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Loki studied Thor’s face carefully as he spoke. The furrow of brow upon admission of his initial intent, the slight quirking of lips as he confessed that was no longer at the fore of his thoughts, the crinkling of eyes as he laid his life in Loki’s hands. It was the closest thing to a love poem ever to be composed in his honor, and he found he could not begrudge his brother in this. Not when he spoke so plainly about the very urges he had hidden so deeply in his own spirit. Not even hearing Thor had meant to have him regardless of his own will deterred him, for had he not indulged the thought himself? Let Thor have his petty revenge. He’d given Loki something far greater this day. A victory where he had not even known there was one to seek. For, if he could bring Asgard’s shining son to such lows without even trying, what depths might he tempt should he put his mind to it?

His scalp tingled beneath Thor’s touch, the hand cupping his neck a gentler echo of that which had seen his secret to light, and already he felt the familiar clench in his stomach. Of course Thor would be good at this, too, instinctively knowing what sorts of caresses and where would drive his lover wild, and Loki teetered on the edge of resentment before sliding his own hand higher to furl in Thor’s mane. He was not without some small skill, himself.

“Show me,” he whispered in a voice that sounded hoarse to his own ears, pulling Thor down to claim his mouth. This was no gentle kiss—tongues clashed together, battling briefly before Loki pulled away to bite at Thor’s lower lip, trailing similar nips down his jaw until he reached the cut at the edge of his throat. He wrapped a lean leg around Thor’s thighs, pulling him closer, grinding their hips together as he lapped at the blood drying on his brother’s flesh. It sparked on his tongue, tasted of lightning, and though Loki was already suppressing a moan at how good it felt, it was not enough. He needed a stronger point of connection, he needed sweat-slicked skin sliding against the same and nails raking furrows into flesh.

Bracing his hands against Thor’s chest, he murmured the spell that would strip him of his armor, eyes flickering in amusement at the look on his brother’s face when his chainmail fell to the ground with a tinkling sound, metal discs and cured leather soon following. I told you you were not the only one with the power of life and death, his smirk said. Cool hands trailed down Thor’s abdomen, back up his chest and down his arms, feeling the power behind each individual muscle and the warmth he put off like a dying star, before finally coming to rest again in his hair, pulling him down for another kiss.

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In the Silence of the Darkness We Unite

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Loki made his fatal mistake in giving his rage free reign. Such tactics might win the day for berserkers such as Thor, but failure to maintain a measure of detachment was dangerous to those whose strengths lay in strategy. One moment he was falling, pushed off balance by the slightest of pressures, the next his head was colliding with the ground, a sickening thunk setting the cavern to spinning. By the time his vision returned to normal, Thor was already before him, damnable hammer in hand.

He felt a painful wrenching in his shoulder, and then he was fighting in earnest. If Thor pinned him with Mjolnir, it was all over. He could kick and claw, hurl spells forgotten by the most studied of scholars, and scream his throat raw, but he would never free himself. Always unworthy. Blind panic seized him then, because he did not know what Thor would do to him in such a fey mood. No matter how he had struggled with being forever resigned to second best, he had always acknowledged that there was one area in which Thor would always be his better. Now that foundation had been ripped from beneath him, and Loki could not recall a single moment in his too-long life where he had been more terrified. Not even the first time he had witnessed his skin bloom blue.

Eyes wild and breath coming in desperate pants, he kicked and thrashed, but could not shake Thor loose. He struggled for what seemed an eternity before he realized Thor had long since dropped his hammer in favor of holding him down with the weight of his body. A sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh escaped his throat as he forced himself to still, replaying Thor’s words in his head now that sense had begun to creep back in.

The desperation had passed, but he was still scared. So very scared. Eyes shut tight against the one who held him down, trying frantically to ignore the longings the press of Thor’s body against his was stirring, his voice wavered as he asked, “You think I planned this? You think this was all some clever trick devised to disgrace you? You’ve no idea how long I…” His voice gave out altogether, then. Still unable to speak the shame Thor already knew. He had done many things unfitting of a brother, but at least he had never indulged that particular desire. Soon he would not even be able to say that much.

Loki took a few breaths to regain his composure, then opened his eyes to look Thor full in the face. “If this stems from naught but your desire for vengeance, then I will never forgive you.” He had meant it as a threat, but it came out more like a plea. If Thor never felt anything for him again save utter and complete contempt, he would endure. It was the reverse he did not think he could survive.

He brought a hand up to cup a bearded cheek, and this time the threat was there in his voice. “If you think you are the only one between us to hold the power of life and death over the other, you are sorely mistaken. You live because it does not suit me that you should die. But I swear to you, Thor, by all the gods who came before us and all those who will follow, if you play me false in this, you will beg for death before I see fit to give it to you.”

