It begins here: the violent descent of a waterfall, an echoing of a storm, and the bleak atmosphere of a dark world.
Standing at the edge between damp mist and jagged rock, Thor pins his weight against pale thighs as they open in invitation. He holds them apart, his bare back half-flooded in the light of day. The body below him presses into the shadows, as it should be - for he is Loki, born of shadows, and he is the tail-end of their secret union.
Concealing their actions, the waterfall roars on, creating a barrier over their rocky cave. It hides them in the hissing mist, engaging their desire, and brothers become lovers while the outside world is blind. Thor's breath is heady along Loki's neck, and the Trickster leans into his touch - so assertive, so raw, filled with energy violent as his lightning. They buck against each other in cycles of motion - and they are cycles; light and darkness, noise and silence. They moan into each other's mouths, pressing skin to skin.
It begins this way because, not coincidentally, they are forming a metaphor. Like the river that begins steady and ends falling, like Ragnarok that delivers ends and brings new beginning, Thor is the beginning that Loki gives an end. One rise, one fall; imbalanced without the existence of both.
In his existence, Thor is the dominion. He crowds Loki, beckoned by the anger and lust and truth his brother coaxes out of him, pressing him into the wall of the cave. He is naked above the waist, exposing the musculature that transcribes his encounter in war. Thor pushes his brother into the dark, reminding him of the strength he so easily exerts - a trait that feeds Loki, makes him writhe against the other's form until they lock together perfectly.
The water sprays against Thor's back and all their flesh, forming beads of dampness that trickle down. Clouds collide in the sky, darkening the grey of that forsaken realm, pulling the brothers further into shadow. Black birds pass by, red eyes with omen.
"Of all the desolation in Asgard," Thor groans, "why here?"
"So that your cunt -" Loki unfastens Thor's pants lace by lace - "won't see you bending over your slut brother."
Thor grits his teeth, driving his pelvis into the smaller man. "How many blows does it take before you learn to address her properly?"
The Trickster grins. "As many as you see fit to kill me with."
"Her name is Jane." Thor leans in close, averting his brother's impertinence. "Remember it or Mjolnir will teach you to."
"Oh, Thor..." Loki tilts his head when lips invade his collarbone, inhaling the musk behind long, blonde tresses. "Admirable though your passion may be when it comes to threatening me, it would do you better not to traject violence with the same tongue you suck me with."
He gathers a fistful of Thor's hair and pulls him down with it, the Thunderer hissing in raw fury. Thor slams his hips into him, spreading him unbearably wider, and Loki yowls.
"What makes you certain I won't do it?" Thor's mouth brushes Loki's, hot breath spread between their closeness when the Trickster resettles his weight along the other's broad form. His eyes bear hatred and ire in their blue, but a glint of familiar brashness plays in them, and Loki rests his opinion on that.
His lips dance along the other's as he speaks, voice slippery and cool: "Because you'll be so very empty without me - and because you'll never again have Loki's thighs to take seat between."
A slow, curving grin creases Thor's mouth, and he closes the gap between them, kissing his Loki while the remainder of his clothes slip off. The Mischief Monger runs gritty nails down his back, feeling Thor hiss against his skin. The falls rumble as thunder in their ears, Loki grinding teeth to the feeling of raw, jutting rock against his back. Blood draws, the pain enriching.
Their bare bodies press now, frotting red, dripping lengths against each other. Loki whines into the Thunderer's ear, shivering with the lust he so eagerly consumes from this sin. He is a conformation of dark energy, and Thor feeds into it with much the same eagerness, his anger displaced in the potency he seeks to exert between his legs.
The air fuels that potency in the mist, the clash of water thundering powerfully.
"We don't have the aid to do this," Loki says between breaths. The friction between them pools heat into his belly, and he breaks away just enough to calm.
Thor reaches fingers behind his sack, pressing into Loki's dry cleft. The Trickster winces.
"I could put my mouth to you," Thor whispers on his lips. "Sweeten the way."
Loki moans. "You do so wish to break me, don't you."
Thor grunts, that spark of lust as lightning in his eye. "For all the destruction you've done? I would have nothing but your forfeiture."
"Mm." He leans into Thor's neck, cock twitching with want against the other's.
Then he grins. "I have an idea."
"Do you, now?"
"Pick me up."
With a groan and a hesitant glare, Thor bends his knee into the rock, lifting Loki's thighs under both arms. He grips tightly to the supple flesh under his hands as Loki slides his arms around his neck, and the Trickster lowers his gaze to concentrate.
Between Loki's legs, a transformation unfolds. Runes of seidr are put to work in his veins, and Thor watches as his cock slides into itself - a riddling sight - until it shrinks into his skin, a mere nub of flesh where it once stood. His balls collapse inward, forming a round mound - and from their crease, blooming out pink and slick, an entrance forms.
Thor looks up, reproachful, impressed, and lusting. "Trickster."
Loki sneers. "Better than your Earth whore."
Thor wrenches his weight into him, and he howls, the cry concealed under the voice of the falls. Loki whimpers - in fear, exhilaration, though they are always much the same - and Thor keeps him there, grinding his back into the stone until raw, ripe bruises draw.
"Do not mistake my indulgence for love," the Thunderer snarls - and Loki only shrieks with laughter into the damp air. "When this is done, we will return to Asgard for Jane's sake. And you will rot in the injustice you've sowed, all by yourself in prison."
"How thoughtful. Love conquers the beast, who otherwise seeks out conquest in a fuck."
"That is all you are." Thor grits his teeth, and Loki slithers a hand down his length, gripping it between goading fingers.
"Oh, Thor," the Trickster whispers, shaking his head as he pulls at the thick member. "Foster has your heart, but I have your head -" he snickers teasingly, bringing the crown of Thor's cock to his red slit - "and someday, you will confront it again, whether tomorrow, or the day I die."
He sinks down, and they connect. One beginning, one end. The violent thrash of waters pervades all other sounds in the distant realm - and fitfully, because they cry out in unison, grunting with lust and hate and everything in between. Loki is as silk inside, clenching and dripping, and Thor bucks into him, thrusting relentlessly. There is an angry passion in Thor's voice as he heaves, and Loki wraps legs around his back, heels digging with mad force into his flesh. Nails dig, muscles clamp, and their thrusts become ruthless, violent as the storm. Winds howl all around the woods, beating against the waters, but the brothers cannot hear beyond their own lust, rutting harder and faster. They remind each other of war, of how it is when they battle - and they know, strangely, fighting and fucking are wrought of the same ire.
Loki drags teeth over Thor's flesh when his clit is brushed with friction. His release comes sooner than anticipated, insides clamping around the thickness within him. Thor holds him tight, pressing Loki's back into the stone as he wrenches forward, seed flowing into the younger god as he groans. They are dizzy in their cloud, unthinking. Blood trickles along Loki's spine, sharp with pain, and his lips form a crooked smile against the dip in Thor's neck.
The storm settles into quietude, but the skies remain dark above their heads. It's a black land they've ventured into, but Loki is glad of its ominous shell, shielding the eyes of the outside realm.
The brothers sleep in their nudity that night, content to rest nearby the river. Loki watches Thor's angry brow soften as he sleeps, and he drifts soon after.
Grey skies greet Loki's eyes when he wakes, when he discovers discomfort churning below his belly. The source isn't the darkness. Not the realm. He looks at his dreaming brother, then back, clenching a hand over his abdomen.
Loki feels desolate, and yet so full. The source riddles his expectations - yet, he knows it the instant he feels it. Nestled in his magic-formed organs, something turns. A beginning.
A child.
He is with child.