Loki (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} fiorvalr) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} noexits,@ 2021-07-12 11:23:00 |
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WHO Loki & Fandral
WHAT Loki has a mini emotional breakdown. Fandral tries to help.
WHEN Day 6; Night
WHERE The Grand Floridian Suite
WARNINGS Discussion of death, depression, sex, betrayal. Some suggestive intimacy.
STATUS Complete
Loki lay sprawled out on the king-sized mattress of his suite at the Grand Floridian. It wasn’t palatial. There weren’t gold encrusted ornaments on the doorknobs and the wood of the bed wasn’t handcrafted as it would be in Asgard. But as far as Midgard standards went, it was considerably plush and luxurious. According to the young woman at the front desk it was the best suite they had to offer. It even had a private dining and sitting room. And the view from the balcony overlooked the water. Loki had stood out there earlier, watching as the sun set into the dark blue stillness that seemed to spread for miles; the orange glow rippling across the bay. He tried to imagine it was Asgard. He pretended like he was standing on the Bifrost Bridge, staring out into the vast sea which eventually cut into the fjords. It wasn’t the same, but water always reminded him of home. And while it filled him with a moment’s peace to think that somewhere in another time he might be a younger man staring out from his bedroom window of the palace towards the endless sea, it also left him with a deep longing.
He wanted to be home. And he wanted home to be there as he remembered it. He wanted to see his mother one last time. To see his father. Thor. Hel, he’d even be glad to see Sif. Anything to know that they were alive and well. But they weren’t.
And neither was he.
And not even the so-called Happiest Place on Earth could change that. What was it everyone kept singing at the Magic Kingdom?
When you wish upon a star,
Makes no difference who you are.
Anything your heart desires
Will come to you.
Horseshit.
Loki had been wishing from the moment he learned that this realm was supposed to be a place that fulfilled dreams. A place that granted wishes. From the moment he saw that young girl pull the sword from the stone and that little boy’s eyes light up at the sight of pirates. When he found himself standing in the middle of a parade of people, their faces gleaming with joy and enthusiasm, he decided he would wish too. And so he did. But no one answered his wishes. He got nothing.
And it hurt. He hurt. His heart ached for something good in his life. And he hated himself for spending so many years — so many centuries — being angry, insufferable, temperamental. He was enraged that he’d allowed himself to wallow in the misery of his own making instead of turning it around into something good. Something better. And to realize that now, after it was too late, was the worst. Because what did it matter now? Even death wasn’t good enough for him. Even the gods and warriors in Valhalla didn’t want him.
The curtains were drawn open despite the late hour. Outside the window the sky was dark, but it lit up with distant fireworks from one of the parks. Loki rolled onto his side, pulling the complementary white bathrobe around him, and watched as bursts of color flashed across the water.
If this was the happiest place on earth, then why did he feel so sad?
This week roaming the different realms of the park had been something Fandral didn’t even know he’d needed. Yes, it was a kingdom of illusions, but there was so much happiness and joy surrounding him that he found it infectious. He also found the princesses too desirable, and vice versa. He’d hoped he hadn’t caused any of them to lose their crowns, though each in turn had said it would be worth it.
That thought made him chuckle, wanting to tell Loki if the day’s escapades as he made his way up to the room he’d been given a key for. The other man had found a way into one of the grandest rooms offered for Misgardians, of course, and had provided Fandral a key as well.
Though he was polite enough to let Loki have the bed when he chose to sleep there. The couch had been sufficient, surprisingly.
Fandral was humming to himself, key opening the door to the suite, unsure of if Loki was even there. He’d been told he may or may not be, but his day had been full and he wanted to enjoy the space while he could — it wasn’t as if the dorm rooms of Derleth were very accommodating. As the door shut and locked, he called out. “Loki, are you here?”
No response. Though it seemed there was a light on.
He quietly made his way to the double doors that led to the bedroom and peeked in, seeing him on the bed, lost in thought as he looked out the window. “Are you quite alright?”
Loki heard Fandral enter the suite, but he didn’t have the will to respond to him. And the space wasn’t that large. Fandral would find him eventually. Which, of course, was no excuse to be impolite. But Loki wasn’t in the mood to entertain. He was in a low place. A place he’d been avoiding ever since he woke up in Derleth. And now that he was there he didn’t know how to get out of it.
It reminded him of being in the palace dungeons. Of the day he learned of his mother’s death. His mother’s death caused by him. Himself. And his poor choices. At the time he’d had the strength and wherewithal to put up an illusion so that others wouldn’t be able to see his pain. He couldn’t allow strangers to know how destroyed he was. How crushed and broken.
Thor had seen through it, of course. He didn’t always see through Loki’s illusions, but that time he had. Not that it had been very difficult. Everyone knew that Loki was his mother’s son. Everyone knew that they’d been close to each other in ways she hadn’t been with Thor and in ways Odin hadn’t been with Loki. She sensed in him a boy who needed more love and attention. And she gave it to him, unconditionally. And in return Loki sent her to her death.
But on this particular evening Loki didn’t even try to mask his sadness. No illusions. No enchantments. No false bravado. Just Loki as himself. Lying alone in a bed made for two. Watching a celebration from a distance. No elaborate tricks. No fine Asgardian leather. Not even his hair was combed. He might have been a god, but he didn’t feel like one. He just felt like a man who’d lost everything and had nothing left to inspire him.
No, I’m not alright. That’s what Loki wanted to say, but he didn’t. Or he couldn’t. He wasn’t sure which. Maybe he was afraid that if he admitted that aloud that he’d tear open something inside of himself. Something he’d never be able to get back.
