Chapter Text
“Thor Odinson,” Odin’s powerful voice booms out across the observatory, “you have betrayed the express command of your king. Through your arrogance and stupidity, you have opened these peaceful realms and innocent lives to the horror and desolation of war! You are unworthy of these realms, you are unworthy of your title, you are unworthy” – Odin pauses, taking first one deep breath and then another before continuing his furious diatribe – “of the loved ones you have betrayed! In the name of my father and his father before, I, Odin Allfather, demand that you repay this debt through whatever sacrifice I may require of you.”
Before Thor can protest further, Odin turns on his heel and stomps away. Asgard’s crown prince stands frozen, in shock, trying to catch his breath and staring open-mouthed after his father. Sacrifice? If Odin had wanted Thor dead, he would have killed him where he stood. Or let Laufey do it.
Once he has a moment to recover his wits, though, Thor grins into the silence. How awful, after all, can a non-lethal sacrifice be?
~
“I am serious, mother! Stop it,” Thor wails loudly in the face of Frigga’s not-quite-suppressed laughter. “You must help me; I’ve nowhere else to turn. There must be something I can do to forestall this mockery, this farce, this- this travesty against all we hold to be true and right and meaningful.”
Frigga pats his hand gently. “A wise and noble point, dear, if perhaps ill-timed.” When he wrinkles his nose in frustrated confusion, she continues: “You are certainly correct in thinking you could have prevented this, and I think by now you are well aware how you might have done so. However, my son, that longboat has long since taken oar and left the harbor. Your father’s mind is made up, and naught you – nor I – say will change it.”
“But- but- this cannot happen,” he splutters. “It simply cannot. It is too horrible to consider, even.” He sighs angrily, close to tears with the frustration of it all. “Why would father do such a thing to- to our family?” Even in his current state Thor knows it’s smartest to defend a less personal position. “He has to realize this will make us the laughingstock of the Nine.”
“Ah, but it can be considered, love. Can and has and will be, and rest assured none shall dare to laugh.” Her voice drops, her tone serious. “Thor, the ill-advised attack you led your friends to carry out in Jotunheim was an act of war. One not authorized by the crown, I might add, which makes your actions treason. You are lucky to have gotten off so lightly. I trust in time you will come to see it so. Until then, my son, you will just have to make do.”
“LIGHTLY, mother? MAKE DO?! But she is a frost giant!! A Jotnar beast, mother; a monster!”
“She, Thor?” The corners of Frigga’s eyes crinkle; her lovely eyes themselves sparkle in light of the wall torches. “Oh, no, I am afraid you are wrong there. King Laufey has brought forth only sons.”
~
For the better part of two days Thor skulks about his chambers, angry and brooding. His life is ending, after all – he is to be wed, with no say in the matter, and to a monster to boot. And not just any monster, but a monster prince.
On top of that, he is supposed to act pleased - to act as though he feels fortunate, to be excited, to be diplomatic. To properly represent the honor of his house.
Meanwhile he knows, with the absolute and overdramatic certainty of one who is being horrendously (but deservedly, though he would never confess it,) wronged, he’s never felt less fortunate – less of any of these things, really – in his life.
On the third day, the process – which has probably been underway throughout the compound for some days now, but has blissfully escaped his notice - begins. Thor, who was not anticipating the loss of his freedom for many an age to come and whose friends – save Volstagg, who succumbed early - feel much the same, has never really paid much attention to Asgard’s marriage rites. Nor, perhaps more to the point, has he noted the speed with which they can progress.
His servants tell him he will be wed within the week… and they wink and nudge knowingly, dropping lewd hints at what a consummated Asgard marriage involves, as they fit him for his ceremonial and wedding-night finery.
There is a great deal of buildup, and the servants take clear pleasure in Thor’s discomfort. Given all that, when the official Jotunheim delegation arrives, Thor thinks he can perhaps be excused for hanging off his balcony far further than decorum permits. He is, you see, hoping desperately to catch an advance glimpse of the beast that is to be his horrid fate. The creature with which he must share his life, his crown, his bed. If he can get a quick look at it- him?- IT from this safe distance, Thor tells himself, he will have the time to better prepare himself mentally for the inevitable shock and will be far less likely to do something unforgivably awkward at first meeting.
Or, even worse, to do something unforgivably awkward on his wedding night.
