What They Do.

Long Way Home

And so prince Loki is back.
People push each other out of the way to get a better view of the returners; the whole search
company is back on their many mares, the top of the strangely silent parade led by Thor and his
lost brother. No high spirits accompany the prosperous mission, though, and thus no exultations
dare to break free from the gazing crowd around. But murmurs do.
"Look, they found him!"
"Where?"
"Over there!"
"No, where they FOUND him!"
"In Vanaheim they say."
"Oh no, he's back!"
"Nine, he looks dead!"
"Undead you mean-"
"And THOR!"
"The warriors say he was under some creatures spell – it tore him out of Asgard by magic and
sucked the life from him."
"What creature?"
"Maybe the one Lady Sif wanted him to track down – remember, wasn't this in Vanaheim?"
"But that was weeks ago! Why did it take him now and not then?"
"Because it didn't take him at all, you fools! He must have tried to take it instead, wanting its
powers for himself! That's why he made the Lady fail killing it! Overestimating himself, however,
he almost died in the end, that's how it was!"
"What? It was HIS creature I heard, not the one the Lady was looking for. He created it himself!"
"No matter, I still think he just did it all for jealousy of his king-brother ..."
"But what about his secret romance? Didn't he run because of that?“
"They broke up I heard."
"No, they fled together!"
"His lover was a man, imagine, and prince Thor himself saw them!"
"What?"
"He SAW them, Loki and his lover!"
"And aMAN?"
"YES already!"
"But THOR saw them?"
"Rutting like beasts!"
"Oh no!"
"So this is why he ran."
"No, WAIT, he turned his LOVER into the creature he was seen with in Vanaheim! He had to
get rid of him once they were found out, yeh? And then he sent him off!"
"Probably!"
"But why did he follow it, him, whatever, then? That doesn't make any sense at all. I don't follow
what I want to get rid of!"
"And wouldn't he have done so directly after Thor caught them? It was Sif who last saw him, not
Thor!"
"But you know his evil powers! Something went wrong and snatched him away when he didn't
expect it anymore, all just by accident. Ha!"
"Ohhhh, and this is exactly what people say he told the Lady in the library: that his sudden pangs
were from a spell he'd lately practiced!"
"See?"
"All Realms, and now he's back under Asgards roofs … heavens have mercy!"
"I wonder what they'll do with him now …"
.
.
.
Sometimes things all at once take such fast roads.
Loki remembers running like mad. And he remembers being followed. Darkness between tree
trunks, pale lights on the ground. And hooves. And horns. And Thor. Loki remembers how he ran
with a pace he didn't know his legs could handle. And that somewhen his lungs must have
imploded. He remembers running without lungs, without needing them. And Thor, he still cannot
explain this to himself, just didn't get him.
He glimpsed the golden stag. And thankful, desperately hoping to be allowed to escape into its
peaceful world at last, he blindly let it lead his way. And it did. Through the boughs and leaves it
told him he was welcome; Loki almost died as this enchanted creatures otherworldly words
caressed his sore, sore mind.
But he didn't see the abyss coming. And the stag couldn't know that Loki was of another nature
than itself. That his legs, no stags ones, were not meant to perform such a wide leap. And Thor
was at his heels, howling his name, daring him to stop. Loki couldn't stop.
He broke out of the forest onto a high hill. The sudden light blinded his eyes. And the slope was
so abruptly there. An instant and he already found his feet at the very edge, almost too late trying
to regain his balance and to throw his body back and against the spiraling, yawning chasm eagerly
pulling him down.
Thor caught him then, yelled his name into his ears. Too close, too loud. Like back on the
mountain. Loki remembers fighting Thors grip slung round his elbows and waist from behind. He
reared up, kicked and jerked and hit anything the back of his skull would meet; he must have
looked like completely gone brainsick.
The golden stag had long set foot on the other side and disappeared into the woods again. Lokis
eyes were tunneled into this direction of unreachable safety alone, they didn't really see the
warriors on their mares circling the horrid scene. Until his brother finally overpowered him and
pressed him belly up to the ground, still shouting his name with a voice Loki hadn't ever heard
from him before. Then he glimpsed the crowd. But it didn't matter. These people didn't matter.
Just as their gazes on him.
What mattered was that Loki had again failed to escape; but slowly this wound, torn open just
once more, rather numbed him instead of hurting.
He gave up. He didn't cry. He didn't say anything. And he didn't look at Thor. Or Fandral. Or at
Sif. Defeated Loki let himself be brought home like a prisoner. Thor was a gloomy raincloud at
his side.
What followed was but one flow of moments which should probably have been of unbearable
weight to him but somehow just didn't feel ... important; snatched from Vanaheim by Heimdall,
galloping over the long rainbow bridge and now through the streets and into the palace back
home.
Too many emotions explode in him as he looks into his mothers eyes. Too many at a time to feel
any of them at all. Not even as she falls at him and embraces his stiff figure and cries. Not even as
father, too, steps to his side to touch his head.
Thor stands but a few paces off, gulping hard and watching his brother and their parents with
highest caution.
Gently but fervent Frigga takes Lokis face into her hands, forcing him to meet her eyes again. Her
face is a mask of sorrow as she looks at him: "Where have you been, my child? What happened?"
His first impulse is to answer. He wants to grant his mothers aching heart some comforting
explanation. But for the first time of his life Loki feels like he hasn't ever had a voice to speak.
And just no tiny lie will come to his hollow mind. Like having lost both voice and language at the
same time. And the truth ... the truth wouldn't comfort her.
The truth won't comfort her. Once she knows. He distantly wonders why he doesn't have tears to
share with hers.
