Hey! Thanks for reading. This is the first fanfiction I've written in years and I hope you enjoy it. It includes explicit Thor/Loki content in later chapters but what I'm really trying to write is a true-to-character followup to the plot in the movie. Let me know what you think!

I know how men in exile feed on dreams.
-Aeschylus

It was funny, Loki had begun to think, how his captivity seemed to torture his brother more than it tortured him of late. A smile tugged at the sides of his lips as he mused on it.

He sat, suspended, chained, in his astral cell, surrounded on all sides by a procession of the universe's bleakest scenery. It changed at maddeningly random intervals. For a time he had found himself in the pale, remote tundra of some forsaken planet that had never felt the touch of warmth despite being bathed in light. No snow, no shade, skies the color of blood. Jotunheim looked like paradise by comparison. Then, just as senselessly, he had been transported to the cracked landscape of a desert world, baked to a hot and hard shell from hemisphere to hemisphere, ground blacker than pitch as unknown beings slithered past under gaps that looked like veins. There was no true sense of days or months, but he would have wagered his kinghood that he had lived a century in a quiet land of strange, rolling dunes. They were composed not of sand, but tiny gray pebbles, each the size of a fingernail. Some dunes looked as high as mountains and cast shadows that stretched as far as his eye could see. As they shifted in the dry wind, they seemed to whisper secrets in unthinkable tongues.

It was during this particularly taxing phase of his imprisonment that he became aware of his brother's presence. At first, he was wearily resigned to believing it a symptom of oncoming insanity that he could sometimes, over the oppressive sights and sounds of his surroundings, feel the heat of a body, smell sweat, and even hear breath. Occasionally, the chain attached to his neck would grow taut, then fall slack again. He knew it was his brother. No one else would bother to visit him, or even if they did, dare to come that close. Without much else to occupy his thoughts, Loki would concentrate on these sensations, drinking them in greedily, obsessing over the idea that either by way of losing his mind or sharpening it, the wall that kept him locked away was weakening.

The sensations, however, slowly became stronger. Soon he could hear the rustling of clothing and the creaking of leather over the noise of ever-changing environments. Sometimes he heard grunts of frustration or even regretful sighs. Whatever ancient magic was being utilized to keep Loki in solitude, Thor's interference had eroded it…perhaps to the point, Loki now suspected, that he could use his brother's attentions as a ladder over the wall.

He was in a prairie that stretched out like an ocean on all sides. The beige grass looked as lush as velvet from far away and mummified, insectile up close. Somewhere, a windmill was creaking. He couldn't see it. His eyes were closed, black lashes fluttering as he dipped in and out of consciousness.

Then he felt it. A rough, calloused hand over the back of his own. His smile started soft and serene, then widened into a grin.

"Thor."

When Loki opened his eyes, he saw nothing but white. The sudden sterile light felt like an assault and he sucked in his breath sharply, trying to cover his eyes with his palms. His hands, however, were still chained. His bonds made quiet metallic noises as he struggled against them.

"Brother…!" There was shock and a hint of guilt in Thor's rich voice. By now Loki could see well enough to make out Thor's broad silhouette backing away until it was against the marble wall. Loki's dark eyebrows furrowed as a pounding headache bloomed behind them. Thor's form became still- he made no further moves either towards or away from his brother. Loki wanted to lash out at him for this inaction, but his voice cracked as he did so and reduced the impact of his venom.

"Are you going to stand there like a half-wit, or are you going to free me from these…things?"

The "things" he referred to were a series of heavy, interlocking chains anchored together at a central chestpiece that extended downward into a sort of armored corset. The chains radiated out to his wrists, which were then attached to ornate O-rings on his black leather boots. His hands rested on top, giving him the appearance of someone seated in meditation. A high metal choker kept his neck from turning or stretching. A long chain extended from the bottom of the neckpiece, hanging between his pale bare pectorals, past his chain mail leg coverings and metal codpiece, terminating just above the ground.

His green eyes had fully adjusted and now he saw Thor's face and form clearly. His brother had…changed. His blonde hair was longer now and spilled over his corded, muscular shoulders. His posture was still that of a god-king, but no regalia was present on his body- rather, he wore a simple black jerkin without sleeves and matching black trousers made of animals hide.

However, the most subtle change, and also the one with the most meaningful implications, was in his eyes. Still blue, still intense, they now held a complex sadness unfamiliar to Loki, who raised an eyebrow and peered closer. He wouldn't have though his brother capable of such a delicate emotion. It wasn't until he snapped out of it that he realized how long he had been gazing back.

"Come, brother," he purred, smiling, watching Thor's eyes light up as if they were smiling as well. "These bonds don't suit me. In fact, I find them rather impractical."

Cocking his head as much as possible within his restrictive jewelry, Loki kept his eyebrows raised.

Forget the eyes- Thor flashed a real smile, his teeth white as the marble that surrounded him. He approached slowly, his boots making strong footfalls while he crossed the perfectly cylindrical room. Cracking his knuckles and chuckling, he looked at Loki with something that was almost respect, and almost pity.

"I apologize, Loki…"

Thor's hand shot out suddenly to grasp the chain hanging from his brother's choker, jerking his head forward with it. This broke whatever spell was keeping Loki suspended in place. He tumbled, helpless, at his brother's feet. His quick wit was out of practice and he merely sputtered in indignation.

