[ When Loki rears above him, towering wrathful with the blaze of rage and madness in his eyes, Thor wonders how the blow will fall, how his brother's hands will strike, will cleave him for daring to offer the quiet hope of his love. Yet it does not come that way; even the words which snarl and disdain him are but small wounds against the blades which have wounded him in the past, and Thor does not flinch overmuch.
He obeys, hands drawn up as though by the drag of the chains, wrists laid above his head. He looks at his brother's face, flushed still, aching for his nearness, as though it were not enough to have opened his mouth and pleased him with lips and tongue and virgin throat, and moaned for him while he did it; as though he must have more than that, now that he has seen that Loki-king is still bound in his own fears and treacherous vulnerability. Thor's heart grieves for him, for the comfort he wishes to give him if only it would be permitted. ]
Like so? Does this please you? [ A flash of muted fire in his blue eyes. ] Is this all you wish of me?
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He obeys, hands drawn up as though by the drag of the chains, wrists laid above his head. He looks at his brother's face, flushed still, aching for his nearness, as though it were not enough to have opened his mouth and pleased him with lips and tongue and virgin throat, and moaned for him while he did it; as though he must have more than that, now that he has seen that Loki-king is still bound in his own fears and treacherous vulnerability. Thor's heart grieves for him, for the comfort he wishes to give him if only it would be permitted. ]
Like so? Does this please you? [ A flash of muted fire in his blue eyes. ] Is this all you wish of me?