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Title: With My Heart In My Hand
Fandom: Thor (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Pairing: Thor/Loki
Rating: PG-13
Words: 4600
Summary: In which Thor asks the Avengers for courtship advice, and the object of his affection surprises everyone. Except, not really.
A/N: Just wanted a fic where Thor earnestly solicits advice from the Avengers. Title from Alan Jackson’s When Love Comes Around.
~
A mass of thunderclouds forms overhead as Thor wrinkles his brow. It’s no moral quandary he’s brooding over, but a legitimate inquiry he’s sure people the realms over have pondered at some point.
Having long been familiar with him and Loki, Thor’s certain that any of the Warriors Three or Sif could shed light on his inquiry. Here on Midgard, however, his question is less likely to be met with prejudice; the Avengers are less steeped in tradition, less judging than Asgard and her golden halls. Granted, Loki did just try to kill them all months ago, but S.H.I.E.L.D. has now grudgingly accepted him as a consultant on crime and villainy after he was meted out his punishment in Asgard—especially with Thor ever-present to vouch for his brother’s integrity.
Besides, with the exception of emergent situations, Midgard is where he and Loki belong now. As such, it would do well for him to learn their customs.
Thor flicks a blade of grass he’s been toying with to the ground, deciding first that the perspective of the fairer sex could prove most helpful.
~
“My friend!” Thor calls out, greeting Natasha. She’s cleaning out her guns and doing an inventory check of her person. Thor counts himself lucky; it’s rare that he would catch her without Clint here. “Do you have a moment?”
Natasha raises a perfect eyebrow, chambering bullets into her gun with neat precision and no small amount of grace. “Sure,” she shrugs. “What can I help you with?”
“I seek your advice on what leads to a successful courtship.” All of a sudden, it’s immensely difficult to meet her gaze, and Thor picks anxiously at a callus on his palm.
“Uh.” Natasha blinks, then gives him a slow, sidelong glance. “And you’re asking me.”
“Well. I,” Thor tries, swiping his tongue over his lower lip. “I thought perhaps—you could—enlighten—”
“All right, don’t hurt yourself,” Natasha says, spreading her hands in a pantomime of silencing him. There’s a rare curve to her lips Thor could almost call a smile. She taps her chin for a moment, thoughtful. “Cliché dictates the giving of flowers. Chocolates, even.”
Thor frowns. Loki is unlikely to appreciate flowers, but chocolates will definitely appeal to his sweet tooth. Still, he does not discount the idea of a floral bouquet entirely. “Go on.”
“Is your lady friend into movies, or sports, maybe? You need to give me something to go on here, Thor.”
“It is no maiden I wish to court,” Thor says simply. “But he enjoys reading, I suppose. And in the distant past, mischief-making. Perhaps even—”
“Wait.” Natasha tilts her head a just a fraction. “Did you just say it wasn’t a lady? And mischief—oh.” Her eyes widen. “Oh.”
“Did you happen upon an idea?” he asks eagerly.
She pinches the bridge of her nose, and Thor’s suddenly aware how transparent he’s being. That perhaps it’s almost painful to watch. “I think you’ve just answered your own question,” she sighs. “If he likes reading, get him a book. He might even enjoy one on…I don’t know, creatures of Earth.”
Thor beams at creatures of Earth, giving her the broadest smile; it is indeed a good idea. Loki has multitudes of books on the faunae of Asgard and their uses, but none of Midgard, where they currently reside. “That is a brilliant idea, thank you, Lady Natasha.”
Natasha gives him an uneasy but genuine smile in return. Thor wonders if the faint flush in her cheeks is from him calling her ‘Lady’ Natasha, and resolves to do so more often.
~
“Didn’t your dad ever go over this stuff with you?” asks Tony, lounging on the sofa with a scotch in hand. He fiddles with the channels on his remote while Steve sits to his left, still enraptured by the television. “I know he’s King of Asgard and all, but you’d think he would’ve taught you about the birds and the bees. You know, ‘the talk’?”
Thor ignores the jibe that his education was somehow lacking, and shakes his head. “My father was well-versed in matters of statecraft and battle, but the finer art of courtship was not something he shared with me.”
Tony looks like he’s going to say something with his usual brand of sarcasm when Steve clears his throat, cutting in.
“Slow dancing,” suggests Steve, jabbing the air with his index finger. He glances at his feet after this announcement, oddly wistful.
Thor thinks Steve is either reliving the shade of a distant memory or nursing a hope of what could have been. He knows that look; it was the only expression he could muster when Loki had fallen from the Bifrost and Thor thought Loki lost to him forever.
“Okay, yes. Definitely slow dancing,” concedes Tony. “Women love that kind of stuff.”
Thor puzzles through the suggestion, although from Natasha’s initial reaction, he is loath to mention it is no woman he wishes to court. “The same is true for…headstrong, independent characters?” he asks cautiously.
“Especially those,” Tony says. “Why? You got a little firecracker on your hands?”
Thor laughs boldly. Loki is far from little, but he is rather spirited. “Something like that.”
“Good luck, Thor,” Steve nods. He seems to have pulled himself out of his fugue, as he stands and claps Thor on the back. “I wish you the best.”
Tony seconds the friendly motion. “And bring her by for drinks so we can meet her. I’m sure she and Pepper will get along famously.”
Thor pauses to mull that offer over, and nods gratefully. “Thank you. I am sure he would appreciate your offer of a drink now, as the last time did not end so favorably.” He doubts he could ever forget Loki’s cheeky If it’s all the same to you, I’ll have that drink now, even battered and worn as he was from his fight against the Avengers.
He’s almost out of earshot, when Tony bolts up from the sofa he was sprawled upon.
“Holy shit,” Tony says to Steve, “is Thor talking about—”
~
“Loki,” Clint says drily, wiping blood off his bow. “This is about him, right?”
Thor takes a half-step back, surprised. For a hardened assassin, Clint is amazingly quick on the uptake. “Yes,” he admits. There’s no point in subterfuge when he has been called out so blatantly on the matter.