“There are fireworks every night.” Fireworks. That reminded him of Frigga, too.
It had been a stupid question. Fandral knew that as soon as it had left his mouth, yet he still felt it necessary to ask -- how often did anyone actually ask Loki if he was alright and mean it? He paused in the doorway as he looked at him. The last time he’d seen him like this had been… well. He couldn’t actually recall ever seeing Loki like this. The other man wasn’t exactly one to show his emotions to most people, himself included.
His eagerness to tell Loki about the day had dissipated rather quickly, though he wasn’t upset by that. Concern over the other man took precedents.
“Yes, there are,” he responded quietly, toeing out of his shoes before walking over toward the bed and gently sitting on the edge of it. His back was to Loki and he looked out of the window a moment, watching the bursts of color across the water. They were beautiful in the way only fireworks could be and although Loki was sad, he was thankful to get to spend this moment with him, just the two of them.
After a few moments he shifted and turned to face him a little more, looking down at him sadly. Worried. Without much hesitation, he reached a hand forward and gently brushed a lock of dark hair back away from Loki’s face. “Do you wish to talk about what is bothering you?” Because something clearly was, Fandral just didn’t know what it could be.
Loki didn’t say anything for a long moment. He just continued to stare off towards the window, watching as the water lit up periodically in splashes of color reflected from the sky. It was beautiful. But it wasn’t beautiful enough to draw Loki out of the depths of despair he’d tumbled into. Well, not exactly tumbled. He’d been wading through this for a long time. It had simply caught up with him. Dragged him down into its muck.
Solemn moments had never been good for him. Neither was nostalgia. When Loki had too much time to think then he inevitably found something to rattle him. Oftentimes something about himself. In this case, everything about himself.
What was he anymore? And what did any of it matter?
“This is a place of illusions. A place of false dreams. Nothing here is real. It’s all a spectacle. All a lie.” That hurt him the most. The fact that he hadn’t recognized the trick earlier. That he’d allowed himself to continue hoping that he might find what everyone else in the parks seemed to find. Happiness. But when he spoke it wasn’t with anger so much as frustration. And regret.
And pain.
Because he was in pain. His heart ached. It was tired of trying to be someone he wasn’t. Tired of putting on the ruse. God of Mischief. God of Lies. Who was he kidding? Clearly no one but himself. And even that wasn’t true. Because Loki was more perceptive than he let on and he knew it was all a facade. He was weak. And he’d failed.
Again. And again. And again.
“Would it be too much to ask you to hold me?”
It was strange to see Loki like this. No, more than strange. Almost unsettling. And it pained Fandral in a way that he hadn’t expected, perhaps because it seemed so unnatural; Loki was always so good at acting as if nothing ever bothered him and yet here he was.
What was it that seemed to bother him so much about the parks being all a creation? Something meant to entertain? It was theater on the grandest scale and he was surprised that Loki didn’t seem to appreciate that more.
Of all the people there, he should have appreciated the trickery the most, right?
Fandral was quiet for a moment, though he kept his eyes on him, even as he asked about being held. Under normal circumstances he might have found that an odd request, but these weren’t normal circumstances and Loki clearly seemed to need the comfort.
He was glad to be able to give it.
“No, it’s not too much to ask, I assure you.” He considered moving around to the other side of the bed to come up behind him, but instead opted to lay down where he was sat. He shifted a bit and rolled over onto his side, but he draped an arm over Loki, guiding him to nestle against him if he wanted.
Oh, but Loki did appreciate the grand scale of Disney’s deception. He was in awe of it. As far as illusions went, it was one of the most magnificent he’d ever come across. He was keenly envious of that. And he wished he could have met the person responsible for capturing the hearts of so many Midgardians the world over.
But therein lay his despair.
Because for a brief moment he’d allowed himself to believe in the lie. In the possibility that it was harboring a hidden truth. He gave himself hope that this place truly could do what it claimed to do. Bring forth the heart’s true desire. Restore a soul’s happiness. And not just for the young or the good. For everyone. Even Loki.
But that wasn’t true. That was the manipulation. He saw it for what it was and he fell for it anyway.
It was embarrassing and pathetic.
When Fandral lay down in front of him, blocking the view of the outside, Loki exhaled a soft sigh. Then he pressed his face into Fandral’s neck and draped one arm in kind over his torso. It was an odd sensation for Loki. Intimate. Perhaps too intimate. And he didn’t know how long he’d allow it to last. But it felt good to not be alone. To have someone else’s strength keeping him together; preventing him from cracking into a million different pieces.
Was this what people felt when they let people in? When they stopped pretending and opened up? Warmth, relief, exhaustion?
“I miss Asgard. I miss home,” he said against Fandral’s skin. Loki could feel his eyes begin to well, but he held back the tears, refusing to blink until they disappeared. Then his fingers clenched around Fandral’s back and he nestled himself closer. “And I’ll never be able to see it again.”
As Loki pressed against him, Fandral let his head tilt back just enough to allow his head to nestle against him, his chin gently resting against the top of his head. He closed his eyes and moved the hand that was against Loki’s back to cup the back of his head instead, his thumb gently running back and forth in small, hopefully comforting strokes.
It was instinct to hold him like this, albeit very new. Still. He wasn’t going to turn away from the other man actually allowing himself to be vulnerable for once.
The mention of Asgard — home — made his heart ache in ways it only did when he thought of what he’d lost. Everything about their world was gone and there was no way back. Fandral felt his throat tighten a little with the threat of his own tears and he quietly tried to clear it away.
“I miss home, too.” Desperately, even.
