Author's Note: This is the conclusion. Thanks for reading!

Thor wakes with a grunt.

His eyes snap open, fuzzy. As if he hasn't used them in a very long time.

He sits up with a groan, his head pulses. He pushes hair from his face, blinking back his sight. There are odd tiny cables attached to his bare arms, and he immediately yanks them off. They peel away like the soft stems of flowers, round sticky caps drooping. He smells the battle on himself still, moulded into the tattered armour he still sports. He smoothes palms down his neck, his arms. There are the odd bruises and nicks written into his bare skin.

Not so much time has passed then.

Thor recognizes this room as one in SHIELD. Its sparse windowless walls greet him, force him to look away, inside himself. Wonder what has happened.

He knows. Distantly.

To be pushed out so cleanly from his own mind has left an alien sterility that clings to his memories. He knows what has happened, in the autonomous way one knows that their heart beats. There, in the chest, but not really audible until the right moment calls. If it suddenly stopped you wouldn't be able to do a thing to care for it.

The one door of the room creaks open and a man dressed in a strange sort of white robe enters, holding a massive double-bladed weapon.

Before he knows what he's doing, Thor's hand is held out and Mjölnir flies into his palm.

"Wow! So that's how that works." The man tilts his head looking curious and excited. "We haven't been able to move the hammer from your friend—"

His eyes cut across the room, to another bed, and Thor follows this movement. Sees Loki.

"Drop your swords!" Thor demands, loud enough to startle the skittish Human into doing just that. The odd weapon lands with a crack against the floor.

"Oookay..." The man has begun to sweat, nervous, as his back hits the doorframe. "I'm only here to cut your armor off! They're only industrial grade shears! I swear."

Thor growls, unable to keep focus, hold attention. The pull of longing to go to Loki is so fierce he has to stop, squeeze his eyes shut. Shake his head.

"If you so swear it," He concedes and lowers Mjölnir. "I would be alone with my Brother!"

"Uh-erm... No problem!" The man is all too eager to leave but lingers for just a second, "The Avengers Initiative is glad to have you back Thor."

"Do we act?"

Nick Fury ignores Agent Hill for a moment. He rests his chin and mouth against folded hands, staring down at the various video feeds that play on his screens.

"No. Let them be."

Thor goes to where Loki rests, looks upon his pale face that is nicked with tiny scratches. His expression is closed off in slumber, a still-life painting framed by dark eyelids and even darker hair.

Thor feels the weight of Mjölnir which remains in his curled fingers. It is with a sudden bubbling of dread that he becomes afraid to hold it.

Thor's hand is no stranger to a tremble.

When he was young and Mjölnir a new foreign weight upon his palm, he felt small and inexperienced. The hammer had started out so heavy, a burden more than a gift. He'd burned with righteous indignation for long months. Angry at his father for thinking such a stupid clumsy weapon could ever make him great. Instead, it served as an important reminder of his disgrace. Was better suited to reveal him as fragile in the most intimate of ways.

So then, his once steady hands knew trembles.

To wield Mjölnir is to allow himself to be deformed. Even now, it is a sensation too difficult to describe by thoughts alone, never mind using words. The feeling of being pulled, stretched out wide like the span of Time, dragged against his will until he learned to simply hold on. More than anything, Mjölnir is a gift of uncertainty. A power of more worth because of its price. That whosoever should know his weakness could allow the hammer to lend its strength.

To Mjölnir, you are the burden. Of course, no one else knows this but Thor. His greatest power; the greatest reason to feel useless. He'd gotten carried away, once, believing its prowess his own. Father and Midgard had helped with righting that.

His greatest fear— to be unworthy.

Sometimes Thor's hand still shook, in the cover of thunder.

It shook now, touching his Brother.

Thor's fingertips ghost down the curve of Loki's cheekbones. They've always been so sharp. His thumb skims against the collar of breastplate, shoulder, elbow. Thor rests Mjölnir beside Loki and sits on the edge of the bed. Takes Loki's hand.

