Disclaimer: None of this is mine. :P

Author's Note: Had a bit of everything-block, so took up a kink meme prompt that spoke to me and filled it anonymously. I've since tweaked it around, so re-posting up here. :) Hope you enjoy!


Meteorology

Loki lies in a room that belongs to him but isn't his, in a city he controls but doesn't love, and listens to the sound of rain over pavement. In Asgard buildings curve and flow, metallic skin almost organic under the sunset. Here everything is gray, hard-edged, fragile.

Lifeless.

There is a loud crash, and although Loki knows it to be only chance and nature at work he finds himself straining for more.


Today he is exhausted, mending, barely escaped. He steels himself on a rooftop, pits himself against clouds that make it look so much later than it really is. His nose aches from where it was recently broken, his knees quaver, his breath stays in his throat and burns there. He should sit down. He doesn't.

Hair presses flat against his skull, his suit is drenched, his smile comes quick with thunder's call. Violently, like somebody has taken a knife to his face and torn through.

Loki grins, unstitched, shivering, thinking of his brother's mouth wide with fury or screwed in responsibility. He thinks of Thor's laughter, the crush and cage of his arms, the simple-minded melodrama he so adores.

Loki hurts. Loki listens. Loki has no answer.


He's freezing, alone, and wet. The heavens open up above him. He wishes he couldn't hear it anymore.

Something inside him shudders then breaks off to rattle between his ribs. Behind teeth Loki tastes only himself. Holds only himself. Addresses no one.

"We should do this face to face sometime," he murmurs, lips curving even as his hands tremble.

In Loki's mind, Thor yells at him a hundred different ways. He allows it because maybe then things will be better. Maybe they can move on.

This is just another lie he tells himself.