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Brother, you’re prettier than the maidens in court, he had said. Thor had a way of saying statements that made them impossible to not believe. Loki had flushed, using his own special brand of verbal fortitude to quiet his brother. But, that typical grin that shone brighter than the sun still lingered on Thor’s lips, his hand held up—waiting. Expectant.
Never wanting to be outdone by Thor, Loki mimicked the motion and they began. It was just for fun—the sons of the king behaving joyous and carefree. Mere boys teetering on the edge of manhood. Neither knowing the true meaning of the dance itself. Not that it mattered, just that they were doing this together.
They’re soon sent off to bed; Thor with much complaint (Mother, I am older, I should be allowed to stay!!), Loki giving a silent acquiesce in the form of drooping eyelids and a stifled yawn (If Thor is staying, I am too!) But, the protests are denied and they’re tucked safely away in their beds. Thor falling asleep almost immediately, dreams of war and glory. Victory above all else. Loki taking longer to sleep, instead he can’t help but focus on the warmth that lingers on his palm from Thor’s touch.
—-
Years have passed since that night—it’s now Thor’s coming of age ceremony tomorrow. The dance they had done as boys now meant something.
Loki keeps to the shadows, watching Thor be properly instructed. Ice grips at his stomach, though loathe to admit just exactly why and what this feeling means. That is being far too honest, and Loki can’t afford to be that open with himself. Not now.
That night, Thor cannot remember the girl’s name. Loki does. He can’t forget—won’t ever let himself forget. He leaves before the party is over, slipping into the darkness of the palace grounds. The air is crisp and cool, but he doesn’t feel it—rather allows it to curl around his bones like an old friend.
For a long while he’s left alone to think. Think but never settle on one certain thing or admit to certain thoughts. Much later he hears Thor before he sees him. The triumphant golden son, looking every bit a foolish boy pretending to be a man. It’s not until Thor laughs and rapid fires back that he is every bit of a man now, does Loki realize he spoke his thoughts aloud. No matter—it’s not as if Thor will take it personally. He’s much too strung up on his own confidence to care.
He’s beside Loki before he knows it, smelling of mead and bathing salts. Unusual, but he spends not an extra moment pondering the curiosity. Between them, their fingers brush and Loki thinks to pull away… but doesn’t. Thor is staring straight ahead, gaze locked on something far away and Loki actually wishes he knew what it was. It’s something that seems out of reach for both of them.
Dance with me, he had said. So quiet that Loki nearly missed it.
A protest is snapped in return. Don’t be stupid, brother, go find your— But, he’s unable to finish, words cut off by Thor taking his hand. Pulling him around so they’re facing each other. Even in the dark his eyes burned bright. Electric. Loki can barely stand to look at them, yet can’t seem to look away either. And just like many times before, he’s unable to say no to his brother.
With the air of reluctance—nevermind the steady increase of his pulse—he fell into step with Thor. There was something different this time, the way he was being looked at, the grace and elegance of his own movements. Locked in this moment they were every bit the young princes of Asgard.
When they retire for the night, Loki isn’t the only one lying awake, fingers curled into his palm as if to hold on to the phantom feeling of a hand in his.
—-
They’re adults now. Terrible events have transpired; feelings hurt beyond repair. A missing brother that cannot be replaced. Many things yet to be understood. Thor stands alone in his chambers, the candlelight flickering and making his vision unsteady. His eyes close, drawing forth a memory of only a few short years ago.
One arm is bent, hand fisted behind his back, the other held up with his palm facing a partner that isn’t there. The music swells and he begins. At the first turn, he no longer sees the young teens they once were, but the men that they have become. On the third, he thinks he feels the cool press of a familiar hand in his.
A catch in his breath and a near stumble in his step—he swears he hears a condescending chuckle and the murmur of brother. His eyes snap open then and the memories fade—he’s alone in his room.
His eyes close again and this time, they’re mere boys mimicking a dance they don’t know the meaning of—carefree and excited. In the shadows somewhere else, the motion is repeated. Together, they hear the music and begin the dance once more.