Thor dodges the bite of Loki's spear and throws Loki against the wall of the ring, a savage turn. Stripped from the waist up, they're familiar with the feel of each other's skin now; in battle, and in bed.
It is enthralling, but the way Loki fucks him is nothing like the way Loki tends to fight. Facing down hordes of enemies, Loki inclines towards veils, shadows, subtle uses of magic and trickery to confuse his enemies and to drive them against one another where Thor charges and simply clears everything in his way because he can, an unstoppable force. When they're tumbling together between the sheets, Loki's magic sliding Thor's battle armour off his limbs as they bite and thrust against each other, desperate and hungry, it is wild and wonderful and rough, and it's everything Thor has ever wanted.
Thor's always thrown by how brutal Loki is with his lovemaking, mouth frantic on Thor's as he touches him everywhere, long limbs covering every inch of Thor as if he can't get enough, as if he is afraid Thor will change his mind and leave him one night as they're grappling.
As if he's afraid Thor will somehow come to his senses.
It angers Thor irrationally, it does, weaves a bitter streak of despair through him when he can read Loki's feelings so clearly on his face. He doesn't know about Loki's other bed partners — and Valhalla forbid he ever find out about who has ever shared this with Loki, he would rend them apart — but Loki is uncharacteristically open with him when they're together at night like two moving shadows, panting and vulnerable the way he never is under the harsh sunlight of day.
There are many things he cannot say to Loki, that he never wishes to bring up. He sees and acknowledges the silent defiance in Loki's eyes whenever he kisses him, whenever he draws him down and prevents Loki from leaving his bed — an unspoken challenge to continue this, whatever they've shared since that night Loki had approached him as a maiden and attempted to seduce him, having resigned himself to the fact that Thor might never reciprocate his feelings. For all his intelligence, Loki could be startingly obtuse at times.
Thor doesn't answer the questions and uncertainty Loki frames in the path of his kisses, the way he touches Thor too yearningly sometimes, shaking fingers trailing down his chest in wonder as if Thor is but a dream. He is never nervous, never truly indecisive (Odin had drilled that out of him when he was but a young boy, reckless on the battlefield), but he shies away from truly telling Loki the answers to the questions he does not ask because—
—because he, too, is afraid that one day Loki will snarl and damn him, realise he has never really wanted Thor, and disappear as he always does in a burst of ash and smoke. Thor doesn't think he can handle Loki looking at him with a mixture of revulsion and loathing for the rest of his days.
Sometimes, it feels like Loki's the only thing that matters.
When they spar, Loki has never expected him to hold back. Thor never does. For all of Loki's reservations when it comes to actually participating in battle with weapons rather than seiðr, Thor's discovered to his delight that Loki, too, relishes the dark rush of combat and how it leaves his blood singing with fierce joy.
And so they pace, so they fight. They rain blows upon the other with bare fists and weapons, drawing blood and leaving blossoming marks they'll both smirk companionably over in a few days at feasts. Sometimes, it feels as though Loki derives some kind of satisfaction from the blood he's spilled, from the cuts he leaves on Thor, from the angry bruises they both sport whenever they've finished yet another round — but Thor doesn't think too much of it.
"Do you yield?" Thor asks, the clear timbre of his voice ringing in the empty arena, pushing the point of his own spear to a point just above Loki's shoulder.
Loki smiles, quick and vicious.
"Never."
The next thing Thor knows, Loki's kicked his legs out from behind him as the illusion before him flickers and fades into the sunlight — another thrice-damned simulacrum! — and Thor trips. He swears, and scrabbles against the hard ground for his spear, but stills when Loki grabs him and pins him against the wall instead, Loki's blade a dangerous whisper against the line of his neck.
Loki laughs, throaty and low. "Do you yield, Thor?"
Thor shakes his head in amusement, nudges Loki's blade away and fists the folds of Loki's tunic tightly. Loki bites down gently on his earlobe, gently shaking with his laughter as he moves against Thor on the wall, his body a delicious grind against Thor's. Thor moans a little, sliding a broad hand down the pale, scarred curve of Loki's back, delighting in the heat and closeness. "You are impossible, brother."
He yanks the unrepentant trickster close, and kisses him hard