Loki hated being vulnerable. No, that wasn’t right. He hated people seeing him vulnerable. He was a man of illusions. Of deceptions and false promises. He was seemingly always in control. At least in front of most people. His family had seen him at his worst. Odin, Frigga, Thor. They knew and understood his sensitivities. They recognized that he had a great instability inside of him. But everyone else? Loki had always managed to uphold his smug, self-satisfied, confident appearance. There was never any doubt when it came to what Loki thought of himself. What he felt. Because the Loki he showed to the world was always in control. Always strong. And always the furthest thing from the truth.
He turned his head so that his ear was placed against Fandral’s chest. The sound of his heartbeat echoed in opposition to the bursting fireworks over the lagoon. Loki inhaled a deep breath and held it in for a count of ten, hoping it would help settle his own racing heart. If he could focus on that sound and nothing else, perhaps he could maintain some semblance of control over his emotions. Some discipline. And prevent himself from losing it completely. Which was the exact opposite of what he wanted to do.
He couldn’t be seen as weak.
He mustn’t be.
He was Loki. God of Mischief. Lies. Chaos. He couldn’t be feeble and cowardly. What would people think of him then?
But he heard the wavering note in Fandral’s voice and knew he wasn’t alone. And while it pained him to know that the dashing swordsman also hurt — no thanks to me, Loki thought to himself — it also helped him. That meant he wasn’t alone. That meant he wasn’t the only one.
“I’m sorry,” Loki muttered between heavy breaths. “I’m sorry for everything. I am, truly. For what I did to Asgard. To Thor. To father. Mother. To Midgard. To the people who looked up to me as their king. To you. I was wrong. And I know I’ll never be able to make up for it. I know no matter how many sacrifices I make, it won’t change what I’ve done. Nothing can.”
Loki turned his gaze up to Fandral. “But it hurts so much. And it’s a pain I don’t want to live with. It’s a pain I can’t live with. And yet, this place … It’s hel, Fandral. Coming back week after week. Remembering what I’ve done and how it ended. I don’t want to feel that anymore.”
This had taken an unexpected turn and he found himself listening to Loki apologize for his wrongdoings, of the things he’d done to Asgard and against Asgard, of the pain he’d caused. The pain in his voice squeezed at his heart and perhaps under different circumstances he might’ve felt differently — these apologies were a long time coming, but Fandral didn’t care to bring that up.
The fact that Loki seemed to mean and hurt over it was something he hadn’t expected to ever see himself.
When he felt him shift, Fandral tilted his head back down to look at him. What was he meant to say to that? It caused his eyes to well with tears and he brought his hand around, caressing Loki’s face briefly before he pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. He sniffled softly before wrapping his arms a bit more tightly around him, holding him closer, almost as if he was trying to protect him.
Perhaps he was, in a way, trying to protect Loki from himself.
“I am sorry. You’re right, nothing can change what has happened, but your remorse is palpable, Loki.” His voice was hushed when he spoke. “You cannot leave me though, okay? I’ll be furious with you if you do.” Loki was all he had of home and despite their differences over the centuries, he needed him.
Loki had never been the sort of person who felt he needed physical affection to comfort him. Of course, as a child he’d been desperate for it. He’d always been so jealous of Thor. Whenever Thor received attention for his bravery or his strength or his good deeds, Loki was practically green with envy. And he cherished those moments when Frigga, or even Odin on occasion, took him by the hand or held him in a warm embrace. With his mother they were many. With his father, few and far between. But he remembered them and the way they made him feel. Then he grew up and he found forming attachments with people to be difficult. Sometimes elusive. Because physical touch often revealed truths. And Loki was all about obscuring the truth.
But he needed physical connections as much as the next person. Maybe even more so. And Fandral’s hand to his face, the gentle kiss to his forehead, the slow massaging motion of his fingers against the back of his neck. They did comfort him. They made him feel noticed. They made him feel real. And they made him wish he hadn’t waited so long to be honest with someone.
It was hard to tell the truth. Because telling it to someone else meant telling it to himself. And when his brother’s swordsman pulled him close, when Loki could feel Fandral’s heartbeat through his own chest, all of those emotions he’d buried — his mother’s death, his father’s death, patricide, abandonment, isolation, imprisonment, loneliness, anger, loss, fear, guilt, regret — they all flooded forward.
He heaved a weary breath against Fandral. His fingers dug into the other man’s shirt, nails pinching through the skin. It was a literal death grip. Because he was dead. And that was the worst thing of all. Not knowing if any of this was real. Not knowing if it meant anything. And not knowing if Derleth would snatch it away from him in an instant.
“It’s my fault you’re dead.” The words fell from his lips before he had the chance to think about them. And Loki tucked himself closer into Fandral’s embrace, fearful that he might let go now that he knew the truth. Fearful that it would change Fandral’s perception of him. Of them. As friends. As warriors. As kindred Asgardians. As lovers. As whatever. And Loki feared it would change what Fandral wanted from him. Whatever that was. “If I could change things, I would. I swear to you. I swear on everything. I never thought about the consequences of my actions. And they will haunt me forever.”
Loki never thinking about the consequences of his actions wasn’t lost on Fandral — it was a common occurrence and one he was more than aware of when it came to the other man. It had been that way for as long as he’d known him and ultimately had resulted in… well, the end of everything as they knew it.
That was something he both needed to sit with and grieve, though his instinct was to forgive Loki for everything he’d done. Was the remorse genuine though? It seemed that way. He’d never seen Loki like this before or heard this sort of pain coming from him.
When he felt the grip Loki had on him, he held him a little tighter, letting him work through whatever emotions it was he was feeling in that moment. He was sure it was too many.
