He had thrown himself for years into the war, alone. There had never been a true purpose to his efforts once his brother had escaped, but he could teach others, and he could pilot alone: a less deadly occupation for a Aesir than a human, though he still woke some mornings with blood across his face and a pounding like hammer-blows behind his eyes. Yet Mjolnir did not want him alone; she did not heed, she did not give all as she did when Loki was locked within her hull, the heart of her as brother and brother. There had been a shattering when Loki had gone. Open spaces of sky and light became as blighted fields, barren.

But now the heavens are lit again; now within Thor there is a sky which stretches vast, which opens forever, which embraces another heart within his own, and even the shadows within his brother's mind are taken in solace and solidarity. When Loki clutches at his wrists Thor does not fear, but only waits, his great strength checked, patient, knowing. When Loki breaks free Thor does not reach to draw him back, knowing he does not have to. Loki comes to him, comes into his arms like a man starved and hungering, and Thor's arms close around him crushingly, lifting him close; he growls rough and pleased as Loki's mouth bruises his skin and his fingers tear frantically at his zipper, and drags his own mouth from throat to shoulder.

"I will." There is nothing which truly needs be said. They know, the both of them, how this will end; they know that Loki belongs to Thor and Thor to Loki, always. He grips his brother's hand, bringing it down to the ready jut of him, the swell of his cock beneath the stretched fabric of the flight suit--presses, molds his fingers around him, murmuring at his mouth, urging his touch, the contact between them, and there is nothing which could pass between them which has not already begun, which is not a fervent shining path within their minds.