Odin sighs, touching first Friggas cheek, then Lokis shoulder with a calming pressure: "Can you
speak, my son? Can you hear us?"
Loki frowns and turns in his mothers hands to face his fathers testing eye. "Yes", he gets out
against Friggas thumb.
"Good. And do you remember who you are?"
"Yes, I …"
"Tell me your name."
Loki cocks his eyebrows. That's a joke, isn't it?
"Just speak."
"I am Loki."
"Go on", Odin carefully encourages him. That's really a joke, isn't it?
"Loki ... Odinson … ?"
The Allfather, that instant nothing but a worried and suddenly too old man, sighs again. A tension
leaves his body, almost impossible to see, but leaving him different: "You'll have to tell us of your
whereabouts these past two days. You'll have to try. Do you think you can?"
"Yes, I …", Loki repeats himself. But he slowly looks back to his mother; lids shut she takes a
shivering breath as if she just got away with a crime.
What did she say to father … 'what if he found out' … echoes through the back of his mind. But
nothing gives him any sense to cling to, every try to form a clear thought nothing but a free fall
through a void of mist. Like Loki's just not there.
Not many people are allowed to stay and participate in the conference directly convoked by
Odinfather; Loki stays, Thor does, some few warriors who saw him run after the stag. And Sif.
Fandral leaves with the Warriors Three; when asked who witnessed any details of importance he
didn't raise his hand.
But it doesn't matter. If Fandral doesn't say it now – doesn't chirp it right into the Allfathers face –
he'll spit it out another time. There is no reason to let false hope in to gash the wound of
disappointment even deeper once things come to be how they eventually must be.
Seated on the throne and hitting the ground one time with his scepter the Allfather fills up the
whole wide hall with the liquid, clear sound of opening the speech.
The warriors are asked to give a short report of what they saw. One after the other tells the same:
Prince Loki rushed through the forest and followed a golden stag when suddenly it leapt over a
chasm at which prince Thor finally caught him. Like spellbound he fought to break free again.
They are allowed to leave then. Now there are only the three of them left; Loki, Thor and Sif.
Kneeling before the throne. Well, Loki doesn't really kneel. He sits, suddenly too exhausted, his
head hanging low.
"Now tell me", Odin starts over again with a softer voice as he pats Friggas hand to his left, "what
you saw. Thor?"
"The same as everyone. Lokis back most of the time."
"And the stag?"
"Not in detail. A blur of gold."
"You blew the horn?"
No reply. A silence taken as yes. Odin sighs.
"And you, dear Lady Sif? Why did you raise your hand?"
"Because", her voice trembles, her body stings with visible tension, "I saw the golden stag not
only today. Today I saw not more than the others, maybe even less. But not long ago I asked Loki
to accompany me to Vanaheims forests. I wanted to hunt down spoken of stag for Thors
coronation. I heard of it to be unlikely tracked down by people without magic. This is why I asked
Loki to help me find the creature. And he did."
"Tell me more."
"I didn't know it would – I know it was unwise and I really, really shouldn't have -"
"Stop!" Sif jerks a little as Odins voice darts a pitch higher. But soft again he continues: "This is
not the time to regret what cannot be undone. It is the time to clear up what is. Tell me more."
She takes a deep breath before she speaks on: "We let Heimdall send us to Vanaheim. We landed directly in the forest. Barely there Loki was ... different. To say so. I sensed there was something
in the air. But my mind told me that was just him. Isn't he always that strange? I thought magicians
are that way, I-"
"Sif. What do you mean by strange?" This is when Frigga interrupts the scene for the first time.
Her face speaks of impatient worry.
"I'm sorry. He was like slightly … drunk. I don't really know how to explain it. He spoke of
'streams of magics'. I thought he was just a bit overwhelmed by the forest. And when we found
the stag on a clearing his behavior grew even stranger. I asked him to lure the creature nearer to
where we hid, maybe with an illusion or something similar, I don't know, I am unfamiliar with
magics. But he stood up instead and neared the creature like he was sleepwalking. And the stag
didn't run from him. With a bow ready to shoot I somehow knew there was something wrong –
but – and then the stag turned around to look at him, only a moment – and I shot. It vanished. He
said he lost its track and so we went back home. But all the way he smiled so … strange. I should
have told you, I should have known! But how could I have? I thought that's just him. I didn't think
of any danger. And I really couldn't have known the stags magic would reach him in another
realm."
"This is enough. Thank you for telling us now, Sif. It was very faithful of you not to remain
silent." Odins weary eye leaves her and turns to rest on Loki.
Lokis lids are shut. He should be expecting that it's his turn to speak now. Of course it is. But
somehow Loki's just not there.
"Loki", falls the word. A black stone thrown into a lake that seemed almost quiet only moments
ago. Loki feels attacked by foreign claws drawn through his limbs. Eyes flipping open he panics
back into reality.
"What happened after you and Sif left Vanaheim?"
His voice is gone again. There should be something, there should be any easy verbal way out of
this situation, something like I don't see how this is such a cause for trouble - I am no child and go
wherever and whenever I want to – and I would have come back soon. But that won't help him
now. Nothing would help him now.
"Loki?"
He lets out a questioning whimper.
"Did you feel called back to these woods? An urge to return to the stag? Did it call you?"
"I don't … know", he tries. Odin takes a careful breath.
"But the library, what happened there? Do you know that?"
Loki gulps, eyes staring like dead, scared to death as he is by that nothing hollowing out his mind.
There's nothing he could say. Never before has there been NOTHING on his tongue. He glimpses
Frigga hide her lips with one hand.
