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“Why do you have so much cheese?”
Heimdall looked up from his book to find just who had been waiting for, Loki. The boy sat down closely next to him at the table and Heimdall gave him a subtle look up and down. He looked nice, dressed more casually than usual in his dark blue tunic with no armor.
“Because I can.” Heimdall answered him simply.
Atreus raised a brow. “Two whole plates of cheese?”
“What concern of it is yours?”
“You can’t just eat two wheels of cheese and nothing else for breakfast.”
“And why’s that?”
“I dunno, it’s not… balanced?” Atreus shrugged. “Mimir says that I have to eat different food groups? If I eat meat I should have another type of food with it, like roots or grains. Or else it’s not a real meal.”
“Ah, well if the old goat says so, then I must!”
Atreus crossed his arms. “You must because I said so.”
“Oh, do you have some sort of authority over me now?” Heimdall scoffed at the boy’s cheekiness. “You know, I wasn’t actually planning on eating only cheese for breakfast. The kitchens weren’t finished with the rest of the food. But since you seem to think I can’t, perhaps I will.”
As annoying as Heimdall was, Atreus couldn’t help but smile at him. “Heimdall. Do you want some bread with your cheese?”
“No.” The man insisted.
Atreus scrutinized him for a few moments before nodding. “I’m gonna go get you some bread.”
“Oh for fuck’s…” Heimdall pinched the bridge of his nose. “Get the bread for yourself, I’m not eating it!” He called, and was ignored as Atreus walked off into the kitchens.
Despite his protests Atreus returned only a few minutes later, with a large fresh loaf on a tray with a few fruits beside it.
“Bread is ready! Nice and warm too.”
“Good, I hope you enjoy it. Finish it off too, you’re wasting away by the minute.”
Once again ignoring Heimdall, Atreus set the tray down and began carving up the bread and cheese with a knife. “Eat it like this, see?” He demonstrated, putting a piece of the cheese between the bread. “Try it.”
“You try it.”
And Atreus did, taking a bite of the combined bread and cheese. He grinned at the taste of it. “It’s really good!”
“I’m sure it is.”
“Do you want some?”
Heimdall was completely exasperated at the boy’s stubbornness, and yet somehow he was forced to hold back a smile at the ridiculousness of the situation. “No , I do not want some!” He said, trying to hold in a laugh of disbelief.
“Here, just try it.” Atreus smiled, pushing the bread towards Heimdall.
“How many more times must I say it–”
“Stop being stubborn and just eat some!” Atreus urged, pushing the bread against Heimdall’s lips.
“Are you sure you want this fight?” Heimdall grabbed onto his wrists and the boy struggled futilely against him. Their antics had already gained them the attention of everyone else in the dining hall, yet they remained entirely focused on one another.
“You really wanna fight over eating bread with your cheese? You’re so weird!”
“You are trying to force feed bread and cheese to a god, and I am the weird one?”
“Just try it!” Atreus whined, suddenly frowning up at Heimdall.
The man scoffed. “This is below me.” He released Atreus. “For fuck’s sake, fine.”
Atreus snickered and fed the bread into Heimdall’s mouth. His arms crossed, Heimdall took a bite.
Well, the brat was right. The warm bread allowed the cheese to melt a bit, improving the texture. And the mild taste of the bread toned down the sharpness of the cheese.
“See? Good, right?” Atreus asked, taking another bite for himself.
“Hm.” Heimdall answered with a noncommittal hum. “You are an impertinent nag.”
“I’m not a nag! You’re just stubborn.”
“I wonder how one as young as you has come to be such a shrew.”
At that, Atreus’ father came to mind. “From dealing with pig-headed men like you.” He answered with a smirk, leaning against Heimdall’s shoulder as he reached up to feed him more of the bread.
…
“Why are your eyes like this?”
Atreus’ small hands held Heimdall’s face in a not so gentle caress, his thumbs poking into his cheeks.
“Like what?”
“You know like what.” Atreus said. Currently in Heimdall’s bed in the Himinbjörg, Heimdall laid back while Atreus straddled his hips, sitting upright on his lap. They had finished their coupling not long ago. He leaned over, examining Heimdall’s handsome face. “So… purple and glowy.”
