The way Thor responds to his touch is enough for Loki, all doubt fleeing from even the darkest corners of his mind. To think that the kiss itself had not been cause enough to assuage his trepidation! But this is Thor, reveling in his touch and his affection and the kisses pressed along his palm cannot be denied. It has been a long time since they were together, truly together, and it always felt to Loki like the yawning void between them, akin only perhaps to the ginnungagap, boundless and eternal. And yet now a bridge, Thor pressed close against him, all the edges of his armor, the softness of his touch, even when it is firm.
“And I you, brother,” Loki admits, his voice still careful but earnest at the same time, as if he dare not believe him. “I truly believed…in my death, in sacrifice, I thought there an honor I could not achieve in life. To give mine for you, for Asgard, I could think of no better way to die. But I yearned for you. I told myself you left me there, a lifeless corpse, that you cared not for what befell me, and I clung to anger but when the anger passed, I only missed you. I did not imagine your forgiveness, Thor. I could not.” Another kiss, as if to silence Thor before he can begin a reply. Sweeter now, gentle, as Loki braces his hands against Thor’s chest. “I am grateful for your failing conviction,” he confesses.
“I promise, you will not lose me again, not by my own doing. You have me, now until the end. You are my brother and my King and I will not abandon you to that alone, Thor. You have my word, whatever it is worth. I am here now, with no intention to leave. Where would I go? You are my home.” A flurry of sentiment, reserved only for those Loki loves the most, that number now dwindled to one.
To witness the raw gravity of sincerity from Loki, in unending waves, nearly broke the God’s hallowed heart. Promises that would unearth abandoned rapture and perish the events paved of animus, dried blood in each heavy tread of its path-- It was an ideal, and Thor was anxious to submerge in its splendor. But, as to how he’d advance forward, even the first step would inevitably be shackled with the weight of his conscious.
“I have always been pegged as the sentimental fool among us, but I am wary you may thwart me of my title.” And back into step, without a stumbled breath, normalcy was in a more optimistic light. Stilling Loki, his hands alight atop of each hip, thumbs idly painting nonsense patterns into leather.
germansingergirl
jbbartram-illu
titsay
tangentwithtanner
kianamaiart
blakekathryn
theartofmadeline
gummygunk
