Loki sat by the window with the best view of the capital and gazed out.

It was a perfect summer day, the sky cloudless and intensely blue, the air fresh and sweet. It was an Asgardian summer day, no different from the one before it, no different from the thousands he had experienced over the course of his still-young life, and almost ruthlessly different from every day he had spent clawing at the edges of the known realms over the course of the last year.

Below him, the citizenry bustled with contentment, enjoying the weather in only the vaguest sense of the word. They gave no thought to their good fortune; the wealthiest never did. Perfect summer days were simply theirs to have, like the gleaming spires of their beautiful city. Like the warmth of the sun.

A warmth he could not, himself, indulge in, when the enspelled windows had not even let him close enough to open them without assistance, let alone reach out-

But Loki stopped that thought before it could go anywhere thoroughly unproductive. The weather. Was there any concern more petty or ultimately less relevant?

Unfortunately, he had precious little else to occupy his attention.

Oh, there were the occasional visitors. Here, a platter of food brought by an unwilling member of the Einherjar who, resenting the common servitude he had been reduced to, dragged his feet with every step; there, an aspiring warrior, fresh linens draped over his bony shoulder, running so that he could heave them over the threshold and be back in practice that much faster.

Once, and only once, he had even been graced with the presence of a noble, Oleg Kerrson, a tall dark man Loki had recognized only dimly until he introduced himself. He had a nephew, a painfully stupid boy Loki had once talked into angering a Vanir maid for - oh, who could remember anymore. The end result was that the boy had spent a month as a donkey, for which his father really should have been grateful since he had been infinitely more useful that way, but of course Oleg had not been grateful. Of course the man had taken it personally and now wanted to see the architect of all that misery well and properly punished.

By happy chance, he had not yet finished his lunch, so while Oleg stood just beyond the threshold of his cell - brave enough to face him, but not to come within reach, and wasn't that terribly satisfying; even with his magic bound? - Loki had made a show of carving off sumptuous slices of perfect yellow cheese and popping them, one by one, into his mouth. Taking care so that the silver chain that hung between his wrists rattled with every bite.

He hadn't said a word to the man; he hadn't needed to. The message had been received all the same, clear in the trembling fisted hands of his visitor. Oh, yes. The All-Father takes your humiliation extremely seriously, good sir.

Well. Not every minute in even the dullest day could be a complete waste of time, after all. But the faint smile that came to his lips at this particular memory was fleeting, and then his attention settled once more on the view outside his window because there was nothing else to look at and nothing else to do. Perhaps he would rearrange the furniture again, or take another long bath...

Loki drummed the fingers of one hand on his lap, then smoothed his hand firmly down over his thigh instead. He was not impatient. He was merely a little restless, as anyone would have been under the circumstances.

When he had asked for a few books - and his nail paint, if that wasn't too much trouble - the desire for reading material had been mostly smoke screen. Thor was a fool, of course, but fools could still pull their wits about them long enough to suspect the singular request made by a prisoner. So he had not made a singular request. He might just as easily have added any random item to the list: parchment, a basket of strawberries, more hangings for the walls of his beautiful cell.

He had never expected to want the diversion almost as much as he wanted to achieve the actual goal.

He had never expected to be... bored.

The wind picked up, and for a moment Loki thought the weather was turning, but the breeze was warm, the sky still flawlessly blue, and abruptly he knew better. The weather was doing nothing at all.

Two days, Loki noted absently. Earlier than he'd expected, all things considered. He caught himself gripping the arms of his chair, nails biting into the leather, and had to consciously clear all the tension from his face and body.

He managed it just in time, for the next instant Thor was rising into view on the far side of the balcony, Mjolnir stretched high over his head and five or six thick tomes under his arm, with an unreasonably broad smile on his lips. His face was flushed, his hair windswept, and his clothing - too plain today for an assembly, plainer in fact than he had ever seen Thor by choice - slightly the worse for wear, as if he'd been in a fight. Or several fights, with very formidable opponents, to bedraggle him enough for it to be noticeable.