It was funny, Heimdall usually never allowed anyone into his home for longer than strictly necessary. And now, the little brat came here every other day. For sex yes, but he spent hours just idling there with Heimdall. Chatting, cooking, eating, working on little projects. From the small patch of fabric he kept downstairs in the sitting room, Heimdall assumed he was making a quilt of some sort. Surprisingly, Odin had given Heimdall permission to house Atreus in Himinbjorg if it was late and he was too far from the lodge. Better that than to have him wandering about, which the old god was finding it difficult to stop the unruly runt from doing.
The All-Father had since returned to his regular schedule. Prior to Loki’s arrival, he was always coming and going, often spending several days at a time outside of Asgard tending to matters elsewhere while entrusting Heimdall to look after things. Getting an extended audience with the All-Father was an extremely rare occurrence, which is why Heimdall was initially shocked at Odin spending so much time alone with the boy. When Loki first arrived, the All-Father made sure to stay within Asgard’s walls to keep a close eye on him. Now he seemed satisfied that Loki wouldn’t fall to pieces without him and Heimdall would report any serious trouble, so he recommitted himself to his duties.
Loki had since then become a fixture in his domicile. Now when Heimdall thought of retiring to his home at the end of the day, he sometimes found himself looking forward to Loki’s company rather than solitude.
“I do not know. Genetics.” Heimdall answered, closing his eyes.
Atreus’ hands roamed down to Heimdall’s mouth, pulling his lips open. “Why are your teeth gold?”
“Genetics.” Heimdall said again. The word came out strangely while Atreus moved his lips around, and it caused the boy to laugh.
Heimdall seemed mildly annoyed at Atreus’ prodding and pulling at his face and yet he tolerated it all the same, calmly lying back with his eyes resting while Atreus moved his mouth around into different positions. It was crazy, when they first met Atreus could never imagine being able to put a hand near Heimdall, and now their comfort with one another allowed them to have a moment like this. As Atreus pulled Heimdall’s lip up and ran fingers over his teeth in curiosity, he couldn’t help but think the god reminded him of a tamed lion.
“Did your mother look like this?” Atreus asked, moving his hands to caress other parts of Heimdall’s face.
Heimdall paused in consideration. “I can’t quite recall. I don’t particularly remember what my mother looked like.”
“What? How?”
“The All-Father sent for me to live at his court when I was around 4 or 5 years old. I never saw my mothers’ side of the family again.”
Atreus balked. “What, Odin never let you visit your mother again?”
“She had no interest in seeing me again. Nor I her.”
“That… That’s terrible.”
“Why? It makes little difference to me.”
Heimdall opened his eyes to see a somber and dejected look had replaced Atreus’ earlier amusement. With a sigh, he sat up and quickly flipped their positions, Atreus lying on his back while Heimdall hovered above him between his legs.
“And what about you then?” Heimdall asked, leaning down and cradling Atreus’ face in his hand. The boy suddenly seemed bashful now that he was the one being so closely inspected. “Why are your eyes like this?”
“Like what?”
“So infuriatingly blue and bright. How do they have rainbows in them?”
Atreus laughed. “Genetics.” He echoed.
Heimdall hummed and leaned down closer into Atreus’ face, caressing his chin. “And how exactly did you get to be so pretty, hm?”
The little giant blushed and turned his head from Heimdall, hiding his grin. “Genetics.” He answered again.
“And how is it that you are so pathetically undersized in every way?”
Rather than an answer, Heimdall received a smack to the chest.
…
“My father says I get my looks from my mother.”
“Your mother?”
Atreus hesitated. “Laufey. Laufey the Just.”
Heimdall remembered her. The great pest of Svartalfheim. He took immense pleasure in crushing her and the dwarf’s pathetic uprising. Back then he hadn’t been paying attention to her looks, considering he didn’t give a shit, but he recalled finding her just as unrefined and unpleasant as any other giant. Knowing it would upset Loki he chose not to voice that opinion, but he didn’t know how that boorish woman could’ve made such a comely and delicate creature.
Perhaps he was developing a bias.
“He always said there was nothing of him in me.” Atreus mused. “I guess he might be right. But I always thought of my father as handsome. In sort of a rough and rugged way.” He laughed.