“Yeah, okay. I thought so.” Clint narrows his eyes. Runs the pad of his thumb over the upper limb of his bow, slowly, menacingly. Tests the bowstring with a sharp snap.
“Would you happen to have any suggestions?” Thor asks hopefully. He’s unwilling to be cowed by Clint’s attempt at intimidation, if that’s what this is.
Clint shrugs and rises on his haunches from where he was sitting. “Sorry pal, you’re on your own for this one. No hard feelings though, right?” Without waiting for Thor’s answer, he walks away briskly and disappears into a common area.
Thor has never heard of feelings being described as physically hard or soft, but it appears Clint still holds a grudge against Loki, for twisting Clint’s will to his own ends. It’s another thing Thor needs to work on fixing, in time, as the heart—human or otherwise—is easily wounded and not so easily mended.
Thor would know, for his own brother is the most painful example of this.
~
Bruce is actually at an independent lab down in lower Manhattan for the week, but with Mjölnir’s power, Thor reaches him in almost no time at all.
“Thor! To what do I owe the pleasure?” Bruce asks, removing his glasses and clipping them to his shirt. He blots his palms against his pants and offers his hand in greeting.
“I wished to speak with a friend. Your company seemed most fitting,” Thor nods, reaching out to clasp the proffered hand.
Bruce laughs, the easy, genuine kind that relaxes his shoulders. Thor thinks it must occur more often since Bruce made friends in the Avengers, people who understood him far better than the general populace.
“I’d offer you a drink,” Bruce grins, “but I don’t think you want to be ingesting anything from here.” Perhaps it’s the knit of Thor’s brows in thought, because Bruce’s smile dims a fraction. “Okay,” he says. “This must be serious, if you flew all the way out here.”
Thor waves away the concern, feigning a casual carelessness. “It is not of grave import. I simply had a question to pose to you.”
“Shoot,” says Bruce, leaning against the lab bench.
When Thor shares his inquiry, the same one he’s asked of all the other Avengers, Bruce graces him with a wan half-smile. “‘Not of grave import’, huh?” He pauses. “You know, I think I’ve only ever seen one person warrant this kind of concern from you, Thor.” His fingers absently trace the frame of his glasses, as the bubble and hiss of acrid chemicals fills the silence between them.
“It’s Loki, isn’t it?” Bruce asks finally.
Thor’s eyes widen at that, and instantly he knows he’s given the game away. He winces inwardly; for someone who’s supposed to be more than a thousand years old, he could still use a lesson in guile—from Loki, no less—and work on not wearing his heart on his sleeve.
“No, definitely not Loki,” says Thor quickly, in an attempt to salvage the conversation.
If Bruce has figured out it’s Loki, he might not want to help, like Clint, because he’s said Loki’s mind is a bag of cats, has as much as said that Loki is insane. Loki is many things: hurt, misunderstood, angry, but not insane, and Thor despises any claims to the contrary—
“Because it’s all right, you know,” Bruce says casually. “It really is.” He gives Thor a tentative smile, voice softer now. “It’s good that, well, at least one person loves him. Even a monster needs love sometimes.”
Thor’s fingers tighten around Mjölnir’s haft. “Have care how you speak,” he warns. “Loki is no monster.”
“Right, sorry, I meant no offense. I was just thinking of my own past.” Bruce holds up his hands in placation.
Thor suddenly realizes that Bruce is empathizing with Loki, if such a thing is possible, and he lowers his hammer. It seems he has an unlikely ally in this man.
“Anyway, to answer your question.” Bruce clears his throat. “Flowers are the norm, but for Loki they might be too subtle. Or he might think you’re mocking him. Chocolates could work, if done right. Actually,” Bruce says, tapping his fingers against the lab bench, “you’ve heard the old adage that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, right?”
Thor frowns. He is no expert in either Aesir or Jötnar physiology, but surely there is no such passage, or he would have won Loki over years ago, with honeyed mead and sweet breads.
Bruce laughs at Thor’s politely puzzled expression. “No, no, don’t take it so literally. It just means your chances of wooing him are better if you cook for him. Prepare a meal. It doesn’t have to be fancy, just something to show him you care.”
“Oh,” says Thor, and suddenly an idea forms in his mind. His expression must show it, because Bruce chuckles. “You Midgardians are such wise creatures,” Thor adds, trying for an honest compliment, and instantly flushes when he remembers that not so long ago, he had said I thought humans were more evolved than this.
Granted, that had been in the heat of argument, and his shared experience with his teammates makes them different now, better able to understand each other.
To his credit, even if Bruce remembers this as well, he only nods and reaches up to pat Thor’s shoulder. “Best of luck,” he grins. “Seriously, it’s Loki—you’re going to need it.”
“Thank you, my friend,” Thor beams. “I shall let you know if my endeavor is successful.” When they exit the lab, he gives Mjölnir a few experimental swings, pleased at the resonant hum and speed she picks up with every revolution.
As Thor rises into the sky, Bruce calls out jokingly, “Don’t forget to practice safe sex!”
Thor manages a slight wave in acknowledgement, silently thanking the Norns that he is already airborne and Bruce cannot see the rose-red blush coloring his cheeks.
~
“Where are you taking us?” Loki asks, eyes narrowed suspiciously. “And why all the cloak and dagger?”
It’s taken all Thor has (and no small amount of chocolate) to coax Loki into leaving his investigation in Tony’s lab and flying with Thor on blind faith to the Avengers Tower roof. He isn’t in the mood to spoil the surprise with a few careless words.
“You shall see when we arrive,” Thor says with a smile. He hopes he seems mysterious enough to warrant Loki’s curiosity; if anything, Loki loves puzzles and enigmas.
Loki sighs and tucks his face into Thor’s neck against the buffeting wind, as Thor snugs his arm around Loki’s waist. He revels in the warmth of Loki’s arms around his neck, the crisp coolness of the wind on his face. Wonders what it would be like to have Loki’s warmth—perhaps even his affection—for always.