“Shh,” he said softly, his breath hitching when he tried to sigh. Everything about this exact moment was breaking his heart. Why did it take death and destruction of their home to make Loki feel remorse for his part in what had happened? Fandral wasn’t sure he’d ever fully understand, but he’d try. “You did not force me into my decision to attempt to protect our realm, Loki. That was as natural a choice as breathing. I am proud to have died trying to save Asgard.”
His words had been thick with emotion and the threat of tears when he spoke, so he dipped his head, burying his face into Loki’s hair.
The tears fell before Loki had the chance to stifle them. They streamed from his eyes quietly, wetting his face and the fabric of Fandral’s shirt. There were no heaving sobs, although Loki was capable of thim, but merely the desperate and frantic falling of tears. They coated his face and trickled down his chin. Inside his own mind he was screaming. Deep within his soul he was like that man he was years ago when he was trapped in the palace dungeons, when he learned the fate of his mother. Grief stricken and brokenhearted. But on the outside he was just still. He was a man afraid to show too much. Afraid to say too much. Afraid to feel too much. But he couldn’t stop the tears. They defied all of his attempts to prove he was fine.
Because he wasn’t fine. Maybe he never had been. Maybe he never would be. But now Fandral knew. And there was no taking it back. From this point on, everything would be different. Because now Fandral saw him for what he was.
A sad, pathetic, fragile, little man. No, not even a man. Not even an Asgardian. Barely a god. A Frost Giant. Enemy of Asgard. Terror of their people. Was it a wonder that he was so furious all of the time? That he was so jaded and disheartened? He couldn’t even be what he wanted to be.
Brother. Son. Friend. Prince. Asgardian. King. Frost Giant. Sorcerer. God.
Was he truly any of these things? Had he ever been? Or was that all part of the lie? A piece of the great deception started by his father and passed on to him.
And what of Loki? What of that little boy who hundreds of years ago wanted nothing more than to be everything that everyone expected him to be? Where was he now? Did he ever matter?
Loki pulled his face away from Fandral and wiped his eyes on his sleeve. Suddenly this closeness didn’t feel right. It felt unfair. Fandral was too forgiving. But Loki wasn’t. Loki knew that Fandral deserved a better companion. A better friend. Loki was not a good friend. He wasn’t even a good person. And the heroes were right. All he did was infect everyone around him.
“We shouldn’t be here. Not together. I can’t allow it. I can’t live through another loss. And I can’t risk accidentally putting you in harm’s way again.” Loki propped himself up on his elbow and looked down into Fandral’s eyes. He wanted so much from Fandral in that moment. But he couldn’t let that happen. He’d never survive the fallout of sharing his emotions. He pressed a finger to Fandral’s lips, his expression racked with grief. “You’re too important…”
...to me.
Loki pulled himself out of Fandral’s arms and climbed out of the bed.
As he held Loki and felt the fabric of his shirt slowly become soaked through with the tears that fell, he laid there and held him, thoughts racing through his mind. He wanted so desperately to help Loki feel better, to ease the pain of what he was feeling, but he knew that he couldn’t. All he could offer was comfort and he was doing his best at that moment.
Fandral couldn’t even pretend to know what was going on in the other man’s mind right then, so he didn’t try. He couldn’t know how he was feeling, the course of their lives had been far too different, even after their paths had crossed for the long term.
Or for whatever had remained of their comparatively short lives.
It was the look on Loki’s face when he finally pulled back that seemed to knock the wind out of him. That was an expression that might haunt him for a while. He opened his mouth to speak, but felt the other’s finger press to his lips and suddenly his own emotions seemed to get the better of him. Too important. To who, exactly? He closed his eyes and felt the tears that had welled finally spill over in defeat.
That moment had been all it took for Loki to move away and off of the bed, the chill of the room hitting Fandral suddenly as he continued to lay there. “Loki, stop. Please.”
He quietly wiped at the tears on his cheeks and then pushed himself up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and letting his hands clasp gently between them. The fireworks had finished. The night sky was dark again, except for the dim of the lights coming from the park. “Do I get no say in the matter?”
What was it Bucky had said to him? ‘You’re a liar. Nobody knows you because you never tell the same story twice.’ Loki couldn’t argue with him. The only argument he had was that he knew when he lied, but he wasn’t certain if that was true either. How many half-truths had made up his life? How many fibs? How many exaggerations? At what point was he lying and at what point was he merely boasting? Fabricating truths to support the illusion. And did he even know who the real Loki was anymore? Had there ever been one?
Loki wanted to believe that the man who stood up to Thanos, who protected his brother and gave his life for the people of Asgard, was the real him. But that was one act of sacrifice among thousands of acts of deceit. If Loki said the sky was pink and a thousand others said it was blue, what color was most likely correct?
He stepped towards the balcony, partially opening the glass door to let in some of that warm summer air. Nighttime had a particular aroma to it. Back in Asgard it was the scent of spruce trees. Of fresh bread baking in the ovens for the morning market. And the icy crispness of snow on the mountaintops. In Florida the aroma was heavier. It was damp heat sitting in thick air. It was marshy foliage and still waters. It was tropical flowers and a salty breeze swept inland from the sea.
Loki closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Then he leaned the weight of his body into the doorframe as though willing it to hold both him and his centuries of misery.
Gods, he was such a drama queen.
But that didn’t make his pain any less real.
“And what would you say, Fandral?” Loki turned his gaze back towards the bed. “Don’t patronize me. I’m the God of Lies, remember. I know when someone is trying to kid themselves. What would you say if you had a say in this matter? Knowing full well that I know that if my brother were here — or Sif or Volstagg or Hogun — I would not be the one whose room you would be sharing. And it’s okay to admit that. It won’t hurt me. But knowing that, what could you possibly want to say?”