That regained Heimdall’s attention. Unknowingly, he frowned. He wondered if Loki had ever described him as ruggedly handsome.
“Heimdall?” Atreus noted the man’s dower expression and rolled his eyes. “Are you kidding me right now? You cannot seriously be jealous of my father.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re so ridiculous. The most jealous man in the nine realms.”
…
“Why does everything you own have a name?”
“Pardon?”
“Your house, your sword, the horn. You name everything you own, even if they really don’t need one.” Atreus elaborated. “Is that a weird Aesir thing or just a weird man thing?”
“It is not weird . Any weapon worthy of being wielded by a god must have a name.” Heimdall almost named Mjolnir as an example, but his pride would not allow him to stoop that low. “The All-Father has his spear, Gungnir. Your sword has a name too, does it not?”
“That’s not the same thing and you know it. Ingrid is like… sentient. She talks and stuff. So of course she needs a name. Plus, I didn’t give it to her.”
At being alluded to, Ingrid piped up with a series of indiscernible noises from Atreus’ holster on the bench. The pair found themselves in the dining hall again during their debate, the rest of the Aesir having lunch too used to their arguing to pay it any mind.
The sword was typically quiet in Heimdall’s presence, for what reason he did not know. He found its high pitched noises annoying though, so he was grateful for it.
“Ingrid, hey. Be nice.”
Evidently, the sword felt similarly about him. Heimdall could not bring himself to care.
“And what of your bow? Doesn’t it have a name?” The older god asked.
“Not really? It’s just called the talon bow. It doesn't have a person name like all of your things.”
“And your knife?”
“... It’s just my knife. Why would I name it?”
“A weapon owned by a god is not just some ordinary object.” Heimdall argued in his defense. “Stories and poems have been written about Hofud’s might and the terrifying power it holds when wielded by yours truly. Do you think any of those poems would be as good if they simply kept referring to it as ‘Heimdall’s sword’? That could be referring to any sword, not one imbued with the power of the bifrost that has slain some of the most fearsome creatures in the nine realms.”
“Okay fine, but what about your house?” Atreus countered. “I’ve never heard of anyone giving their house a name. You have to admit that’s pretty weird. What purpose does it serve?”
Heimdall chafed. “You said it yourself, you had never seen a domicile so extensive and well designed. Just calling it ‘Heimdall’s cabin’ would be doing it a gross disservice.”
“What about Gjallarhorn?”
“I did not name Gjallarhorn.”
“Then who did?”
“I do not know.”
“You never asked?”
“Do you assume everyone asks as many incessant questions as you do?”
“Just saying, it’s interesting.” Ateus gave Heimdall a cheeky smile. “It might say something about you, that you feel the need to name everything you own.”
“I do not name everything I own.”
“You kinda do.”
“I haven’t given you a name.”
Prepared to quarrel more, Atreus opened his lips to retort, yet nothing came out. He averted his gaze as his cheeks reddened, and Heimdall looked visibly smug to see the effect the line had on him.
“... Um, anyway, you have given me a name.” Atreus spoke up again once he collected himself.
“Oh, have I?” Heimdall raised a brow in question, surprised Loki chose not to argue his bold declaration of ownership. “And what would that be?”
Atreus smiled. “Sunshine.”
…
“Did you name Gulltoppr then?”
“Yes, I did name him.” Heimdall affirmed.
“Why do you keep calling her ‘him’?”
“... Pardon?”
“She’s a girl but you always call her ‘him’ and ‘boy’.”
At this, Atreus received no response.
“Heimdall.”
The god remained silent.
“Did you seriously not know Gulltoppr was a girl?! All this time?!”
Heimdall’s expression looked almost sheepish.
“How can you not know that? You’ve had her for years, haven’t you? Maybe even decades? Centuries?”
“The stablehands see to his grooming, what reason did I ever have to check?!” Heimdall defended.
Atreus sighed. “You are incorrigible.”
“You flatter me, sunshine.”
…
“What’s so special about your mead?”
Atreus asked the question while in Heimdall’s sitting room at Himinbjörg. Heimdall had completed his patrols and after spending most of the day apart, the boy had opted to come and join him for his evening drink. Not that he would be having any.