Thor ignored this, wrapping the chain lazily around his broad, tanned hand. With another firm jerk, he brought Loki up on his hands and knees. Hate boiled behind Loki's eyes as his brother began to pull him along the slick marble floor, and though the very idea of it was mortifying, he crawled to keep up. As they reached the doorway, Thor tossed one more comment down at his prisoner.

"…I believe these bonds suit you quite well."

"Did I ever tell you about the time I beat Hugh Hefner in a thumb wrestling match?"

Pepper's left eyebrow plummeted down. Her right one, on the other hand, went up. Way up. She tossed a perfect auburn curl over her shoulder, which was bare except for a hint of shimmery lotion. Radiant in a Leger bandage dress, she was more beautiful than Tony could ever remember her looking, and it made his sure jaw feel useless all of the sudden.

Realizing that each and every one of those sappy observations had actually gone through his head, Tony punched himself mentally. In the nuts. Hard. He was starting to understand what Agent Coulson must have felt when he drooled over his Cap cards by the light of the moon…god rest his soul.

"…two things," Pepper began, leaning forward over their intimate table. It was reserved, tucked away in the back where prying eyes would lose interest. Elsewhere the trendy restaurant was packed with young professionals and their trophies. In the midst of the New York night life fakery, candlelight illuminated every suspicious curve of Pepper's expression.

"First, if you had met Hugh Hefner, you already would have told me about it, most likely on the day of." She thought for a beat. "Most likely on your cellphone, while he was still in the room."

Tony pulled a scotch-soaked ice cube out of his tumbler, popped it in his mouth, and leaned back with a wry smile.

"Second," she continued, "in the event that you come within thirty miles of the Playboy mansion, Hugh has assured me that an elaborate cloaking system is in place to prevent your entry. If that doesn't deter you…well, there's a self-destruct button in the Jacuzzi."

"Hugh assured you, huh?" Tony matched her suspiciousness with his feigned version. "Was this while you were still on the casting couch, or were you enjoying the shag carpeting by then?"

She let out a single, mocking laugh. Her hand dove into her clutch to pull out her top of the line smart phone, modified and optimized by Tony himself. She noodled with it for a moment, then tossed it onto the table.

"I keep tabs on anyone who could be a particularly bad influence on you."

In the light of the flickering candle flame, Tony looked at the screen and saw the wizened face of Hugh Hefner above a number with a Los Angeles zip code. Contact name: H-Cup.

"Ohhh, my dear heart," Tony tutted, picking up the phone, "I don't know what surprises me more…that you'd make SUCH a pedestrian boob joke, or…" he pressed CALL, "…that you're the jealous type."

She snatched the phone out of his hand and popped it back in her jeweled clutch, using the opportunity to pluck out a tube of Chanel lipstick.

"Spare him, Tony. It's past his bedtime. You can text him later. Promise." Standing, she adjusted her dress and turned towards the hallway to the lounges. "Be right back, Mister Stark."

"He can't text back!" said Tony as she sashayed away from him, "His thumbs are broken."

Winking, she went around the corner. He sat back in his chair, body language all relaxation and mirth. Almost taking another swig of scotch, he glanced at the edge of the glass and saw a coral lip-print. He paused and grinned to himself.

"Goddamn, do I love that woman."

He was a beat from swigging anyway when the front window burst in, showering the trendy peanut gallery with glass and drywall, sending waiters and chairs flying with the same violent abandon.

Barely managing to duck as the maître de ricocheted off the wall behind him, Tony quickly rolled under the table, still grasping his drink. He made a point to hang on to it, in fact, because in the haze of pulverized building materials and a stinging mist from what must have been a destroyed fire hydrant just outside, he saw it, and thought that liquid courage might prove a strategic advantage.

"It" was a jumble of armor and slimy flesh, still moving despite obvious injuries. It roared with pain and frustration, strings of drool bowing outward from its jaws like spider webs in the wind. Strange appendages jutted out at random angles from the gaps in its armor, shifting with inhuman urgency. As it raised its gun, the glow piercing the dining room's intimate dimness, Tony saw dozens of identical glows approaching from the street outside. They stalked towards him with purpose and hunger in their alien strides and suddenly Tony felt a pang of recognition. They didn't look exactly the same…in fact, they looked pretty jacked up- crumpled, hunched, and dirty. They were oozing. Most disturbingly, their battle formation showed no intelligence or strategy. Kill a hundred of something, though… and you get to know its ins and outs.

"Chitauri," Tony scoffed. "So last month."

Never one to waste good scotch, Tony downed the last of his in a single gulp, then tossed the glass aside. It hit the groaning maître de in the back and shattered. Wincing, Tony stood and fiddled with his platinum cufflinks.

"Sorry, Garcon."

The cufflinks suddenly glowed with electric blue light. Tony rolled his neck, took a long breath, and faced the encroaching monsters.

"You know," he addressed them, the hair on the back of his next standing up, "You were already ugly. You don't have anything to prove."

Electricity coursed over his suit as a crescendoing hum radiated from his wrists.

"Now, don't get offended." He strode around the rubble at his feet. "You don't have to be the prettiest girl at the ball to tango."

Light suddenly filled the restaurant's interior.

"Shall we dance?"