Fandral’s eyes remained on Loki. First, it was out of caution as he watched the other man open the balcony doors. After his talk of not being able to live with this pain, he worried about what Loki might attempt to do to stop that pain. Scenarios kept coming to the forefront of his mind but he tried to ignore them; it was a difficult task, to say the least.
He was pulled from his thoughts when Loki finally turned more toward him and addressed him.
The words that sat on the tip of his tongue were simply ‘I don’t care what they would think,’ but he hadn’t asked about that. He simply wanted to know what Fandral wanted to say on the matter at hand. He had to take a moment to get his bearings -- his chin dropped for a moment and he looked at his feet, piecing together how he wanted to word his thoughts.
“I do not know what there is between us,” he admitted softly, his eyebrows knitting together tightly as he thought. “Camaraderie? Certainly. Friendship? I hope so.” Loki had eased his mind of that in the Library, at least. Fandral pushed out a sigh, though it came out shaky as he finally looked up at him again.
“I cannot tell if you feel as though what occurred when we did not know ourselves was a mistake or not, but I--” He paused, breath hitching again. “I do not feel that way. Perhaps under normal circumstances it would never have happened and perhaps if your brother were here, or Sif, or anyone else from our world… things would be different. Or more of the same. It’s just--”
Fandral swallowed a lump that formed in his throat and he leaned forward a bit, elbows resting against his legs and his head hanging once more. Loki had been honest with him for once so it was only fair he be honest in turn. “I cannot stop thinking of you.” Well, that hadn’t quite been the confession he’d been going for, but there it was. “And if you truly feel as though we shouldn’t be here together, then I understand and I will give you space so that we can maintain our friendship.”
Loki didn’t know what he expected Fandral to say. Perhaps he expected Fandral to agree with him. And, in a way, Fandral did. Things would have been different if Thor and the others were there with them. They would have been even more different if they hadn’t lost their memories shortly after Fandral arrived. But that was all hypothetical and speculative. Because things weren’t different. They were exactly as they were because no one else was there with them. Because they were the only ones. And because they lost their memories and indulged in instinct.
Loki truly did not regret their night together. What he regretted was that it hadn’t happened while he was himself. While he knew who he was. And he regretted that, for him, it might not be more. Not that he didn’t want it to be. Not that he didn’t think it could become something. But because Loki didn’t know how to be with someone in that way.
Maybe that’s why he found himself so drawn to Julia. She didn’t have a soul. She couldn’t love someone. Loki had a soul, but it didn’t work properly. They could both fulfill the actions. But when it came to the feelings, there was a barrier. A chasm. And as much as Loki searched for a bridge, he never found one.
Then again maybe he hadn’t searched hard enough. Or maybe he hadn’t met someone worth crossing the gap for.
He stepped away from the window and made his way back to the bed. He stood in front of Fandral, drawing his fingers back through his blond hair. Then he dropped down to his knees and looked up at him. He shook his dark hair back behind his shoulders and placed his hands on Fandral’s thighs, gently rubbing at the muscles. “It wasn’t a mistake.”
Loki pressed his thumbs against the inside of Fandral’s legs, easing them closer to his groin, but stopping inches from any inappropriate regions. He turned his gaze away from Fandral’s face, staring absently at his shirt-covered abdomen. “There are many things I regret. There’s a long list. But letting you have me and having you aren’t on that list.”
He dropped his arm and leaned his shoulder into Fandral’s left knee. Then he placed his chin on Fandral’s leg. The front of his robe draped open enough to expose his chest. And he turned a slow, tear-stained gaze upward. “Tell me what you can’t stop thinking about.”
There had been a sort of nervousness in the way he admitted to the fact that he hadn’t been able to get his mind off of Loki for long over the last week and a half. Something about the way he saw him had changed, though he supposed that was a given for anyone who managed to fall into bed with someone they’d known for ages.
Still, he hadn’t quite expected to find himself being comforted by him, not after the emotions that had just been expressed moments before as they both laid in bed. His eyes closed when he felt those slender fingers through his hair and he couldn’t help leaning into his touch just a little.
As Loki settled on his knees in front of him, Fandral opened his watery eyes and looked at him, trying to read his expression as he reassured him that their night together hadn’t been something he regretted. It would have been so easy for him to dismiss it as he did most things that held any sort of sentimental value, yet here he was, allowing Fandral in.
One of his hands rose and gently moved to Loki’s hair to tuck his hair back behind his ear. It was a sweet moment, although when he noticed the robe open, his eyes momentarily drifted downward to eye his chest.
“I am almost ashamed to admit how often I think back on our night together,” he confessed with a hint of a sad smile pulling at one corner of his mouth. “And I recall with great detail how beautiful I found you in the midst of it all.” Fandral sighed then, his fingertips idly twisting a bit of the end of Loki’s hair around one finger as he spoke.
Loki might have looked more composed than he had a few minutes earlier, but the sadness and the melancholy were still there. There was still an aching mournfulness in his eyes. But he’d had his moment of weakness. He’d shed his tears. Now it was time to recover what he could of his reputation as the man with the immobile heart. As the god without feelings. Complete and utter nonsense that it was. But many people believed it to be true. Then again, Loki had done such a good job of supporting their beliefs. Because he only let them see one side of his emotions: anger, jealousy, fear. The other emotions, the ones built on warmth and trust and affection, he kept hidden close to his chest.
