Chapter - 29

It was just before dawn, the night sky starting to fade at the edges into dull white. Thor slept. He must be exhausted, Loki thought, looking at his brother's broad chest rise and fall.

They had fucked again twice. Loki was tender. He had ridden his brother while sitting on his lap, bouncing frenetically on his cock, Thor keeping him close to his chest, his expression almost pained, and later Thor had fucked him on his hands and knees, really, really listening when Loki had asked him to go harder. He would be reminded of it every step he took and every time he sat down for a couple of days. Not that he was complaining.

Both Thor and Loki had picked up a few new tricks since they had last been together. He had surprised Thor with a few bold moves, and he had even made him blush and gasp in shock -he was his baby brother after all. Thor had surprised him in turn with his stamina, as well as with some newly acquired sensuality. He didn't just rut against him like a dog, he had hip game now, and he had discovered, with a smugness that would be annoying if it wasn't so fucking sexy, that slow fucking could tear Loki to pieces just as much as the other kind. As Loki came for the third time, almost exclusively on his brother's cock, except for the last touch, Loki thought just how fucking good they were at this, if he was allowed to say so, and his artistic side mourned the loss of such a remarkable double act.

Smoking by the bathroom window, Loki allowed himself a minute of fantasising about moving to L.A. to live here with his brother, together, and make a life. It would still have to be a secret of course, but less suffocating, perhaps, right?

Yeah, no. If Thor started to become popular, (and if Stark was as reliable as he liked to make himself sound, he would,) such a young hunk, no girlfriends, just his brother? Weird. They would have to get beards and shit like that. And then it would be just like after Iceland again, the tension, the furtiveness, the feeling of being a dirty secret that was so fucking good for Loki's (and Thor's, possibly) self-esteem, the petty arguments over absolutely everything, the bitter reproaches, the sad angry fucks that made nobody feel better, and the lies.

No, it was never going to work. Definitely not if they both insisted on wanting to be movie stars for a living.

Loki took a few deep breaths and had a glass of water before he returned to bed. His brother threw a heavy arm around him and nuzzled into his shoulder. Loki sighed.

He had Hamlet coming. It was an opportunity to do something he cared about. It was going to be important, for his career and for him. And he had friends now, or people he hung out with sometimes that respected him and liked him. He was alright. You can't have it all, can you?

He burrowed against his brother, holding in a sob.

*

"Sleepy head," said Loki's voice, at an arm's distance.

Thor tried to open his eyes, his mouth dry, limbs heavy, knackered.

He reached for his watch. 11 a.m. Then a sip of water. Loki waited patiently, sat on the bed.

Thor finally managed to focus his eyes. Loki was smiling faintly at him. A slight frown crossed his face, there and not there in a blink.

"I'm going now," Loki said.

Thor blinked, scrubbed his eyes, sat up. He looked at his brother's delicate face. Loki's eyes were low, his mouth ever so slightly pursed.

What could Thor do? What could he say? No, Loki, stay, let's play house?

He exhaled heavily, just on the verge of tears.

"I'll drive you," he said then.

"No," said Loki. "I don't want to do this in a parked car at the airport, do you?"

Thor's mouth twisted with the urge to cry.

They said goodbye at the door, a taxi waiting downstairs.

"I'll see you soon," said Loki, and started to make his way down the corridor.

Thor almost called him back but, then again, what could he say?

___________

(The present)

Loki joined the ovation when the cast popped up again for the second round of bows, their expressions endearingly surprised.

The stalls stood up for Thor. He had been magnificent. His presence was undeniable, his emotions so raw. He was a natural, always was, but he was evidently acquiring technique and polish now. He was going to be as great as Odin had wished, and then some.

The girl who played Maggy was feisty and bossy and beautiful. She was probably miscast as Maggy (not sexual enough, a sort of inherent uprightness that turned her character into a moral pole, rather than the desperate cat in heat Tennessee Willams wrote), but there was a strength and a kind of honesty to her that made her stand out. In the curtain calls, she looked at Thor adoringly, and Thor looked warmly back. Loki checked his program. Her name was Sif. From the remote distance of his terminal apathy, Loki wondered. Is she the one, then, Thor. Is it her hands I am entrusting you to.

The best thing to do a few years ago in L.A., was to let Thor go.

The best thing to do now, for everybody, was to go himself.

It's winter. He's hungry. He's had enough. All he has to do is get a stiff drink or something to knock himself out, go to sleep, and die of cold. Clean, unfussy, romantic even. Maybe too good for him, but hey, he did not have that many options left.

He had found a place earlier that week where he thought he would not be disturbed, an old abandoned warehouse near the river. He swallowed as he sat down, back against the wall, limbs heavy with exhaustion and sheer lack of will to live. The concrete under his arse and against his back was freezing cold.

He touched the key in his neck, warm from the contact with his skin. With a shiver, he thought that it would not be warm for much longer. How was it possible, when he was so far gone, that he was still feeling afraid? He eyed the cardboard boxes he'd been sleeping in and the blankets, discarded just there, at the other end of the room. He shut his eyes tight. He clutched the key in his hand.

It will always be there for you, and so will I.

If he could drag himself there to the old flat, would he? What was the point? Why get better, why get help? What was going to change? He had done the therapy thing before, and look at him now. This shit within was not going anywhere, there was no cutting it out, there was no curing it. This shit within was himself. He sucked at living in this world, and he would never learn how. He did not fucking know how to be happy, how to be at peace. He ruined everything he touched, he hurt everyone who reached out for him. All his gifts and all his talents, all the chances he had been given, and he still had not been able to make anything out of himself -and we're not even talking about outstanding or worthy, here, we're just talking functional. With what had happened at the club, he had killed every hope he might still have had for some sort of happy ending, any kind of happy ending, for him and Thor. Even as brothers there was no patching that up. Loki had simply gone too far. And even worse than all of that, he just could not ask Frigga to put up with what he had done, with what a miserable disappointment he had become, all the public shame and the embarrassment. Not again. Of course she would take him back, her love was boundless and unshakeable, and precisely because of that, Loki did not deserve it, and he should not have it. He needed to stop being a shame and stop hurting people. He had no right.

Night comes on, sleep weighs heavy on his eyes. Small mercy.

---

So, what do you know, heaven looks remarkably like hospital.

Loki, you idiot, in what fucking universe would you ever be allowed in heaven.

Oh, right.

Fuck.