[ it was a Loki in a different time, a Loki he never wanted to be again. given, he was the Loki he was now, and he never wanted to revert to anything he was ever again. when their fingers thread a fresh wave of guilt washes over him, sweeping away in the foam in the base of his belly.

if you knew, would you hate me?

the urge to tell him comes so far up his throat that he almost chokes on it, but he swallows it back, making himself ill with self-inflicted grief. the expression on his face melts to something knowing, soft. his dark lashes shadow bright eyes as he slides his fingers between Thor's, feeling the tingle of electricity on the tips near the nail. ]

Do you say that to all the Lokis?

[ dangerous words that could be questioned, so close that he wonders if he wants to get caught. there's a wistful, self-defeating smile on his face. ]

Or do you say that to everyone? Quite the charmer, you are. That's supposed to be my job.