The threat does not deter him. Loki has spoken such dire warnings before, but as he says himself, it is Thor: prince, elder brother, heir to all Asgard. Who but he might expect to be made the exception to all the hostility an offended Loki might offer? He has meant no dishonor. As always, Thor's intentions are crafted along simpler lines, in joyful ways: to seek pleasure, comfort, mutual desire.

"Far from a pity, brother." Loki braces himself away, so Thor does not seek to hold him closer, but rather drapes him across the bed, climbing up atop him; there is affection in his touch, tenderness in the weight of his body sinking down half-across Loki's, that he might pin him securely to the mattress. His elbows brace on either side of his brother's head, and the fingers of both hands tangle gently in the spread of his hair. "What need to spoil a peaceful evening? There was no one left to see me carry you from the hall." He nuzzles softly along the sharp line of his brother's jaw. Loki, who is his. "And you have not the look of one despoiled."

They have kept their indiscretions secret, locked behind the heavy doors of Loki's chambers or Thor's.