his shoulder a squeeze, or mess up his hair, but otherwise,
they were being uncommonly restrained. Neither would admit they had been
holding back, but they were. Sam was there, and Steve, and other people who had
only just heard about this, and they were feeling… Inhibited, that must be it.
The least brotherly thing Thor had been doing tonight was to leave his eyes
wander, and delay considerably, on Loki’s collarbones and throat, exposed by
the wide boatneck of his ballet sweatshirt. (He had made one when they arrived
at Stark Tower, where he had a huge floor to practice the new moves T’Challa
had been teaching him, and when he realised the effect those sweatshirts had on
Thor, Loki quickly went and made himself a few more. Since they spent so much
of their time lounging, as of late Loki was seldom seen without one. Even after
a couple of weeks, the results in the Thor department were still spectacular.)
Whenever Loki caught his brother staring, he had a shiver, he flushed with
pride. He was putty in his hands, wasn’t he? Should he be embarrassed? He was
fucking thrilled.
The conversation had already covered tomorrow’s program of events, Steve and
Bucky’s announcement, the possible foreseeable outcomes of the whole thing, the
planned extended secret world tour to let the air clear off afterwards. And
after that? Ah, that was the question, wasn’t it?
“Loki is writing a new play. A cabaret. Aren’t you, Loki?” said Sigyn.
“Sort of,” he said. “Just me, maybe a little chorus of dancers, a small band,
and a piano. It’s going to be kind of a frankenshow. I want to put together a
bunch of songs and dancing acts I’ve admired forever. Bob Fosse, I’m crazy
about him, and I’ve never done anything of his. I’ll choose songs that I like,
from musicals, pop, whatever. And I’m thinking some prose too, Wilde,
Yourcenar, things that mean something to me. Even putting some poems to music
perhaps. I have a huge list, so I think the show will change every night. I’d
like to perform in small venues, with lots of interaction with the audience. If
there is any after all of this. Oh, don’t pull that face, I’m only joking,” he
told his suddenly solemn audience. “It’s going to be the most self-indulgent
thing in the world. After all, whoever does turn up will be a die-hard anyway,
so I’ll be able to do whatever I want. ”
“Sounds really good,” said Peggy. “Can’t wait to see it!”
“And what about you, Thor?” asked Steve. He had been trying to mend bridges all
night.
Thor took a swig from his bottle, delaying his answer. Loki slipped one hand
under the hem of his brother’s jeans and began to run small circles on his
ankle. Not sure if he did it to reassure Thor, or himself.
“Well, this morning there was a pile of scripts this high on the table,” said
Thor. “If there are any still left by tomorrow night, I’ll have a look, and
I’ll let you know.”
A tense silence ensued. And his brother had spared them the knowledge that the
pile had already started to dwindle considerably over the past few weeks.
“It’s ok,” said his brother. “When we decided to do this, to come out, I
realised I should not be committing to anything for the time being, until after
the deed was done. It didn’t seem fair, but it was for my sake as much as
anyone else’s. I don’t feel like waking up the day after next swimming in
lawsuits for breach of contract on morality grounds or some such shit. I don’t
want any of that on my mind. I want to be celebrating.”
Commiserating smiles all around, expressions of quiet support, bit lacklustre.
From the corner of an eye, Loki saw Thor have another swig of his beer, and a
rather deep one at that. He gave his brother a squeeze around the ankle. The
little smile on Thor’s face made his stomach slump. Loki was suddenly hit by an
overwhelming craving to have a fag. Or three.
 
 
He was only just lighting the second when the door slid open and Tony’s head
popped up.
“Am I disturbing you?”
He approached without waiting for Loki’s reply. When he shut the door behind
him, it was the sudden absence of noise that made Loki realise conversation
indoors had resumed.
Tony joined him by the veranda. They both took in the sights of Manhattan by
night for a minute.
“You do know that at least four of those scripts will still be on his table
this time tomorrow, don’t you?” said Tony. “It’s really good stuff too, juicy
and interesting, but too indie, too small, too sexy for any of the mainstream
names to risk it. But Thor…”
“He’ll have nothing to lose anymore,” completed Loki.
“Sometimes that’s not all bad.”
“Well, I appreciate it, Stark, but I’m afraid my brother’s too proud to accept
anyone’s charity,” said Loki softly. “If that’s how he sees your offers, the
big bullheaded arse is capable of turning them down on principle. He’s stupid
enough to do that.” Loki sighed miserably. He was already seeing it happen.
“Charity? Far from it. To begin with, not only I will not be able to afford his
salary, but he’ll have to put in his own dough as well to make it happen,
because the big guys will not want to fund this, and I’m rich, but I’m not that
rich. Second, do tell him I’ll be cunningly and selfishly taking advantage of
his desperate situation to push my own agenda. That I’m using him as an excuse
to do things I’ve been wanting to make for years, and never quite got round to.
That should do it.”
Loki tried for a smile, but it wasn’t one of his brightest.
“Hey, what is it,” nudged Tony.
“It’s just…” Loki rubbed his eyes. He had a sour, deeply unsettling sensation
in his stomach, worse than nerves. He was so scared right now, he was even
afraid that vocalising his fears would make them materialise. The deluge of
shit, brimstone, and fire that would be raining on their heads this time
tomorrow, on their family, on their mum and dad. Will it be worth it? Will they
make it through?He sighed instead of letting any of that out. “I just hope he
can take it.”
“He will,” said Tony. “He’s strong, and stubborn, and he knows what he wants,
and when that man gets an idea in his head, he’s unstoppable. He’s stronger
than you think. You’ll see. And so are you. You’re doing what you need to do
for your own sake, and there’s a lot of strength in that.”
Loki nodded. For the last few hours, the roller-coaster sensation had become
more and more a constant fall. He felt like he was slipping ever downwards,
nothing to hold on to, nothing to break his fall. It had not happened yet, but
there was no stopping this now, no turning back. It was terrifying.
“So, will you think about Salome?” asked Tony, intent on getting him out of his
troubled mind. “Please, tell me you will. At least consider it.”
“I said I will. But…”
“No buts.”
“But I’m too old for it I fear. And not that good a dancer.”
“You’re an infant, and you’re an awesome dancer. You’d be breathtaking
surrounded in flowing veils, pure incarnate sin dancing to seduce a man who’s
decided to devote himself to chastity. Kissing those cold, dead lips after
you’ve had him beheaded for turning you down, repaying the depraved tyrant
who’s done the deed for you with a dance. Still in love and in lust for the man
you’ve murdered. Hell, Loki, I’m seeing it so clearly, I may have to direct it
myself.”
Loki had half a smile on now.
“Careful, Mister Stark.”
“You said you were of age in England,” teased Tony.
It made Loki smile frankly now, and maybe blush a little. Tony’s eyes were
dreamy as he looked back.
“I remember you back then,” he said, “your big eyes and long legs, a crazy
combination of old soul, world-weary cynic, and a shaky, flinching, dazzling
beginner, with your whole life ahead. The sexiest person I had ever seen. I was
nuts about you.”
Loki took in those words with a thoughtful silence, and a grin.
“I thought it was the whoring you were interested in. That you had heard about
it, and you were either curious, or expecting to get all the kinky shit for
free, or both.”
“Jesus, don’t say that. You’re breaking my heart.” And he looked it.
Loki grinned, gaze unfocused, lost in the memories.
“Then you actually took me out on a date and you treated me… Well, not like you
were only interested in me for my, uh, professional skills.”
“I wanted to put the whole world at your feet,” said Tony, eyes bright.
“And you did. You have.”
Their eyes connected, and there was a moment. Tony broke it up.
“Ok, there is no way on earth to say this without sounding condescending, but.
Loki, I’m proud of you. How far you’ve come. How far you’ve still got to go. I
can’t wait to see it.”
Loki’s throat tightened a little.
“It’s so fucking scary right now, the future,” he said. “It’s a black mass of
terror coming towards us. There’s no fucking telling how it will end.”
“You’ll be alright. Both of you. You’ll see.”
Loki smiled and nodded.
“Thank you,” he said after a moment. “For everything. And then some.”
“Ok,” said Tony.
Loki leaned closer, and kissed his lips, a soft peck. This mouth had been so
familiar once. He was glad of touching it one more time. It had always
comforted him.
“Zowie…!” sighed Tony.
 
The atmosphere in the living room when they rejoined the party was gloomy. They
were zapping from one TV station to another, and apparently the dominating
subject this evening seemed to be ‘Showbiz Scandals and The Movie Stars That
Were Ruined By Them.’ And the captions accompanying picture after picture of
Thor looking serious and concerned? Ah, so witty, so fucking cruel. ‘Falling
Star’, ’The Fall of the Gods’, ‘The Harder They Fall.’
“Jesus fucking Christ,” grumbled Loki. He swished in and turned off that shit.
“Enough. Tony, do you have a Wii console? Anyone fancy some fucking virtual
boxing? I feel like punching the fucking air tonight.” (It was so full of doom
and gloom, and it seemed intent on crushing them all. It was asking for it.)
“I have the most advanced gaming devices in existence and in development in
this building, and you ask for a goddamn Nintendo Wii?” said Tony, dismayed.
Loki gave him an eyebrow. “Yeah, fine, I’ll make a call.”
“Oh, make sure they bring Mario Kart,” said Loki. And instead of the rug, this
time he took his rightful place on the throne — his brother’s lap.
 
