#26. Fandral/Loki
He touches your hair gently, curiously. His fingers are long, thin and pale, with little scars here and there — not from blades of swords, but from his knives and
(Loki is the best with long range weapons and that is why he is the one who is taunted the most)
if you close your eyes, you can feel it; the scars against the locks of your hair searching for something else for something more dragging you through the yellow roots of your hair deeper inside Loki in ways that if were less subtle you could fight it off but the caress is too much and your head rolls trying to find the mattress trying to rest your temples in softness while the rest of you try hard to not fall asleep next to Loki the Trickster—
He laughs at you, almost delighted, and his fingers stop. The way your hair falls from his fingers like sand and silk make you shiver — you wonder: what if Loki touches your hair to put some of his own? What if he is pulling strings all over your body when he touches you kisses you bites you scratches you lets you go deep inside him lets you cover him love him with lust poisoning you with his taste with his breath with his green eyes dark hair pale skin soft thin pale long fingers trying to make you his own and not Thor’s trying to use you end you betray yourself what if what if what if —
Do not go there, you almost whisper to yourself, out loud. Do not go there or everything is lost. Do not go there, where he wants you. You look at him and he smiles at you. He does not even try to pretend it is a happy one. It is resigned with the fact you will never be a difficult prey to his words and games. Almost pitiful.
“Thor will never truly trust you.” You say, for you have to. Loki looks at the ceiling, makes a sound as if he is thinking, before locking his eyes on yours again. You do not shiver, you do not feel small — you were never afraid or threatened by him, and maybe that is why he came to you first.
“He already does.” He explains. “In a way.”
“He will stop.” You say because you have to. You have to. That is your job. To remember Loki that, one day, everything he knows and
(maybe)
loves will hate him. Will destroy him.
“Oh, I know. Of course I know. Why do you think I am doing this?”
With you? Or with the others? are the questions Loki does not say, but that you hear. The pranks, the manipulation, the hatred Loki seems to plant on the others. He seems to thrive on this, after he noticed he would get no love from his own people. Loki’s name is written on all the wrong prophecies and you are a fool for falling in this trap and acknowledging it and falling again and again and again. It is a morbid curiosity, this one you have, like a butterfly flying too close of the web of a spider. Moths and flames.
You want to understand what Loki is. You want to say you knew it first, when all comes down as Loki laughs, madly. You want to decipher the puzzle before the answer is laid out to you by the hands and words of others.
(you care too much for Loki, while Thor does not care enough. The others do not even try and you think that they, they are in the right path)
You fail. You do not even know what this is.
“I do not understand you.” You confess. Your fingers dance on his back, expecting scales, marks, thorns. You look for something dangerous —
(something blue)
for monsters should have something that stop people of understanding them, caressing them, take them in, inside their houses, inside their hearts, sleeping with them. Loving them
(you do not. You do not love him, but you know that if you let yourself, you could. You would.)
Monsters should not be this fascinating. Monsters should not be the young brother of your friend. Monsters should not be princes and healers and tricksters
(no, they should be tricksters. They are tricksters. He is)
Monsters cannot be this beautiful. Should not be this beautiful. —
All you feel is cold.
Loki smiles. He falls back on the bed and urges you to do the same. When you two are comfortable, when you almost look like lovers, like you are in love or are something more than this
(whatever this is)
he says: “I do not expect you to.”
.
You see a woman. You see green eyes and black hair. Long fingers that touch your hair and makes you remember of a thousand years ago, in royals beds and sweaty sheets and the taste of each other’s mouth on your own — and on his.
“I do not understand.” You say. Loki’s eyes glint. She tosses her hair back and you want to say that it is wrong. That is Sif’s body, Sif’s smell
(you still remember, ever since you were six and Sif was eight. She had blond hair and she beat you with a stick. Later, when you were on the ground, she smiled and told you I won, for she would always always always win. All women are warriors in your land, but they are not like Sif. You saw that in the moment she looked at you and asked you on a duel)
and Sif’s face.
Loki always hated her, for reasons unknown. However, now he has her body and you think that was the cleverest trick he ever played. Baldr seems to forget she was his brother once and Thor stops when she speaks. He looks hopelessly for a glint of his forever friend and always lover Lady Sif, but Loki never shares anything that it is not his own personality. “You shall understand why, one day”. She says, sweetly, her poisoned lips stretching on a cruel smirk. It is possible she may love you, for she does not try to kiss you with those lips — you are sure you would die if she dared to meet your
(always waiting for her)
mouth with hers.
She does touch your locks with her fingers, however. Such a delicate move, that she repeats over and over again. Almost as if Loki is playing an instrument with your hair. You do not close your eyes. You watch her watching you, even when her fingers leave your hair and trace the side of your neck. You exhale; her eyes shine. You think she will kiss you now — kiss and kill you —, but her fingers stop in your chest. Your heart beats the same without change and Loki looks disappointed with its answer. She soon leaves.
You watch her go and ignore the glares of both Baldr and Thor, piercing your back, asking why Loki chose you. To speak. To confide. To have something that should have lasted a day, but that has been going for too long.
.
They are dying. Loki the man and Loki the woman. Loki the god(dess). Asgard is in ruins.
(all because of them)
He destroyed Asgard once; she betrayed Asgard again. Like a mortal’s clock, the end is always the same. You knew, like everyone else, that this was going to happen, ever since Sif’s body was taken as a hostage and became the kidnapper. However, together, they are the glitch. The clock that ends and begins the days at midnight is stopping, today, at midday. The circle of destruction ends now, you see in their eyes.
They are in a man’s body now, but you still see sparkles of her lipstick or her kind tone
(towards you and you still have no idea what to make of it)
mixed with the sharpness of old man Loki. They are weak now and they are pleading at you. “Do you understand?” They say.
You grip your sword harder and try to not think of everything you ever shared with the man of a thousand secrets and the woman of a million lies. You grit your teeth, fight back the memories of beds and nights and moons and fingers that liked to touch your yellow-like-the-sun hair
(the sun is killing everyone. A thousand suns and Loki did that
And, somehow, Loki is trying to fix that).
and kisses that never came because
(you understand it now)
it was Sif’s body and Loki always hated Sif.
“Yes.” You say, enough for them to understand you. They touch the side of your face, their fingers treading in the locks of your hair. Oh, you are going to miss them both.
Your sword feels heavy in your hand, but you know how to make it lighter.
And so you do.
Many years ago, a man named Wolverine killed a woman named Jean Grey on the moon. He loved her. Today, you kill Loki on the desert of a place named Oklahoma. You did not let yourself love them when you could.
You are grateful for this.
.
He is a child. Male. You ignore him.
You are afraid that he will look at you and say anything else but “You understood.” You do not know what you would do, if he did so.
(the bird watches you)
.
Loki is something. A non-child that does not look the way Loki did at that age, all those years ago. Their hair is shorter, they are taller, their eyes are greener
(they are kinder)
“You understood.” Loki says, touching your face on the same place as when they did before they died, treading their fingers the same way. The difference is that, this time, they live, and you love.
You are not sure you do understand, but you do not ask. You are Fandral, the Dashing. You do not need to understand anything else to touch their face and kiss them — Loki the man, Loki the woman, Loki the amalgam, Loki the child, Loki this young — wondering if, this time, you two have a chance.