Chapter 4
The first time Loki ever cast seidr, he was playing with his brother’s hair.
Thor was on his belly on the floor, scribbling out a scene of great heroic bravery. It was an Einherjar facing off against a bilgesnipe, he would explain exasperatedly to anyone who asked, obviously, and Loki, only two centuries old, sat on his back petting his long, golden hair while he watched him draw.
Thor winced as Loki tugged a little too hard, fisting tufts of Thor’s hair in his pudgy fists, but he made no move to push his brother away. Loki was only a child, after all, and Thor was strong and brave and could take a little bit of pain for his brother.
Then something strange happened: Loki tugged on Thor’s hair, twisting them around his fingers, and the pictures on Thor’s parchment—shuddered.
He blinked.
He touched the edge of the paper with curious hands as Loki pulled two sections of Thor’s hair together, and Thor watched in awe as sparks of green lit up the margins of the page, and his Einherjar, off-kilter on its stilted legs, charged his nebulous bilgesnipe.
Thor knew what this was. It was seidr, like the kind his mama and papa used.
Excitedly, but gently, he rolled over to the side, depositing Loki on the floor before he could stuff Thor’s hair into his mouth.
“Soo,” Loki mumbled, giggling as Thor picked him and the drawing up, running to their mother.
The pictures didn’t move again, not even when Frigga pulled on Thor’s hair, but they all agreed that it must have been seidr, and that Loki was very gifted for his age.
Thor kept the drawing in a closet, and thought about it often, though the pictures never came to life again. And then he grew older, and it, among many things he had shared with Loki, was soon forgotten.
And then, when Ragnarok arrived, it was destroyed altogether.
--
Thor’s hair was bothering him, and he was bothering Loki.
Almost six months aboard the Statesman, and they were almost at the end of their journey. Thor’s hair had grown out, brushing his broad shoulders now, and he couldn’t stop fidgeting with it.
Loki was hopelessly distracted. He couldn’t sit through a council meeting without staring at the play of Thor’s rough fingers against soft, golden hair. The strands parted so easily around Thor’s fingers, twisted and curled and ran smoothly along his skin, and Loki really couldn’t stand it anymore.
Especially when he knew that Thor knew exactly what he was doing.
“Cut it,” he said, bluntly, when they were in their shared chambers, a knife clenched in his hand. “Or I will do it for you.”
“I thought you liked my hair,” Thor said, nonchalant, and uncaring about Loki pulling a knife out while they were in bed, naked, still sweaty from three rounds of fucking.
“Actually,” Thor continued, before Loki could respond, “I know you like my hair. You said as much while I had your cock in my mouth. And you tugged so hard, brother.”
“It’s a distraction and I hate distractions, and—would you listen to me, you brute—Thor—ah—” Loki broke off in a gasp as Thor leaned over, his hair falling in a wave across his shoulder as he rubbed his head up against Loki’s chest.
“Yes, brother?” Thor asked, much too amused about this whole thing.
“At least let me braid it out of your face,” Loki grumbled, twisting his fingers and putting the knife away. “So you can stop distracting me in public.”
“Hmm,” Thor said, nodding his assent. “If it pleases you, beloved.”
He turned away to sit at the edge of the bed, both to allow Loki the freedom to blush at the endearment, and to kneel up and start arranging Thor’s hair into something less...distracting.
It was Thor who noticed first. As Loki sectioned his hair into three parts, he glanced sideways, and realized that leaves had begun to wind themselves along the head of their bed.
He blinked, leaning back, and watched.
Loki didn’t notice until the first plait was done, but it was very clear that something was happening when he realized he was kneeling on a small bed of daisies.
“Thor,” he said, calmly, “are you doing this?”
“Can you finish?” Thor asked, instead of answering. His eyes were closed, his head tilted up.
Loki swallowed. He raised his hands to Thor’s hair once more, and slowly finished braiding his brother’s hair.
Oleanders, marigolds, and coneflowers sprung up between the spaces of Loki’s fingers. He carefully braided them into Thor’s hair as well, tucking them neatly in between the strands.
“It’s done,” he whispered, bending down to press a kiss to the back of Thor’s neck.
“Thank you,” Thor sighed.
For a moment, the brothers sat in silence. Seidr hummed around them: Thor’s from the fresh growth, and Loki’s from the act of braiding.
“You know what Mama told me,” Loki said, fingering an orange petal that curled around Thor’s ear. “She said that hair braiding is one of the oldest forms of weaving.”
Thor hummed, nodding. He reached behind him to lace his hands with Loki. Dark green vines sprung to life out of the ether, wrapping their hands together.
“I looked into it,” Thor said. “Hand-holding as well. Primitive form of weaving.”
Hand-fasting, Loki thought but didn’t say. Instead, he said, “Does fucking count, do you suppose?”
Thor laughed, turning around finally to kiss Loki.
“Why don’t we find out, brother?”