There was over a dozen people in the suite with them, and only four controls,
so everyone had to take turns and squeeze into overcrowded seating areas. It
was cozy, and it invited mischief, but for some time they both behaved.
Ah, but the Odinson Brothers were competitive. With other people they were
vicious, but only in the game. With each other, nothing was out of bounds:
kicking, elbowing, pinching, tickling. Even when the one wasn’t playing, he
wouldn’t leave his brother alone.
Their friends suffered patiently through it. The atmosphere was lighter after
all, everyone was laughing and having fun. They talked around them as if they
couldn’t hear them, knowing that they were not able to spare a second to reply;
they were too intent on winning, or beating each other at least.
“God, what a pain in the arse,” grumbled Sif, the umpteenth time the game was
being delayed by Thor holding the remote up and away from Loki’s reach, just
because he could, the arsehole.
“God fucking dammit, Thor!” grumbled Loki a moment later, as he twisted and
shifted in his brother’s lap, elbowing his gut viciously, to get Thor to stop
tickling him — neck, sides, under his sweatshirt.
“They’re like a couple of five-year-olds,” noted Peggy.
“Oh, you haven’t seen the worst of it,” laughed Sigyn.
“Dear me, it gets worse?”
“Oh yes,” said Fandral. “I prefer this to the lovebirds routine. Then, on top
of everything else, they get disgustingly handsy and cute, with hearts in their
eyes, and little cupids around their heads. It’s frankly repulsive. Not that
I’m jealous.”
Bucky and Steve, who were also piled on top of each other on the armchair, and
had been mumbling sweet nothings into each other’s ear for a few minutes,
pulled back with a blush of shame, as if they had been chastised.
As for Thor and Loki, they had both been trying to be, uh, personable in that
department, but after having Loki’s arse on his lap for the last hour (and a
secret semi that said arse contributed to nurture and conceal at the same
time), Thor probably did not need Fandral putting any ideas in his head. In any
case, Loki was one up on Thor, and Thor didn’t seem to be able to catch up on
him (maybe because he had half his view constantly blocked at crucial moments
by a certain black mane of hair). In any case, he clearly thought he needed to,
uh, up his game.
It began, auspiciously, on Rainbow Road. When Loki was in first place, Thor
leaned closer, and nuzzled into his ear. When that only caused Loki to squirm,
but wasn’t enough to make him derail, Thor put his mouth on his brother’s neck,
and got nipping and sucking. Loki squealed, missed a turn by several fucking
miles, and came last. He turned his head around, to find Thor smirking, all
smug.
“You bastard,” he said, gasping in shock at his brother’s wily ways. “Fine, you
asked for it. It’s war.”
When it was his turn next, Thor endured very serenely, but looking rather
flushed and glassy eyed, trying to keep his focus on the game, as Loki shifted
and rolled strategically between his thighs. Poor Thor wanted to
seem unaffected, but when the race ended he came in third from last.
Neither of them was even playing next, so they sat pretty on top of each other
and watched the game. But Thor had clearly something else on his mind now,
because Loki could feel him getting harder, and if you waved a stick at Loki,
he was going to want to play with it. He kept squirming and rolling, and
watching with sadistic enjoyment as his brother’s face got ruddier and ruddier,
his pupils wider, and his scowl deeper. Loki may or may not have detected the
looks their friends exchanged between them. He may have even noticed a couple
of them getting up and clearing up some of the take-away containers, and
picking up their jackets. He really wasn’t bothered at all. Loki was a man on a
mission here. His brother had started to pant slightly.
They had to call him three times before he heard it, when it was his turn
again. With herculean efforts of self-restraint, he managed not to whimper, and
finish the race, even with Thor’s hands on his hips, pressing him back against
his crotch. And when it was Thor’s turn again, Loki leaned back, close to his
ear, and as he pressed himself just so, he started to moan breathlessly, not
giving a fuck who would hear. Thor blushed in Technicolor, ditched that race,
and dropped the control. 
“Now you’re going to get it.” He trapped Loki’s neck under his arm for a
vicious noogie.
“Stop it! Get off me!” Loki was twisting and squirming to no avail.
“Or what!” said Thor, throwing Loki on his back to tickle him to death. He
didn’t even realise that the couch was deserted.
“I’m going to fucking…” But he could not complete the thought, he was snarling
and laughing too much.
“Ask for mercy!”
“Never!”
Loki was on his back on the couch, with his brother flush on top of him, hard
and panting, when they both stopped and looked around, and realised they were
alone in the suite. Thor laughed darkly.
“When did they leave?”
“No idea.”
Thor looked down at him. His heart was beating fast, Loki could feel it. Was he
thinking what Loki was thinking? Loki trapped him between his knees.
“Does it matter?”
He pulled his brother down for a long, messy kiss. He wrapped around him with
arms and legs. Thor made a hungered humming noise, working his mouth. Loki
bucked up his hips, and Thor ground down on him.
“Fuck,” he gasped.
He grabbed the collar of Loki’s sweatshirt and dragged it even lower,
uncovering his collarbones and one shoulder, and he dived in, his mouth hot and
hungry, kissing and sucking and nipping, demanding on his skin. Loki threw his
head back in offering, and kept pressing against him, a deep hard pulse of heat
down below. Thor was humping him with determination now, his breathing huffy.
Loki’s hands roamed around, clutching tight his brother’s jean-clad, cast-iron
buttocks, spurring it on, and then running under that soft, tight red t-shirt,
nails tracing parallel pink tracks down his back, making Thor groan. It was all
too fucking perfect. Except that, no matter how much Loki rubbed and pressed,
and tried and tried and fucking tried, this thing was not building up.
“Shit, I’m going to get a fucking rash,” he chuckled, giving up. “Apparently,
I’m too old to come just from necking and dry humping.”
Thor laughed again. Such a low, grumbly sound, it gave Loki shivers.
“It’s not the age, dear, it’s the mileage,” teased his brother. And in a
rumble, into Loki’s ear, “You’re too well fucked these days.”
“Hm, am I now,” purred Loki. “You know what I’m old enough for? Remember when I
was fourteen, and I was too squeamish to suck you off?”
Thor smirked, instantly catching his drift, and eager to oblige. He sat back to
leave Loki room to maneuver, with his knees wide apart, crotch of his jeans
bulging. Loki slipped to his knees in front of him. Thor cupped his chin, thumb
across his brother’s lips.
“God, how I wanted this mouth on me,” he whispered, panting slightly. “You
don’t know how many times I jerked off imagining how you would feel. That
clever tongue of yours. Your face when you tasted me for the first time.”
Ah, Thor’s face, goddammit, eyes wanton and hazy, feverish with lust for him.
Loki was fucking throbbing, the crotch ridge of his jeans cutting circulation
where he needed it the most. He stood up to take off his clothes. Thor watched
him, while stroking the inside of his own thighs, palming his erection, licking
his lips, dry from breathing fast. When Loki went to take off his sweatshirt,
Thor said,
“Leave that on.”
Loki grinned.
“Your shirt,” he said in turn.
His brother indulged him. Loki’s eyes trailed down his neck, over that smooth,
fucking perfect chest and stomach, to that wisp of hair under his navel. He
wondered if he’d one day start taking that bloody divine body for granted.
Well, maybe one day he might, but today was not that day. He sunk to his knees
again, so that he could feast on it, and touch and kiss every square inch of
it, while big, strong hands stroked and guided his head, fingers threading
through his hair. Thor’s breathing deep and slow now, relaxing into it, tensing
again with anticipation when Loki began a decidedly downwards path. Kissing and
licking, Loki revealed button by button every inch of flesh. Thor had to push
his butt up to help him drag the tight jeans down. His cock towered beautifully
now before Loki’s eyes.
“I remember warning you,” said Loki, “‘you can do it to me but I won’t do it to
you’. You went into a right huff.”
“But in the end I did it anyway. I was too curious. It took you about three
seconds to come.”
“You were gagging, complaining that I should have warned you. I couldn’t
fucking think, let alone talk… It was mind-blowing.”
“I’m happy you came in my mouth now,” sighed Thor, stroking his hair.
“I wish it had been me to give you your first blowjob,” said Loki wistfully,
stroking his hands where he pleased. “I wish I had been the first person you
fucked.”
Thor cupped his jaw again, brushed his fingers through his hair.
“I’m glad I was your first,” he muttered. “But my priorities have changed. I
just hope I am your last.”
“Tempting fate again, Odinson, tut-tut,” chastened Loki. “I’m not as ambitious.
I just want to be your best.”
A shadow of something sad flicked across his brother’s face. Thor didn’t let it
linger. He arched an eyebrow, grinning.
“Well, get to it, then.”
He slipped his thumb past his brother’s lips. Loki sucked and worked his
tongue. Thor guided his mouth lower. Loki stuck his tongue out, and licked from
base to tip, eyes locked on Thor’s, which fluttered and drooped.
He set out to work, and although he had wanted to excel himself, soon he was
just doing what his own desire dictated, technique be damned. His brother was
rewarding him with moans and sighs, praises and curses, bucking up towards him,
begging for more, and whenever Loki took a breather, before he plunged in
again, Thor would watch with wide, anticipating eyes, which would droop the
moment his brother's mouth touched him again, and Loki's own body shuddered
with it, what he was doing to him. Thor looked so fucking beautiful, spread
open, boneless, undone, utterly abandoned to Loki's every whim and his will. 
By then, Loki had forgotten about the competition, and all he wanted was to
make love to his brother’s cock until his jaw went slack. But long before that
happened, with Thor shuddering, holding back his breath, Loki’s throat working
around the head of his cock, he gently shoved him off, fingers raking deep in
Loki’s hair, and opened his eyes drowsily.
“I want to come inside you,” he whispered.
 
Almost folded in half on the couch, ankles around his brother’s neck, Loki was
taking an epic pounding.
“When mum and dad… got rid of… the old couch in my room…” Thor was panting, as
he fucked him, “…I fucking cried. Couldn’t… explain why of course… But maybe
they… figured it out anyway…”
Loki had a thought and chuckled, air crushed out of him by tireless, vigorous
thrusts.
“I hope… they didn’t look too close… That thing had more… stains on it… than
the sheets of a… Las Vegas motel…”
Thor chuckled breathlessly, and managed to take it up another gear. The thump
thump thump of their bodies, so fucking wet and urgent and desperate. Loki bit
his lip, his moans ragged, huffy.
“Baby…” sobbed Thor, going at it for dear life now.
“Fuck... Fuck, brother…”
About to burst into flames, Loki began to jack off. He timed it just right,
because just then Thor’s rhythm began to falter, his thrusts slower, deeper,
harder. Soon, with his brother buried deep inside him, Loki went off all over
his ballet sweatshirt, moaning like a cat in heat, daring Thor to keep his eyes
open and watch.
 
 
Sprawled on the couch, fucked out, Loki thought he would miss the views from
this suite when they left tomorrow. Signs of their inhabitation littered the
place. His brother still piled clothes layer upon layer on any available
surface, not bothering to fold them and put them away, or in the bloody laundry
basket, until there was an actual goddamn certifiable mountain of them. Blame
it on the post-coital glow, but what had been getting on Loki’s tits since they
were kids and still shared a room, now only made him smile and shake his head
fondly.
It had been a good few days, cooped up and all. Living quietly side by side,
and not struggling not to tear each other apart. Quite the opposite. There had
been many peaceful hours, piled over each other on the couch, reading from
their tablets, or watching movies, planning their journey. As comfortable with
each other as an old married couple, as hot for each other as a pair of
newlyweds. Teenage newlyweds.
And for all of Loki’s anxiety about the future, Thor shone with such dazzling
optimism and hope, it chased the clouds away. Fucking hell, look at him, if you
even could without burning your retinas. He seemed ready to take on the whole
world and conquer it. His brother could see the finish line now. He could
almost taste it. He radiated something good, self-assured, unassailable to
doubt or fear.  And so, Loki thought that, yes, it may yet fuck up everything
for them, but it was clearly the right thing to do, no matter what the risks.
It wasn’t so much that he believed that everything would be ok. It was more
believing that, whatever happened, they could take it.
He did not believe in fate, or predestination, or anything beyond accident,
causality, and chance, but when he looked back on all the events that had
brought them to this day, he believed that without them, they would not be
where they were tonight. Every experience and every moment had led them here,
to be wise enough to know what they wanted, and realise what they had; to be
willing and ready to fight for it, and know how to do it too. And do it with
confidence, full of faith; in each other, in themselves, in the two of them as
one, faith that they could overcome. And so, he could lay there today and tell
himself, I don’t regret a thing, and fucking mean it. It was a good place to
be.
 
Thor returned from the bathroom with a glass of water and a wet towel. He sat
next to him on the couch while Loki tidied himself up, watching him with an
enigmatic smile.
“What’s with the Gioconda look?” said Loki, after a drink.
“I’ve been thinking…” started his brother.
“…Yeah?” urged Loki, when Thor didn’t finish the thought.
“I’ve been thinking that, if we do this, we’ll be as good as married, right? We
can’t really break up in six months - we’d never live this down. Have you
thought about that?”
Ok, that was… What?
“Not like that, no.”
“What do you think?”
Loki frowned. What the fuck was his brother on about?
“I guess,” he said, hesitantly.
Thor sat back and got comfortable, patted his thigh for Loki to rest his head
on. Once he had him there, he petted his hair in long strokes. It was
disturbingly nice.
“Remember that time we became blood brothers?” asked Thor.
“Uh-huh,” said Loki, his lids heavy, pleasant shivers from Thor’s touch running
from his scalp all the way to his toes. “Mum went ballistic. She threatened to
send us both to counselling, because self-harming or some shit. It was just a
little finger cut…” He chuckled. His eyes were completely closed now. “I
remember thinking that one day you would get married and have children, and I
would stop being as important to you. I must have been ten or something when I
started thinking that. That you would always matter more to me than I mattered
to you. And I began to say goodbye, to try to prepare myself for the day I
would lose you. I wasn’t going to wait for you to leave me. I was going to
leave first. It feels a bit like I spent the first twenty years of my life
saying goodbye to you.” Loki had tried to maintain a neutral face, keep his
words from getting too heavy, but a frown had set in his brow and wouldn’t
ease. Thor’s hand, which was still petting his hair, moved to smooth over it.
“You wanted to grow up and see the world and… fuck other people, I presume. I
sometimes fantasised about following you like a shadow everywhere you went. Not
asking for anything, just being there. You wouldn’t have pushed me away, would
you? You would have tried. You would have wanted to have it all. Then I
realised that it could not be. That this is not what I wanted. I would soon
resent you for the crumbs I once told myself I could live with. There was no
way around it, no way to stop it. One day I would have to give you up, and we
would have to live apart, and that was it. It was hard. I wouldn't have
believed in a million years... Well. This.”
“Growing up, seeing the world, meeting other people… it’s sort of what was
expected from me,” said Thor thoughtfully. “I didn’t question it. It was the
way things had to be. We would have to part ways and have our own lives. We
were brothers. There was no alternative. I never even thought I could challenge
that. But then I did grow up, and I went out to the world, and saw a bit of it,
and I did meet other people, and… It wasn’t as good as advertised. I mean, it
was ok, I guess, but… you were gone, and you didn’t want me, and the world
wasn’t…” Thor’s voice had faltered. Loki looked up, found his brother staring
at him, his gaze intense, fire behind it. “It’s just, nothing could hold a
fucking candle to you. Nothing can. Everything is kind of ordinary and banal
with other people. Everything is like… Sunday afternoons, I don’t know. Nice,
not horrible, just… Not really much to live for. So I have tried to live the
life I was supposed to, but it was just not good enough. I would always end up
choosing you. Over and over. I would choose you every time. I have. I do.”
Loki had listened to his brother’s words without fucking breathing. He liked to
do that, the bugger, leave him floored and flat on the ground, speechless,
numb, crushed under a fucking wall of love. It felt like he had to say
something, but hell, what does one add to something like that.
“What he said,” he mumbled.
Thor poked his side in retaliation. Loki squeezed his hand, to let him know
that he had heard him. Thor squeezed back.
“You’re my brother, and that’s as forever a thing as it gets, and I know we
can’t do it legally,” said Thor, his voice lower now, shy almost, “but we can
do it, uh, symbolically. I mean, if you’d like to. I would like to.”
“Do what.”
Thor gave him a nudge, Loki lifted his head to let him up. Propped up on his
elbows, Loki followed his brother’s movements with an arched eyebrow. Thor
walked to the bedside table, and walked back with something in his hand. When
he got closer, Loki saw it was a small velvet pouch. He sat up, intrigued. Thor
upturned the pouch, and a dainty ring fell on his palm. He held it up. Even in
the uncertain light of nighttime Manhattan, Loki recognised it at once. He
stared at his brother, puzzled.
“It’s mum’s ring. Her grandmother’s ring,” said Loki, stating the obvious.
Thor was still holding it up.
“It’s for you,” he said.
Loki’s eyes went wider, his frown deepened.
“What do you mean, it’s for me.”
Thor sighed, smiling.
“I mean, it’s-it’s for you. You know.” He was blushing now, heavily.
Loki stared blankly.
“Does-does dad know?” All he could think of saying.
“Who do you think had the bloody ring to begin with? When I told him I was
going to do this, he told me I should-… That mum would like it if it was her
ring.”
Loki was gaping, dumbstruck, and astonished on so many fucking levels; he
didn’t know which shock to begin losing his shit over first.
“You told him you'd...? And he...? What… what the hell, Thor?”
“Lord have mercy. Who’s the bloody oaf now?” grumbled his brother. And speaking
as if to a very slow little boy, “Will you symbolically marry me or not, Loki?”
Loki looked at the ring in his brother’s hand. If you had asked him at any
other time in his life what he thought about marriage, he would have said this
forever thing was bollocks, and that a ring wasn’t going to change that. He
would have said it made sense only as a practical thing, because you save on
tax, or it gets you a pension. The idea of a symbolic gesture of union would
have made him retch.
But then again, Thor had never fucking asked him to symbolically marry him
before.
Loki wasn’t good at these things, he knew he wasn’t. He felt he was always
overreacting in minor situations, and underreacting when it was important. He
wished he could get it right this one bloody time.
The tears that rose to his eyes hopefully helped to convey the general
impression that he was taking this to heart. He extended his hand.
“Yes, brother, I-I will,” he said.
Because less is more and all that.
Thor smiled quietly, all the light back in his face. He grabbed Loki’s hand,
and stared meaningfully into his brother’s eyes as he slipped the ring on his
finger. Only it stuck half-way, and would not go any further.
“Ow, ow, ow!” said Loki. “What are you trying to do, shave shards of bone from
my knuckle or something? It doesn’t fucking fit, ok? Why the hell didn’t you
take it to re-size?”
“How the hell was I going to do that? I wanted it to be a surprise,” sulked
Thor.
“You borrow one that fits for comparison, dumbass!”
Thor had a moment of epiphany. Too late now. His face was a very sad poem. His
grand gesture, spoilt and ruined.
“Give it here,” grumbled Loki, and put the ring on his pinkie. It fit. He
showed his brother.
“Looks… silly,” said Thor.
Loki raised his hand to cuff him. Thor snatched it, laughing. He kissed the
palm, kissed his wrist, kissed the ring. Loki found himself staring at the
dainty solitaire, blue diamond on gold setting, that was Frigga’s through and
through, and now his and Thor’s. Slight and delicate as it was, right now it
was so loaded with meaning, it felt as heavy as the heart of a neutron star. He
stared into his brother’s eyes, and yes, fuck, he was affected. There, moment
restored. Ta-daaa. Thor leaned in, eyes closed, foreheads touching. They
kissed.
 