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A jolt of heat speared through his belly at the casual warning Loki’s voice held. Here was mischief; here was his sibling of fire, of elemental chaos and misdeeds. Here was his brother. Here was Loki, lying prone and threatening beneath him, voice broken and wavering one moment and so sure the next. Sure enough to stoke the coals lining his gut, a breath leaving him in a harsh shudder. He pressed closer, the warmth of Loki reaching him through his armor, burning everywhere all at once, fogging his fury and confusion and funneling it into now. Into what he’d come to face in himself since that first fight in Latveria.

Something carnal, base, something that had been lying in wait, biding the time it needed to surface when it had nowhere else to go. Now. Now was that time.

“I will not lie to you, here, on this day. I started with the intention of simply finding you and repaying you in kind, for all the wrongs you’ve done me. Your forgiveness was not my concern. Even now I know that you have many grievances against me you will never forgive, and I am not asking you to.” A hand left Loki’s shoulder to slide up along the column of his neck, cradling the base of his skull and tangling in the dark wash of his hair. “But this,” he muttered, hips shifting down to press along the top of Loki’s thigh. The pressure made him stumble on his own thoughts. “This has always been. It is an admission I will make to you only once, but know, Loki, I am in earnest. More than I have ever been.”

Thor wanted to press forward, the flutter of heady breath between them and the scent of Loki so near making his mind swim with new ideas. Wanted to rock clothed hips into the apex of Loki’s thighs, hear what Loki’s voice would sound like on his name, wanted to know what the taste of his mouth was like, the feel of his tongue—

But he refrained, forcing himself still and willing beyond most things for the rushing of blood to cease pounding in his head, blurring his mind and thickening his tongue past all hope of any eloquent speech.

“My intention, Loki, should be clear. You must understand me.” And he huffed a small, amused laugh. “Should I wish for any death, it would be best seen done by your hands besides.” He gave in to the temptation of letting his face fall ever closer, breathing Loki’s hot puffs of air as his mouth went dry. “Should you choose to kill me now, I will not take back this truth I have given you.”

Thor’s other hand sidled up to cup the expanse of Loki’s neck, the heat pressing into him nearly unbearable and the tip of his nose and lips tingling from how very close they were.

“Please, believe my honesty in this single fact. I have wanted...” Their noses brushed. “Loki—”

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In the Silence of the Darkness We Unite

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Loki tried to argue just how unwilling he was—whatever carnal desire had manifested itself in Latveria, his only wish at the moment was to put his fist through Thor’s face—but he found it difficult to slip even a single syllable past the current tirade. For all the cleverness behind Loki’s words, they were only viable if they were actually heard, and Thunderer would always best Silvertongue where artless volume was the measure.

Still, Thor’s words were not entirely without power, least of all where Loki’s own foolish heart was concerned, and a throbbing ache spread outwards from that accursed organ as he made the mistake of actually listening to them. He had not forgotten who had delivered him from Odin’s justice and pieced parts of him back together. Of course he hadn’t. Nor had he forgotten the tender brush of lips against his forehead when all was done. Those same lips that now hovered a mere breath away from his own.

Thor’s knee shifted again, brushing against Loki’s groin as he pressed closer yet, and Loki found himself wanting in spite of his fury. A stray strand of hair brushed against his cheek, playing counterpoint to the calloused hands crushing his wrists, and all he could smell in this dank little hole in the ground was the scent of open sky. His fingers twitched, unconsciously seeking to touch, and Loki was suddenly thankful of the manner in which Thor had him pinned lest his body betray him a second time. He closed his eyes against this uninvited wave of desire, held his breath against the hope that Thor was sincere.

He wanted this. It was the last thing he wanted.

He’d hidden this unseemly lust for centuries, buried it deep, wrapped it beneath scorn and violence, only to have it shaken loose in a single vicious struggle. Thor was never supposed to have known, for he’d done with that knowledge precisely what Loki had known he would. Except that he hadn’t, or that day in Latveria would have been the end of it. That Thor should ever stand before him, whispering such vulgar suggestions as he coaxed Loki’s body to respond to his touch, could not have crossed his mind had he thought on it for a millennia. Because Thor did not desire him. And no matter how much Loki hated him, he had always trusted that Thor was above this. Above drawing his own desires to the fore to shame him further. For had Loki not already suffered enough shame for a thousand men?

Loki had thought that icy shard in his chest dead long ago, stilled along with his lips beneath needle and twine. He realized how wrong he had been as the sudden searing agony of further fracture made itself known. If Thor expected him to be grateful he had spared his life, he was going to be sorely disappointed. Better to be dead than suffer this humiliation.

Eyes flying open, Loki grasped the spark of magic at his core, and pushed outward with all his might. A sickly green flash and Thor was flung backward a dozen or so yards, flight halted only after he had crashed through the third stalagmite and skidded to a halt in a puddle of softly glowing goo.

