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Blade

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A slender blade of ice. Fragile. Yet deadly. Rising from his hand, water crystallizing, crackling as it grew into a lethal shard. His despicable heritage granted him the ability to create this weapon. A miracle and a curse.

On the bed Thor struggled. He jerked against the heavy ropes knotted around his wrists and ankles and tied to the steel reinforced bed frame. But the restraints held tight, binding him to his fate. The silk gag muffled his shouted protests into slurred grunts. Still, he continued fighting.

Loki feigned disinterest.

In reality, his entire being churned with a volatile mix of heady anticipation, barely contained fury, and the inescapable need for vengeance, all bound by raw desire. And something more. An unwanted thread woven through him, uniting each violent emotion with the faintest sense of wrong.

But that he disregarded. After all he had endured, what could be wrong with this?

He turned his wrist, rotating his hand while holding it against the flickering glow of the candle. The contrast of fire and ice amused him, so he filled this Midgardian bedchamber with candles instead of relying upon human ‘technology’ to illuminate the room.

Golden light passed through the shard of ice, refracting outward, dancing across Thor’s neck. Ah. There, the visible pulse of his life vein as blood thundered through his body.

Fear. In that rush of blood. In the creases lining Thor’s forehead. The sweat darkened locks of blond hair cast across the pillow Loki had so thoughtfully provided for his comfort. The way Thor’s fists clenched, then relaxed, again and again, arms straining against the ropes confining him. Of course Thor was angered by this. Furious. But beneath the overt display of rage ran a stronger current of fear.

Loki reveled in his brother’s powerlessness.

Because he knew fear all too well. While he had fallen through the darkness, abject terror swallowed him, ripping away his identity. He shuddered, wishing to cast off those horrific memories. But they were seared into him, brands that would never heal.

The fall had gone on forever, hurling him through dimensional shifts no one could have survived. But he did. Maybe.

Alive. Not whole. Mad, they all said. They? He cared nothing for what anyone said. No one, not even this man lying helpless before him.

He stepped forward onto Thor’s cape where it lay in a heap beside the bed, relishing the feel of red fabric crushed beneath his feet, grinding it into the floor, wiping the soot of battle clean from the soles of his boots. This gave him even more pleasure than when he ripped it free from Thor’s shoulders just before felling him into unconsciousness.

He laughed. Such joy from so small a gesture. But the source of his true gratification, still clothed aside from this hated symbol now trampled underfoot, awaited him upon the bed.

His brother would beg. Beg for everything, for life, for him, for release, for death, before they were finished here. Really, he needed to hear the words, hear the emotion borne upon every plea spoken.

Holding the ice blade aside, he reached his empty hand over and tore the gag from Thor’s mouth.

Spit flew as Thor gasped, “Your... eyes...?”

Loki flinched. That he had not expected. Oh, he knew what his brother saw. The hideous red glow seeped through green each time he called upon his wretched Jotun blood. He had taught himself the art of concealing the vile blue skin, but his eyes refused to submit to his magic. And now his brother saw what he could not hide.

Still, the unwelcome reminder conveyed through the horror in Thor’s voice cut deep. Deeper than he thought still existed inside this travesty of a being. He was mostly dead, cold, frozen except for the fires of rage and vengeance smoldering beneath the ice. That hate, those fires, kept him alive. But nothing remained of his past self. Nothing.

Then why did his chest ache?

He pushed away the shame creeping through him and leaned down, close enough to feel Thor’s breath hot upon his face. Looking into bewildered blue eyes, he whispered, “Do you still love me?”

Thor shook his head, as if clearing the impossible vision of these red eyes staring back at him. “What?! Loki...”

Loki backed away. He could not tell what Thor was thinking. Was that a trace of disbelief that he would even ask the question, that of course Thor loved him? Or maybe that shake of the head meant no. Always before he was adept at reading Thor. Not now. Something had gone wrong when he fell. Madness, maybe. Not that he cared. What he did care about was an answer to this most serious of all questions.

Frustrated, he took a deep breath. “Do you still LOVE ME?” he shouted, demanding a response.

Thor closed his eyes, then nodded.

Fool. Of course he did. Naïve and stupid even now, faced with his own inability to act, to protect himself. To even move.

Loki bent forward again, this time touching his lips to Thor’s cheek. First one, then the other. He hovered his mouth over his brother’s. “Prove it.”

Thor’s eyes snapped open as he pressed a kiss to his lips, then whispered, “Trust me.”

The blade of ice rose higher from his hand, growing, extending down, wrapping around his wrist, becoming one with his body.

Thor watched, the barest shake of his head and the stark pallor of his skin betraying his complete shock.

How interesting that Father never shared the truth with him either. Odin still had much to answer for. Later though. Not this day.

He knelt upon the bed. Smiling, he traced the tip of the blade across his brother’s bared neck. Ice met fire, and in the blade’s wake, a thin stream of water trailed. Thor stared up at him, those glorious blue eyes now filled with shock and fear both.