“At least tell me the reason for this…outing.” Loki is ever careful with his words, something Thor wishes he didn’t have to be.
“I thought we could celebrate your induction into S.H.I.E.L.D. as a consultant,” Thor answers truthfully. The fact that the purpose of this outing is twofold is not something he wishes to reveal quite yet.
“Yes, they call me their ‘consulting villain’,” Loki snaps, drawing back to glare at Thor. “I set the record straight early on, though,” he says proudly.
Thor can see Loki’s near-preening, and nods, a twitch of another smile tugging at his lip. He remembers Director Fury actually being in a fury, when, during one of his confidential conferences with the Council, he had referred to Loki as their ‘consulting villain’, and Loki had purred, “I prefer consulting sorcerer, thank you,” larger-than-life from the plasma screens he’d hijacked both audio and video to.
The resultant conversation had involved hands thrown wildly into the air and the actual hissing of “Do something about your goddamn brother.”
Loki darts out of his arms the moment they touch down on the roof. “Not exactly the most exotic of locales, is it?” he sniffs. “This flight was hardly necessary—we could have taken the elevator. Or teleported.”
Thor smiles doggedly anyway, because the pleased flush on Loki’s cheeks gives away just how much he enjoyed the flight. It only serves as a reminder that it’s been too long since Thor’s flown with his brother for leisure, and something in his chest aches at the thought; they’ll definitely have to do this more often. But first—
“Well?” Loki says disinterestedly, inspecting his fingernails. “Shall we get on with the ‘celebrating’?”
Thor takes a deep breath. The stage is set, with the moon overhead hanging full and low, a bright amber globe in the night sky. He has the supplies and advice of the other Avengers behind him now; the only thing left is to take the plunge.
“I,” Thor croaks. He clears his throat, digs nails into his palm to strengthen his resolve. “I purchased a book for you,” he says proudly. Thor pulls out a small, bright red softcover from the bag he’d had slung over his shoulder.
“Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them,” Loki muses. Thor catches a glimpse of an illustration of a snub-snouted spiked creature inside as Loki flips through the pages. “Thor, this book is fictional. There are no such creatures on Midgard. They are only the whims and fancies of a children’s author.”
“Oh,” says Thor, mortified. He remembers the lengths he had gone to, to think of this book and search for it, and he must look crestfallen, because Loki shifts uneasily in place.
“Thank you for the gesture, I suppose,” Loki says stiffly.
“There is more,” Thor nods eagerly, refusing to be set back by one faulty gift. He tugs his cloak from his pauldrons and spreads it along the roof, laying it out wide enough for the two of them to sit comfortably.
“What is the purpose of this?” Loki asks, puzzled.
Thor responds by emptying out the contents of his bag onto the cloth. There are grilled cheese sandwiches (burnt), a sealed plastic box of apple slices (browning) and unevenly cut vegetables, as well as several pop-tarts Thor lifted from his secret cache to throw in as dessert.
“I know this pales in comparison to the feasts we had in Asgard, but I thought we could share these.” He pulls out several taper candles, as Tony has informed him since that soft, ambient lighting is a must, but Loki’s eyes widen at the sight.
“Thor, no,” he says, vaguely horrified. Loki reaches out to prevent Thor from lighting them, his hand cupped lightly over Thor’s. “Do you not remember the last time you tried using these?”
At Loki’s prompting, Thor remembers now; once, on a hunt, Thor had lit candles to light the cave they had made camp in. To his and Loki’s horror, Thor had knocked the lot of them over, gesticulating too wildly while recounting their triumph over a bilgesnipe. Their blanket had caught fire, and while Thor thought to call a low-grade storm to put it out, Loki had gone the practical route and smothered the flames with his cloak.
Loki chuckles first at the memory, soft and low, and Thor beams at him, delighted. There’s hope for them yet.
Loki must notice Thor’s grin, too wide and heartfelt, because he instantly recoils, frowning and gathering his coat about himself. He swats Thor’s arm away when Thor tries to draw what little he can of his cloak around the two of them, and hisses like a rain-drenched cat.
They end up eating in silence.
“You are a terrible cook,” Loki declares, upon finishing.
Thor knows that it’s a sliver of Loki’s kindness that keeps him from saying You are no cook at all, and hums noncommittally in response. It also hasn’t escaped his notice that Loki still ate the entire thing, and he lets himself gaze at Loki, open and honest, not bothering to disguise the love in his eyes as he smiles. Lets his affection bleed through, because they have kept too many secrets between them for too long.
“Stop looking at me like that,” Loki snaps. “Are we finished with this charade of yours, or do you have some other punishment to wring me through before you are satisfied?” He brushes his slacks—black with crisp, even edges that Thor thinks accentuate his long legs so very well—free of crumbs, and starts to stand. “If we’re quite done here, your friend Stark has asked me to look into several—”
“Wait.” Thor catches Loki’s wrist as he turns to leave. “There is one more thing. Please, Loki. Stay.”
Loki sighs, but lets Thor keep hold of his wrist. “Impress me.”
Thor stands, setting a rectangular contraption on the side of the roof, an “eye-pod” Tony lent him for this purpose. It starts playing What The World Needs Now Is Love with the telltale, tinny sound of half-working speakers. Thor gives it a tap to try and improve the sound, but the player ends up crushed beneath his palm.
Can’t go wrong with a little cliché movie music to set the mood, Tony had assured him, except it had gone wrong, and all within seconds. Loki would not want to dance with him now, and Thor glances dolefully at the ruined mechanism.
“Midgardian technology has always been fragile,” Loki says with a shrug. He examines the scrap of shiny plastic, wary of the sparks it spits out as it loops on a few garbled notes.
Thor squares his shoulders. He’s come too far to back down now, so he stalks toward Loki anyway, slipping a careful arm around his waist and taking Loki’s other hand in his. They rock slowly to the rhythm of the music, holding fast to each other even when the contraption gives up and falls silent.
There are neither bards nor harpists here, nor raucous song and dance around them. This is just for the two of them, in the quiet stillness of the night air.
