Thor is a decadent sort of savagery tonight. His hair is braided and secured back behind his head, woven in a style worthy of the true beauty he is. Loki glides across the feasting hall and purposefully avoids meeting Thor’s eyes. It’s always better when Thor thinks he’s been ignored. As if Loki could ever breathe without knowing precisely where his brother stands. He is a satellite orbiting Thor’s wondrous light, joyous to be given life with it.
Loki tosses his hair and knocks back a tall glass of apple brandy. A special treat just for this occasion. Thor is king now. He is a good man, brash and arrogant, but worthy. The pains Loki took to make this happen can never be known. There are worlds he would not see birthed, timelines he will fight to divert with every fiber of his being.
Who knew all it would take was lying on his back so Thor could sheath himself in that slick place between his thighs.
A cheer starts for the king, a song rising through the hall. Their parents, Thor’s parents, perhaps his too with all tragedy averted this time, sit off to the side with the other elders and sing for him.
Loki doesn’t look at Thor, but he does join the song and weaves a show in witch light that makes applause erupt among their honored guests. They know Thor loves him, and in a way they love him too just for that reason. Thor’s love is contagious, a viral kind of thing that exists for no other reason than to spread itself. Not sentient, but vicious and unrelenting. It’s enough that Loki has even fallen victim to it, has begun to like himself.
Volstagg lifts him high in the air and Loki only puts up a mild complaint for it. The Warriors Three and Lady Sif have been good to him in this life.
Loki begins a dance, one with twisting moves that force the crowd to change partners many times. Within two rounds Thor is grabbing him, warm in touch and warm in voice with mead on his breath.
“Do you love your king, little brother?” Thor asks, leaning in just shy of too close.
Loki laughs and finally forces himself to meet Thor’s eyes. The love there rips into him, tears him apart as a storm splits the sea. He is a wide ocean of possibility and magic and Thor has always been a great squall disturbing his currents.
He nods, a smile on his lips as he licks his teeth. “I do, dear brother.”
Thor sweeps him through a dip and allows Loki to do the same in kind. “Then be my adviser. My equal. Be mine, Loki.”
Loki sighs and pretends he has to consider the choice. As they twirl away to their new partners Loki answers.
“Of course, Thor,” he whispers.
Thor is so beautiful in victory. Loki didn’t know he could be so happy to be conquered. But he is. He is.