Thor was early. And he looked... happy.

Wrong, wrong, everything wrong. Had he miscalculated? Underestimated his not-brother? (Overestimated, more likely.) Loki kept his features carefully blank, only lifting his eyebrows as Thor landed.

The neutrality of his expression did, at least, seem to give the other man pause. He choked up his grip on Mjolnir's handle, thumb rubbing lingeringly over the leather, then hitched his smile fractionally higher. "-We've fine weather this morning."

Only ever so slightly awkward. Ever so slightly foolish. It was not what he had wanted, but - whatever this was - there would be advantages to it, too. Loki propped his chin up in one hand and spread a smile deliberately over his own lips. "It's been fine ever since we got here. It's really rather mind-numbingly boring." On inspiration, he added, "You should call up one of your little storms," with an imperious gesture.

Thor gave one of his deep, rumbling laughs. "Just for your amusement," he said, eyes crinkling warmly at the corners.

Not so very long ago, little storms would have been one of those hair-trigger phrases; for half a second he hated the effortless affection on Thor's face and in his voice that had replaced that childish outrage.

For half a second. "Well," he said, easing back in his seat and spreading his hands pleasantly with an entirely incidental little jingle from the chain, "I'm afraid I have run quite low on amusements. I might as well have you do the job for me, really. Unless those are the books I asked for...?"

The other god blinked, then grinned at him. "Of course they are." As if they would ever have been his own. He shifted the pile in his arms, sheathing Mjolnir on his belt, and started forward.

Was he really going to try to - yes, he really was. Loki felt his lips curving up and didn't bother to fight it as he watched Thor attempt to stride over the threshold, attempt to enter Odin's cage with one of the most magical objects in all the Nine Realms on his hip. When he found he couldn't, and a look of utterly dumbstruck consternation spread over his face, the tiny smile became a full-blown smirk.

"What is this?" Thor demanded, relenting to stare at the open air with mistrust, and it was so terribly difficult not to laugh.

"Did they truly not tell you, or were you perhaps simply not listening?" Loki asked him in turn. "This is a cell, Thor, and a cell made to hold me. Try putting the hammer down first."

Thor eyed him, of course, because he always seemed to doubt the truths Loki spoke more than the lies, but after a beat he freed up a hand to take Mjolnir and set it on the balcony beside him. Still watching Loki, he took a step closer - and then smiled in relief when this time the empty space between them yielded.

"Better?" Loki asked him mildly, standing to accept the armful.

"Better," Thor agreed, sounding far more pleased than the situation called for. His eyes were crinkling again at the corners. "I apologize for doubting you."

Up until that instant, there had been something almost seductively nostalgic about the entire exchange, but those words-

Those words were... different.

Slowly, Loki placed the books on the bedside table he had moved close to the window. "As you should," he said, almost as easily as he'd intended. "That you should even think to question my word, after centuries upon centuries of knowing me. One might almost think you didn't trust me..."

"Be that as it may," Thor allowed with an obliging chuckle. "In this case I was wrong, and so I apologize."

"I hear that is how it's done, in civilized cultures." Loki spent a few more seconds straightening the books into a neat stack, then counted to ten. "Oh, did you remember my nail oils?" Light and unconcerned, as though he might have forgotten them until just that moment himself.

If he held his breath in the short silence that followed, Thor was none the wiser. "-Ah, yes, that's right. Here," he said, reaching into a pouch on his belt, and then he was extending a small handful of vials. "So glad I could be of - service to my little brother."

Clearly the fool had brought Loki's entire collection, and through his relief he felt a trickle of unwilling fondness. It would have been so easy to return the endearment. "So generous, my liege," he murmured instead, and sat down again to open the remover first. The rest of it would wait until later, but he had missed the adornment.

Of course Thor chose to take issue with his use of words. "That..." Not his most convincingly-genuine laugh. "That will not be necessary, I don't think."

Loki made an inquisitive noise, because of course he had no idea what they were talking about, but did not bother to look up. Remover fist; dehydrated nails took the paint better.