They cuddled up on the couch, Loki nestled in the curve of his brother’s body.
They were both too nervous about tomorrow to sleep, so they settled down for a
long night.
“What do I give you?” asked Loki after a while. “I’m not going to ask dad for
his ring. We’ll all end up sectioned in a fucking mental clinic, especially
dad.”
Thor chuckled behind his back.
“How about matching tattoos?” he said.
“You’re joking.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Depends.”
“On what.”
“On whether you say yes.”
Loki thought about it.
“Like what.”
“Thor and Loki forever, a heart and an arrow,” said Thor.
“Absolutely fucking not.”
“Ok, ok…” laughed Thor. “Our names in runic alphabet, then.”
Loki thought about it again, still unconvinced.
“Where?”
Thor reached around his brother’s body, and traced a heart on his chest.
Loki rolled his eyes.
“We’ll discuss this again when you’re willing to be serious.”
Thor chuckled behind his back, nuzzled into his neck, making Loki shiver. Loki
rolled over to face his brother, threw his leg over Thor’s, burrowed his face
in the crook of his neck. His brother squeezed him between his arms, and Loki
snuggled up with a deep breath.
“Forever and Brother,” he muttered, after a while.
“What?”
“What we should have in our goddamn matching tattoos, in runic alphabet, or
elvish, or whatever, decorated with entwined snakes or Viking patterns or
something.”
He almost felt Thor’s smiling silently, as he hugged him tighter.
Loki’s whole world right now was peace and warmth. He might just manage to
sleep tonight after all.
 
 
 
                                       *
 
 
 
Loki checks his watch. It’s 10:54. Still? Yeah, idiot, it’s been all of ten
seconds since you last looked. He shakes his hands. He’s trying not to jump. He
rolls the ring on his pinkie instead. Again, and again, and again. Like, he’ll
dig a fucking groove in his goddamn flesh. How did he fucking function before
he had it? Oh, right, instead of three fags in the last ten minutes, he would
have had six. And bitten his nails down to the bloody roots. Yay for symbolic
engagement rings then.
They’re in the antechamber (so to speak) of the press room of Stark tower. The
backstage, basically, waiting for their cue. Sigyn is there, never far. She had
been physically surrounding him with her arms up until a few moments ago, when
Natasha stepped out, and Loki’s tension escalated several orders of magnitude;
she knows that maintaining the embrace would have made Loki feel suffocated,
and probably caused him to snarl, so she’s stepped back, left Loki some
breathing room, and went to join Bruce, Sif, Fandral, Hogun, Clint, Tony and
Pepper, who are standing a bit further back. They talk in hushed tones and send
warm smiles their way whenever he catches their eye. It feels a little bit like
the waiting room of a hospital, about to be taken away for a life-or-death
operation or something. Steve and Bucky are waiting upstairs, and Peggy and
Angie as well - they’re too well known, Natasha wants to keep focus on Thor and
Loki right now, no distractions. There are other people too, some familiar
faces from Tony’s staff, some Loki can’t remember having seen before. But Loki
feels that his brother and him occupy their own bubble, or a fishbowl rather,
like two specimens on display. Everyone keeps staring at them.
Out there, it’s jam packed and noisy, everybody talking on their phones,
photographers vying to get better spots, security people physically separating
the rowdier individuals. They look like a mob ready to swallow them up.
“Ok, baby?” asks his brother.
“Yeah. No. Yeah. I’ll… Yeah. I just want it to be over already.”
His brother smiles warmly, so much love in his eyes.
“It’ll be alright.”
He’s so fucking calm. Is he on something? Loki guesses he’s just… He’s ready.
He’s been waiting for this moment for months, and now it’s arrived, and he’s
where he needs to be. Loki could fucking strangle him, but there are too many
witnesses. And he is fucking shaking.
“We still have time, you know?” he says, his words quick and edgy, full of
spikes. “We can just tell Natasha to announce Steve and Bucky’s wedding, and
get the fuck out of here.”
“Are you crazy? After all the buzz we’ve created?” says his brother, looking
puzzled.
“It’s not final until we get out there.”
“Forget it. You can’t be serious. You’re not serious, are you?”
Is he? He’s just so fucking terrified he can’t think. He looks anxiously to the
press room. Natasha has stepped out there and is addressing the reporters with
her usual sternness (she will read a declaration, and Mr. Laufeyson and Mr.
Odinson will stand by it with their presence, but they will not be taking any
questions at this time).
Loki’s heart is hammering so hard, he thinks he can fucking hear it.
“Last chance,” says Loki.
Thor stares at him, calm and serene again, exuding confidence and a kind of
regal poise that makes him shine. He has a quick look around them, where their
friends and a bunch of strangers are trying not to stare too intently. With a
smile, and staring straight into Loki’s eyes, Thor cups his brother’s face with
his big, warm hands, and kisses him full on the mouth. Loki’s eyes flutter
shut. He hears the muffled gasps around them, cameras clicking, murmurs rising
from the press room, where people in the first row must be able to see them.
When Loki opens his eyes, his brother is there, smiling.
“Too late,” says Thor.
Loki exhales. He had been holding his breath for some time without realising.
“You crazy, sappy oaf,” he grumbles.
“I love you too,” says Thor. “That’s our entrance. Shall we?”
Ok, one last deep breath, eyes front, don’t let the minor upheaval you have
already unleashed distract you from the much bigger one you’re heading for.
Thor holds his hand. Trying to ignore everything and everyone around them, they
step out there.
Pandemonium. A lightning storm of flashes, their names in shouts called from a
hundred different directions. Loki focuses on the feel of Thor’s hand, the
ghost of his kiss still on his lips.
They take their seats. Loki shakes his hair, and slips on his mask. Leans back,
crosses his legs, tilts down his head, predatory, begins to stare people down.
Well, then. Showtime.
 