He flicked his wrist, slicing perilously close to the pulsing vein. Blood welled up in the shallow cut, then trickled down Thor’s neck.

Thor threw himself into a frantic fight to escape his bonds. “Why Loki? Why?!”

Loki closed his eyes and tilted his head to one side, listening to the desperation that plea. Why? Why?

This was about pain and power and submission and vengeance.

And love. Because always the writhing, twisted path their relationship tread upon returned them to this one abhorrent truth. They loved each other.

He slipped astride his brother. The armor both wore irritated him. Impatient, he vanished the layers of leather and metal, leaving them unclothed.

Surging against the restraints, Thor threw his head back. “No!”

The shouted protest pleased him. So too the heat of their skin meeting. He pressed the cleft of his ass down over Thor’s groin, making very clear exactly what he was going to take.

Now Thor closed his eyes, as if he could no longer bear to watch. But his body betrayed him, stiffening slightly as Loki closed his thighs tight, and pushed down.

Infuriatingly stubborn, Thor remained motionless, eyes shut. So Loki slid off. He paused, enthralled by the vision before him.

Thor bound, spread across on the bed. Breaths short, jagged. Sweat beaded across golden skin, defining muscles Loki had always envied and hated and wanted to touch. Blood seeping from the shallow cut on his neck.

He shivered, for a moment wrapped in his own savage desire. The ever-present ache in his groin sharpened and demanded his attention. He looked down at his cock, straining for touch. How he wanted, needed, to close his hand around himself. But he denied his lust. For now.

First, to drag his brother over the knife edge of fear, then back again, proving who possessed the control.

Still kneeling on the bed, he traced the blade between Thor’s legs. Thor gasped. He ignored him.

Focused on this most arousing task, he worked his way up, gently rubbing, allowing the ice to melt over his brother’s cock. Now wet from contact with all that heat, the shard slipped easily back and forth. Unable to stop himself, he reached down with his free hand and idly stroked his fingertips over his own erection. Just a light touch, a faint echo of the blade’s intense motions.

He continued this dangerous dance until Thor, against his will, rose fully erect and the ice melted away to nothing.

Mesmerized by the play of light through the beads of water trickling down Thor’s stiff length, Loki bent down. Then, he ran his tongue over the swollen head, lapping the droplets, tasting his brother while stroking himself. Tasting after so much wanting...

A faint sob distracted his attention. He looked up, and found Thor gazing at him, eyes now rimmed with tears. Ridiculous. Thor never cried. Did he? But another sob escaped him. “Do you hate me this much Loki?”

“Hate?” he laughed, a harsh, pained sound even to his own ears. Such a simple word to encompass so much. Too simple.

Now he would prove exactly what he felt. But not with words. Not for this one time in his life.

A small spell prepared his body, magic parting, then sliding wet warmth inside him. He often pleasured himself this way. But never before had he been touched here by another. Somehow, he always thought Thor alone would possess him so. He found himself laughing, aloud, at that past fantasy twisted into ironic reality. Saving this for his brother, as though it were some precious gift, only to now bestow it upon him through rape.

But Thor was his to take. A lifetime of loneliness and, ultimately, betrayal and complete rejection entitled him to this. To invade and possess.

Slowly, he sank down onto his brother, feeling his body open in welcome as the impossibly thick length breached him. Painful, yet comforting. He moaned, trembling with wonder. How long had he yearned for this? To feel Thor inside him?

“You’ve always wanted this too Thor,” he murmured, knowing any admission now made no difference. It was too late.

Tears scattered over Thor’s face, falling and mixing with the blood smeared on his neck as he shook his head. “Not this. Not like this...”

Laughing, then quieting to low moan, Loki tipped his head back, and rolled his hips forward, presenting the perfect image of wanton beauty, knowing Thor was now trapped, and utterly his. “THIS is all you will ever have.”

He raised one hand to the candlelight, and created a new blade of ice. Thor’s horror at his talent bounced off his psyche, barely noticed now. What strength did horror have against arousal? And Thor was aroused. He failed to conceal his desire while lying on the bed, silent, lips narrowed, as if forbidding any sound at all while his cock throbbed inside Loki. But he shook with need and sorrow and anger.

And that drove Loki nearly senseless.

Aware of that very subtle shift between them, he denied his own all-consuming need, and took back control. He slid the newly formed blade down the center of Thor’s chest, twisting just enough to part the skin. As he watched the blood seep, he bent forward, keeping Thor seated partly inside him while pressing his neglected cock against Thor’s stomach.

He bit back a moan, fighting the temptation to rub himself against the sweat-slicked, hard expanse. Not yet. Somehow the torment of anticipation gave him nearly as much pleasure.

Focused again, he trailed his tongue through the blood, dragging it until he found one nipple. Watching those blue eyes filled with an intensely arousing blend of horror, disgust, and desire, he swirled his tongue over the nipple, coating it with blood, sucking while it firmed in his mouth. Then he closed his teeth. Gradually, he bit harder until Thor thrashed beneath him, the struggle creating unintentional thrusts in a warped parody of consent.

