DREAM
Thor/Loki - drabble - Loki comes to his brother for comfort for the first time in centuries.
When Thor woke, it was the strange tumbling you do when you fall out of one dream and into another. It had to be a dream, he thought through the clinging fog of slumber, as Loki had not come to shake him from his sheets in many a century but there his brother was, fingers pulling frantically to push aside the sheets surrounding his golden frame to get at Thor's shoulders.
"Thor. Thor, awake."
"Peace, Loki," the thunderer rumbled as he rolled to prop himself up on his elbows, then straightening to sit upright in his bed. "I am awake."
He took a moment to rub at his eyes, banishing the last bits of clinging dream and indulging himself a moment in this one. It was a good dream so far. His brother was in the same room and had not yet his hands around Thor's throat.
"I have not had need to come to your chambers in ages," Loki whispers. His fingers fidget still, itching to shove the sheets back further from his brother, to find comfort against his skin as he once did when they were children and all the vast expanses of the black beyond Yggdrasil's branches seemed the most ominous thing in the entirety of existence.
Perhaps they yet were.
"I said peace," Thor bids sleepily, reaching out to take his dream-brother's shoulder, "Still your fingers and excuse my lack of dress, I had not known I would be taking company so late an hour."
"The state of your dress disturbs me not," Loki snaps but his fingers still when Thor drags him by the shoulder further up onto the bed. They ruin the straight set of the sheets tangling together. Eventually they find something like comfort woven together as well as limbs make for weaving; with Thor on his side and Loki curled into the front of him, face against Thor's shoulder tucked under his brother's chin, legs akimbo and knees against thick thighs, with Loki's arms curled around himself and Thor's around Loki. The elder wears not but a thoughtful look, Loki wears all his golden armor save his helm. The way they wind around one another is practiced and old but not forgotten. Loki cannot lie even to himself that their contrasting states of dress (or in Thor's case un-dress) is distracting enough from the comfort that comes with the ease with which they meld into each other, a motion so practiced despite its long years without use that it comes organically as drawing breath.
The thudding of his brother's heart against the tip of his nose brings Loki's breathing even at last. Thor fought off the last of his drowsiness and pulled a hand through his brother's black mane.
"What evil drives the master of mischief into his older brother's arms?" Thor inquires gently. There is no taunt to his tone. "You spoke true; long has it been since I held you thusly. But you are changed from when we were younger. No longer does the dark drive you to my arms, nor the fear of whispered lies against your name or mine." His brother made no remark upon these reminiscings. The Liesmith not speaking painted the furnishings of truth to Thor's words. The base of Thor's beard pressed down to Loki's crown. "What misdeed is so great which requires you to bow your proud head, brother?"
"Pride has not kept me from your bedside, my King," Loki hisses, and for a moment he is ice and blades and sharp angles in Thor's embrace.
Thor has learned to love every part of his brother and does not loose his hold.
They have been enemies long centuries. This much is true.
They have been brothers longer.
Thor knows his brother well. They are still a long while. Loki's eyes are hard and sharp but there is something which has spurred him to seek Thor's comfort this night. Maybe half an hour passes strictly in silence save for their breathing, Thor's slow and even and almost that of sleep, Loki's concentrated and muted and paper-thin. Eventually Thor pulls his hand through his brother's hair, an apology. When this does not dislodge Loki from his chest he repeats himself. Loki presses his forehead into Thor and the thunderer takes the silent pardon without a smile.
"I almost did not come."
"I am glad you did."
Loki seems to shrink in his arms, but slowly draws another breath and re-inflates. Thor can feel the cool tips of Loki's fingers walk up the front of his chest. The touch is feather-light and tickles.
"I thought you would throw me from your presence when first you saw me," Loki murmured as he walked his fingers up the front of Thor.
"I thought you a dream," Thor admitted, "But I would not throw you from my bedside, so seldom do you seek it."
Loki's eyes bore up suddenly, seeking Thor's. Thor found the whole of Loki expressed upwards in his gaze and there was for the first time in over a thousand years naked fear upon his brother's face.
"A dream has brought me here tonight."
"Just a dream?" Thor wonders, worry heavy in his words.
The Liesmith sets his craft aside this night and tells his brother truly, "No. Not just a dream it seemed to me."
The thunderer does not nod or frown. He pulls his hands once, twice, through his brother's black locks and then sets himself back against his pillows, dislodged a bit from Loki to give his brother room to tell his tale. The thunderer adopts all his patience when Loki does not start right off as he would have. They have the entire night but not long beyond that, and the night is wearing on. He does not prompt his brother to speak for fear of prompting him to leave with his poor words but he does not have to. Loki understands they only have till a little after the moon slips from the sky, or seems to, as his silence spans less than their previous one.
"I am wicked," Loki says without preamble, "and I am a thief, and a liar. I manage my mischief to come in considerable bursts, far apart as I can wait to make them, and so far this has served me well. But for all my misgivings and all the things I have yet wrought I never thought of a trick so devious as to put me out of the good graces of my daughter."
At this, Thor's mouth twists, for Loki has several daughters, but this night they know without discussion which daughter Loki speaks of. The one who rules the kingdom of the damned and of the dead, Hel.
When Loki looks into his brother's eyes, there is worry upon his brow, the kind of fear Thor thought Loki would never again wear, so pure and whole was its presence upon his entire person.
"I dreamt that I had done a horrible thing, so that burial was to be denied me either in soil or sea, neither could there be any Hel for me."
They take a moment for Loki's words to truly settle.
