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Loki glared at his drink, surly and annoyed enough to pop the cranberries bobbing around in it with the force of his will and magic. Telekinesis had never really been his strong suit, but his emotions were feeling just about high enough tonight to give it a go. “It’s a Santa Clausmopolitan,” Scott Lang had said as Thor had grabbed two of the bright red drinks from a passing waiter, in a tone that suggested he’d never heard anything so clever in his life.
Of course, Thor had laughed. Loki had just stared at Lang witheringly, but he’d taken the drink, because if there was one thing that was going to get him through Bruce Banner’s Ugly Christmas Sweater party, it was alcohol.
How had he let himself get talked into this? Well, he hadn’t, truthfully. Thor had said, “Loki, Banner’s having a Christmas party, and he’s invited us!”
And Loki had replied, “How wonderful; I hope you have a marvelous time.”
Somehow, despite his use of the second person singular, he’d still ended up here. Forced into a ridiculous Christmas sweater, too. Thor yanking it over his head hadn’t felt good, but he supposed his dignity was wounded more than anything else. At least it wasn’t quite as much of an eyesore as Thor’s, which was a fuzzy monstrosity covered in tinsel and flashing lights. His brother had had the good sense to get him something in green. Did it have reindeer on it? Yes. Was he going to throw it in the sea once they got back to New Asgard? Also yes. Could it have been worse?
He looked around the room. Clearly.
Brunnhilde and Sif had escaped the worst of it, which wasn’t fair, as far as Loki was concerned. All present Asgardians should have shown solidarity in poor taste. But the rest of the Avengers and assorted hangers-on looked as though they’d been vomited on by a shopping mall Christmas display, Jane included, which was only fitting, he supposed. After all, she had married his brother, so clearly her good sense had its limits. And then there was Miek, who’d more or less shredded his sweater.
Was this ridiculous, festively punny drink any good? Loki took a sip and wrinkled his nose. Too sugary. And not nearly enough alcohol. He drummed his fingers on the bar, then shrugged, got up, and walked around to the other side of it. He plucked up the first top shelf bottle within reach, and when the bartender objected, Loki growled, “You get paid either way, don’t you?”
It was probably the fact that he was Loki of (New) Asgard, God of Mischief, Sometimes Avenger But Previously Definitely Not, that caused the bartender to acquiesce. Norns knew it wasn’t his most compelling argument.
He untwisted the top and poured a generous dram into his…ugh, Santa Clausmopolitan. It didn’t really make it taste better, but it did make it stronger. Plus, the faster he drank it, the sooner he could just drink straight—what was this?—straight scotch.
“We’re having a competition,” Thor said from somewhere behind his left shoulder.
Loki drained the rest of his drink and set the glass down with a harder clink than necessary. “I’m certain whatever it is, you’ll win.”
As Loki filled his glass with scotch, Thor said, “We’re voting on whose Christmas sweater is best—er, worst. C’mon.”
“I’d rather not,” Loki said, knowing he sounded sulky and not caring.
Thor leaned into his field of vision, propping an arm on the bar. His eyebrows were raised and he looked deeply unimpressed. “What’s the matter?” he asked. Loki pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows practically to his hairline, refusing to dignify this with a response. Rolling his eyes, Thor said, “I thought you liked these people.”
“‘Like’ is such a strong word.”
“Loki, stop. It’s Yule.”
“They don’t celebrate Yule, they celebrate Christmas, and this is neither,” Loki said crossly.
Thor crossed his arms over his chest and cast his eyes around the room. “Where’s Strange? He usually improves your mood.”
Loki downed his entire martini glass full of scotch in one swallow, turning the stem between his thumb and finger and relishing the burn of the alcohol as it slid down his throat and into his stomach. Finally, he replied, “He’s not coming.”
Abruptly, Thor’s expression went from unimpressed to knowing. “Ah.”
“And what, exactly, is that supposed to mean?”
Waving a hand, Thor said, “I understand, brother. We’re in New York and you wanted to see him, and you’re moody—” At Loki’s murderous expression, he stopped, wisely reconsidered what he was about to say, and finished, “—disappointed.”
Glaring at Thor, Loki said, “My desire to be almost anywhere but here has nothing to do with Strange.”
“Mm. Right.”
Loki’s glare grew more poisonous.
Which, maddeningly—and predictably—only seemed to amuse Thor. “Why isn’t he here?”
Pushing at the bottle of scotch with a finger, Loki said, “He didn’t say.”
“And you didn’t ask?”