Chapter End Notes
     “Nothing makes one so vain as being told that one is a sinner." The
     other poster-boy for depravity is Oscar Wilde, may he rest in glory.
***** Chapter 37 *****
Chapter Summary
     It's been three years since The Big Reveal. As per Natasha's plan,
     it's time for an interview, to catch up with the boys, set the record
     straight on a couple of issues, and find out how is it to live in the
     open as arguably the most infamous couple in the world.
     And here it is.
Chapter Notes
     No, I had not forgotten about these two. I hope you haven't either.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
Interviewer: We are in the beautiful music room in Asgard Hall with Thor
Odinson and Loki Laufeyson, adoptive brothers, whose coming out as a romantic
couple three years ago stunned the world. This is the first time since that
momentous announcement that they have agreed to speak candidly about their
private lives and their relationship. (She turns from the camera to the boys)
Thor, Loki, thank you for having me. It’s an honour and a privilege.
Loki Laufeyson:(charmingly) Thank you. Great to have you here.
I: You’re not just saying that, are you?
(Loki laughs, doesn’t answer)
I: It’s going to be three years soon since your coming out as a couple. First
of all, congratulations.
Thor Odinson: Thank you very much.
I: You seem very happy.
T.O.: We are.
I: Well, what a momentous three years it has been!
L.L.: I’ll say.
I: You have proven those who augured the end of your careers wrong. That must
feel good!
T.O.: We’ve avoided sinking into a pit of infamy, and we’ve overcome the first
hurdles, but in our line of work, actually keeping employed is always a
struggle. You have to keep earning it, keep pulling in the punters to the
movies, to the theatres. I don’t think we’ll ever feel like we’re home free,
with or without personal life issues. Anyway, there’s cause for optimism.
I: We’ll be speaking more about what you’ve been up to in a minute. First, if I
may, I’d like to ask about what happened immediately after the Big Reveal. You
got on a plane and disappeared. Where did you go?
T.O.: We traveled the world. It was great.
I: Did you have to disappear for security reasons?
T.O.: Yes, in part. We were advised to fly under the radar for some time, until
the situation calmed down and we could get a clear picture of the lay of the
land. And in part, we just needed some time and space to ourselves, and some
peace. We had been under intense scrutiny for months before we actually gave
that press conference. We needed a holiday.
L.L.: And a honeymoon.
(Thor laughs)
T.O.: Yeah, that too.
I: Speaking of honeymoons, you did reappear briefly for the wedding of your
friends Steve Rogers and James Barnes.
T.O.: We couldn’t miss it. They made us best men.
I: They have mentioned that they owed their coming together to you…
T.O.: That would be Loki.
I: Oh?
L.L.: Long story. Another time. But actually, the final kick in the butt was
yours, wasn’t it?
T.O.: (laughs) Like you said, another time. It’s their story anyway, ask them.
I: Why did it take so long after the first rumours emerged before you decided
to come out as a couple? I hear it was all a carefully planned process.
T.O.: Yes, the entire thing was engineered almost like a military operation.
Delaying confirmation was a part of it.
I: But it was always the plan, coming out?
(both simultaneously)
L.L.: No.
T.O.: Yes.
(They look at each other. They laugh.)
L.L.: Initially, there was no plan. We just… We had this thing that was pretty
f*** big, and which neither of us was willing to give up, but we wanted to...
We had to take it one step at a time, keep putting one foot in front of the
other, precisely because making plans and looking too far into the future was
absolutely terrifying. We tried to keep it a secret initially, while we figured
things out, because we didn’t really think any other course of action was a
real option. But as time went by…
T.O.: We couldn’t do it. I couldn’t do it. It wasn’t just a case of being
discreet to preserve our privacy, we had to actually lie and pretend to prevent
people from finding out the truth. And doing that was… I hated it. It angered
me so much. In my heart, I believed there was nothing to be ashamed of, and
having to act as if there was just… I hated it, and I hated myself for doing
it. And I know there are plenty of people who indeed think that what we have,
Loki and I, is profoundly wrong, but… I don’t? Who the hell do we harm? Some
god? Whose god? Not mine… So it was doing my head in to act as if the public
had to be protected from something that wasn’t anybody’s business but our own.
We didn’t deserve that. Loki didn’t deserve that. At one point, it was
affecting both of us very badly. We were unhappy. I am convinced it would have
split us up if we had tried to keep the secret. And I wasn’t going to have
that. This is too important. 
I: So Thor wanted to go public. What about you, Loki?
L.L.: To begin with, I thought it was a terrible idea. It was not that I
enjoyed having to hide this, when what I really felt like doing was parading
down the streets bragging and celebrating, but I thought the backlash would be
more than we could cope with. That it would destroy us. That we would lose
everything, and we’d never work again. That my brother’s career mattered more
to him than he thought it did, and that when that was gone, he would deeply
resent the reason he had given it up for —that is, little old me. I was willing
to put up with almost anything to keep this from seeing the light of day, and
ruining his reputation and his career. And mine too, I guess, but I have a
different fan base, so I thought I might just be able to get away with it. It’s
not like I’m a stranger to living on the fringe of social acceptance. It can be
argued I’ve already done all sorts of bad things to the family name, so what’s
one more. But Thor was adamant that he knew what he was doing, that he would
soon get back on his feet, that it would be worth it. I wasn’t convinced, but
there you go. Turns out, I was wrong, and Thor was right.
T.O.: I’m going to have that part of the interview printed in f**** gold and
framed, and I’m going to hang it on the wall.
L.L.: (deceitfully sweet grin) Only if you want it transferred straight onto
your forehead by means of me smashing it on your face.
T.O.: (laughing) Fair enough. But yes, when the first rumours came out, it was
intentional. The plan was already in motion. It’s not like we had been
discovered accidentally and risked exposure, and felt pressured to come out. At
that point we absolutely wanted to come out, and starting rumours was phase one
of the plan.
I: So the plan was to do it in stages.
T.O.: Exactly. Sow the idea, let it take hold, begin to raise questions. Plant
the notion in the public’s minds, to defuse the shock factor and soften the
landing somewhat, and then tell the truth, after people had already started
getting used to it.
I: A lot of people still claimed initially it was all a publicity stunt.
(Loki laughs)
L.L.: We know. Hysterical, isn’t it?
T.O.: (sarcastic)Yeah, we were too famous and doing too well, we had to do
something about that. But these days of lax morals you really have to go the
extra mile, right?
(Loki laughs)
I: You must have been quite anxious before the reveal.
L.L.: Terrified. We had no idea what to expect. 
I: How did you prepare for the reaction?
T.O.: Coming out to the people closest to us, I guess. Every time we told
someone, and the world didn’t end, it helped. And of course, now we knew that,
even if the whole world turned on us, at least we had them by our sides. We
would pull through somehow. We would be okay no matter what, with a little help
from our friends.
I: Would you say the plan came out ok?
T.O.: Well, we’re together, we’re happy, and we’re working. Yeah, I’d say so
good so far. (Looks at Loki, they hold hands for a moment.) 
I: I have to ask. In your statement to the press, you declared you got together
after shooting Mariners. But there is a lot of speculation about… There are
many conspiracy theories out there. Can we get the timeline clear?
L.L.: (while Thor is resolutely staring at his hands, tightly clasped on his
lap.)By all means. We reconciled after a long period of estrangement; we signed
up to make a film together; in the process, we realised there was something
there; we talked about it; nothing happened during the shoot, it was not the
time or the place; and then, after we wrapped up the shoot, we went on a date
to see what happened, and this is what happened. Nudity was involved. We’ve
been a couple ever since. (Wicked grin that screams “come on, challenge me, I
dare you”.)
I: You were both seen with different, uh, companions in the months that
followed the shoot. Were you already together, then?
(Thor squirms in his seat, clearly uncomfortable.)
L.L.: Yes, we were.
I: So, it was a distraction manoeuvre.
L.L.: Absolutely. 
I: Was that your publicists’ idea?
L.L.: Nope. All mine. At that point our publicists weren’t involved. They may
have been onto us already —they’re awfully insightful like that, and we’re that
subtle— but we had not actually told them. About getting us beards… Thor took
convincing. As in, he hated the idea, he was dead against it. But it was early
days between us, and we were going to start the press tour for Mariners, and
lots of eyes were going to be on us, and there were rumours on the internet
already... I wanted Thor to get a clean chance at the awards he deserved, I
wanted all the attention on his performance in the film. We needed more time to
figure it all out. I just wanted to dangle something shiny in front of the
press to distract them from the rumours about us. Our dear friends agreed to
help us out.
I: Did they know?
T.O.: (snappy) Yes, of course. They are my closest friends. Of course they
knew.
I: What was your father’s involvement in the plan? He expressed his support
publicly on the very day of the reveal, but did he take convincing?
T.O.: Not at all. He stood by us from the start, and he said he would do
whatever we required. 
I: What was his initial reaction? I suppose he was shocked...
(The boys smile at a private joke.)
L.L.: He was very accepting very quickly. We had been scared sh*tless for weeks
thinking how to break it to him without killing him from a heart attack, and he
was… No, he was surprisingly ok with it. 
I: How do you explain that?
(Another secret smile.)
L.L.: Our father is a very open-minded man. I blame Shakespeare. (A thoughtful
pause. More serious now.) I think our mother’s death changed his views about a
lot of things. There was a… hardness, an intolerance about him. He had very
clear ideas about… Everything, really. But once our mother was gone… (He
chokes. He looks at Thor.)
T.O.: Yes. I agree. My mother’s passing changed us all. And with my father, it
certainly shook him deeply, and made him review his feelings and his thoughts
about lots of things. Concerning his own life, his work, his legacy, how
intransigent and self-demanding he was, and never letting himself be truly
satisfied. But after mum died… I mean, look at the very work he took on after
her death, he started to let go a bit more, have more fun… And he was more
forthcoming with me, he made an extra effort at letting me know that he was
proud, and that he loved me. And Loki… (Looks at his brother, who remains
quiet, his hand held between both of Thor’s on Thor’s lap.) What he told us
when we came out to him was that our mother would have wanted us to be happy.
It’s almost as if he had embraced the way our mother related to people and to
the world, which was extremely generous and compassionate, never passing
judgement, never condemning anyone, but always trying to see things from the
other’s point of view. My mother was a very forgiving, very wise woman. And I
sometimes feel that our father’s way of coping with her death is to… to keep
alive that part of her, to treat us as she would have. 
I: Your father has stated publicly many times that he’s fully convinced Frigga
would have stood by you.
L.L.: I think she would have. I have no doubts. She would see us now, how we
are. I’ve never been happier.
(Thor smiles, kisses his brother’s temple.)
I: Loki, your relationship with your father wasn’t always easy. How is it these
days?
L.L.: (a considerate pause) It’s no secret I did not deal with the news about
my adoption well, to put it mildly. I should have been told much earlier, but I
know now the reasons why that didn’t happen, and I can understand. My parents
regretted deeply how it all went down, and I’ve made my peace with that. It
doesn’t upset me anymore. But even before I found out I was adopted, I had been
very angry. I was… I already had problems. I struggled a lot with… confusion,
heartbreak, with a sense of… I don’t know. Not belonging, not fitting, not
measuring up to expectations. It was hard to hate our mother, so my father bore
the brunt of it all. We simply didn’t get along very well. And yeah, it’s taken
me many years to get over that. Both of us, my dad too. But after the way he
has dealt with what life, and myself, has thrown at him these last few years…
He has had to face several situations that can’t have been easy for any parent.
He really came through with the-the scandal of the sex tapes. That was a real
turning point for me, and how I felt about him, about it all. I would have
never expected… He surprised me. He really taught me a lesson there. And he
went on to make many other public and private gestures that, to me, show a kind
of unconditional support you don’t get from someone who doesn’t really...
accept you. Who doesn’t actually love you, unconditionally, no caveats, no
buts. Which is I guess what I had always felt was missing between us. So I
don’t only respect him as a man, as an artist, as the man my mother loved, but
also as the man who took me into his home and tried to raise me as best he
could which, at the end of the day, is all you can ask from a parent, isn’t it?
So, yes, I guess he’s my father. Again. And on top of that, we have found many
common interests and passions, and… Well, I guess we’re good friends now as
well.
(Thor listening with a warm, emotional smile. Loki elbows him to make him stop
staring.)
I: What was the reaction to your relationship among your work colleagues? How
did the reveal go down in that area?
T.O.: In the US we get lots of private, individual shows of support, but then
there is always the excuse of the box office, of this or that other higher
exec, or the studios, or whatever. “You know, guys, if it was up to me, it
would make no difference, but you know, the big guys…”  Which is what I
expected, frankly. In England, it’s different. The industry is a lot smaller,
everybody knows everybody. So lots of people are supportive and really don’t
seem to care, but other people are very angry at us. They accuse us of
disgracing the family name, my mother’s heritage, the entirety of the English
contribution to the world culture and the arts. They say they’re not against
our relationship in itself, but against us making it public. Which is an
extremely British way to think, by the way. You’re alright as long as you keep
your sins in private. They even accuse us of fishing for publicity, and they’re
really upset that we’re getting it. And then they’re the best of friends to our
faces. I’m not sure if they realise how hypocritical they are.
I: Do you have an answer for those people?
(Loki looks at his brother, who is brooding and pensive. Squeezes his hand.)
T.O.: I don’t think we have to, but I want to say… We are our parents’
children, that’s true. We have benefitted from their fame, their talent, their
support. We owe them a lot, we are grateful, we want to honour them, and their
heritage. But we’re also our own people, and we have a right to our life and
our choices. And just like that, Frigga and Odin Borson are more than capital
figures of British culture, they’re more than wax statues or bronze sculptures,
they’re our mum and dad. And this is what it is, it happened. (He looks at his
brother, holds his hand.) We fell in love, we wanted to be together. We know
it’s unusual and against custom and traditional morals, and that to some people
it’s sinful and outrageous and infamous and we should be ashamed, but the fact
is, it happened, and we’re not ashamed at all. We harm no-one, absolutely no-
one. We are not against anything, we did not set out to destroy anything. We
just want to live our lives. And keeping the secret was destroying us. Lying
about it. Putting on an act, denying what was there, denying ourselves. And
like I said, I don’t feel guilty about it, I don’t feel ashamed. So it came to
this: hiding and pretending, in fear of a moral system that wasn’t our own,
that we did not share, and destroy ourselves in the process, or be honest, and
try to make a go at this. It was a no-brainer. It only took guts. And guts, we
have.
I: You have to live under a permanent security detail, don’t you?
T.O.: Yes. The world is full of nutters.
I: How do you cope with that?
T.O.: With patience and good humour. You end up getting used to it. I’m sure it
won’t be forever, but if it is… Well, we’ll make it work.
I: Do you miss living a normal life?
L.L.: What is a normal life? My ‘normal’ has been a lot of different things at
different times. But you know what, no. With our jobs, I think we live lives
that are pretty much out of the ordinary. And that’s why we do it. Any actor
who tells you they want a normal life is either talking bollocks, or his
‘normal’ and your ‘normal’ mean entirely different things. Or they’re in the
wrong line of work. S*d normal. I prefer extraordinary and fabulous.
I: Speaking of extraordinary, fabulous, and work, you have both been very busy!
Loki, you’re about to embark on your second year touring the world with your
cabaret show God of Mischief. You’ve done Europe and North America, and I hear
Asia is already sold out?
L.L.: Yeah. We’re doing well, but the venues are very small. It’s not like I’m
filling football stadiums.
I: I hear you’ve had to restrict how many tickets are sold to individual
people, because there’s many repeat visits, since the show changes every night!
L.L.: True. Some people are really keen, and those who were being left out were
justly annoyed at the hoarders. 
I: Why all the changing? Is it just to keep it interesting?
L.L.: Interesting for me, yeah. To keep it fresh. But also because there were
just too many acts I wanted to dance, too many songs I wanted to cover, too
many stories I wanted to tell, and they didn’t all fit in a couple of hours. I
agonised trying to decide what to leave out, and it was breaking my heart. And
since this was to be a self-indulgent exercise of the highest order, I thought,
why compromise? Have them all. It definitely helps to maintain my attention.
I’m a mercurial character; I get bored easily. I doubt I would have wanted to
carry it on for so long otherwise. 
I: You don’t oppose to people taking recordings of the live show.
L.L.: No. Why? Free publicity. It actually seems to draw people in. As long as
they don’t use flash or pester me too much, no problem. They’re usually
discreet and respectful. 
T.O.: Well, they’ve seen what you do to people who annoy you. 
(Loki laughs.)
CLIP. Fragments of Loki’s cabaret show. Loki on stage with chorus of dancers.
The costumes are mainly burlesque and flapper 1920’s style, with nods to the
original movieCabaret, the musicalChicago, and the era of glam rock (with
several direct references to David Bowie and Lou Reed,Transformerera). Cut to
Loki sitting on the stage, legs hanging off the edge, reciting conversationally
a fragment ofThe Little Prince.Cut to Loki sitting at the piano, singing alone,
then leading the audience to sing along. Cut to Loki strutting among the tables
in stiletto heels, chatting up the audience.
I: One particular performance comes to mind. On opening night in London, with
Thor’s attendance. The video went viral and caused a considerable uproar. Do
you know what I’m referring to?
L.L.: (smirking, checking his nails)Haven’t the faintest.
 
