While Loki preferred to fight with words, he did so enjoy watching the fine use of a sword.
When the weather was nice, and he felt that way inclined, he'd loiter on the balconies overlooking the sparring ground, or even go as far as to drift around the stairs that led to them, watching as the warriors, the swiftest and most powerful, trained with their weapons.
While conversation was one type of dance, fighting was another.
They both required a partner, and both required skill. Usually, one was proficient in one and not the other, Loki for example preferred to talk, although of course he could fight to an extent as well.
Very occasionally however, one did find someone who was skilled at both, fighting and talking, using a blade and using their tongue.
Loki especially enjoyed watching Fandral spar.
His blade was an extension of his arm, as such, when he swept it out, his sword went with it, gliding in motion. The light glimmered off of the metal as it cut through the air. It was graceful, he carried out his battles with such an artistry.
His conversation was just as sharp and witted too, although Loki still had an edge on him. He could talk his way out of and indeed, into, any situation he was faced with. He could win over anyone he was at odds with, not that there were many anyway.
And even if words ever failed him, his smile could speak louder.
He understood the dance in all forms.
0o0o0
A large droplet of sweat curved over Fandral's brow and trailed down his cheek.
With a drawn-out breath, he slid his dagger back into it's sheath, and then lifted the blade of the sword in his other hand for inspection. He frowned at a scratch which had been slashed across it, scarring the metal.
Fandral put his fingers to the metal and tried to work out the scratch, but nothing would lift it. He sighed again and started his leave from the sparring ground, his eyes falling to the staircase above them as they always did.
He couldn't help but smirk at the familiar figure stood just a few steps from the bottom, his arms folded and his elbows resting on the marble banister.
Loki began his descent once he saw Fandral approaching, and by the time they both came to the sword racks, they were face to face, save for the wooden frame between them,
"Watching again?" the blond asked, finally sheathing his sword,
"Of course" Loki answered, folding his arms, and sounding disinterested as always,
"Enjoying the performance?" he said, raising an eyebrow and reaching out to take the sword rack under each hand, leaning forward a little as he went.
The other man seemed to consider the question deeply, turning it over in his head, "It certainly can be satisfying to watch" the ravenette replied with a nod,
"Satisfying?" Fandral asked, a grin spreading across his face; he leant further forwards still, his tone dropping, "Then does the prince find himself satisfied?",
Loki's look had now seemed to turn to distaste, his eyes trailing away to the other men and women who were still sparring across the field. He seemed to suck thoughtfully at his teeth and shrugged. Then, ever so slightly, he shifted his hips. His pelvis was now pressed right against the wood of the sword rack, pushing it back into Fandral on the other side,
The blond could hardly keep from biting his lip, as he focused so closely on Loki's hips and the way they looked, even covered by clothes,
His voice was now at a whisper, and his face was but a few inches away, "Not even remotely" he answered softly, "There is so much room left for my satisfaction",
And with that, the prince stepped away from the frame and turned, quickly climbing the stairs and walking out of sight,
Fandral stood rigidly in place however, and swallowed thickly, his mouth dry.
He let out one long, shaky breath and gripped the sword rack all the harder, making it awkwardly shift and scrape the rock floor,
The blond was finding it hard to feel his legs beneath him, and if he didn't know better, he would've thought that Loki had trapped him under some spell.
0o0o0
Several hours later, Fandral was walking the halls of the palace, his destination Loki's bedroom.
It was in a darker corner, more private than many of the other chambers, and far more comfortable than them too, as Fandral was wildly aware.
Without knocking, without even pausing at the door, the blond entered the room as soon as he arrived at it. He turned in the archway, and then quickly closed the door behind him, cutting off the view from the corridor.
Fandral turned on his heel once more and then regarded the room.
The scene before him left him quite confused.
Usually Loki could be found lounging on his bed, reading to pass the time,
Currently however, he was stood in front of his large mirror, which was a huge circle of polished bronze, his chest bare. At first, Fandral could've been forgiven for mistaking the situation as a case of Loki admiring himself, as his gaze on his reflection was so concentrated. As he got closer though, removing his jacket as he went, he was able to see that the young prince had something held in his moving hand.
Loki was watching his own image carefully, his hand moving with precision across his chest,
"What the hells are you doing?" the blond asked, gently placing his hands on the other man's ribcage, his skin cold beneath his fingertips,
He did not answer though, and instead continued his meticulous attention on himself.
Fandral sighed and looked down across the plains of his pale chest, even more taken aback by what he saw,
Loki was pulling a sharp blade across his skin, not cutting it, but scraping off a coating of thick white foam,
"What are you doing?" he asked again, removing his hands and stepping back a little.
"Shaving" the prince answered, lifting the knife away and wiping it clean on a cloth, before he went back to work,
"I see" Fandral nodded, although his brow was still lifted curiously, "Do you do that often?" he asked, loosening the knots on the collar of his shirt,
"Fairly" the ravenette replied, lifting his shoulders ever so slightly into a shrug,
"But why?" the other man laughed, coming back to watch his hands in motion, drifting in their steady movements across his chest.
"Because hair grows back Fandral" Loki replied, scraping the final line of foam from his chest,
"Well of course-" he laughed in response, placing his hands on the princes' body once more, resting them on the slight outcrop of his hips, "-but why do you shave at all?",
"Smooth skin" he stated simply,
"'Smooth skin'?"
"You like the feeling of it don't you?" he replied, finally looking over his shoulder, and arching one eyebrow subtly.