“All that you have given me?” Loki asked, advancing on his opponent who was still struggling to right himself against the slick cavern floor. “All that you will give me?” he inquired, as he reached his quarry, fisting a hand in his hair and pulling his head back at a painful angle. “Do enlighten me so I can show you the proper gratitude,” he finished with a sneer.

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He had thought Loki had been listening, for once. Had been giving him the time it took to say all he had. But Thor had been wrong, as he usually was when it came to his brother. There was a blinding flash of green and the feeling of falling, hitting the rock protrusions one after another before finally, finally, ceasing to fly through the air. He grabbed up Mjolnir beside him, just grasping at the hilt as he realized that part of his side was covered in the ethereal glow of the cave's goo-like matter. A shiver raised the hair along his neck from it.

Then Loki was there, gripping a painful handful of his hair and yanking his head at a wretched tilt. His lip curled and Thor had half a mind to break his wrist, just because he could. Break his hold because he was the elder, not Loki. Perhaps pain would silence him.

But these were old, recycled thoughts, things he'd learned did not work. Not any longer. Not on Loki. He tightened his grip on the haft of his hammer, waiting until Loki finished to bring up the bulk side of it, shoving with just enough force to knock Loki away from him. He tumbled back, and Thor walked towards him.

"I have given you life, time and again, where any other proper realm would have destroyed such a snake as you." He stepped slowly, letting his words sink in. He would make Loki understand him, he needed to make Loki understand. Thor hardly understood it himself. "Lying and cheating, always slithering on your belly in the tallest grasses. Denying truths, once told so passionately in a state of distress, that you would now see swept beneath more unbearable half truths."

Thor took one more step forward, Mjolnir humming with that hidden violent grace only he knew. Light filtered through the cavern, bright blue and piercing white playing off the cracks and craters. A threat. He would not cause this beast of a mountain to collapse atop them, but if Loki believed he would, then all the better.

"Make me see this ugliness in myself to the surface, make me show it to you, only for you to turn and hide behind a sneer." Thor stopped right before him, the fingers of his free hand twitching, wanting to reach out and simply touch. But Thor still saw the fury there in his brother's face. "You are a vicious opponent, brother, but you forget who honed the word."

Thor jerked Loki up by his arm and sent him slamming to the ground again, lightning crackling along the length of his arm where he still held Mjolnir at his side, waiting. Cracks bloomed along the surface where Loki writhed to stand. But Thor knelt once more, throwing his arm to Loki's chest to pin him there, along the ground. He struggled, and Thor held fast.

"I wish this to be as much a joke as you do. But you are the liar here, not I." Loki struggled and he let Mjolnir drop, shifting his grip to hold Loki's shoulders back. "Think you I jest!" he shouted at him. Then, voice lowered only so that he did not scream the cave to pieces, "You have made me witness to a lust in myself, Loki. If I were a stronger man, a better god, your head would have been dashed against a rock long ago. But I am neither."

Loki looked ready to struggle again so Thor moved his leg to pin Loki's thigh down, jarring him to stillness. He shook him a little.

"I am only your brother."

#//ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.gif #malachitemischief

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In the Silence of the Darkness We Unite

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A pained grunt escaped Loki’s throat as he was slammed against the rock face, dropping his dagger in the process. No matter. The blade had been more for Thor’s benefit than his own. Loki never relied on such mundane weapons when he wished to cause true damage, and he was already summoning the magics necessary to break Thor’s hold. Then he thought better of it.

He could easily punch Thor halfway across the cavern, and part of him wanted to. Rage at the other man’s presumption sizzled along his veins, and his blood sang with the promise of battle yet to be joined. And what a battle it would be! Not the limping, pathetic scuffle of a month ago, when Loki had been too worn and weary from weeks of torture to put up more than the most token of resistances, but a wild and frenzied clamor capable of tearing this subterranean realm apart be pieces. A part of him wanted to revel in the chaotic fury that only Thor could give him, yes, but the larger part of him wanted answers. Answers he was unlikely to find amidst fists and blades and the spark of eldritch energies against ever-present Mjolnir.

So he sagged against the cavern wall, twisting his wrists in Thor’s bruising grip as if to test for leverage, struggling with only a fraction of his strength as he feigned helplessness. Thor had always been more inclined to speak when he thought he had the upper hand, and speak he did. His condemnation fell like serpent’s venom, searing Loki’s flesh and bringing to mind another cave where he had suffered with back pinned to wall. It was true, all of it true, and Loki had to close his eyes against the force of Thor’s hatred, turn his head to escape as he quite forgot in that moment he was only pretending to be caught.