There a little twinge of jealousy, right under his ribs. It gives way though, dissolves in the sudden of burst of joy, then a shower of longing. His Brother, safe.

It's in a removed kind of way that Thor knows there should be lines drawn, somewhere between them— He and Loki. But he only knows of the ones that pull them closer. And he is too far stretched to have much care.

Oh, but how could Loki keep telling so many lies? Lies that litter the days, and then expect the answers and great truths he'd always searched for to fall into his hands?

How could he pretend, manipulate people's feelings in such harmful ways and then expect to know transcendent love? Thor's brows turn up, crease his forehead with the pain of it. The thought of Loki, fighting, straining towards grasping the truth. But you can't catch anything with fists.

I remember a shadow. Living in the shade of your greatness.

His grip tightens, so much that Loki's hand moves with each beat of Thor's pounding pulse.

How could Loki think that? That, of all things.

Thor grits his teeth, breathes harshly. Because he knows how. He just doesn't want to believe it. That Loki can so easily cast away Thor's love as nothing more than something unpleasant to be avoided. Like it is a burden to even be near. All for the reason that he believes himself erased by it.

But Thor does not see it as this. If Loki truly believed this then he was Thor's. His shadow. And it meant they were pressed together, connected in the most permanent way. Always touched and never parted. And there is no glory in all the worlds that could force Thor to ignore this. As if he could simply stare ahead, and not notice those whom he stands beside.

Who ever said that Thor stood facing away?

Of all the hearts hanging upon the branches of Yggdrasil, Loki is the only one who has ever walked beside him. Through anything. Everything.

Oh, how he knows everything. Knows how cold Loki has felt for so long. Knows what would heat him up. But he cannot tell Loki, cannot speak the truths that stretch between them. For there are so many unspoken threads, tying them so tightly together. Thor knows he would not be able to bear it if they snapped.

If you only hurt the ones you love then it must work both ways. It's Thor's fault. For giving too little too late. It seems he only ever realizes what he wants when it's taken away.

Sometimes it's better to let someone think you've been left in the dark.

"Oh good," Loki lilts sardonically from the bed. His voice curves around the strained false smile that pulls at his lips. He flexes the hand which Thor holds. Pulls away.

"I was beginning to think you didn't want that stupid hammer back."

"Loki," Thor murmurs, terrified and gratified all at once. It's too much. Too much feeling comes rushing up from inside. It hits him in the back of the throat, chokes him. His nostrils flare. "You are awake."

Loki begins to sit up but Thor's hand comes down to hold him in place, fingers spread against his chest, a delicious warm weight that Loki feels oh-so-terrible for needing.

Thor holds him there, and when Loki does not fight it, his hand slides up, smoothing out ripples and waves of clothing with the crisp sound of static until, oh. Thor's thumb curves across the sharpness of his jaw, like skimming a nail down the edge of a blade.

I am dangerous because of you, Loki sneers while staring up, but Thor only tugs at the corner of his mouth with his thumb. A silly attempt at getting him to smile. Loki almost does.

You made me so because you are my trigger, the fuse. You are the weakness my enemies abuse. And you are dangerous too.

He shudders, hands twitching with want-filled rushing blood as fingers comb into his hair so that it fans out in black jets across the bedding. His eyes fall shut against this unimaginably painful pressure that pins him down, forces him to think, Because you know—You've seen that I...

The only show of affection to a dangerous thing is to let yourself be cut.

Thor's golden head, haloed by the lights embedded in the flat gray ceiling, wrinkles by the side of his eyes. Laugh lines long since etched in, youth not quite faded out. They are so old, the both of them, yet still not wise enough. The worried smile that parts Thor's lips is so wonderfully pleasurable, it hurts.

Thor asks, "What are we doing here?"

Oh, that's not fair.

Loki does smile at this. Grins at the Irony of it. Wants to laugh. Thor should know by now that Loki can tell when he's lying. Maybe it doesn't matter now, not really. Hiding behind a truth that stands so tall can sometimes be a form of protection. A white lie, to wash away the lines. If only for just this moment.

