[ He makes a quiet sound at the back of his throat as Loki curls up closer to Steve, his arms snaking around Steve's neck. The heavy loss of Asgard sits around his neck (Loki used to spit out how he wanted it to burn, sentiment should burn because what good has it ever give him but the end of a stick, hanging off a bridge?) and Loki's chest heaves from the weight. His fingers stroke skin softly. ]
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I love you. My bright sword.