The silence rang like Gjallahorn between them as Loki gasped a shaky, tremulous breath, and it seemed as if the fight had gone out of him. Then he barked a bitter laugh and forced himself to look at Thor, poison light pooling in eerie emerald eyes. “Oh, yes,” he purred, sarcasm lacing every word, “it’s all been one grand jape orchestrated by Yggdrasil’s most infamous jester! Which part do you think I found funniest, hm? Being bound beneath a venomous serpent, left to writhe in agony until I could scarcely remember my name? Begging asylum in Latveria like some pitiful pauper, with hardly a scrap of clothing to hide my nakedness? Or perhaps being strangled nigh unto death as payment for the truths you yourself demanded of me?” He strained forward at the neck like a snake ready to strike and hissed his next words against Thor’s lips. “Do not dare ask me what sort of brother does these things. We’re not brothers. Your words, Thor. Your words as you left.”

Loki leant back against the rocks. “Don’t bother feigning offense at what I did after. It gave you this inspired idea of how best to punish me, after all. That is what this is, isn’t it?” he inquired, twisting his wrists to draw attention to where Thor still had them pinned. “At least, that’s what you tell yourself. Go on, then,” he encouraged, uncanny calm not faltering even when Thor pressed a muscled thigh between his legs to rub against his groin. “Take your anger out on my unwilling flesh and call it justice. Perhaps then I will be allowed to witness these fabled tears for my fate. I would so love to see them.”

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“Unwilling!” Thor laughed out, breathless for all the idiocy of the notion and the simple untruth of it. Mouth tingling for another reason entire. “Your lies have weakened in your time away, running around like a lost little elf. How fitting. For have you not scuttled about in the dark and the ruin, under guise so that even I have not been able to track you?”

“And yet, here I am.” Still, said the flurry in his eyes. It was biting, yes, and had he not earned that right? Loki was a foul thing and Thor ever the paragon of attitude, save his anger. Never allowed to indulge in the selfish glory of contempt. It was relieving in a way, but it still left a burn in his throat; guilt, another, better person would have called it, but Thor oft wondered if he was still worthy of such a banner as better. “Here is the one who scorned you, turned you away, for in the moment had I not lost everything? You the agent of that loss? You’ve crafted many wrongs against me, Loki, and though I…struggle with regretting the words…I do regret them. Gods past, do I regret them.” He leaned forward slightly, unconsciously wanting, but he remembered it was an indulgence not yet needed, wanted. But want he did. He bit his tongue and forced it away, for the moment. There were words to be said.

Thor drew back a few inches, wanting to see Loki’s face. “Do not forget, Loki, I was the one to banish that snake from our realm. Do not forget it was I who flew you to the home of a man I take no pleasure in the company of and tended to your wounds as a handmaiden would.”

He pressed closer, bracketing Loki with his own arms now, so close he could feel the way hot breath pushed its way out of Loki, lips tight, nostrils flared. “I left, Loki,” he began, dangerously quiet, “because I would have killed you had I not. It is not an apology for what I did. A disownment made in halfhearted avowal in place of losing you.”

Thor’s knee shifted, hips moving ever nearer with the motion and his skin burned, a jolt running through his stomach. Had he never tempted such vile lows in all his life, he’d have never considered this. Perhaps, in another life, or a thousand thousand more, then maybe, but…he burned, oh how he burned for it now. A fire in his blood, spreading and blooming and tearing all to ash for the need, the want, to give Loki every shame he’d been made to face. Every shame he was being forced to want.

“You would see me weep yet again? Then try, force them from me, Loki. I doubt you will invoke a single one, for all I’ve given you for all I will. They are for other times, but not this day.”

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In the Silence of the Darkness We Unite

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The effort of maintaining his composure in this small, secluded, repressive place with Loki, who would not even bother with dropping his charade, was waning on him. A blue eye twitched slightly as he saw a quick tongue sweep thin lips and he took another step forward.

And then Thor was before him, in his space. Thor hoped that the storm of his eyes conveyed amusement more than his frustration.

“Drop this guise and perhaps we shall test this enamor you speak so casually of.” His free hand swayed at his side, fingers twiddling idly as he considered what next to do. What next to risk. He had nothing to lose any longer. Nothing at all. What was one more folly amongst so many others? Would it be his lowest moment in all this? No. The memory of Loki gasping and clutching at his hands as he choked the life from him sank in his gut and proved master over all other failures. That was his greatest regret. He had nearly killed Loki. He hadn’t killed Loki.

The line had been blurred.

And so with heavy breath and a thundering heart, Thor moved to grab at Loki’s thigh. Fabric shifted beneath his grasp as he said, “Our disadvantage is one in the same.” Thor would see Loki’s shame and he would see Loki regret everything he’d done. He would. He would.

But it did not stop his from saying, quietly, challenging now, “Brother.”

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Never mind control of the situation. As Thor crowded his space, backed him against a rough-hewn cavern wall, sent one broad hand seeking outward to rest on a lean thigh, Loki found he no longer had control of himself. Stolen violet eyes widened in shock at such a lewd suggestion from his brother, and his heart gave a painful thud as that title he had never thought to hear again slipped almost reverently into the darkness.