The thin mattress creaks as Thor lays down beside him. There is absolutely no space.

"Get your own bed." Loki hisses and rolls onto his side.

His palms are sweating, heart racing fast. The mortals have divested him some, cut away parts of his coat. He feels bare, exposed. So much more because Thor knows. He wants to vanish. Make himself invisible and drift off on a tangent. Become impervious.

But then Thor would stop watching. He would turn away, turn his back on Loki. Return to his pathetic band of Avengers, become a King. And as the years and lifetimes crawled by, he would only spend fleeting moments, thinking of Loki as that lost child; the one whom fell through the black because he was stupid enough to believe in lies. Believe in love.

Thor touches his shoulder.

"Mine does not have my Brother in it."

Thor grins. Loki only knows this because it's the kind of grin that's audible, a bow strung with a soft arrow of sound. A gentle amusement, that strikes and then melts upon the heart. Warm. He's been shot full of this feeling so many times before, he's bleeding from it. But once more won't kill him. Not from Thor.

A hand on his shoulder rolls him over and Loki allows it. Knows this is inevitable as the thunder that follows lightning. They're always in the middle of a storm.

Looking into Thor's eyes he can almost imagine the sweet sky of Asgard. Blue at first, because they'd fought and played and lived together from the moment the sun came out. The sky would turn to gold as the day passed and they would grow warm, content with each other. They'd knock shoulders and elbows, joking and teasing loudly as they ran into mischief. Brothers playing that old competitor's game.

Then as they lay in the long grass, the dark opal cover of night would drape down. When the temperature got uncomfortably low, they'd press backs together, knees curled up. The heat would leave their bodies like spectres through gusts of smoky breath. Thor would take care, notice Loki shivering. Turn him around and clasp their hands, touch his cheek. But Loki had never been cold.

He'd only ever trembled so it was he whom Thor would hold.

Thor looks at him now with that same care, as though he has been shivering.

"I cannot return to Asgard," Thor whispers, eyelids sweeping low.

Of course he can't. There is no Bifrost or Tesseract to help him. And Loki knows the request that comes even before it passes Thor's lips, perhaps even before it enters his mind.

"But you could Loki. You could take us home, and we'd rule together until Father's strength—"

"I would not have the throne."

"I don't want to do it without you."

What it all comes down to is what it all stems from, an endless circle. Should he believe this lie?

But there are some things Loki has always known. That this is the most important thing, to stay in gravity's pull. If one of them left then the other would be lost. Spinning wildly out of control. Could he give that up? His Brother, safe. Thor's warm palms upon his face. He feels a thaw, as though underneath he isn't just a hollow nothingness, that there in the center, his heart beats the same blood.

Sometimes illusions in the most barren of places are the reason for making it out alive.

"Thor," Loki breathes, "You know it is what I never wanted— you know well what I do…"

"I know you do what you want."

Thor grins and Loki cannot help smiling back. The insides of his nose burn, the back of his throat tight and constricted. He wants to be furious. Wants to push Thor away. He's being strangled by this feeling but doesn't want to shout for help.

Oh, how he loves Thor. More than anyone else. And no one but Thor has ever cared back, equally as much. You love too much, Thor, while I love only one. I don't want to be just like any other. There is no other, like me.

Shouldn't that be enough?

Thor's grin fades slightly, as though he can see the pain and desperation settling back in, deep inside Loki's eyes and Loki hates him for this pity. That Thor can see so easily what he tries so viciously to hide. He's not a God when Thor looks at him. Not a villain or a King. He's not anything, except for what he really is.

Just Loki.

A thumbprint against his cheekbone is Loki's only warning before Thor is crushing Loki in a tight hug. A hot puff of air escapes him, tickles them both under the chins. Thor's bare arms are warm, so warm. Loki feels as though he has been folded in two. It's tight, like a promise.

