TIRED

Thor/Loki - drabble - TRIGGER WARNINGS: non-con and a tablespoon of angst. Prompt was something along the lines of 'Loki is given to his brother as punishment for his crimes on Earth.' There was a request for violence but this is the other side of the tale.

A/N: Suggestion, listen to song 12, Gone, from the soundtrack to Snow White and the Huntsman. It's eerie and hauntingly beautiful. It's on YouTube and it set the mood for me to write this.

A heavy boom shook the clear water in Loki's glass. Emerald eyes swept the dripping windowsil. It seemed always to be raining these days.

The quiet clicking of the metal links holding his hands together rang against the sound of rainfall as Loki rose to draw the drapes against the rain. The curtains were red, the color of his brother's cape. The color of the lines wore deep into his wrists, and against his cuffed ankles, and horribly against the pale column of his long neck. The chains were not heavy. The lids of Loki's eyes were every heavier than the weights at his wrists and ankles. Heavier even than the weight of his brother against him in the deep of night when no other was around to witness the truth of Loki's punishment.

Tired was Loki, god of Lies. Tired and worn.

Even after he had drawn the curtains closed Loki continued to sit at the window with his gaze fixed beyond. Loki, god of mischief, god of chaos and destruction, sat heavily these dark days. All was not as it should be. Everything was as it should be. Loki's long limbs grew thin and Thor loved him still. The deep raven-black of his long locks thinned and did not grow and Thor loved him yet. His cutting tongue no longer bit or severed with words crafted fine and Thor did not stop loving him, even when he was punishing him.

Everything that Loki knew was old and wrong. Tired was Loki, prisoner of Asgard. Prisoner of his brother.

Pale fingertips slid round the column of glass holding up his cup. Fingertips that had long since lost their nails from trying to pry his way out of his bindings.

The water did not quench when Loki tipped back the glass to drink.

He let the challis fall unhindered once the water was gone. The rain was interrupted by a sharp clatter when it burst into a thousand slender sharp shards against the stone below.

Loki's gaze no longer burned as it cast about out beyond where the curtains of Thor's room kept him from the rain.

"Brother."

Thor's voice was always wretched these days. The bright boom of his laughter was a long-forgotten echo in the corners of Loki's mind. Loki turned his head enough so the pale edge of his cheek his brother could catch sight of. He had nothing left to say and so said nothing in return to Thor's call.

It always rained these days.

His brother's hands fell to his shoulders. Loki let his brother lead him from the window, sat unmoving on the cold comfort of the furs on Thor's bed while the Prince of Asgard swept away the broken glass, and continued to stare out the closed curtain. He gave no resistance when Thor moved his tunic, bore no expression when his brother pressed up his thighs. Long ago he sighed with anger and sang with rage. Long ages had worn away Loki's voice for argument against his punisher. Cold emerald stared straight as hot fingers pressed into him.

"Loki."

His name was a chant, a curse on his brother's lips, as Thor leaned over him.

"Loki."

Loki felt his lips fall open, all his breath gone out of him in a single stroke.

"Loki, brother."

Long ago Loki would shush Thor against this chanting. Long ago Loki would have tried to bite out Thor's tongue.

"Loki."

Tired was Loki. Gone was even the energy to comfort his brother. To tell Thor that Loki did still love him, even though he hated him. To lie and say he enjoyed his punishment or say true how he longed for death over this torment. Gone was everything but the heaviness to Loki's limbs. To his arms as Thor brought them over his shoulders in the mockery of an embrace. To his legs as Thor spread them apart to fit between them. To his neck where Thor wept, his fingers and tongue. Gone was everything known except the weight at his eyes.

Tired was Loki, of the rain, and of the lack of pain.