Motion in his peripheral vision meant that Thor was shifting from one foot to the other. Ever physical, he could not debate a matter in his mind without his body joining in the conversation. Finally he said, soft and frustratingly sincere, "You should never feel the need to stand on ceremony."

Know your place, Brother, a different man had said.

"I am, in fact, very literally your prisoner," Loki reminded him with a thin smile. "Soon you will hold all the power of Asgard at your disposal - and then some." He wiped one nail on his left hand smoothly clean, then another. "A man gets tired, pretending he thinks himself capable of comparing to that."

"...Comparing?"

And there was the wounded-puppy tone. This time Loki counted to three, then lifted his eyes to Thor's face with what he knew would seem to be genuine sheepishness. "Don't be like that." I had no idea my words would hurt you, really. "You know I get irritable when I'm bored, and then I just say things." He indicated the chair across from his with a tip of the head. "Come join me. Get off your feet."

Thor hesitated, but his expression was already clearing, and soon he took the offered seat. "And here I thought I was supposed to already have alleviated that."

He was so very, very easy. So much easier than he should have been.

"It's a start, not a flipped lever," Loki corrected him with a smile. His nails were clear now of natural oils and ready for a fresh coat, so he began to paint them leisurely. "Things to do when you've gone again, mostly. I'm still counting on you to entertain me while you're here."

That provoked another of those deep, rumbling laughs. "Shall I sing you a stirring song of battles hard-won a thousand years before either of us were born?"

"An offer that makes your drinking companions swoon, but I've heard all your songs." One nail complete, and he took a moment to admire how clean it looked, how right, before moving on to the next. "And I imagine I know hundreds more than are in your repertoire. Nice try, though."

"You asked for entertainment," Thor said, cheerfully unrepentant. "Unfortunately, I've few skills suited to such a small room."

The words stirred memories of glorious coliseum exhibitions, and Loki let his eyes shut for just an instant, let himself remember. A hundred seasoned warriors at once, with his brother at the center, that feral grin stretching his lips, ready and eager for the challenge. It had been fiercely, brutally beautiful to watch. "That is unfortunate," he replied, opening his eyes again. "I take it you're still refusing to give me my rainstorm. You don't ever use your power like that?"

He kept his tone innocent, and Thor's response was an amused not-quite-an-answer: "I refuse to believe you would really be entertained by a little rain."

"You refuse to believe it because you don't observe enough to see what could be entertaining about it," Loki argued absently. "Rain is random and chaotic, falling and flowing and breaking up light into color, twisting what the eye can see..."

Without any especial intent on his part, his own voice had turned thoughtful, the words coming more slowly, and Loki was vaguely surprised to look down at his left hand and find that he had finished.

"I could watch it all day," he murmured, knowing it was true.

For a year, he had flinched at every rumble of distant thunder, even on alien worlds where all sense told him Thor could not possibly be. But what could the storm possibly do to him now? And he had so enjoyed them before.

Thor was watching his face very closely; he could feel the attention. "And you'd really like that," the other god said. "A little storm."

"Little," Loki agreed airily, waving his newly-painted fingers. "I can do without your flashy light show."

"Oh, can you, then."

"Not my style." The lie of it was absurd. Had he been Thor, Loki imagined he probably would have accompanied half his entrances with thunder and lightning.

Laughter rippled from Thor and he threw back his head with the force of it. "No, of course not! Loki the Understated, I've heard them call you."

"I've heard them call you Thor the Thunderer, but that currently seems to be just words..."

"You are in a state," Thor said fondly. "Very well. If it will entertain my little brother, I suppose I might be able to summon a storm."

Entirely in spite of himself, Loki felt his pulse quicken. He looked down at his nails and did his best to return calmly to the application of more oil, a second coat, but he was still more aware than he wanted to be of the movement as Thor stood and went out onto the balcony to fetch his beloved hammer.

It started even before the sky began to darken: a stirring in the air, close enough and powerful enough that even his numbed nerves could sense it dimly, like a phantom breeze drying cold sweat from his skin.