"Thank you." He can hear the near tears in Thor's voice and it cuts Loki in places he never knew. He should be pleased to see Thor cast upon an equal playing field. Unable to return home.

"For all that you have done, Loki. You need not do more for me."

The familiar 'Brother' is not said and Loki wonders with a far away feeling of horror. That this is Thor, preparing to finally let him go. It is painful in ways he could not have imagined. Loki grips at Thor's chest, fingernails biting against the metal armor. Why is it still happening? When he finally has accepted the truth upon his heart, Thor would rip it away.

I'll hate you for this. With my everything. I'll hate you forever if you let go. Thor's gently spiking breath and stubble against his forehead is excruciating. Loki pushes against his chest, curls up knees, grits his teeth. Struggles. But Thor is unwavering.

"Then we will both remain here," Thor says, stubborn.

"Preposterous." Loki spits, stubborn too. Already deciding it is so. "We will argue. We will fight."

The only way we ever really pay attention is if we stab each other in the back.

"But we will be together." Thor implores, lips brushing the sensitive edge of his ear. He swallows at the fat lump that has formed in his throat.

"Thor, you and I are made for something so much better."

Thor pulls back just enough for breathing room, and the air is hot, a thick dense space that is tantalizing in its attempt to push them apart.

"Do you wish to be an Avenger? Perhaps the one-eyed Fury can be reasoned with."

"I wish nothing less!"

The only one he would avenge stands strong once more. Safe. The world is right again. But Loki works for Chaos and he has no interest in doing something other than breaking it down, over and over. That's just how Fate works.

"Mmm... Mischief is more your path," Thor agrees as though what Loki has done is just part of a child's game. It is, in a way. It's all been a game, and now he can't stop playing. "But in the end, Mjölnir knew of your true allegiance. You wield it well."

Thor smiles, holding Loki by the neck, fingers curled so gently into his hair. Loki lets his hands slide down from Thor's chest and he takes hold of the hilt of the hammer that rests by Thor's hip. Tries to lift Mjölnir away.

It does not move.

Loki looks down at it knowingly, a small ironic smile. When he looks up he feels his eyes are soft and wet as frost underneath a warm thumb. He would be a fool to believe he'd been worthy of the weapon. It must have only flown because its real master had called.

Stupid Thor, Loki presses his lips together so that he does not say this aloud. I never had your power. It was you. It was always you.

"It appears I've had a change of heart," He says instead.

"Then you are Loki still," Thor murmurs, leaning close, so close it is like they are two thunderclouds and a bolt of lightning streaks between them, bright and intense. Loki sucks in a breath of hot air waits for this calm to wash away.

Thor leans and then their foreheads are resting upon each other, mind to mind, ego to ego. He whispers to Loki like he is sharing a secret.

Because it's not fair if Loki doesn't know this.

"Give me a kiss."

"Don't."

Thor can feel the fury vibrating through Loki's body. He shivers with it, thrums with hot anger and blood. It all rises to his face. It's nothing Thor hasn't seen before. They've lived together for a lifetime and this is a welcome reaction. Anything but avoidance. Anything but indifference. Loki's eyes squeeze shut defiantly, but still Thor persists.

"Don't speak of that, Thor. Stop."

He frowns in determination and strokes Loki's arms, up and down until Loki is just breathing deeply, sharing the same air. Thor can't help it— His gaze keeps flicking downwards to Loki's mouth, willing him to understand. That it's okay. That he wants this. He rubs Loki's lower lip between thumb and forefinger.

Loki's eyes snap open.

The rawness in his expression hurts Thor, cuts deep and makes pain well up inside of him. Because he knows what Loki so relentlessly wants but he knows part of that, part of the reason why he wants so desperately, is because he thinks Thor doesn't.

Because to Loki if sentiment isn't reciprocated, paid in full by equal tears and blood, then it doesn't exist.

