A/N
As I'm not a native speaker of English, proof-reads and corrections will be much appreciated. Cheers!
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue.
Ch. 2
A silent boulevard deeply covered in snow waits — for what? No, for whom. The city is hushed, expectantly eyeing its empty streets, questioning itself: "can it be? Can it be, that these roads paved with gold, trees lined with crystal, roofs with earrings of icicles will remain unseen, untrodden? I quieted the wind from sweeping the snow in gentle faces. I hid the stars — cold, heartless, accusing witnesses of human stories. I filled the air with tingling particles of light, merry frost that reddens the cheeks and wakes smiles. Where are you, the ones destined to have this magical night? When will you come? What will you be?"
In this sad-sad world, miracles happen daily; Universe strives to bring hearts together; unimaginable coincidences, chances, combinations — all conceived and performed every second. This is something that will amuse and attract Loki about Midgard, the way human life revolves around love. But, it's part of a different story. Now he's a bit too young for such contemplations, and much more concerned about holding tight to his brother as they materialize in the still air above the boulevard. In a few moments he lay sprawled under Thor's heavy bulk, hissing in pain and lacking air.
- Thhh-.. Thhhhh-aaawr.. aaawwww…
- We've come! So quick! What is this? — the god of thunder gathered his limbs and enthusiastically explored the background around them on all fours. His brother, victim of Thor's mass and Earth gravity combined, still lay on the ground moaning. With Bifrost particles itching in his stomach, he felt plainly sick.
- Loki! Oh no! Nooo!
Sadly, the addressee couldn't even turn his head.
- We've come the wrong way! This is no Midgard, but Jotunheim! Look at the snow, feel the frost — forsooth, we turned too late. Oh, Father will be in a fury!
- For dad's sake, Thor, get a brain. There are many cold places besides Jotunheim. — Loki slowly stood up, still swaying a little. — This place is called Moscow, brother. This is the coldest place of all Middle Realm. Well, the coldest of fun places, I mean.
- Are you certain? Because, Loki, I know what you are, you disregard each and every law of Asgard. — Thor's voice suddenly turned to steel. — Is this one of your pranks, trickster? Tell me. — And he grabbed the young god and pushed him hard against the tree. — Dare you deceive me?
Loki's eyes, filled with fear, flashed sparkling green in the dark. He struggled to break free from the clutch on his neck.
- Hands off, you…
- Loki, — the grip tightened, — Loki, are you lying? — Thor hit his brother lightly under the ribs.
- Oooh, nooo, swear no, no… let me down!
- As you wish. But I warned you!
Again the younger god lay in a heap on the ground. This was his pattern with Thor the Hothead around. But he was used to prophylactic beatings, as most little brothers are. So he shook his head, jumped on his feet and wiped the snow off the cape. By the way, cape won't do with tonight's dress code. So he turned to his companion:
- Come, let's go shopping.
- Chopping? Ah, I should've grabbed that fine war axe...
- Shopping, Thor, shopping! This is Midgardian for "visit the armory". But before we start, there is one more trick to do. — Loki grinned and made an unfurling gesture. In his palm glinted a small grey vial.
- What is this?
- Ageing potion. We look too young for adventures in Midgard.
x-x-x-x-x
Later on, two stunning gentlemen in their late twenties walked the wide streets of Moscow. They wore top brand evening suits, posh knee long fur coats, and impressive hats. They remained strangely silent for such a couple that was definitely fit for a brawl. Loki again tried to start a conversation:
- This potion is extraordinary, don't you think? I mean, it will work for some two or three local days, and when its effect wears off, we'll know it'll be time we got home-..
- Please, don't talk! I can't get used to your low husked timbre. It creeps me out. — Electric blue eyes pierced the other god, and he gulped embarrassedly.
Thor was scratching his beard constantly — probably, he wasn't used to a hairy face yet. Loki was getting anxious. His plan would never work out unless this oaf of a brother felt more relaxed. He had to do something about it.
So he led them to Yeliseyevskiy, the oldest grocery store in town. Thor obediently followed, more concerned about his massive grownup limbs then their surroundings. And he actually missed quite a view: halls were richly decorated from 1850's, mosaics depicted ancient nymphs, satires, farm maids and rural beauties. They went straight to the liquor stands, and Loki grabbed three dimmed bottles of Freixenet sparkling wine. The procedure of payment was the only thing that caught Thor's attention, since he didn't understand why on Earth they would request worn papers for drinks.
- You didn't do anything of the sort when we were chopping. — He stated.
- Because the mall was closed. When it's closed, there are no ladies such as these to exchange the monies and the things, and you will have to take what you want all on your own. Sad that they do this, close shops!
- I can't understand your fascination about this tradition. The papers don't look interesting at all.
Loki sighed. His interest for other realms' habits wasn't shared by fellow Asgardians.
Outdoors he turned to the closest sidestreet, and there they sat down on a bench to drink. This wasn't exactly mead of Odin's table, but it was tolerable, and Thor went ecstatic about the bubbles. He kept burping loudly, trying to beat his own decibel record. By the end of the second bottle the brothers were chatting away, a bit slurred, but merry all the way.
- Loki, now that we're both adult, I can finally challenge you! Come, let's armwrestle.
- Armwrestle? Haha, okay.
They sat at a table, eyeing each other closely, and clasped right hands. The young brother writhed timidly at the other's grip — he couldn't even imagine resisting successfully against the big, menacing… and good-looking God of Thunder. As they started pushing, Loki felt how strong he actually would be some years after: he held on for almost a minute. He looked into his opponents eyes, smiled mischievously, and fluttered his eyelashes. Thor smiled back and pushed harder — and this appeared to be the brink. Trickster's hand started shaking and giving way. No, not anymore! I won't lose anymore — his heart rebelled, and mind started calculating options at an immense rate. Blind him with flash? Scorch his palm with magical fire? His hand gave an inch further. Thor roared triumphantly and doubled the effort. No, not loosing this time! — and Loki swiftly swept his hand over the table, splashing a wave of snow powder in his opponent's eyes, and with this deceptive maneuver hit his hand hard on the table.
- Yes! I won! — Trickster jumped to his feet excitedly.
- You… you cheating… — God of Thunder chuckled, wiping his wet face, — You just wait.
Well, his young companion was smart enough not to, and in moments a snowball hit Thor's reddened face, making fluffy white eyebrows and a ridiculous moustache. Loki couldn't breathe for laughing.
So they chased each other around, engaged in a vigorous battle, their voices ringing in the quiet of the night, until Thor finally caught his brother and planted him face down into the snow. For fuller effect, he lay on top of the punished, pushing the naughty head down every now and then and fighting back hysterical fits of laughter. Finally free, Loki turned over, breathing heavily and smiling wide, and watched the low reddish clouds. He held Thor's hand, and heard a sad voice in his head whisper: Oh, may Heimdall look the other way.
- As you wish. — The city answered. — This night goes to Princes of Asgard.