“Your room?” Loki almost laughs at the request to relieve the tension between them.
It’s been centuries, ages, eons since he stepped foot into Thor’s room with the hopes of finding refuge for the night. And he always did in his brother’s arms or pressed up against his back, their mother finding them and cooing at how close her boys were. If only she knew. Asgard was never Loki’s home and yet it never wasn’t his home either. Suddenly he longs, from some memory buried in the depths of his sternum, to smell the room and feel the familiar comforts of the long forgotten sanctuary. Thor’s eyes tell him that the elder does, too.
“I...can.” Loki hesitates, drawing out his words into the little space that separates them, and his mouth draws up into a taught almost-frown.
It’s all too surreal for him. Merely being in Thor’s presence without being hunted is a new, forgotten way of being the he believed to be dead long ago. The request screams ambush in his mind despite the desperate nostalgia that he can feel crawling under his brother’s skin. Tentatively he places his lips on Thor’s for a soft kiss and pushes his hands into the thick, golden locks that grace him. There is nothing in the moment that should set him on edge and still every sensation does. He’s been on the run for far too long making his moments of peace ethereally elusive: the moment is sliding through his fingers like sand would.
Cautiously their surroundings shimmer and shift, taking on the golden hue accented by crimson and stone that make up Thor’s bedroom back on Asgard. Across the room a fireplace comes into being and crackles with a familiar life: had it ever been put out? With a small miscalculation the new environment solidifies with a forcible crash as they fall to the wooden floors, the bed being some feet away from them.
Loki huffs a quiet, “Sorry” before shifting to rub the back of his head.
It’s been centuries, ages, eons since he stepped foot into Thor’s room with the hopes of finding refuge for the night. And he always did in his brother’s arms or pressed up against his back, their mother finding them and cooing at how close her boys were. If only she knew. Asgard was never Loki’s home and yet it never wasn’t his home either. Suddenly he longs, from some memory buried in the depths of his sternum, to smell the room and feel the familiar comforts of the long forgotten sanctuary. Thor’s eyes tell him that the elder does, too.
“I...can.” Loki hesitates, drawing out his words into the little space that separates them, and his mouth draws up into a taught almost-frown.
It’s all too surreal for him. Merely being in Thor’s presence without being hunted is a new, forgotten way of being the he believed to be dead long ago. The request screams ambush in his mind despite the desperate nostalgia that he can feel crawling under his brother’s skin. Tentatively he places his lips on Thor’s for a soft kiss and pushes his hands into the thick, golden locks that grace him. There is nothing in the moment that should set him on edge and still every sensation does. He’s been on the run for far too long making his moments of peace ethereally elusive: the moment is sliding through his fingers like sand would.
Cautiously their surroundings shimmer and shift, taking on the golden hue accented by crimson and stone that make up Thor’s bedroom back on Asgard. Across the room a fireplace comes into being and crackles with a familiar life: had it ever been put out? With a small miscalculation the new environment solidifies with a forcible crash as they fall to the wooden floors, the bed being some feet away from them.
Loki huffs a quiet, “Sorry” before shifting to rub the back of his head.
January 23rd, 2018 at 03:57am