Chapter 7
Loki closed the door behind him with a sigh, glad that tonight’s bedtime story hadn’t gone off the rails as it tended to do. Magni had been sleepy and agreeable, and had fallen asleep not three pages into his new book about Midgardian fox spirits. Loki spirited the book away into one of his dimensional pockets, pondering fondly on those sly tricksters—shapeshifters like him. He hadn’t met a fox spirit in almost a century.
Lost in his thoughts, he wandered down Idavollr’s golden halls, and found himself going up the spiral staircase that led to one of the palace’s high towers. It had been five years since he had first arrived on Asgard, but the sight never failed to arrest him: the sprawl of the great city, the houses glittering like a reflection of the night sky. To his left, the Bifrost stretched out over the void. The Observatory lay quiet, for now.
Loki summoned a cushion, then Magni’s book again, and settled himself in for the wait.
He did not have to wait long: as soon as he cracked the book open, he felt a keen pull of seidr, swirling and tugging towards the Bifrost. He stood up as a beam of light erupted from the Observatory, and sighed.
Thor always did have awful timing.
—
He was nervous. Dinner had been set earlier, out in the balcony instead of in one of the sitting rooms in their chambers. Still, Loki could not help but fidget with the immaculate placement of the dinner plates, the perfectly-straight alignment of knife and fork and spoon.
A cool breeze picked up, blowing gently over the table, and Loki turned to welcome his husband as Thor landed with a thud in front of him.
“Do you remember when you used to crash into the table?” Loki asked, extending a hand towards Thor.
Thor laughed, taking Loki’s hand in his and bringing it to his lips for a soft kiss. The touch was familiar, but it had been months since Loki had felt it, and it sent a thrill running down his spine.
“Did you miss me, husband?” Thor asked, rising to his feet. He left Mjolnir on the spot where he’d landed, and went over to pull Loki’s seat from the table.
“Did I miss your boorish, oafish ways while you were adventuring in Midgard? Did I long for your loud voice and overly-large presence to ruin the peace and quiet of our chambers? Did I miss my brutish barbarian of a husband at all, all these tranquil months?” Loki asked by way of a reply, smirking as he brought a glass of wine to his lips.
“I can think of some things you might have missed,” Thor grinned. He winked, then, and Loki forced himself to roll his eyes.
Dinner passed pleasantly. Thor spoke of his work on Midgard, the continuing negotiations with their governments and world leaders, and Loki updated him on the state of affairs on Asgard.
“And Magni misses you,” Loki said, picking out the bones of his fish. He had started out with the knife and the fork, but through the course of the meal resorted to his hands, as was customary in Jotunheim.
Thor had followed suit, picking mussels out of his soup and creaking them open with his fingers to steal the soft flesh inside.
One of the things Loki had grown very fond of about his husband was the way he took Loki’s Jotun strangeness in stride. He did not think he would have been half as accommodating if Thor had lived with him in Jotunheim instead.
“I miss him as well,” Thor said, his tone mournful. “I intend to spend another month here before making a trip back to Midgard. I miss my little apple seed.”
“Not so little anymore,” Loki sighed. “He seems to grow larger and larger each day, like the moon waxing through the month.”
“Of course,” Thor said with a grin. “He is our son, after all.”
“You should read him his stories tomorrow night,” Loki suggested.
“I will. And oh, speaking of stories—” Thor wiped his hands on a cloth napkin, then concentrated and drew, out of thin air, a small sculpture.
“Your control over seidr grows stronger,” Loki said, beaming.
“Only because of your strict guidance,” Thor laughed. “Every time I attempt to use a pocket dimension or direct my lightning, it is your voice I hear in my head.”
“How tragic for you,” Loki said dryly.
“Not at all,” Thor replied, “I happen to be very fond of your voice.” And Loki reached out to take the sculpture instead of scrambling for a reply.
It was a glass fox, cool to the touch and well-made, particularly in the ears and the tail, which curved with life-like appeal.