He tilted his head to one side as Fandral drew his fingers back through his hair, tucking the loose strands behind his ear. Loki enjoyed that little bit of attention. It made him feel wanted and desired. But despite his seemingly submissive posture in front of Fandral, it also made him feel in control.
That he could elicit that kind of devotion and tenderness in another person always surprised him.
Loki ran a palm up and down Fandral’s calf as he spoke about his memories of their night together. There was no flush or blush from Loki. He merely listened, expression drawn into one of quiet contemplation; the tiny hint of a burgeoning smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “And what about me did you find the most beautiful?”
He couldn’t hide that the question amused him, at least a little, if only because he could tell he’d distracted Loki’s thoughts enough with a touch of ego stroking. It had been unintentional, but he liked where it had led, anyways.
Still, there was no sense in not answering, no matter how incorrigible he was.
Of course there was the fact that they’d already established that being his type. This was only proving that sentiment.
“There was much I found beautiful,” he replied quietly, his fingers loosening from his hair so that the backs of his fingers could softly brush along Loki’s cheek, eyes admiring him as he sat there. “The sight of you on top of me like that and how your hair kept falling around your face. The noises of pleasure that you made. The way your expression changed the closer you got to orgasm.” His answers were honest and the sad smile turned into something a little happier as he reminisced.
Fandral pulled his lower lip between his teeth for a moment, his hand dropping then to gently nudge at the fabric of the robe Loki was wearing, exposing a shoulder. His fingers softly curled against the outer curve of his neck, thumb brushing at his skin briefly.
A soft tinge of pink brushed over his cheeks when Fandral answered his question. Then he gave a short laugh, shaking his head. “You really are a hopeless romantic.”
Which wasn’t meant as an insult or a jab at his character. It simply amused Loki to know that the stories about Fandral the Dashing were derived from truth. As all their stories were, he supposed. His own included.
Fandral nudged the cotton fabric from his shoulder and Loki allowed it to hang loosely over his arm. He stretched his neck in the opposite direction, offering a more complete view of that side of his torso. Purposeful and intentional. A small voyeuristic gift from one ego to another. Then he pulled the robe back up over his arm and tightened the belt around his waist, covering himself in an uncommon display of modesty.
“Tonight isn’t the right night for this,” Loki said as he stood. Then he made his way to the opposite side of the bed, drew down the duvet, and climbed in between the sheets. He stretched himself out, head resting lightly on the soft feather pillow, before he patted the side of the bed next to him. “I don’t want either of us to wake up thinking this was another plea for comfort.”
Loki didn’t want pity lovemaking. He didn’t want to be with Fandral because he was sad and he missed his home. He wanted to be with him because he wanted to be with him. Pure and simple. And he couldn’t do that when his thoughts were confused. “But I still want you to stay. And I still want to hear about the things I did that pleased you.”
Somehow he wasn’t surprised when Loki pulled away and covered himself. The moment had perhaps gotten too intimate for comfort, but he wasn’t in the mood to ask if that was actually the case or not.
His eyes followed as Loki moved to the other side of the bed, shifting the way he sat as he needed to, and couldn’t help smirking a bit to himself once the other man was settled and patting the bed beside him.
Alright, no sex. He hadn’t been expecting it anyways, so it didn’t bother him, even if his shorts had grown just a little uncomfortable in the last few minutes. Fandral raised an eyebrow slightly and then turned away from him long enough to both pull the shirt he was wearing off and slip out of his pants, leaving himself in just his underwear.
Fandral moved then to crawl further onto the mattress toward Loki, sitting back on his haunches for a moment as he looked down at him. “I will stay since you want me to,” he replied after a moment, reaching a hand forward to take his, bringing his palm up to press a sweet kiss to it. “I would very much like to kiss you, if that’s alright, but I will respect whatever boundaries you need to set.” Was he setting himself up for Loki to be a pain in his ass? Possibly. But he had been right — he was an absolutely hopeless romantic.
‘I will stay since you want me to.’ Why was it that Fandral was the only one to ever make Loki feel like the prince he was? All of those years on Asgard as a young man and most of Thor’s friends treated him as an afterthought. But not Fandral. Fandral never forgot that, despite everything, Loki was still the son of his king. A potential heir to the throne of Asgard, should Thor not be around to accept the responsibility. And it always startled Loki internally when he was reminded of the fact that Fandral was ever vigilant. That he was keenly aware. That he remembered they were the same, but not the same. It surprised him to receive respect from another person.
Loki placed his hands on his own chest and looked up at Fandral’s looming physique. He didn’t want to abide by his own decision and for a fleeting second he considered changing his mind. He was miles away from the depression he’d been in when Fandral arrived, after all. Why not give in? Why not loosen up and enjoy the moment?
But then he remembered why. Because he was afraid of accidentally allowing it to become anything more than what it was—two people seeking a moment of solace amidst chaos. They were just the two of them. Alone in a world without certainty. Loki didn’t know what that would do to his thoughts and feelings. And he feared being hurt by another loss. One worse than death.
Loki grinned when Fandral asked to kiss him. There were many different ways to respond to that request. Most of which involved a sarcastic jibe or a bit of mockery. But for once—mark it on the calendar—Loki opted to curb his natural tendencies. Why? Because it was sweet. And most people weren’t sweet to Loki. Most people didn’t care about him enough to think he deserved sweetness. And because Loki wanted Fandral to kiss him.
“You may,” he said, propping up another pillow behind his head to raise himself closer.