"Loki? Have you been in Vanaheim all along these last two days?"
"Wha- no … ?"
"Then where have you been? Do you remember, my son?"
"I was", his voice louder now Loki frowns and tries out any words but cannot make them fit his
thoughts because there are no thoughts, no sly ones to talk him out of this, "somewhere. I was
somewhere. Cold", the mountain, "distant", Asgard through invisible eyes, "strange", their bed,
THEIR bed, "I don't know. I'm sorry, mother." A helpless glance up to her and tears blur his
sight.
And sometimes things all at once really take unexpectedly fast roads.
Odinfather lugubriously decides to hand out a punishment: The coronation of Thor is to be
canceled and pushed forward for an indefinite time; not only the king but also his queen must be
ready and wise enough to rule. Lady Sif is to lay down weapons and armor for an indefinite time;
until she learns that glory must not lure one to risk someone elses life. Prince Loki is to be stripped
off his magics for an indefinite time; so that the fey abstraction leaves his volatile mind.
Lokis lonely protest is but a childish and defiant sob in the wide and empty hall. A sob in vain
against Odins well meant inexorability.
"It's for your best", his mother says as she winds the thin and unimpressive but horribly violent
silver bracelet around Lokis left wrist to bind his powers, taking away what always was the
greatest part of him, leaving him with no defenses and worth even less than before. She could
have cut off both his hands and feet, it wouldn't have felt so much different. His stolen magic
leaves a hole to only widen this void already replacing most of him.
They insist on him seeing a healer. And suddenly Loki is all sober and alarmed again. Though it
doesn't even matter. His parents will know, in the end somehow they will. Why not through the
healers? But, in a strange and ridiculous way it very much matters to Loki if they find out in his
pitiful presence or, Nine have mercy, after he's allowed to crawl into some deep, dark hole and
hide from their faces the instant they crumble in shock.
No appeasing, however, no moaning, no cursing, no begging for being granted to keep himself at
least some dignity gets him out of it.
Odin and Frigga don't understand his antipathy. Much more it gets them deeply askance and even
more unsettled. But at least Loki manages to push them far enough from himself this way so that
they don't insist on literally holding his hands as he lays down on the healers cradle. Instead they
retire, secretly hoping for him to eventually turn to them once he's ready, and leave him in the
healing rooms with Thor instructed to have a pair of hawks eyes on him.
Loki, somehow too cruel to care, glimpses the hurt on his mothers face. And just too weary from
all this past and present panic he finds himself able to bear it. It could be worse. They could both
be much more disappointed.
It WILL be worse, he reminds himself. They'll execute me. They'll have to. Once Asgard knows the
people will not be denied my death.
It doesn't scare him as his vision fades some heartbeats long.
The healers scan his body with their vibrancies and crystals and cubes and lights – he should have
fought them but, no, really he couldn't have – and they scan all of him. And they heal all of him.
But the fact that they do so silently unaffected and without making faces doesn't comfort him at
all.
It's out.
It's out that somehow, somewhen, something tore prince Lokis backside open like an unripe fruit.
And that somehow, somewhen, something chewed his knob like a hungry dog chews a bone.
This is when Loki plainly accepts the world as his enemy, silent tears running down his temples
and into his hair. Thor stands guilty in the doorway and looks down to his feet.
It's out.
But his foolish heart, Loki must come to discover, just won't let him give it all up that soon,
although beating faster and ready for battle once more cannot be anything but in vain.
They don't know what Fandral knows. Maybe it's not yet too late. Gods, he knows he'll hate
himself later for hoping at all. But maybe it's not yet too late.
Once Loki's allowed to stand up the brothers rush down the hallways; Loki stalks ahead in barely
hidden rage, rage that surprised even himself when it suddenly filled him with a strong new living
will. Ignoring Thor at his heels he runs his fingers through his hair over and over again, eyes
darting into every direction, shooting everyone a glare of concentrated poison who dares to stare at
him.
He might have lost his magics (what makes him feel stripped of gear and clothes and skin) and he
might have lost his pride (and soon everyone will point at his back with their fingers and laugh
and gasp if they're not already doing) but he didn't lose his life yet. NOT yet. At least his
ridiculously weak body, without magics feeling no more but a mortals or, fitting even better, an
ants one, just gained back its pathetic maximum of health … and he has this rage keeping his
limbs in motion. Oh yes, Loki made up his mind; he is officially at war. And especially with
ONE.
"Brother", Thor charily tries as they pass Lokis chambers by. But Loki storms on without mercy.
"Brother, wait a moment."
Loki only speeds up his pace. The deep sigh from behind alarms him but he already knows he
cannot stop Thor from overhauling him, from blocking his way with this all too broad chest, from
laying both his palms onto his twitching shoulders with warm but rigid weight, forcing his body to
stand.
"Loki. Wait a moment."
Loki snarls, his cutty eyes already wandering somewhere else again.
"So, WHAT are you looking for? You really, really need to rest now. Come, please, just - what –
Loki, look at me!"
"FANDRAL", he spits, locking his alert eyes so abruptly with Thors it makes the Thunderer
flinch. "Get me Fandral into my chambers. If you do I'll wait for you there." And as Loki watches
his brother gulp uneasily he knows that he knows of what urgent background his command is.
Taking a sneaky step backwards and out of Thors grip Loki grins in bitter triumph.
"… good", Thor says. But it shows that he doesn't like the thought of leaving Loki alone. It's just
that Fandral could be anywhere now. And he doesn't want Loki to run down the whole palace
with him, probably collapsing in the end, in spite of the healers efforts still delicately disordered in
a most apparently touchy way – both physically and mentally.