“I know it is not much, but one of the places I went to Midgard had shrines honoring fox spirits, just like the ones in your letters.”
“It’s wonderful, Thor,” Loki murmured. “Thank you. They taught me how to shapeshift, the fox spirits.”
“I didn’t know that,” Thor said, raising an eyebrow.
“I didn’t mean much to my father, as you know,” Loki said, ignoring the pained look on Thor’s face. “Would have been thrown away into the snow as soon as I came of age and he had no more responsibility over me. But I learned to change my form.”
“And then you became valuable.”
“And then I became capable of bearing the young Prince of Asgard an heir, yes.”
“I’m grateful,” Thor said. “Not for the pain you’ve gone through in your life, never that, but for your gifts and your friends and your seidr, for bringing you to me.”
“Yes,” Loki said, caught off-guard. “I’m grateful too.”
Thor’s gaze turned mischievous.
“Did the fox spirits also teach you how to use your wiles on unsuspecting men?”
“You were never unsuspecting,” Loki said lightly. “You knew what I was the moment we met.”
Thor’s mouth twitched. “The marriage contract didn’t mention your penchant for knives.”
“It didn’t mention your earth-shaking snores either, but here we are,” Loki retorted.
It was an old, well-trodden exchange, but they both still dissolved into giggles from it.
As Thor returned to his meal, Loki tucked the fox into the pocket of his breeches, wanting to feel it pressing up against his skin.
—
After dinner, they retired inside to Loki’s apartments and shared a bottle of wine between them, talking aimlessly of politics and trade, of Magni’s studies, of their upcoming trip to Jotunheim.
As the night drew to a close and Thor stood up to make his way to his own apartments, Loki rubbed a hand against the outline of the fox in his pocket and said, “Won’t you stay the night, husband?”
Thor turned to him, slow and seemingly off-kilter, and his eyes were so blue when he met Loki’s gaze.
“If you would have me,” Thor said softly.
“I would have you always,” Loki found himself saying. It was a ridiculous notion—he and Thor were wed, and had been for five years. Their union would last until their deaths, bringing forth peace and prosperity and heirs for both their realms.
They would have each other for as long as they lived, in all the ways that were important and necessary.
But not, Loki had realized these past few months that Thor had been away, not in the way Loki wanted. The way he desired.
Thor’s gaze darkened, and Loki’s heart picked up speed.
They had fucked, of course, and not just for the purpose of bearing Magni. There was real attraction between the two of them, and they were both virile men with deep appetites. Sharing a bed was an easy way to sate them. Loki had had no other, not since he was wed. He had no idea if Thor had taken other partners, on his trips to Vanaheim, to Midgard. It was not something that had ever bothered Loki, because he had always accepted his marriage for what it was.
He realized that it bothered him now. Very much so.
Thor kissed him first, soft and gentle, the way he always did, the way he had on the day they were wed and every other time since, and Loki kissed harder, coaxing Thor’s tongue into his mouth, Thor’s teeth against his skin.
“I missed this,” Loki groaned, the admission wrenched out of his grip by the warmth of Thor’s body. Thor was always so, so warm, so wonderfully hot and alive against Loki’s body. Inside Loki’s cunt.
“Your brutish barbarian of a husband?” Thor teased, and Loki grabbed his face and kissed him, vicious and bruising.
Later on, when Thor had him on his back, his cock dragging in and out of Loki with inexorable slowness, Loki threw back his head and thought: if I could have only this, only this, only this—
He came, gasping, before he could finish the thought.
—
“You should take me on your next trip to Midgard,” Loki said, murmured against Thor’s chest. Thor’s fingers were drowned in his hair, giving short, sharp tugs that made Loki melt and shiver.
“We could bring Magni,” Thor said. “He would like it, I think. As would you. No servants, no courtiers, no guards. Just us. It would be a good trip.”
“Yes,” Loki said, then licked his lips.
“You’ve gone very still,” Thor murmured, after a moment. His fingers loosened from Loki’s hair and stroked down his back instead.