Magic.

Loki let himself look up, then, but pointed his eyes firmly at the far wall instead of the brewing gray clouds. He was shivering, could not help himself, and he would have been disgusted with himself for behaving like an addict if he had had the attention to spare. Five days, that was all it had been; not nearly long enough for the needful pangs he was feeling. But he had never been so long without his power.

He had to turn his head, had to see it when the first drops of rain struck the balcony, and then he was captivated by the clouds, darkening so fast.

This was no little storm.

And there, inches from him, stood Thor, Mjolnir stretched high above his head, face tipped up, focus intense - in full control of the wind whipping around him, the rain that was quickly drenching the unadorned cotton of his clothing to his skin.

Lightning crackled across the sky, thunder chasing it with but a hair's breadth of delay, and somehow Loki was on his feet, as close to the window as he could get, hypnotized and breathless. He could almost feel it, could almost really feel it, the sharp welling of magic in the air with each surge of lightning as the unnatural storm picked up.

So much nicer than the endless, perfect summer days.

Below them, the citizenry no longer bustled with contentment. Instead they scurried, harmlessly inconvenienced but still scrambling to get under shelter or home to retrieve their cloaks. The sight was - really rather pleasant.

"We'll have to close the windows, if you're going to make the winds much stronger," he observed, and his voice sounded oddly hushed to his own ears but Thor seemed to have no such difficulty, chuckling without looking away from the sky.

"You would leave windows open during a storm?"

"I would stand in that courtyard and be soaked clear through by it," Loki told him, tasting each word with slightly more hunger than he had meant to. He would revel in the driving rain, open his mouth to swallow it down, and laugh at all those rushing to escape its ferocity. They who called themselves gods.

Thor had turned to stare at him, he knew dimly. When he spoke, his voice was oddly husky at the edges. "Are you that eager to catch cold?"

"Less than a week in Midgard, and already you are worried about colds," Loki said carelessly. "Something tells me I don't have to worry about taking a chill."

Perhaps the reminder stung; perhaps it didn't. He had never been so unconcerned, riveted as he was by not only the people in the courtyard but also the slick rooftops and shining spires of the city, the roiling black sky. Whatever Thor's response to the comment, it was not his problem.

At any rate, Thor eventually found his voice again, and took them firmly away from the point. "Then... I don't see why a little wind should make so much difference."

It would rattle the windows. They would make such terrific noise, and the carpets would get soaked, and the hangings might flap sharply, and it would be so wonderful.

Then, for the first time since the storm had begun, Loki looked away from the storm completely and saw only his brother, soaked to the bone and standing in the middle of it, mastering it. And he thought: what would it be like to touch him right now?

Another round had not been precisely in his plans for the visit. He certainly hadn't ruled out the possibility, either to distract or in order to secure some sort of advantage for himself, but this would be neither.

And yet, he found his fingers curling at the edge of the balcony door.

"Bring the full might of your wind, then," he murmured. "And let the storm go."

Thor glanced at him, then back up at the sky, then slowly back to him again; blue eyes lingered this time, uncertain but - struck, it seemed. What must his face have looked like, to prompt that stare?

"Weren't you the voice in my ear, complaining about my lack of control?" Thor asked after a beat.

He certainly had been, but Loki found himself markedly uninterested in seeing any more control just at the moment. "Long ago," he said dismissively. "You've crafted it carefully. It's stable, isn't it? Now let it loose."

Let it become chaos and rage, until it burns itself to ash. And come to me.

No, he had not planned for this - but he wanted. If not for the wards that held him back, he would have been out there on the balcony with Thor, his hands all over his brother's body, feasting on the muscular plains of a body that clothing so wet did nothing to hide, and perhaps - if he dug his nails in deeply enough, if he plunged his tongue past Thor's lips, he would be able to feel it. Touch it. Taste it.