Loki in high heel platforms and a very revealing, skin-tight black velvet
jumpsuit, unzipped to way below the navel, barely decent, a dark green feather
boa around his neck and shoulders, flashy makeup. He’s purring “I could have
danced all night” (Lerner and Loewe). He climbs off the stage and approaches
his brother, sitting in a table right by the stage. Loki begins stalking,
romancing, seducing Thor as he sings, dancing around him with very suggestive
moves that echo the lyrics. Thor seems tense at first, as if he’s being the
target of a prank and is trying to take it in stride. Loki suddenly straddles
Thor’s lap, and keeps singing. He’s eyefucking his brother silly, Thor is
staring back with intensity. At one point, it feels as if they’ve forgotten
that there is anyone else in the room with them. After several almost-but-not-
quite brushes of lips, as if they’re teasing but they will not dare, Loki
finally captures his brother’s mouth in a fierce, hungered kiss, fingers
threaded in Thor’s hair. The audience goes into hysterics. Thor’s hands rest on
his brother’s waist at first, then his hips, then slide to quickly grope his
arse. The song ends, the band starts the next number. Loki breaks the kiss
slowly, eyes and lips lingering, and slips off his brother’s lap. He struts
away, swinging his hips, with a look over his shoulder, and a wink at his
brother.Thor is holding his stare, a heated look. Loki retakes the stage,
wolfish grin, for a moment he looks at the audience with a complicit grin and
pretends to fan himself. The chorus of dancers join him, the next song is “All
that Jazz” from the musicalChicago.
I: What’s the story behind that moment? Up to that point, you had been very
discreet and, dare I say, almost prudish, with how you behaved around each
other in public. And then this. What happened there?
L.L.: I can’t help myself around this man, what can I say.
(Thor laughs. He seems a bit flustered.)
T.O.:(seriously) We had talked with our people about it, about how we should
behave in public, how affectionate or not we should be. We wanted to save
ourselves a few headaches, frankly. Everybody seemed to agree that keeping it
clean, so to speak, would be best. We wanted to try not to ruffle any more
feathers, try not to feed the media frenzy. We wanted to be boring and
uninteresting, send the message that there was nothing to see here, hoping to
rush along the time when we’d be left in peace. But then…
L.L.: We felt corseted. And not in a sexy way. We’re very hands-on, both of us,
and pretending we weren’t… We don’t like hiding. We came out so that we could
be ourselves at last.
T.O.: And on top of that, it soon became clear that, no matter how prim and
proper we tried to be, it would always be too much for some people. Us existing
is already too much. There’s no pleasing them. They won’t be appeased, no
matter what we do or don’t do. So we thought, s*d it. We’re going to be the way
we are. And if it offends people, it’s up to them. We’re just trying to live
our lives.
I: But, doing it on opening night, was it a bid for attention?
L.L.: Actually, it was an early birthday present. 
T.O.: An entire surprise party, more like.
I: You mean you didn’t know Loki was going to do this, Thor?
T.O.: Absolutely no idea. We had talked about holding hands and kissing in
public, not this. Not that I’m complaining, mind.
L.L.: I improvised, I went with the flow. I was feeling very, very happy that
night. A bit high on all the excitement and the nerves and all. And there was
this handsome f*cker on his chair being insufferably gorgeous… I felt like
rubbing in the noses of the entire human race that he was mine. So I just went
for it.
(Thor stares persistently at his brother, amused and starry eyed. Loki is
looking quite smug.)
L.L.: And you know what, I have this hope that every time we get handsy or
flirty in public, one bigot suffers an aneurysm and dies on the spot. We’re
basically making the world a better place, one hater at a time. I think we got
rid of a couple hundred that night alone, and we clear out a handful more
whenever this vid does the rounds. You’re welcome.
(Thor laughs.)
I: Thor, let’s talk about your work. You have been awfully busy yourself! You
starred in Lancelot, Peggy Carter’s controversial take on the Arthurian cycle,
and more recently you played the lead in the powerful The Story of John D.,
which you have also produced in partnership with Pepper Potts and Tony Stark.
And now you’re preparing a play in the West End with your father! Where shall
we begin? How about your new role as producer?
T.O.: That’s been a lot of fun. 
I: How did it come about?
T.O.: Well, I fully expected interest from Hollywood to dry out after the big
reveal, and that’s exactly what happened. No surprises there. When we went into
this, I did it being fully aware that I would have to rethink my career. No
more blockbusters for me, goodbye to the A-list. Which was ok. I have had my
run in Hollywood, and I’d say it’s been a great one. I was able to do some very
interesting work, like Blood Meridian, The Cold Six Thousand, Mariners, and
Lancelot, because I was at the peak of my profession. I achieved everything I
set out to achieve. It was pretty hard to top, and I wasn’t all that excited
anyway about just clinging onto that spot, fretting about maintaining my
status, with an eye always on opening weekends. So perhaps a radical change
wasn’t a bad idea, reveal or not. I like to feel hungry and excited. I like a
bit of adventure, I like to feel like my feet don’t quite reach the bottom.
Now, Tony is a long-time friend, he was the first to really bet on me when I
first came to the US, and he’s been as loyal and supportive of the both of us
as we could ask for, and then some. He suggested I take advantage of my new
status as an industry outcast with nothing to lose, and got involved in some
risky projects he had in the drawer. We decided to begin with The Story of John
D.
I: What was it that drew you to this project?
T.O.:  What didn’t. It’s the story of a man who embodies a certain masculine
ideal. He’s a pro footballer, successful, rich, serial womaniser. He’s self-
centred, entitled, he has it all, and he takes it all for granted. It’s his due
as an American white male who has conquered the world. And then, one day, he
gets beaten up and brutally raped. And his entire life starts to unravel. First
of all, his self-esteem. He’s a macho man, he regarded himself as an Olympian
god, and yet he was overpowered and violated. How could this ever happen to
him? The body that was the source and the reason of his privilege has become a
source of pain, shame, and humiliation. And he doesn’t know how to deal with
it. Since he was young, he has learned to toughen up, keep everything in, be
self-sufficient. He doesn’t want to ask for help, he wouldn’t know how, and he
wouldn’t know how to accept it. He would never have admitted to it, but he
wakes up in hospital after the aggression, he’s been examined thoroughly, and
everybody knows. Now he suffers from paralysing PTSD, the police doubt his
story, his teammates treat him like a pariah, and even his family and friends
seem to blame him for what happened somehow. His world collapses. He loses
everything. To start to get over it, he’ll have to unlearn everything he’s been
fed all his life about what it is to be a man, and rebuild himself and his
worldview from the ground up. The story was utterly gripping, the script was
fantastic, and I felt it had important things to say about what it actually
means to be a man in our culture. I wanted it to see the light, and I wanted to
be the one to do it.
CLIP. A scene from the film. In a hospital room, Thor as John D. is about to be
examined. He shoves the nurse off brusquely when she approaches. The doctor
goes through the horrifying list of injuries with a colleague, in hushed tones.
They address sly side looks to John D, who is trying to keep a stoic,
inexpressive front, but is clearly in shock.
Cut to images from the shoot, Thor behind the scenes in producer mode, with
Tony Stark and Ginny Potts.
 
