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open my ears to hear you calling my name

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Silvertongue. Trickster. Liesmith. Traitor. Laufeyson.

There are many names for the Lord of Chaos. Few of them gentle or kind. Most of them sharp and cruel.

Firstborn runt of the Jotun king Laufey, Loki has known isolation for most of his life. Whisked away from the frozen wastelands of Jotunheim following the great war and taken to be raised as Odin Allfather's second son, he knows he has no true home. No true family. His blood relatives are deceased (killed by his own hand), and the Aesir who sought to adopt him has always treated him with thinly veiled contempt.

He is Loki, and Loki alone. He belongs nowhere. He is a wanderer. A deformed cuckoo that once thought to quash itself into the nest of a family not his own. No longer.

Fitting, really, that his lot in life should be the physical embodiment of chaos and misrule. His inherent magic has shifted and changed over the centuries, allowing him to expand his knowledge and abilities. Sorcery is just a small part of his repertoire.

As he makes his way across a lush, green field on Midgard's surface, he can feel his magic humming beneath the surface of his skin in response to the heightened winds and heavy scent of ozone swirling around him.

There's a storm coming.

Loki glances up at the roiling skies overhead, a dangerous smirk curving his lips as he searches the center of the localized anomaly. There. A flash of crimson amongst the clouds.

The brief flash becomes a blur, hurtling towards the field at breakneck speeds. Rippling crimson becomes a more defined shape, and Loki can feel the aftershocks of impact when it lands. The scent of ozone is nearly unbearable, but it dissipates as the figure straightens and begins stalking towards him.

He sees the fist before it even reaches the apex of its trajectory, but Loki doesn't move. Knuckles impact his jaw with a muffled crunch and he falls into the lush greenery, laughing hysterically as he feels the first gentle splatter of raindrops on his face.

"Oh, how I've missed you too," he teases, offering a bloodstained smile up at the hulking figure looming over him.

The fist descends, this time moving to twist all five fingers in the front of his ceremonial finery. He does like dressing for the occasion when doing battle against the pathetic mortal insects. Loki is yanked to his feet before being able to ruminate further, dragged close enough that his nose nearly brushes against his false brother's.

"You fell in the battle today. I saw it with my own eyes," Thor snarls, moving to grip his throat instead, mimicking that old gesture of brotherhood that they used to share. "Was it another of your tricks?"

Loki cackles, the sound pitched and decidedly unbalanced. "Oh you great lumbering idiot," he shakes his head, moving to dig sharp fingers into the meat of Thor's uncovered biceps, finding it not worth mentioning that he'd sent a double into battle today thanks to his presence being required elsewhere. "Have you still not realized the mortals cannot touch me? They are insects, toys, little pawns to play with and flick away once I've had my fill of entertainment. We are gods, you fool. They are nothing."

Thor snarls, and Loki merely digs his fingertips harder into his false brother's flesh. It's exhilerating, being able to rile Thor's infamous temper so easily and knowing exactly where to prod to get the reaction he wants. There's nothing more satifsying than watching Thor's carefully restrained composure come apart at the seams thanks to poisoned words designed to worm their way between the weak points of his armor.

"I thought you injured. Maybe dead."

"Why do you care?" Loki sneers.

"I will always care."

Thor.

Golden, perfect Thor. Future king of the Nine Realms. Savior of Midgard.

The very thought of him disgusts Loki, inspires a feeling of pure loathing, fostered by centuries of competition and rivalry. And yet ...

Despite the pure hatred, despite the constant presence of Thor's shadow, Loki has found that he cannot live without it. He is Jotun and if he were forced to endure the scalding brightness of every realm without relief, he would fade away into nothing. Existing in darkness is better than ceasing to exist entirely.

If Thor is to be the bright light of the daystar, then he can be Thor's opposite. Equal in every way. At last.

They will never be rid of each other. That much Loki has known for an age. As much as their hatred may drive them apart, the perverse degree of love that still exists will always keep them bound to each other's side. It's a losing battle that he once tried to fight, tried to sever their bond for good, only to find it strengthened. He has since given up and merely accepted Thor's need to keep the poisoned adder at his side for the rest of their lives.

He ensures his false brother regrets that need constantly, lashing out whenever the mood strikes and scoring deep wounds into Thor's body and psyche. They are the only ones capable of wounding each other so. It's suitably fitting.

Loki stares up into Thor's electric blue eyes, smirking all the wider before capturing his brother's mouth with his own, biting his way into the kiss.

Lightning cracks across the sky above them, and Loki savors the deep rumble of thunder that seems to echo through Thor's entire body. Lord of Thunder, indeed. He winds long arms around Thor's broad shoulders, clutching tightly as Thor palms the small of his back and nearly stumbles in his rush to lower them onto the field.

Loki sprawls out over the lush greenery, leather garments fanning out beneath him in an effortless display of careless elegance.

It's always been this way between them; balancing on the verge of imminent violence that inevitably gives way to carnal passion. Loki wouldn't have it any other way.

He wraps strands of Thor's blonde hair around his fingers, pulling it taut like he would the reigns of a favored mount. That earns him a rumbling growl and another fork of lightning across the darkened skies. Loki smirks again, the blood slowly washing from his lips as the rain begins to pour down in earnest, mirroring Thor's turbulent emotions.

Soon enough, they are both soaked to the skin, but neither of them care. They writhe against each other on the wet grass, pawing and grasping at buckles and armor plating in search of bare skin.

Loki gasps audibly as Thor's hand finds its way between his legs, two rain-slicked fingers pushing into his body without preamble. He would force Thor to forgoe the nicities, the preparation, in favor of tearing at each other in this way as well. But today, he feels too lazy to exert the energy. Let Thor's overgrown sense of morality save them both pain just this once.

As three thick fingers withdraw from his entrance, Loki hitches his legs higher on Thor's waist, raking blunt nails down Thor's bare arms and leaving bloody trails in their wake.

He earns a guttural roar and the scalding heat of Thor's cock nearly splitting him open for that, and Loki hides his victorious smirk against his false brother's throat.

Joined as they are, Loki can't help thinking that he would keep Thor, if he could. Keep him locked away so that his brightness could only combat Loki's darkness. Make it so that Loki would be everything, and that Thor would never be drawn away by the lure of his precious mortals or his duties in the shining realm.

He has earned that, has he not? Earned the right to be selfish after being denied everything for the duration of his life?

But he knows even he doesn't possess that kind of strength. No one in the Nine Realms could restrain Thor so. He is a force of nature; the storms bend to his will and his alone. Loki will have to settle for being his opposite in every way.

The rain continues to pour down over them, soaking what little cloth and leather remains on their bodies and drenching their hair. Thor's blonde locks spill over Loki's face, nearly obscuring him from view. But darkness cannot exist without light. Order cannot exist without chaos. He will remain the pitch darkness of Thor's wild storms, and Thor will continue to call the lightning to heel.

Loki's grip tightens on Thor's biceps, and he arches up just as the pooling heat in his abdomem erupts like a bowstring pulled too taut.

"Brother.." he gasps against Thor's lips.

A bolt of lightning forks out of the sky, alighting Mjölnir's uru head. The sheer power races up Thor arm and courses through their joined bodies, forcing two identical cries of ecstasy from their throats.

They collapse simultaneously, spent, and remain twined together as the rain slows, the storm fading into the distance like a memory of what their lives once were.