Only when Thor wavered did it occur to Loki that he was taking a risk. That, while stoking the other god's passion back to a heady blaze had been easy enough before, with time and space to himself Thor might have rallied; might now resist. But then the hesitation passed, and the wind picked up into a howling force that drove the rain in through the windows and the open balcony door to strike his skin, and Thor's eyes stayed on him all the while, branding-hot.

Then he let the storm go, carefully, and with a dull thud dropped Mjolnir to the balcony floor as he closed the distance between them in three long strides.

He smelled like ozone, and Loki was not certain he had ever more luxuriated in a scent, breathing deep of acrid air as Thor's powerful arms wrapped around his waist, and then they were touching, their bodies lined together, and Thor was wet and cold and hot just beneath the cold and thrumming with power, with magic, and he could hardly think through the intensity of his starved body's response.

Then they were kissing, and Loki poured all his skill into that: curling his tongue against the seam of Thor's mouth, coaxing more from him, encouraging it when Thor shuddered and turned the kiss into something harder and fiercer. There was tautness and tension beneath his fingers as they skimmed down over the other god's chest, sizzling, yes, and it was only natural to seize the laces and yank them loose, pulling the tunic open urgently until there was bare skin under his hands. The cold length of chain trapped between them somehow only made the rest of it more intense.

Thor's chest heaved with every breath, muscle rippling smoothly, and he reached up to assist him in his task, shrugging quickly out of his shirt and hastening to pull the hem of Loki's from his trousers, but never did he break the kiss, and Loki scraped his teeth tautly over his brother's bottom lip, found and pinched a nipple between two fingers. One or both earned him a thin groan.

Outside the storm raged, the sky dark as midnight on a moonless night and then bright with lightning. Loki tasted wind and rain and magic on his tongue, all of it tangled up in the musky scent of the man crushed against him, a man whose hands were roaming over his flesh with what seemed impossibly like almost as much hunger as he felt.

It was intense, it was beautiful, it was perfect, and it was nowhere near enough.

Loki rocked them together, breathless, his fingers carving half-moon circles into Thor's sculpted biceps at the friction. He was hard, so hard, and all he wanted as he dropped his head to the other god's neck, lips fastening on a trickle of rainwater, was more.

And Thor seemed all too eager to give it, his hands sliding lower and lower until they were cupping and squeezing him, sending another surge of heat to pool between his thighs. Then they were grinding into each other, and Loki brought teeth into his next kiss before fisting a hand in that perfect golden hair and dragging Thor with him as he backed away from the balcony.

There was a bed in the room, and he wanted to be on it. He wanted to be on it now, or five minutes ago if at all possible.

When Thor caught on, he groaned again - lower in his throat, and longer too - before surging against him. The mattress came up against his back and Loki could feel the wet of his hair and skin and trousers soaking through to the quilt beneath him. It would make for an uncomfortable damp spot later, but he could not bring himself to care, not with Thor wedged between his legs, kissing the breath from his lungs.

The energy lingered in the air around them, ran hot in Thor's blood, and blind though he still was to them he could almost, almost feel the thick skeins of magic circling around them both.

Still he wanted more. He worked a hand between their bodies, between their hips, and Thor had to break the kiss to gasp at the contact but then he was plundering Loki's mouth, his tongue thick and eager, the responsiveness enough to make Loki's own cock ache dizzyingly. Yes, yes, just - like that, that was so good and Thor wasn't even touching him.

Loki dragged his fingertips up to the other god's waistband, slipped them beneath it to touch bare skin and felt Thor's belly tremble; slid deeper until his hand was cradling his brother's hot length. He kept his touch light, lacing it with a slow sweet suction on the tongue in his mouth until he was doing both at once, until he had Thor rutting into his hand and moaning against his lips.

It was so dark now in the tower, but another rumbling flash of light threw the shadows into sharp relief and made Loki shiver in spite of himself. A laugh bubbled up out of him, husky and choked, and he tightened his grip on Thor's cock, very deliberately cutting off the other man's circulation for an erratic heartbeat before stroking him again smoothly.

The unpredictable touch had its desired effect, Thor moaning through his teeth, but he thought the noise sounded ever so slightly strained. The words that spilled from him next were even more so. "Enjoying - your... handiwork?"

