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Leaning more comfortably against a pillar, Loki presses his lips tightly together, his gaze resting on the crimson liquid in his goblet.
He should not have stayed for the feast after Odin’s audience with the representatives from four realms. He probably should not have attended the audience as well. He could have avoided it, inventing a believable excuse was hardly a challenge for him, but being the son of Odin meant obligations, not solely privilege. And besides, his mother wanted him attending, and more often than not, what the Queen of Asgard wanted, she made it happen.
And now, here he is – a lone, silent figure in the sea of laughing faces. And it is not even boredom which plagues him this night but a nervous sensation crawling just under his skin, like a persistent itch he cannot seem to scratch, driving his composure to ruin and making him feel like his skin is drawn too tight, his lungs all but struggling to draw enough air.
He is in no state for empty chatter or light flirtation which are the trend on nights such as this one. So he stands away from everyone, his mood growing fouler by the moment, his will a prisoner to his feet which seem as if they are made of the same willful metal as his brother’s beloved hammer.
Loud, booming laughter rises above other sounds of the feast, making Loki’s fingers involuntarily clench around the goblet in his hand.
Loki does not turn toward the sound of his brother’s laughter, nor does he have any need to do so; he can imagine what he would see easily enough – Thor, smiling and smug, a bright center of attention of dozens of adoring eyes.
The muscle of his jaw twitching, Loki dawns the content of his goblet in one long gulp, but the sweet taste of wine only fractionally washes away the bitterness from his mouth.
***
“Scowling is not one of your more attractive expressions, Loki. A smile would be more fitting for this joyous night.”
The aforementioned scowl deepens, as Loki trails his gaze from Fandral’s smiling face to the goblet in his hand.
“And providing advice is not one of your stronger suits, Fandral.” Loki sneers, but takes the offered goblet, his brow furrowing when he recognizes its content – Alfheim wine, the same he was drinking since the beginning of the feast. His scowl softens into a shadow of his usual bored indifference as he gives Fandral a curt nod of gratitude. “It appears we are both guilty of indulging in what we should not.”
Fandral merely shrugs, a smile playing on his lips even though his eyes have grown serious. “I seem to recall you enjoying feast such as this one in the past.” He says lightly. “You even smiled.”
“Should you not be in the heart of festivities and not here in the shadows?” Loki says, his voice cold and flat, his smile strained as he fixes Fandral with a blank look. In usual circumstances, Loki would enjoy trading barbs with Fandral, but not on this night. Not when his control is so tenuous, his emotions dangerously close to the surface. “I am sure there is an unfortunate maiden somewhere in this hall you should be lavishing with your charm.”
“Quite a few, actually.” Fandral concedes. He takes a long look of Loki’s face arching an eyebrow. “I could say the same for you. Why are you skulking in the shadows? You are a prince of Asgard. There is not a maiden here who would not welcome your attention.”
But I am merely a prince, not The Golden Prince.
The thought, although familiar in its shape and taste, bites deeper tonight, its venom burning hotter in Loki’s blood.
Loki takes another sip of the wine. He is not attempting anything as foolish and pathetic as seeking liquid comfort, but he has already drank more than is usual for him, the wine flowing smoothly down his throat.
“Not everyone needs to validate their existence by bedding countless women.”
Fandral smirks, chuckling lightly. “Of course not, but why would you choose not to?” The laughter which clings to Fandral’s words has the effect of nails scraping against a freshly healed wound – stinging and instant, leaving Loki with tightly pressed lips, in an unfamiliar position of having no adequate reply.
“The night is still young, Loki. You should cease it.” Fandral says, but his attention is drifting from Loki, his eyes drawn elsewhere.
Following the direction of Fandral’s gaze, Loki swallows a snort when his eyes catch sight of a red-haired beauty, standing behind the elderly emissary from Vanaheim. Loki has never had the displeasure of exchanging words with the woman, but from what he has heard from Thor, her disposition makes the weather in Jotunheim seem pleasant.
“And you should pick your conquests with more prudence.”
Fandral’s eyes flick toward Loki briefly, before returning back to his chosen target, a rakish grin tugging his lips upwards. “I’ll consider prudence when I am old and my blood grows cold.”
“If you manage to live that long.” Loki snorts, looking pointedly at the Vanaheim’s emissary, currently engaged in glaring disgustedly at poor unfortunate soul sitting next to her and trying to hold a conversation. Loki wonders what he had done to deserve to be seated next to a dragon disguised as a woman.
“Come now, Loki, you know that danger only makes the hunt all that exciting.” Fandral says with a wink.
“Go on then.” Loki drawls, voice soft, but far from kind. “Your public disgrace will certainly provide some amusement on this horrid night.”
“Ever the optimist, aren’t you, Loki?”
Loki merely arches an eyebrow in response, watching as Fandral turns and rejoins the feast, moving slowly but steadily toward his red-haired maiden.
He watches Fandral’s slow progress but a few moments, the lightness of amusement fading fast as the restless feeling that has been plaguing him the entire day returns.
He truly ought to leave; or follow Fandral’s advice, but Loki finds himself reluctant to do either. Instead, he brings the goblet to his lips and takes another sip, his features contorting into a grimace as his brother’s laughter once again echoes loudly across the hall.
***
“This is a feast and you look worse than the sky before a storm.”
The hand on his shoulder is heavy and warm, and, for the briefest of moments, Loki aches with the need to lean toward the body of his brother – solid and safe and oh so very warm. Instead, he shoots a glare at Thor, shrugging out of his half-embrace.
“Amusing statement coming from someone who all but flooded Asgard due to temper tantrums.” Loki says sharply, his voice coming out sour despite his intention. It has been a long time since Thor allowed his temper to manifest through the change in weather.
“As I recall, brother, you rather enjoyed yourself back then.” Thor says lightly, a knowing smile playing on his lips. Loki keeps his face carefully blank. Thor was not far from the truth. It was rather entertaining to goad Thor into anger or plant seeds of strife between his brother and other warriors, then step back and watch the fallout. He can manipulate his brother still, but it requires more and more effort on his part, and Loki fears that there might come the time when Thor will stop listening to him altogether. “You were very vocal about my shameful lack of restraint.”
“You cannot hold me responsible for your own actions, Thor. Although, I can admit to finding your taste for melodrama passingly entertaining.”
Thor’s smile turns into a grin, his eyes, already a touch too bright from mead no doubt, sparking alight with mischief. “Would you consider abandoning your sour disposition if I were to… how did you call it, have another temper tantrum?”
Loki pauses, considering Thor’s offer. The fool would do it, Loki has no doubt about it, even in front of an audience from four realms. He can easily imagine the tight press of their father’s lips and the slight narrowing of his eye in both disappointment and annoyance. Loki doubts Odin would anger truly, he rarely does with his firstborn, but it would be satisfying to have Thor lose even a fraction of his perfection in their father’s eyes.
Loki smiles, opening his mouth, but the expectant, almost earnest expression on Thor’s face makes him reconsider his words. They are brothers, and even if Loki often wishes to smother Thor, he loves him dearly. Loki supposes his brother would frustrate him far less were it not so.
But love does not equate shying from embarrassing Thor. And what better opportunity than with such a delightful and large audience.
“As amusing as it would have been to see your little light show, not even you can make it so it rains indoors.” Loki smirks, regarding Thor with a calculating gaze, a shadow of an idea forming inside his mind. “But you could acquiesce to a little game, brother.”
Thor’s eyes narrow slightly, suspicion and curiosity waging war across his face.
“Your games, brother, although amusing, always seem to have a rather flexible set of rules.” Thor points out in a low voice. “And they ever change in your favour.”
Loki blinks, his face a picture of innocence. “Are you saying I cheat, brother?”
Thor chuckles lightly, looking at Loki with fondness, corner of his lips curving into an affectionate smile. “Don’t you?”
“Oh, come now, Thor. It cannot be you fear losing to your younger brother?” Loki says with a playful smile. “Surely not the mighty Thor?”
Thor’s eyes flash for a second, but he merely shakes his head, a knowing smile stretching his lips wide. “I know what you are attempting, Loki.”