It surprised Heimdall that he did not mind the brat intruding on his evening ritual. Sitting down with a drink while the sun set was one of the few times during the day that he actually found any true peace and solitude. Now he was sacrificing that to have a clingy, talkative jotünn lay his feet upon his lap and cuddle up beside him, and he yet found he felt no less peaceful.
“You only drink the mead from the dining hall and tavern occasionally, and even then you kinda look like you’re grimacing. Why is this one better?” Atreus continued, gesturing to the bottle on the table.
“Everything about it is different. The quality of this mead is simply incomparable to that served elsewhere in Asgard…”
Heimdall began trailing off into a long winded explanation of brewing techniques and fine ingredients, and Atreus immediately began to feel sorry that he had asked. The complexity wasn’t exactly lost on him, but it was of little interest. All of the mead he had sampled so far tasted the same, gross, so he couldn’t quite understand Heimdall’s zealousness for it. Watching him give such an impassioned speech was pretty attractive though, so Atreus let him rant uninterrupted.
“... Since I’ve started frequenting the tavern more, the barkeep began stocking a top shelf mead for me. That is… tolerable. And they occasionally have a higher quality mead available in the Great Lodge, but their stock for the month dries up rather quickly.”
“Hm. I wonder whose fault that could be…”
At Heimdall’s unimpressed frown, Atreus giggled. “Is there anything the Aesir drink other than mead?”
“There is ale and wine, but it is not nearly strong enough for a warrior.” Heimdall answered. “More for delicate types, such as yourself.”
Atreus glared. “Let me try some.”
“You won’t like it.”
“Why does everybody else here love mead so much then?”
“You have to develop a taste for liquor over time.”
“How can I develop a taste for it over time if I never start?”
An image suddenly conjured in Heimdall’s mind of Loki, slightly older, and still in Asgard. He began to realize, the All-Father had never put a time frame on how long the boy would be staying there. Nor did Loki himself. He obviously didn’t intend on staying forever, the boy mentioned saving his father often enough. But how long would it be until that happened? Once Loki achieved his goal, would he return? Was the All-Father’s invitation of welcome for Loki indefinite? It certainly seemed like Odin intended on making a permanent place for him here, but none of Heimdall’s prying into Loki’s mind saw the boy making Asgard his home.
So much of the future was uncertain even with Heimdall’s gift, and it disquieted him.
“This is a habit better not to start, if you can help it.” Heimdall said, forcing his wandering mind back onto the topic at hand. “You already have the makings of a nasty little temper, and you talk too much. You’d make for a very annoying drunk.”
“That’s not true! I’d still be nice, even if I was drunk.” Atreus insisted with a pout. “... Mimir told me that most of Thor’s destruction came from drunken rage. Does everybody get angry when they’re drunk?”
“No. Drink affects people differently. Some get violent, while some get happy. Some get sleepy and lethargic, some get horny.”
“Horny?” Atreus looked puzzled.
“Yes, very much so. Why do you think drinks are served by pretty young women and men?”
“I don’t think I’ve actually seen you that drunk before.” Atreus noted. “What are you like when you’re drunk?”
Heimdall knew very well that he got quite… rowdy when drunk. Angry and horny in almost equal measures. It was a very good thing that no one had seen him truly intoxicated in quite a while. Unlike most others he actually had self control, and only ever allowed himself to get a bit tipsy in public.
“I don’t get drunk.” Heimdall deflected, taking another sip from his cup.
“Never? I don’t believe that.”
“Believe what you wish, it simply doesn’t happen.”
“What, like you can’t?”
“No, I just have dignity and know my limits.”
Atreus smirked. “I’m sure if I asked someone else, they would be very willing to tell me. Like Thor maybe…?”
Heimdall stiffened. That bloated inebriate would love nothing more than to regale anyone that would listen with tales from Heimdall’s younger days about him… overindulging. The bastard was always a constant fixture in the mead hall, and had bore witness to some embarrassing incidents. “Over my cold, dead body.”
“Let me try some then.”
“Blackmail, really Loki? Can you truly continue to play the innocent ingénue with such devious tendencies?”
“You are so dramatic.”