"Oh, I am," Loki assured him thickly. Turning his head, it was a simple matter to breathe his next words against Thor's moist lips. "As I think - you are, Brother."

He dragged his fingers to the very tip of the other god's cock, traced the ridge of foreskin with his thumb, and purred when Thor attacked his mouth in retaliation, all teeth and tongue, yes. That was so-

That was... Thor's hand on his wrist, arresting the movement of his hand effortlessly.

"Don't you..." Thor's grip guided his fingers into a slower, firmer pumping stroke, "...want something more than this?"

It took Loki a minute before the question slotted into its proper place; there was that sense of unfairness, of a favor owed, because as far as Thor knew there was a debt of pleasure between them. He lifted his head less than an inch so that he could flicker his tongue over his great fool of a brother's lips, turning the question around on him: "Do you want to mount me again?"

Thick callused fingers tightened their grip on his wrist and Thor went very still, the only sound for a long moment his panting breaths, and Loki spread out sweetly beneath him, making an offering of long pale body in a sinuous stretch until he was very sure the rest of the question had been completely forgotten.

"Make yourself - ready, then," Thor said at last, his voice thin and strangled.

Perfect.

Loki bit down on his lip, rougher, in approval - and enjoyed the hungry sound it got him - before squirming up a little higher on the bed, dragging the silver chain with him. There was a bottle of silken oil on the remaining bedside table, confiscated from the bathing chamber just in case, and he snatched it up, twisting off the cap to pour a little of the liquid into his palm.

Already he had Thor's full attention, and it grew only more intent as he shifted up onto his knees, dragging his loose slacks down to expose his own arousal to the air. He was dark with blood, thickened and so ready for this, but he took his time. He settled back down on the bed slowly, spreading his thighs wider than was strictly necessary so that when he lifted his hips, when he made a graceful arch of his back, Thor would have an unobstructed view.

One finger, two; well-oiled, tracing a measured circle around his entrance - and then inside, pushing the air from his throat in a breathy sound and curling his toes in the sheets.

"-Does..." Thor stumbled, tried again: "Does it..."

Hurt was obviously the word about which he was most concerned. Loki laughed, soft, dragging his fingers most of the way out and then rocking back in again, oh. "I - love the way it feels," he uttered, head rolling back. "I have only to think about - you having me, riding me like this storm..." A third finger, and he shoved his hips into them, cutting himself off in a shivering moan. "...and I need no other touch."

He thought he heard a gasp, fancied he could feel those darkened eyes burning into him. "I do not - ride the storm," Thor said vaguely. "The storm..." But there, words apparently abandoned him, for he let them trail away.

His body was stretching easily now, accepting each thrust of fingers without even the smallest hint of strain, so Loki did not bother pretending to care. He tugged his hand free, opened his eyes lazily to find Thor in the next burst of light, and uttered: "To me."

Thor muttered something that might have been a curse, and the next second he was right there between Loki's legs, fingertips scalding on his hips. "You wish - to be had?" he said in a breath, right there, the head of his cock pressing against his hole, and Loki couldn't help the way his hands fisted in the sheets or the hiss when Thor rocked against him almost - teasingly.

"Was I - somehow unclear?" he replied, aiming for cool unconcern but barely managing to keep the edge of testiness at bay.

And Thor had the gall to chuckle. "Perhaps I'm after... more silver words," he suggested, still hovering there, so close but not yet moving.

Bastard.

Loki brought his legs up to hook firmly around his not-brother's hips. "Take me," he ground out. "I'll beg if that's what will make you give us what we both want."

His whole being felt alive with the lingering magic, the storm outside and just under Thor's skin, and he wanted that energy in him, but it was almost worth it for the way Thor's pupils fanned out until there was just a ring of electric blue around their black.

"Loki," he whispered, drawing his hips back, and then he was shoving forward - shoving in - piercing him in one full thrust that made Loki's eyes roll back into his head, made his cock throb.