Loki clutched the sheets and rode him, taking as much of Thor’s cock as he could, savoring this glorious power now his. This was exactly where they both belonged. Thor under him, submitting, shaking with rage and indignation, swelling beneath him like a storm cloud reaching high into the sky, energy building within until it could no longer be contained.

Abruptly, Thor froze. Across his face something altered, and his eyes darkened.

Loki stilled, then withdrew his mouth, blood sharp upon his tongue. It should have tasted of power. He planted both hands on Thor’s chest, then pushed himself up until he again sat, tilted forward, barely taking half of Thor’s thick length inside him.

“This? You want THIS Loki?!” Thor shouted, snapping his hips up, forcing himself deep, deeper than Loki thought he could accept.

The violent intrusion tore him, blinding him with pain. And giving him exactly what he needed. With each thrust splitting him apart, his consciousness retreated, numbed by the agony and lost in a haze of unexpected, deviant pleasure.

Still lashed down to the bed, Thor slammed into him, then out, then in again. He whimpered. A weak, pathetic sound he hated himself for making. That hate returned him to himself, and quickly, before succumbing again, he called forth more ice. His blood froze in his veins as the power surged into his hand, forging a new blade, thicker. Stronger.

“Use it!” Thor demanded, his deep voice thundering off the walls. Or perhaps that was the storm now raging outside, lightning beyond the windows slashing stark white through the candlelit bedchamber.

He turned, and severed the bindings from around Thor’s ankles. Thor lay there, panting, still glaring at him. So he bent forward, a tiny moan escaping his control as Thor’s cock moved inside him, sending shards of pain into every corner of his body. Then he cut through the ropes around each wrist.

Now a fog of calm drifted over him, like warm spring air settling upon a still frozen lake. All his plans, the endless nights scheming and dreaming of making Thor his, all for naught. Failure again.

Betrayed by his own desire.

He raised the blade to his neck. Just a single cut, ice gouging deep in the right place. That is all it would take. He could finally escape the tangle of hate and grief and fury and vengeance always pressing at him, demanding he obey, splintering his mind, tearing him apart. He heard himself laugh, quietly.

Perhaps he had gone mad after all.

Sighing, he closed his eyes. He flexed his wrist, twisting the shard of ice hard into his neck. But a hand closed around his arm, snatching the blade from committing this final act.

The ice exploded into harmless crystals, falling like snow over them both.

He watched the last traces of the blade melt against their bloody, sweat shined bodies. Then he looked into Thor’s eyes. “You dare deny me?” he growled, pulling his arm away, desperate to regain control.

Thor squeezed, hard. Bones cracked. Peculiar. What should have been agonizing floated by Loki barely acknowledged. It felt like someone else’s arm, bruising, breaking.

Then, his voice shaking, Thor said, “You will not leave. Not after all the pain you have already caused me. Caused us.” He fell silent, staring up at him.

Loki stared back.

The moment stretched between them, taut, as if they alone existed in all the nine realms.

Then Thor blinked. But Loki’s small victory vanished as Thor wrapped both arms around him and flipped him onto his back. Then, pressing into him and resuming those relentless, punishing thrusts, Thor slid forward, heedless of the blood, until their mouths met.

Shocked, Loki parted his lips, granting his brother all that he desired.

In his kiss, the urgency of their mating, Thor revealed what he would never admit, but could now no longer deny.

Loki smiled. He won.

Cold gathered in his palm, then formed, rising into yet another blade of ice. While Thor pounded him into the bed, he slid his arm around Thor’s waist, reaching up. Higher. Until his hand hovered over the broad expanse of Thor’s back. Just above his heart.

Still taking him, hard, Thor pressed his lips to his ear. He paused, mid-thrust, and gasped, “If you do Loki, you will destroy us both...”

Destruction. Chaos. His life. Their death.

Thor was giving him the choice. The power. Thor loved him enough to give him this. That was all he wanted, was it not?

Now, with his brother inside him, this profound truth gained full clarity. He could not bear to end what little they shared.

Oblivious to the broken bones in his wrist grinding together, he closed his hand around the frigid blade. Ice, cold like fire, sliced through his fingers. Savoring the agony, feeling the blood dripping wet down his arm, he snapped the lethal shard free. It fell to the bed.

There it lay, melting into a harmless pool of water tinged red with their blood, soaking into the bed while they lost themselves in each other.

In the end, as violent, mutual pleasure finally tore them from reality, he heard his brother moaning, whispering, “...loved you... always love you... always Loki...”

After, they lay entwined. Silent. Thor stroked his hair, the touch feather light, gentle. Beneath them, sheets twisted, blood stained, damp from sweat and semen and melted ice. A perverse contrast he found comforting.

He was mad. Fractured. Not sane. But at least he was no longer alone. For now, this would have to be enough.