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CHAPTER FOUR
The days that followed adopted a lazy regularity Thor was grateful for. Loki slept for long stretches, his broken body needing the rest to repair itself. Like a newborn babe, he slumbered at great depths and woke only when disturbed. Thor used the time to gather fruit, to spear and clean fish, to fly using Mjolnir to the nearest island in the archipelago to hunt boar and fill clay jugs with potable water. He woke Loki thrice daily to eat, forced him to stand on diminished legs and weathered his pained wrath patiently.
At times, Loki was determined to be stronger, and would grip Thor's wrists, trying to make use of his muscles, fighting against the weakness that wanted to consume him. At times, he would grit his teeth and sweat, doing his damnedest to climb from their bed alone. Other times, Thor had to drag him bodily from it, to hold him forcibly upright until Loki yielded his stubbornness and used his own legs to stand. In frustration at his own futility, Loki often made wild accusations.
"You would have me fall! You know I cannot stand," he would say. Or, "You're taking pleasure from this!"
But Thor was not. He steadied Loki's balance when he needed it, and caught him when he fell. The body of the younger man was not built for withstanding beatings. Even in possession of all of his power, Loki had never performed well as a battering ram. While Thor thrived on collision and brutality, Loki avoided it. Even while in battle, he relied on shades and tricks rather than on close combat. Thor could tell now by looking at him that he had taken punches to make up for all of those he'd averted over the years using magic, that he had been flogged and battered with heavy fists, denied proper sustenance and confined to a cage of mortal flesh. Only moments of standing or minutes of sitting upright and eating meant hours of hard, still sleep recuperating from the exertion. And for Thor, it meant days alone with the company of only his own thoughts.
In a room the colour of gunmetal, Thor sat beside his muzzled brother. The door was closed on them, granting them the privacy of these final moments before they would be publicly returned to Asgard, but there were guards posted beyond those doors. Slumped forward, elbows to his knees, his own blood drying his tunic to his side, Thor was overcome by a heavy grief. Even now, so fresh on the heels of such death and destruction, he longed to reach for the other man, to pull the muzzle from Loki's lying lips, to let his brother lie to him and trick him into liberating him. But he could not.
Loki's bound hands lay in his lap, and he was motionless, sombre and pale as death. There was a distance in his eyes, a resignation to all he knew could possibly follow, and Thor envied his brother that acceptance. When he spoke, his voice sounded broken in his own ears.
"I can't save you from this." Lifting a hand, Thor swiped at an escaped tear, smearing it across his cheek. "I don't see a way out of this room that ends well for you. How do I put right what you've done?" Thor's heart was beating fast at the thought of Loki on trial; he knew the Allfather would be forced to be just in the wake of his adopted son's very public transgressions. Would Thor have to stand witness against Loki? Could he, when so much of this guilt was his own? "You have fallen again into darkness. And again, I don't know how to reach you and bring you back." Beside him, Loki moved at last, turning his face toward the wall and away from his brother. "Father will punish you. I know not how. But you would be a fool to expect his mercy." Would Loki be banished? Incarcerated? Relieved of all memory and knowledge of himself? Put to death? Would Thor's legs even hold his own weight during the sentencing, or would he take a knee in front of the king's court? He felt now as though he could openly weep, but knew it would be selfish to do so. Instead, he gave long pause, kept quiet until he trusted himself again to speak. "Are you not afraid?"
At this, Loki reached for one of his hands without so much as turning to regard him, holding it between the both of his bound ones. Thor squeezed back, and without wondering why, he leaned across the open space to kiss the fragrant softness of Loki's skin at his hairline, his brow furrowing as he did it. The smaller man tilted his head into the contact, eyes closing and black lashes growing damp with his own tears. The sight of them was more than Thor trusted himself to bear, and rather than pass another moment in the threat of his own vulnerability to his love for his brother, he got to his feet and used the hands he was holding to pull Loki to his own, as well.
"We must go."
Loki resisted, jerking his hands from Thor's grip. It took Thor a moment to regain hold of him, grabbing the chain that joined the prisoner's wrists together. Still, the younger god struggled, laying the entire weight of his body into the fight and forcing Thor to advance a few steps in order to keep control of him. Overtaking the offensive, Thor shoved Loki roughly against the wall in the corner, pinning him there with his own mass.
