Boltedfruit Archive

He thinks that maybe, it should be simple. Something easily figured out.

Some part of him must understand why he likes it so much. Why he loves it. Why he craves it at the oddest times.

He craves it just after a shower when he towels off his hair. When he’s in line at the only coffee shop in town debating if he should get cinnamon or the whipped cream.

When he’s heading into town on the small, rickety bus, fingers closed tight around a metal pole mottled in the oil of fingerprints. While strangers stare at their phones, count the money in their wallets while their legs jitter and their scarred arms bend so they can scratch behind an ear, at their scabbing foreheads—only a few people in this town don’t bother hiding it. While children cry into the shoulders of their parents, while the parents look at a loss for what to do.

And it’s not always fully realized, in his head. The thought doesn’t always want to take shape. Satisfy him with the image, the memory of what it was, what that night felt like. Sometimes it ebbs, fading on the train, or the coffee line. Sometimes it’s nothing at all and the craving is just that, a faceless thing clawing at the gut with sharp nails. Something to tease the mind using vague shadows and whispered words.

Not always though.

It’s the worst at night.

When his room floods with soft light from the shifting clouds and rising sun, soaking into half rotting wood, cracked brick and foggy glass, casting his room in a violet haze. Always too early in the morning, it bleeds pink along his farthest wall and he stares at it often. Watches the color blend from white to purple to pink to white again.

These are the hours his fingers itch and he has to try very hard not to reach for his phone.

It makes him think of rose thistle along the snowy banks of the shore. The image is so vivid he can just taste the hint of salt in the air, feel the thorny catch of seeds sticking to his legs and arms as he’s tumbled breathless through the stalks. Smell the musty scent of sweat, smell the burning wood, hot tea, and cinnamon toast on the breath of the other who would roll with him through patches of weeds and flowers alike, heading always for the trees. He would lie there on his back, underthings dragged down to his knees, his chest heaving sated breaths, eyes struggling to stay open while the other would pick seeds from his hair. Then the other would drag a palm over his stomach shortly following with his tongue to clean the spend half dried across his ribs and sternum, teeth teasing over nipples on the way.

He thinks of Thor quite often, and it almost hurts that he can picture him so perfectly in the loneliest hours of morning.

But they do not do this often. They cannot.

He won’t risk Thor’s life.

He doesn’t much care about his own, one way or another.

And besides, Thor moved away a long time ago.

Loki didn’t see the point in following his brother.

And so they have these woods, long branches and tall trunks reaching towards the sky. Plants struggle on under snowfall every season, but still they peer out, unbowed. Meals for the birds and insects that brave cold mornings to fill their stomachs.

They have these woods to tumble into. To kiss skin and move together and be stained in dirt and frozen by snow under thin cotton sheets. Woods for Thor to mouth the kindest, and after, the most vulgar of secrets while Loki is arching beneath him, mouth choking on cotton or leaf.

They can love each other in this part of the world, and so they do.

But rarely.

Thor hasn’t seen his brother in two years. Hasn’t spoken to him in three months.

It’s not even that he hasn’t tried. He tries almost every day. Mostly it’s just texting, but Loki’s replies are scarce and when they do happen it’s usually around three or four in the morning.

They’re close enough to each other their hours are only off by one. So when Loki texts from his small home on the Latvian coast, Thor has very early starts to some days. It usually means about a pot and a half of coffee before he feels ready for the day. Has to stay awake in case Loki calls.

He never does.

Thor left home for Sweden when he was nineteen. He works as a photographer, but it’s difficult when most don’t want to publish images shot at dawn, pink light soaking through the lens and saturating the image in soft hues that fade and drown in the deep bowels of the sea. They say his photographs are always a little too sad for the general public. That they’re mournful, a publisher told him once.

He always wants to say they’re of the nature surrounding his brother’s small, hand built home in Jūrkalne. That it’s the most beautiful place he’s ever seen and that it deserves to be documented by someone who loves it. That, should his photos be sad, then so be it. Let the people decide how they feel, let them be encouraged to feel something a little different.

But he always just bites his lip and leaves the building, clutching his portfolio tightly.

Then Thor browses the job listings for Malmö in the local paper, asks around the cafés he frequents, asks the few friends he’s made while living here the past nine years. He works on and off, quick jobs for a few months at a time to cover the bills until the urge to pick up his camera becomes too much and he risks venturing out into the wilds of being a full time photographer again.