That is, if he can stop vomiting long enough to manage anything in the bedroom at all.
Truth be told, he is just being nosy.
Thus, he is sorely disappointed when the delegates carry their noble born the length of the rainbow bridge in a litter – a litter, of all things; not only must he wed a monstrous Jotun male, but one that is fragile to boot – fully shaded from the hot sun and prying eyes of Asgard.
~
“Mother, you must talk to father on my behalf. I simply cannot be made to go through with this. I cannot be required to wed something that is not even able to walk here under its own power. Must I push its invalid chair about? Carry it to and fro on my back? This is beyond ridic-“
“Thor, do stop. I must insist.” Frigga is not smiling this time. “Your future spouse – who walks quite nicely, I might add - is neither thing nor it. In fact, I had the opportunity to make his acquaintance a few minutes ago, as I helped ensure he – and his father – felt welcome in our home. He is not what you expect, I assure you.”
The look on her face, though, does nothing to forestall his doubts. “And how exactly do you purport to know what I expect?”
She pats his arm gently. “Oh, Thor, you are far more transparent than you like to believe. I am certain I can make a very sound guess as to your expectations, although I suspect you would rather I did not list them for you here.”
He can feel his face grow hot, all the way down his neck and up his ears. He tries for a quick change of course, hoping a diversion will give him a chance to get himself back under proper control: “But do you like him, mother?”
She pauses for a moment before responding, clearly choosing her words with careful precision. “I think he will be good for you.”
~
As determined as Thor is to get a peek at his – his what, his groom? His steed? – before the wedding ceremony, it seems the rest of the court is even more determined to prevent him from doing so. From the highest commander to the lowest kitchen servant, one and all steer him firmly away from the guest quarters.
Everyone he sees is “it’s unseemly, Thor” this and “it cannot be done, Thor – your father orders it so” that. And the more he his efforts are thwarted, the greater a monster Thor’s intended becomes. Before the week is out, his imagination has made the thing – the prince; yes, mother, the prince - to be a great and horrifying four-headed freak with extra eyes, two rows of teeth and no fingers. Thor finds he cannot sleep, he cannot eat. He cannot even spar. In fact, he can scarcely function at all.
When all else fails, his mother long past the point of refusing further audience, he gives in and finally goes to speak with his father directly.
Odin is in his court offices, looking tired and gruff behind veritable mountains of parchment. “What is it, Thor? As you can see, I have much work before me, and I am sure you have business to which you should be attending as well.”
“Please, father,” Thor begins, voice threatening to crack embarrassingly. “Is there no other way? None at all? I understand now that I have made a grave mistake,” by not killing all the monsters where they stood before you could make me wed one, he does not add, hoping the Allfather is not reading minds today, “and I am ready to make amends in any way necessary. Any way, I promise you, but this.”
Odin sets a scroll, dark with runes, down on the desk before him. “Alas: Thor, my son, there is no other way. This is a fortuitous treaty, one that spares your life and goes a long way towards guaranteeing Asgard lasting peace. You should consider yourself lucky that Laufey has agreed to such an arrangement, and that you yourself are able to provide such great and honorable service to the people of your realm. And perhaps,” – his wrinkled face twists into what passes for a smile, the creases around his lone eye deepening – “you will come to love the Jotun prince in time. Your mother thinks highly of him, and even I must admit he was surprisingly well-mannered before the court earlier.”
“So everyone has met this- this creature but me. How is that fair?”
Odin’s smile vanishes. “This is not about fairness, Thor, nor is it about you. Rather, it is in keeping with the sacred Jotun custom that prospective spouses may not meet in the weeks before their nuptials, and as such it is something you must honor and obey. This custom, and many that follow.” Odin shakes his head, frowning. “You have much to learn, I fear, my son. Remember that understanding the Jotun way is key to maintaining the peace we all seek.”
~
The dreaded morning dawns. He’s left alone early on but, by the end of the midday meal, Thor fusses and fumes as his servants - the same servants who have been giggling and teasing all week – valiantly attempt to get him ready for his wedding ceremony. He does not want to be primped, he does not want to be prettied. He does not want his ceremonial armor, or his dress leathers, or his formal cloak. He does not want to be bathed, or to have his hair braided or his beard trimmed. In fact, he wants simply to be left alone. He wants this to never happen. He wants to lie down in his own filth and die.