“Attempting? You are mistaken, Thor.” Loki shrugs, his face serious. “I merely suggested a little game. And you declined. Hardly a nefarious scheme.”
Thor’s brow creases, his shoulders tensing minutely. Swallowing a smirk, Loki keeps his face carefully blank. Baiting Thor may not be effortless as it used to be, but his brother remains a simple creature beneath the shining surface, and Loki has ever been good at pulling his strings.
“Loki, I-” Thor starts but a loud exclamation of his voice make his head whip toward its source – Volstagg, standing with a large horn of mead in hand, waving in invitation with the other, a large, somewhat drunken smile etched onto his face.
The corner of Loki’s mouth twitches in a beginning of a smile. “Go. Your friends are waiting on you.”
The frown on his brother’s face deepens. He throws a glance at Volstagg and others gathered at the large table, then returns his gaze back at Loki, looking thorn.
“They are your friends as well.” Thor states with conviction. He is mistaken, but Loki decides against pointing it out. They have already had a similar conversation which quickly disintegrated into a quarrel. “Joins us, Loki. Why linger here in the shadows, when there is good company and fine mead within your reach?”
The hopeful look on Thor’s face almost sways Loki. Almost.
“Perhaps later.” Loki says evenly, causing a look of annoyance and impatience with the barest trace of regret flicker across his brother’s face.
“Truly?”
“Do not trouble yourself over me, Thor.” Loki says, raising his goblet in mock salute. “I believe this night still holds some potential for enjoyment.”
Thor hesitates, looking unconvinced, but Loki allows himself a soft smile, urging him on.
“Are you going to be stubborn about this? Go on, your friends are getting impatient.”
“You are my brother.” Thor says, and Loki sighs at the almost petulant tone of Thor’s voice.
“And as your brother I tell you to go back to your friends and stop fussing over me.”
“Only if you will cease skulking in shadows, looking as if the weight of Yggdrasil is resting on your shoulders.”
Loki snorts. “I am not that melodramatic, brother.” When Thor’s mouth tightens into a stubborn line, Loki shakes his head, rising his hands in a placating gesture. “Very well, then. I vow to you, brother, I will find enjoyment before this night is over. Satisfied?”
“You could find it in my company.” Thor says, softly. “As you once did.”
“The night is still young.” Loki says, swallowing an amused snort when he recalls that is what Fandral had said to him earlier. Though, Loki doubts Fandral had in mind the idea Loki is contemplating. “Who knows what it shall bring?”
Thor nods, a shadow of worry lingering in his eyes despite the smile stretching his lips. Then, without another word, he turns and strides toward the middle of the hall and the group of people awaiting eagerly his return.
Loki’s gaze stays on his brother’s retreating back, his lips slowly curving into a grin as he contemplates exactly how long will it take before Thor returns, and the real fun begins.
***
“What game were you suggesting?”
Loki’s eye flick down for a second as a look of triumph sparks in their depth. When he returns his gaze back to his brother’s face, there is only mild amusement on his face.
“What game, Thor?”
The muscle in Thor’s jaw twitches. “The one you mentioned earlier.”
Thor looks like he has drunk a decent share of mead – his eyes bright, a slight flush to his cheeks. He is not drunk, Loki is certain of it, but he has drunk enough to forget his earlier caution. Enough for stubbornness, pride and curiosity to win against his better judgment.
“When you accused me of cheating and declined without even giving me an opportunity to explain the nature of the game?” Loki drawls lazily, toying with his goblet, half-full of crimson liquid.
Another twitch, followed by a slight shift in Thor’s posture. “Is there a chance for this to pass without you gloating?” Thor sighs in resignation.
“I am merely stating the facts, brother.” Pausing, Loki cocks his head to the side, regarding Thor with growing amusement. Thor’s eyes narrow only fractionally, his shoulders tensing, but his eyes remain firm as they hold Loki’s gaze. “May I ask what prompted this change of heart?”
“Are you truly going to feign surprise?” Thor asks, his voice holding only a hint of impatience. Loki’s lips twitch but he manages to hold off a grin. Thor’s temper is a volatile thing, best not provoked needlessly.
“Can you blame me? You seemed so adamant earlier.”
“You are the most infuriating soul in all Nine Realms.” Thor says, his voice somehow balancing between a sigh and a growl. “Should I prostrate myself before you and beg forgiveness, brother? Will that dull the edge of your mocking?”
Loki feels tempted to say yes, but it is not anger he means to provoke in his brother’s heart. In all honesty, not even Loki is certain what is it he is attempting to incite, but his blood is singing with barely restrained excitement, a much more pleasant sensation than the restlessness which is still lurking on the edges of his mind.
“The prospect sounds pleasing, brother.” Loki says, rising his hand at the narrowing of Thor’s eyes. “But not necessary. But you have yet answer my question.”
“What question?”
“What made you change your mind? Usually it takes you a lot longer to tire of your adoring sycophants.”
“I wish you would not call them that.” Thor admonishes, but there is no fire to his voice. He pauses, clasping his hand around Loki’s shoulder, a soft smile curving on his lips. “It has been a long time since you last offered me a challenge. And I… I miss those times.”
“Despite me cheating to win?” Loki arches an eyebrow, attempting but not quite succeeding to keep the bitterness out of his voice.
“Loki.”
“I merely wanted you to be sure, Thor. There is no enjoyment to be found in your little temper tantrums when you lose.”
“What makes you think I would be the one to lose?”
“So does this mean you are accepting?” Loki grins – sharp and wide, looking expectantly at Thor.
A small frown creases Thor’s brow, but it disappears almost instantly as an answering grin appears on Thor’s face.
“Yes.”
“Just a bit of advice, brother. You should always demand details of a proposition before you acquiesce to it. No matter how harmless the circumstances.”
“And you should cease thinking of me as a fool, brother.” Thor counters, smug and wholly unconcerned.
Loki arches an eyebrow, but Thor merely chuckles. “I do tend to think, brother. Despite what you may think of me.”
“That is comforting, considering you are to take father’s place on the throne.” Loki smirks, but it comes out a bit strained; the old wound still dripping poison. “It would be a shame if you were to undo all that father has achieved.”
“That is why I have you, brother.” Thor says, the solemn look in his eyes softened by the playful grin playing on his lips. “To offer counsel and a calming word when my temper flares.”
Something tightens around Loki’s heart, his smirk thinning out. “You will not always have me to offer counsel, Thor.”
The grin slips from Thor’s face. “Why not? Is it not your place by my side? Not only as a brother, but my most trusted advisor? A friend?”
Loki glances away from his brother’s frowning face. Everything is so clear and simple in Thor’s mind. His future a straight road, full of grand adventures, heroic deeds and adoration, leading to Valhalla. And Loki, forever trailing in his shadow.
Loki swallows once, twice, his throat dry and tight with the familiar anger and bitterness welling up inside him, both futile and utterly unhelpful.
Forcing his mouth into a smile, Loki turns his gaze back toward his brother, still looking at him with confusion and worry.
“This is far too severe a topic for night such as this.” The frown on Thor’s face lessens, but does not go away entirely. “Also, quite futile. Considering father is well of health and his mind sharp as ever.”
Thor blinks, considering Loki’s words.
“You speak true, Loki.” Thor says, an expression of relief flickering in the depths of his eyes. It disappears as quickly as it came into existence, leaving Loki stunned and doubtful. Surely Thor does not have doubts about his future reign? “Why dwell on the future when the present is full of possibilities for joy and pleasure?”
Loki shakes his head, chuckling lightly, feeling like a fool. Because only a fool would think that Thor Odinson feels even a sliver of doubt and worry about his future role.
“Joy, pleasure and challenge, dear brother.” Loki grins. “If you are still wiling, that is.”
“I am waiting on your word, Loki.” Thor says, flashing a toothy grin. “It is your game, after all.”
“Actually, Fandral is the one who gave me the idea.”
Thor bursts into laughter. “Fandral? Now I truly wish to hear more of this game.”