Sometimes he gets his water shut off and he has to skip meals some days, but he has new pictures to show Loki when he visits next. And there’s always someone who needs a hand around the city in exchange for a paycheck.

Loki left just two weeks after Thor did, officially leaving their parents to themselves back in Iceland. The only reason he didn’t leave sooner is he needed to cement a deal with a contractor who knew how to build safely on partial sand.

Frigga is the only one of their parents that ever tries to keep in touch. And they both prefer it that way.

Loki texts him a week after he starts looking for another job. And it’s late enough in the morning that Thor has showered and is thinking of where to have lunch.

[ need to see you – L ] 

Thor holds his phone in one hand while he stares down at his eviction notice in the other. Thirty days or less, the occupant must proceed with…, it reads.

He swallows and takes up his phone, hoping this is a risk he can venture unscathed.

[ Two days. Want me to pick anything up? – T ]  He hits send, and that’s that.

Loki doesn’t reply, but Thor doesn’t mind.

He bikes down to the local grocer and picks up two bags of potatoes, caramel, crème, a jug of milk, a large bag of flour, and three packs of thick bacon. He has a large enough cooler at his flat that will keep for the short flight over.

When he gets back, he goes online and buys a one way ticket. His flight leaves early in the morning and he’ll land in Ventspils by mid afternoon. And after a short bus ride he’ll see Loki by early evening and he’s giddy thinking about it.

Two years.

His hands sweat and he smiles to himself all day.

Thor’s personal belongings fit in two small suitcases and a backpack. And even then most space is occupied by bulky jackets made for cold Swedish mornings—which is when he most loves to pull out his camera. The cooler he can carry in one hand and set in his lap.

He hopes Loki doesn’t ask questions.

Hopes hard that Loki will not be averse to the idea of a roommate, despite their relationship being what it is and what it is sometimes not.

Thor decides to hold off on telling Loki about the eviction notice as long as possible. He knows Loki isn’t a fan of others prying into his life, and so he rarely does so with others. But they’re brothers, more than brothers, and maybe Loki just knows Thor enough to not want to pry in the first place.

Maybe he doesn’t find Thor that interesting.

He thinks of his brother blushing behind a line of trees—because that’s all Loki will allow them to have—and thinks maybe he isn’t quite right about that last part.

It took him only a few seconds to text Loki back, but he knows Loki must have took at least an hour debating on sending that text. Neednot want. Those are two very different things and Thor just hopes that Loki isn’t being stupid and locking himself away when he is actually hurt in some way, contacting Thor only as a last resort.

But he knows Loki wouldn’t have even bothered texting in that situation, so he calms his thoughts and focuses on the fact he’ll see his brother soon.

The flight is delayed two hours due to heavy snowfall, so Thor is on the ground longer than he thought he’d be. He has to run and get a bag of ice to keep the cooler from turning into half a puddle before the flight will land.

He doesn’t bother telling Loki, knowing his brother will be waiting up for him anyway.

When he does eventually board, the passengers are relatively quiet. He’s lucky in that he gets two seats to himself.

When he lands, he sees the nearby bus stops empty. It’s too late to wait for the next one, he isn’t even sure if there will beanother one. But he spies a neat row of rental cars in the distance and so he heads off to find the appropriate rental kiosk.

It’s almost two hundred of his last three hundred dollars, but he gets the car for five days and he thinks that it’s worth it.

If Loki refuses the idea of him moving in then he’ll have the fifth day to find out where he’s going to go after a cheap flight back to Malmö.

Even after Thor finds spot of land to park the car, it’s a ten minute walk to Loki’s tiny house. A path through the trees, worn only by feet and the occasional deer, or a far-away neighbor’s dog having wandered off.

It’s built as close to the sea as possible, half on solid land and half in the sand. A small thing built much like a cabin, but the wood is bleached and light and the roof is varying slopes of dark shingles.

Thor checks the beams that dig deep into the sand every time he visits but Loki always just huffs at him, rolling his eyes. He hired a good contractor, after all. The wood always stands a strong, immovable presence and so he has to concede before he throws out his shoulder trying to shift them any which way.

