“But that’s not fair,” Sif pouts, “Loki is a boy, why can’t I be the King’s consort?” From over his big brother’s shoulder, Loki smiles furtively at the fair-haired girl.
“You might as well be a boy.” Fandral gives, and Loki giggles.
“Because I am King, and you’ll do as I say!” Thor decrees haughtily, and lifts his wooden sword in the air, “Now Loki, fetch my flask, I am thirsty.” The little blond thrusts his chin in the air and tries to look as kingly as he’s seen his father look. Loki rolls his green eyes and picks up the leather bag, water sloshing around inside of it. When he hands it to Thor, the blond gives him a private smile, and takes a drink.
“Would you like some?” He says very quietly to Loki, who reaches out, only to be interrupted again by Sif.
“That’s not very king-like, Thor, your father wouldn’t do something like that.” She’s merely pouting because she never gets to play consort, and all of them know it. Volstagg looks up from the bread crust he’s munching, and Thor merely frowns at her.
“You know what I’d do if I were king?” Loki snaps suddenly. She is so annoying,
“No one cares Loki, you’d be a rotten king-”
The dark haired prince throws down the flask of water, and it goes splashing over the stone floor.
“I’d cut off all of your bloody ugly hair!” He screams, and watches with a blooming sense of satisfaction as Sif’s eyes well with tears.
“Loki!” Thor exclaims, for even he’s surprised. He gets up from his makeshift throne (a simple wooden chair that they dragged from the dining hall), and goes to comfort Sif. Hogun and Fandral look at Loki accusingly, and his eyes begin to burn too.
“And you’re no good at being King!” Loki snaps one last time before he storms off toward his rooms.
It’s not that Loki dislikes playing with Thor (in fact he loves it), he just hates Thor’s friends. Well, that’s not entirely true, he hates Thor’s friends when Sif is around because he hates Sif. She’s always vying for Thor’s attention, trying to play warrior with him and Fandral, Hogan, and Volstagg. Loki doesn’t like playing a warrior, the wooden swords had given him a rather large splinter once, and he’s never forgotten it. Anyway, consort or Jotun princess, like he plays now, is always more fun.
“Ho, warriors, our quarry!” Thor yells and extends his arm, again with the wooden sword in his hand, to a low-hanging tree. Loki is perched on its bottom branch, smiling and swinging his feet. Sif isn’t playing with them today, still sore about Loki’s comment the other day. And that’s fine, more fun for him.
“Princess, we are here to save you from the awful frost giants, in the name of Agard!” Thor proclaims and tugs on Loki’s foot. The younger boy slides off the branch and lands on the ground in front of Thor.
“Many thanks to you, Æsir prince, but this is my home.” Sometimes, Loki brings too much reality to his character. Thor frowns at him.
“Not for much longer, fair Jotun! I have rescued you, and so you are mine.” He grins easily though, and turns his back to Loki, then crouches to the ground. With a feigned, long-suffering sigh, Loki climbs onto Thor’s back, wrapping his arms loosely around his brother’s neck. Thor stands and runs circles around the garden they play in until he’s tired. By then Hogun, Fandral, and Volstagg had rolled their eyes and gone off to find some other source of entertainment as the brothers got caught up in their own little game.
Finally, tired, Thor collapses with Loki on the soft grass, laughter subsiding into fond giggles. Above them the gold spires of the palace glint in the sun, and as Thor sit’s up he marvels at the high towers. Next to him Loki pushes himself up too and squints against the sun, sweeping his long black hair back from his face.
“So this is your citadel.” He muses whimsically with a grin.
“Indeed, how do you like it? You know I think, when rescued from ferocious monsters, most princesses bestow a kiss on their saviors.” Thor arched his eyebrows, looking rather imperious, and for a moment Loki balked. He stared at his brother.
“Well I am not most princesses,” Returns the dark-haired boy. Thor’s brow wrinkles, and Loki wonders if he’ll actually be upset, “I’ll give you one anyway, if that’s what you’d like.” He says honestly, knowing that their playing is done now.
“I would.” Thor says hopefully, rising to his knees and sitting back on his haunches. Loki moves to sit in the same way across from him, hands in his lap. He’s never kissed anyone before, but he’s seen mother kiss father in the dining hall many a time, and figures that is enough tutoring he’ll need for now. Tentatively Loki leans forward until their faces are close, and he feels he may tip over, so he rests a hand on Thor’s shoulder.
It’s the quickest kiss either of them will ever have (or share) but it’s boyish and unexperienced. Still, Thor’s lips turn up into a smile against Loki’s, then all too soon the other boy pulls away. They stare at each other for a moment, Thor smiling and Loki’s eyes wide with uncertainty.
“Was that alright?” He mumbles lowly, brows drawing up lightly.
“Yes of course,” Thor grins as he stands, and offers his brother his hand, “Now, my princess, off to the citadel, for we are to be wed.” One day, Loki thinks, Thor might make a better actor than he would a King. He takes his brother’s hand anyway, and they scamper off toward the palace.