Prompt Post No. 1

[norse_kink]

Announcement: Norsekink Round 1 is now closed to new prompts!
Attention: All new and continuing fills for this round are to be posted in the Overflow Post, not in this round.

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Fill: 1/2

[anonymous]

The first impulsive, unplanned act of his life was also to be his last; as Loki looked into his father's eye, heard that one word, a disappointed, "No," his hand loosened of its own accord, fingers giving way.

I cannot live, he thought from a cold, rational corner of his mind, that small part of himself that still demanded complete control. It's impossible for one man to feel such shame and live. And that impulse surged through his arm, loosed his hand, and he began to fall away. Just as it must be impossible for one man to feel such hatred and live.

Thor surges forward, almost falling himself, and wraps one thick hand around Loki's wrist. And Loki realizes at once, rage like fire in his veins, that it is possible in this single moment to feel even more hatred and still live.

He claws at Thor's wrist, breaking fingernails on the armor, curses him, struggles wildly. He might as well be fighting against a mountain, or trying to drive back the sea by throwing stones. Loki catches Thor across the face with his free hand, focusing on those blue eyes, at their infuriating sadness and sympathy. Because even that is better than looking at Odin again, better than drowning in his father's disappointment. He strikes again and again, draws blood, and gets no more than a small flinch for his trouble.

Thor throws him onto the remains of the bridge like one would throw a fish onto the deck of a boat. For one wild moment, Loki wonders if he can keep rolling, can throw himself off the other side of the bridge, but the time for that has passed. He has no strength, and he has no taste for such melodramatic gestures as rationality slowly takes hold again. So he can only lay on his back, hands limp beside him, and fight to calm his breath.

And then his brother stands over him, one foot planted on either side of his chest, reminding him that there can be no escape. And Thor looks down at him, blood streaking one cheek, and says one simple word: "Why?"

Loki laughs as best he can, a dry sound that rasps in his throat. "I hate you."

For one moment, he hopes that this will be the thing that frays Thor's legendary temper; he searches his brother's blue eyes for growing anger, or that terrifying blankness that heralds true rage. But he finds only an unending sadness that is more terrible than anything Thor's temper could hope to produce.

"Why?" Thor asks again, voice becoming quiet, more gentle.

"Why not?" Loki demands. Carefully, he props himself up on his elbows; Thor steps back, and he pulls himself to his feet. It is bad enough, that sadness, that disappointment, the shame and rage; he refuses to stare up his brother's nose in addition to all that horror. "Tell me, brother, why shouldn't I hate you?"

"We are brothers, Loki. Have I not always been there? Have we not fought together, bled together?" Hurt confusion is added to that terrible sadness; seeing it makes Loki lightheaded, his pulse pounding in his temples.