I: As an actor, it must have been a very intense experience.
T.O.: Yeah, it was. But it’s what I enjoy the most. I like to go to the most
difficult, most extreme places in my mind, and put it all out there.  It’s
exhausting, but it makes me feel alive.
I: It was an extraordinarily compelling performance.
L.L.: Stoic characters ravaged by extreme emotions are my brother’s speciality.
He can convey ten different types of pain with the twitch of an eyebrow. And he
doesn’t even know how he does it, the b*gger.
(Thor keeps his eyes low, modest, but he’s grinning with delight.)
I: I felt it was very clever, how the rape itself is never actually shown, and
yet the horror of the experience comes through.
T.O.: Yes, I liked that about the script. You get it from the medical and the
police report, and from images, sounds, and situations that are apparently
unrelated but yet become triggering for John… And it’s probably worse than if
you actually showed the rape. There is always the danger of ‘pornifying’ it, if
you will, and we absolutely didn’t want that. You see the effects of the
violence in his body, in his thoughts, in how destroyed he is left by the
ordeal. You don’t have to see the ordeal itself to be horrified by it.
I: Let’s hope your performance and the film receive the recognition they
deserve in the big festivals to come.
T.O.: Thank you very much. More awards means we may be able to open in a few
more theatres and get more people to see it, so fingers crossed.
I: What about your role as a producer? How was that experience?
T.O.: It’s been an education. And a steep learning curve! I’ve enjoyed getting
involved with all the aspects of the production, and having a say in the
process and the end result. I cared a lot about the material, and for once I
officially got to have my voice heard in many decisions that, as an actor, you
sometimes just find already on the table when you get to the shoot. And it’s
been so much fun. 
I: The film had a very low budget. I suppose it has been quite a departure from
what you were used to.
T.O.: Yes, but it’s not the first time I’ve had to scale down, so to speak. I
think it was the distribution side of things where I’ve suffered the biggest
shock. We have had to work very hard to get this film to the theatres, so when
we have managed to, it’s felt twice as sweet. The publicity tour is another
thing I’ve taken in a completely different spirit this time. You always care
about the film, and you want to do your part to see it do well, but in big
budget Hollywood productions you’re on a treadmill; you go where they tell you,
talk to whom they tell you, you do what the contract says, then you go to the
hotel, and the next day you’ll do it all over again. This time I was the one
trying to talk to people about the film, trying to get them interested. It
wasn’t a chore. The festival run has been exhilarating. It’s been the most
exhausting publicity tour of my life, but also the most rewarding. So, overall,
I’ve found the whole process very energising. I’m looking forwards to the next
one.
I: What’s it going to be? 
T.O.: Well, we have several ideas in the works. We shall see.
I: But there is a play with your father first. Tell me about that!
T.O.: Hm, that started almost as a joke. My father has a love-hate relationship
with Tennessee Williams. I think he did some in his youth…
L.L.: (cutting him) He did. Beginning of his career. He was in Streetcar,
Iguana, Cat… and he wasn’t crazy about those plays, because except in Iguana,
he always played the sides; Cooper, Mitch… 
T.O.: (laughs) We don’t take to supporting characters too well in our family.
L.L.: (sarcastic)No, you don’t. 
T.O.: (laughs) Anyway, he is not crazy about Tennessee Williams, but he
sometimes says our family gatherings at one point were like one of his plays.
And one day we got talking about Brick and Big Daddy in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof,
and started talking about their relationship. And we’d bring out the play and
kept coming back to it, and at one point, Loki said that if we liked it so
much, we should do it. 
L.L.: It was ironic. It’s a bit like suggesting to a couple of married actors
that they should do Virginia Woolf. You obviously don’t wish them well. But
they took it seriously, god help us all. I also suggested I should play Maggie,
but you both pretended you hadn’t heard a thing in this case. Your loss.
T.O.: (laughs)We were not going to let you steal this one, baby.
(Loki blinks in surprise at the endearment, unusual in public. He looks so much
younger for a second.)
I: You already starred in this play.
T.O.: In an amateur production in drama school, yes. But this is going to be
something else… I’ve only worked the once with dad, when we were kids. I’m kind
of terrified about doing it again, with him directing and acting, really
daunted, but I’m looking forwards to it too. It’s no secret I really look up to
him and I admire him deeply as an artist. What we have already discussed about
the play and the characters is… well, it’s going to be intense. Revisiting
Brick ten years later, with my own father playing Brick’s father… (he covers
his face, suddenly overwhelmed) Oh dear, what have I got myself into…
(Loki is looking at him mockingly, and shaking his head.)
L.L.: Indeed.
I: What about you, Loki?
L.L.: What about me?
I: Would you like to work with your father?
L.L.: (considers it, measuring and calculating his words) Probably. It would
have to be a very special project.
I: You are at present in talks with the BBC to take part in the projected mini
series based on stories and poems by Edgar Allan Poe. Your father is going to
direct one of them. Any chance of coinciding?
L.L.: (enigmatic smirk) Maybe. Nothing set in stone yet. Who knows.
I: Tell us more about this project.
L.L.: It’s very exciting. It’s taking shape beautifully. Each episode is going
to have its own personality. Some will be paying homage to the style of Hammer
Studios, those classic, Technicolor, kitschy, adorable horror films from the
sixties and seventies, so it should be a lot of fun. Some are going for a very
modern, cutting edge, Japanese style of horror. Some I think will veer for
early 20th century German Impressionism. I’m going to take part in the episode
featuring the dramatised reading of The Raven, Annabel Lee, The Haunted Palace,
and so on — I’m doing the reading along with Jeremy Irons, Sophie Okonedo,
Indira Varma, Idris Elba, and others— and it seems the look of that will be in
the traditional romantic style — romantic as in the Romantics, capital R, old
ruined graveyards, crumbling Gothic cathedrals, so on. I am in talks about
acting in another episode or two, maybe in disguise, maybe CGI, we’ll see how
the schedule pans out. Anyway, it’s going to be really cool. Can’t wait.
I: Let’s talk about Lancelot. An extraordinary film in many ways. There was a
considerable delay between shoot and release. Did that have anything to do with
the reveal?
T.O.: There was a technical side to it. Peggy had a very clear vision of what
she wanted, and she’s a huge perfectionist, so post-production was always going
to be complicated. And, yeah, since there was no rush to release it, she was
able to take her time. 
I: No rush, because of the big reveal…
T.O.: (sarcastic) Yes, the lead actor got himself into quite a bit of a scandal
in his private life.
L.L.: ...With a member of the supporting cast.
T.O.: Yeah, that. To improve the film’s chances of being assessed on its own
merits, it would not hurt to let some time go by.
I: Some of the techniques involved were quite unique…
T.O.: There was a mixture of old-fashioned smoke and mirrors and CGI that I
think is hugely effective. Some frames were painted with actual oils and then
rendered and animated. Peggy used traditional, artisan crafts in really novel
ways, and some optical tricks that practically hadn’t been used since the birth
of cinema. She even learned to use some of the software herself, so that she
could convey more effectively what she wanted, and some new technology was
developed on an as needed basis to cater to what she asked for. The entire cast
renounced our salaries to pay for it, and a lot of the team took only minimal
wages. Peggy didn’t get anything herself… We were all excited about her vision
and wanted to see it come to pass. 
I: After so much effort and dedication, it must have been disappointing to see
the film being overlooked for the bigger awards.
T.O.: Yes. Especially for the visual effects team, sound effects, art
direction, costume, etc, it was a crying shame, and a huge injustice. It was a
great film all around; it deserved better.
I: Do you feel responsible for that in any way?
T.O.: There is always the doubt. What would have happened if we had waited to
come out until after the movie was released? I sometimes wished we had waited,
to give the film its fair chance, but I don’t think it was possible. I couldn’t
wait another year or eighteen months. We made a selfish decision, because it
was killing us. It was killing me. 
L.L.: But Lancelot was never going to bring a certain demographic to the movie
theatres. There was an outcry from the outset about the portrayal of the
relationship between Lancelot and Arthur as openly romantic, and there was the
hissy fit of a group of Arthurian scholars actively campaigning for a boycott…
The moment Peggy decided to go with that kiss, we had already said goodbye to
the box office race. 
I: It was quite an epic kiss. I’ve often seen it captioned with that William
Goldman quote from The Princess Bride: “Since the invention of the kiss, there
have only been five kisses that were rated the most passionate, the most pure.
This one left them all behind.”
L.L.: So unfair. Nobody talks about purity when we kiss.
T.O.: Peggy was very demanding. I think we must have done about twelve takes…
L.L.: Actually, she was perfectly pleased with the second. She was just
enjoying herself after that. As were we all. (smirking mischievously.)
(Thor rolls his eyes. He’s a bit flustered.)
I: In any case, Lancelot met huge critical acclaim, in spite of being shunned
at the Oscars. Peggy Carter is preparing her next film, about Indian
suffragettes, and Steve Rogers’ career also got a big boost.
T.O.: He had been struggling to be taken seriously as an actor. And he’s a damn
fine one. His directorial debut will help the audience see him more as the
complete artist he is. 
L.L.: He’s too damn pretty, that’s his problem.
T.O.: That’s never been a problem for you.
(Loki elbows his brother hard in the ribs.)
T.O.: (rubbing his side)Ow. 
I: And Loki, you did the seemingly impossible again, making people talk about
your Merlin almost as much as they did about your Morgan LeFay…
T.O.: I had help. The costume and makeup designers worked some true magic. I
had ideas, but they had the expertise. It was a thrill to watch it come
together. I’ve always loved dressing up, and I’ve always put a lot of thought
into my costumes. With this, I had absolute freedom, and the best imaginable
resources and artists to help me realise what I had in mind, and bring even
better ideas to the table. It was like falling into a barrel of cream,
honestly. And once I was in costume, the performance came ever so easily and
naturally. Merlin was wild and primitive, mystical and wonderfully strange.
Morgan… With all the stuff I had under those gowns to give me a female figure,
and with the gowns themselves, my posture changed, the way I walked… The wig
altered the way I held my head and turned and moved. So I’d say half of the
performance I owe to the costumes, and the people who created them.
I: There was an outcry when no big awards came your way…
L.L.: Quelle surprise, honestly. But in any case, I don’t bloody care if they
were trying to punish me for my personal life. It was a fair trade. I had so
much fun with those parts, and I am f*cking thrilled with my personal life.
What’s a couple of measly awards compared to that. I’d say thank you, but keep
the outcry for more worthwhile causes.
I: You did get recognition for your play Sonder, with a Borson Award for the
greatest theatrical achievement of the year. Do you think it was a nod, a show
of support from some of your colleagues?
L.L.: Yes, perhaps. I think there was a point being made there, a gesture of
defiance. It was a great moment all around. The play means so much to me. 
T.O.: I would say, though, that the board that awards the Borsons is known for…
L.L.: …Impenitent snobbery?
T.O.: (undeterred) ...For focusing on the art, and only the art, which is where
the huge prestige of the award comes from. They have never shown any regard for
commercial success or popularity, or lack thereof, or anything but merit. I
think they rewarded Sonder because they felt it deserved it.
L.L.: In any case, I’m sure winning helped to turn the tide in our favour.
T.O.: Then we have nobody to thank for that but yourself.
(Loki has a little smile, he’s worrying at the hem of his shirt like a shy
little boy, basking in the praise.)
I: What about the public mood? Do you feel accepted by people on the street?
L.L.: Depending on the street. 
T.O.: (laughs)Yeah, exactly. There are places in this world where our security
people won’t let us go. We’re talking a number of states in the US, several
European countries, several ultra-conservative countries around the world.
Which is kind of unfair to a lot of the people in those countries, who I’m sure
wouldn’t be anything but perfectly kind and polite if they should ever come
across us, but there you go. But I have to say, I have yet to get a really
nasty look from a stranger in the street, and instead, what we have had often
is people coming to us and say, “hey, I never knew who you were before, but
you’re being very brave, good for you, stay strong,” this kind of thing. Then
there’s a lot of people who just take the “live and let live, no skin off my
back” kind of approach. Then there are those who don’t want to care, who
rationalise it. They say it’s not really incest because we’re not blood, that’s
the most common. And then there’s the fans, of course, who are tirelessly
supportive, and mobilise to back us up at every public appearance and wrap us
in love and affection, and that means so much. Wherever we go, whatever we’re
faced with, we can always remind ourselves that there are thousands of
wonderful people in the world who wholeheartedly support us, and sometimes
that’s all you need to get you through an unpleasant situation, or get you over
a rough day.
I: In some ways, with young people, you’re more popular than ever…
T.O.: Well, at the moment, we are the Antichrist for a good deal of the
establishment. Kids tend to respect that.
L.L.: And we look good on a t-shirt.
(Thor laughs.)
I: How is it, being the most infamous incestuous couple since Anaïs and Joaquim
Nin? How do you cope with all the attention?
(They share a look.)
T.O.: There is a certain circus freak side to it, not particularly pleasant.
You do get the impression that people are looking at you and thinking…
L.L.: They’re picturing us naked and f***. 
T.O.: (chuckles, flustered.) Yes, that. As if that was all there is to it. 
L.L.: Yes, sex is no more than 85% of it, give or take.
(Thor laughs, covers his face, shakes his head in dismay.)
L.L.: (wiggles eyebrows)Give and take, actually.
T.O.: (laughs) Oh my god, Loki...
I: Although, if you’ll excuse me, I daresay they might do that even without the
familial bond.
L.L.: We’re photogenic like that.
T.O.: (laughs)How did we end up talking about this. Anyway, I believe that’s a
common occurrence with same sex couples? People have sex firmly on their minds
when they look at a same sex couple, in a way that doesn’t happen with straight
couples. It’s weird. And then there’s the celebrity part of it. I mean, just
look at Steve and Bucky, there is a craze to catch them doing the normal things
a married couple does… So it’s good to bear that in mind. It puts things into
perspective. It’s true that we get those boycott threats, and there have been
several incidents with wackos now and again, and yes, our movements around the
world are restricted, and we need bodyguards, and Steve and Bucky don’t, but…
We just get on with it. Whenever I feel tempted to moan about it, Loki is right
there to remind me it was me who wanted to come out in the first place, so…
I: Would you change anything?
T.O.: Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Not even the rough months before we decided
to do it. That’s when we learned what we were willing to put up with, and what
we were not willing to put up with. What was worth it, and what was not. I am
very glad we can live in the open now, that we can hold hands and look people
in the eye. It’s made us stronger.
(Loki is smiling and looking adoringly at his brother.)
L.L.: Yeah, no regrets. 
I: We asked the followers of our blog to submit their questions. We’ve chosen a
few. 
T.O.: Fine. Shoot.
Question from Marissa, in Ecuador. “If you could, would you like to get
married?”
T.O.: Hello, Marissa, thanks for your question. Uh… (Mutual look, Thor smiles,
Loki shrugs, he’s blushing!) We… uh, we already… We consider ourselves…
(Loki puts up his left hand, showing a white gold ring on his fourth finger.)
I: Oh, oh! Congratulations!
T.O.: Thank you very much.
I: Can we have the juicy details? Who proposed?
L.L.: It was all Thor. I’ve always known he was appallingly romantic, but the
traditionalist streak came as more of a surprise…
T.O.: What can I say, I like my symbolic pledges of eternal devotion.
L.L.:  (smirking with mischief) We also got matching tattoos.
(Thor arches an eyebrow in warning.)
I: May we see them?
L.L.: You may. But the camera better not, or you lose the family audience.
(Thor biting in a smile, neck and cheeks pink.)
I: (laughs) I see. Alright then, Question from Pure_Starlight, in Samoa. “How
does it feel to find out you’re in love with your own brother?”
(Silence. Mutual look, bashful smiles.)
L.L.: “It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah.”
(Thor smiles widely and warmly, flustered.)
L.L.: It’s not an epiphany. It’s a process. A slow and subtle dawning, if you
will.
T.O.: Yeah. It’s realising little by little that your feelings are complicated,
and getting ever more complicated and confusing all the time, and not having an
answer for what it is. Until… You know that Sherlock Holmes aphorism? Once you
eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the
truth. Switch improbable for unthinkable. And once I accepted that there was
only one explanation to all that confusion, only one that felt right and
answered all my doubts, and that this answer was, that I was in love with Loki…
hell, what I felt more than anything was relief. And then, knowing it was
reciprocated… Joy unbound. Jackpot. Loki is and always has been my best friend.
Falling in love with your best friend, and being loved in return —I just feel
so lucky.
I: Any feelings of shock, or revulsion? Denial?
L.L.: For my part, no. I’ve never felt much constrained by what society,
tradition, or religion said I should or should not feel. I’ve always felt a
little bit out of place. Or a lot. I’m used to swimming against the current.
I: That takes courage.
L.L.: Hm, I don’t know. It’s just what it is, a part of me as much as the
colour of my eyes or my anxiety. I didn’t ask for it, and I wouldn’t know how
to do it any other way. When my feelings for Thor began to… When I realised
that I was in love with him, in the usual, non-platonic sense, I just… Well,
that’s what it was, no point denying it. And since I’m not much for old-
fashioned notions of sin, or morality, or tradition, no point in fighting it
either. I don’t particularly relish in the sinfulness of it, is what I mean.
I’m just a bloke who’s happened to fall in love with this other bloke, who
happens to be my adoptive brother, that’s all. Just look at him, for f*ck’s
sake. Is it that unthinkable?
(Thor rolls his eyes, flushed.)
I: And you, Thor?
T.O.: Hm. Well, like I said, it was a relief, and it was liberating, to just…
face reality, accept that this was what it was. I wasn’t particularly bound by
religious or moral notions either —we come from a very open-minded background…
I: As your father’s reaction has proven.
T.O.: Yes. But initially, in the very beginning, I may have struggled a bit
more.
L.L.: You’re more sensitive to expectations. But that’s only natural, there
were always more expectations pinned on you. I was always the wild card, but
you were our father’s heir, the golden son. 
T.O.: (definitely bashful, regretful even) I think I made Loki suffer with my,
uh, my doubts at first. I want to slap myself now, for some of it.
L.L.: (sweetly)Leave the slapping to me, brother.
I: If I may, do you still call each other brother?
(They share a look. Loki shrugs.)
T.O.: It’s what we’ve called each other all our lives. Old habits are hard to
break.
L.L.: And we’re a couple of kinky f***ers.
(Thor laughs)
T.O.: And it’s what we are. We’re brothers. In everything but blood. I don’t
want excuses made for our sake. Some people are going to hate us no matter
what, so we might as well own it. I’m in love with Loki. I’m in love with my
brother. It’s what it is. No apologies.
I: From Jen F., in Nebraska, the USA, “Would you like to adopt?” Steve and
Bucky are in the process. Would you guys…?
T.O.: Uh, we… can’t. Definitely not as a couple. I guess legally we would be
able to apply as individuals, but it’s not like the people in charge of, uh,
dealing with the selection of acceptable candidates wouldn’t know, would they? 
L.L.: I think if we ever tried… I think it would become such a public process,
everybody would feel entitled to have a say, the controversy would be… God, I’m
exhausted already just imagining it. I don’t feel like opening that can of
worms, we have enough on our plates as it is. And I wouldn’t want to pass the
stigma on to the child. I am adopted, so it’s something that hits close to
home, but there are other ways to help.
I: The Asgard Foundation.
L.L.: Yeah. That’s one time-consuming, self-centred, spoilt little brat we’re
raising between the two of us… 
I: Recently you have become much more involved in it.
T.O.: Yeah. Our father told us it was time to do our share. Initially we were
reluctant, thinking perhaps our involvement would do more harm than good, but
dad wouldn’t hear it. 
I: Does a more hands-on approach means that you get to steer the funds to
causes that are dearer to your heart, like for example, mental health and
homeless youths? The foundation has been doing a lot of work on those areas
recently.
L.L.: Actually, the foundation has been working hard in those areas for a very
long time. My mother started the mental health charity when I was a child, and
Thor got us involved in already existing organisations working with homeless
youths, like Shelter and Centrepoint. What I have done is start a charity in
support of sex workers.
I: That branch has been the focus of some controversies... 
L.L.: Probably because it’s not about rehabilitation. Well, it’s not the only
thing we do. Sure, the charity tries to help sex workers who want to quit that
job, and even co-operate with the police in cases of abuse and slavery we have
been made aware of, and we offer rehousing, access to detox programs, access to
training for work or school, and we partner with sympathetic businesses to get
the people we help employment opportunities, but we also try to help people who
want to remain in their current occupation, and help them on their own terms,
with what they need, not what we or society or politicians think they need.
Anything from health care and medical advice specific to their situation, to
putting in touch people who wish to pool resources and rent a place, to be able
to do their job away from the streets, and be relatively protected from the
mafia, and help them with the legal side of things. It has been said that this
amounts pretty much to promoting prostitution, almost pimping. But we don’t see
it that way, and neither does the British legal system, so.
I: Another question by the readers. Aw, this one is very cute. It’s from K.L.
from… oh! From Warwickshire, right here in the UK. “How does it feel to be able
to kiss in public?”
(They share a look, both break into a broad smile.) 
T.O.: (still staring at his brother)Awesome.
L.L.: (staring at his nails)Yeah, not bad at all.
I: The first, shall we say, official kiss was at the Borson awards, only a few
months after the reveal. Was it part of the plan?
L.L.: Not, though it could have been. It was more of a “try and stop me”
moment. The play meant so much to me, and I just got the recognition of one of
the toughest juries there are, and I was out there in the spotlight with the
love of my life, and we weren’t hiding anymore, and for the first time ever I
was able to… Hell, of course I was going to kiss him, to hell with PR, I was
going to grab him and kiss him come rain or shine. Like I said, try and stop
me. Sorry, Nat.
(Thor’s smile is overflowing his face.)
 