“Have you no notion of what it could entail? With all those beautiful maidens within reach?”
Thor’s face grows serious. “I will not bed anyone for sport, Loki.”
Loki snorts, rolling his eyes. “For someone with your reputation, brother, you can be as shy as a yet untouched maiden.”
“There is a difference between bashfulness and honour, brother.”
“And what could I possibly know about honour. Right, brother?” Loki sneers, all but baring his teeth.
“That was not intent behind my words, Loki. Do not twist them without cause.” Pausing, Thor takes a long glance of Loki’s face; a slow, deliberate smile which Loki does not like in the least appearing on his face. “Or is it that you fear your own challenge? Is that why you are trying to goad me to anger?”
Loki stares a moment at Thor, disbelief clear on his face. “This is a poor attempt at manipulation, Thor.”
“But is it working?”
Loki merely stares at his brother a moment – at his wide grin, the twinkle in his eyes – feeling the tight ball of anger and resentment settled low in his stomach uncurl; his face splitting into a smile without his clear intent.
“I have never had any intention of abandoning the challenge.” Loki states, the corners of his lips still drawn upwards. “After all, I was the one who proposed it in the first place.”
“And I have yet to hear what it entails.”
“A simple kiss. Willingly given.” Loki says simply.
Thor’s reaction is fairly predictable – disbelief, soon replaced by smug confidence.
“I fear your foul mood of late is affecting even your clever mind, brother.” Thor grins, cocking his head to the side as his gaze – bright and brimming with amusement – stays fixed on Loki’s face. “Where is the challenge in that?”
“The challenge, brother dear.” Loki drawls, allowing himself a wide, shark-like grin. Thor’s eyes narrow slightly, a shadow of caution flickering across his face, even if his grin does not falter in the least. “Is in the fact that you will not be the one to choose who will be the object of your vaunted charm.”
“Then who will?” Thor asks, but by the trace of wariness in his voice, he already knows the answer.
Loki merely grins even wider in response.
***
“You are not considering withdrawing, Thor?” Loki asks, extending Thor a horn filled with mead. The look of careful consideration on Thor’s face as his eyes slowly move across the faces of those present at the feast looks almost comical given the circumstances.
A loud exclamation of unfiltered disgust momentarily silences entire hall, drawing all eyes toward its source.
Fandral, it seems, has found his match in the elderly matron from Vanaheim. If eyes were weapons, Fandral would be bleeding out on the marble floor instead of retreating with a deep bow. He would probably try again, if Loki knows anything about him. He rarely gives up on the first failure. Not given the way his desired conquest looks. And especially considering the way she looks at him.
Thor draws his gaze away from the scene; a rather worrying twinkle lighting up his eyes.
“Anyone present, brother?” Thor grins, taking the offered horn.
A shadow of worry flickers through Loki’s mind, but it disappears as quickly as it came to life. Thor may be quite ruthless competitor, but he plays fair. It would go against his sense of honour to force Loki into inciting a political scandal merely so he could have the satisfaction of outmaneuvering Loki.
“Anyone.” Loki nods.
Thor rises his horn in silent salute. Then he proceeds to empty its entire content in one long gulp. Wiping his lips with the back of his hand, Thor throws a challenging gaze at Loki. “I will take a lot more mead to get me drunk, brother.”
“If you are implying I am trying to inebriate you, I assure you, Thor, you are mistaken.” Pausing, Loki cocks his head, eying Thor with a look he knows annoys Thor more than any other – unimpressed and bored. “That would imply you possess judgment which needs to be clouded to begin with.”
Thor must be in a particularly relaxed and benevolent mood since he merely chuckles, a smug grin tugging at his lips. “We shall test that theory soon.”
Even against his will, Loki feels himself answering Thor’s smile. His brother, no matter how fearsome a presence he presents and raw power he carries within his blood, also has an abundant love of life which is almost impossible to resist. Loki may be more resistant to it, but he is hardly immune.
“So. How we decide who is to be first?”
Loki smiles cryptically and brings his goblet to his lips. Both a way to give himself some time to think of the answer, and to see the look of impatience and annoyance on Thor’s face.
Thor was speaking true when he accused Loki of shaping the rules to his benefit. But this night… this game is an exception. He knows not where he wants the game to go, what is its ultimate goal. Humiliating Thor, however tantalizing, leaves Loki with a sense of hollow ache, a restlessness which has been clinging to his very soul for quite a while now, culminating on this day, lessening only when this idea came to him and Thor accepted the challenge.
“Considering you have all but named me honorless and deceitful, I leave the decision to you.”
The concession, perhaps ill-advised, is worth the look of wide-eyed shock on Thor’s face.
“Are we to stand here until Ragnarök, or have you decided?” Loki asks, a touch impatiently, arching an eyebrow in question. That earns him a glare as the confusion on Thor’s face dissolves into suspicion.
“You are never this generous, brother.” There is a frown on Thor’s face, his eyes boring into Loki’s as if by sheer force of will Thor will unravel the hidden motive behind Loki’s words. Not that there is one. For once. “To what do I owe the honour?”
“And you are never this suspicious, Thor. To what do I owe that dubious honour?”
They stand in silence a long moment, glaring at one another. Finally, it is Thor who breaks their staring contest by breaking into a grin and clasping Loki by the shoulder.
“You speak true, brother.” Thor smiles, and only by the long experience in mastering his features does Loki manage to keep his face blank. “There will be little enjoyment in this game if we are to exchange heated words before it has truly begun. And in that spirit, you should have the honour of choosing first.”
Loki manages to stop himself from rolling his eyes in annoyance. Always so irritatingly noble, his perfect brother. Loki almost caves under a petty and spiteful urge to end the game before it has truly started by choosing the least appropriate person present, but he manages to stop himself. With the way Thor is looking at him now – smug and confident, certain of his success – Loki cannot be entirely certain Thor would choose the wise option when forced to decide between losing to Loki and political scandal.
Instead, with a wide, and utterly false smile, he chooses at random – a dark-haired maiden, sitting at the end of the table designated for the visitors from Vanaheim.
Loki’s choice awards him another look of suspicion, confusion and disbelief, but this time, his brother remains silent as he turns on his heel and heads with measured, confident steps toward the red-haired maiden Loki chose. Wary, but determinate to succeed in this challenge, as he always does.
Loki keeps his gaze fixed firmly on his brother’s retreating back, his smile slipping from his lips as the echo of his earlier mood returns, like a chill penetrating down to his very soul.
Grimacing, Loki dawns the content of his goblet, the smooth and sweet liquid chasing away at least a fraction of the coldness seeping into his bones. When he returns his gaze to his brother, sitting next to the dark-haired maiden, he breathes out a long sigh, his eyes fluttering closed briefly.
Only a few moments in his brother’s company, and Thor could probably have her in his bed, given the way she is looking at him. Familiar bitterness wells inside Loki’s throat, followed closely by its faithful companion – resentment.
Thor never fails. Never falters. Never invokes doubt or suspicion. A true paragon of Asgard’s virtues, coupled with a power only a rare few can match.
And Loki is his younger brother. A role he would not be cruel to wish on anyone. Sometimes, in his darkest moments, he can almost feel the impotent rage choking him at the thought of never, not even for the briefest of moments, leaving Thor’s shadow. No matter what he does, or how hard he tries, he is doomed to fail.
Inhaling deeply, Loki forces his mind to calm. He may never best Thor where it truly matters, but he can at least make sure Thor regrets agreeing to Loki’s game.
Taking another deep breath, Loki allows himself a wide smile.
***
They have been inseparable as children. And back then, Loki wanted nothing more than to be in the company of his elder brother.
Separate, they were a handful for their tutors. Together, they were a nightmare. Loki’s imagination and quick mind coupled with Thor’s confidence and determination have more than once led them into trouble.
At one point, they were spending more time cleaning the stables than they were attending to their duties.
With time, they have gotten better at avoiding getting caught.
Loki rarely thinks back on those times, but when he does, he remembers laughter and bright, carefree sensation of freedom.
He remembers happiness.