Heimdall rolled his eyes and handed off the cup to Atreus, who accepted it with a giddy smile. He took only a small sip, and his distaste was immediately evident.
“Well?”
“Nope, still gross.”
Heimdall huffed, taking the cup back and sipping from it himself. “Hmph. I told you. Philistine.”
…
“What’s that?”
“A pipe.”
“Yeah, I know what that is. I meant, what’s in it?”
“Angelikarot.” Heimdall answered.
The two were spending another evening together in Himinbjörg, sat closely together on Heimdall’s settee. After a somewhat stressful day, Heimdall decided he needed to have a smoke with his daily cup of mead.
“Oh. I think I’ve seen that in my mother’s herbarium.” Atreus recalled. “It’s supposed to help with… nervousness?”
“It can calm nerves, yes.” Heimdall affirmed.
“It smells really nice. Like… juniper?” Atreus noticed. He supposed this was the scent he would smell on Heimdall’s clothes sometimes.
“Can I try it?”
“No.”
Atreus huffed, frustrated that he was receiving the same treatment his father and Mimir had given him. “Why not?”
“Wouldn’t want to damage your frail little lungs so early, sunshine.”
“My lungs aren’t frail!” Atreus argued. “We’re both gods, if you can smoke why can’t I?”
“Fine then, I’ll show you why,” Heimdall gave in to the boy’s stubbornness, holding the pipe out for him. “Go ahead, try it.”
Atreus, surprised at how easily Heimdall was swayed, carefully took the pipe. “How do I…”
“Suck in and then breathe the smoke out.”
It sounded a bit confusing, but Heimdall made it look easy when he did it. He brought the pipe to his lips, sucked air in…
And immediately broke out into a fit of coughs.
Heimdall chuckled in amusement as Atreus keeled over. “ That is why you can’t smoke.” He said, grabbing the pipe back and taking an easy puff.
“Oh gods, my throat feels like it’s covered in ants!” Atreus yelled, sitting back against the settee as a few coughs still rattled his chest. “It’s awful! Why do you do it if it feels so awful?”
“If you’re skilled at it, it’s quite pleasant. If you aren’t, well…” Heimdall gestured to Atreus.
“You’re the worst.”
“You’re the one that begged me to let you try.”
“You could’ve just told me that would happen!”
“As if you would’ve listened, stubborn little thing that you are.”
With no defense for that, Atreus sulked, his arms crossed as he stared at the wall opposite Heimdall.
Though he wanted to ignore it, these days Heimdall couldn’t help but feel irked when Loki was upset or dissatisfied. He was becoming far too indulgent in minding the brat’s moods. “Come then.” He said.
“What–” Atreus found himself suddenly being pulled into Heimdall’s lap
“Open your mouth.” Heimdall ordered.
Atreus was incredibly confused but obeyed all the same.
The pair's eyes connected as Heimdall took a drag from the pipe and held it in. He brought Atreus close, eyes flickering down to the boy’s soft lips momentarily before he leaned in and slowly blew the smoke past them.
Atreus took in a breath through his mouth and felt the thin smoke enter his airways, far less unpleasantly this time around.
“Better?”
“The…” Atreus felt as if he was in a daze. And looking into Heimdall’s eyes, he felt the herb had little to do with it. “The scent is nice.”
Heimdall hummed in agreement. Atreus closed the short distance between them again in a kiss. Finding his nerves were sufficiently settled, Heimdall set his pipe aside and pulled Atreus closer. With both of them in a tranquil haze they kissed slow, the taste of the smoke lingering between them.
…
“How come you don’t have a beard?”
Loki posed the question while they laid in Heimdall’s bed, post coitus. They had been laying there in comfortable silence for a while, their limbs tangled together under a soft pelt while the fireplace lit them in a warm glow from across the room.
“Why should I have one?” Heimdall questioned.
“I dunno.” Atreus absentmindedly ran his thumb over Heimdall’s jaw, the stubble there prickling his fingers. He shifted subtly, his reddened inner thighs rubbing together as he remembered the burn of that very stubble against them. “I’ve just never seen a god without a beard. Almost everyone in Asgard has one. Why do you shave yours?”
Heimdall scoffed. “Other men flaunt their beards because it helps them hide how old and ugly they are. Clearly, I have no need for one.”