“Thor. Why are we really here?” Loki murmurs. He’s let his head settle into the space beneath Thor’s neck, as if it’s completely natural, and Thor thinks Yes, this is perfect, this is the space Loki fills, the piece of Loki-shaped fullness he’s always been missing.
Thor lets his hand creep tighter around Loki’s waist. Allows himself to breathe in the scent of Loki’s hair—the sweet fragrance of apples—and bury his nose in Loki’s scarf, green with gold print, inverted from the colors he’d flaunted in Stuttgart. “I only wished to be closer to you,” he says.
Loki raises his head to stare at Thor, incredulous. “You fly me up here, lavish useless books upon me and feed me swill, all in order to be closer to me? It’s almost as if you were…courting me.” Loki’s eyes widen. “By the Norns. You are, aren’t you?”
Thor doesn’t deign to answer for a moment, but before his courage can desert him, says, “That depends. Is it working?”
Loki stills in his arms. “Enough of your jests,” he scowls, flinging Thor’s hand from his own. “I grow tired of this charade.”
“This is no jest, Loki. I am in earnest,” says Thor, struggling to keep his hold on Loki’s waist. As if some attempt to hold him will show him how much is cared for, how much he is loved.
“A millennium of being raised together, fighting together and only now you wish to court me?” Loki mocks, spitting Thor’s own words from a lonely cliffside reunion not so long ago back at him. He breathes a bitter laugh. “You, with your demonstrations of affection too few, and a thousand years too late.”
No, no, no, thinks Thor, bile rising to his throat at the venom in Loki’s words. “Loki, I…” Thor tries. Words are inadequate to bridge the chasm that exists between them, despite their recent mend, but he forges on anyway. “I have wanted you beside me, always. This sentiment is not new.” Thor slides his hand to cup the back of Loki’s neck.
“Sentiment.” Loki’s lip curls at that. “After all the things I have done? Still?”
“Still,” Thor insists. “After all we have been through, I still wish to share the remainder of my life with you.”
He knows how incredibly saccharine this sounds, but only honesty can save them now, not half-truths couched in carefully constructed lies.
“I thought you lost to me forever when you fell,” Thor continues softly, winding his fingers into Loki’s hair, slow and gentle. He presses their foreheads together and closes his eyes, taking comfort in the heat of their shared breaths. “I could not bear to lose you again.”
“So you would trap me with false confessions of love?” Loki snarls. “Tame the beast by miring it in a web of baseless sentiment?”
Thor aches at the thought that Loki thinks him insincere, that he’s entirely discounted the possibility that Thor might care for him. “This is no trap, Loki,” he says, quiet. “And my affections are…are offered with the utmost in sincerity.” Loki has ever bested him in words, and all Thor can do is remain true with his intentions.
“I…” Loki manages, before turning away sharply. “I must think on this first.” He makes no promises as he stalks away, but from the flush on Loki’s pale skin, Thor decides to press his advantage, just a little.
“A proper courtship ends with a kiss,” Thor calls after him, teasing yet insistent. “That is the way of these things, is it not?”
Loki turns on his heel. “You stubborn mule,” he bites out. “Only a successful courtship ends with a kiss.”
“Oh.” Thor blinks. “I shall leave the judgment of whether it was so to you, then.”
Loki hesitates, and for the span of a breath, Thor thinks his attempt at lightheartedness has spoiled the moment, ruined what little progress he’s managed to make.
Then Loki’s crooking an imperious finger at him, demanding Thor to “Come here,” and Thor obeys immediately; if he’s lucky, perhaps he’ll receive a gentle peck, a token of Loki’s decision to take things further.
He does not expect the full-bodied kiss Loki drags him into, the slide of soft lips crushed against his, Loki’s seeking tongue pressing lightly into his mouth, or the hands that curl under his arms and clutch at his shoulders.
“We could have had years of this,” Loki whispers against Thor’s mouth. “Years of happiness.” His fingers dig into Thor’s shoulders, trembling. As always, Loki’s body gives away the softness beneath, the vulnerability hidden behind layers of caustic contempt.
Better late than never, Thor thinks to say, but something tells him to hold his tongue. “Tell me what you want from this, Loki,” he breathes instead. “From me. From us.”
Loki lets his head rest against Thor’s. “You ask me what I want. This is what I have wanted, Thor. Not to return to what we were, but to…” Loki falters in his speech.
Thor thinks he understands; that Loki wishes to move forward from here, not to cast off their bonds of brotherhood but to create them anew in all the ways that are, of lovers and friends and everything in between. He nods gratefully, gathering Loki into his arms and losing himself in the scent of his hair, the flavor of Loki’s lips on his, the sweet taste of second chances and redemption.
“What comes next?” asks Thor when Loki pulls away, too soon for his liking. He misses the softness of Loki’s lips and the warmth of his embrace already.
“We have until sunrise to make up for a lifetime of lost opportunities,” says Loki. His mouth curves into a smile, sharp and wicked. “That is, if you are agreeable to it.”
“Aye,” says Thor, hardly able to believe his turn of luck, elated at this chance Loki’s given him. “What of each sunrise after that?”
“That,” Loki says with a lazy, softer smile, “depends on what you make of this night.” He reaches out for Thor, palm raised as if in offering.
Thor takes the necessary step forward, meeting him halfway. He threads his fingers through Loki’s, eager to prove his worth, his sincerity, and his love; where Loki goes, he will gladly follow, because he will not lose Loki again. Not if he can help it.
“Though if we’re planning to eat again, you should leave the cooking to me,” Loki says with a laugh. Thor smiles, letting the sound of it sweep over him like waves on a shore, because it’s been too long since he’s heard it, so real and unfeigned. It’s no longer the sweet chime of a younger brother, happy and bright, but the throaty laugh of a man whom he loves and is loved by in return.
“As you wish,” Thor promises, with a chuckle of his own. His hand is warm, fingers still twined with Loki’s as they make their way into the tower—make their way home. “As you wish.”