"But you promise not to disappear - promise not to do this to me again!" Thors face is grave like
the gravest childs face. Almost cute in his attempt to extort obedience from Lokis guilty
conscience, to be honest. But Loki doesn't have a sense for tenderness now. Impatiently he rattles
with the silver round his wrist, making any verbal reply needless.
Disappear – with what?
"But … you also won't jump out of your window. Promise to. Loki, I mean it, I KILL you if you
jump out of your window!"
Yes, try and kill a corpse, doofus. But the hurt in Thors eyes, no matter how short tempered Loki
might just be, is too tragic and too real. Loki gulps. Gulps down all sentiments.
Pointing to his head he says: "Still that slow up here, hu? I don't promise anything to you, but be
assured that I do not intent to die before I get the chance to rip Fandrals tongue out. No go already.
And bring something to eat, I'm starving."
Suddenly Thors eyes are wide again: "… you haven't eaten since - ?"
"GO!"
And then Thor's off on loud large feet like a good dog retrieving what he's told to.
"Don't forget FANDRAL", Loki shouts.
"WON'T", echoes the answer from around the corner. And Loki sighs, knees suddenly trembling
in exhaustion again. As if his every single step he raced today darted right back into his limbs.
Only moments later Loki sits slumped into his armchair. Waiting. Shivering with an unnatural chill
– it isn't cold in his rooms, yet there his teeth chatter and goosebumps crawl out of his skin. Head
aching badly now and only just forcing himself to stay awake Loki feels it was a grave mistake to
let Thor run for his idiot friend alone. Seating his body to rest let Lokis adrenaline fall rapidly. He
should have kept running. He shouldn't have sat down. It's only moments later but the wait
already KILLS him.
Then there's a knock. Loki sits up. But Thor wouldn't knock, would he? He'll probably break the
door down once he's back, all eagerness to fulfill his holy task. Loki frowns. But he slaps himself
on both his cheeks to come back to the living once more, only a heartbeat long fearing he won't be
able to stand up – but he's stronger that he thinks.
He opens the door to Sif. An utmost serious looking Lady Sif wearing a dress like all these
ordinary maidens shrieking so loud and so high as to deafen their heroes ears whenever danger
reaches out. Utterly unexpected and ridiculous and by no means fitting into the situations as she is
Loki can't help but burst out into hoarse guffaws. Not that he's any kind of amused.
She sighs, anger flushing her face. Taking a deep breath she says: "Fine, I possibly deserve that
..."
Loki doesn't even listen. Laughing streams of tears now the visions of all he witnessed her doing
the last days flood his sight and ears and throws him into flashbacks of consternation, gloating,
burning jealousy and hate, a tiny piece of empathy and the suddenly too strong urge to vomit.
'Our bed.'
Well, almost too strong. He manages to keep it in. But not his laughter.
"Loki-"
Now he finds his voice and his words in the back of his throat, all he thought lost when he knelt
before his father.
"No, Sif! Spare us, please", he giggles, "I don't have the nerve for any useless, ridiculous, pathetic
and not even honest words now – to be precise I might only have ONE nerve left after all, and this
one I need for something WAY more important than your awkward try to wash your honor clean
from whatever gnaws your concience." He nearly chokes and shoos her off like a biddy before
wiping happy tears from his face although he isn't happy and way too tensed to be sad. Breathing,
letting his laughter ebb away in chuckles, Loki manages to get himself together again.
Nose up high she glares at him, snapping: "So … are you done?" Seems like she really still
expects him to listen to whatever bullshit she wants to annoy him with.
Plain faced he grins at her in an intensity that must be making her secretly cringe: "Greet the
ginger guard from me."
He doesn't get her reaction – and really, though any other time he would have LOVED to taste it's
flavors out to the last drop the missed opportunity doesn't even matter now. As he slams the door
shut again the smile abruptly falls out of his face. Confused he tries out breathing. So. At least Sif
wasn't just a bare waste of energy after all. Wide awake, heart pounding like a monstrous drum,
vision sharpening with every beat Loki isn't cold anymore. Instead he's sweating now. But that's
better. Isn't it? Somehow he doesn't feel his legs. But they keep standing and pacing for him
nonetheless.
When Thor is back he brings a plate stuffed high with anything meat that must have been able to
fly around Asgards roofs once it was alive. At his heels stalks Fandral in, awkwardly knitting his
brows and carefully closing the door. Lokis eyes directly drill themselves into Thors bearded
companion. They're needles biting into their victims flesh. Fandral mutters some hello under his
breath.
Now that the gossip dong stands here in person suddenly he doesn't seem half as dangerous as
only moments ago. There is a realistic chance he hasn't spread the deathly word yet. And if he did
– Loki will see to his suffering. He just doesn't yet know how. But he will. A grin wants to spread
itself open in his cheeks as he feels his mind fill up with his old self again, cunning, cutting.
Winning.
Oh yes.
One heartbeat he's distracted, though – and he wants to curse Thor for it – by the sound of
porcelain hitting the table. Lokis eyes glance over to what his brother brought with him at all. He
didn't really look until now. And as suddenly the goddamned heavenly scent of fried chicken
tickles his nostrils with cruel deliciousness Loki almost whines, gulping hard at the sudden water
teasing his hungry mouth. He straightens his back and catches his breath to stop his stomach from
rioting out loud.
But even before he gets angry at how his just regained concentration scattered into a thousand
shards due to silly food his eyes catch sight of EXACTLY what he needs now. Thor brought fork
and knife. A sharp knife. Not too bulky. But impressive nonetheless.
