Loki retreated at last, boneless ice-blue ice-cold limbs slipping from Thor like eels through seawater. They caressed Thor's thighs, the flesh gone numb with cold.
“All well?” Thor rasped. He’d screamed in the end; he couldn’t help it.
Loki’s blue-white fingers traced the full-moon swell of Thor’s belly. That was numb too, mostly, but Loki’d promised Thor would warm soon enough. He must, if the half-giant, half-Asgardian eggs in him were to thrive. Even numb, Thor felt the mass of them filling him. Occupying. Waiting.
“Very well, brother.”
Thor’s hand closed over Loki’s: over a new race. A different future.