But Thor loves Loki. Isn't that enough? Love is the only act of rationale. Everything else— war, kingship, times of leisure— Everything pales in comparison. And actions which are motivated by love may sometimes turn out badly, but the intention never does. The intention of love can only bring upon a deeper capacity for it. A hollowed out heart can hold so much more.

If you love until it hurts, there can be no more hurt, only more love.

When he looks upon Loki the possibilities stretch endless. And Thor has never been one to let the promise of such an adventure go free.

"Please," Thor whispers in earnest. Catches Loki's hand in his own and pulls it to his chest. Loki's long fingers curl overtop his heart.

Loki half-laughs in defence or bitterness, it's always been difficult for Thor to tell, before biting his lip. He cannot look Thor in the eye. It's impossible to hide hard passion on something as soft as a face. It is these moments that Thor waits for the most.

His thumb draws a tender curve across Loki's cheek. He places a kiss to the tender spot. He wants to see so much more.

"Just a kiss?" Loki murmurs back.

"It is all I ask."

"Then the rest I can take." Loki bargains and there's a hint of that dark smile, creeping up the corners of Loki's mouth and eyes, the one that makes a spark of anticipation not unlike desire jump low in Thor's abdomen. Has he always been this excited to fall prey to his Brother's tricks? Perhaps so. This is just another chain link in the bond which ties them together.

A simple trade for a God who has given up everything.

Loki throws magic onto the door.

It's in the blaze of bright green light that twines itself around the doorframe like a snake that Thor cups Loki's face and kisses him, prying apart lips with his tongue. Loki's mouth opens wide and it's hot, fierce, a deeply strange sensation.

Thor has never kissed another in this manner, with the knowledge that what he wants can be taken away. It shreds him with long blades of desperation and yearning. He throws a knee onto the other side of Loki's hip so that he is wrapped around Loki, trying to pour all he knows into this moment. Trying to make Loki understand in his intensity. He won't undermine their love by stopping short. Won't do this halfway.

There is the smell of smoke as the spell's heat and light melts away, leaving the edges of the door and wall fused. Loki's hands are pressed low, against his ribs, near the latches that release his armor. Thor can't say how good this is, can only hum in agreement.

He's prepared to do anything. Everything. Every action an equal reaction. Brothers, even in this.

Despite that it is by Loki's hand Thor's chest plate is undone, shucked to the floor, Loki is shaking. Reluctant. His lips are red, whites of his eyes shining even in the shade Thor casts over him.

Oh.

Thor rolls them over.

There's no room. The bed's frame is weak and creaks in protest, but they end up on their sides again, now the opposite way. When Loki sits up, the bed breaks.

"This is madness, Thor! Stop!" Loki barks, stumbling out of the collapsed bedclothes over Mjölnir. He roughly pushes tousled black hair from his flushed face, chest heaving from every deep gulp of air he steals, and Thor is up, catching his wrist.

"But are we not both mad?" He pants, and Loki does not fight it when he tugs him back into an embrace.

They stand there, in the middle of the room. The leather of Loki's garments feels sticky and cool. He runs his hands over the ripples and studs, feeling the textures as though it is Loki's own skin. Loki gasps and turns his face away, the point of his nose angrily stabbing into the side of Thor's neck.

"Mad with each other, maybe," Loki growls and when Thor kisses the crown of his head, he bites at Thor's throat. Thor groans and his nails drag into leather, down, and there's strips of black skin that peel off in long trails, curling towards the ground.

Oh, but Thor knows— Why Loki could lift Mjölnir.

It's because he holds power over Thor now. So much, it hurts. Now that Thor knows how much Loki wants him, it's impossible to turn a blind eye. They say ignorance is bliss, but knowing... it's this.

The way Loki's tongue licks softly at the roof of his mouth. The feel of Loki's wrists, in Thor's hands. The sound of Loki's back hitting against the wall. Thor wonders in that distant way, if he could he ever be good again while doing something so wrong. There's those lines, between them, pulling Thor in close, making him more aware of what he'll lose if he doesn't take it. Take everything.