“It’s none of my business,” Loki said stiffly.
Thor rolled his eyes. “You know, Loki, not to put too fine a point on it, but the walls aren’t that thick at home. I think you’re well past an inquiry as to why he can’t make it to a party that you’re both invited to, if only out of idle curiosity.”
At this, Loki colored. “Keep your voice down,” he hissed.
“Why?” Thor asked. “Is it a secret? The two of you?”
“No,” Loki said. “I just—it’s not—” Tremendous, so he’d gone from brooding to stammering and flushing like a fool. Thor was staring at him, not smiling exactly but somehow still managing to look so smug. “I just don’t need to advertise my personal business to these people,” he finally finished with as much dignity as he could muster, considering how much his ears were burning.
Pulling out his phone, Thor said, “I’m going to text him.” The phone vanished out of his hands, and he glared at Loki. When Loki just raised an eyebrow, Thor said, “Give it back.”
“No.”
“Loki.”
He knew he was being childish, and he also knew that it probably did have something to do with the fact that the wizard wasn’t here. After a second, he swiveled on the stool to look at the gathered guests. Most of them were canoodling with their significant others, and that just annoyed Loki more. After a second, he sighed, twitched a finger, and dropped Thor’s phone out of thin air into his waiting hand. “I think everyone’s waiting to declare you the clear winner of the Poor Fashion Choices contest,” he said.
For a moment, Thor stared at him, tapping a finger on the bar. Then, he seemed to accept that this was a battle he wasn’t going to win. Patting Loki on the shoulder—just a little too hard—Thor walked away to rejoin the rest of the party, leaving Loki alone. Well, not alone. The bartender was staring at him. “Did you have something you’d like to add?” Loki snapped.
With a shrug, the bartender said, “Just wondering if you want me to make you a drink with that scotch.”
“No,” Loki said, pulling the bottle closer. At a certain point, he was going to have to stop sulking, apologize to Banner, and act like the prince he was. His mother had raised him to be more gracious than this but honestly, sometimes humans just made it so difficult.
There was laughter from the other side of the room, and Loki hunched his shoulders. So what if he was in a bad mood because Strange wasn’t here? Was it a crime? Was it really so terrible to want to see your—well, whatever Strange was to him? It had been a month since the two of them had been together, first because New Asgard’s fishing fleet had come under attack by that sea monster, so Loki had had to cancel dinner that night, and then, on the night they’d rescheduled for, Strange had unexpectedly had to deal with an incursion from the tentacle dimension into their own, and then suddenly it was December and of course everyone was busy in December, even gods and sorcerers, and when Loki had texted Strange to ask if he’d be here tonight, the answer had come back, simply, No.
And that was fine. Strange didn’t owe him an explanation. They weren’t married. Loki wasn’t the wizard’s keeper. They were simply lovers, and not the canoodling at Christmas party type of lovers, either. They would see each other in the new year, and that was fine. Everything was fine. He certainly wasn’t insulted or hurt that Strange hadn’t offered an explanation, or even an excuse. Most likely, he just didn’t want to be here either. Loki couldn’t blame him. Ugly Christmas sweaters didn’t really seem as though they’d be his thing.
There was another round of laughter, and Loki decided he needed some air. Sliding off the stool and grabbing the bottle, he stalked out of the main living room of Avengers HQ, out to the hallway that ran around the outside of the building like a portico. It was decorated with poinsettias and evergreen boughs, and it was actually lovely, even if Loki didn’t really feel like acknowledging that. Banner had probably decorated it himself.
He reached the end of the hallway and stopped, sinking down onto a bench and toying with the bottle. Honestly, he wasn’t really in the mood to drink anymore, but if he’d left it, the bartender would have put it back, and he wasn’t in the mood for that, either.
Leaning back and letting out a whoosh of air, Loki put the bottle down on the bench next to him and stared out the window. In the distance, at the edge of the property, the trees were bare. The grass was brown. It was ugly, and could be vastly improved with some snow. It hadn’t snowed in New Asgard yet either, but at least the grass was green. And New Asgard, whatever its faults, couldn’t be in a more scenic location.
He splayed his fingers and looked down at his hand, letting green light flow along the lines of his palm, and flicked his fingers. Snow started falling lightly along the length of the hallway, the flakes vanishing as they reached the floor. After watching for a moment, he tilted his head, and glowing balls of green and gold light materialized, floating near the ceiling.
“Pretty,” a voice said next to him. Loki’s head snapped around. Stephen Strange was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. There was a tiny smile on his face. “So, come here often?”