But it seems none of these choices is a viable option, as – when his own servants throw up their hands in defeat - his mother’s retinue hounds him mercilessly until he gives in.
Then again, he supposes, he should be grateful he’s not being dressed as the bride.
Be that as it may, though, he’s feeling anything but grateful presently.
~
Quite some time later, and at the expense of much good humor among both his and his mother’s servants, Thor is in position and looking as good as possible. It is, however, pouring outside, the afternoon hot and dark, the sky is full of lightning; there’s only so much any one unhappy god can cooperate, after all.
He surveys the audience. The good people of Asgard – the ones for whom he is doing this duty, as Odin has missed no opportunity to remind him – pack the Great Hall wall-to-wall. Heedless of the weather they are dressed in all their finery, merry and boisterous and talkative. They are, no doubt, thrilled about the good fortune this event is purported to bring upon them all.
Thor tries reminding himself this is what he is here for – to ensure the good of his people.
It does not work, and sulking up here in front of everyone is expressly not an option; he tries passing the time by doing math in his head instead.
That does not work either.
Finally (all too soon!) the trumpets sound, their familiar fanfare mixing with unknown instruments Thor guesses must be Jotun. Here he is at last, he reminds himself, at the far end of the endless week of tortured waiting; he now stands upon the dais only moments from the arrival of his-… well, whatever this Jotnar prince will be. Determined as he is to keep a socially acceptable expression, he swears; if the thing is in a wedding gown, so help him, by the very Norns he will-…
-and then his breath catches in his throat.
Because the creature coming up to meet him, accompanied by a retinue of Jotun soldiers in skimpy metal-paneled skirts that must pass for dress regalia, is not at all what Thor expected. He – for he is unmistakably male - is quite short for a frost giant, perhaps half a handspan shy of Thor’s own height. He – not it, definitely he - is slender, proportionately broad of shoulder and narrow of hip, with shiny black hair. That’s where anything approaching normalcy ends and the true exoticness begins; the Jotnar prince is also deep blue marked in black, blood-red-eyed, naked save for a sparkling jeweled loincloth and- and comfortingly furious. He looks as though – given half a moment’s opportunity, which he most certainly will not be - he would eat Thor alive.
That, Thor almost likes and can respect. He actually manages a smile as he holds out a hand to help the prince up onto the foot of the dais. The Jotnar shows his perfect white teeth – by no means of reckoning can the expression be considered a smile in return – and, after an obvious beat too long, places his hand into Thor’s proffered palm.
So: Interesting. It seems both of them are beyond excited to be here. Thor briefly wonders what this one did to deserve such similar-natured punishment; then the music halts, the ceremony begins, and they are both of them forced to move on.
~
The wedding itself is a bit of a blur. The ceremony proper is like nothing Thor has ever seen, an odd mix of Aesir and what must be Jotun traditions. The only thing he can say for certain is that the whole process involves a lot of toasting. The crowd toasts, the dignitaries toast, the families toast, the couple toasts. Toast upon toast upon toast, over and over, and for each he and his husband-to-be are expected – required, really – to down a small glass themselves. A small glass, sure, but its contents are something dark and potent. After the sixth or seventh… Thor is starting to lose track, which cannot be a good sign… they finally get down to business and make their eternal vows.
He thinks that’s what happens, at least; by this point he cannot truly be sure anymore.
In fact he is, much to his own embarrassment, drunker than drunk. Whatever the dark liquid is, it goes straight to his head. It’s all he can do not to sway. When the officiant says his husband’s name – Prince Loki Laufeyson, of Jotunheim – Thor manages to- well, to make an ass of himself: “Loki,” he leans closer and stage-whispers. “Really? That’s your name? Did your parents hate you?”
For a long moment he thinks Loki (really?) might slap – or stab – him. But then his- his husband smiles nastily and leans still closer to give Thor the coldest kiss he has ever felt.
And Thor cannot help it; he laughs.
~
Which is likely at least partially why, later in the evening, their own part in the feasting done, Thor sits on his bed – drunken head spinning – as his husband stands regally, angrily, across their quarters, arms crossed and shoulders squared, staring out the window at nothing instead of coming to bed. Staring dead silent; the Jotnar prince has not yet uttered so much a single word in Thor’s presence.
“I said I was sorry. What more do you want of me,” Thor pleads, for the umpteenth time.