Fandral chuckled and his eyes fell immediately to his straight-lined lips, "Of course" he nodded,
"I'd say that there a few things more pleasurable-" Loki went on, his gaze going back to his own reflection, "-than the feeling of soft skin beneath your hand, flawless and warm",
The other man smiled fondly and began to nod his agreement. This only lasted for a moment however, as as much as he wanted to share the sentiment, Fandral was reminded that this was not the case in the matter of what he and Loki shared.
The princes' skin, although smooth to the touch, was also cold beneath the hand. It was a pale expanse, mostly free from marking, but like the pale skin of the dead, it held no heat.
Fandral on the other hand, exuded warmth, his skin not only looked sun touched, but it also constantly emitted heat as though it were under it's rays. It was covered in thin blond hairs however, bleached to clear, and on top of that, it certainly wasn't flawless.
He had been in many, many battles, and unlike Loki, who could avoid attacks easily by creating distracting mirages, he had to take on fights head on. As such, he was scattered with scars, most of which were long, raised and pale, permanent on his flesh.
The prior concern could be attended to however.
"I can certainly oblige to that pleasure that you seem to covet so" Fandral said, pulling away and tugging his shirt off over his head,
"Hmm?" Loki asked, looking over his shoulder again,
"Shave me" the blond replied, discarding his shirt on the bed, and indicating his bare chest,
The ravenette raised his eyebrow and watched him closely, "I beg your pardon?"
"You like smooth skin" he said with a shrug, "And you know I'd do anything to satisfy you" he concluded, smirking.
Loki stood stationary, considering the proposal, "Sit" he then spoke, turning back to his mirror and the small shelf before it,
Fandral smiled and set himself down on the chair he kept his jacket on, watching as the other man collected a small pot from the table, along with the cloth and the knife he had been using on his own body.
The prince then approached him, focusing on what he held in his hands, until he came to a stop right in front of the blond,
"What now?" he asked, cocking his brow once more and opening his folded arms in the way of an invite,
Without hesitation, Loki stepped forward and sat himself down on Fandral's lap, his legs either side of him. He then handed him the small pot, "Hold this",
The warrior did as he was told, and put out his hand, taking the small clay bowl and allowing the cloth to be draped across his wrist.
Using a stubby brush, the ravenette started to smother a layer of soap from the pot onto the other man's chest, working it in circles until it became a thick application of suds, pure white like snow. While Loki watched his own hands closely, Fandral in turn watched him, a light smile turning up his lips as he watched the concentration in those green eyes.
Soon enough, his chest was covered, and once the pot of soap had been discarded on the floor, and the prince had retrieved the short-bladed knife from somewhere on his person, he regarded the man beneath him,
"Do you trust me?" he asked softly, the knife steady in the grip of his delicate fingers,
Fandral's tongue swiped across his dry bottom lip, "Of course" he said with a nod, his voice quiet- a response just for the man before him and no one else.
Because it was true, he did trust Loki, more than he trusted anyone else. As while he was a snake, prone to trickery and deceit, there was one thing different in the way he treated Fandral.
Loki, the trickster god, had never lied to him.
With that, he raised the small knife and pressed it to the other man's skin, pulling it down firmly.
Like a scratch from some huge animal, the action left a huge red stain across Fandral's chest, and the sensation was so sharp that he thought for a moment that it had indeed broken into his flesh,
He didn't break his gaze on Loki's face to check however.
After a few more swipes, the prince paused to clean the blade of the knife and he looked up to the blond's face, "Coping?",
"I'm fine" he replied quickly, flashing his brilliant smile,
At seeing that, finally Loki faltered, and he swallowed thickly before letting out a sigh,
"What is it?" Fandral asked, his joy escaping swiftly, and his hand coming up to take the other man's cheek,
"Nothing" he shrugged, lifting the knife and removing another line of foam far more quickly than he had the previous- he now began to shave the other man's chest with no hesitation at all, getting most of it done in the next minute that passed.
"Nothing?" the warrior repeated,
"I'm not sentimental, you know that" the ravenette said, shaking his head,
Fandral laughed, "Yes- yes I do know that", he added a shrug though, "But you have your moments, when you forget yourself"
Loki looked sceptical to hear that, but he continued his ministrations with the blade, "While I'm not a sentimental man, and while I'm so many other things, there is one thing that I am, which is for you alone",
"Oh?" the blond asked, "And what is that my prince?",
"You're my partner Fandral"
"Partner?" he questioned, confused by the choice of words,
"Yes, in all things" Loki replied, making the finishing touches on his chest.
"Care to give me some examples of those things?" Fandral laughed, surprised by the sheer obscurity of the conversation,
The prince shrugged, "Anything. Fighting, dancing-"
The warrior cut in quickly, even more bemused, "Dancing?",
He continued regardless, "-conversation-" Loki paused and shrugged softly, "Love making" he added, giving the other man's chest a final swipe, before he patted it clean with the cloth and slotted the knife out of sight again.
"Well-" Fandral smirked, his hands coming up to rest on Loki's ribs, "-anything that involves your tongue, I'm happy to be a partner in" and with that he pulled him forward until their lips finally met.
The warrior, as graceful and deadly as a well-made weapon, parted his lips, and the trickster's tongue slid in, as cold and sharp as silver, but as fluid as mercury.
It was now that they danced, not in a room that belonged to the prince alone, but one that they knew as their own room, the room of partners who danced together. Who sparred, and spoke, and shaved, and danced.