Loki grins and slowly stalks towards the table.
"You know why you're here", he addresses Fandral.
"Ahh … quite so I guessssss"
"Have you told anyone?"
"No! Behold, NO! I know I'm not the most trusted with secrets, but - !"
And Loki takes the knife, rasping it with an aggressive speed across the table as he does. Leaving
a deep mark in the wood. Thor sucks in breath, his chest tensing in alarm. Fandral, too, senses the
rapidly changing atmosphere.
"Oh … okay", he nervously starts, "no offense, Lokes, but this is ridiculous. No need to threaten
anyone. Not that you'd stand a chance against me, but -"
Chuckling Loki shoots him a dangerously adorable glance. "I know", he says. And lifts the knife
to his own throat.
Fandral lets out a startled sound and backs one pace off, palms held open in front of his chest. And
Thor freezes where he stands, losing an utterly terrified gasp.
"But this rather frightens you. Doesn't it?"
Thor whines again.
"See, Fandral. I just need to make one thing clear: If any of what you came to know lately ever
leaves your mouth …", and at this he playfully slides the glinting blade across his skin like
stroking himself with a feather. A tiny drop of deep red blubs out an invisible and tiny cut. Fandral
gulps. And gets it.
"Sure, I -"
"Thor would be so mad with grief … if I came to harm. Wouldn't you, brother?" Loki doesn't
once release Fandral from his glare.
Thors face is like cut out of hardest wood as he presses out: "Loki, I DARE you!"
"See his temper", he chuckles again, a lovely smile adorning his face, "He'd need someone to beat
his wrath into. He always needs an outlet."
"Oh. Oh-kay", Fandral pants and tears his hair, sweat forming on his forehead, "Fine! I HIGHLY
promise to never talk about it – no, to FORGET it, to NEVER HAVE SEEN it! Just – Norns, get
that THING from your throat! No one needs to die here. And no one needs to be an outlet. My
mouth is sealed. Forever!"
Loki brews him with a glare. Testing. Fastening his threat.
"Nine! I promise, I PROMISE!"
One, two, three heartbeats. And Loki sighs. "Alright. I believe you." He lets his arm cozily slump
to his side. But he doesn't lay the knife down yet. The room relaxes in such violence it's like the
air was firm enough with tension to touch, to keep their three bodies in place, and now it melts
away around them. Fandral goes pathetically to his knees and Thor stamps towards Loki in
serious distress.
"GIVE that knife to me", he groans as he tries to unwind the nasty weapon from his brothers
hand. But Loki's too fast and far too agile for his perhaps passionate but plump attempts. With a
swirls of his wrist he escapes Thors paws and brings the metal right back to his throat, a bitter
smile widening on his face. Throwing his hands up into the air Thor gives it up and takes a step
back again. "Will you PLEASE stop that, brother!"
"Not now that I know you care", Loki purrs. But then his grin slowly falls out his face and makes
silent place for something weary. Turning around once more to face Fandral he points at the
warrior with the blades evil tip: "Don't forget what I said."
Standing up on shaky legs Fandral fervently shakes his head: "Never." And then, groaning, he
already wants to just get his ass out here and leave, get out this insane room at once. But, laying
his hand onto the door latch, that same old leer steals itself under his beard again. And he turns
around one final time.
"Just … out of pure curiosity", Fandral starts sneakily, slightly blushing in his smile, "all along, I
mean, Blondie, ahem, no offense, Thor, but that was you?"
No tongue says a word. But eyes tell stories. Fandral gulps and nervously rubs his cheeks.
"And the one working Lokes when I sat and watched the windows … for hours … ?"
Loki ends up in a hysterical cough and Thors face is a tomato.
"Oh, I mean, wow. Congratulations. For the, ahem … outstanding patience."
And as Thor groans in shame Loki can't help but giggle until big, round tears roll down his pink
blushed cheeks. He needs to curl around his cramping belly for a good degree.
"LO - KI", Thor hisses out. But Loki only replies in even harder laughter, louder, fuller and
finally open mouthed. Voice hoarse and breathless he squeals: "Sorry ... but you SO deserve that,
brother!"
A while they remain like this, Thor glowing in shame, Loki coughing his lungs out and Fandral
grinning half awkwardly, half amazed from one brother to the other. Just as Loki breathes himself
back together, or at least tries to, and Thors face almost resembles a normal skin color again, Fan
promises one last time: "So, dudes, my mouth is sealed. Really."
And then he bows and takes his leave.
Thor closes the door behind Fandral with a hanging head and a burning neck. And Loki instantly
throws himself at the food damping on the plate, all else around forgotten at once. Only then he
finally lets the knife clatter back onto the table. Like a wild beast he snaps for the first chicken in
reach. With bare teeth and fingers he greeds the hot, delicious, spicy meat from the bones and
swallows with unstoppable appetite, just barely chewing, more and more and over-more, letting
out a groan at how hungry he suddenly is. Some bites are even large enough to make him use his
fingers to stuff them down.
He doesn't get further than one bird, though. The realization of having survived, having REALLY
survived, hits him out of nowhere and calms him so rapidly down as to end in deep exhaustion.
Panting Loki closes his eyes. Only just he shoves one last bit of chicken into his mouth, swallows
his trembling fingers in to their middle phalanx and gulps. The bones flop out of his hand as he no
longer cares to cling to them, completely distraught now. Three nails still digging into his tongue
he sucks the meat juice from his own skin. Blind like this he pants through his nose, all air sucked
in a sigh, all breaths shot out a moan. And he slightly stumbles forward, dizzy now, just a little
dizzy, catching the edge of the table with his free hand for support. And then he slowly lets his
fingers slip out his lips with a slick noise.
