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Two hundred blessed years of quiet, Loki thinks. He had two hundred years to buckle down and concentrate on his studies and hone his skills and learn to not look at Thor’s absolutely ridiculous arms across the table in the feasting hall or the line of his throat when he’d tip back another horn of ale and down it in one go (not attractive—at all). And it should have been enough. It should have been plenty of time to gain a measure of control over his overdeveloped sense of brotherly love, and for a good long while, he was sure that it had been.
The distance had done a world of good, and in time, he had begun to think that, even if he couldn’t entirely get over his misplaced affections, perhaps he could at least come to live with them. He’d seen other people (discreetly—unlike certain other princes of Asgard who preferred leaving a trail of smitten tavern wenches across the realm), he’d retrained his treacherous wandering gaze to avoid his brother on the rare occasions they found themselves at the training fields at the same time, and by the time Thor had turned up at his door and begged the use of the rooms next to his, Loki was sure that he could handle the renewed proximity, no problem.
An insult here, a roll of his eyes there, and the occasional threat of violence upon his person should have been enough to ensure that Thor left him plenty of space without resorting to outright contempt, but so far, his brother has borne it all with insufferable good humor and insists on coming back for more.
And, Norns help him, Loki loves him for it.
----
Thor is beaming at him now (that stupid smile that doesn’t show much of his teeth), obviously delighted with this particular shape, and Loki stills the eager twitch of his tail when Thor says, “Loki, you’re magnificent!”
He knows he is (that was the whole point of attempting a wolf in the first place, and years of practice have perfected his form), but hearing it from Thor has his ears happily tilting downward—until his brother absently raises a hand as though to reach out toward him, and that simply cannot be allowed. Thor is touchy enough as it is, and Loki’s got to draw the line somewhere.
“Did I not specifically mention knocking?” he spits after shifting back to his usual shape, and barrels over whatever inadequate protest Thor attempts, not content until he’s backed halfway across the room and begging forgiveness for the intrusion upon Loki’s nap.
There, Loki thinks to himself. He’s handling it.
----
As a matter of fact, Loki is handling it so well, he starts to allow himself a little indulgence here and there. He’d forgotten how well he and Thor had always gotten along, and it’s all too easy to fall back into old rhythms he thought were lost for good, and even to develop some new ones.
It helps that Thor’s friends are there when Loki agrees to accompany him out for an evening of drink and song, their presence distracting him from the way Thor shines like gold in the torchlight. He can’t say that he doesn’t enjoy their merriment and attention and thinly veiled surprise at finding him more entertaining than they’d known, but seeing Thor reduced to tears in his laughter and clinging to Loki’s shoulder for support quickly becomes a bit of an addiction.
(But he’s handling it.)
He doesn’t refuse many invitations after that first night, and seeing his brother’s face light up when he agrees to go on a hunting expedition with him settles low and warm in his stomach—but that’s fine, and easily ignored. What is not easily ignored, however, is Thor barging into their bathing chamber just as Loki is about to climb into the bath.
A scathing remark is on the tip of his tongue (they’ve had this conversation before—knocking), but the way Thor’s eyebrows threaten to disappear into his hairline gives him pause.
The rather thorough once-over that Thor gives him is another matter entirely.
“Is there something I can help you with, brother?” Loki asks, schooling his tone, since he honestly has no idea what that look might mean (or what he’d like for it to mean—not going there, it’s handled). He’s over-conscious of Thor’s eyes on him, though, and he knows that he shouldn’t enjoy it, but he can’t help that, can he?
“Have you no shame?” Thor blurts, alarmed, and Loki nearly snorts in disbelief.
He recalls very clearly the way an adolescent Thor used to lounge about their old tower, unclothed and uncaring, and he places a fair amount of the blame for his unnatural desire on that fact. (An even greater portion is allotted to the time he’d walked in on Thor sprawled over his bed, hand working lazily between his legs, entirely unconcerned that Loki had entered the room.)
“Oh, certainly not,” Loki says. “I wasn’t aware that you did, however.” If he sounds a little bitter as he steps into the bath, Thor takes no notice. In fact, Thor’s gaze seems to be stuck rather south of Loki’s face, which is awfully odd…
Loki’s had some terrible ideas before, he’ll admit that (to himself), but there’s a prime opportunity here to extract a little vengeance for past wrongs, and of course seeing Thor squirm is its own reward. The fact that this is far too close to the mark for comfort crosses his mind, but that’s his business, after all, and it’s handled anyway.
“I’m not sure you want to stay for this,” he says before he can reconsider, “but feel free to continue gawking if you please. I’m happy to provide a show.”
And he even means that, he realizes, all too aware of the way his brother’s eyes follow his hand as it drifts down his chest—and as it reaches his stomach, just for an instant, Loki wonders with a heady rush just how far Thor will allow this to go—
But then Thor’s turning tail and bolting, the door slamming shut after him, and Loki lets out a sigh.
It’s very definitely for the best, he thinks, and collapses onto the low bench in the bathing pool with a splash. As it stands, Thor will likely be over it by morning, no lasting damage done, but there’s no telling what would have happened had he not retreated. Plus, they do have a hunt to contend with tomorrow, and traipsing about through the woods killing things always seems to leave his brother in high spirits.
So no harm done, then. But for the moment, Loki does have guaranteed privacy for an indefinite period of time, and he did imply that there was something coming next. He can’t look like a liar, can he?
See? Loki thinks as he lets his hand resume its previous course. He’s got this handled just fine.