Chapter - 1

[IT'S BL: YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED SO DON'T SWEAR IN THE COMMENT SECTION PLEASE]

(The past)

Loki was late. Later than usual. Thor never rushed to get showered and changed after his work out session at the gym, because he knew he was going to have to wait, but this was a fucking piss-take.

Huffing and puffing, he went back into the sports centre, headed for the kids' changing room —where he technically had not been allowed for more than a year now, since his fourteenth birthday. Loki was not there, but that kid Thor knew from Loki's class was. (What was his name again?)

"Well, look who's here," said the kid, batting his eyelids, while he picked up his gear and stuffed it into a duffle bag.

Loki's classmates knew his big brother well by now. Thor might look like a bully, but he wasn't one. This kid knew it was safe, so he was always flirting with him.

"Hey, have you seen Loki?" asked Thor.

"Mr. Fouché dared criticise his attitude dèrriere and he's probably still in the ballet hall, practicing."

That sounded like Loki, alright.

"Thanks."

"Anything else I can do for you?" said the kid, cocking his hip.

Would be fun to find out what the kid would do if Thor said, actually there is. He couldn't be more than what, thirteen? Fourteen? He'd run for the hills screaming.

So he just shook his head in dismay and rolled his eyes and, when he walked out, he made sure the door was well shut behind him.

He grumbled to himself all the way down the corridor towards the ballet hall. He was going to have a monumental moan about this to his mum.

"He's old enough to go alone," he would tell her.

"But darling, doesn't it make sense that, since you're both at the same sports centre, you take the bus home together?" she would reply, if Loki was within earshot. If he wasn't, she would ruffle Thor's hair and whisper, "He's only thirteen. I don't want him running around town on his own."

She had a point. London wasn't ready should Loki ever be unleashed without supervision upon the city streets. For such a quiet, reserved kid, he could really cause a lot of mischief. He was way too pretty for his own good, and too clever and well-spoken, and had a way about him, full of arrogance and contempt, as if everyone was beneath him. All in all, he was a bully magnet the size of the bloody Buckingham Palace. To complicate matters further, "just ignore them" wasn't the Loki way. He preferred to give them attitude. Oh, he had a mouth on him, his baby brother, and some razor-sharp wits, and a way with words. By all means, the way to go is to humiliate in front of his friends guys two heads taller than you and twice as heavy. Good job he was a fast runner. He could be a full-time job and a full-on headache for his big brother.

And so it goes, fucking around in the front stairs of the sports centre every bloody Thursday afternoon, waiting for his royal highness to finish drying his fucking hair. As if Thor didn't have homework to do and World of Warcraft to catch up on before dinner.

But enough was fucking enough. He pushed in the door of the ballet hall with every intention of having it all out on his brother.

And there he was, indeed, dozens of Lokis reflected in the mirrors walls, doing the whatever it was the kid in the changing room had said - he was standing on his toes on a straight leg, while lifting the other one behind him, arms decoratively held front and side, hands tense. His foot was level with his head, the arch of his back seemed impossible. All those things Thor meant to say crashed against that arch and then there were none.

Loki cast a glance at him through the mirror. Thor's eyes were still caught up on-route along those never-ending legs in that lick of paint they called ballet leggings. They left nothing to the imagination, front or back. He flustered, and Loki saw. (Yes, what, couldn't he be curious? They used to have baths together and everything but not for, like, ages, and Loki had grown since then, ok? And you could fucking see everything through those ridiculous lycra pants. How the fuck did anyone get anything done in that class?)

Loki walked over, silent and graceful. Thor was looking daggers.

"Half an hour late, Loki," he grunted.

"I'm finished now."

"If you do this again, I'm fucking leaving without you."

"Fair enough. I'll enjoy hearing you tell mum," countered Loki. A towel around his shoulders. "I'm going for a shower. Why don't you wait in the changing room? It will be empty now. It's warmer there."

Thor stared into Loki's green eyes. Sweet enough at first glance, perfectly innocent even, but Thor knew better. Of course, he blinked first. Loki was a bloody basilisk.

Thor's eyes kept dipping to his brother's crotch out of their own bloody accord. He should really wait outside.

Loki strutted out of the shower, nothing but a towel around his slender hips, pale skin flushed pink from the hot water. Thor kept his eyes determinedly on his phone.

But he couldn't help himself from glancing, and that's when he saw it.

"What the fuck is that, Loki?" He rushed to his baby brother.

"What do you think?" grumbled Loki.

"Someone hit you?"

"I ran into a wall." He sounded bored.

"Who was it?"

"The usual suspects, Thor." He shrugged off his brother's hand and dropped the towel to put his clothes on.

Thor quickly looked away. Not fast enough - he still got a flash of Loki's muscular, pale, smooth arse. He had stopped wondering why this kind of unsettled him a good couple of years ago. He didn't want to figure out the answer.

The usual suspects. Someone at the rugby team. Or everybody at the rugby team. Shit.

"Was it at school?" said Thor, teeth gritted in anger.

"Why does it matter?"

"Because you have to report it! Mum and dad will have their heads on a pike if…!"

"Do not tell them, Thor!" cut Loki, eyes wide with very real alarm. "It will only make it worse. It was my fault, alright? I should just ignore them. Blame my big mouth."

And for a horrible second, that's exactly what Thor did.

"I'm taking care of this," he said, clenching his fists.

"It's nothing. Seriously," said Loki, flat voice, combing his wet hair back, putting on a black knitted cap. It was chilly out there. Thoroughly unimpressed. He slung the backpack on one shoulder. "They're scum. Ignorant jerks."

"Ignorant jerks twice your fucking size, Loki." Thor was sizzling with anger. "I'm not going to let them get away with it."

"What are you going to do, then?" said Loki sweetly, poison underneath. "Are you really going against your teammates over this? Aren't they, like, the same guys supposed to watch your back when the other team is trying to kill you?"

Thor opened his mouth to protest, and as he shut it down, he knew he had screwed up irreparably. He never thought far enough ahead, did he?

Loki stared coldly, let the awful silence stretch, making his point. But he looked unimpressed, not disappointed. He had not expected anything else.

On the way home, they both had their earbuds on and walked without touching or talking, like strangers. Except when they were about to cross Edgware Road; a black cab turned up out of nowhere, and Thor threw protective hand in front of Loki to stop him.

"I wasn't going to cross. I'm not fucking blind," snapped Loki.

It was the way he looked at him.

"Well, fuck you then," snapped Thor.

"Fuck you."

They walked the rest of the way ignoring each other.

When they got to the house, there was a unison "fine" to their mum's "How was your day?", as they both made for their rooms and slammed their doors.

The next week, Thor got home after rugby practice with a black eye, a split lip, bruised, bloody knuckles, and a letter of suspension from the school for two months. Dad shouted at him for half an hour and grounded him until further notice.

Dinner was tense that evening. But every now and then, Thor caught his baby brother looking at him as if he was made of pure, shining light.

That night, Loki slipped into his bed. He had not done that in years. He burrowed into the arch of his big brother's body, and Thor held him tight.

They didn't say a word. There was lots to say, but neither had the guts.

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