CLIP FROM THE CEREMONY, the moment when Loki’s name is announced. Thor stands
up clapping, Loki shakingly stands up too, looking stunned. Thor hugs him,
holds his face, they stare. Loki kisses him, both close their eyes, and hug
again before Thor lets him go and pushes him along to go get his award.
I: From Leeloo in Japan. “Would you like to make a romantic film together?”
T.O.: (laughs) Yeah, I’d like that. I’m not sure whether the world is ready for
it, but… Yeah, I would.
L.L.: The world will never be ready for it, might as well just…
I: Any specific ideas?
L.L.: How about a genderbent remake of Body Heat? Put a chair through the
window to come ravish me and then kill my husband?
(Thor laughs, hides his face.)
L.L.: Wait wait wait wait. Dirty Dancing. I’m Johnny. You’re totally Baby. You
already have the blond hair and the tits… I’ll teach you the mambo.
T.O.: He’s always had a thing for Patrick Swayze in that film.
L.L.: Darling, anyone with eyes should have a thing for Patrick Swayze, in any
film. (eyes widen, he’s had an idea.)Oh my god! Genderbent remake of The
Bodyguard!
(Thor is looking lovingly at his excited kid brother.)
T.O.: Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.
L.L.: Oh god, you’re such a dudebro.
T.O.: Historical version. Gay.
L.L.: Wait, they were gay?
T.O.: Some historians claim that.
L.L.: You’re on. Will you take me for a ride on the handlebars of your bike?
T.O.: We can do that in a minute.
L.L.: Hm, how about that...
I: So, what’s next now for the both of you? What are your plans now?
L.L.: Well, I have at least another half a year touring the show in Asia, with
a break to work on the Poe project in the summer. There is something in the air
about a fictionalised life of Byron as a vampire… Don’t pull that face, Thor,
it’s actually a very cool project, the script is incredible. We’re still trying
to find the money for that. We’re not even clear if it’s going to be a film or
a play because it could be easily turned into either. And I may or may not
start first thing tomorrow to bug Tony Stark about making that remake of The
Bodyguard.Anyway, that’s what we’ve got at the moment.
T.O.: I’m going to be busy with the Cat, and then we’ll see what Tony, Pepper,
and I decide to go for next. But first of all, since Loki is going to be away
for a few months, and we’ll only be able to scrape up a few days here and
there, a short holiday.
I: Iceland?
L.L.: (grinning)Not telling.
I: We’ll end it here. It’s been an absolute pleasure and a great privilege…
 
Chapter End Notes
     I hope that covered pretty much everything?
     1. Wouldn't God of Mischief be FUCKING INCREDIBLE. You think T-Hiddy
     would be game?
     2. The Story of John D. -- totally made up.
     3. LET'S CROWDFUND THIS BBC-E.A. POE THING!!
     4. Yes, I have read some accounts that say Butch and Sundance were
     gay. Well, bi. Or that Sundance was madly in love with Butch.
     Variations thereof. Cool, eh?
     5. Omg Thorki Dirty Dancing AU, The Bodyguard AU... GIVE ME ALL THE
     TROPES!!
     6. *wipes little tear* Don't mind me is the last notes-thing I make
     for this fic, I'm a bit emotional. Did I miss anything? Let me know.
***** Chapter 38 *****
Chapter Summary
     This is where we leave them.
Chapter Notes
     Beta'd by Thorctopus, my partner in crime, many times saviour, always
     supporting and encouraging and always there to cheer me up, nudge me
     in the right direction, get me to dig a bit deeper and try a bit
     harder, and never give up, never surrender.
     Thank you Writernotwaiting. For your regular pick me ups and long-
     distance hugs and for always always being there and for your
     wonderful words of encouragement.
     And to all of you's who've left a note these last 6 months to let me
     know you were waiting for this, thank you. Thank you for every
     comment. Thank you for reading. I absolutely could not have done it
     without you.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
Loki woke up from his nap to a strange, watery light. He had to check his
pocket watch on the bedside table to know the time -late afternoon. On his
back, yawning, he looked around. Took him a second to remember where he was. He
was still pretty jet-lagged.
 “Thor?” 
The space beside him on the bed was empty and cold. They had slipped in it
together after the interview, once the crew had cleared, after signing a few
autographs, posing for selfies, and being personable with the interviewer. How
Loki had wanted to fool around. There had been some kissing, humping, and
rolling in the sheets, but once Loki was horizontal, it was a matter of minutes
before he couldn’t keep his eyes open. Well, he’d landed in London before dawn,
straight from New York, got driven to Asgard in a hurry, and made it there with
just enough time for a shower and a change of clothes. He so did not want to
think what he must look like in that goddamn interview. He’d winked at the
makeup girl when she said what a lovely complexion he had. A few years ago, he
would have bitten her hand off for taking the piss, but he didn’t do that
anymore, did he?  
It had not been the terrible ordeal he had expected. The interviewer was a
well-respected journalist, a familiar face from the BBC, sympathetic to their
whole situation, and a great fan. Loki had never met her before, but she’d made
them both him and Thor at ease very quickly. She seemed to find them charming,
and very amusing, and that had spurred Loki on. He might just have felt a
little too comfortable, actually. Nat, from behind the camera, had facepalmed a
couple of times, rolled her eyes a few more, and had seemed on tenterhooks
around some sensitive subjects. But through the wizardry of videoconference, he
and Thor had gone over the questions with her, days before the interview, to
make sure they were on the same page on certain issues which required a measure
of fabrication, editing, or doctoring of the facts, and besides the
increasingly brazen flirting, they had kept to the script like the seasoned
professionals they were. Once the show was over, Nat didn’t seem concerned.
That had to be a good sign.
Baring his soul had been as cathartic as it had been exhausting. Loki felt
scraped down to the bone. After three years of stubborn silence on the matter,
however, it felt good to just let it all out. And to leave a few necessary lies
carved in stone. Not that the conspiracy theorists would ever lay it to rest.
They unearthed footage from their early careers, and god, hadn’t they been
obvious or what. Like, Loki-boy, calm your thirst… Yeah, those rumours weren’t
going to dissipate any time soon, but as long as the mainstream media kept to
the gentlemen’s agreement of ignoring all of that and push the official
version, they shouldn’t be too worried. In a few more years, when Thor and Loki
the Couple had become boring old news, perhaps the bottom-feeders would poke
that hive again for some cheap thrills, but by then, his brother and he should
be fully established, and shouldn’t fear the truth rocking the boat too much.
Hell, perhaps by then they would be the ones wanting to come clean, if they
felt safe enough to do so. Loki did have a taste for scandal, after all.
But that was a matter for another day. The item on the list had been that
goddamn interview, and it was done and dusted, at last. Thor had been dreading
it for weeks, their first Joint Interview, and Talking About Personal Things
and all. Loki had mostly just got empathic jitters, and had been mildly alarmed
about some of the most thorny issues (would Thor just burst out with the
unedited truth? “Yes, we have always been in love! Yes, it’s always been
sexual!”) But nah, he had stuck to the official version like a good boy. After
all, Thor was no more a tangled ball of righteous anger, a coiled spring about
to give. And Loki could not put it all down to his magic touch. It’s more that
removing the stress about having to maintain so many secrets and lies will do
that to a man. Thor was happy these days, and it showed.
There would be a few more interviews on the subject in the near future, and a
top-up whenever public interest spiked for any reason, to defuse it. And there
would be a long, long tour of Asia, and Thor would be soon tied up with the
play in London, only able to visit every few weeks, and that royally sucked
indeed, but such was the life they had chosen. The compensations were more than
worthwhile, and so were the reunions. Loki had learned the hard way not to take
either for granted, and to try to enjoy fully what he had when he had it. For
now they were both in the same geographic coordinates, glory fucking
hallelujah, and even better, they were on a blessed holiday. For all of three
precious weeks, starting right now, their time was their own. Loki was so, so
not going to waste a minute of it dreading the day they would have to fly once
more to opposite ends of the globe, not until he absolutely had to.
But where was Thor, anyway. Loki got up, stretched, groaned. He was still
wearing the shirt and the suit pants, so he took them off. He rummaged for some
scruffs in Thor’s side of the wardrobe. They were nice and baggy on him, and
they smelled of Thor. 
His brother was not in the kitchen either. The house was silent; he must be
out. Loki would search the grounds soon, but first of all, he needed a cup of
tea. 
With the cup steaming in his hands, he shuffled to the music room, now restored
to its usual appearance. He nested on the couch with a blanket, cuddling the
mug. They loved that room, it was their preferred lounging nook whenever they
played old married couple -reading together in silence, sharing a blanket,
Loki’s feet on Thor’s lap. Looking around now, Loki noticed the new photos Thor
had put up since last time. There was one from last Christmas, the two of them
and their father on a bench in Frigga’s rose garden, taken on one of dad’s
cameras, with a goddamn timer(thinking about it, a selfie stick might have been
worse). The three of them sitting there like lemons, holding a smile, waiting
for the fucking thing to go off. They had needed several attempts. This one
must have been the last, when they had just been laughing sincerely at how
silly they were feeling. Nobody was staring at the objective anymore, his
father was half turning to tell Thor to check the timer was on, himself eye
rolling, Thor laughing at whatever Loki had just said. Bit blurry here and
there, but it was a very nice photo, actually.
They had been over for lunch in the London flat a few times by then, but that
had been the first Christmas they spent in Asgard with Odin since the Great
Reveal. It had been awkward, to say the least. Over dinner they had talked
mostly about work. It had seemed safest, until goddamned Cat on a Hot Tin Roof
got mentioned, again, and Loki couldn’t help himself from uttering that
fateful, “since you love it so much, why don’t you just bloody do it.” Only
time would tell how that would end.
In the evening, Thor lit up the fire in the music room. Loki had played the
piano for a while, with his father standing by with a glass of scotch in one
hand, the other on Loki’s shoulder. Then Thor brought out an antediluvian box
of board games Loki had not seen since he was ten. After much coaxing on his
brother’s part, Loki had sat down with him on the rug in front of the fire.
Their dad had refused to take part but looked on kindly, with a little,
blissful smile. Loki was the one with the reputation, but Thor managed to cheat
even at fucking snakes and ladders, the sly fucker. And then of course, made
Loki blush to all fucking shades of red playing footsies under the coffee
table, under their dad’s very nose. Jeez, his brother had no fucking shame.  
Then again, this was only the preview to the real highlight of the evening—
actually going to bed. Believe you me, folks, there aren’t many things
comparable to retiring to your boudoir with your adoptive brother, with your
father in the house, only a few doors down -your father who knows what you get
up to behind closed doors of boudoirs with your adoptive brother… Thor, kinky
bugger that he was, had gotten extra dirty on him that night. Loki flustered
even now, thinking about it. And to this day, the world believed that Loki had
done the corrupting in this relationship! Loki was impatient sometimes to get
to the “old farts with no fucks left to give” part of their lives, so that he
could publish their fucking uncensored autobiography and set the bloody record
straight on that account. 
 
Well then, that tea would take another half an hour before it was actually
drinkable, right? Ah, Loki-boy, you should have suspected you weren’t a true
born British person when you realised you couldn’t drink scalding hot liquids
like the rest of your family. 
Loki put down his cup, and went to fetch a warm coat and his wellie boots so
that he could go looking for his brother. He had not been with the golden oaf
for more than two months, and thinking about last Christmas had put some ideas
in Loki’s mind. Lots of catching up to do.
 
