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When Thor awoke, Bruce was gone.
He squinted at the empty space beside him, struggling to recall exactly how the good doctor had ended up in his bed. Asgard had celebrated the arrival of its new year, and all had partaken in the feasting and drinking that followed. Perhaps a little too much drinking. He licked his dry lips and winced at the headache throbbing at the base of his skull. It was fortunate that they had reached his bed and not passed out on the floor.
Groaning at the bright sunlight flooding the room, Thor clambered out of bed and cast about for his clothes. They were strewn all over his room, and his tunic (crumpled beside the door) was stained with wine. Of his cloak there was no sign.
Thor turned again to the empty bed, unsure if he’d dreamt the events of last night. He remembered bouts of drunken singing, Bruce clutching his shoulder and laughing, a brush of lips in the dark, swiftly followed by cold, skilled hands…
Yet now Bruce was gone. With a sigh, Thor stood over the washbasin and cleaned himself. So many days had begun thus: waking to an empty bed with vague memories. It was common knowledge amongst the folk that their prince was a talented, if fickle, lover. Plenty would approach him, but few stayed past the morn. Somehow he had hoped that Bruce would be different.
From the day they met, Thor had been fascinated by Bruce. He was quiet and reserved, but those dark eyes could also sparkle with good humour with the right words – and in the right company. They had bonded over breakfasts in Avengers Tower, comparing their cultures and customs. Thor had invited Bruce to the new year feast, excited to finally bring him to Asgard. How joyous they had been to discover that their feelings were reciprocated! Or so he had thought.
Thunder rumbled overhead as Thor dressed hastily in a fresh tunic and trousers, then made his way along the corridor and down the great staircase. His favourite deep blue cloak was missing; stolen perhaps, or trampled underfoot during the festivities.
Midgardians placed curious values on sex. For some it was a sacred act, and for others it was purely recreational. Oftentimes it was dependant on whom one bedded. Perhaps by taking Bruce to bed, Thor had implied their relationship was unimportant, a heated moment that had now passed.
Many times, Thor had envisioned “asking Bruce out”: a whispered confession under the stars, or an invitation to the mysterious Midgardian coffee date. Instead, he had thrown it all away on a drunken whim. What a fool he was.
The feasting hall was a mess of overturned tables and empty tankards. Asgardians snored on every surface, draped over benches and each other. Even Loki was fast asleep, curled up on the floor with his head pillowed on Volstagg’s belly.
Thor considered the great entrance doors, through which drifted a cool, rain-scented breeze, then decided to break his fast before facing the day.
The kitchens lay below, and were almost as grand as the feasting hall itself: golden knives glittered on the dark stone walls, and torches of magical fire bathed the room in a welcoming glow.
No sooner had the smell of burning reached his nostrils, there was the sound of scratching from the far end of the room. Thor investigated, and saw a man crouched by the fire, furiously scraping at a pan. ‘Shit, that’s burnt,’ he muttered.
Thor stepped closer. 'Bruce?'
Bruce started. When he stood up, he was holding a cooking pan so large he had to hold it with two hands. His feet were bare, and over his usual Midgardian attire he wore Thor’s missing blue cloak. ‘Uh, morning.’
‘Good morning.’ Despite all they shared last night, Thor felt rather bashful. ‘I trust you slept well?’
He smiled softly. ‘Yeah. Asgardian wine and a soft bed? Best night I’ve had in years.’
‘Ah. I should have known that you were using me for my mattress.’ As those soft brown eyes met his, he had a sudden recollection of those very same eyes gazing hungrily down his body as he guided Thor to the bed…
Bruce blushed and looked away. ‘Yeah, you caught me. I’ll come back later and steal your pillows.’
The silence that fell between them was stilted. Yet hadn’t they stood in this very kitchen but hours before, spilling their secrets as easily as their drink?
Thor was unsure how to say “why are you still here?” politely, so instead he gestured to the burnt pan. ‘What is that?’
He sighed. ‘It was supposed to be pancakes.’
‘Pancakes,’ Thor repeated, uncomprehendingly. ‘In such a large pan?’
‘Couldn’t find any smaller ones.’ With difficulty, he hefted it onto the nearest table. Thor noticed several eggshells and a jug of milk. ‘I was going to make you breakfast, but it got a little… burnt.’
Abruptly, all of Thor’s doubts and fears melted away, replaced with a warm, syrupy feeling in his chest. ‘Oh,’ was all he could say.
Bruce stared at him thoughtfully for a moment, then his brow furrowed. ‘Did you think I’d left?’
‘The thought had crossed my mind,’ Thor admitted guiltily. ‘I would understand if you wanted to leave.’
Bruce seemed to shrink a little. He clasped his hands together and hunched his shoulders, ill at ease in a kitchen that was too large for him. ‘Do you want me to leave?’ he asked softly.
‘No. I meant what I said last night.’ A memory had just arisen in Thor’s mind: of kissing Bruce in a quiet corridor and whispering I love you against his warm lips.
As Bruce stepped tentatively towards him, Thor recalled his answering words. I love you too. I always have.
‘So did I,’ Bruce said.
With a grin of relief, Thor crossed the room in three long strides and enveloped Bruce in a warm hug. ‘You should keep the cloak, it suits you.’
‘I was cold.’ A hand reached up to cradle Thor’s face, angling him downwards for a kiss. It was little more than a chaste brush of lips, but it set Thor’s heart pounding with happiness. Bruce’s fingers wound through his hair in a gentle caress, a far thing from last night’s frantic touches. ‘I’m sorry for sneaking off,’ Bruce said as they broke away.
‘I am flattered that you intended to feed me, though a pancake so large would be challenging to eat.’ Thor leaned down for a second kiss (Bruce was endearingly short), then turned to face the rest of the kitchen. ‘We are likely low on supplies after last night, but surely we can experiment!’
Asgardian breakfast typically consisted of fresh fruit and last night’s leftover bread, and there was enough of this in the kitchens to satisfy them both. Bruce discovered some nuts and spices, and proposed they make a warming dish of cooked fruit and a spiced sweet sauce. They had always enjoyed their mornings together, but there was something special about continuing their ritual in Thor’s home. Thor imagined them cooking breakfast together every day, creating new dishes and new traditions, their lives intertwining along with their recipes…
‘Just so you know,’ Bruce murmured, his hands on Thor’s waist as they watched their breakfast cooking on the fire, ‘I’d like to repeat what we did last night, and remember all of it this time.’
At that, Thor experienced a different kind of hunger. ‘The day after our new year is one of rest. I have no other duties to attend to today.’
‘Good. I’ll have you all to myself. But first…’ Together, they took the pan out of the fire, and the steaming fruit mixture was poured into two bowls. ‘You’ll need to keep your strength up,’ Bruce said in a lovely, gravelly murmur that made Thor shiver, ‘since we have a whole day with nothing to do.’
With a grin, Thor clinked their bowls together. ‘I look forward to it. Tell me, what is the next Midgardian celebration? It is only fair that I now attend a celebration of yours.’
‘Uh, I guess it’s Valentine’s Day next.’ Bruce gazed at him fondly. ‘It’s overly commercialised, but it is the festival of love…’
Thor ate a spoonful of spiced fruit. It was delicious. ‘Tell me more, my love,’ he replied.