Loki stared at him. Then, taking a long breath in through his nose, he said, “Fortunately, no.” The way his stomach had leapt, then promptly twisted itself into knots that somehow were also fluttering, was deeply unbecoming of a god, an Asgardian prince, or someone of his age.
The two of them looked at each other for a moment, and then Strange said, “Hi.”
“Hi,” Loki replied. He licked his lips, then moved the bottle so Strange could sit down next to him. If he wanted to. “I thought you weren’t coming.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
Pursing his lips, Loki asked, “Did my brother text you?”
“What?” Strange asked, looking genuinely confused enough that Loki believed him. One of the glowing orbs bobbed lower and Strange’s eyes followed it. Then, his gaze flicked to Loki’s. “No, I figured you’d be here, and I also figured you probably wouldn’t exactly be in the Christmas spirit.”
With a snort, Loki said, “I suppose I should be offended.”
“Are you in the Christmas spirit?”
Loki arched an eyebrow.
Chuckling, Strange sat down next to him, so their legs touched along the lengths of their thighs. Loki shifted closer and asked, “Are you implying that your presence here will put me in the Christmas spirit?”
Strange flashed a grin at him, then grew very studiously serious as he said, “I wouldn’t dream of making that assumption, Odinson.”
“Hmph.” Tucking a piece of his hair behind his ear, Loki said, “Well. It’s nice that you’re here. I suppose.” His eyes flicked up to meet Strange’s and he got lost, for a moment, in the other man’s gaze. In the soft glow of the baubles that Loki had conjured, Stephen’s eyes looked green.
A smile twitched at Strange’s mouth, and he said, “You know, that kind of full-throated endorsement of your affection is exactly why I love you.”
Loki laughed softly and found Strange’s hand, their fingers interlacing. When he squeezed, the tremor disappeared. “You can’t say you didn’t know what you were in for.”
For a moment, Strange just gazed at him. Then, he asked, “Did you choose this spot on purpose?”
At Loki’s questioning look, he pointed upwards with a thumb. Loki glanced up and snorted at what he saw hanging over their heads. Mistletoe. “Obviously not.” After a pause, he added, “I didn’t think you were coming, remember?”
Fingers slid along his neck and a thumb ran across his jaw, and suddenly Strange’s mouth was on his, kissing him softly. Loki’s stomach flipped upside down. As he pulled back, Strange said, “Hope you don’t mind me taking advantage of it.”
“I don’t anticipate that ever being a problem,” Loki said, turning his head to brush his lips along Strange’s palm.
Smiling, Strange stroked his thumb over Loki’s knuckles. Loki hated to admit it, but all his prickliness had vanished the moment he’d heard Strange’s voice. It went without saying that Thor could not find out. There was nothing worse than when his brother was right.
“I also felt like a jerk for not making time to see you when you came all the way to New York,” Strange said.
Tilting his head and raising an eyebrow, Loki replied, “You don’t owe me an explanation.”
“Yeah, I know.” Strange squeezed his fingers. His grip was weak, even by human standards, but the warmth and the dryness of his hands, the roughness where his accident and subsequent surgeries had damaged them, was one of Loki’s favorite things. They were him, and Loki loved everything about him. “I guess I could tell you I had a metaphysical emergency to deal with.”
“You could tell me you had a wardrobe emergency,” Loki said with a sniff. “Personally, I would’ve used any excuse to get out of coming here. But you know Thor. He’d never hear of me staying away from one of these…gatherings.”
Strange gave him a sardonic smile. “So no curiosity at all about where I was?”
Blinking, Loki said, “I assumed you just didn’t want to come. I see you’re not wearing a ridiculous sweater. We could change that, of course.” Strange’s shirt changed to a pattern that was only slightly less garish than what most of the guests inside were wearing. “Mm, more of a navy blue, I think.” The sweater shifted in color, and Loki smirked.
“Very nice,” Strange said, looking at it. Loki waved a hand, and his clothes returned to normal.
The truth, of course, was that he very much wanted to know why Strange had said he wouldn’t be here tonight. There was always, always a part of him that assumed that on everyone’s list of priorities, he came dead last. If there was a party that Strange didn’t want to attend, Loki’s presence there wouldn’t be a selling point. “I would think,” Loki said carefully, “that I’ve made it clear by now that I don’t need or want to police you. I’d be rather a fool if I thought I could, Sorcerer Supreme.” He paused, then added, “That isn’t what I signed up for.”
