Chapter 2
The next time Thor sees Loki is on TV.
It’s nighttime, past dinner, and he’s having a round of drinks in the mixed company of humans, Aesir, and Sakaarians in a local bar that Brunnhilde has somehow gained co-ownership of. She’s very resourceful.
There’s a murmur that goes through the crowd and the barkeep changes the channel to the News. It’s the afternoon in New York, and the city seems to be swarmed by bands of aliens with no discernible similarities. Raiders, Thor guesses. Pirates. Now that Midgard has brought itself into the center stage of intergalactic affairs, they’re bound to get all sorts of visitors, friendly and not.
He’s about to get up and call for Stormbreaker outside—he’s been explicitly forbidden from calling her indoors—when Brunnhilde slams down a pint in front of him and says, “I think they’ve got a handle on it, Majesty.”
Indeed, the screen shows the various new members of the Avengers easily turning the tide against their would-be invaders.
“They have a man that turns into a giant, now,” Brunnhilde says, taking a long chug of her beer.
“He can’t fly, though,” Thor grumbles, put out. He’s itching to go fight, but Brunnhilde pins him down with a look.
Thor takes a gulp of his beer. He has people to look after now, people to lead. Children look up to him. He’s not supposed to be reckless.
And then, from the corner of the screen, someone comes riding into the battle on a wave of ice.
Thor chokes on his beer.
“Is that—?” Brunnhilde squints, then laughs incredulously. “Where did they find a Jotun?”
It’s not just any Jotun, of course. It’s Loki, Thor’s ex-lover. His ex-boyfriend, as the Midgardians would say.
He winces as Loki throws himself atop one of the command ships, a speck of blue against gruesome grey machinery.
“No idea,” Thor mumbles, and takes another gulp of his beer.
Loki has ever been a ruthlessly competent warrior, and it shows even in the shaky footage on the primitive Midgardian sceen. He takes down a command ship on his own, cuts through his enemies like butter. It's a beautiful spectacle, and it makes something in Thor ache, dangerously.
He drinks to soothe it.
The Avengers—of which Loki is now apparently a part—win their battle readily.
Thor is taken home, drunk, leaning upon Korg’s crumbly shoulder, and passes out in the living room.
--
Tony throws a party, as he is wont to do. The world has been saved multiple times over and amends have been made with old friends. Those are worth celebrating. And it’s better to get the celebrations in before the world governments piece themselves together and break them all up again, Thor supposes.
The party is in full swing by the time Thor arrives with Brunnhilde, who heads straight for the bar and tells Thor not to worry about getting her back home tonight. Thor leaves her to it.
Thor finds himself sitting with T’challa, the King of Wakanda, a very sensible man who offers to support Thor in the negotiations for his people. They drink, they make merry, they make their ancestors proud. People flock to them, coming and going. At one point, Thor meets Steve’s partner, a man with dark hair and sad eyes. Loki would like him, Thor thinks.
Thor is deep in his cups when he decides to wander off in search of fresh air. It is wonderful to be in the company of those who have fought to save the universe, but all the joyful cheer around him only serves to remind him of how much he has lost. He steps out into one of the tower’s balconies, breathing in deeply.
The breath gets caught in his throat. Someone is already there.
“You’re missing the party,” Loki says, not turning around.
“So are you,” Thor says, surprised at how steady his voice is. “Did you take up Steve’s invitation, then?”
“In a way,” Loki says, turning to look at Thor. His hair is drawn into a pile on top of his head, and he’s wearing a silk green button-down. His red eyes glitter as they study Thor from top to bottom, slowly. Deliberately.
Before Thor can think twice about it, he reaches out and thumbs open the top button of Loki’s shirt.
“It looks better like this,” Thor says, averting his eyes.
“Thank you. I’m far from an expert on Midgardian fashion,” Loki says, dry.
“You can always come to me for advice,” Thor says lightly. Already, he feels too sober.