***
Shifting his weight, Loki leans back against the cool marble of the railing, stifling a sigh of boredom. It seems an entire eternity has passed since he took his place in the shadowed corner of one of the palace balconies, waiting Thor’s arrival.
Now, alone in the shadows, Loki wishes he had not agreed to this particular Thor’s demand. But there is a certain logic – if based on rather unflattering premise – to it. It is also flawed, considering Loki’s command over illusions, but he has no intention of cheating to win.
At least not yet.
A sound of footsteps, followed by an echo of laughter makes Loki still in his hiding place and hold his breath. He relaxes but a moment later, annoyed with himself. He knows how good this hiding place is. After all, it was he who had discovered it, a long time ago. It has proved quite useful in the past for them – a small niche leading to a narrow corridor of stairs connecting this balcony with the large dining hall, currently hosting the feast, just one of many similar corridors intersecting the palace – but that was when they were children still, hiding from the repercussions of their mischief.
Loki drags his mind back to the present in the exact moment Thor enters – even if stumbles is more accurate description – the balcony, one of his arms wrapped tightly around his companion’s waist, the other tangled in the hair on the nape of her neck.
Loki breathes out a soft snort, amused and exasperated in equal measure.
He had no doubts of Thor’s success, but he had hoped for more time to actually think this entire game through. But luck, as it seems, rests on his brother’s side. As if Thor is in any need of it.
Loki remains among the shadows a few more moments, his mood growing from bored to uneasy with urgency which surprises even Loki. But there is truly little enjoyment to be found in watching Thor prove all those stories of his prowess as a lover to be true.
Turning to leave Loki makes only two steps before he halts, unsure why, but unable to stop himself. He throws a casual glance over his shoulder, but he regrets the decision immediately.
Thor is still kissing the maiden, still holding her tightly pressed against himself, but his eyes – wide open and focused – are turned toward Loki’s hiding place.
Loki is unsure how long it lasts, a mere moment or an eternity, but he finds himself unable to move, or even draw his gaze away from Thor’s. The spell is broken when Thor flicks his gaze down and breaks the kiss, leaning to whisper something in his companion’s ear.
Frowning, still slightly disoriented from whatever temporary madness had him in its clutches, Loki slowly becomes aware of his irregular heartbeat and a slight tremor to his hands. And, most disturbingly, of a dull ache concentrated in the middle of his chest.
Annoyed and not a little dismayed, Loki forces himself to leave, and if his steps are not nearly as measured as usual, that does not mean that he is running.
***
They have always competed against each other.
It was only natural. They were brothers, and they were sons of Odin. Loki’s tenacity was not as obvious as his brother’s, but he was every bit as determined as Thor. Perhaps even more. For Thor’s temper, although easily set aflame, was not prone to holding on to grudges. But Loki hoarded slights, patiently waiting for the right moment to get his vengeance.
Frigga insisted they were strongest when working together. But it was easy for Thor. He hardly knew what failure meant – adored and admired by all.
Was it not logical that Loki wanted the same?
***
“I have all but given up hope you were returning, brother.”
Loki pointedly glances down to where Thor still holds his wrist firmly in his grip, but Thor seems to either not care, or not appreciate the subtlety of Loki’s demand, preoccupied with grinning widely at Loki, his eyes – bright and glazed over – showing the first signs of inebriation.
Loki stifles a sigh. It is still a long journey to Thor actually becoming drunk, but there is a rather long and tedious part of it where Thor becomes additionally generous with his touches, which Loki can endure. But he also becomes more difficult to predict, which tends to make Loki nervous.
Not that he intends to allow it to show.
“I see you have begun festivities.” Loki says dryly, for the time being leaving his hand where it is.
Thor blinks, then cocks his head to the side in an almost boyish gesture which – Loki supposes – would have at least the third of women present swooning.
“I had to entertain myself while I was waiting on you.” A pause, followed by a slight narrowing of Thor’s eyes. “Where were you?”
Loki’s mouth thin into an annoyed line. Thor was not as far from the truth as he might believe. Loki had considered simply turning back and going to his chambers; leaving this rather pointless contest and that brief but disturbing episode on the balcony behind. But he could not make his feet comply.
So he went back to the feast. And Thor all but dragged him to the side the moment he stepped inside the great hall.
“I was taking a stroll.” Loki says evenly. A slow, knowing smile drags the corner of Loki’s mouth upwards. “It looked as if you were to be… occupied for a while.”
“The maiden you choose was charming.” Thor grins. “But we have established that a kiss is all that is required.”
Loki cocks his head to the side, studying Thor’s face a moment. “Why are you suddenly quite so eager to indulge me in this?” Loki asks, genuinely interested. Thor may be quick to anger and quick to forgive, but the last couple of times when they were engaged in a competition, the results were far from pleasant. For either of them. “After all, you have declined my first offer without as much as a second thought.”
The cocky expression on Thor’s face softens into something affectionate, almost tender; the grin turning into a boyish smile. “Is it so difficult to believe I wish to spend some time in my brother’s company?”
“You see me every day, Thor.”
“I see old Sven every day as well. I wished to-”
Releasing a low growl of frustration, Thor abandons his hold of Loki’s wrist in order to grip the back of Loki’s neck and pull him closer, leaving barely an inch of space between their chests. “We used to share everything. Adventures and punishment alike. I miss those times.” There is an earnest expression on Thor’s face, and Loki knows at least a dozen of ways to turn it into hurt or anger, but the words stay lodged in his throat. “I miss you.”
For a brief moment, Loki is certain Thor will pull him into an embrace. For even briefest of moments, Loki wishes him to do it. But Thor tightens his grip on Loki’s neck and gives Loki a small nod before taking a step back, and releasing his hold on Loki.
It takes Loki an embarrassingly long moment to school his face into an exasperated grimace. “I have forgotten how maudlin you become when drunk.” Loki says flatly, but he cannot stop himself from smiling fondly at his fool of a brother. “I have not missed thatin the least.”
“Maudlin or not, brother, I still intend to win.” The grin is firmly back on Thor’s face, making the uncomfortable tightness in Loki’s chest disappear, leaving only an echo of the feeling. “I believe it is my turn to choose?”
Loki shrugs, keeping his face firmly blank, but there is faint thrum of excitement starting to spread through his blood. “It is.”
The grin that splits Thor’s face when he turns toward the furthest corner of the hall can only be described as wolfish. Loki keeps his face carefully blank, but he cannot stop a flicker of unease fluttering in the pit of his stomach. Thor is not one for contemplation and careful planning, but underestimating him is never wise. Following the line of Thor’s gaze, Loki feels unease turn into grudging admiration when his eyes land on the object of his brother’s gaze.
Glancing toward Thor, Loki huffs out an amused snort. “And you have called me a cheater.”
“I did no such thing. Besides, I am following your rules.” Thor says, a perfect picture of innocence. If innocence came with a toothy, self-satisfied grin. “You said anyone in the hall.”
Loki’s gaze flicks briefly toward the woman Thor chose as his first conquest. The beautiful Sigurn, hair as fiery as the flames and eyes the color of the summer sky. Also, still very much in mourning after her late husband. Even if he had passed into Valhalla a century ago.
“Yes, I did say that.” Loki drawls in a low voice, his own lips mirroring his brother’s grin. “I suppose I will have to keep it in mind later in the night.”
With that, he turns on his heel, feeling a rush of satisfaction at the faltering of Thor’s grin and the small frown creasing his brow.
Yes, it is never wise to underestimate Thor. But it is sheer folly to underestimate him.
***
Light and dark. Sunlight and shadow. So closely tied together, but so very different.
Not unlike the sons of Odin.
It has ever bothered Loki. Even before he knew how to name the feeling twisting inside his chest, making his heart grow heavy and cold. They were brothers, the same blood run inside their veins, so how could they be so different? They did not fight alike, they did not talk alike, they did not even look alike.
Was it a cruel and twisted jest of the Norns, or simply his rotten luck, Loki knew not. Not that it mattered. The end result was always the same.
He will forever and always come second to his older brother.