Strange leaned back against the bench, still holding Loki’s hand loosely. “Have I ever told you my dad’s still alive?”
If Loki had been keeping score, this would have been just about the last thing he’d have expected to hear. No, of course Strange had never told him that he had a parent still living. In some ways, they hardly knew anything about each other. Not a shock, really. Loki had over a thousand years’ worth of living, and Strange, even though he was fifty-one, had quite obviously lived more in those fifty-one years than most humans did in twice that. Not a figure of speech—though they hadn’t talked much about it, Strange had said enough for Loki to glean that the wizard had put the Time Stone to use while he’d been its keeper. Sometimes, Loki wondered if Strange’s experiences outmatched his own. Time, after all, wasn’t straightforward.
After a moment, he said, “I think you know you haven’t.”
With a noise, Strange said, “I wasn’t necessarily planning on it, either.”
Loki looked up at the illusion he’d conjured, the endlessly falling and never accumulating snow, and said, “Gods know I’m familiar with what it’s like to not want to talk about your father.”
Strange ran a hand through his hair, grayer now than when Loki had first met him. “He’s had Alzheimer’s since I was in med school. We were never close, but, you know. I try to see him around the holidays.” He ran his thumb over Loki’s knuckles again. “Today was the day.”
Tilting his head at Stephen, Loki said, “That’s why you weren’t going to come? You were…visiting your ailing father?” Strange shrugged and nodded, and Loki furrowed his brow. “Did you go?”
Strange leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. “Yeah.”
Loki pressed his lips together, wetting them. This was the sort of baggage that relationships came with, the sort of baggage that he’d never been interested in dealing with. After all, he had enough of his own. Loki was no one’s savior. He wasn’t even anyone succor. “Did you…want to talk about it?” he asked hesitantly. The words sounded absurd coming out of his mouth, but he meant them.
“Not really.” Strange turned his head and slitted an eye, looking towards Loki. “I never talk about him. But.” He shrugged again. “You get it, right?”
With a glance at their joined hands, Loki smiled slightly and said, “I put such a powerful spell on my father that it took him four years to break free of it. His dementia was so convincing that no one at Shady Acres Care Home ever questioned it. When I was brought back to Asgard in chains, he told me that he was going to have me put to death, and I believe I was meant to think it was an act of mercy when I was merely sentenced to life imprisonment. Yes, I ‘get’ difficult relationships with one’s father.”
“Okay, well, now you’re just making me feel like I don’t have anything to complain about.”
“I didn’t mean that.” After hesitating a moment, Loki lifted Strange’s hand to his mouth, pressing his lips to the back of it. It was true that he didn’t particularly want to advertise this relationship to the entire Avengers extended family, but it was a losing battle trying not to be in physical contact with Strange.
Closing his eyes again, Strange said, “I know.” He breathed out slowly. “He doesn’t remember anything I tell him, which is fine, because for the last sixteen years—well, eleven years, technically, my dad got Snapped away, too—anyway, everything I tell him sounds insane. So I tell him, I saved the Earth from an invasion of monsters from another dimension last week, or yeah, I helped the Avengers fight off another intergalactic warlord, or I have an alien prince who just time-traveled here from another dimension living in my house.” Loki snorted at this last one. Memories. “I don’t know if he thinks I’m making it up or if I’ve lost it, too. You know what he always asks me?”
Loki raised his eyebrows. “I can’t imagine.”
There was a resigned look on Strange’s face. “He always asks, ‘have you met anyone yet?’” He shook his head and lifted it away from the wall, then opened his eyes to meet Loki’s. “I was one of the best surgeons in the world. And that’s what he wanted to know.” He rolled his eyes. “I’ve spent my entire adult life telling him that the absolute last thing I’m interested in is meeting someone and settling down, allowing another person to see you at—not even your worst, just your most uninteresting. Your most boring. The nights when you get home and you eat a bowl of cereal on the couch and put reality TV on for three hours. I don’t want to share that with anyone. That’s not romance, it’s complacency.”
“I’m very curious about where this is going,” Loki said.
Strange laughed a little. “He asked me again today. Have I met anyone. Like he always does. And before I said no—because I’ve always said no—I stopped and I thought about it.” He ran a hand through his hair again. “I thought, what if I said yes this time?”
When he paused, Loki prompted, “And?”
His thumb skimmed the back of Loki’s hand. “It’s a stupid idea,” he said flatly. “I mean, for one thing, I never came out to my dad. I’m not even sure he knows the word ‘bisexual.’ And if I told him about you, he wouldn’t understand who you are, he’d probably want to meet you, and he wouldn’t remember saying that but I’d remember him asking, and what about you? I’m not just going to volunteer you for that.”