It's this love that nails them both through. Of all the veins which tie their blood, this is the one they could not sever. A kiss, between Brothers. Not so bad at all.

"Thor." Loki pulls his mouth away, "The Humans, they have eyes everywhere."

"Then let them look." They'd never see what Thor sees.

Loki sneers and his head tips back, knocks against the wall he's pushed against. He strains with his eyes, looking up that extra inch into Thor's face. Thor can barely hear him over his own pulse, for Loki's face has always said so much. His blood is a drum in his ears, rain rumbling overtop the rest of his thoughts.

"No," Loki bites his lip, as if trying to stave off a deep shudder which threatens his words. His brows turn up, creasing. "Only you."

That's when Mjölnir is flying into Thor's hand and he's twirling it, not taking his eyes off Loki. If he stops looking then this will disappear. Outside a storm comes. It's so loud that they can hear the thunder as it rolls in, the cracks of lightning that surround the base. He wills it so that lightning strikes again, quick, and targeted. Thor knows where people on Midgard get their false sun.

The whole base shakes with the tremors of the sky's roar. Everything floods into pitch black.

There's pandemonium, maybe, outside of their sealed chambers. But Thor doesn't care. This is their private place lost in space. Where right and wrong doesn't matter. If it's all he can do, Thor does not mind turning off the lights.

It can be easy to become addicted to pain, if we're not careful. The tales of our suffering can become the greatest stories ever told. And we would rather relive them, every delicious taste, until we have drunk ourselves into traps. We enclose ourselves, prisons made of pain. We make our worlds so very small because we cannot bear to wander past the hurt on all sides, until we are walking in tight circles. Caught.

Can you smash it down for me, Brother? Just come and take down one wall. Back me up and push me against another.

Loki's breath comes hot and heavy, moving his entire chest up and down in a slow rhythm that opposes his heartbeat. Thor's fingers curl inside his tunic and he rips. Metal studs go tinkering across the floor like hail against a blackened window.

Force me to be free.

Loki bows his head into the hollow at Thor's collarbone. He expects it to be cold, to be hit by cool air as his skin becomes bare. But it's hot, too hot, something thick that sets his stomach boiling, his fingertips aflame. Trembling. He can't breathe. Thor's hands push shreds of black away, until they are chest to chest, stuck to one another. Loki's thumb brushes across that tiny spot by Thor's ribs. There's a raised line there, a memory from Loki's knife.

"This will destroy us," He gasps out, pushes hard against that line, knowing that if they meet again in battle he'll use a bigger blade.

But even as Loki protests, Thor drags hot blood-filled lips across his jaw. Kisses the column of his throat. Loki is so soft in all these places, it's unfair that Thor should so easily reach them. He tries so hard to cover them up.

"We are all meant to be destroyed, Brother. One way or another," Thor pants. There's no light, no sight between them, only the feeling of his deep unrelenting words. "I wouldn't mind, being undone by your hand."

Loki burns.

All his blood is racing, creeping up so fast. Thor's hands find their way onto his hips and Loki's slammed against the wall again. He wants it. Wants it harder. Maybe Thor knows this too, somehow. You only hurt the ones you love.

Loki searches for Thor's ear, to whisper, "Then undo me as well."

Thor groans and they're kissing again. Or breathing each other in. It's so difficult to tell. Everything becomes one in the dark. There's no ending to this, no beginning. His hate and love turn into the same pain, the same story over again. This is the legend of when the light went out.

Thor's fumbling at Loki's lacing, and strong hands pull. Unravel the remaining dark skin clinging to him, fingers curling. Loki feels the fire inside him lick at his face, liquid heat, coming down in one damnable trail from his closed eyes. Thor's pressing powerful kisses that leave wet welts all the way down his chest.