They are gods, both of them, wrought of flesh and bone yes but made to exist long beyond the span of mortal lives. They fear not death for an honorable end leads to the halls of Valhalla, where the rest of their respected dead raise great feasts and sing and bathe in mead and glorious renditions of their battles past, and a dishonorable end at least takes them to the Kingdom of Loki's daughter, and that at least is an existence. What Loki has just suggested is a little beyond them at first.
Thor rolls around the concept in his head a moment and then looks back to his brother's pale face. "And have you planned any such mischief, so wicked it would put you out of the fondness Hel has for her father?"
"No," Loki breathes. "But not often does Loki dwell upon the weight of his wickedness when first his deeds are conceived."
"Then perhaps he should adopt such a care," Thor rumbles as Loki follows him onto the mountain of cushions to sit beside him, long legs folded up to his chest so he can rest his chin against his knees. The thunderer slips forward to draw the bed sheet up to cover himself though Loki's gaze is on the wall opposite and not his brother's naked figure.
"If it is not planned," Thor guesses as Loki stares without speaking, "Is it already done?"
"No."
"Is this a certain thing?"
"No."
The answer is the smallest of whispers. Thor has come upon that which spurred Loki to him this night; the fear that Loki has done something which has no undoing and has stranded himself to this dreamed fate. Loki fears he has been careless with his mischief, that some seed has been planted among his many misdeeds to later grow and cause his condemning, some act that he cannot unmake.
It comes over Thor in a wave, that Loki is not here for his help against Fate, that Loki is here for the comfort of his brother alone, and has already accepted his imagined punishment.
Thor is still weary from being wakened out of his first dream, so he tells himself. He is weary and his judgment is not as clear as it should be when he sits beside the brother that recently threatened to have his heart run through with his spear. Publicly, not three days ago, before about half a thousand people.
His judgment is poor and his mind is clouded, but his brother is light in his arms when Thor throws him to his back against the bed.
Loki is startled out of his fear in a moment until Thor crawls on top of him, the bed sheet falling away from his thighs.
"Thor, no."
The thunderer does not pause in his descent. Loki catches his arms against the slow assault but does not press hard enough to keep Thor from laying his weight across Loki.
Thor is a creature of action, driven by instinct, and his first instinct is to give Loki something else to fear to drive away the terrible look in his eyes.
Even if it is of himself.
His younger brother allows the naked heat of Thor's body against his armor for a full minute before it is too much.
"Thor. Not tonight."
This time his fingers press up into his brother's arms and Thor knows he means it.
"No?" The golden god rears back, languid on his elbows and regret across his brow when Loki implores him a second time.
"No," Loki repeats, "if it were so simple I would gladly let you fuck the fear from me."
Thor rolls away and they both sit up. Thor folds his naked limbs back under his covers and Loki follows. They wind into each other again, something easy, something familiar. Loki's cheek is against the pillow this time. He does not hide his gaze from Thor's though for a long time he does not meet it. They were brothers long before they were lovers and they stayed brothers after they fell out of being lovers. Love was something fleeting. A flicker in the long flame of their candle sticks, a spark to the slow burning of their long lives. It was not a lie to say that Thor loved Loki, or the reverse, but neither would it be a lie to say that they hated each other with equal passion. They had lived long enough to know themselves that well.
Thor does not smile as he watches the flush leave Loki's cheeks. There is no joy in the retreat of his own heat, spoiled desire fleeing his groin, but to see the fear still in his brother's eyes is enough of a deterrent and Thor finds he does not care about his body's disappointment.
"I will not," Thor decides, "Not this night. Not even if you ask me to."
"So certain," Loki murmurs, their heads apart but together on the same pillow, "how can you know until I ask?"
"But I know you will not."
Loki laughs softly.
"You are right."
Thor finds little comfort in being correct this night. They remain quiet after that a while as they share breath against the pillow. Their gazes do not meet and they do not kiss. Their hands do not rove. Loki's armor is cold where Thor's knees meet it. The color of muted desire drains naturally with time as they spend it in the silent comfort of each other's presence. Thor does not draw Loki into his arms; if Loki had wanted an embrace, he would seek it.
They do not speak for the rest of the eve. Not with words.
Loki trembles between the late hours. Thor stops his trembling with his hands, pressing them to different places on Loki. Against his hair. Against the very slight dip of his waist. Against the armor on his chest, over his heart. The Wordsmith lets his brother comfort him with his hands and does not thank him. His continued presence in Thor's chamber speaks for itself.
Long are the hours that Thor spends with his hands on Loki's body. Brief are the pauses when his trembling becomes too great to quiet and Thor draws him closer so their necks touch and the steady, even thrum of the blood in his neck catches the erratic pulsing of Loki's and quiets it. Loki does not sob into the pillow but neither are his eyes dry.
Thor is right. Loki does not ask that night, and he may stand by his decision not to pull Loki into his arms to appease his body's appetite. But he pulls Loki against him all the same and they cleave that night very much like lovers.
It is as close as they can be without actually being the same person.
They have long hours together but eventually the light of the room begins to swell. Loki does not untangle them until it blossoms full. The first stretch of sun creeps against the stone of the far wall as Thor feels his brother slide away from his arms. He does not reach out to stop him. Loki is at the edge of the room when the sun draws up to the heel of his boots.
"Will you come back to me, brother?" Thor asks, though he does not leave the bed to follow when Loki goes.
"You have not quieted all my fear," Loki admits when the sun reaches his knees. "I may yet return."
"I would banish all your fears, if you would let me."
"If I believed you could, I would beg you to try."
"Then believe," Thor says as he rises from the sheets, "and implore me."
Loki looks at him a long time. The sun glows against the gold over his chest.
"Please."
He vanishes when it comes for his throat.
A/N: originally intending to leave this as a one-shot type drabble but could be a prequel to a longer sort of comforty-fic.
+1 or -1 for continuation?