Loki nodded. “If it were me, I wouldn’t say anything.”
“Yeah.”
This conversation was…confusing. Was it really possible that this was how Strange saw them? If anything, Strange was the more romantic one between the two of them. Loki had thought—well, for him, it wasn’t very much time, really (this was a terrible thought, one which he pushed away as much as possible, because even if Stephen were to have a preternaturally long life, it would still be a heartbeat to Loki), but he’d thought Strange was in this for the long haul. Had he misread things that badly? Had Strange changed his mind?
There was a silence. And then Strange said, “So I told him yeah. I’ve met someone.”
Loki’s eyebrows drew together in surprise and confusion. “You—why?” He blinked, then laughed, then looked at Stephen in confusion again. “I have to warn you, Strange, I’m not really the bringing-home-to-meet-your-parents type. That should be obvious.” Still, he couldn’t help but ask, in the most nonchalant tone he could muster, “Did he want to meet me?”
Completely idiotic. What did he care? Twenty years ago he’d tried to take over this ridiculous planet, to rule it—and yes, he hadn’t been in his right mind, nor completely in control of his actions, but still—and now, one of the day’s chief concerns was whether his human lover’s father wanted to meet him. How the mighty had fallen.
Thor would be so proud.
His mother would be too, actually. His mother and brother had always wanted to see him happy.
Strange lifted his other hand to Loki’s face and ran his fingers along it. “Yeah, but I told him I had to ask you. He said he guesses if you’re a prince, you’re probably pretty busy, so that’s okay.”
With another surprised breath of laughter, Loki said, “Well, I’m already here. Perhaps before I go back to New Asgard.” Strange squeezed his hand and Loki asked, “And eating cereal while watching reality television? Is that something you envision yourself doing with me?”
Laughing, Strange said, “Somehow, when you say it, it sounds romantic.” When Loki gave him a crooked smile, his heart soothing itself, Stephen added, “You and I are never going to have a normal relationship.”
“I hope you’re not just coming to this conclusion now.”
Strange’s fingers tangled in Loki’s hair and for a moment, he just studied Loki, looking like he couldn’t ever get enough of the sight. Flattering. Butterfly-inducing. A surprise, still, that someone like Stephen Strange would feel this way about him. “Want to come over tonight and watch The Bachelor? I think they’re on season thirty-two now. Wong still has some Cap’n Crunch left, too, but we’ll have to get some more if we eat all of it.”
Wrinkling his nose, Loki said, “That sounds absolutely terrible.” His mouth twitched into a smile. “I wouldn’t miss it.” His expression growing more serious, he added, “And your father?”
“If you don’t mind—”
“I love you,” Loki said, blurting it out as though he needed to say it quickly or not say it at all. He didn’t say those words enough. “I love you,” he added more quietly. “Of course this will never be normal. But yes, I’ll meet your father, Stephen.” Was it penance for the fact that his relationship with his own father had been—not to put it lightly—difficult? Perhaps. But Strange wouldn’t have asked if it didn’t mean something to him.
Strange looked at him, silent for a moment. Then, he said, “This is the part where I take advantage of the mistletoe again.”
With a breath of laughter, Loki disentangled their hands so he could pull Strange closer by the front of his sweater. “You humans and your ridiculous traditions,” he murmured, before closing the space between them and kissing Stephen.
And not chastely, either. It had been a month since they’d seen each other. This was open-mouthed and hungry, tongues and teeth and Loki fighting down an agonized whimper of pleasure as one of Stephen’s hands twisted in his hair and the other slid under his ugly Christmas sweater, and it took every ounce of his willpower not to drag Strange into one of the many spare bedrooms in Avengers HQ and make up for lost time.
Displaying willpower meant keeping his hands above Strange’s waist, and it should have meant keeping his hands over the clothes, too, but the latter was a challenge he wasn’t up to. His hands slid over Strange’s chest and he couldn’t help smiling against Stephen’s mouth as he felt the other man flinch against the iciness of his fingers. Well, he’d make sure they were warm later, when they were alone at the Sanctum and not at…Bruce Banner’s Christmas party.
Reluctantly, Loki broke the kiss. The disappointed huff that Strange let out was a nice shot to his ego. “Were you planning on putting in an appearance at this party?” Loki asked, his smile ever-so-slightly crooked. “Because if we continue in this vein, you’re not going to get the opportunity to.”