Loki at long last wheels around, expression dark and furious. “Good grief! Do you never tire of your own voice? Rest assured I want nothing whatsoever of you, barbarian. I, by point of fact, actually want far less of you than that with which I have been gifted already. In truth, if you must know, I want only one thing at all - to leave this gaudy wasteland and go home.”
The message itself fails to sink in, as Thor’s drunken temper has abruptly flared. Barbarian? Gaudy wasteland? Finally, words from the high and mighty Loki, and all he can do is level insults. Thor is annoyed beyond any vestige of politeness: “You speak the Allspeak? You can understand me?” He’s too drunk even to realize these are fighting words, words he should immediately take back.
Loki huffs angrily. “You truly know nothing whatsoever of my people, do you? Yes, I speak the Allspeak. I also – and please, try not to die of shock as I am not certain I can lift you – read and write. Amazing, no? See the caged beast do tricks! Come one, come all. It’s truly astounding. How did I end up chained to such a cretin,” he adds, under his breath, then turns back to the window with an unhappy growl.
Thor flinches away from the cutting edge in Loki’s voice. He really had not meant to start a fight. In an effort to lighten the mood and make things better, though, he of course on manages to make them worse. “Tell me, Loki,” he teases, “do the Jotun bite?”
Loki spins to face him anew, teeth bared. “This one does, I assure you. Lay but a hand on me and you shall find out for yourself.”
That is more than enough; Thor feels the fight rising in him again. “Oh, do not flatter yourself. As if I would put a hand to you, monster, but to choke the life from you.”
“I would like to see you try.” Loki enunciates carefully, as thought he’s speaking to a child, and Thor feels his anger leaping up to take on a life of its own.
He lunges off the bed and closes the space between them, three long strides putting him right in Loki’s face. He grabs his husband by the throat, forcing the lean blue creature back against the window frame. “Oh, you would, would you? How are you liking what you see so far?”
And then Thor stalls out. He’s still impossibly drunk, and Loki’s skin is surprisingly warm – not Jotunheim-icy, not at all what he expects - beneath his palm. Loki’s neck flushes darker blue, pulse pounding beneath Thor’s grip, and something primal in Thor responds. Lips loosened by drink, he stammers: “You- you are surprisingly attractive. Not at all like I had been told.” He looses his grip, stroking a thumb up the blue skin lightly. Thinks unbidden about how another kiss from that feisty blue mouth would taste.
Unfortunately Loki, it seems, is still furious. “Sadly,” the Jotun prince hisses, “I cannot say the same. In fact, as compared to legend, you are considerably more hideous than I anticipated.” Thor freezes; Loki seizes the moment and twists free, disappearing soundlessly behind a tapestry.
Thor shakes his head, sighing. Not the best start to a lovely life together. Mother would not be pleased.
~
For many long minutes he waits patiently, sitting on the edge of the bed, certain his husband will calm down and return. Thor may have dozed off, even – the drink is doing odd things with his head – as the candles seem to have burned short awfully quickly.
He looks around. No Loki.
Finally, Thor hauls himself carefully off the bed and pads quietly out onto his balcony. There, he stills – his proud new husband is curled in a little blue ball at the far end of the long space, back to Thor, crowded between the end wall and the railing. And if Thor is not mistaken, judging by the way the shapely blue shoulders are shaking, Loki is crying.
It’s awkward. Thor has no idea what to do. The drunken urge to laugh wars fiercely with the urge to hold, to comfort. In the end he stands there helplessly, silent, and then turns and tiptoes back to bed.
~
They do not really talk after that night, only speaking when they absolutely must. Most of the time, they do not even see one another; Thor gets the distinct impression Loki is avoiding him.
When at least he goes searching for Frigga, Thor finds his mother busy at her great tapestry loom. Her assistants are not at their own posts; when he comments, she ignores the observation and goes straight to the point: "You are troubled, Thor. May I ask; is all well?"
"I- I do not know." He does not. "Being married is not what I expected."
She laughs, but there's no teasing in it and her eyes are kind. "Forging a union is always full of challenges. That is even more true when one has not had the chance to get to know - and, presumably, like - one's wife or husband beforehand."
The look on her face is oddly wistful. "But surely you and father courted," he offers, confused by her expression.