“Just advice?” Loki says.
“Just advice,” Thor says.
Loki purses his lips.
“I’ll get you a drink,” Thor says, and escapes before Loki can stop him.
--
“You’re acting strange,” Loki says, sliding into place next to Thor at the bar.
“I’m acting perfectly fine,” Thor says. He hands Loki some strange blue concoction.
Loki doesn’t relent, however, and follows Thor back to the couch in the center of the room. With the party winding down, there are about a dozen people sitting around in various states of inebriation. It reminds Thor of that night when Ultron came to life. It feels like a century ago.
Loki strikes up a conversation with Natasha and Thor sips at his whiskey and tries not to catalogue every time Loki brushes against him. He’s always gesticulated like this when he tells a story, but the hand on Thor’s thigh is perhaps unnecessary.
Eventually, the conversation around turns, as it inevitably does in these sorts of things, to gossip.
“So,” Scott starts, surprisingly bright-eyed despite the amount of drink Thor has seen him imbibe. Thor has never met him before this night, but he can tell the man lacks a filter. True enough, the next words to come out of his mouth are, “How’s Jane, Thor?” He gives a wobbly, awkward little smile, entirely sincere.
Beside him, he feels Loki stiffen. It would be imperceptible if not for the way Loki is pressed flush against his side, a cool brand along Thor’s alcohol-warmed skin.
“We broke up,” Thor says, keenly aware of how the conversation has quieted down to almost nothing. Of how Loki is very obviously not looking at him, his hand limp on Thor’s thigh.
“Hey, I feel ya,” Scott says, raising both his hands, the contents of his glass sloshing. “My wife and I broke up too, man. It was a rough time. I was in prison, and then I was out of it, and then I was in prison again, and then I almost got stuck in the Quantum Realm—”
“Jane?” Loki asks lightly.
Before Thor can say anything, Scott says, “Yeah, Jane Foster! Super smart—physicist, right? Won the Nobel too or something, but Hank’s got a Nobel and he’s a bit of a jerk, so that’s not really an indication—”
Something in Loki’s face must make Scott falter, because he loses his stride and peters off into a mumble about how interesting Loki’s blue skin is.
“I see,” Loki says. “And how long were you, ah, involved, Thor?”
Thor takes a sip from his glass and swallows, hard.
“Ah,” he says. “Jane, JaneJaneJane, ah, we, it was...three years, maybe?” he squints up at the ceiling and takes another sip.
“I see,” Loki says, hard as ice. His hand slips from Thor’s thigh. He shifts, and Thor is pre-emptively relieved that Loki’s getting up—but Loki only shifts to face Scott properly, then leans back against the couch, looking thoughtful.
“Thor and I were together for a while too,” he says, entirely too casual.
Thor resists the urge to close his eyes and rub his suddenly-aching temples.
To his credit, Scott seems unfazed. He grins wide, turning from Thor to Loki and back.
“That’s amazing! Alien love story, wow, Cassie would love to hear this,” Scott says.
“It was all very romantic,” Loki drawls. “A centuries-long war, then Thor was sent to my realm to play diplomat. He wasn’t very good at it.”
Thor grunts.
“He was good at other things, though, I bet,” Scott says with a large smile, waggling his eyebrows.
“Oh, quite,” Loki in a low murmur that makes Thor flush despite himself.
“Why’d you break up, though?” Scott asks, oblivious. He takes another gulp of his drink and smiles emptily.
“Why did we, Loki?” Thor finds it in him to ask.
“Well,” Loki says, “Thor was an arrogant, insufferable asshole.”
“And Loki was a scheming, backstabbing bastard,” Thor replies.
“And there was that incident with the ambassador from Niflheim,” Loki says, catching Thor’s eye with an amused grin.
Thor snorts, his tension unspooling from him. “Don’t start. I seem to recall that time with the princes from Alfheim—”
“I had nothing to do with that,” Loki sniffs.