[End]
Fandom: Thor (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Pairing: Thor/Loki
Rating: PG-13
Words: 4600
Summary: In which Thor asks the Avengers for courtship advice, and the object of his affection surprises everyone. Except, not really.
A/N: Just wanted a fic where Thor earnestly solicits advice from the Avengers. Title from Alan Jackson’s When Love Comes Around.
~
A mass of thunderclouds forms overhead as Thor wrinkles his brow. It’s no moral quandary he’s brooding over, but a legitimate inquiry he’s sure people the realms over have pondered at some point.
Having long been familiar with him and Loki, Thor’s certain that any of the Warriors Three or Sif could shed light on his inquiry. Here on Midgard, however, his question is less likely to be met with prejudice; the Avengers are less steeped in tradition, less judging than Asgard and her golden halls. Granted, Loki did just try to kill them all months ago, but S.H.I.E.L.D. has now grudgingly accepted him as a consultant on crime and villainy after he was meted out his punishment in Asgard—especially with Thor ever-present to vouch for his brother’s integrity.
Besides, with the exception of emergent situations, Midgard is where he and Loki belong now. As such, it would do well for him to learn their customs.
Thor flicks a blade of grass he’s been toying with to the ground, deciding first that the perspective of the fairer sex could prove most helpful.
~
“My friend!” Thor calls out, greeting Natasha. She’s cleaning out her guns and doing an inventory check of her person. Thor counts himself lucky; it’s rare that he would catch her without Clint here. “Do you have a moment?”
Natasha raises a perfect eyebrow, chambering bullets into her gun with neat precision and no small amount of grace. “Sure,” she shrugs. “What can I help you with?”
“I seek your advice on what leads to a successful courtship.” All of a sudden, it’s immensely difficult to meet her gaze, and Thor picks anxiously at a callus on his palm.
“Uh.” Natasha blinks, then gives him a slow, sidelong glance. “And you’re asking me.”
“Well. I,” Thor tries, swiping his tongue over his lower lip. “I thought perhaps—you could—enlighten—”
“All right, don’t hurt yourself,” Natasha says, spreading her hands in a pantomime of silencing him. There’s a rare curve to her lips Thor could almost call a smile. She taps her chin for a moment, thoughtful. “Cliché dictates the giving of flowers. Chocolates, even.”
Thor frowns. Loki is unlikely to appreciate flowers, but chocolates will definitely appeal to his sweet tooth. Still, he does not discount the idea of a floral bouquet entirely. “Go on.”
“Is your lady friend into movies, or sports, maybe? You need to give me something to go on here, Thor.”
“It is no maiden I wish to court,” Thor says simply. “But he enjoys reading, I suppose. And in the distant past, mischief-making. Perhaps even—”
“Wait.” Natasha tilts her head a just a fraction. “Did you just say it wasn’t a lady? And mischief—oh.” Her eyes widen. “Oh.”
“Did you happen upon an idea?” he asks eagerly.
She pinches the bridge of her nose, and Thor’s suddenly aware how transparent he’s being. That perhaps it’s almost painful to watch. “I think you’ve just answered your own question,” she sighs. “If he likes reading, get him a book. He might even enjoy one on…I don’t know, creatures of Earth.”
Thor beams at creatures of Earth, giving her the broadest smile; it is indeed a good idea. Loki has multitudes of books on the faunae of Asgard and their uses, but none of Midgard, where they currently reside. “That is a brilliant idea, thank you, Lady Natasha.”
Natasha gives him an uneasy but genuine smile in return. Thor wonders if the faint flush in her cheeks is from him calling her ‘Lady’ Natasha, and resolves to do so more often.
~
“Didn’t your dad ever go over this stuff with you?” asks Tony, lounging on the sofa with a scotch in hand. He fiddles with the channels on his remote while Steve sits to his left, still enraptured by the television. “I know he’s King of Asgard and all, but you’d think he would’ve taught you about the birds and the bees. You know, ‘the talk’?”
Thor ignores the jibe that his education was somehow lacking, and shakes his head. “My father was well-versed in matters of statecraft and battle, but the finer art of courtship was not something he shared with me.”
Tony looks like he’s going to say something with his usual brand of sarcasm when Steve clears his throat, cutting in.
“Slow dancing,” suggests Steve, jabbing the air with his index finger. He glances at his feet after this announcement, oddly wistful.
Thor thinks Steve is either reliving the shade of a distant memory or nursing a hope of what could have been. He knows that look; it was the only expression he could muster when Loki had fallen from the Bifrost and Thor thought Loki lost to him forever.
“Okay, yes. Definitely slow dancing,” concedes Tony. “Women love that kind of stuff.”
Thor puzzles through the suggestion, although from Natasha’s initial reaction, he is loath to mention it is no woman he wishes to court. “The same is true for…headstrong, independent characters?” he asks cautiously.
“Especially those,” Tony says. “Why? You got a little firecracker on your hands?”
Thor laughs boldly. Loki is far from little, but he is rather spirited. “Something like that.”
“Good luck, Thor,” Steve nods. He seems to have pulled himself out of his fugue, as he stands and claps Thor on the back. “I wish you the best.”
Tony seconds the friendly motion. “And bring her by for drinks so we can meet her. I’m sure she and Pepper will get along famously.”
Thor pauses to mull that offer over, and nods gratefully. “Thank you. I am sure he would appreciate your offer of a drink now, as the last time did not end so favorably.” He doubts he could ever forget Loki’s cheeky If it’s all the same to you, I’ll have that drink now, even battered and worn as he was from his fight against the Avengers.
He’s almost out of earshot, when Tony bolts up from the sofa he was sprawled upon.
“Holy shit,” Tony says to Steve, “is Thor talking about—”
~
“Loki,” Clint says drily, wiping blood off his bow. “This is about him, right?”
Thor takes a half-step back, surprised. For a hardened assassin, Clint is amazingly quick on the uptake. “Yes,” he admits. There’s no point in subterfuge when he has been called out so blatantly on the matter.