But no. This was wrong, all of it wrong, no matter how much Loki wanted it. Loki was the one between them to harbor such twisted fantasies, and Loki alone. Never Thor. That they could be the same in this had never once crossed his mind in the centuries he had wrestled with his desires. Thor had never seen him that way and never would, certainly not now, with what had last passed between them. He caught the amusement in Thor’s eyes and something essential and deep-seated within him snapped, broken beyond repair.

His visage—and it was his, for Loki finally let fall the façade of dark elf to be replaced with that of Aesir prince—twisted into a snarl as he grabbed the wrist of the hand prodding at his trousers, pulling down with a force that unbalanced his assailant. Sliding behind Thor, he used the other’s momentum to slam him into the rock wall he had previously had his own back against, then pinned him there with a dagger at his throat.

“This is all a joke to you, is it? You find it funny, eh?” he shouted into the other man’s face. “What, you think you can just… just show up out of nowhere, and I’ll lie on my back and spread my legs for you because… because…” Loki was shaking, so strong was his anger at this basest of betrayals, and he fought to keep his hand steady. “You arrogant fucking prick! Did your whore finally turn you away? Is that what this is about? Your own hand not cutting it anymore, so you think Loki will do in a pinch? You’ve heard the rumors, after all, and you always wondered how much truth there was in them. But you never dared find out for yourself. Not until… until…”

At last, his grip faltered, blade jerking against flesh and nicking a shallow cut at the base of Thor’s jaw. Loki stared transfixed at the sluggish stream of blood that trickled down Thor’s throat. He hadn’t meant to do more than threaten, but seeing the physical evidence that he could harm Thor in this way, make him suffer a fraction of the pain Loki himself felt in that moment, he wanted more.

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Thor allowed Loki to pin him, though he braced himself against the rock face with hands splayed out on either side of him, Mjolnir held against that which it could easily break. Just as Thor was in a position he could easily break out from, but he let it happen. Let Loki have this, he would have greater things. He smiled now, able to see Loki’s true face, twisted though it was in snarling fury. He felt his skin itch where it pressed against the rock, wanting so badly to move, to retaliate. But he let Loki scream at him.

And then he felt the barest sting, the pinch of metal parting skin, the warmth of blood blooming and trailing slow down his neck. It didn’t hurt, but it robbed the smile from his face. Thor watched Loki as he realized the blood he’d drawn, and Thor felt lightning crackle through his blood.

He broke Loki’s hold with one muscled forearm, shoving the knife he held away and grabbing his free arm with the hand he still held Mjolnir in. He twisted and turned, shoving Loki back against the rock he’d been thrown against and moved so that he pinned Loki’s wrists on either side of his head. He shook Loki, once, twice, banging him against the rock to drive his point as he answered in his own loud roar.

“I should be asking you if this is a joke! The things you’ve done, the things you’ve yet to do…I can barely keep from retching at them. I have scoured every realm in search of you and I find you here, hiding in a cave, wearing the stolen face of an elf. What are you, Loki? You murder Balder, you tell me horrific truths, and leave me to face them alone? What sort of brother, what sort of man…” But he trailed off, too aware of the fact he was nearly screaming at him himself. He breathed slowly, forcing his blood to calm. “And then, after everything—after that day in Latveria, you see it fit to sully my garb in your selfish filth?”

He leaned close. “You run from me, thinking I will perhaps bring the wrath of Odin down upon your head? Well, do you see him? Do you see our father? Perhaps you think I’ve forgiven you? I have not. Not this time. After everything, after Balder—I weep for you, Loki. I weep for the brother I had.”

Thor closed his eyes, shuffling his feet to step closer. “And yet I still searched you out. Even after you left such plain confirmation of what I only guessed at before. And you think I am blind, you think I cannot find another…” One knee pushed between Loki’s thighs, and thunder ridden blue met green. “Do you think I would not be here had I wanted anything else? After such long, tremulous weeks?”

“You have robbed me of nearly everything, Loki.” I am daring you to try and rob me of the rest.

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In the Silence of the Darkness We Unite

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Thor continued forward, watching the way the elf carefully shrugged. He smiled, lips curling crookedly as he recognized the movement he’d seen only so often in battles past.

“Perhaps, clever elf,” Thor began, pointing at him with his hammer, “that I have a secret or two of my own. My question to you is, what words can that silver tongue weave in trade for them?”

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Loki’s heart thudded thickly in his chest, beating a staccato rhythm in accompaniment to the first note of danger plucked straight from the air. Thor knew, where before he had only suspected. It showed clear in his stance, suddenly so sure, in his smile, tinged with triumph, in that thrice-damned nickname that poured from his tongue. Thor knew, and rather than charge at Loki and demand he show what passed for his true form, rather than drag him back to Asgard with blood and violence, he simply stood there and smirked.

