*platonic forehead kiss* - unyielding-storm
Loki looks up from Thor’s–rather astonishingly well drafted–blueprintsfor a library in the heart of New Asgard, with an almost comical looklike a mother wolf cornered in her den in front of her cubs. He blinks, rapidly, his wide pupils slowly contracting to a state ofrelaxation. A quicksilver labyrinthine mind takes in what has justbeen done, and a cursory sweep of Thor’s features confirms thatit’s not a taunt or a jibe. It’s a gesture of sincerest affection. And it throws him back withthe tangy sensation of memory, potent and yet as through frostedglass: Thor, when they were small, dropping sloppy little boykisses on his still younger sibling’s forehead whenever a snowstormwould inexplicably render Loki immobile with fear.
“Ever my protector,” he breathes, tucking a small smile into his chin.
Then he peers directly into his brother’s one good eye, where he sees the pain of a naturally unguarded and affectionate soul havingbeen deceived and abandoned time and time again: Withoutexplanation. “ … I know that it will take you years … or perhaps it will never come to pass, that you trust me again. But that, just now, was a gift. So allow me to return the kindness with candor: Thor, I earnestly love you. And I never wanted to be without you. And I no longer want to cause you pain or self-doubt. I am proud to be yours. You did not give up on me, when I was a howling and wounded monster. And I will not disappoint you again, by giving up on you, either. I will wait for you, brother.” He rises, and smiles. “These are good. Very good. One day we shall fill this place’s shelves with new tomes, all about the glory of our first home.”
He winks, turns, and lopes out, leaving Thor to his thoughts.