Loki wants to sob. Make some noise to equal the harsh wanting breath that leaves Thor's lips. Breath like spectres trying to touch, hurt. Pain for pain. But it's too good, agonising ecstasy when Thor's thumbs dig deep into the grooves of his hiplines, draw down and down and down until they finally meet. Loki feels long hair brushing soft against his abdomen, and Thor's tongue is hot like sunlight, slipping into places it shouldn't belong.

He wonders if Thor can hear those bugs. Those butterflies, fluttering inside. A strange, frightening sensation. Trying to become free.

But that's the thing about Thor. He's never been afraid of the dark.

The taste of Loki is a slick sharpness against his tongue. Thor keeps it there, a thick mouthful that he groans around and pins Loki's thrusting hips with one hand. He pries Loki's fingers out of his hair. Thor's knees creak against the floor, thighs burning from the kneeling position. It's not enough. He has to have everything, or it won't be anything later.

He finds the soft sides of Loki's lower back as he flips Loki around. There's a huff, a moan. The crispness of static and hair standing on end as Thor kneads Loki's body, spreads mounds of muscle and kisses the sensitive line of skin revealed. He can't see at all, but doesn't care. Just opens his mouth and lets the taste of his Brother slide down. And then he's licking, sucking, as if the shivering flesh under his mouth is a delicious feast. He bites.

Loki gasps, almost sounding scared. There's scrabbling, like nails against a wall. Thor holds Loki by the upper thighs and can feel they are taut, trembling. But he's more malleable now, moulds to whatever touch Thor places upon him. He hopes Loki can take one more. Thor's tongue slips over an opening, and he's never been one to not jump in. He sucks and licks, presses kisses until Loki is wide, quivering. Thor's face is a mess.

"Thor," Loki moans.

He stands and Loki's elbows dig into his chest. Thor takes them, slides sweating palms down Loki's forearms until their hands meet and he uncoils Loki's fists to splay against the wall.

"Stay there," Thor says, voice husky. It feels like he's always saying this.

He reaches around, a hug from behind, holding Loki to himself. Loki's breath is sticky and hot, and Thor's fingertips find the soft dips and rises in his chest. It's strange, only in an unfamiliar way. That he knows this is his Brother's silky skin that he presses bruising kisses to, that the sway of the spine that curves hips back to meet him is the same of his best childhood friend.

It's strange how obvious something previously unknown has come to be.

Loki tries not to make sounds. Sounds that Thor so desperately wants to hear above the rushing of his own blood, the pulse that overthrows senses. Because he's not doing this for mere pleasure, even though it feels so good. He throbs and shudders just the same, as if Loki is doing all that Thor does to him.

It's funny how silence can be filled with so much noise.

There're no lines in the dark and he's determined to make Loki stay. Stay with him. He wants to give Loki what he wants but not push him away. Maybe that's what Loki wants.

Loki bucks backwards and the sudden aggressive press of their bodies in this way is so foreign, so shocking, that it's almost painful. And then Loki fists the ends of his hair, yanking so that Thor feels the burn and drag of his stubble against Loki's face. It hurts.

"Do it," Loki's voice is so deep, so undone. He can feel the sweep of eyelashes against his cheek. Can't tell if Loki is opening his eyes or closing them, "—Never going to get another chance."

Impulsively, Thor kisses him. Finds Loki's mouth to shut him up for just a second. He doesn't want to hear lies. Because it is a lie, Thor knows this. Knows it in the way Loki's kiss is so hungry, starving. Thor squeezes Loki's hips to keep him moving, lets Loki devour him, accepting anything and everything that Loki wants to do.

There is no one else in all the realms and beyond like you. Loki, you are the only one.

Loki does not let go, won't let him break the kiss, even as they connect with a painful hiss. It's tight and hot and strange and perfect because this is as close as they're ever going to be. There's no time to linger, stand still. They've waited too long to be reunited to for it to be anything but everything.

A love, plunged so much deeper than before it sends them into fervour. Love with a vengeance, they have to keep trying to catch each other, until they are tied together once again, by long hair twined around fingers and arms and legs and lips and teeth. By one heartbeat, speeding so fast that it's impossible to tear it apart into two.