“I’m thinking,” Loki said.
“What about?” Thor asked.
“It is silly,” Loki said. His heart was pounding miserably in his chest. It was not often that he felt unsure; he had not felt this unbearable mixture of hope and anxiety since he had first met Thor and realized he was not a barbarian as the tales had said. That he was kind, and strong, and wonderful.
“You are never silly,” Thor said, his fingers quick and light on Loki’s skin. Each press and shift made Loki sink ever deeper into the dark pit of his own thoughts.
“You make me feel silly,” Loki muttered, annoyed with himself and with Thor’s unquestioning, unceasing affection. Five years of this, and Loki had only just realized—he was a fool.
“Loki,” Thor said, sweeping back Loki’s hair from his face and leaning down to look at him. “What is it, dear one?”
It was the endearment that did it, that scooped Loki’s insides and turned them over, that had him scrambling out of bed, desperate for air.
Thor sat up, hands raised, his forehead etched with worry.
“Husband—”
“This is all your fault,” Loki bit out, pacing. He tried to weave his clothes onto his body but his seidr wasn’t cooperating.
“Tell me what it is and I will fix it,” Thor said. He was pushing out of bed, but stayed sitting on the edge of it when Loki glared at him.
Loki only shook his head, his throat feeling tight, and to his horror he had to bury his face in his hands and choke on a sob.
“Loki,” Thor said with alarm, coming over despite Loki’s warning growl, and taking Loki's hand in his.
“What is it?” Thor asked, and he sounded so concerned that Loki almost laughed.
Instead he sobbed, and shook his head again, and, very softly, said: “You’ve made me fall in love with you.”
There was silence.
Loki wrenched himself from Thor’s grip and pulled his pants from the ground, shoving them on while Thor stood frozen across from him. The fox fell out, and Loki grabbed it from the floor, prepared to dash it against the wall—
Thor caught his wrist and tucked him close, his chest pressed tight against Loki’s heaving body.
“It’s all right,” Thor whispered, “it’s all right.”
“It is awful,” Loki said, “it is unbearable—”
“To love your husband?” Thor asked.
“To love someone and not be loved in return,” Loki bit out, letting his bitterness coat his words.
“Well then,” Thor murmured, trailing kisses down Loki’s neck, “how lucky for you that I love you back.”
Loki whirled in Thor’s embrace, a dagger in his hand. He pressed it up against Thor’s throat and Thor let him.
“Do not mock me,” Loki hissed.
“You’re doing a very good job of it by yourself,” Thor said, exasperated.
Before Loki could reply, Thor wrapped an arm around his waist, drew him close, and kissed him. Hard and deep, so very unlike him.
Possessive, Loki thought, and shivered.
“I love you,” Thor murmured, hot against Loki’s lips. “My beautiful, disagreeable, impossible husband.”
“As you should,” Loki gasped, going up on his toes as Thor squeezed his ass.
“I do,” Thor said, cupping Loki’s jaw and meeting his gaze. “I always will.”
“You do realize that I simply must have another wedding because of this,” Loki said, his mouth pulled into a helpless smile even as he searched Thor’s gaze for any sign that Thor was not sincere. He could not find one.
He loved his husband. His husband loved him. Oh, Norns.
“We will have all the weddings you require,” Thor promised. “My love.”
Only this for the rest of my life, Loki thought hazily, leaning up to kiss and be kissed. To love and to be loved.
For the rest of his life.
—
It was quiet, this early in the morning. Red and orange leaves crunched underfoot as Thor and Loki strolled through the forest. Magni, riding on Thor’s shoulders, reached out every so often to snag a branch or leaf.
“This should be it,” Loki said, arriving at a stone shrine with a small statue of a fox on top of it.
Thor held up his hand, and an orange appeared on it. Loki did the same, and conjured another one for Magni.
They made a little triangle with the oranges, then Loki stepped back, clapped his hands twice, and bowed deeply.
As they walked back the way they came, the shadow of a fox settled over the fruit, curling up in contentment.