Chapter - 36

He climbed to the stage, singing, swinging hips. He got to that point in the song ("by night I'm one hell of a love-eh-heeeeeer") and the cape came off with a flourish, with the audience going completely fucking insane for three seconds.

And Thor just... gawked, and gaped.

He was close enough to the stage to appreciate the details. And he had seen the movie, and he had seen the posters, and he thought he was ready for what he would see. He had tried to prepare.

But he was not ready, he was absolutely not ready for his brother in the flesh, let alone prancing around in a corset, panties, garter belt, fishnet stockings, fucking luscious in black, purple and glitter, velvet and satin, and those platform high-heeled shoes nobody should be able to walk on, let alone do a catwalk strut, and dance. He had a face full of make up that made him look neither male nor female. His hair was wild. His legs were fucking never-ending, his movements were pure grace and sex. How could something so outrageous, over-the-top, almost grotesque, garish even, be so fucking ravishing.

Nothing could have prepared him for Loki the fucking rock star, the centre of the known universe. His command of the hearts and eyes of the audience was absolute. Thor remembered the film, and he remembered Tim Curry. Tim Curry was adorable. Loki's performance was fucking scary at turns, predatory, and also sensual, smooth, sassy, unbearably sexy, and so bloody funny.

And Loki himself was having fun, anyone could tell. Thor had never seen him like that, ever, not even in private. It seemed as if there had always been a cloud hovering above Loki's head, for as long as he could remember, and it was always there in the parts he had played before. Frank'n'furter, however, was sheer joy and lust unleashed, and so was Loki.

He had the whole theatre under his spell, hundreds of eyes following his every move. Not even the seriously hunky Rocky they'd found in his tight, shiny, golden shorts could distract them. No wonder the play was already an international phenomenon, attracting people from all over the world, with every performance sold out for the remaining of its run, even after it had been extended twice already.

And the thing between Loki and the Brad guy was common knowledge, obviously. Their every interaction on stage was received with a thrum of excitement, suggestive whoops and lewd chants. And how much fun Loki had with that too. He flirted, he teased, he fucking pinched and licked and taunt. Every now and again, the Brad guy couldn't help himself from breaking character. Disarmed, he turned away to laugh, or bite his fucking fist in a show of frustration when Loki was being just too fucking sexy. And how everybody loved it. They only had to look at each other, and the audience went fucking mad.

Thor himself was intensely intrigued seeing them together, though he was not loving it so much as everyone else.

By the end of the play, Thor was exhausted. He joined the tumultuous standing ovation.

Loki kept on the sass to the last, as he took the stage alone for his applause. Mock curtsies, flourished bows, blowing kisses, standing there then with his arms crossed and his hip cocked as the clapping and screaming went on and on, with the haughty, smug gesture of one who absolutely deserves it, reaching peak charm.

When the cast joined him again, he broke character. He held hands with Brad and Janet for another round of bows, exchanging looks, grins and words with everyone around him. He looked just plain happy.

What a fucking sight, his brother receiving a crowd's worship, and surrounded by people who clearly loved him. Thor didn't know if he was happier for Loki, or more in pain for himself. In Loki's circle of friends and lovers, Thor was now a stranger.

"No fucking encores!" shouted Loki to a brave soul on the mezzanine who kept asking loudly. "You come over here and sing it yourself, I'm bloody knackered!"

One last curtain call by himself. No Frank now, but Loki. Looking around at the devoted crowd, taking it in with an air of serenity. Peace inside, for a moment, in a place of so much turmoil.

A deep theatrical bow, hand on his heart, just like mum had taught them.

The audience was roaring for yet another round of salutes.

"Oh, will you fuck off already," said Loki finally.

("How shall we fuck off, O Lord? " seemed the only possible reply at this point.)

Loki blew one last kiss, and shooed everyone out with gestures of playful impatience.

Then he got strutting on his heels, and he was out.

The lights came on, people around Thor started to pick themselves up. The spell had lifted, Loki was gone, and he was not coming back this evening.

Thor blinked, and needed a moment to find his bearings.

Once he was out, Thor ambled to the stage door in a haze. He kept his distance from the boisterous crowd that held up photos and signs, with their mobile phones in hand, ready to snap. For once, in the middle of an excited throng of fans, he was invisible. It was a completely different experience from this side of the fence.

He found his place across the street, leaning on the wall. He was still lost in himself.

They hadn't exchanged a word for almost four years now. There had been that letter about the apartment over two years ago, the first sign of life since The Dark World. Only a few words, succinct, formal, but they had turned Thor's world on its head. Loki was alive. He was alive, he had returned from wherever hell he had inhabited for so long. He was grateful to Thor for keeping his apartment, he was taking over now, and he didn't want Thor to come visit. And nothing else.

Loki had asked him to stay away and not get in touch, and Thor had respected his wishes.

Four fucking years. How the fuck did that ever come to happen.

But their relationship had gone to shit long before that. So so long since they had spent proper time together, since they'd trusted each other, since they'd spoken in confidence. So fucking long since Thor had felt that he knew his brother.

This boy enchanting the crowds this evening, who was he. What must he talk about, what things did he like to do, what made him laugh. Was he still a snarky little shit.

Would Thor like him now. Would new Loki like him.

Did this Loki still love him.

Thor waited, for what exactly he could not say. He could not just go there and say "Hi," could he? With all that mess, Loki would never even know he was there. He could not just appear like a fucking spook out of nowhere.

So what the fuck was he waiting for. Hoping for.

He should leave. But he just didn't fucking want to go yet.

Every time a member of the cast popped out, he was notified by the sudden storm of flashes and the screaming.

But this burst of hysteria was several degrees of magnitude above the rest. Thor's hair stood on end. He could feel it.

There, between the heads and the hands and the flashes, there he was; in a vintage, full-length black and green leather coat with details of gold, and a massive fur collar, hair still wild, big sunglasses, dark red lipstick, like a rock star from the seventies, Loki, his long-lost brother.

The star of the show was not smiling now. His mouth was tense, thin. He shrunk away from extended hands and selfies. He did nod, and mouth 'thank yous', and scribbled his name onto whatever flat surface was thrusted in his direction, from a safe distance. The hurricane he had been on stage had dispelled, and someone smaller and wary was left instead.

An overwhelming need to wrap him up and pack him away somewhere still and quiet was urging Thor, almost pushing him forwards

But Brad was there. He too had autographs to sign, but he was keeping a close eye on Loki. Loki would turn his face to Brad every now and then, like he needed the support. Brad projected calm and self-assurance, the comfort Loki needed was found there, solid and dependable. What a petty, petty man Thor was. The whole fucking interaction tasted like bile in his mouth.