“Huh. Is Odin old and ugly then?”
Heimdal balked, realizing the trap he had been caught in. This awful occurrence was happening more and more. As he became more comfortable around the brat, Heimdall used foresight less often, making it easier for Loki to take him off guard, something that clearly delighted the boy.
At Loki’s waiting smirk, Heimdall cleared his throat and replied. “The All-Father’s appearance has no bearing on the safety and stability of the nine realms, therefore it is not for me to comment on.”
That earned a teasing laugh from the boy, to which Heimdall rolled his eyes.
“Can you not grow a real beard? Is it too patchy?” Atreus asked, pivoting back to investigating Heimdall’s grooming habits.
Heimdall scowled, deeply offended by the very suggestion. “Of course I could grow a beard if I desired one.”
“Have you ever had a beard?”
Heimdall sighed, growing tired of this pointless speculation. “A short cropped one, when I first started growing facial hair. Neat and closely trimmed.”
“Really?” Atreus perked up. “Why didn’t you keep it? Did you not look good with it?”
“I had a very handsome beard and I looked just as good with it as I do without one.” Heimdall argued before huffing in annoyance. “I simply hated getting food and drink caught in it. The sensation was unpleasant and distracting.”
Atreus hummed in understanding, laying his head back down on Heimdall’s chest. “I think your beard probably looked nice on you. Different, but nice.”
Did Loki like bearded men more than clean-shaven men? Heimdall knew beards were the standard for men throughout the realms, gods especially. But he was no ordinary god. He was the shining Aesir, the golden god of Asgard. His dashing good looks were things of legend, praised third only to his incredible skill in battle and immoveable fortitude. Why should he need a beard? It would just cover up his immaculate features. His signature sneer would be far less intimidating with a bush of hair obstructing it. Why would Loki bring this up post-coitus? Was he hoping the fading haze of euphoria would soften the blow?
“Heimdall. I think you’re thinking too much.”
“Last I checked, you weren’t the mind reader here.”
“It gets easier the more I know you. You get this constipated look on your face, and then you go look for a drink or your pipe.”
“Something tells me you have grown far too comfortable with your security in my bed. Do you not think I can just cast you out and send you walking back to the Great Lodge without your clothing?”
Atreus rolled his eyes at the toothless threat, pressing a sweet kiss to Heimdall’s cheek that seemed to pacify him for the moment. The boy laid there for a while, a pensive look upon his own face. While it did become easier to read Heimdall as they spent more time together, he still couldn’t feel him.
Though he was only able to hear the thoughts of animals, Atreus could feel the feelings of any living thing. It was a difficult sensation to explain, but something that had been intrinsic to him for as long as he could remember, even before he knew he was a god or a giant.
The only person he had never been able to feel was his father. Even after all their progress, he still couldn’t. It made it that much harder to understand him, even as he tried to see things from his perspective. It was the same with Heimdall, he couldn’t feel him either. Perhaps it was a god thing, being able to block out his gift. It was like an impenetrable wall, leaving Atreus without any tools to break through. Trying to empathize with Heimdall felt like he was being forced to use his bare hands to pull the stone wall apart, brick by painstaking brick.
“Sometimes I wish I could read you. Or feel what you feel, like with other people. It would make understanding you easier.” Atreus whispered. “It would make it easier for you too. I know it’s hard to talk about the way you feel. You’ve never had to.”
Heimdall began to have the distinct feeling that he was being pitied. While that would normally make him lash out he instead tried to quiet his mind, distracted by the comfortable weight of Loki’s small body on top of his. The boy’s soft breath tickled his chin, and his thin fingers trailed through his loose hair. Heimdall found he lacked the energy to fight, this moment felt too peaceful to disrupt.
Atreus’ eyes closed as he attempted to settle his own troubled mind. Yes, Heimdall was still so closed off and it frustrated him that he couldn’t tell what the elder god was feeling. But the amount of generosity the god had shown him in displaying his emotions was far more than Atreus could’ve ever expected upon first meeting him. Their relationship had progressed so far in the relatively brief time they had known each other, and Atreus was grateful enough to be patient.
Maybe one day, Heimdall would start to help him pull the wall apart as well.