***
There are not many who can sneak up on him, Loki prides himself on that. Sif, however, has never been in that particular category.
But there is always the first time for everything.
The strong, unyielding grip around his elbow comes as a surprise. Even more so for the person who usually allows himself the luxury of manhandling him at will is nowhere near him. Loki allows himself to be spun more out of curiosity than anything else; his eyebrows rising when he meets the familiar brown eyes, narrowed in suspicion and annoyance, glaring at him.
“What game are you playing now?” Sif hisses in a low voice.
Loki blinks slowly, surprise ebbing as amusement takes its place. Almost out of reflex, his lips curve into a soft, honey-sweet smile. The kind he knows Sif loathes. Predictably, her eyes narrow further, her grip around Loki’s elbow turning just shy of painful.
“Why, Sif, you look particularly dazzling tonight.” Loki murmurs, his eyes lingering a touch longer than necessary on the swell of her breasts. “Green suits you well.”
She rolls her eyes, utterly unimpressed. “Do not try to play this game with me again, Loki.” She says brusquely, but her grip lessens fractionally. “I have no patience for it.”
Taking a step forward, he chuckles lightly when Sif refuses to back down, her only reaction a tight press of lips. But her stubbornness allows Loki to close the distance between their bodies, making it impossible for Loki to resist the urge to lean his head just so, and bring his mouth near Sif’s ear.
“I am flattered, though, if a bit surprised. Is it not red the color you favor?”
The force with which she pushes him back is enough to make him stumble a couple of steps before he manages to gather his balance. Sif makes a step to follow, her eyes blazing with fury, but then she stops abruptly, exhaling loudly as she forcibly reins in her temper.
Loki grins, elated. Everyone has a pressure point, and hers…well, it matches Loki’s, but for entire different reason.
“You are the-,” Sif breaks off abruptly, and Loki feels a vicious satisfaction at the impotent fury quite clear in every feature of her face.
“Do not stop now. It was only beginning to be interesting.”
“I have not come here seeking a fight.” She says in a calmer tone, but a quick glance down shows Loki how precarious her control seems – she has her fists tightly clenched, her stance that of a fighter, despite the silk of her garment.
Loki arches an eyebrow. “And yet, I recall your first words to me as an accusation instead of a greeting.”
“Then prove that my words are without merit and I will offer an apology.” She says bluntly. Taking a deep breath, she fixes Loki with a level gaze. “Whatever it is that you and Thor are doing, it is beginning to draw curious gazes. Words will soon follow.”
“And what is it that we are doing?” Glancing pointedly toward Thor, currently engaged in a conversation with a rather shy daughter of one of lower ranking noblemen in Asgard, Loki schools his face into a perfectly confused expression. “Other than what we always do at events such as this one.”
“I am not a fool, do not treat me as one.”
“And I am not a mind reader, so cease treating me as one and speak your mind. I know you are capable of it.” Loki says in a soft voice, coming a step closer. Sif seems less willing to try to rip his head off his shoulders, but that could change in a moment. And Loki is more than willing to tempt her into it. “I can offer no defense if I do not know my crime.”
A small frown appears on her face. She looks less certain now, and Loki has to apply not a small amount of willpower to keep himself from grinning. He was certain this night will bring nothing even close to amusement, but, it seems, he had been mistaken.
“So you claim you have nothing to do with Thor’s behavior?”
“What has my brother done?”
“The same thing you have been doing as well.” Sif snaps, a grimace of distaste flickering across her face. “Trying to charm every woman present. And you are not even subtle about it.”
Loki stays silent one moment, then, he bursts into laughter. Sif looks murderous, but – and Loki has to give her restraint a credit – she makes no move to strangle Loki. Even if the intent is more than clear in her eyes.
“Oh my. Is that what this is all about?” Loki says when he finally stops laughing. “Honestly, Sif, jealousy does not become you.”
The taunt leaves Sif cold. If anything, it calms the fury in her eyes. “We could do this the entire night, Loki, or even until Yggdrasil withers and dies, but if there is a speck of love inside you for your brother, you will stop whatever childish antics you have prepared before any real damage has been done.”
Loki’s amusement turns to something cold and ugly, and he has to swallow around the lump of bile gathered in his throat.
“Sometimes you take too much liberties, Sif.” Loki says, wryly, his smile thin and sharp as he takes another step forward. Sif holds her ground, her head high.
“Someone needs to remain responsible since two princes of Asgard have decided to turn a political event into their personal playground.”
The corner of Loki’s mouth twitches, a low ache in his chest merely a faint echo of a feeling long dead, if not entirely forgotten. “Such loyalty. I wonder if Thor truly appreciates it.”
The hurt glimmers in her eyes, but only for a second. She cocks her head, a touch of sadness tinting her smile as she studies Loki.
“Were you always this cold, Loki?” she asks, softly, and Loki feels as if hit, the words stinging as their burn seeps into Loki’s skin, and deeper yet. He would prefer if she had. “I cannot remember anymore.”
Sif does not wait for a reply, not that Loki has any, his throat closed tightly. She takes another glance of Loki, then she turns, the silk making soft sound as he walks away.
Loki stands in gloomy silence one long moment, his eyes following her retreating back until he loses the sight of her in the crowd.
When he finally manages to gather his shaken control, his eyes immediately flick toward where he had last seen Thor, but there is no sign of either his brother or the maiden.
Pressing his lips tightly, Loki turns and stalks out of the hall, but his thoughts remain stubbornly clinging to Sif’s words, darkening his mood.
***
Ever since they were boys and training together, Loki never could best his brother in a fight. Thor was simply the better fighter. Loki could practice and practice and practice until he could not stand upright from fatigue, but it was never enough.
But that was before magic. Before Loki learned to hide himself among illusionary copies of himself and create other diversions, thus making it more difficult for Thor to best him.
The first time magic brought him victory, Thor was furious. Spitting insults and accusations, provoking what was to be their biggest fight.
They did not speak entire month after that, and when they finally did, neither mentioned what has happened.
It was Loki’s first triumph over Thor in the training grounds, but also the first time Loki found himself trysting for the taste of his brother’s blood.
***
Loki’s gaze rests on the rapidly retreating guard’s back, a sly smirk wide on his lips. He wonders what the poor fool would think if he knew just who exactly he kissed.
“This is cheating, Loki.” Thor admonishes, but there is only a hint of agitation in his voice.
Loki turns, his smirk widening even more. “You mean this?” He gestures toward his servant’s robe – his female servant’s robe – cocking his head coquettishly. “It is merely a small glamour, Thor, it is hardly as if had brainwashed the poor man. The kiss was, as required, voluntary.”
Thor’s eyes are bright and shiny, reminding Loki of how much mead his brother had.
“Would it have been if he knew that behind the glamour of the servant girl is the prince of Asgard?”
“Why?” Loki chuckles, taking a step closer to Thor. His brother may be ahead of him considering the amount of alcohol in his blood, but Loki had drunk more than usual, his head feeling lighter than usual, making it seem natural to lean against his brother’s chest, tangling his fingers into the soft hair on the nape of Thor’s neck. “Am I not handsome enough?”
Thor’s eyes narrow, a stubborn jut of his chin evidence enough of his intent of not backing away first. But his breathing is not as even as it was, his pupils dilated.
“We are already playing one game, Loki, there is no need for another.” Thor rumbles, voice coming out slightly hoarse. It only makes Loki come even closer and rise his other hand, his fingers brushing lightly against the pulse point on Thor’s neck. He swallows a victorious smirk at the rapid beat he feels underneath. “And you were cheating.”
Loki’s eyebrow rises, and this time it takes him almost his entire will not to burst into laughter at how Thor’s eyes – despite his best efforts – seem drawn to the curve of Loki’s neck and the swell of his breasts in his plain garment. Thor’s hands are twitching nervously, almost as if he wishes to touch Loki, but knows he must not. For many reasons.