“Yeah, okay. I thought so.” Clint narrows his eyes. Runs the pad of his thumb over the upper limb of his bow, slowly, menacingly. Tests the bowstring with a sharp snap.
“Would you happen to have any suggestions?” Thor asks hopefully. He’s unwilling to be cowed by Clint’s attempt at intimidation, if that’s what this is.
Clint shrugs and rises on his haunches from where he was sitting. “Sorry pal, you’re on your own for this one. No hard feelings though, right?” Without waiting for Thor’s answer, he walks away briskly and disappears into a common area.
Thor has never heard of feelings being described as physically hard or soft, but it appears Clint still holds a grudge against Loki, for twisting Clint’s will to his own ends. It’s another thing Thor needs to work on fixing, in time, as the heart—human or otherwise—is easily wounded and not so easily mended.
Thor would know, for his own brother is the most painful example of this.
~
Bruce is actually at an independent lab down in lower Manhattan for the week, but with Mjölnir’s power, Thor reaches him in almost no time at all.
“Thor! To what do I owe the pleasure?” Bruce asks, removing his glasses and clipping them to his shirt. He blots his palms against his pants and offers his hand in greeting.
“I wished to speak with a friend. Your company seemed most fitting,” Thor nods, reaching out to clasp the proffered hand.
Bruce laughs, the easy, genuine kind that relaxes his shoulders. Thor thinks it must occur more often since Bruce made friends in the Avengers, people who understood him far better than the general populace.
“I’d offer you a drink,” Bruce grins, “but I don’t think you want to be ingesting anything from here.” Perhaps it’s the knit of Thor’s brows in thought, because Bruce’s smile dims a fraction. “Okay,” he says. “This must be serious, if you flew all the way out here.”
Thor waves away the concern, feigning a casual carelessness. “It is not of grave import. I simply had a question to pose to you.”
“Shoot,” says Bruce, leaning against the lab bench.
When Thor shares his inquiry, the same one he’s asked of all the other Avengers, Bruce graces him with a wan half-smile. “‘Not of grave import’, huh?” He pauses. “You know, I think I’ve only ever seen one person warrant this kind of concern from you, Thor.” His fingers absently trace the frame of his glasses, as the bubble and hiss of acrid chemicals fills the silence between them.
“It’s Loki, isn’t it?” Bruce asks finally.
Thor’s eyes widen at that, and instantly he knows he’s given the game away. He winces inwardly; for someone who’s supposed to be more than a thousand years old, he could still use a lesson in guile—from Loki, no less—and work on not wearing his heart on his sleeve.
“No, definitely not Loki,” says Thor quickly, in an attempt to salvage the conversation.
If Bruce has figured out it’s Loki, he might not want to help, like Clint, because he’s said Loki’s mind is a bag of cats, has as much as said that Loki is insane. Loki is many things: hurt, misunderstood, angry, but not insane, and Thor despises any claims to the contrary—
“Because it’s all right, you know,” Bruce says casually. “It really is.” He gives Thor a tentative smile, voice softer now. “It’s good that, well, at least one person loves him. Even a monster needs love sometimes.”
Thor’s fingers tighten around Mjölnir’s haft. “Have care how you speak,” he warns. “Loki is no monster.”
“Right, sorry, I meant no offense. I was just thinking of my own past.” Bruce holds up his hands in placation.
Thor suddenly realizes that Bruce is empathizing with Loki, if such a thing is possible, and he lowers his hammer. It seems he has an unlikely ally in this man.
“Anyway, to answer your question.” Bruce clears his throat. “Flowers are the norm, but for Loki they might be too subtle. Or he might think you’re mocking him. Chocolates could work, if done right. Actually,” Bruce says, tapping his fingers against the lab bench, “you’ve heard the old adage that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, right?”
Thor frowns. He is no expert in either Aesir or Jötnar physiology, but surely there is no such passage, or he would have won Loki over years ago, with honeyed mead and sweet breads.
Bruce laughs at Thor’s politely puzzled expression. “No, no, don’t take it so literally. It just means your chances of wooing him are better if you cook for him. Prepare a meal. It doesn’t have to be fancy, just something to show him you care.”
“Oh,” says Thor, and suddenly an idea forms in his mind. His expression must show it, because Bruce chuckles. “You Midgardians are such wise creatures,” Thor adds, trying for an honest compliment, and instantly flushes when he remembers that not so long ago, he had said I thought humans were more evolved than this.
Granted, that had been in the heat of argument, and his shared experience with his teammates makes them different now, better able to understand each other.
To his credit, even if Bruce remembers this as well, he only nods and reaches up to pat Thor’s shoulder. “Best of luck,” he grins. “Seriously, it’s Loki—you’re going to need it.”
“Thank you, my friend,” Thor beams. “I shall let you know if my endeavor is successful.” When they exit the lab, he gives Mjölnir a few experimental swings, pleased at the resonant hum and speed she picks up with every revolution.
As Thor rises into the sky, Bruce calls out jokingly, “Don’t forget to practice safe sex!”
Thor manages a slight wave in acknowledgement, silently thanking the Norns that he is already airborne and Bruce cannot see the rose-red blush coloring his cheeks.
~
“Where are you taking us?” Loki asks, eyes narrowed suspiciously. “And why all the cloak and dagger?”
It’s taken all Thor has (and no small amount of chocolate) to coax Loki into leaving his investigation in Tony’s lab and flying with Thor on blind faith to the Avengers Tower roof. He isn’t in the mood to spoil the surprise with a few careless words.
“You shall see when we arrive,” Thor says with a smile. He hopes he seems mysterious enough to warrant Loki’s curiosity; if anything, Loki loves puzzles and enigmas.
Loki sighs and tucks his face into Thor’s neck against the buffeting wind, as Thor snugs his arm around Loki’s waist. He revels in the warmth of Loki’s arms around his neck, the crisp coolness of the wind on his face. Wonders what it would be like to have Loki’s warmth—perhaps even his affection—for always.