Dimly he was aware of arching up off the bed, of the sharp cry that burst from his throat, oh. So much, so fast, his eager body empty and then utterly impaled, but there was no discomfort at all this time; he'd been very, very ready.

Somehow it wasn't enough to have his legs wrapped around Thor and he found himself reaching up, seizing the golden god's shoulders and digging in to hold on.

But, damn him, Thor was not moving. Loki shifted his hips up, urging, but Thor only shuddered and held all the more desperately still; what he could see of Thor's face was twisted with stubborn concentration.

With stubborn restraint.

Even when he finally began to move, the restraint lingered, and though the friction inside him felt good, it was far from enough. He needed - more, wanted it rough and intense and so charged that he couldn't think for the primal satisfaction of the rhythm.

Loki turned his head, bringing his lips to Thor's ear. "Show it to me," he husked. "All that passion, all that - fury. Don't hold back." He skimmed his teeth over the fleshy lobe. "I can take it. I need it."

He had gotten his pretty words after all, and the effect they had on him was profound: Thor moaned out loud and shoved in on the next thrust, powerful hands forcing Loki's knees higher on his hips and wider so that he could get that - much - deeper on the next stroke, and it was everything - everything he'd wanted.

"Yes," Loki hissed, and he knew he sounded wanton but he could not have cared less. He was on fire, his heartbeat pounding in his cock, seed leaking from his slit, and as Thor crashed into him again and again it was all he could do to meet each thrust.

He had never been so - aware of everything. The cool wind on his skin, the rainwater dripping from Thor above him, the storm outside and the magic thick in the air of what had for five days been the void of his cell, the spark of hot ragged pleasure that came with every roll of Thor's hips. The sound of the headboard thump, thump, thumping against the wall, his own gasping breaths.

Faster and faster, harder and harder, seconds blurring into minutes and minutes blurring into who knew how long while he clung to Thor and saw and heard and felt everything with raw intensity, until very abruptly the God of Thunder had gone from reining himself in completely - to holding nothing back.

The bed beneath them creaked once, ominously, and then split right down the center.

It was like lightning, pure and unfettered hunger, and for a brief moment everything else fractured, fell away. Thor had turned to suck on Loki's throat and Loki clutched desperately at his hair, arched under him, and in a needy voice he did not recognize cried out, "Brother!"

Thor went utterly still against him for a fraction of a second and he thought he was going to weep for frustration but then he was being pinned to the mattress, hands shoving his knees down off Thor's hips so that he could rut mindlessly into him and oh, oh, somehow it was even faster now, even harder, violent and animal and he could not begin to hold on-

And then he was spilling, spilling hard between them, twisting in Thor's iron grip and splattering their bellies for a long, white-hot moment.

Distantly he knew Thor was plowing into his spent body, but he remained thoroughly melted, trembling and sated. When he felt a rush of liquid heat inside him and Thor sank down on top of him, warm and enveloping, Loki just turned his head aside and let his eyes slip shut. Waited for his heartbeat to slow, for his ragged breathing to ease.

To be truly warm. He had almost forgotten what it was like.

He could still feel everything: the storm and Thor's bright-hot magic, the wind and wet, the mess they had made together, and the faraway discomfort of the shattered bed. And there wasn't a single thought in his mind, just this - deep contentment.

After what seemed like a very long time, a tickling sensation at his throat told him Thor had kissed it, light and soft and utterly meaningless, and without quite meaning to Loki smoothed his fingers through his brother's damp golden hair, delicately easing the roots where he'd pulled sharply.

"Mmm..." Movement against his neck that might have been a smile. "Loki..."

Any number of insipid thoughts were crossing his mind. He wanted to curl around the man in his arms, to nuzzle and hum and tease. Loki did none of these things, just stroked his hair again and said thickly, "This storm... I like it."

That would have to be good enough.

He felt as much as heard the rumble of Thor's laughter in response. "How - fortunate, as it was... entirely at your whim," the golden god mumbled, sounding half asleep already.

Loki smiled faintly. "You can thank me later."