He survived.
Loki opens his eyes. And there's Thor. The worst is done. Loki's breathing and won't stop that
soon. Whatever's yet to come, humiliations, punishments, nothing will cost him his life now. They
don't kill people for marks of abuse on their bodies. They don't kill people for gay rumors. They
don't kill princes for disappearing and showing up again, for maybe ruining some spells, for
demolishing a library. And Thor's here with him and loves him. Loves him.
Why can't this just feel good?
Loki yearned for this ever since they did what they do. Secretly. Desperately. But now that it's real
it's awkward. Really awkward. Not to mention how clearly Loki suddenly feels his body stick and
smell from three days old sweat, Nine, he needs a bath IMMEDIATELY. His hair's an oily bird
nest on his head. And Thor just stares. Something's so wrong with that look in his eyes.
"Suddenly I'm not that sexy anymore, hm?" Loki grins, but the sarcasm doesn't really want to
sparkle from his tongue. So he hurries to glance away, idly wiping the corners of his mouth clean
from chicken fat, and tries not to let his shame show off too easily.
Instead of responding anything Thor storms to grab for the knife lying somewhat off the plate and
hurls it out the window so abruptly and with such a strength it makes the air fizzle and Loki
shrink. Thor tramples around the room and gathers all objects looking sharp and dangerous to
send them off the same fateful way down the outer palace wall with too horrid anger carved into
his face. Lokis heart skips a beat at the brutality all at once taking over his terribly strong and
powerful brother. Too well now Loki feels the weight of the bracelet binding his powers to
nothing but a lack leaving him at the Norns mercy all vulnerable and without chance to defend
himself or flee at least. Alarm shrieks through his veins as black bellied rainclouds conquer the
skies with chasing bolts and thunderclaps. Darkness and cold steal their ways into the room.
Thors chest heaves like a machine once he stands. He lets out a shaky groan, his whole frame
close to bursting into a thousand lightnings. And then with a really, really frightening glare he's at
Loki like never before. Loki almost laughs at the absurd speed he's thrown down into his sheets at
the far side of his chamber with. But he can't, no air to laugh stays in his lungs once Thors weight
mills him into the mattress.
"This is an ugly, ugly game you're playing, brother", Thor grunts into Lokis neck. Then he heaves
his body up to his elbows and seats himself astraddle on his captives waist like a rock.
Before he knows what's going on – and why – Loki sees his own scrawny arms fight the
ferocious bull towering above him. But Thor only catches both his wrists and pins them down
with force, eyes glaring in the hottest of fires – blue fire. Gritting his teeth he grimaces, a vein
pumping dangerously out his temple. Lokis heart squirms up his throat. That grip on his wrists is
firm enough to terrify. As is that ripe bulge between Thors muscular thighs digging into Lokis
belly like an iron fist, throbbing more from outrage than anything else, it seems.
"WHY", Thor booms, "CAN'T YOU JUST STAY ALIVE?"
At this, against his panics better knowledge, Loki scoffs, utmost baffled and huffy all the same:
"Wha – but that's what I just DID!" It's of no use, though. A flash splits up the skies and rain beats
down onto the roofs of Asgard. Thor's deaf and blind in his rage.
"You want me to love you - and I don't – and I'm going CRAZY thinking you killed yourself!
And you want me to love you - and I DO – and you drive me MAD with -" Thor chokes, coughs
out a sob.
"I HAD to handle Fandral this way, you freaking shmoe! All I did was ensuring my survival!"
"SHUT your false mouth, LIAR! Two times I almost saw you die today, TWO TIMES! But
you'll see, I'll give you REASONS", he more threatens that promises this as his angry paws rush
to rip open Lokis tunic, "REASONS to LIVE!"
Loki gasps, a shock of horrid abasement clutching strings of ice into a nest all through his guts.
Thor rips Lokis shoulders free from cloth, forces his wrists back over his head, exposing his armpits to both of them.
And Loki smells himself – sharp sweat nonstop cooled down and heated up again these past days
between ferociously being taken by Thor on the mountain, shivering through the grim night on the
throne and eventually running after the golden stag and for dear life itself. Gods, he smells it all.
All his failures.
Hideous.
"Let go", Loki demands. Thor snakes his strong neck down to lick his jawbone and take a deep,
deep breath of him instead. And as he bucks his hips against Lokis tummy a new thunder
accompanies the move with a growl high up in the clouds.
No.
Lokis doesn't want Thor to want him like this. He doesn't want himself like this. It's just offending.
And least of all he wants to be coerced!
"Let GO", Loki shouts and kicks with all his legs can give. But he doesn't get his heels on
anything but air. A squall howls round the palace in a dark triumph.
"Not this time, brother..."
Loki wails, ugly memories pulling at his hair. A heartbeat long he's back up on the mountain.
Thor's at his earlobe now. Thor's sucking his earlobe, sliding his tongue behind it, wetting the dip
hidden there underneath. Soft but relentless lips claim Loki and will not accept any protest. There
is that wicked, lazy hint of this is only the beginning, stubbles, too close, far too pleasured smacks
… and that damping flame of breath Thor's thrusting out his nostrils into Lokis hair. Oh.
Lokis lids flutter. His spine yearns his chest up at the sudden sensation. And his bare skin brushes
the rough fabric of Thors tunic, a cold metal button teasing, nettling Lokis nipple (the left one).