"Oh, darling, no. Of course not. Those born to rule cannot have their bloodlines and successes left to chance." She shrugs. "Even those who manage to elude their parents' ever-watchful eyes long enough to meet someone special must ultimately come back down to earth and marry as ordered." She frowns. "Surely you did not think this was solely an act of punitive spite on the Allfather's part?"
Actually, that's exactly what Thor had thought. Thinks. But for the moment he finds his attention caught and held by her earlier comment. "So do you not love father?"
She takes his hand and squeezes it gently. "I have come to love him over time. But time it did take. Now tell me, dear; what is it?”
Thor sighs. “Loki is… not what I expected. And he- he seems very unhappy. I must confess we have not gotten off to a good start.”
Frigga frowns delicately. “What happened?” Not what did you do, even though the question would not be unwarranted.
“I got rather drunk, with all the toasting, and I may have said some- some things I would rather take back. And Loki… seems extremely sad. He may have been crying the night we wed, and he has not really spoken with me since.” He winces. “I was surprised he could speak our language so fluently. Apparently he is highly educated. He was- quite offended.”
“Oh, Thor… your father would scarcely pair you off with an idiot now, would he?” Thor is not sure at this point that there’s anything whatsoever Odin would not do, but he lets Frigga continue uninterrupted just the same. “But, yes, do keep in mind this transition is at least as hard for Loki as it is for you. He has been taken from his home, my son, and from his family. Nothing here – from the people to the climate to the food – is familiar. Of course he is sad. He is utterly alone, and you- you laughed at him, did you not?”
Thor feels the burn of a blush rising in his cheeks. “It is possible I did. He- he was surprisingly pretty. And feisty. I may have lashed out in response.”
Frigga leans close, still holding his hand. “You should go to him, Thor. Be welcoming. Treat him as an honored guest, first. Only when you have gotten to know one another properly, and to win his friendship, do you earn the opportunity to treat him like family.”
~
She’s right, he knows. But still it is easier said than done.
For starters, his husband is nearly impossible to find; Thor wastes most of the morning looking. When he does finally locate Loki, nose in a dusty, ancient book in a distant corner of the Asgard Royal Library, the Jotnar prince rebuffs him with practiced skill:
“Thor! Husband! You must forgive my shock at seeing you here; I would not have expected you knew how to find the library.”
His mother’s advice still fresh in his mind, Thor lets the dig slide. “Oh, you will find I am quite familiar with most everything in the palace. I should be happy to show you around, if you would like.”
His new husband snorts, sitting straighter and looking up at him. “I am reading, Thor. Or, at least, I was.” Loki fixes Thor with a pointed look, although this time he does not seem truly angry. In fact, if anything he appears almost amused. They exchange a long look, and then back goes Loki’s nose into the book.
“Another time, then.” Thor turns to go, a bit disheartened but determined to be pleasant at any cost. But then curiosity gets the better of him, meaning he halts and speaks yet again without proper forethought: “So, do tell me: For what are you being punished?”
When Loki looks up from his book this time, every trace of pleasure is gone. “Excuse me?”
Thor plunges gamely on; there’s hardly any point in turning back now. “You heard me: What did you do? Why did your family do this to you? I mean, you must know what it is I did to-.”
“To what,” Loki finishes. “To what, Thor? To earn yourself the opportunity to be wedded to a beastly Jotun whore?”
In the space of a few short seconds the whole thing has yet again gone badly wrong. Thor growls in frustration. “That is not what I meant, Loki, and you know it.”
“I know no such thing.”
Suddenly uncomfortably aware that he's looming over Loki – and that he is being rather an ass - Thor invites himself to pull up a chair. "Look, Loki, let us start this again: I am sorry. I was drunk the other night. I meant no harm." It's not quite true, but he hopes it will be close enough in spirit. "I am here today because I know I have been rude, and because I wish to get to know you better."
"To get to know me better," Loki repeats slowly. "Whatever for?" He closes the book again, thumb marking his page, and waits quietly with a falsely bright look of expectation.
Thor thinks a minute. This is rather delicate. "Well," he says at last, "our life together will be rather boring if we do not make better acquaintance, no?" He smiles, trying very hard for friendly.
Loki purses his dark blue lips. Thor thinks - briefly, guiltily - about how it felt to kiss them. "I did not do anything wrong to earn my place here," Loki says quietly.
"Oh," Thor blurts out. He's not sure what else to say.