He palms one wooden beam now before he heads for the low stairway onto the ridge leading to the front door. The kitchen light glows warm and orange and it bathes the porch in lovely hues. Thor sets down the cooler and raises his hand to knock.

But then the lock is jiggling and there’s a long squeak as the door swings open. Then Loki is there, standing in front of him with a smile on his face.

Thor grins wide and sweeps his brother up in a hard hug before Loki can mask the joy from his expression.

“I see you mean to fatten me up,” Loki comments as he unpacks the cooler. He seems happy about the bacon as he sets it in his fridge.

“Don’t go and eat everything, I have a surprise planned,” Thor says, laughing.

Loki gives a small flicker of a smile before looking away and putting away the rest of the food. He sets the potatoes on the counter and then leans back against it, watching Thor while Thor can’t seem to stay still.

He fights against squirming by fiddling his thumbs together in front of his lap. He eyes the fire flickering in the hearth at the farthest wall of the living room, patterns of light dancing along the floor.

“Happy birthday, by the way,” Loki murmurs.

They’ve missed two birthdays together. Both of them Thor’s. Thor’s never held it against him, but those days are lonelier than most. It was only slightly better the second time, the ache duller than the year before.

“I only cried a little. Had a pizza and watched a couple movies, nothing to feel too bad over,” he laughs, trying to brush it off. But Loki frowns and pushes off from the counter.

He walks to Thor across the short distance and winds his arms around his brother’s neck. Thor can feel warm breath against his cheek and the flutter of eyelashes just off to the side of his eye.

Thor wraps his arms around Loki and holds him, soaks in him, feels his brother’s ribs spread and settle with each deep breath.

Loki often cries when he visits. It’s nothing new for them.

But two years is a long time. Longer than they’ve ever taken before.

Thor worries how long the next time will be, if there will be one.

They sit together and put on a horror flick. Loki takes up his favorite quilt—torn in places and stained with coffee in others—and wraps it around them both. Thor isn’t dumb enough to waste Loki’s affection so he sinks into the cushions, maneuvering them so that Loki is almost sitting in his lap.

They don’t speak and about halfway through the movie, Thor feels Loki press his forehead to his temple. His lips skim smooth over his hair, his cheek, back and forth and back and forth again. Loki’s fingers go tight where they rest on his opposite shoulder and Thor pulls him closer.

Thor turns his head slowly and Loki is the one leaning in. He kisses Thor languidly, letting each press of lips linger. A hand curls against his neck, fingers dragging through the hair at the base of his scalp. It sends shivers raking over Thor’s skin in waves and he lets out a breathy little moan for it. Thor is used to eager, to raging, to desperate, not this chaste chasing of lips. There isn’t even any tongue and he’s curious that Loki has never given him this before. He wonders if there’s something wrong.

Loki is breaking his own rule.

They don’t do this inside the house.

But Thor isn’t about to question it. He often dreams of Loki’s home, of what Loki would look like naked on his own bed, legs draped lazily off the edge with a contented look on his face. Thor’s always wanted to shower with him. Has always wanted to have breakfast with him and then immediately drop to his knees to take Loki in his mouth before Loki even thinks of putting the plates in the sink. Has always wanted to lie on this very couch and slide slow into his brother, make him moan, make him sigh. All the many tiny things he’s wanted to do that should be done inside, in warmth, in safety.

But Loki always favored the forest and that is all they’ve ever had.

But Thor wonders.

The movie ends and the television goes black. Loki pulls back with a long inhale and flicks his gaze to the tv set.

“Didn’t see the end,” he says, sounding almost regretful.

“Priest seals the demon back in the box,” Thor breathes. He’s smoothing his hands over Loki’s back, staring at dark eyes that flit everywhere around the room but at Thor.

Loki frowns. “Spoiler.”

Thor hums and lowers his hands to move up beneath the knit sweater Loki wears. Loki lets out a tiny ah and says Thor’s palms are cold, but Thor just nuzzles his neck, humming again. He places a kiss to Loki’s throat and drags his nails back down Loki’s shoulder blades and smiles when he’s rewarded with Loki pressing forward against him.

“Thor.”

Thor settles back and Loki straddles him almost automatically. He leans up into Thor again and they’re lying down before he can make a second path across Loki’s shoulders.