“And I suppose you had nothing to do with the trolls from Muspelheim,” Thor says. “Or that time with Freyja and Thrym—”
“You were too young,” Scott says, nodding sagely.
Thor blinks. He’d forgotten the man was there.
“Young love, I get it,” Scott continues. “It’s, it’s volatile. Reckless.” He nods, then keeps nodding until he dozes off in his chair.
“All in the past now,” Thor says, gruff.
“All in the past,” Loki repeats. He clears his throat, then rises from the couch.
“I should be taking my leave,” Loki says, pointedly, at Thor.
Thor stiffens, feeling a dull sense of dread crawl up his spine.
He gets up and follows Loki anyway.
--
“I know you don’t need to be outside to make a portal,” Thor says, as he and Loki step out into the tower’s landing pad.
“And here I was thinking you were going to offer me Stormbreaker’s services,” Loki says.
“I’m not dressed for Jotunheim,” Thor says.
Loki reaches out to finger Thor’s red coat. “I can fix that very easily,” he says, looking at Thor from under his lashes.
Thor puts his hand atop Loki’s and gently pulls it away.
Loki’s gaze turns sharp, his mouth pressing into a thin line.
“I see,” he says. “I hope she was good to you, your Midgardian scientist. You can find her again now, after the world’s been put to rights.”
“Loki,” Thor sighs.
“Don’t,” Loki bites out. He releases a shaky breath. “I’m a fool for even coming here.”
“What did you think would happen?” Thor asks. “Did you think we would fall into bed together again, after all these years? Did you want me to fall to my knees for your affections? Promise you everything I have? I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, Loki, but I don’t have much by way of—of fucking anything, these days. No gold, no kingdom, no throne—”
“I never wanted your damned THRONE,” Loki shouts, the force of it making Thor step backwards.
“Well,” Thor says, after a moment. “Good. Because I don’t have one to offer. Unless you count the armchair Korg insists on taking anyway.”
Loki is staring at Thor with a perplexed look.
“He’s a Kronan,” Thor says, helpfully. “Big pile of rocks, bit crumbly. Bit heavy for the chair, but he likes it.”
“You’re a fool,” Loki says, in a tone of realization.
Thor rubs a hand over his face. “Yes, I’ve heard. I really shouldn’t have—I’m sorry if I made you think that I—”
“Thor,” Loki cuts in, placing a hand on Thor’s cheek. “If you truly don’t want this, then tell me plain. But if you continue to refuse me out of some misguided notion that you, Thor Odinson, are somehow unworthy of me—a notion so impossibly stupid that it’s ridiculous even for you—then I will stab you until you come to your senses.”
“I don’t see how that’s—”
Loki kisses him.
Thor kisses him back, helpless. It is easy to deny himself, but denying Loki is near impossible. Still, the protests are on the tip of Thor’s tongue, and as soon as Loki gives him an inch, he’ll speak them, explain why they shouldn’t do this—why Thor can’t shackle Loki with him—
But through the blood rushing in his ears and the incessant voice telling him this is wrong, he hears a familiar, rumbling noise.
“Oh, Norns,” he murmurs faintly, as Loki nuzzles into his neck, purring with sweet satisfaction. It’s a distinctly Jotun trait, the purring. The first time Thor had ever heard it, Loki had been kneeling on the floor, mouth full of Thor’s cock. He’d come a moment later.
He lays a hand on the small of Loki’s back—he’s vibrating—and Loki arches up against Thor, eyelids fluttering, purring louder, and all of Thor’s resolve disintegrates.
He tugs Loki close, pressing their chests together.
“Hold on,” he murmurs, tightening his hold around Loki.
“So forward,” Loki says, looking up at Thor with a smug smile on his face. “Absolutely brutish, no finesse at all—”
Thor’s answering laugh is lost in the roar of the Bifrost as it comes to life, bearing them home to Asgard.