Like a shrinking violet he feels this tiny touch curl in and out his every limb. Dizzy Loki gasps
and shuts his eyes. But he's not enjoying this half as much as his body wants him to believe. That
panic coiling up his stomach isn't there for nothing. He's helpless. Without his magics Loki's
helpless like never before.
Not that his spells were any other kind but healing and illusions. Not that any kind of illusion
would have stopped Thor on the mountain.
I could have said no. But could he really have? The ceiling starts spinning in pulses above Loki.
And though it's not the mountain caves ceiling it's a ceiling he's facing. That means he's just once
more forced DOWN.
But Thor promised to never hurt him again, didn't he? He wouldn't … ? He won't, will he?
Breathe. Just breathe. It's not like then. It's not-
A lewdy moan hums in the cave of Thors mouth as he takes a new, even deeper breath in. The
rain washes in a sudden wave down on the roof and halfway into the open window. Loki feels all
too sick.
"Stop getting yourself horny with my odor, I stink like Hel!"
"You smell like you."
"Oh, thanks. Really. THANK you. I'm so flattered."
Thor chuckles. And in the distance rolls a thunder in reply. "I love you."
Eyes wide Loki snorts out a pathetic sound, heart thrumming at how much he's out of control of
this. Again. He turns his face away, half unruliness, half panic, but only gives Thor more of his
neck. And Thor doesn't miss the opportunity and just kisses like he did in Vanaheim, little sighs
lolling like vibrancies out his lips. He grumbles as he's just above the little cut Loki sliced into his
skin, murmuring: "But I hate you for that", and pressing the tip of his tongue against it Thor forces
a hiss from Loki; plus a new wave of struggling to break free.
"Now let go of my wrists! I can't feel my fingers anymore." That's a lie, goes without saying.
"Mmmm-mmm", Thor hums against his skin, "no tricks, brother", each word followed by little
nips, "not this time", and Loki squirms again, "just calm down", gulps again, "give it up", whines
again, "enjoy …"
Loki can't breathe. Thor's just so heavy on his stomach, squeezing his body flat like paper. And
he's just too gently carnal as he gives Lokis larynx that nibbling. Gods, the weight on his torso
starts to make Loki feel far too lightheaded. All his blood pumps down his body, surely meant to
reach his feet for the great escape, never getting there, though, and instead ending struck in that
vicious pulling between his thighs which calls all his inner fire to slowly, slowly crawl there.
Under other circumstances Loki would love this. And dangerously much he already does. But the
matter of fact that he pretty much is a beyond filthy skunk right now ruins it for him. As does the
distinct memory of things like these going horribly wrong. Instinctively he squints his buttocks.
And so Loki decides he's desperate enough to take a mouthful of Thors golden hair between his
teeth and rip as hard as he possibly can.
Thor howls out and backs off, both his hands shooting up to his head. Lightnings flash. Loki spits
out some loose hairs sticking to his tongue and lets out a rough, disgusted noise, eagerly pressing
his arms to his sides again.
"LOKI! Must you be SUCH a beast?"
"You're FORCING me! And get off now", Loki punches Thors chest without greater effect,
"OFF I say!"
Thor bristles and groans at him: "FORCE you? You're starting THERE again? Loki, we've HAD
that!"
"OFF!"
"NOT until you CALM DOWN, Nine and anything beyond! Not until you SEE that you CAN'T
just do such things like JUMPING OFF CLIFFS AND CUTTING YOUR THROAT!"
"Fine! So what's the plan now? Fuck me sane?"
"Maybe LOVE you sane!"
Oh sweet. Once more today Loki just can't but guffaw.
"RAPE me sane, you m-"
As Thor all berserk tries to silence him with a hard (slick, Nine, so slick) kiss Loki finds his nerves
throb in a sudden wave of lust and passionately bites his brothers too delicious tongue.
"BEAST", Thor shouts as he pulls away again.
"BLONDIE", Loki spits right back. And leers heartily amused at how his brother gasps at this
silly name. Welcome home, tomato-Thor.
"Oh, TAKE that back, Loki."
"Take what back … Blondie?"
Nine, Thor bristles SO BAD. And blushes even more. Lokis giggles are painfully hoarse now. As
a lightning flares closer than any other before he squeals at the slashing sound. But only to cackle
even harder once its gone.
"What's so FUNNY?"
"Nohohohohothingmmmmmh-hhhhhh-hh-h-h!"
Thor roars. But, wringing his hands, he compels himself to breathe his useless wrath away. Or at
least a little aloof; the tempest softens a bit and crawls to take some distance. Loki wheezes.
"Good. I ought to be gentle. But you seem to want it rough. Now tell me, brother, what is
THAT?" Thor reaches behind his back to squeeze Lokis by now very sensitive and very erect
length through his trousers.
"That's my – OHOW", Loki jerks up and throws himself back into his pillows with a yelp, seeing
but yellow for an instant of pure electricity shooting up his spine, "you know exactly what that is.
No one knows better than you!"
"And why's it so eager and hard? Oh, right, because I'm FORCING you!"
"And why's YOURS?" This is when Thor gets punched in the nuts. He almost takes it like a
brave man, though, and winces only with the shortest of pules. Loki shoot out even new laughter,
his throat starting to really feel abused.
"That's your fault alone", Thor grumbles, "you nearly CAME with that chicken in your mouth …
and didn't even care to hide it!"
"WHAT? I was famishing and tried not to faint!"
"Oh no, brother, you had these almost-there sounds dripping from your lips, you wicked,"
gasping out loud Loki writhes as Thor gives him another squeeze, "dirty", and a pump, "filthy",
and a pull …
Nine, Norns and oh-oh, OH! Lava melts Lokis bones at this treatment worth fainting for. But no
one bests the god of mischief. Not like that.