"So generous, little brother."

Was he really. Somehow, Loki did not think so. He settled his hands on Thor's flanks, stroking up and down them lightly, then pressed his lips to other man's throat once - and then tightened his grip, steeling his muscles so that he could push and steer Thor over onto his back, disentangling them gently.

Blue eyes rolled open lazily, sought out his face, slipped shut again. When the lightning illuminated his face, Loki could not help thinking it looked exceptionally peaceful.

So beautiful, his perfect golden brother.

"-This bed is uncomfortable," Thor announced a moment later, the frown audible in his voice.

And such a fool. Loki chuckled and rolled onto his own belly. "It's broken," he pointed out.

"Broken?" Confusion waged what seemed an extremely sleepy battle with outrage. "What petty insult do they think to make by that?"

Loki felt the corner of his mouth twitch. "I will do all of the complicated math for you, Brother." He slung an arm over Thor's chest and tucked his chin into it comfortably. "It was not broken an hour ago. Yet it is broken now." Loki put on his most thoughtful tone. "Think you that someone came in to sabotage it while we were - otherwise engaged?"

"...Ah." Thor cast what he probably thought was a surreptitious look around at the bed, then muttered something that sounded rather like, "I seem to have that effect on furniture."

"So all the rumors about Thor Odinson are true," Loki responded, teasing - almost playful, tracing a finger over the other god's collarbone - before he realized he was doing it and stopped himself, struggling to wrangle his mood.

Of course, Thor noticed nothing. "It has never mattered before," he murmured, eyes slipping shut again. When he spoke next, the words were hardly discernible for his languor: "I will tell them it is my fault."

"Will you?" Loki asked, mildly curious, but his only answer was a noise of affirmation.

Apparently the discomfort of the sundered bed was not so great that Thor was unable to fall asleep on it.

He had been just the same as a child, perfectly capable of falling asleep anywhere - even in the middle of his sentences. Even when the entire point of those sentences had been to protest that he was not even the littlest bit tired yet.

For a long moment, Loki stayed where he was, one hand resting on Thor's chest, gazing down at him. Then he withdrew his hand and shifted onto his back, levering himself up off the mattress soundlessly.

It would all serve, of course. Was, in fact, clearly serving already, if Thor trusted him enough to fall asleep beside him...

But almost as soon as that thought had occurred, Loki dismissed it. Best not to get overconfident. He had already failed once to predict a man he'd known all his life; where was Thor's shame? At first it had been as if nothing had happened between them at all, and powerful denial might well have accounted for that - but at a word from him, Thor had come readily.

Loki had been so certain.

Mistakes were something everyone made and only a fool believed himself the exception to everyone. Sometimes, even the best-laid plans fell apart for reasons beyond your control. But Loki did not like that he had made this particular mistake. The few times he had somehow managed to underestimate Thor, he had paid dearly for it.

He paused by the formerly-bedside table and sorted through the books that waited for him there. The Servants of Svartalfheim, A History. Botanical Curiosities of the Nine Realms. A Compendium of Musical Theory and Practice. The subjects were wide-ranging, but for the most part they were, as he had noted earlier, not light reading in any sense of the word, and in fact several of them were well over a thousand pages in length. Inexplicably, there was also a slim volume of Dwarven poetry, which he had failed to notice before only because the other books in Thor's arms had completely hidden it from view.

What was all of this supposed to mean? Aside from the rather obvious fact that, when limited to nonmagical texts, Thor had no idea what his so-beloved little brother might like?

Loki started to lift a book, then stopped, staring at his own hand. He was in no state to be touching anything. As if the dried sweat and splatters of his own seed weren't bad enough, his nails were ruined, black smudged all over his fingers and probably the sheets. He badly needed that long bath now, and the heat would have been...

He spent several minutes suspended between the bathing chamber and his wrecked bed, but eventually Loki went instead to the open balcony, stood before it in the full force of the storm until his skin had been battered clean by the freezing rain, and though he waited for almost an hour the cold never burned the way it should have.