Loki felt his control of the situation slipping away. Perhaps that was why he refused to give up this charade, even though he knew it had outlived its use. If he could not manipulate Thor, at least he could still govern his own appearance. “Who says I want your secrets, at all?” he inquired. His smile only faltered for a moment, deft tongue darting out to swipe across his lips in anxiety. “You’re the one who came bursting into my cozy little cave making demands. It would seem you’re far more enamored of me than I of you. Which leaves you sadly at a disadvantage at the bargaining table.”

He had known Thor would find him. He had known Thor would confront him. It was the reserve that confounded him. Thor had never been a subtle man, and yet now he played at bandying words and sly innuendo. He did not know what Thor wanted of him, and for one such as Loki, ignorance was tantamount to helplessness.

viciousthunder-blog

The effort of maintaining his composure in this small, secluded, repressive place with Loki, who would not even bother with dropping his charade, was waning on him. A blue eye twitched slightly as he saw a quick tongue sweep thin lips and he took another step forward.

And then Thor was before him, in his space. Thor hoped that the storm of his eyes conveyed amusement more than his frustration.

"Drop this guise and perhaps we shall test this enamor you speak so casually of." His free hand swayed at his side, fingers twiddling idly as he considered what next to do. What next to risk. He had nothing to lose any longer. Nothing at all. What was one more folly amongst so many others? Would it be his lowest moment in all this? No. The memory of Loki gasping and clutching at his hands as he choked the life from him sank in his gut and proved master over all other failures. That was his greatest regret. He had nearly killed Loki. He hadn't killed Loki.

The line had been blurred.

And so with heavy breath and a thundering heart, Thor moved to grab at Loki's thigh. Fabric shifted beneath his grasp as he said, "Our disadvantage is one in the same." Thor would see Loki's shame and he would see Loki regret everything he'd done. He would. He would.

But it did not stop his from saying, quietly, challenging now, "Brother."

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In the Silence of the Darkness We Unite

viciousthunder-blog

Thor narrowed his eyes at this elf. The appearance was different, yes, but…there was something else. He did not often have such a strong feeling of…whatever it was. But no matter how hard he tried to turn and be rid of the infernal cavern, something in his gut forced him to stay rooted where he was. The tendons in his hand slid and locked over bone as he tightened wary fingers along Mjolnir’s haft.

“One who speaks so much often has something they desire to keep hidden.” And then, “How come you by the assumption I am Aesir?” Thor watched the elf carefully, moving forward in slow advance. “Have you a secret, elf?”

He deliberately removed Mjolnir from the strap at his side, letting it hang in a strong grip. He leveled a stare at the elf, and waited.

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Loki shrugged, using the movement to conceal his reach for one of the daggers hidden about his person. “Too tall for a dwarf. Too broad for an elf. And men don’t often visit these parts. What else could you be?”

His gaze slid surreptitiously to where Thor hefted his hammer. Well, that was more like it. He grinned, a sharp echo of the blade hidden in his palm. “I’ve many secrets, insolent godling. Most do. The question is, which one are you after and what are you willing to give for it?”

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Thor continued forward, watching the way the elf carefully shrugged. He smiled, lips curling crookedly as he recognized the movement he'd seen only so often in battles past.

"Perhaps, clever elf," Thor began, pointing at him with his hammer, "that I have a secret or two of my own. My question to you is, what words can that silver tongue weave in trade for them?"

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In the Silence of the Darkness We Unite

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Blood rushed through his ears as he walked over the peak of a small hill, grassy and wide spread, as he looked out across the mountainous plains of Svartalfheim. He knew all civilization of this realm thrived beneath the ground he walked over, and yet he could not help but feel an eerie chill sweep over his skin as he heard nothing but the shake of trees in the wind.

A month he had searched. Four weeks of endless scouring, of looking for Loki. Thor had searched Midgard first, intending to do…what with Loki, he didn’t entirely know. But he’d been gone when he’d arrived. And Loki had left in his wake something Thor had forgotten upon his abrupt departure.

He remembered the sullied sheen of the red fabric that once draped over his shoulders, replaced only recently. Fresh, unbidden rage swelled within his chest at the thought of it. All he had suspected was confirmed, all he had dared only edge along in thought had been forced to the front of his eyes, clear and rotten and wrong in a way that made his stomach clench. Loki had rutted in the cloak he’d left behind, and left it for him to find. He had never seen a more crude invitation. Loki dared ask to be searched out, well, Thor would meet him. Thor would answer him just what he asked.

Four weeks of uprooting every realm and city he came across, at first only barely, just a casual passing through, just a wayward stretch of sight, soon delving into a frustration and violence and thunderous query none could answer. Odin had to be angered by his son’s actions and yet, where was he? Where was the ever present croon of a hateful raven overhead? There was nothing. And so he was left to himself. Left to suffer this heartache, wretched and all consuming and confusing as it was, by himself. A month alone. Four weeks to cater to the temptation wicked Loki had pushed into his mind and sewn with heavy metal rooks. Claw as he might at the notion, he was unable to keep from pressing cautious hand to himself, heavy in his own hand, to the mental image of his brother, twisted into someone he recognized before all this went sour. Before he’d insisted upon journeying to Jotunheim. Before Loki fell. He didn’t understand what that said about him.