“Thor,” Loki hisses, and he drives his hips down. Thor can feel Loki against him, hard in his jeans. He scratches probably harder than he should but Loki keens for it. “Thor, we’re in the house—”

“Please,” Thor whispers. He mouth at Loki’s neck. Sucks across his throat, along his jaw. Enough to have Loki rolling his hips but not enough to leave any bruises. “Let me see you in the light. Let me have you here, warm. Where we can fall asleep and not have to worry about a shower.”

“We’d need to shower anyway,” Loki says halfheartedly.

Thor shakes his head and pulls back to meet Loki’s eyes. The green is pooled in a shimmer and he knows Loki is not okay, never okay, that he said he needed to see Thor. Needed to.

“Let me hold you, Loki. Let me do that, at least. It’s been so long, too long,” Thor tells him. His throat feels too tight, his fingers are digging into Loki’s sides. Loki is running an anxious thumb just behind his ear.

“Let me stay with you,” he murmurs.

And he doesn’t mean to let it slip. Doesn’t want to waste the five days he’d secured by spilling the truth he’d meant to keep for a little longer. Doesn’t want to scare Loki away so soon as finally having him back again.

But Loki’s eyes go wide, snapping back and forth between his before going blank. His face smoothes over and he sits back on Thor’s lap.

Then he untangles himself, stands, and walks to his room.

Thor hears the door shut and Thor swears, fisting the quilt tightly before letting out a harsh breath.

He lies there for an hour.

Tries to think of how best to soothe this over. Thinks of how best to tell Loki it was a misunderstanding, he really only meant that he wanted to stay tonight—but he isn’t a liar and so he stops that train of thought. It’s not worth the stress of having to explain the truth later on.

He thinks of Loki in his bedroom. Thinks of Loki over the last two years, and how he barely knows what his brother has been up to.

Thinks of the text and how it had seemed so different than all the other times. Urgent.

It’s been a long time for Loki too.

Thor stands up, puts out the fire, and goes after his brother.

The room is dark and it takes a moment for Thor’s sight to adjust. But he can see a dark lump on Loki’s bed and goes to sit beside his brother.

Loki is turned away from him and says nothing as the bed dips, a creak of old springs filling the silence.

“How long did it take you to text me, that day?” Thor asks him.

There’s only the sound of hitched breathing and then Loki turns his face into his pillow.

Then, a muffled, “A month.”

That surprises him, and Loki must hear his sharp inhale because he’s turning over and sitting up fast.

“Tried to talk myself out of it. Tried to convince myself it was just the light on the water making the nights seem longer than usual. Winter is always like this here. Each day stretches on longer than the last and sometimes, I just…I just.” Loki shakes his head and his voice takes on a hard edge. “Sometimes I have to leave the room so I don’t have to stare at my phone on my dresser. So I don’t just reach across and end up calling you.”

Thor wants to touch him, to hug him close, at the very least squeeze his shoulder to comfort him. But he knows Loki would just shrug out of his reach and most likely ignore him for the rest of the night.

“You could have,” he says instead. Loki doesn’t say anything so Thor goes on. “You know you can always talk to me. I’ll wake up. I’d have booked a flight right then.”

Loki shakes his head, a sick laugh leaving him. “That’s the problem! You think this is something so simple, so easy. Something we can have so effortlessly—”

Thor reaches out and grabs Loki by the shoulders. Loki squirms but Thor holds fast.

“You’re my brother. I would have—”

“We are not only that,” he bites out. “It is wrong what we’ve done, what we do. I meant it to stop. I meant it to end, I thought it would after so long. But…” he looks away.

Thor shakes him gently, fingers digging deep into his shoulders.

“You’re my lover, then. You are whatever you want to be, anything except someone who thinks this is something to be starved out of us. Nine years of this, Loki. I’m tired of never being able to see you whenever I want. Sick of waking up without you.”

Loki is glaring at him. “We have the woods, we have the blasted forest you fool! Where the world cannot kill us for—”

“The damned woods!” he yells, moving to take hold of Loki’s neck in his hands. And in the silence it seems to shake the tiny room and Loki quiets in the force of it almost immediately. He’s staring at Thor and in the little light there is Thor can see the shine of his eyes. “Those terrible, dark woods. Woods that would swallow us up before the world could ever take hold. The woods that keep us from even sharing a bed every night, from waking up in each other’s arms under blankets. The woods that would rather scrape our knees and our elbows and rub raw our backs with bark—I—” And he must pause to gather his breath. Loki’s hand has moved to his elbow. “I want to have you to myself. I want us to be able to live untied from those damnable trees outside.”

