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‟Loki!” Thor shouted. Loki continued ignoring him - or at least played at it; Loki never ignored anything around him, whatever his mien, like a cat - making a flirtatious face at the mirror. Thor grimaced. ‟Take . . . that off! It’s- It’s mine and it’s weird.”
‟Why should I?” Loki said airily, tones that definitely didn’t match-
Thor tugged his shoulder. ‟Because it’s creepy.”
Loki turned with a sneer that also looked weird on Thor’s own face. ‟Excuse me?”
‟It’s creepy and weird!” Thor threw his hands up. ‟You’re Loki, you shouldn’t look like me!”
Loki pouted, drawing back, and even wearing a perfect mimicry of Thor, his brother’s familiar body language was clear.
How had Thor fucked up this time?
Unbidden, Thor remembered-
‟How are you so good with the ladies? You were already, even when you’d barely started!” Fandral had demanded, somewhat sulkily.
Honestly. Between Sif who broke bones if offended and Loki who was touchier than a wildcat and when Thor caused offence or hurt would stab him, or worse, disappear for weeks whenever Thor searched for him.
The most particular noblewoman in the Nine Realms couldn’t be so difficult. In fact it was almost relaxing, handling the ladies who flocked around on feast days.
. . .if not generally for Fandral’s reasons.
Well, he had spent all his life managing Loki’s moods - though self-aware enough to admit at least to himself that Loki in turn spent much time teasing his temper quiet before he got himself into trouble, or using that silver tongue to get him out again - he could handle it.
‟Loki. Brother.” Thor moved after Loki, cautious, though it was still painfully strange watching his own fucking face like this.
‟What?” Loki lifted his chin, and, ah, that was probably close to the expression Mother sighed over Thor not making properly; just a little imperious, but confidently cool, as though too far above whatever he beheld to get involved. Loki was, of course, very good at it - Thor tried very hard not to be bitter that Loki excelled at all Mother’s lessons - but Thor had never been able to picture that on his own face.
He didn’t much like it, but perhaps mostly because Loki was wearing his face.
‟Will you please take off my face and let me see yours again?” Thor asked, taking another step; Loki didn’t retreat.
‟Why?” Loki pouted again; he was softening. ‟Is your face not preferred by all to mine?”
Thor didn’t think that was quite true - Loki had many admirers among both ladies and warriors - but that was neither here nor there. ‟Not by me.”
Loki hummed, then tilted his head, and his own seaglass eyes met Thor’s, his lips curved slightly. ‟Is that so?”
All-Father help Thor, if Loki had been playing to get this reaction. . .
Thor kissed him rather than speak; he’d just gotten Loki out of a sulk, best not risk it again so soon if he didn’t want to find inexplicably live fish in his boots for weeks.