And so it was, with a hesitant mental teetering along the edge of acceptance at this new turn, a fresh rage, and a steady hand upon the hilt of his hammer that he found himself delving into the caverns of Svartalfheim’s massive underground society. Perhaps Loki would be here. But he half knew he would again be wrong. When Loki didn’t want to be found, he wasn’t.

Their market had always been a large, flourishing one, and the dark skinned elves and the white flashes of armor and the rummaging of Dwarven traders bustled all around him. He was half to browsing for red fabric when something caught his eye. A native, running a ways in the distance. He was nearly pushing others to be rid of the place and Thor just knew.

Thor followed him, if nothing for lack of anything else to do. What had he to lose, truly, if who he tracked turned out to be nothing more than a native of the realm? Nothing at all. And so he hurried after him, twisting and turning and mindful of where he stepped and how, for he wanted to be absolutely silent. A skill few remembered of he who carried the sky in his fist. He nearly tripped over the slick back of a glow worm before he saw the man come to a rest in an empty stone chamber, rough hewn and of the earth.

He stepped forward, and forced the name from his lips. Half hoping and half dreading what would come next.

“Loki?”

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Loki’s head whipped up and around, surprised by the cautious utterance of his name. Thor stood just inside the lip of the chamber, barely illuminated by the ethereal glow of the insects overhead. Even in this darkness, he seemed to shine with an intensity that hurt to look upon, and Loki soon averted his gaze.

He knew Thor had been searching for him, though to what end he was not sure. He should have been fearful of the reason behind that desperate hunt, but seeing Thor standing so uncertain before him, all he felt was resignation. This was but one more beat in the endless waltz between them. Why should he scrutinize it above all others?

Oh, but what he would have given, that god who had already lost so much, to be called “brother.” That selfsame god who had once bemoaned that he was only ever known as Thor’s brother. Whether to be clasped to chest in relief or punched through wall in anger, he did not care. Either would have been better than the dispassionate syllables that now fell from Thor’s lips.

He met that seeming calm with equal detachment, putting up just the pretense of illusion, but ultimately not investing an ounce of effort. “Loki?” he asked, the silver of borrowed hair obscuring his face as he dipped his head. “Don’t know who that is.” This was regretfully true most days. “Don’t know you, besides.” Another miserable truth. Loki had always been skilled at lying with utmost veracity.

“It’s rude, you know,” he continued as he pushed to his feet and gathered his magics to him, “barging into a man’s hide-away and acting like you own the place. But then, that’s how all you Aesir are. Expecting all the Nine to bow to your imagined supremacy. Well, the old joints don’t work like they used to, and I’ve no interest in bending my knees. So I suggest you leave me to my peace and seek yours elsewhere.”

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Thor narrowed his eyes at this elf. The appearance was different, yes, but…there was something else. He did not often have such a strong feeling of…whatever it was. But no matter how hard he tried to turn and be rid of the infernal cavern, something in his gut forced him to stay rooted where he was. The tendons in his hand slid and locked over bone as he tightened wary fingers along Mjolnir’s haft.

“One who speaks so much often has something they desire to keep hidden.” And then, “How come you by the assumption I am Aesir?” Thor watched the elf carefully, moving forward in slow advance. “Have you a secret, elf?”

He deliberately removed Mjolnir from the strap at his side, letting it hang in a strong grip. He leveled a stare at the elf, and waited.

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In the Silence of the Darkness We Unite

Loki wound his way through the narrow maze of tunnels that comprised the markets of Svartalfheim, drawing little enough attention in his borrowed form. It had been a month since the confrontation in Latveria, and his physical injuries had long since healed, ragged gashes drawn into pale scars concealed by his habitual glamours. The same could not be said for his emotional wounds, deep lesions which seeped putrid pus and bitter blood at every ill-conceived move.

And, despite all his careful planning, most of Loki’s moves were ill-conceived. Scarcely a moment passed where he did not exacerbate his hurts, tearing open newly-formed scabs under the pretense of plotting his revenge.

It had been a month, and he had made no true effort toward that end. Instead, he concealed himself at this cultural crossroads, lying low in a low-lying realm far past the point when he should have again taken up the tools of his trade to make dark deals towards shadowed schemes. Sooner or later he would have to accept that the truth was simply that he enjoyed the pain.

Rounding a sharp corner wedged between the stalls of a silversmith and a silktrader, he narrowly avoided colliding with a disgruntled dwarf as he noticed the familiar gleam of a blonde head from across the cavern. Not the shimmering, icy pallor of the Svartalfar, but a deep, burnished gold he knew would be soft to the touch.

