[By : ravenbringslight on AO3]
When Thor finally gets back to his cabin, long hours after he should have been abed already, Loki is asleep and (though he would deny it if Thor told him) snoring softly. Even after all these months together aboard the Sanctuary, the sight of his brother in his bed is somehow still a surprise. A welcome one, to be sure, but Thor can never quite shake the feeling that none of this is real. Loki has been dead and mourned for so long that his brain can't quite wrap around the concept that his brother is back.
Thor changes into soft sleeping shorts but instead of crawling into bed he pours himself a drink. He sits by the window nursing it, occasionally wincing and rubbing at the tightness in the back of his neck, staring out into space. It has been an excruciatingly long day.
Some of the higher born Asgardians have been growing increasingly vocal about the relaxed state of the hierarchy in the wake of Ragnarok and tensions between them, the commoners, and the freed slaves from Sakaar are running high. It's all Thor can do to keep them from bloodshed and it makes him angry and it makes him tired. They've all lost so much; he finds himself with little to no patience for infighting. He wants to shake them, knock their heads together.
With a sharp pang of loss, he misses his friends; Fandral's easy charm with the nobles, Volstagg's good cheer, Hogun's unwavering support. With them to help share this burden maybe it wouldn't weigh so heavily. He had never thought to be King without them.
"What are you doing?" Loki mumbles from the bed. His voice is still thick with sleep and adorably muffled.
Thor turns a resigned half smile on him. "Thinking."
"Try not to do it so loudly, some of us need beauty sleep."
"Sorry if I disturbed you."
Loki grumbles and frees his arms from the covers. "Come here," he says, patting the bed. "You'll give us both an ulcer fretting like that."
Thor sets his drink down and comes to sit on the edge of the bed. He looks down at Loki, still beautifully mussed and sleepy faced, and he can't help but reach down to card his fingers through the wild curls at Loki's temple. His impossible brother, impossibly alive and in his bed.
"I don't think I say it enough," Thor says quietly, "but I'm glad you're here."
"Hmph," Loki says. He presses into Thor's touch though, and plants a soft kiss on his palm. Thor's gaze doesn't waver from Loki's face, and Loki, unable to bear the scrutiny, closes his eyes and turns his face to the side.
Thor runs his thumb down Loki's cheek. "I'll stay up for awhile longer. If you don't mind."
That earns him a huff of annoyance.
"And how exactly am I supposed to sleep while you're over there moping like a child?" Loki says. "No. Stay here. On your belly." He pats the bed again. Thor looks at him and Loki looks back expectantly until Thor finally sighs and settles down on his stomach, pillowing his head on his arms.
"Now what?"
"Now this."
Suddenly Loki is sitting astride him, and his deft fingers begin working the knots out of Thor's shoulders.
Thor groans and sags into the mattress. Loki always knows just where he carries his tension, and his brother's strong hands knead at the knots snarling his back, biting in just shy of too deeply, working them loose one by one. Thor feels himself turning into putty.
"This is better, is it not?" Loki asks. He runs one hand up the back of Thor's neck, squeezing briefly before sliding into his hair and working his fingertips into Thor's scalp.
