"You should be married," Loki said, without forewarning.
"...What?" Thor said a moment later. Several moments later, in truth. The space station was nearly finished now. There was more than ever to be done, too few who could be trusted to do it. It left his attention ever-fractured.
"And reproduce. Soon."
Thor put down the manifest, squinted at Loki with his good eye. "Explain yourself, brother."
"If you die without producing offspring, the throne would fall to me. You can't possibly want that."
"...Don't you?"
Loki shrugged. "I've had my taste. Perhaps I'd prefer to witness your failures, going forward."
Loki must have found much to be amused by, over the next few days, for Thor found himself more distracted by his words than he should have been. Whatever ulterior motive Loki might have, he wasn't wrong. Thor was the king. A king needed an heir. He was no more likely to begat one than now. How many of their people had fallen pregnant, in the months since their journey's end? This strange new gift was unlikely to last forever. Once it had gone, there was no knowing how long it would take, to sire a child of his own.
Thor found his choice in one of the many windowed corridors, staring out at the stars.
"Heimdall," he said, and stopped, having failed to consider how to word such a thought until this moment. Surely no suggestion that began, 'Loki thinks I should' could be taken seriously.
But this was Heimdall, who heard and saw everything, or near enough. "You wish to wed."
"I—yes."
"You have made a decision."
"Yes."
Heimdall did not smile. Perhaps it was too grave a moment for such things. But he did look pleased as he said, "I would be honored beyond the reckoning."
"An heir isn't the only thing," Thor said, eyes on the stars, lest he find anything in Heimdall's expression to give him pause.
"Oh?"
"I want you to be the king, as well. My equal in every way."
Heimdall must not have seen everything Thor meant to ask, for he took many long moments to answer. "And when we disagree?"
"You'll yield if I'm wrong. I'll yield if you're wrong. And neither of us will have to bear the crown alone."
"Do you expect to be wrong often?"
"Actually, you know, I'm planning to be right most of the time."
"You don't think it's a foolish idea?" Thor felt only a little silly before he asked, and moreso than ever afterward.
"It is not a new idea." Now Heimdall gazed out on the stars, seeing, perhaps, the thousand dual kings of a thousand other realms. "Whether it will be foolish or wise for your rule remains to be seen."
"Our rule, remember."
"Yes." Now, finally, a smile came over Heimdall's features. "It is a very good beginning to marriage, either way."
"—Yes, obviously. I thought of that first, of course."
Heimdall's laughter was always a surprise. "Lies, however, are not."
The space station was completed a week later, the wedding and coronation completed the day after. Thor was not the least bit nervous until the first moment he and Heimdall were alone together in the royal suite.
"Heimdall," he said, and fumbled, once again unsure what he had meant to say next. He had not thought of the bedding as anything, until now. He had bedded so many friends before, and it had so rarely changed anything. But this was different. It was not so much that Heimdall was also a king, as that he was everything else he was.
Heimdall came to him. He always knew what to do. It was why Thor's rule thus far had been so much less lonely than he had once imagined it might be. It was why it seemed bearable, where once it had seemed as if it might crush him.
There had been something Thor was meant to do, now that they were here together. Whatever it had been, it was replaced by awe and some unfamiliar ache as they disrobed together, Heimdall's hand resting against his neck, Heimdall's lips meeting his own, other parts growing eager to join in the fray.
Afterward, Thor said, "I think we did that wrong."
Heimdall's laughter was becoming somewhat less of a surprise, somewhat more of an expectation. "There are many ways to do that right. Very few ways are wrong."
"No, I mean I was supposed to try to—" Thor made a gesture that meant 'tell my annoying and inconvenient fertility magic to get on with it, so there will be three people between Loki and the throne.'
"There will be other chances."
"Yes, but—"
"There may even be other chances tonight," Heimdall said, and silenced whatever Thor might have said with a kiss.
This next time, Thor concentrated. He'd spent months learning to douse this new power, so people could eat their food without it budding between their lips, and look at one another without becoming suddenly pregnant. Now, he did his best to focus it—on Heimdall, on himself, on the new life that might be, that he wanted. He had not realized how much he wanted it, until he let the yearning loose.
In the morning, they learned every garden on the ship, planted yesterday, had come into full bloom. After several weeks, they learned something else had indeed been sown.
"We absolutely did that wrong," Thor said for the hundredth time, or perhaps the thousandth. It had been a long eight months. Much longer for him than for anyone else.
"Oh, I don't know," Heimdall said, not bothering to move his hand from the swell of Thor's stomach, where it always seemed to rest, and had since the child's first twitches. "I think it's gone rather well."
"Yes, because you didn't have to carry it after all."
"Perhaps for the next one."
This was a new thought, not displeasing.
"If he's anything like me, he'll need a brother," Thor agreed.
Every time Loki saw Thor, he burst out laughing. Unfortunately, this happened daily.
"I'm beginning to think you're following me." Thor did think this. Knew it for certain, even. "If you think I won't kill you, you're wrong."
"What kind of example would that be?" Loki asked. "Now, are you coming to my play?"
Thor had heard of this play. It involved a melon tucked under the shirt of the actor who played him, among other indignities. "No."
Then, out of nowhere, Loki said, "You're happier now, aren't you?"
"I—yes. Very much so."
"You're welcome. I'll see you there."