 
                                     * * *
 
 
After spooning his jet-lagged, sleep-deprived, mentally exhausted, snoring
little brother for a blissful hour or two, Thor had gotten a bit antsy. He was
impatient for Loki to wake up, but he knew well how much sleep, and lack
thereof, affected Loki’s mood. He should better give him time to rest, and
start this holiday on the right foot. So he carefully slipped out of bed,
tucked his brother in, and kissed him before he left. 
He didn’t have much to do, really. He’d arrived to Asgard a few days ago, and
got to the bottom of the to-do list very quickly. They were leaving tomorrow
for their cottage in Iceland, and Thor had already packed for both of them.
They didn’t need much, they kept all the essentials there. Thor had already
done the rounds of the house, taking notes for the housekeeper of things that
needed attention or mending. He always had emails to answer, but that could
wait. One thing he’d not been able to do yet because of the rain was spend some
time in the garden. He picked up the small tool kit and his phone and stepped
out.
Frigga’s rose garden was thriving. It would still be a few years before it
reached maturity —the climbers still had not taken over the pergolas, and the
bushes had not yet spread to full width— but it was already a thing of beauty,
and Thor was proud of it. He had a walk around, cutting the wilted blossoms,
taking pics with his phone to send to the head gardener whenever he spotted a
problem or a pest. And he thought out loud, mumbling under his breath.
“Look at you, doing so well. Good girl, I thought we had lost you to the
caterpillars. You’re feeling better now, aren’t you? …And you, sweetheart,
you’re such a stunner. I’m thinking we should put you somewhere on your own,
you’re such a show-stealer… Hm, what’s this? I thought we got rid of these
things. Damn bugs.” He took a picture, made a note of the little reference
number at the base of the rose. “I’ll send the nurse over, you’ll be right as
rain in no time.” He leaned in to sniff one, and hummed in delight. “Hm,
darling, don’t tell the others, but I think you might just be my fave, you know
that? You smell like heaven. I’ll cut a couple of flowers for Loki later, that
alright? He’ll want to put them in the music room, for mum.” He kept walking.
“He was saying the other day, on the phone, that he still talks to her in his
head. That he’d told her about this place, her garden. He asked if I ever talk
to her. He said I should try. I didn’t tell him I already do, in my way...” He
caressed the delicate petals of an old-fashioned tea rose. “One of each
variety. It’s impossible, of course, but we’re trying anyway. I mean, there’s
like a dozen new varieties every year, we have to be picky. Not that we don’t
have the space, but they have to be something special. We keep getting people
asking if they can name new varieties after her. We don’t know what to do. We
don’t want to cause a riff… What would she do?” Thor stopped himself for a
moment. “It’s nothing,” he told no-one. “I just, I say these exact same words
to myself so often. Especially when it’s something about dad. Or about Loki.
…Loki keeps saying this thing I find so depressing, that we can’t really know
her, that she was this… mystery. And I guess he’s right, to a point. Dad told
me only a few months ago she had been deeply depressed after Loki left. And she
never let me see, she never let me know it… I mean, I don’t know what I could
have done, I was a fucking wreck myself, but… He says she blamed herself. And I
just…” Thor’s eyes had got cloudy. “Did you die feeling like that? Blaming
yourself? Thinking you had screwed up with him? Oh mum…” He wiped the corners
of his eyes, and focused on deadheading roses in silence for a bit. 
“Loki says you saved him in there, don’t you know?” he mumbled after a while.
“You… you didn’t fuck up with him. You—you loved him the best of us all. That
love pulled him through the worst of it. Everything you did. It’s what kept him
going. You put something inside him, lit something inside him, and it did not
let him sink, it helped him get out of it after he hit rock bottom. And I’m
trying to do that for him now. I mean, he’s okay, he’s doing well, I wish you
could see him. But if he ever gets sick again… Jesus, I hope not. But if he
does. I’m trying to—to put it all in there every day, my love, you know, and so
hopefully, if he sinks down again, I’ll be there with him, in a way, and he…
God.” He sniffled, scoffed at himself.
He worked in silence for some time, gently leading some shoots to curl around a
trellis.
“Dad’s fine, by the way. Well, you know him, he’s not easy. I mean, he doesn’t
even make it easy on himself. But I think he’s fine. This new play has put some
wind in his sails. Loki says I’m insane for doing the Cat with him, that we’ll
end up murdering each other live on stage, but I’m… hell, I’m kinda looking
forwards to it. I mean, dad is not the way he used to be. He’s more chill. I’m
not too scared. Anyway, can’t really get out of it now. What will be will be.
“…Dad says you would have been fine with this. With-with Loki and me. But that
you were concerned that… You know, back then, we both felt so mature, so grown-
up, like there was nothing left for us to learn. It’s taken me all these years
for it to really sink in we were just a pair of kids. I understand now how
horrified you would have been, imagining what… God. Sometimes I wish we would
have… I mean, I don’t regret it as such, what happened happened, but I wish we
would have waited. I wish we had been older. Or I wish we’d… I wish maybe we
had left some, uh, things, for later. But I swear to you, mum, I never… I did
all I could to be good to him. I never tried to hurry him or… Christ.” His face
was burning, as if she was actually there right now, giving her that eyebrow,
the one Loki raised exactly the same way.
“I wonder if you ever blamed me. For what happened to him. When he-when he put
himself in hospital the first time. Loki says I’m a self-centred asshole and
that not everything is about me, by which he means to say very tenderly that he
does not blame me, but… I’m still not so sure. He had been struggling for
years, but when it all went to hell between us, that’s when he… And I pushed
him away. I thought then we were just falling apart, but I pushed him away, and
I…” Huff. “Let it go, Thor. It’s in the past. That’s what Loki says. What you
would say, maybe. And dad says all’s well that ends well.
“And we are. Well, I mean. Loki… he’s always been his own kind of amazing, even
at his worst, but now that he’s content with his life he’s like a supernova. To
think he could have just. Never make it this far. That he could have died.”
Thor struggled to swallow down the choke. “Without you by his side growing up,
he would have collapsed and imploded, I’m sure. And I don’t know what I would
have done. I don’t know what I’d do. I mean, I guess I’d live on. Dad is living
on. He didn’t just give up when you died, though I think he wanted to. But he’s
not. He’s making it count. For you. For us. He’s not the man he used to be,
though, he’s softer and kinder, but also… Hell, without Loki, I wouldn’t be me.
I wasn’t me for a long time. I was a different version of me that carried on
with things and was reasonably content, but I was only half of what I am when
I’m with him. 
“So what’s the secret, then? You and dad, forty years. Till death do us part.
Dad told me off that time, the opening night of God of Mischief in Paris,
because I didn’t send Loki flowers. I told him, but I already did when he
opened in London. He was appalled, like, horrified. ‘What’s the matter with
you, boy? You always send flowers on opening night! Always!’ I laughed then. I
mean… god, this situation gets positively surreal so many times. Remember the
pseudo-wedding? With dad there and all? I swear, if there was ever a time for
us all sinners to get struck by lightning…” Thor laughed. “But yeah, I now send
Loki flowers every opening and closing night, and sometimes in between, on
important dates, like, the hundredth performance or whatever. Dad approves. And
Loki approves too. Like, so much.” Thor blushed. “Sorry, mum, you don’t need to
hear about that.
“Anyway, it’s surreal, but it’s good. Life in the open, I mean. We can breathe
now. We’re good. Loki and me. We look after each other. We make each other
finish our veggies and brush our teeth and wrap up warm when it’s cold and all
that. We’re solid. We’re happy. I thought we wouldn’t make it, at one point.
Everything really started falling into place when we decided to come out. And
look at us now. I think you did good with us, mum. Don’t you? I mean, yeah,
there’s the incest thing, but you know, apart from that. We’re good people.
We’re doing well. We’re alright.”
“What are you mumbling?” 
Loki had appeared suddenly behind his back, startling Thor half to death.
“You nearly gave me a heart attack…” he gasped, hand on his chest. 
“Sorry,” smiled his brother. He was standing there in his wellies, wrapping
Thor’s coat around him tight. “Does talking to them really make them grow
faster or something?”
Thor smiled secretly to himself.
“Worth trying.”
“Are you going to play them Mozart too?”
“Nah, not today. I think I’m done.” He dusted his hands and sat down on a
bench. He patted his lap. Loki climbed on like a lazy cat. Purring, he wrapped
his brother’s neck in his arms, and kissed him slowly. There would be time for
frantic and urgent, but for now, Thor closed his eyes and took it easy. 
“Did you sleep well?” rumbled Thor, nuzzling his neck, peppering kisses on his
cheek and temples. “Feeling better?”
“Hm…” purred Loki, snuggling closer. “I could do with a nice hot bath.”
“Sure. How about a back rub.”
“You don’t mean the back, do you.”
“I didn’t say just the back, no.”
Loki made a contented noise, and rested his head on Thor’s shoulder. Thor held
him close. 
“Are we all packed?” asked Loki.
“Yup.”
“Sleeping bags too?”
“They’re in the cottage.”
“Hm. Can’t wait. I wish we could just teleport there, though. I can’t tell you
how much I’m not looking forward to getting on another plane tomorrow.”
“It will be worth it.”
“Hm.”
Loki nuzzled into his brother’s neck. Thor petted his hair slowly.
They were quiet. The clouds broke to the west, some pink and purple and gold
trickled through. 
“Atmospheric,” murmured Loki. 
Thor breathed in the smell of his brother’s hair. He was thinking of their mum.
And Iceland. And the many things spoken and heard today in that interview. And
Loki close to him, warm and safe and happy. He wanted to say something, express
in some way that this was important, that he wasn’t just sliding through this
moment unaware. That they had fought hard for it, and that he did not take it
for granted. That he fucking loved him more than he could say.
“Loki…”
“Hm?”
Where to start. How.
His brother raised his head to stare at him, expectant. Thor opened his mouth,
looking for words. The right words at first,then any words at all; none was
coming.
His brother smiled, mostly with his eyes, knowing, seeing. He kissed him
gently, a brush of lips, with his eyes closed. Thor smiled into the kiss, and
hugged Loki tight. He squeezed tighter and tighter.
“I can’t breathe, Thor,” grumbled his brother.
“Fucking finally,” laughed Thor, his eyes cloudy again.
Loki chuckled softly too, hugging back. After a moment, he pinched him. Thor
squirmed.
“Let go already,” said Loki, “or the neighbours will call the sop-control
brigade on us.”
Thor laughed and loosened his hold. He stroked Loki’s hair, his face. His
brother’s beauty still hit him at times, and he would observe feature by
feature as if he’d never seen him before. It made Loki a bit self-conscious,
but he didn’t complain. Much.
“How about that back rub,” said Loki, his eyes low, a lovely blush on his
cheeks. Thor smiled from ear to ear; well, damn, so I can still make you blush.
“Yeah.” Thor rubbed his eyes, his voice choked up.
Loki got on his feet and offered a totally unnecessary hand to help his brother
up. Thor must cut quite a picture, with his unspoken words and his teary eyes.
“Hey,” said Loki, and pulled a little mischievous smile. “Race you.”
“Race me?” Thor snorted. “How old were you again?”
“You don’t dare? Oh well, it’s fine, I understand. Sometimes I forget.”
“Forget what.”
“Your age.”
Thor snorted again.
“You’re hilarious, baby brother.”
“On the count of five?”
Thor shook his head slowly.
“Oh, come oooon…” said Loki. “Five, four, three…”
Thor gave him a solid shove, making Loki stumble back, and ran for it.
“Asshole!” screamed Loki behind his back. 
Thor heard him run after, and curse, “Fucking wellies!” He was laughing.
 
 
 
The end.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     *sobbing*
     So there we go. It's finished. The monster is finished. I wrote a
     fucking novel. I FINISHED a fucking novel. I can't believe it myself.
     Been with these kids since fricking November 2014. My first Thorki
     too. I have lots of feelings.
End Notes
     I'm incredifishface on Tumblr. I have a "dog inside the heart" tag
     for fanart, photos, manips and stuff that remind me of this 'verse,
     in case you want to check it out.
      
     The title comes from Federico García Lorca's "Ay, voz secreta del
     Amor Oscuro!", originally written as a painful lament over gay love,
     which in the early 20th century, in Spain, it was still very much the
     love that dared not speak its name and had to remain secret, even
     though it ached to proclaim itself out loud, proud and inevitable and
     yes, natural.
     I feel there is a very Thunderfrosty quality to this sonnet.
     "Oh secret voice of dark love!
     Oh bleeting without wool! Oh wound!
     Oh drooping camellia, needle of gall!
     Oh current without sea, city without wall!
     Oh immense night in sure focus,
     celestial mount rearing up in anguish!
     Oh dog in the heart! The persecuted voice,
     the mature lily, the boundless silence!
     Get away from me, hot voice of ice,
     don’t throw me into the wilds where
     fruitlessly groan the flesh and sky.
     Leave alone the hard ivory of my head,
     have pity on me, rip my sorrow to shreds!
     For I am love, for I am nature!"
     (the original version now, if you feel like comparing. It's
     exquisite.)
     Ay voz secreta del amor oscuro / ¡ay balido sin lanas! ¡ay herida!/
      ¡ay aguja de hiel, camelia hundida! / ¡ay corriente sin mar, ciudad
     sin muro!/
     ¡Ay noche inmensa de perfil seguro,/  montaña celestial de angustia
     erguida! / ¡ay perro en corazón, voz perseguida! / ¡silencio sin
     confín, lirio maduro!/
     Huye de mí, caliente voz de hielo,/  no me quieras perder en la
     maleza / donde sin fruto gimen carne y cielo./
     Deja el duro marfil de mi cabeza, / apiádate de mí, ¡rompe mi duelo!
     / ¡que soy amor, que soy naturaleza!
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