Heart hammering to life where it had been dead in his chest, Loki turned on his heel, doubling back the way he had come. He slipped unseen from the crowd into a cramped corridor, hurrying past idle travelers, taking turns at seemingly random intervals, striking deeper into the very heart of the realm. When at last he reached an empty chamber, alone save for the echo of an underground stream and the bioluminescent light of Svartalfheim’s oversized glow worms, he sagged against a wall and coughed out slight, hysterical laughter.

Why had he run so? Even if Thor had looked directly at him, he would not have known it was Loki. He appeared as any other dark elf in this infernal city, if garbed a bit more strangely. But Thor had never turned enough of an eye to Asgardian fashion, much less what passed for normal elsewhere, to notice such a disparity.

viciousthunder-blog

Blood rushed through his ears as he walked over the peak of a small hill, grassy and wide spread, as he looked out across the mountainous plains of Svartalfheim. He knew all civilization of this realm thrived beneath the ground he walked over, and yet he could not help but feel an eerie chill sweep over his skin as he heard nothing but the shake of trees in the wind.

A month he had searched. Four weeks of endless scouring, of looking for Loki. Thor had searched Midgard first, intending to do…what with Loki, he didn’t entirely know. But he’d been gone when he’d arrived. And Loki had left in his wake something Thor had forgotten upon his abrupt departure.

He remembered the sullied sheen of the red fabric that once draped over his shoulders, replaced only recently. Fresh, unbidden rage swelled within his chest at the thought of it. All he had suspected was confirmed, all he had dared only edge along in thought had been forced to the front of his eyes, clear and rotten and wrong in a way that made his stomach clench. Loki had rutted in the cloak he’d left behind, and left it for him to find. He had never seen a more crude invitation. Loki dared ask to be searched out, well, Thor would meet him. Thor would answer him just what he asked.

Four weeks of uprooting every realm and city he came across, at first only barely, just a casual passing through, just a wayward stretch of sight, soon delving into a frustration and violence and thunderous query none could answer. Odin had to be angered by his son’s actions and yet, where was he? Where was the ever present croon of a hateful raven overhead? There was nothing. And so he was left to himself. Left to suffer this heartache, wretched and all consuming and confusing as it was, by himself. A month alone. Four weeks to cater to the temptation wicked Loki had pushed into his mind and sewn with heavy metal rooks. Claw as he might at the notion, he was unable to keep from pressing cautious hand to himself, heavy in his own hand, to the mental image of his brother, twisted into someone he recognized before all this went sour. Before he’d insisted upon journeying to Jotunheim. Before Loki fell. He didn’t understand what that said about him.

And so it was, with a hesitant mental teetering along the edge of acceptance at this new turn, a fresh rage, and a steady hand upon the hilt of his hammer that he found himself delving into the caverns of Svartalfheim's massive underground society. Perhaps Loki would be here. But he half knew he would again be wrong. When Loki didn’t want to be found, he wasn’t.

Their market had always been a large, flourishing one, and the dark skinned elves and the white flashes of armor and the rummaging of Dwarven traders bustled all around him. He was half to browsing for red fabric when something caught his eye. A native, running a ways in the distance. He was nearly pushing others to be rid of the place and Thor just knew.

Thor followed him, if nothing for lack of anything else to do. What had he to lose, truly, if who he tracked turned out to be nothing more than a native of the realm? Nothing at all. And so he hurried after him, twisting and turning and mindful of where he stepped and how, for he wanted to be absolutely silent. A skill few remembered of he who carried the sky in his fist. He nearly tripped over the slick back of a glow worm before he saw the man come to a rest in an empty stone chamber, rough hewn and of the earth.

He stepped forward, and forced the name from his lips. Half hoping and half dreading what would come next.

“Loki?”

#malachitemischief

malachitemischief-blog

Abandoned

The door slammed shut behind Thor with the finality of a coffin’s lid.

Loki did not move from where he sat, curling even further in upon himself as if that pathetic instinct could somehow protect him from the emotions raging fierce and unchecked throughout his being. He felt naked, exposed, vulnerable. His armor—all his lies and schemes and secrets—strewn about him in tatters on the floor. And Thor. He had seen, had gazed upon the broken and bloodied form of Loki at his weakest, flayed fleshless, bare to the bone. Had knelt beside him, eased a gentle hand between his ribs, and, effortless as a summer shower, ripped the still-beating heart from his breast.

Loki shook with the aftershocks of that pain, tiny tremors that would not stop no matter how he willed it. Loki had renounced Thor once, amidst shards of Bifrost and shattered trust, but for all that he was not Thor’s brother, he had never stopped thinking of Thor as his. To be so disowned was an anguish he had not felt since his own children had been torn from his arms, and was that not precisely the heartache that had led him to this one? He could not manage even the bitterest of laughs past the burning in his throat, a stinging rawness that owed very little to the bruises now blooming on his neck.

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