Maybe it had been because he was caught up in the moment, high on emotions he’d been trying to keep pushed down over the last several days. But now here he was, kneeling on a bed that was fit for both of them, nearly naked as he looked down at Loki in the dim light of a lamp in the corner. He was having that thought again -- of how beautiful he was -- and it made his heart lurch up toward his throat a bit.
Fandral was the sort to find beauty in many things and people, and Loki was no exception.
He shifted and moved forward, bracing one hand against the mattress near Loki’s head, allowing himself to hover over him for a few moments. He kept most of his body off to the side, not wanting to make him feel as though he was trapping him against the bed, but he did long to be close to him.
His other hand came up to affectionately sweep away black hair from Loki’s face, admiring him quietly for a matter of seconds, a smile of his own playing on his lips before he leaned down to close the gap between them. Fandral’s mouth caught his in a slow, but heated kiss, his eyes closing as he savored the taste of him. He wasn’t sure how long Loki would allow the kiss to go on, but he inhaled a sharp breath and tried to encourage it just a little further, his tongue brushing against his lower lip to part them so that the kiss could deepen.
Loki wasn’t known for his patience. In most things he was too eager to wait for what he wanted. His lust for power and his desire for his own kingdom being the most obvious examples of his lack of control. It had given him a reputation on Asgard that often came off as conceited and spoiled, particularly when he was younger. But when it came to his activities in the bedroom, Loki had a surprising amount of restraint. So while Fandral hovered above him, pondering his move, Loki simply continued to lay there; waiting for Fandral to decide how he wanted to proceed. And what kind of kiss he was going to take.
Compliments weren’t something Loki was accustomed to receiving. Not that he’d never been told he was handsome or beautiful or intelligent. He had. But in recent years his behavior hadn’t exactly warranted kindnesses from other people. And while Fandral didn’t say anything about him directly in that moment, Loki could see his feelings in his eyes.
Fandral was attracted to him. And not just because Loki was a memory of home. The gleam in his eyes and the bulge in his slacks told Loki that Fandral was attracted to him because of his appearance. His face. His physique. Everything, perhaps. And the knowledge of that brought a knowing smile to Loki’s face. Knowing, but also a little flustered. Because while Loki knew he was attractive, he didn’t often see that attraction in someone else’s eyes.
Least of all someone who knew him well.
It pleased him. It made him feel wanted. And that was something he rarely experienced.
There was a fleeting flutter in Loki’s chest as he waited for Fandral to make his move. Loki hadn’t decided how he would respond to the kiss or how long he would allow it to last. He thought he’d probably just settle for one kiss and then spend the rest of the night curled up alongside Fandral. But when Fandral finally did press their lips together, Loki found himself second guessing his decision. For lack of a better description, Fandral tasted like home. There was a warmth to his lips that reminded Loki of summer evenings in Asgard. It was a strong contradiction to Loki’s own mouth which was decidedly cooler in temperature. It was still warm, but it had an icy coolness that reflected his Frost Giant heritage.
Loki reached up and wrapped his arms around Fandral’s neck, holding him closer. And when Fandral parted his lips Loki was quick to slip his tongue in between them in an urgency of passion he hadn’t anticipated from himself. He didn’t want to seem too excited or too desperate, but there was something about being physically intimate with another person that distracted Loki. It allowed him a moment free of his thoughts, his memories, and his rage. When he was touching someone else, trying to entice a physical reaction, he often forgot about his own self-loathing and his personal anguish. The misery was gone. There was only the other person. Someone to please and impress. Someone to take him out of his life for however long the act of pleasure lasted.
Loki pulled away from the kiss and took a deep breath. Then he stared up into Fandral’s eyes, his own expression a mask of surprise, confusion, and lust. He wanted more. But he didn’t think he deserved it.
“Why?” he asked, his lips wet and red from the kiss. “Why me?”
The way Loki’s hand wrapped around his neck and keep him close, the taste of his kiss, the feeling of his tongue moving against his own in a sense of urgency only enticed Fandral more. Of course, he was already half-aroused from earlier and this was encouraging that, but he resisted pushing things any further. Even though he absolutely wanted Loki, to bed him again and show him that someone wanted him in an intimate way.
Because Fandral did. For whatever reason, he wanted him desperately.
A quiet noise of disappointment escaped him when the kiss broke, but he looked down at Loki, his own skin flushed and his breath slightly hitched as he looked at him.
The question came as a bit of a surprise, but at the same time, of course Loki would ask that. Why him? Fandral wasn’t sure he had an answer that he’d find sufficient, but he softened his expression, searching his eyes. “Why not you?” he replied softly.
It wasn’t a question Loki would normally ask. But normally Loki wasn’t being intimate with someone he knew well. With someone who was already part of his life. With a fellow warrior. With a friend. And as such the question didn’t often matter. When he was with a stranger he knew why they were with him. Because he was charming, despite his lies. Because he was handsome. Because he was a prince. But with Fandral?
Fandral could have his pick of anyone. And it wasn’t as though there weren’t a lot of options at Derleth. There were plenty. Not that Loki would ever rank any of them higher than himself — he had to preserve something of his ego — but there were many easier options. All of them less complicated than sharing Loki’s bed. Fandral could have had anyone if he tried. Perhaps he had. That didn’t matter to Loki. Physical touch and lovemaking were fleeting aspects of life. And they were gods. They lived a long time and in that time they had many lovers. Sharing his nightly companions with others was not something that stirred jealousy in him. It was as natural as the waterfalls cutting through the mountains and creating the fjords.
But Fandral didn’t look at him the way casual admirers did.