Why can't you see what I do?

Thor's thrusts come faster, Loki pushing back against him in a rhythm that rivals their hearts. And then, for one gratifying moment, there is light. The flickering behind Thor's eyelids fades and there's not enough air on this small world for the two of them. They're panting through raw throats, pressed together back to chest.

Loki was right, in a way. Freedom is the biggest lie of all. Because Thor is free but has never been free. For they are bound by something so much more painful; brotherly love and yet they are not Brothers. So tender a sentiment and yet they stand on opposite sides. Two sides of the same spinning coin, a price too high to pay, but must be paid.

Please stay.

Thor feels Loki reach up, trail one finger down the middle of his parted lips.

"I love you," Thor rasps against it desperately.

"I know."

It's only in the absolute dark that a light and shadow can truly touch.

Morning comes.

The sun inevitably streams in from underneath the door. He should be used to this. Night and day, two halves of a whole in the endless swirl of the universe, circling one another. That is the nature of things. The orbit of life causes them both to gaze upon each other, revolve, and then gaze once more.

But as long as Loki wants to keep looking, there will be Thor.

He knows better than to be ashamed of this sentiment now, as it will always be this way, sure as the vein that flows. Being here in Thor's warm embrace is the sweetest pain he will ever know. Because it is not forever. He will let go.

"You always sleep so deep." Loki whispers into Thor's ear, lips leaving the barest of touches.

His finger draws a line up from Thor's navel to his collarbone. He presses a kiss against his chin. Combs back tousled strands of golden hair. Breathes in deep a scent for memory. Loki watches those laugh lines that frame Thor's closed eyes and knows he has a matching set. These are unspoken things that can never be wiped away.

"Dream of me."

Loki slips from underneath Thor's arms, leaves a split image of himself lying there.

Thor shifts in the bed they'd slept in and Loki watches himself cradle a hand against Thor's naked kiss-bruised shoulder blade, holding him close. It tears a vicious rip in his gut that stings. All the wriggling things inside come spilling out.

He always clings to things he can't touch.

Will you run away to where I cannot follow?

Loki smiles, remembering the day Thor unlocked him. Let him go. It only served to make Thor hold on tighter. Now he can see the family resemblance.

No, of course not Thor. Don't be stupid.

As he walks away the sunlight kisses his hair which flattens to support golden helm, licks his bare back that becomes draped with rich cloth. It touches his knees which become wrapped and guarded, and his feet which pad softly then click against the floor in hard soles.

Magic unravels from the door and it flies open. Time's run out.

He kills three SHIELD agents in his procession. Alarms start going off, mayhem swirling up the petty mortals like insects at his feet. He crushes a few more.

His shadow walks just ahead, stretching out into the corridor, pointing to where freedom steals.

We are always at each other's heels.

There is so much love, so very much love between them that it hurts. The most unimaginable pain, a blinding heat so powerful it pushes them apart, makes them turn away. Get cold. Come back again.

Another round then.

Because Thor and Loki have always been rushing forwards, bound by the same Fate. The two of them, living with the knowledge that one will never ever be free of the other.

For it's in the heart, not the vein, he is called Brother.

End.

"After reviewing the Shuttle footage we have seen enough."

Nick Fury exhales through his nose, grits his teeth behind a tight-lipped stony expression. The massive screens that surround him show familiar towering silhouettes.

"Council," He addresses, unable to leave frustration out of his voice. He doesn't care. "The Cube was destroyed. The Avengers, nearly wiped out. And the cherry on top? We have a reoccurring enemy now. Loki of Asgard. He continuously toys with us. Pretty much makes SHIELD look like a band of fools, while one of our own practically pines and I think we should focus on—"

"Such threats are negligible. Did you acquire the desired data?"

"Yes," He replies curtly.

"Then we have everything we need to begin fabrication. Proceed with Project Genesis." There are smug smiles inside the shadows.

"You did promise us a Cube, Director."

THE END.