“Oh? You are mistaken, brother.” Loki is aware that the word brother should never come out of his mouth as breathless and sultry as it did just now, but there is immense pleasure to be found in the way Thor looks as if he cannot decide what he wishes to do – flee, stand his ground or give in to what he so desperately wishes and touch. Loki feels giddy, and light, but this game is far from safe – like walking along the edge of the Bifrost – thrilling and terrifying at the same time. “This is me. No matter how I may appear, I remain myself underneath. My body, my hands.” Pausing, Loki leans to the side, his lips brushing against Thor’s ear. Thor draws in a harsh breath, but his hands, although clenched tightly into fists, remain by his sides. “My lips.”
Loki remains still one long moment, relishing the shiver that shakes his brother’s broad chest, then, with a slow, teasing drag of his fingers along Thor’s neck, he pulls away, allowing the illusion to vanish.
Thor swallows, his pupils blown wide, the fire in his eyes nowhere near brotherly. Even now, with Loki once again looking like himself. It makes heat bloom in the pit of Loki’s stomach, even as something cold and heavy tightens around his heart.
“And for making me seduce a guard, you shall have to test your charm against Fandral’s.” Loki says, nothing even remotely pleasant about his smile. “Perhaps you will have better luck with that charming maiden from Vanaheim.”
Loki does not wait for Thor’s reply, he turns and leaves the balcony and his brother behind, his smile slipping the second he has his back turned.
He is slightly drunk – they both are – but not enough not to know exactly what he is doing. And, for a moment there, he wished for Thor’s control to falter, not because of some silly game or contest, but merely because he wanted Thor’s hands on himself.
Loki quickens his steps, futile as it is. He may be fast, faster than anyone he knows, but not even he can run away from himself. And what he wants.
***
For as long as Loki remembers, Thor was the golden son. It made him insufferable at times, arrogant and smug, but his brother always had a kind heart. Much kinder than Loki’s.
But there was always storm brewing just underneath Thor’s skin – wild, destructive and unstoppable.
And his wrath – terrifying.
***
Thor’s shoulders are drawn tightly, and there is a hint of fury in the depths of his eyes when he storms into the hall, rounding on Loki.
“You have done this out of spite.” Thor growls.
Loki glances at Fandral, now standing in the far corner of the hall, a goblet in hand, and, probably, a grimace on his face. He will soon recover. After all, the night is still not over and there are so many beautiful maidens for him to console himself.
“You could have forfeited the game, Thor.” Loki shrugs, not even attempting to mask his amusement. “To proceed despite knowing Fandral was trying to gain her affection was your choice. Not mine.”
Thor’s eyes narrow, his glare heating, but he stays silent. Loki allows himself a small grin. Sometimes it is so easy to manipulate Thor. And there is no one – except their mother – who knows all his weak spots better than Loki.
“Do not sulk, Thor.” Loki smiles. “I am sure he will not hold this against you for long. It is Fandral, after all. I doubt it is possible to hurt his feelings. They lack the necessary depth.”
“He is my friend, Loki.” Thor insists. “You could have chosen someone else. Anyone else.”
Loki sighs, but stops himself from rolling his eyes. “Do you not think it is a moot point now, Thor? You have made your choice and it is done.” He says calmly, not interested in prolonging this conversation, despite its potential for rousing Thor to anger. “I am sure he will forget it by tomorrow, and if, by some miracle, he does not, I am sure you will find a way to make it up to him.”
Thor blinks, his eyes darting in Fandral’s direction. Loki frowns, suddenly worried. Thor looks as if he is considering something, a grin slowly stretching his lips, as a truly wicked gleam appears in his eyes.
“You speak true, brother.” He says, clasping Loki by the shoulder. “I should do something to right the wrong you have made me commit.”
Loki narrows his eyes in suspicion, not liking the grin on Thor’s face in the least. He looks far too pleased with himself for Loki’s peace of mind.
“Whatever makes you feel better, brother. It is between the two of you.” Loki says noncommittally, eying Thor’s widening grin with growing unease.
Thor pats him once on the back, pulling his hand away. “But you are mistaken, Loki.” He says, his voice tinged with laughter. “You are a vital part of my amends to Fandral.”
“Oh? How so?”
Thor’s smug grin becomes impossibly wide. “Fandral is your next challenge.”
Loki’s blinks, surprised. Thor has been determined to make this challenge difficult for Loki from the start – which is not out of character, Thor loathes to lose – but to involve one of his closest friends is not something Loki anticipated. But if Thor believes this is to be a difficulty, he is sorely mistaken.
“Brother, I must say I did not expect you to involve one of your precious friends in our little game.” Loki says in a soft voice. “And you keep claiming I am the one who cheats.”
“I hardly see how a kiss from a pretty maiden would be an offense to Fandral.”
Loki opens his mouth, but then an idea comes to him, and he smiles widely. His intention was to cast an illusion over himself, but if that is what Thor expects… well, there are many things Loki cares little for, and being predictable is one of them. “I will see you soon, Thor.” He says, and turns to leave, but he makes only three steps before fingers close around his wrist, forcing him to turn.
“Thor, you are making a scene.” Loki points out.
Thor does not look like that fact makes any difference to him. There is no sign of his amused grin from only moments ago, his mouth pressed into an angry line. Centuries ago, that expression heralded a storm.
“Where are you going?” Thor demands in a hard voice, his eyes narrowed.
“That is fairly stupid question, Thor.” Loki sighs, but that only ears him a glare in return and a tighter press of Thor’s fingers. With a roll of eyes, he relents. “To see Fandral, of course. Proximity is crucial when it comes to kissing.”
Thor’s eyes flash dangerously. “Are you not going to cast a spell over yourself?”
Loki smiles – wide, sharp and completely devoid of humor. “Why, Thor? Do you think me not good enough for your friend?”
“Do not play word games with me, I am not in the mood.” Thor growls, a hint of something almost like panic heavy in his voice. “This is not what I had in mind.”
“I am sure.” Loki says, almost gently. But his eyes stay cold and hard. “But it is what I have in mind. Now, release me.”
For a moment, Loki is certain Thor will not obey, his eyes dark and angry as they hold Loki’s gaze, but then, with a pained grimace, Thor steps back, releasing Loki’s wrist.
“Do not.” Thor says in a low voice, somehow managing to make it both a plea and a demand. “I will choose someone else.”
“But it is too late now, Thor. You asked for this.” Loki whispers. “And it is exactly what you shall receive.”
Without waiting for a reply, Loki turns, half-expecting Thor to stop him the second time. Thor does not, but his eyes stay on Loki, Loki is certain of it – the burn of his glare almost a physical sensation.
***
Thor has ever been good at attracting attention and inspiring affection.
Loki was almost as good – when he chose to make an effort – at the first, but failed miserably at the second.
Thor, stubborn fool that he was, was among those rare few who were the exception.
Loki wondered sometimes – much as he feared it – just how far he could push Thor before he too gave up.
***
“Is there a reason for this rather unusual cheer, Loki?” Fandral asks, eying Loki with a mix of amusement and caution. “Not that I mind it. You have been awfully moody lately.”
Loki glances across Fandral’s shoulder at the shadowed corner of the balcony where he knows his brother is standing, a jolt of excitement surging through his blood.
This game is no longer what it should have been – a way to get Thor to embarrass himself publicly in front of foreign dignitaries – that Loki knows, but what it is leading to, Loki has yet to discern.
But however this night ends, Loki is almost entirely certain, everything will be different afterwards.
“You are, actually.”
Fandral blinks, startled.
“I have decided to heed your advice and make the most of this night.” Loki clarifies, moving to stand closer to Fandral. He does not wish to waste time with subtlety and games. He suspects he does not have to. Fandral is not the sort who stays strong in front of temptation and a promise of pleasure.
“And this involves me somehow.” Fandral states slowly, eying the shortening distance between their bodies with an expression of dawning realization. And much caution.
Loki swallows a sigh of impatience. Perhaps if the circumstances were different he would enjoy a slow seduction – he always wondered, however fleetingly, how it would be – but now he simply wishes to coax Fandral into a kiss and be done with it.
