[fic] Threaded (Thor; PG-13)
Title: Threaded
Author: punahukka
Fandom: Marvel movieverse: Thor (with some mythology and Earth-616 fillings)
Characters/Pairings: Thor/Loki
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: (pseudo) sibling incest and violence, but nothing too graphic
Prompt: Loki getting his mouth sewn shut.
Summary: Thor thinks please don’t smile, but of course Loki does.
Written for dark_fest
Mother’s sadness is infinite, the what have you done written on her every feature; father’s face remains emotionless as he tells the dwarf to begin.
Thor thinks please don’t smile, but of course Loki does, in a display of secrecy with his head bowed.
Brokk, the dwarven smith that has been done wrong, speaks with a rumbling voice.
“You have many names, Odinson. We dub thee Liesmith, for wicked things are crafted by your tongue.”
The bare room is lit by torches, shadows are alive in the corners the flames’ glow doesn’t reach, and Thor finds it hard to breathe. He has made his choice, and yet he can’t help thinking it started as a mere game. As it always does with Loki.
The needle is thicker than Thor imagined and it shines a light of its own as Brokk raises it for the twenty or so people present to see. This isn’t the kind of diplomatic event they want the whole Asgard being aware of.
“Bargaining with you, Liesmith, has been a mistake we will not repeat. You have ensured we will not have your head; therefore we thrive to keep more poison from escaping it.”
Gungnir clangs to the floor, once, and the All-Father addresses his son: “Do you understand the ill you have done to the people of Nidavellir?”
Loki looks up from where he’s kneeling in the centre of attention, and his voice is strong and clear: “Yes.”
“And do you accept the punishment for your deeds?”
Loki fixes his gaze on the needle, and if there’s fear or true repentance they are masked by mild curiosity. “Yes.”
Odin nods, and then nods again to the dwarf. “You may begin.”
Thor’s palms are sweaty, he balls his hands into tight fists, and there’s a cold numbness spreading all over his body as Brokk’s assistants come to stand by his brother’s sides, one of them taking a hold of his neck and jaw and tilting his head up. Thor looks away as the needle touches skin, and he feels nauseated because he knows whose eyes Loki is searching for now and because he cannot face that look, not now when there’s a choking voice in the back of his mind crying not again.
Loki doesn’t make a sound.
Thor concentrates on breathing, asking himself is he’s really letting this happen, glancing sideways at his parents and receiving a piercing, warning look from his father: it isn’t about Asgard and Nidavellir anymore, it’s about Silvertongue learning to face the consequences of his actions. And no matter how firmly Thor has always stood on Loki’s side, he knows his brother’s games with the dwarven smiths have been foul play, the kind that cannot be tolerated.
There’s no passion or spite in the movement of Brokk’s steady hands, but for Thor an eternity has passed when the dwarf finally steps back from his work.
“The matter is settled,” the dwarf says, bowing to the All-Father, and while Odin is still gesturing for the small audience to disassemble Thor is already striding to his brother.
Loki’s mouth is sewn shut with seven neat stitches, the thread is leather and the blood on his face is already drying.
“Loki.” Their mother reaches him first, enclosing his son into an embrace Loki soon frees himself from with a gentle pat on her shoulder. When Thor tries to do the same, Loki’s eyes go cold and he turns his back and walks away.
Inside Thor something breaks, and it feels ominously like the first hurt of many.
Their mother now draws him into the circle of her arms, and Thor squeezes his eyes shut but there are circles spinning in his head as well, and he opens them again and breathing is still difficult.
“I have failed him,” he hears his own voice saying.
Frigga takes a moment to measure her words. “When Loki learned to talk, his first word was brother. And he will always remember that word, able to speak or not.”
What Frigga doesn’t say when she sends her son after the other is this is how it always begins.
Thor tries making his walk slow, giving both of them a few heartbeats before the inevitable but his feet know the route far too well and it doesn’t take long to reach his brother’s chambers. “Loki?”
Loki knows he’s there, of course he knows, but he’s allowed to open the door and find him on his knees again, digging into a massive wooden trunk. Thor gets close enough to touch but when he tries to, Loki swipes his hand away hard enough to hurt even through the armour he’s wearing.
There are tears in Loki’s eyes, but they are born from silent anger, not fear nor pain.
Thor tries to imagine what it feels like, because Loki is always scolding him for thinking only for himself, and he thinks of losing his arms and his imagination isn’t vivid enough. “You know there was nothing I could do, and I have already told you how idiotic it was dealing with the dwarves in the first place.”
Finally Loki finds what he’s looking for and brings up rust-stained shears. With three quick steps he’s at the mirror on the wall and starts cutting off the stitches. Thor doesn’t ask if there’s magic involved, since of course there is, otherwise Loki would have found a tool sooner. He comes to hover near, trying to capture his brother’s gaze in the mirror, first letting out a sigh of relief as Loki inhales deeply through his mouth, then wincing as he pulls the remaining threads out one by one and the blood starts flowing again.
“Brother,” Thor says, resting his hand on Loki’s shoulder, and Loki spins around and spits him in the face. From there Thor can’t tell who strikes first, but after they’ve both delivered a few good punches and wrestled each other to the floor he can taste blood in his own mouth too.
He stops when he has Loki lying on his back with Thor straddling his waist and pinning his arms to the ground by the wrists.
“Brother,” Loki purrs so softly it’s suffocating despite the mocking. He licks the corners of his mouth to check the damage and his tongue is so very red.
“You know I won’t let anyone truly hurt you,” Thor says and thinks please don’t laugh, but of course Loki does, because it has suddenly become an empty promise, echoing in the ruins of a loyalty much easier than this.
Thor’s arms go limp as the voice he should recognise in his head whispers not again.
Loki takes advantage of his confusion, because that’s what Loki does, and frees his arm to take a firm grip of Thor’s hair, to pull him down and to breathe the words against his lips. “You know you don’t have to.”
Thor kisses him, because that’s what they do, again, and it’s not the first time they’ve kissed with blood in their mouths and it will not be the last.