“At least tell me the reason for this…outing.” Loki is ever careful with his words, something Thor wishes he didn’t have to be.
“I thought we could celebrate your induction into S.H.I.E.L.D. as a consultant,” Thor answers truthfully. The fact that the purpose of this outing is twofold is not something he wishes to reveal quite yet.
“Yes, they call me their ‘consulting villain’,” Loki snaps, drawing back to glare at Thor. “I set the record straight early on, though,” he says proudly.
Thor can see Loki’s near-preening, and nods, a twitch of another smile tugging at his lip. He remembers Director Fury actually being in a fury, when, during one of his confidential conferences with the Council, he had referred to Loki as their ‘consulting villain’, and Loki had purred, “I prefer consulting sorcerer, thank you,” larger-than-life from the plasma screens he’d hijacked both audio and video to.
The resultant conversation had involved hands thrown wildly into the air and the actual hissing of “Do something about your goddamn brother.”
Loki darts out of his arms the moment they touch down on the roof. “Not exactly the most exotic of locales, is it?” he sniffs. “This flight was hardly necessary—we could have taken the elevator. Or teleported.”
Thor smiles doggedly anyway, because the pleased flush on Loki’s cheeks gives away just how much he enjoyed the flight. It only serves as a reminder that it’s been too long since Thor’s flown with his brother for leisure, and something in his chest aches at the thought; they’ll definitely have to do this more often. But first—
“Well?” Loki says disinterestedly, inspecting his fingernails. “Shall we get on with the ‘celebrating’?”
Thor takes a deep breath. The stage is set, with the moon overhead hanging full and low, a bright amber globe in the night sky. He has the supplies and advice of the other Avengers behind him now; the only thing left is to take the plunge.
“I,” Thor croaks. He clears his throat, digs nails into his palm to strengthen his resolve. “I purchased a book for you,” he says proudly. Thor pulls out a small, bright red softcover from the bag he’d had slung over his shoulder.
“Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them,” Loki muses. Thor catches a glimpse of an illustration of a snub-snouted spiked creature inside as Loki flips through the pages. “Thor, this book is fictional. There are no such creatures on Midgard. They are only the whims and fancies of a children’s author.”
“Oh,” says Thor, mortified. He remembers the lengths he had gone to, to think of this book and search for it, and he must look crestfallen, because Loki shifts uneasily in place.
“Thank you for the gesture, I suppose,” Loki says stiffly.
“There is more,” Thor nods eagerly, refusing to be set back by one faulty gift. He tugs his cloak from his pauldrons and spreads it along the roof, laying it out wide enough for the two of them to sit comfortably.
“What is the purpose of this?” Loki asks, puzzled.
Thor responds by emptying out the contents of his bag onto the cloth. There are grilled cheese sandwiches (burnt), a sealed plastic box of apple slices (browning) and unevenly cut vegetables, as well as several pop-tarts Thor lifted from his secret cache to throw in as dessert.
“I know this pales in comparison to the feasts we had in Asgard, but I thought we could share these.” He pulls out several taper candles, as Tony has informed him since that soft, ambient lighting is a must, but Loki’s eyes widen at the sight.
“Thor, no,” he says, vaguely horrified. Loki reaches out to prevent Thor from lighting them, his hand cupped lightly over Thor’s. “Do you not remember the last time you tried using these?”
At Loki’s prompting, Thor remembers now; once, on a hunt, Thor had lit candles to light the cave they had made camp in. To his and Loki’s horror, Thor had knocked the lot of them over, gesticulating too wildly while recounting their triumph over a bilgesnipe. Their blanket had caught fire, and while Thor thought to call a low-grade storm to put it out, Loki had gone the practical route and smothered the flames with his cloak.
Loki chuckles first at the memory, soft and low, and Thor beams at him, delighted. There’s hope for them yet.
Loki must notice Thor’s grin, too wide and heartfelt, because he instantly recoils, frowning and gathering his coat about himself. He swats Thor’s arm away when Thor tries to draw what little he can of his cloak around the two of them, and hisses like a rain-drenched cat.
They end up eating in silence.
“You are a terrible cook,” Loki declares, upon finishing.
Thor knows that it’s a sliver of Loki’s kindness that keeps him from saying You are no cook at all, and hums noncommittally in response. It also hasn’t escaped his notice that Loki still ate the entire thing, and he lets himself gaze at Loki, open and honest, not bothering to disguise the love in his eyes as he smiles. Lets his affection bleed through, because they have kept too many secrets between them for too long.
“Stop looking at me like that,” Loki snaps. “Are we finished with this charade of yours, or do you have some other punishment to wring me through before you are satisfied?” He brushes his slacks—black with crisp, even edges that Thor thinks accentuate his long legs so very well—free of crumbs, and starts to stand. “If we’re quite done here, your friend Stark has asked me to look into several—”
“Wait.” Thor catches Loki’s wrist as he turns to leave. “There is one more thing. Please, Loki. Stay.”
Loki sighs, but lets Thor keep hold of his wrist. “Impress me.”
Thor stands, setting a rectangular contraption on the side of the roof, an “eye-pod” Tony lent him for this purpose. It starts playing What The World Needs Now Is Love with the telltale, tinny sound of half-working speakers. Thor gives it a tap to try and improve the sound, but the player ends up crushed beneath his palm.
Can’t go wrong with a little cliché movie music to set the mood, Tony had assured him, except it had gone wrong, and all within seconds. Loki would not want to dance with him now, and Thor glances dolefully at the ruined mechanism.
“Midgardian technology has always been fragile,” Loki says with a shrug. He examines the scrap of shiny plastic, wary of the sparks it spits out as it loops on a few garbled notes.
Thor squares his shoulders. He’s come too far to back down now, so he stalks toward Loki anyway, slipping a careful arm around his waist and taking Loki’s other hand in his. They rock slowly to the rhythm of the music, holding fast to each other even when the contraption gives up and falls silent.
There are neither bards nor harpists here, nor raucous song and dance around them. This is just for the two of them, in the quiet stillness of the night air.