“You’d kill us, risking this life.” Loki’s voice shakes.

“We have this house, this beach. It’s enough. We won’t be hunted down, if that’s what you think.”

Loki lowers his head, shaking. His voice breaks, “I cannot have you here, where you’ll touch everything and everywhere I look will be you when you leave. I can barely stand it already, but this, this is—”

“Then I won’t leave. I won’t,” Thor whispers, bringing Loki’s head up. “Two years I haven’t been able to see you. I can’t do that again, I won’t.”

Loki finally breaks. His breath catches and then he’s sobbing quietly, fingers quaking and shoulders jerking with each sharp breath. He hasn’t sobbed like this since they were children, and Thor is frightened of it. Frozen in the thought that Loki has been like this for years. That he never caught it. That he was blind enough to overlook it.

That he was stupid enough to never just get on a plane and come over sooner. But he never wanted to invade Loki’s space.

Loki clings to him and Thor knows now it will be different.

“We’ll ruin each other,” Loki murmurs sometime later.

Thor rubs his back, wide soothing swipes of his palm that have Loki breathing steadily beside him. They’re lying on their sides, facing each other. Thor can still hear the faintest tremble in Loki’s voice and he wants it gone completely.

“We’ve already been doing a fairly decent job of that, don’t you think?” Loki huffs at him. Thor can see him roll his eyes in the dark. “I got a move notice yesterday. I have to leave anyway. And I’d rather live here than anywhere else.”

Loki is silent for so long, Thor fears he’s crossed another line, made Loki angry again.

“Settling for here, you mean.”

Thor’s hand pauses and he feels Loki let out a small groan. It’s a sound of annoyance, and Thor has to take a moment before he resumes rubbing his back. “Why do you keep talking like that? You think this is wrong, and that, what? That I don’t want you, or something,” he breathes out in a rush.

Loki just stares at him.

“We shouldn’t want each other. It’s sick,” he finally says.

“But we do. It’s not sick, Loki. I love this beach, this house, this city. You know I love you most of all, so why do you insist on putting words in my mouth when you know they aren’t true?”

Loki’s head falls forward to rest against Thor’s shoulder. Thor can smell wood fire in the crown of his hair.

“You’ll get tired of it. There isn’t anything here.”

Thor shakes his head no and settles his arms around Loki’s shoulders, rolling them so that Loki is laying half on top of him.

“Have you seen my portfolio? Nearly every photo is of this place. Half are of that forest, you know.” Loki winds an arm around his waist. “I can work from home. Travel is easy enough. But you know all that.”

Loki takes a deep breath, pushing Thor slightly into the comforter with the weight of it.

“Then why didn’t you visit. Sooner.” It’s not a question but Thor feels his chest go tight.

“I didn’t want to come when I wasn’t wanted. Didn’t want to scare you away.”

Loki sits up and stares down at him. The ends of his hair tickle Thor’s cheeks and it makes him smile softly.

“You’re all I have, Loki. I didn’t want to lose you.”

Loki’s hands are on his face now and Thor can feel his eyes ache.

“That’s not your choice, Thor,” he says, and it’s so sincere Thor has to catch his breath.

His vision swims and he swallows past the lump in his throat.

“I know that. It doesn’t make it any less true.”

Loki keeps staring down at him and Thor can feel a long breath leave him.

Then he’s kissing Thor, so softly.

He parts his lips and Thor stutters in meeting him. It’s cautious and Thor is gripping Loki’s sides hard enough to bruise, even over the sweater.

Then Loki rolls his hips. He keeps his eyes open and Thor holds his sight when they pull away from each other. He spreads his legs and ruts up against Loki, feels his breath leave in rough bursts. It doesn’t take long before they’re both hard and thrusting against each other, their gazes hazy.

Thor winds a hand between them and inside Loki’s pants. He grips Loki’s cock and strokes him firm through every thrust and Loki moans, high and breathy when he comes.