Because the kiss is not what he wishes to experience. It is what comes after Loki wants with an intensity which makes his fingers twitch nervously and his throat tight. He wonders, briefly, does it show. And how does it make him seem to Fandral.
“Did you never wonder?” Loki asks, low and husky, reducing the space between their bodies to almost nothing. Fandral narrows his eyes, and makes a move as if to step back, but, in the last moment, decides against it. Loki can see his throat working as he swallows, his eyes briefly flicking toward Loki’s mouth before shifting back to his eyes. “About me?”
“You are my prince.” Fandral states, but Loki cannot help noticing how he makes no move to step back, the look in his eyes that of caution, but there is rising heat beneath it, and Loki allows himself a small smile of triumph. “And Thor’s brother.”
Loki swallows back a growl of frustration, fingers of his right hand closing over Fandral’s wrist. His pulse is steady underneath Loki’s touch, but when Loki leans further, close enough to feel Fandral’s breath on his face, it quickens.
“You are the last person I would have expected to care about such nonsense.”
“Nonsense?” Fandral chuckles, but it comes out hoarse. “I would hardly call offending the honour of an Odinson nonsense.”
“I am separate from my father and brother.” Loki says, managing to keep the bitterness out of his voice. It is a lie, of course, possibly the greatest Loki has ever said, but Fandral needs not know it. No one does. “And if I offer freely, how can there be any offense?”
Fandral looks torn, he wants this, not desperately, not that Loki expected it, but enough to consider it, despite his reasoning.
“This may be your only chance.” Loki smiles – playful and challenging – his voice but a breath against Fandral’s lips. And that is what finally sways Fandral. Loki can see the exact moment his reason loses the fight against his desire, his fingers tightening around Loki’s bicep as he closes the small distance between their lips.
Loki sighs into Fandral’s mouth, his eyelashes fluttering for a brief second, his fingers abandoning their hold on Fandral’s wrist and moving up, until they are resting against the side of Fandral’s face.
The kiss is light and playful, and Loki could easily imagine spending the night enjoying those lips on his skin. A night of harmless fun, and at this point, Loki realizes when he lightly grinds his hips against Fandral’s, it would not take much coaxing to draw Fandral into his bed.
But that is not what Loki wants.
Pulling away slowly, he breaks the kiss, his tongue darting to lick his lower lip. He understands now why Fandral has quite a reputation, and wonders, with dark glee, was the show enjoyable for his brother as much as it was for him. Fandral’s eyes flick down toward Loki’s lips, and he makes a move to follow, but he stops himself almost immediately, the glaze of lust morphing into wry amusement in his eyes. He releases his hold on Loki’s bicep, his fingers brushing lightly against his own lips.
“Why do I have a feeling there is a something I am missing?” Fandral says, sounding amused. “I sincerely doubt you have suddenly become overcome with desire towards me.”
Loki arches an eyebrow, stepping back. “That is something you should have asked before the kiss, not after.” Loki states. “Are you having regrets?”
“No.” Fandral says, without missing a beat. “But your games rarely end without casualties, Loki.”
Loki does not bother denying or lying. “And yet, you played along.”
Fandral grins. “You have said it yourself. It was possibly my only chance. And what is life without a little danger in it.”
Loki snorts, shaking his head, but Fandral merely bows deeply and, still grinning, turns on his heel and walks away. Loki stays still, his gaze following after Fandral long after he vanishes from sight, waiting.
Waiting for Thor.
A shiver of anticipation crawls up his spine, making his heart rate spike and his throat dry and scratchy. He swallows and tightens his hands into fists, almost bursting into giggles when he feels the cold and clammy texture of his palms. He cannot recall when was the last time he felt this nervous. And conflicted. He wants to stay – desperately, recklessly – but there is a part of him which urges him to flee, to end this game before it goes too far.
And then it becomes too late for fleeing, the sound of heavy footsteps signaling Thor’s arrival, but it is not the angry stride Loki expected, but slow, almost hesitant drag of heavy boots against marble. As if Thor too feels drawn in two opposite directions.
“Do you desire him?”
Thor’s blunt demand wakes something inside Loki’s chest – a vicious and angry beast, hungry for blood.
“Fandral?” Loki says, his voice soft as silk, turning to meet his brother’s eyes. Thor stands deathly still, but his calm is a fragile thing, and Loki can almost feel the fury trying to break free from the tenuous control his brother has over it. “Why do you ask?”
“Loki.” Thor all but growls, making a step forward, his teeth bared in a snarl. Loki feels a pang of disappointment when Thor stops, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths as he struggles to rein his temper in. “I am not in the mood for your jests.”
Loki smirks – insolently, mockingly. “Who I desire is not of your concern, Thor.”
“I am your older brother.”
“That does not make you my master.”
Silence – heavy and stifling – descends on the balcony, broken only by the sound of Thor’s labored breathing. Thor looks every bit like the storms he lords over. But his fury still remains leashed.
That, of course, can be rectified.
Taking a step closer, then another, and another, stopping when a mere step is separating him from his brother, Loki cocks his head, his features forming an innocent, almost sweet expression. Thor’s eyes narrow to slits, his shoulders forming one tense line, but he refuses to back down, or react in any way.
“What bothers you, brother dear? That I might desire Fandral? Or that he might desire me?” Loki asks in a low voice. His fingers itch to trace the hard lines of his brother’s face, to soak in the fury building just underneath the surface of Thor’s skin, but he refuses to give in to temptation. “The answer, however, matters not. I am free to bed whomever I choose.”
With a low snarl of fury, Thor’s control snaps. He grips Loki by his biceps, forcing him backwards, until Loki’s back hits the marble railing.
A soft hiss, more of irritation than pain, escapes Loki’s throat, but Thor either does not register the sound, or cares little for it, his face contorted into a grimace of fury, and – Loki’s stomach flutters with vicious joy at that – desperation.
“No.” Thor growls out a demand, his fingers, Loki suspects, leaving bruises on his skin. “You will not.”
Loki smiles, vicious and dark. “And why do you care who I let into my bed?”
Thor blinks, slowly dawning realization breaking through the haze of anger. Thor has never learned to hide his emotions – never thought it necessary – so it is easy to see the moment when horror and denial morph into desire – raw and fierce, and utterly unbrotherly. Thor’s eyes flick briefly toward Loki’s lips, and for one insane and thrilling moment, Loki is certain Thor will cave in, a note of triumph edging into his smile.
It is a mistake.
Thor frowns, desire morphing into caution and hurt, only to harden into distaste as he pulls away from Loki, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.
“Do what you wish, Loki.” Thor says, his voice cold and hard. “You always do.”
Loki stays leaning against the railing, his chest heavy with disappointment. And hurt. A potent combination of emotions, rendering his mind unable to mask his own need. Insane, forbidden and unwanted, but no less demanding because of it.
But disappointment ebbs away, and hurt takes the form of something cold ad bitter as Loki watches Thor turning, his steps heavy and hurried as strides away. Loki allows him four strides before he calls after his brother.
“Are you not forgetting something? It is my turn to name your challenge.”
For a moment, Loki fears that Thor will simply walk away, ending their game, leaving Loki without the means to satisfy the almost suffocating need to regain what he had lost only moments ago.
When Thor turns, Loki releases a hiss of breath, relieved. The look on Thor’s face is that of stubborn, angry pride, and Loki knows that it would be so easy to make Thor publicly embarrass himself now. But that is not what Loki desires.
He desires to make Thor bleed.
“Then name it.” Thor says, and Loki sees it in his expression that he is prepared for the worst.
Loki doubts Thor knows how correct he is in his assumption.
“Sif.” Loki grins, watching the colour drain from Thor’s face, a cruel and malicious joy filling his chest.
***
For Thor every emotion was simple – anger, joy, lust, love.
Loki had no doubt that his brother loves him. That he always have, that even now, with their characters clashing every so often, there was nothing but love in Thor’s heart for Loki.
But it was not so easy for Loki. He loved Thor – he doubts he could kill that emotion even if he attempted to do so – but his love was tainted. By envy and bitterness, by every dark and twisted longing that stayed coiled around Loki’s heart since the first time he felt the lesser son. The lesser Odinson.