With a sigh of regret and stifled desire, Strange got to his feet, straightening his clothing, then asked, “Are you coming? I imagine you probably haven’t given your compliments to the host yet.”
Loki stood and tilted his chin up, looking down his nose at Strange. “What exactly are you saying, Strange?”
“Oh, sorry, I thought it was obvious. I’m saying that you looked like you were in a bad mood when I got here, and I’m guessing everyone knew it.”
Loki arched an eyebrow. “I was the life and soul of the party. Ask anyone.” Mentally, he lined up the necessary spell to alter the memory of anyone that Strange actually did decide to ask.
“Uh huh.” Strange chuckled but didn’t cast aspersions on this claim. As the two of them walked back down the hallway, close but not touching, Stephen said, “I should have told you why I wasn’t going to come today.” When Loki glanced at him, he added a little sheepishly, “This is new to me too, you know. I didn’t think I was ever going to…”
When he trailed off, Loki supplied, “Care this much?” At Strange’s wordless noise and shrug, Loki took one of his hands and thought about adding that yes, it was a learning experience for him too. But what was the point? Stephen knew that. Even if the two of them didn’t know all the details of each other’s lives, they knew each other, in a way that few people had ever known Loki. Not everything needed to be said, because they could feel it about one another.
As laughter and voices drifted down the hall and they reached the party, Loki let go of Stephen’s hand. It wasn’t a secret, but it was new. To both of them. He’d learn how to be part of a couple, with everything that entailed, in time. It was enough for today that his lover had opened part of himself that he’d meant to keep closed.
He glanced over his shoulder at the illusion he’d conjured in the hallway. The orbs were still glowing softly and snow was still falling. He shrugged, then decided to leave it. The spell would fade on its own, eventually.
When the two of them walked in, Loki dropping back to let Strange enter first, Banner spotted them and came right over. “Hey, Doc, I didn’t think you’d make it; it’s good to see you!”
Banner went for the hug, of course. Good thing he knew his own strength. “Bruce, did I thank you for the lovely party?” Loki asked, arching an eyebrow.
For a moment, Banner just looked at him, smiling with amusement and possibly a bit of exasperation. Fond exasperation, for the record. “You just did, bud.”
Loki rolled his eyes, then exchanged a look with Stephen. The observant Avenger might note that the two of them had come in together, that they were standing quite close to each other, that at any gathering of Earth’s Mightiest Heroes, the two of them could lately always be found in each other’s company. Judging by the smile on Banner’s face as he caught the lingering eye contact between them, he’d cottoned on.
“Hey,” Banner said, “we’re going to do a group picture. Everyone in their ugly sweaters, c’mon.”
As Loki wrinkled his nose in distaste at this idea, Strange demurred, “Sorry Bruce, I didn’t have time to go back to the Sanctum and change—”
As though someone who could open up a portal and instantly be home needed time to do so; Loki almost, almost said something, because he may have been in love with Strange but that certainly didn’t mean he was above causing a little chaos for him, but then Banner waved a massive green hand and said, “Ah, it’s fine. You can stand between Loki and Thor, they’re festive enough for three people.”
“I resent that,” Loki said.
Banner grinned at him and herded the two of them over to the group. There was the requisite babble of conversation and greetings as everyone noticed Strange had arrived; Jane hugged him and whispered something in his ear, which he laughed at before shooting Loki a look so full of private feeling that for a second, Loki forgot he was surrounded by other people. Brunnhilde helpfully broke the moment by elbowing him and saying, “Aw, you look so pretty when you smile, Lackey.”
“Wish I could say the same for you,” he returned, batting his eyelashes at her. She smirked and punched him on the shoulder.
Eventually Banner got them all to shuffle into place. Thor clapped Strange on the shoulder and said, “Glad you could make it, wizard.” In a lower voice, he added, “My brother missed you.”
On Strange’s other side, Loki said out of the corner of his mouth, “Shut up, Thor.”
Thor chuckled, then said, “By the way, I won the competition for the ugliest sweater.”
Shaking his head, Loki said, sotto voce, “Wasn’t much of a competition.” Still, it made him smile, and on impulse, he reached behind Strange so he could pat his brother on the shoulder. And if that gave him the opportunity, as he withdrew his hand, to brush it along Stephen’s back—well, that was an added bonus.
“Okay, smile everyone!” Banner said, the camera hovering in place in front of the group.
Strange’s fingers shakily found Loki’s, and Loki smiled just in time for the camera flash.