"Stop this!" he hissed, and Loki's green eyes shone with a raw fear that broke the older brother's heart. "It's too late. You know it is." He kept the pressure of his weight in place until the tension left the captive's body, Loki slumping against him and hiding his face in the safe anonymity of Thor's neck. The older Odinson's voice faded to a whisper as he enveloped Loki in an embrace, "I love you in spite of all, but it's too late. Now come with me and face what you have done. Come, Loki."
"Come, Loki." Thor shook his sleeping companion. "Let us eat."
Without opening his eyes, Loki kicked at him, his foot landing squarely in Thor's abdomen. "No. Bring my food to me."
Grunting as he absorbed the impact, Thor caught Loki's ankle and hauled him from the bed upside-down, dragging him naked over one shoulder and carrying him out into the sunlight. He deposited the smaller man unceremoniously on his uncertain legs in the sand and withdrew his support, leaving Loki to waver there, glaring at him spitefully.
"Swine," the younger brother spat.
"Stop this childish protest when you know I mean only to help you!" Thor's voice was thunderous, rich and full of his frustration on the air between them. Bending to lift Mjolnir and a piece of firewood, he carried them both to a cluster of palms some twenty paces away. He pounded the slab of wood with the hammer to wedge it between the trunks of two trees, then retrieved Loki's portion of their lunch and stashed it on the makeshift shelf. Returning to his brother's side, he sat in the sand and tucked into his own food. For a moment, Loki stood in stunned silence. But there was never any longevity in his quiet.
"You're a monster," he said. "You would have me starve!"
"No." Thor spoke with a full mouth, shaking his head. "I would have you walk."
"You know I cannot."
"No, you think you cannot. You may never again have the strength of a god, and indeed a mortal form is weaker; I know this as you do. But humans can walk, climb and fight. You have a great many enemies, and I would be doing you a grave disservice to let you leave this island without the ability to defend yourself."
"You want to make a warrior of me?" Loki snorted. "Like the archer? Or perhaps an assassin, like the redhead?"
"You have no magic." It felt strange to hear Loki speak of his friends. The man before him, whom he loved so much despite his madness, would have killed any Avenger remorselessly, himself included.
"I'll get it back."
"Not today, you won't." Or perhaps ever, he thought. "And I know you're hungry."
Loki had no rebuttal for this statement, just blinked with a concentrated loathing at his captor. And saviour. Out of sheer stubbornness, he remained rooted to the spot for a long while. Thor hummed with exaggerated pleasure as he tore strips of slow-smoked boar's meat from the bone and chewed, and Loki rolled his eyes. Only when his mortal belly made a plaintive rumbling noise did he begin to move. Extending his arms on either side, Loki ventured one foot forward, and Thor's heart sang with triumph.
The steps were graceless and faltering, and when Loki fell to his knees halfway there, shaking and sweating, he whipped his head round to look at Thor, perhaps expecting mockery. But there was none to be found. Instead, Thor rose and walked to help Loki again to his feet. Pale hands gripped his forearms, the scarred body tense with the effort required to stay upright.
"I've gone far enough," he reasoned, curls clinging to his damp brow and throat.
"No." Thor's voice was gentle as he prised Loki's fingers from his skin and stepped out of his reach. "You're doing well. Continue on."
"I can't." Loki balled his fists against his own belly.
"You loathe your own weakness, do you not? Put an end to it. You can do this."
And so he crept forward again, and Thor hung behind. Loki's legs were shaking visibly under his own weight, and he stumbled to one knee again before he reached the trees. This time, though Thor moved to assist, Loki shook his head and held his hand out to keep him at bay. The final paces were a reeling rush, and Loki caught himself with an arm around a slender trunk, pressing his forehead to it while he fought to level his breathing. Thor grinned at the sight of his brother's victorious and secretive smile into the bark.
"I saw that," he laughed. "You may be angry with me, but you're still pleased."
"And you are still a troll." Loki reached up to retrieve his food, making no attempt to conceal his smile now. He seated himself and hunched over his lunch, and Thor's happiness was untarnished by the insult. Loki's cheeks were pink with pleasure and exertion.