Loki watches as Thor licks his spend from his own fingers. Then he lifts his body enough to get his hand on Thor beneath the band of his underwear. It takes only a few short pulls before Thor is staining his own pants, soaking Loki’s palm. Loki withdraws his hand and Thor licks his hand clean too.

Loki kisses Thor and can taste them both on his tongue, Thor knows it. Knows that Loki has always loved that filthy aspect to Thor’s lovemaking.

Thor moves to nose at Loki’s cheek, presses a lazy kiss there and feels Loki sigh, sagging against him.

“I need time to think about it,” is what Loki says.

Thor nods and hugs Loki close.

In the morning, Loki wakes up late. Thor is in the kitchen pushing sizzling hash around, forming the tiny cakes. He feels Loki behind him before anything else and when Loki peers around Thor’s shoulder, he hums at the sight of berries in a bowl.

“I was just about to mash those, meant to be a jam spread.”

Loki hums again and steals a berry to eat. “I’ve missed raggmunk. You always make it the best.”

Thor grins and he sees Loki’s face flush in return. He steals another berry and goes to sit at the table.

“Told you I had a surprise, didn’t I? Why do you think I brought so many potatoes?”

He hears quiet laughter from behind him and is glad his brother seems in better spirits.

Thor makes too much. The cakes sit in a large pile between them. They run out of the spread before the pile is dented and that’s when he brings out the crème. He whips it in Loki’s blender and fills two bowls with the stuff.

He sets one down in front of Loki and he notices Loki is staring down at his plate, fork and knife still poised in his hands. He blinks when Thor moves to wrap his fingers around a wrist.

Loki looks off to the side and Thor releases him. He dumps the crème on his plate and settles in to finish his food.

But Loki has stopped eating, lost to his thoughts. Thor lets him be, not wanting to cut his own hand by interrupting whatever Loki is thinking.

Thor’s chest is pounding, and he eats too quickly, his stomach aching.

He’s nervous.

It’s three days later when Thor is sitting in front of his computer, staring at flight times. He has just enough to fly back but the cheapest ticket is for the next day, a day early.

It’s been a peaceful three days, despite the tension Thor has felt since their conversation that first night. Loki said he needed time and so he’s kept from bringing the topic back up.

But things have changed.

After they had finished breakfast, Loki dragged him to the couch, pushed him to sitting and sunk down to his knees. He palmed Thor’s thighs, spreading them. He dragged down Thor’s pants and sucked Thor down, nose buried in thick hair. He squeezed at Thor’s chest under his thin flannel night shirt while Thor groaned and tried his best not to thrust too hard into Loki’s mouth.

When Thor spilled, Loki pulled off. He laid his head on Thor’s thigh and started telling him about his latest online course. Told him a lot of things; how he’s going for his masters and is halfway through, how he’s been commissioned for so many various magazines. Thor tells him he’s proud before Loki crawls his way up his brother and settles in his lap. The moment Thor is ready again he sinks down on Thor’s cock and rocks his hips languidly, Thor gripping his hips tight.

The next day, Loki snuck into Thor’s shower and soaped him down. He rinsed his skin and did it again. Then he mouthed at Thor’s shoulders, fingers sinking smooth into his backside while Thor held himself open. Loki was louder than usual, and they were folded on top of each other at the basin of the tub before either of them was finished.

And this morning, Thor woke Loki up with his mouth around his cock, and Loki’s first word hello was Thor’s name, breathy and aimed at the ceiling. He swallowed everything and after ten minutes just did it again.

Loki has allowed him to fill his small home. He’s risked that.

So when Loki walks up to him and pushes his laptop closed, he already suspects what Loki is about to say.

Loki stands before him, eyes dark. Thor stands and focuses on not being fidgety.

“When’s the soonest flight back to Malmö?” he asks.

And that isn’t what Thor expected. He didn’t realize how hopeful he’d been for something else that he’s surprised when he feels his eyes go wet so quickly.

He can’t hold back a dry laugh as he tries to answer. Looks off to the side, staring at the cold hearth in the corner before he can find the words.

“Tomorrow at nine.”

Loki touches his face, makes Thor face him. He’s smirking and Thor thinks that is the cruelest thing about this.

“Tell your landlord you’ll be out by the end of the week.”

Thor can only blink, shaking his head. “What?”

“Get the rest of your stuff, and come back.”

Loki gives him an honest smile, and Thor feels a fool for ever having doubted.