And the fact that Fandral still wanted to share moments of pleasure with him, despite the knowledge that he could get the same from anyone else, surprised Loki. One time together made sense to him. But twice? And all of those unspoken attentions throughout the day? An arm around his shoulders. Fingers through his hair. A kiss to the top of his head. Loki didn’t think he deserved that. Those were endearments for someone important.
And yet Fandral gave them to him anyway.
“I just wonder what I did to warrant such sentiment. I know it’s not because of how I look. I’ve looked this way for centuries and you’ve never shown as much as a passing interest in me.” Was that because of Thor? Or was it because Fandral was too embarrassed to admit to being turned on by the lesser prince? Or had he truly never noticed Loki before? Never seen him in any way other than Thor’s annoying little brother, hidden in his shadow? Loki ran his fingers over Fandral’s mustache, smoothing it down against his face. He could feel a throbbing in his abdomen. An urge to pull down the blankets, untie his robe, and reveal himself completely. But he didn’t.
Not yet. Not now.
“What did I do to get your attention besides being an overwhelming pain in the arse?”
Fandral sighed a little and tilted his head toward Loki’s touch, leaning into it, though his eyes remained on the dark haired man beneath him. The urge to kiss him again, to stop these questions and give in to something they both seemed to want was overwhelming, yet he resisted.
“Would you believe that I have always found you attractive?” he asked quietly, slightly amused. “Just because I never made a passing interest in you does not mean the interest was never there. I just…”
His voice trailed off and he sighed again, leaning down to brush his lips at Loki’s jaw. “You have always been my prince. I could never approach you in that way, not as a son of Odin,” he confessed softly. “Plus it is only with more recent events that it’s become more than just a physical attraction.” He pulled his head back then to look down at him once more. “I do not know the precise reasons for it yet, I must confess, but I see you in a way that I did not before.”
Loki’s brows knitted together and his lips turned downward in a pout. “Am I not still your prince? Am I not still the son of Odin?”
The question wasn’t meant to be harsh or antagonizing. Loki’s tone was genuinely curious and uncertain. True, he was never really Odin’s son. But Odin had accepted him as his son and in turn Loki had become an honest-to-goodness prince of Asgard. Even if he sometimes didn’t feel like it. Even if his time on the throne had been fleeting and short lived. But did being in Derleth change all of that? Did it make him any less of himself in Fandral’s eyes? They were here together. Alone. Isolated from their kingdom and their people and their old destinies. Did that make Loki less of a prince and less of an Odinson?
Did it make him less … Loki?
Loki closed his eyes briefly when Fandral brushed his lips against his chin. The breathy touch of his words across his skin sent a tingling excitement through the superficial nerves; along his face, down his neck, and further beneath the sheets. “Is it because no one who knows us is here to judge you?”
Loki bit his lower lip. “Is it because I’m dead?”
Fandral shook his head a little, some of his blonde hair falling into his eyes, but he gave Loki a hint of a smile. “Of course you are still my prince,” he replied, “and a son of Odin.” Even if Loki was not of Asgard, he was still an Asgardian to him and therefore, a royal.
That had caused any attraction he’d ever felt for Loki to have to be suppressed deeply as a member of Thor’s warriors. Plus it had merely been a physical attraction when they were on Asgard — the realization had come to Fandral one night when they were celebrating one of their many victories in a tavern. He’d been newer to that part of the realm then but he still knew his place and that he could never act on anything.
The corners of his mouth curved downward a bit. “It would have been inappropriate of me to pursue anything while we remained on Asgard.” Not with his position at the palace. Fandral’s lips connected with his chin again, moving along the curve of his jawline and down to his neck. Instinctively his body lowered a little, hips pressing down so that Loki would feel his arousal against his thigh.
But then Loki had rebelled against them, stooping to levels he hadn’t thought him capable of, and any desire for the other man had to be put on pause out of duty. Plain and simple. “But now we are not on Asgard. You are still my prince, yes, but I no longer have an obligation as a warrior of the realm.”
In a sense, he was more free to want what he wanted. And right now that was Loki.
Loki couldn’t express how reassuring it was to hear Fandral say that his attraction began long before they reconnected in Derleth. Loki had been worried that it was the circumstances they were in that sparked Fandral’s interest. He’d feared that it was because Loki had finally done one good deed. Or worse, because he’d died. And in death he could be someone different. Someone better. Someone Fandral wanted him to be. That’s what had been on Loki’s mind when they were together in the library and when Fandral held him after the battle with Not-Ted. Loki had been concerned that it wasn’t him Fandral was really interested in, but a memory of a place. Of a people. Of a time when they were both alive and full of purpose.
But that wasn’t the case. Fandral liked Loki because he was Loki, in all his glorious failure. And Fandral was attracted to him in spite of his royal lineage. That meant a lot to Loki. More than he could express. He wasn’t sure what he would do with that information or how he would use it going forward. Perhaps it would finally give him that much needed push to love himself more. To appreciate who he was. To see himself through another’s eyes. Or maybe it would just make him happy. Something to think about when he was feeling down as he was earlier in the evening.
As he still was feeling, albeit slightly less now than when Fandral had found him.
Loki craned his head back and stared up at the ceiling while Fandral traveled his lips down his neck. His heart beat so hard in his chest it echoed like thunder in his head. And when he felt the arousal press against his leg, a soft whimper fell from his lips.
Fandral the Dashing, indeed.
“I’m glad it was you who found me here,” Loki whispered. No one else would have been able to see Loki the way Fandral seemed to see him. Not Thor or Odin or Sif or any of the others. Was that why it was Fandral who showed up? Or was it simply one of the universe’s great coincidences? A small smile crossed his lips. “And I can’t make any promises, but I’ll try to live up to this version of myself you’re no longer obligated to.”