"You're a troll, hiding like this in the darkness," Loki whispered, crouching beside his brother in the shadows, the pair of them tucked into one of the castle's many alcoves, this one positioned along an upper level walkway which overlooked an empty banquet hall, the elongated tables and benches dusty from lack of use. They wore lavish gladrags after the evening's festivities, Thor in red and Loki in green. Both had removed their helmets as soon as they were dismissed from the supper table, but only Thor's mane was unruly. He lifted his finger to his lips to silence Loki, then used the same finger to point to the couple below, a young servant girl and a member of their father's court. He was standing too near to her, cradling her cheek against one palm and murmuring shameful propositions neither boy could hear the detail of.
Her righteous indignation carried more clearly in the open air than his seduction: "Of course, you flatter me. But what of my wedding night? What will I tell him? I could not."
More murmuring from the richly-garbed lothario.
"I should not..." Her arguments were lacking conviction, now. And then, there was a kiss. And soon after, a touch. The boys were wide-eyed as the maiden found herself laid across the tabletop like a holiday feast, her skirts hitched by hungry hands to hinge over lily-white hips. The man's hands, then his face, then his arousal, plundered between her thighs, and she cried out, fists twisting his tunic while he pushed into her and took her innocence as casually as one might pluck a grape from a vine.
Thor, hard as the handle of his hammer in his best breeches, tore his gaze away from the spectacle to look into Loki's face. Even in shadow, he could see the stain of want in the younger man's cheeks. Reaching out, he sought the groin of green trousers and cupped it, and at that first touch, Loki nearly sprang from his own skin, eyes full of accusation and desire turning on Thor. Giving him half a cocky smile, Thor released his hold on the younger man's erection and instead pushed his hand into his own trousers, to touch himself with bare skin against skin.
"Pleasure yourself while you watch," he breathed, barely more than mouthing the words, not wanting his whispers to reach the rutting couple of adulterers below. Loki's brows lifted, and he shook his head, his lips parting. "Do it. And I will, too."
"No," said Loki, but he was already unfastening the laces of his pants.
"Yes, yes, yes." Thor smiled, then returned his gaze to the scene on the table. While he stroked himself, he listened to his brother's breathing build and break, and felt the burning of those green eyes on him the entire time.
Thor blinked himself back to the present, and found himself affected in a passionate way by the memory. Wearing nothing, there was no way he could have disguised it. Thankfully, Loki was otherwise occupied, enjoying the spoils of his efforts and more or less ignoring the larger man. Rising to his feet, Thor put his back to Loki as quickly as he could, holding his length against his lower belly so it didn't swing about as he walked.
"Eat," he said without looking. "I'll return in a moment." Loki didn't respond.
At the back of the cave, he hoisted the canvas ceiling to its hooks so he would have the cloak of darkness if by some miracle his comrade managed to reach him unawares. Bracing his weight on one forearm, he hunched against the wall and used his free hand to pull at himself, tugging quickly, roughly. He imagined it was Loki's body and not the callouses of his own palm dragging down the length of him, conjuring crisp and melancholy filth to his mind's eye until the frustration flowed unchecked from his body to paint the stone before him.
In the wake of it, he was breathless and ashamed. Why are you? he asked himself. He begged you for it in this very room, just paces away. Thor stooped to lift what remained of a jug of drinking water, splashing at the wall and smearing the pearly evidence with his fingertips until there was nothing damningly obvious remaining. But that was years ago. Who's to say he wants it now? He jerked the canvas down and stowed it in the corner, then stepped into his trousers. The warring halves of himself made him dizzy as his pulse regained normalcy. You know he has always wanted it. Even before you knew he was of another bloodline, he has wanted it. And your refusal is part of what turned him to darkness. Why shouldn't you give him what he has always wanted? Cinching the laces of his pants tightly, Thor swallowed and stared down toward the mouth of the cave's lighted ellipse. Because he is wicked. Because he is weak.
But Thor knew, walking back toward the beach, that Loki would not always be weak. The exercise today had proven that to him. Tomorrow, he would make the other man take 25 paces for his lunch. The following day, thirty. And soon, he would make him climb the tree. He would make Loki strong, and did not doubt his ability to do that. Making him good and keeping him sane would be another challenge entirely.