The lesser man.
He wishes sometimes for those simpler times when they were younger, and trailing after Thor did not feel as attempting to catch the wind – thrilling and challenging, but, in the end, pointless.
Times when his love was pure and simple. And Thor’s eyes sought him, and him alone.
***
Loki refuses to fidget in his shadowed corner, opting for digging his fingernails into his palms, the anxiousness inside him demanding an outlet.
Loki has seen Thor approach Sif, he has seen them talking at the feast, but a large part of him doubts that Thor will go through with the challenge. Despite his anger at Loki for what he perceives as a slight and attempt at ridicule. Thor is nothing if not sickeningly loyal to his friends, and to use Sif – one of his most loyal and dear friends – only to win a silly, unimportant game would go against Thor’s nature.
But is it still silly and unimportant? Is it still a game?
Loki tightens his fists, his nails all but breaking the skin. It does not feel like a game, not anymore, but a slow walk along the edge of an abyss. With him not even sure is it safety or the fall he seeks.
The sound of familiar steps, albeit slow and hesitant, draws Loki’s eyes toward the entrance to the balcony, his heart skipping a beat, only to resume beating irregularly.
Sif is the first one to enter, a frown etched onto her face, visible even from afar, but it is nothing compared to the almost pained grimace on Thor’s face. His eyes flick briefly toward Loki’s hiding place, and Loki curses the half-light and distance preventing him from reading it properly.
He can imagine it though – anger and unyielding resolve, with a hint at retribution.
Loki presses his lips tightly, preventing a laugher from escaping his lips. Poor Thor. He does not even realize that losing can sometimes be the only way to triumph.
They present a lovely picture – Sif and his brother. Both beautiful and bold, fierce and loyal to a fault. A fitting match. Worthy successors to the current royal couple.
The notion leaves a bitter, foul taste in Loki’s mouth, his chest a wide, yawning chasm of vicious jealousy and dark resentment.
Sif is speaking something, but Loki hears only a soft murmur. He could cast a spell, he even considers it fleetingly, but then Thor moves closer, his hand cradling the side of Sif’s face, and Loki’s vision explodes with red, white-hot fury blazing through his veins.
Pain drags him back to consciences, his eyes staring in shocked wonder at the dark streaks of red on his palms from where his nails have pierced the skin.
A sharp and loud exclamation draws Loki’s attention back to the couple standing on the other end of the balcony. They are standing further apart now, Sif’s face looking angry and hurt. But it is Thor Loki’s eyes are drawn to. His shoulders are hunched, his hands hanging loosely by his sides, and Loki curses inwardly. He would give much to see his brother’s face in this moment, but Thor has his back turned, preventing it from happening.
Sif says something, and even though Loki cannot hear the words, her voice is heavy with disappointment.
Thor responds with a slow nod. Sif remains still a moment, her face growing hard. Then, her hand moves with startling speed, her fingers wrapping around Thor’s neck and pulling his head down into what looks more an attack than a kiss.
The kiss last only a moment, Sif taking a step back. Thor does nothing to stop her, his head falling lower as she whisper something. Then her eyes flick over Thor’s shoulder and Loki is almost certain she is looking at him. But it is over in a moment, and then she turns on her heel, stalking hurriedly away.
Loki should be satisfied. And he is – Thor’s slumped, defeated posture making the vicious beast in his chest calm fractionally.
But, as he moves from his hiding place, his steps slow and measured, he feels like this entire game is finally coming to its conclusion.
Whatever it might be.
“How did you make Sif kiss you?” Loki taunts. “Lying about you newfound feelings? Or have you painted me a villain by telling her the truth?”
Thor turns suddenly, his eyes flashing ominously.
“I believe now is my turn.” He says in a low, dangerous voice which sends a shiver down Loki’s spine.
“Yes, it is. And now is when you make me pay, is it not, brother?” Loki says, a wide grin turning up the corners of his lips at the dark, turbulent expression on Thor’s face. Thor has a kind heart, that is true. But Loki has seen his other face many times – the one which chills the blood in the veins of his enemies, leaving broken bodies and shattered ground in the wake of his fury. “Am I to publicly embarrass myself now?” His grin turns almost playful. “The emissary from Vanaheim is still present if I am not mistaken.”
Thor regards him silently, head slightly cocked to the side. But it is anticipation, not dread which hastens Loki’s pulse as he waits for Thor’s decision.
“I will not follow your path in cruelty, Loki. The next person you are to kiss-” Pausing, Thor smiles, but it is a mirthless smile, devoid of joy as well as cruelty. “Let it be the one you wish to kiss the most.”
Loki’s grin freezes and, for a moment, it becomes a struggle to draw breath. He did not expect this. He expected petty cruelty, he was prepared for it, but this?
This leaves him startled, his control over the game shattered as his mind conjures an image of a face in answer to Thor’s words.
A laughter escapes him – loud, shrill and devoid of humor – when he realizes how little he is surprised that it is Thor’s face he sees.
Thor frowns at Loki’s outburst, but stays silent, his eyes fixed on Loki’s face with unwavering intensity.
Loki swallows against the dryness of his throat. “Clever, clever boy, but not clever enough.” He drawls, but his voice comes out slightly unsure, there is no smoothness to his smirk, and his heart is trying to beat its way out of his chest. Loki wishes to leave, to put this newfound knowledge to a safe place in the back of his mind, to think and plan, but there is a larger part of him which simply wishes to take up Thor on his dare. “What if there is no one I wish to kiss?”
“Then I win.”
“I could cheat.”
“I know.”
They stare at each other one long moment. Looking more like two bitter enemies than brothers. Loki is the first one to look away, as something reckless and wild unwinds in his chest, and he is certain the truth of his desire is written in his eyes too clearly.
“But what if there is someone I wish to kiss. What if I cursed you every time you said a name, and it was the wrong one?” Loki asks softly when he gathers what little of control he has left, taking a step toward Thor. Thor’s forehead creases slightly, but he holds his ground. Loki only smiles and takes another step. Stubborn, predictable fool. “What if every time I kissed someone this night I yearned for different lips? What if every time my fingers touched other skin I wanted to scream in rage because it was not the one I wished to touch? To taste?”
With every word, Loki moves toward his brother until they are standing chest to chest. Thor sucks in a harsh breath of surprise when Loki’s fingers cup his chin, but he stays still and silent, his harsh breathing a music to Loki’s ears.
“I could tell you the name of the one I yearn to kiss.” Loki breathes, his fingers moving back from Thor’s face to tangle in the soft hair on the nape of his neck. He leans forward, his eyes flicking toward Thor’s lips then up to his eyes, now darkened with a maelstrom of emotions. “Or I could simply do what you asked of me.”
“Loki.” Thor breathes – low and hoarse, and filled with raw, unmasked hunger – his hands moving to settle on Loki’s hips.
Loki wants to howl with laughter. It would be so easy to lean that remaining inch and claim Thor’s lips. Thor wants it, it is more than clear in his eyes and in the way his hands are trembling where they grip Loki’s hips. But it would ruin everything.
Loki smiles, and leans slightly forward, Thor mirrors his movement, his breath warm on Loki’s face.
Loki smiles widely, triumphantly. “I yield.” He breathes against Thor’s lips and takes a step back, Thor’s hands falling back by his sides. “You win, brother.”
Loki commits to memory the look of wide-eyed disbelief and disappointment on Thor’s face as he stares incomprehensibly at Loki’s face.
Loki merely smiles wider and, with a small nod, turns to leave, using Thor’s confusion to make his exit.
Kissing Thor now would have been easy, and a part of him still aches for the taste of Thor’s lips, but it would have been a mistake. Thor would deem it so, and Loki wishes for more than a quick and messy tryst on a balcony, inspired by mead and momentary lust. He needs Thor to come to him, willingly, deliberately, aware of the risk, but deeming it inconsequential.
And Thor will. Loki merely needs to wait.
Yes, Loki thinks, a surge of anticipation welling inside his chest, sometimes losing is much better than winning.