“Thor. Why are we really here?” Loki murmurs. He’s let his head settle into the space beneath Thor’s neck, as if it’s completely natural, and Thor thinks Yes, this is perfect, this is the space Loki fills, the piece of Loki-shaped fullness he’s always been missing.
Thor lets his hand creep tighter around Loki’s waist. Allows himself to breathe in the scent of Loki’s hair—the sweet fragrance of apples—and bury his nose in Loki’s scarf, green with gold print, inverted from the colors he’d flaunted in Stuttgart. “I only wished to be closer to you,” he says.
Loki raises his head to stare at Thor, incredulous. “You fly me up here, lavish useless books upon me and feed me swill, all in order to be closer to me? It’s almost as if you were…courting me.” Loki’s eyes widen. “By the Norns. You are, aren’t you?”
Thor doesn’t deign to answer for a moment, but before his courage can desert him, says, “That depends. Is it working?”
Loki stills in his arms. “Enough of your jests,” he scowls, flinging Thor’s hand from his own. “I grow tired of this charade.”
“This is no jest, Loki. I am in earnest,” says Thor, struggling to keep his hold on Loki’s waist. As if some attempt to hold him will show him how much is cared for, how much he is loved.
“A millennium of being raised together, fighting together and only now you wish to court me?” Loki mocks, spitting Thor’s own words from a lonely cliffside reunion not so long ago back at him. He breathes a bitter laugh. “You, with your demonstrations of affection too few, and a thousand years too late.”
No, no, no, thinks Thor, bile rising to his throat at the venom in Loki’s words. “Loki, I…” Thor tries. Words are inadequate to bridge the chasm that exists between them, despite their recent mend, but he forges on anyway. “I have wanted you beside me, always. This sentiment is not new.” Thor slides his hand to cup the back of Loki’s neck.
“Sentiment.” Loki’s lip curls at that. “After all the things I have done? Still?”
“Still,” Thor insists. “After all we have been through, I still wish to share the remainder of my life with you.”
He knows how incredibly saccharine this sounds, but only honesty can save them now, not half-truths couched in carefully constructed lies.
“I thought you lost to me forever when you fell,” Thor continues softly, winding his fingers into Loki’s hair, slow and gentle. He presses their foreheads together and closes his eyes, taking comfort in the heat of their shared breaths. “I could not bear to lose you again.”
“So you would trap me with false confessions of love?” Loki snarls. “Tame the beast by miring it in a web of baseless sentiment?”
Thor aches at the thought that Loki thinks him insincere, that he’s entirely discounted the possibility that Thor might care for him. “This is no trap, Loki,” he says, quiet. “And my affections are…are offered with the utmost in sincerity.” Loki has ever bested him in words, and all Thor can do is remain true with his intentions.
“I…” Loki manages, before turning away sharply. “I must think on this first.” He makes no promises as he stalks away, but from the flush on Loki’s pale skin, Thor decides to press his advantage, just a little.
“A proper courtship ends with a kiss,” Thor calls after him, teasing yet insistent. “That is the way of these things, is it not?”
Loki turns on his heel. “You stubborn mule,” he bites out. “Only a successful courtship ends with a kiss.”
“Oh.” Thor blinks. “I shall leave the judgment of whether it was so to you, then.”
Loki hesitates, and for the span of a breath, Thor thinks his attempt at lightheartedness has spoiled the moment, ruined what little progress he’s managed to make.
Then Loki’s crooking an imperious finger at him, demanding Thor to “Come here,” and Thor obeys immediately; if he’s lucky, perhaps he’ll receive a gentle peck, a token of Loki’s decision to take things further.
He does not expect the full-bodied kiss Loki drags him into, the slide of soft lips crushed against his, Loki’s seeking tongue pressing lightly into his mouth, or the hands that curl under his arms and clutch at his shoulders.
“We could have had years of this,” Loki whispers against Thor’s mouth. “Years of happiness.” His fingers dig into Thor’s shoulders, trembling. As always, Loki’s body gives away the softness beneath, the vulnerability hidden behind layers of caustic contempt.
Better late than never, Thor thinks to say, but something tells him to hold his tongue. “Tell me what you want from this, Loki,” he breathes instead. “From me. From us.”
Loki lets his head rest against Thor’s. “You ask me what I want. This is what I have wanted, Thor. Not to return to what we were, but to…” Loki falters in his speech.
Thor thinks he understands; that Loki wishes to move forward from here, not to cast off their bonds of brotherhood but to create them anew in all the ways that are, of lovers and friends and everything in between. He nods gratefully, gathering Loki into his arms and losing himself in the scent of his hair, the flavor of Loki’s lips on his, the sweet taste of second chances and redemption.
“What comes next?” asks Thor when Loki pulls away, too soon for his liking. He misses the softness of Loki’s lips and the warmth of his embrace already.
“We have until sunrise to make up for a lifetime of lost opportunities,” says Loki. His mouth curves into a smile, sharp and wicked. “That is, if you are agreeable to it.”
“Aye,” says Thor, hardly able to believe his turn of luck, elated at this chance Loki’s given him. “What of each sunrise after that?”
“That,” Loki says with a lazy, softer smile, “depends on what you make of this night.” He reaches out for Thor, palm raised as if in offering.
Thor takes the necessary step forward, meeting him halfway. He threads his fingers through Loki’s, eager to prove his worth, his sincerity, and his love; where Loki goes, he will gladly follow, because he will not lose Loki again. Not if he can help it.
“Though if we’re planning to eat again, you should leave the cooking to me,” Loki says with a laugh. Thor smiles, letting the sound of it sweep over him like waves on a shore, because it’s been too long since he’s heard it, so real and unfeigned. It’s no longer the sweet chime of a younger brother, happy and bright, but the throaty laugh of a man whom he loves and is loved by in return.
“As you wish,” Thor promises, with a chuckle of his own. His hand is warm, fingers still twined with Loki’s as they make their way into the tower—make their way home. “As you wish.”
[End]
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Princess Bride
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