Loki arches his spine and wills his mind to use his helpless panting for a pretty demonstration of
pure mockery. "Ahhh … yyyyeeeees", he moans and rolls his eyes, "Nine, DO me, Blondie! Ah!
If only FANDRAL could see you now, you and your outstanding patience!"
And Thor groans again, instantly lets go and finally hides his face in his palms. Loki, oh really,
just AGAIN can't keep his choking chuckles in, already shaking like in a bad chill. His chest is
pink, heaving with his stuttering breaths. It's all spinning, all around and all inside, and pulsing.
Then Thor suddenly releases his weight from his stomach – and Loki catches his breath with a
yelp of surprise - just to seat himself right back again, only that he's turned himself around,
showing Loki his back.
He broods for a moment. Huffs and snorts.
"Are you sulking now?"
"Don't talk to me, you're mad."
"And you're sulking."
Thor sighs. And Loki rubs his arms, suddenly shivering in the cold penetrating the room through
the open window. The thunder outside dissolved from angry powers roaring through the skies into
a simple but heavy wash of rain. The light is very, very gray.
"Thor … ?"
He only scratches the back of his head.
"Thor?"
Still not a tiny reply. And no motion at all. Loki feels his old friend Panic break down all his doors
again. The hysterical impulse to jerk his legs and knock a knee into Thors stubborn face cramps
through his feet as he's staring at his brothers goddamned butt nearly crushing his chest. But Loki's
just completely wobbly and weak now. And he doesn't even know what he's fighting anymore.
Thors whispers: "I don't know what to do with you."
"Get off, for a start."
"As if. Who knows what you'd do? You're mad!"
"I'd …", probably have a bath. But Loki doesn't bring himself to any piece of sarcasm anymore.
That would afford just too much strength.
Then Thors fingers undo Lokis belt. His hands move quickly but with a touch of helplessness to
them, a little restraint. He clearly can't think of what else to do. It just suggests itself. What they do
always helped him. Why shouldn't it help Loki now that he obviously explodes with maniac
stress? Even if just the familiarity of it would calm him. So Thor peel his brothers nervously
aching flesh out his trousers, curved up like an insane cry; do it – but WOE betide you if you do!
And Thor leans down with a frown all over his face.
Gasping hard Loki writhes in his sheets. Thors tongue, as it wraps round his tensed tip, is hot
enough against the freezing air to send a pang dart down Lokis shaft. He bucks. And as he's
swallowed up to his lowermost base the first word ringing through his heavy mind is scalding. But
his body won't wince from what it's yet confusing with pain. It's a touch in the end and right there,
Loki finds himself all at once far enough to take whatever's touching him right where his every
nerve end must have crawled and hardened into a firm knot as Thor had him so viciously fist
caught. Scalding. Loki yelps and rolls his eyes away. SCALDING pain. But soon enough Thor
melts around him to a sweeter thing, leaving Loki lose a corybantic moan with every suck. And
distantly Loki lies baffled at how suddenly he needs so much of this.
Thor's steady at him. And controlled. He doesn't seem to even think of touching himself through
this. Instead he keeps Lokis frantic hips in place beneath him, once and again even having some
troubles to hold down their thrusts. Tears wet Lokis burning eyes now, but his sobs slick out his
throat in terribly desperate cries for a pleasure somehow abasing him. It's not even - it's just … he
doesn't know. Firm gulps shock him through it – but Thor works him like he's dead meat. No
passion's there. No mutual desire. This is not meant for lust, it is a necessary course of action not
to be questioned and even less to be declined. A therapy. As if to suck it all from Loki, all that
plagues him, makes him mad, like one sucks the poison out a vipers bite.
Groaning wild at this emetic realization – and Thors sudden decision to make more use of his
grinders, cautiously but, OH Nine, forthright, far too forthright – Loki grits his teeth and sends a
vengeful, violent thrust up his brothers throat. To his own harm, though, as Thor doesn't choke but
he himself ends in a pulsing tremor ripping up his spine at the brute friction.
Thor doesn't show mercy on him. However mercy would look like now, Loki doesn't even know,
but Thor stays forcing in his everlasting and relentless rhythm. Loki can't. He can't fight it. And he
wants to just finally lose it all. He should have been there like three times now, but – and it's not
even Thor, it's Loki himself – it just won't come. And there's that unbearably growing pressure
almost tearing him open. But Loki, no matter how MUCH he needs to, can't let go. Wheezing
hard with every pant his fingers claw into Thors buttocks for support.
He couldn't just let go when he waited for Thor to return with Fandral, no, he couldn't let it go
when he ran with the stag, when he secretly watched Thor mount Sif in their bed, when this ORF
stubbornly tantalized his spot with Cowards Brew and, no, Loki couldn't let it go when he
suffered through the night before that, when he tried to keep it in as he refused to come in front of
Sif, ALL these weeks he kept away from Thor, he couldn't let the tension go, the alert, the
frustration, all this time, and, and … and ...
But it's over. It's all over now.
One final shudder of ferocious want cramps his trembling torso up as far as Thors seat on him
allows. And Lokis teeth hurt him SO BAD then, and his fingers nearly break as they rip at Thors
trousers, rip them down his muscular buttocks. Lokis face pushes itself against the just exposed
skin – and a breathless yelp forces his yaw apart – and he bites down, not caring if he hurts or not,
that's not the point, just to BITE something, anything, muffling his final groan. And Loki lets it go.
When he comes he's deaf for a while.