"No, I am here as a spy. I am to learn your kingdom's weaknesses and bring it down from the inside." The faint hint of a smile plays over Loki's sharp features.
"Really?" Thor feels- abruptly cold inside. Almost afraid.
Loki groans, then smiles for real, teeth bright white in his startlingly attractive face. "if I was, would I tell you? Honestly, Thor, are all Aesir this gullible? It’s amazing your realm survives."
"It- it was a poor attempt at a joke. My words," Thor hastily – dishonestly - clarifies before his husband can take offense.
Loki nods. "Okay. Truth: I am here to guarantee peace between our realms."
"As am I," Thor responds, but then cannot hide a snicker.
"How exactly is that funny?" Loki arches an eyebrow dangerously.
"Oh, it is not," Thor says. "But we seem to be off to a sorry start, seeing as we cannot even guarantee peace between our persons." He makes another attempt at starting over, doing his best to be considerate. "You must be lonely here."
"It is very different, yes." Loki slips his thumb out of the book and rises gracefully, carrying it back to its shelf. "And you are right. We could surely do better. At this rate we will never be truly wed."
That catches Thor off-guard. "What??"
"Oh, do not think me unfamiliar with your laws. I know we must consummate this union" - Thor knows he must look as shocked as he feels, given the twinkle in Loki's red eyes - "before we are lawfully wed." Loki holds out an elbow. "You can start working your way in that direction by finding me a decent meal."
~
It turns out that, perhaps unsurprisingly, Frigga is right - Loki is used to a winter-hardy diet of raw, fatty fish and is finding standard Aesir fare both strange and frankly revolting.
Which is what gives Thor a bright idea. "Let's go fishing. No, really," he continues as Loki glares, "while I am sure this realm not have the same fish you know, we have good fish nonetheless. We can catch some; you shall see. It might even be fun."
~
It is fun, actually. Loki turns out to be amazingly quick with his hands, and able to conjure spare little knives that are perfect for fishing. He catches five fish to Thor’s one; when they climb out of the stream with their haul, the blue prince is grinning in evident delight.
Thor shudders. “Do you just eat them, now? Just bite into them, skin and all?” He truly does not mean to sound disgusted but he is and it probably shows.
Loki, thankfully, just laughs. “I can if I have to but, no, I would prefer to dress them properly. Unless you want your beast with blood in its teeth.”
It’s Thor’s turn to laugh. “Thank you, but no. Do you mind terribly if I cook mine?”
His husband does not, or so Loki says; he even lights a small fire for Thor.
When they are done eating, both of them stuffed and sleepy, Loki holds Thor’s hand and leans quietly against him; Thor counts the outing as a win.
~
Over the next week or so, Thor makes a point of taking his strange husband out fishing several more times. Loki in the water – playful, grinning, charming – is so different than Loki in the palace, and Thor has fast come to enjoy seeing the Jotun prince so.
Loki, for his part, has been much less reluctant to dine with Thor and the rest of the royal family. He talks art and science with Frigga and war and economics with Odin, all with a graceful ease that greatly impresses Thor.
After several nights thus, on impulse, Thor grabs Loki’s hand as they walk back to their chambers. “Do not hide from me tonight. Please?” As Loki turns to face him, Thor catches his husband’s other hand and – before Loki can make any response – leans in to kiss the soft blue-black lips.
Loki freezes. Thor stops mid-kiss but does not pull away. “Is this okay,” he asks against Loki’s mouth. “You are very appealing, but I will stop if you so wish it.”
They stand there for close to a minute, at which point Loki yanks both hands free. Thor barely gets “I am sor-“ out before his mouth is suddenly full of Loki’s warm, wet, searching tongue. It’s not at all what he expected, but it’s good. Very, very good.
Loki’s eyes close. Thor slides a hand up the smooth slope of Loki’s back and into the lush black hair, pulling his husband closer. Loki, in turn, bites Thor’s lip hard. When Thor jerks away in surprise, Loki chases after him laughing. “I am a monster, you know. Do not ever forget it.”
They kiss with hungry abandon, Thor tracing the sharp lines of Loki’s face with big hands, Loki practically climbing into Thor’s mouth. When they pull apart, panting, Loki grins. “Nice. This is apparently something with which you have some skill.”
Thor grins in return. “Truly there are many things at which I have some skill. You might even be impressed. Come here,” – he tugs Loki into their chambers, and towards the bed – “and let me show you.”