AN: Aramis the unstoppable heads towards Loki the immovable. Results may vary, will it be fluff or failure? Enjoy!
Those constellation names are, indeed, real Norse ones. As a city girl, whenever I think of what Loki and Aramis see when they look at the skies just makes me sigh jealously - and not only because they get to see a sea of stars... - K
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Loki stared at stars that didn't make sense. The constellations were wrong, the four stags were missing and he felt like Dvalin, the sleeper. Even Thiassi's Eyes, which the Midgardians called Gemini, were absent from the speckled expanse before him. It was unnerving to look upon such incoherence, and yet he thought that he could finally feel the World Tree calling him.
It called with his mother's voice.
Loki jerked awake and stared at an unfortunately familiar ceiling. It seemed to taunt him with its spattered marks amongst the dirty whiteness, a mocking dissimilarity to the purity of a night sky.
He instinctively reached out with his magic, ignoring how needy it felt to search for something recognisable, but nothing returned his plea. Instead, he was forced to remember exactly where he was and how he had ended up there.
His lip curled into a grimace as he recalled how much idiotic pain he had felt at hearing Aramis and Porthos in the hallway, as if the slighter man had deliberately taunted Loki by being noisy and then disappearing into Porthos' room.
He hoped the Midgardian had choked in his sleep.
The grumpy rage boiled within him until his fists clenched into the sheets. The worst part of it was that he was angry at himself as much as he was at Aramis, for it wasn't entirely the mortal's fault that Loki had almost succumbed to those warm charms.
No, it was Loki who had come to rely on those lingering, hungry looks, and seeing them aimed at someone else, someone who was nothing like Loki, managed to incite him to wrathful violence.
What had he been thinking? That, in physical form alone, he stood any chance compared to the hulking form of Porthos? Yes, Loki was strong, he was powerful, but it was different, and he had thought Aramis had appreciated that.
Instead, the little flirt had finally listened to his sneering denials, and Loki had pushed him away forever.
Curse Aramis, curse Porthos, curse this hateful, disgusting, mortal planet that he was stranded upon, doomed to see their ridiculous happiness and know that he could never experience it-
A snore broke the silence.
Loki leaped out of bed and wondered why his senses hadn't alerted him to an intruder, and the realisation made him curse himself after cursing everything else. Aramis, still fully-clothed, was sat in his chair, and Loki didn't consider Aramis a threat.
Not in the cut-throat type of way, at least, for the man was certainly risky in other ways.
Loki glared in confused amazement at the evidence; guilt blooming as his curses still rang in his mind, for Aramis looked exactly the same as he had scant few hours ago. Loki hadn't realised that he had taken note, but he knew that the ties across Aramis shirt hadn't been touched.
Aramis had clearly returned sometime after he had fallen asleep, and to what? To sleep, alone, on an uncomfortable chair, after Loki had denied him?
Had Aramis truly chosen that, over what Porthos had so blatantly offered last night?
A strange uncertainty overcame Loki, a dubiousness that he had never felt before and the void that had opened the night before became sickened. It made him wonder silently, what am I, to deserve this?
He watched Aramis sleep, felt something so very similar to sentiment completely flood his system, and he murmured the question out loud.
Warm brown eyes that flashed with uncertainty opened and Aramis smiled sleepily. "Good morning, mon- Loki."
Aramis' smile dropped as he looked away from Loki hastily, and Loki felt the sentiment tearing itself apart as it cried out at the loss of that ridiculous term, the one that seemed to ring with such unrequited affection even though he had no idea what it meant.
Was that not Loki's downfall? To deny things that he didn't understand? And yet, with the painful clarity of hindsight, he realised that a growing part of him wanted to understand this time.
Aramis smiled nervously when Loki was unable to look away, and he felt as if he was staring a once-in-a-very-long-lifetime chance in its attractive face.
What am I, to deserve this?
Loki simply blinked and distractedly watched Aramis stretch in his chair, the man's shirt rising to reveal tan skin that made Loki try to remember why, exactly, he had turned him away last night.
The reasons came easily and they were numerous; they needed to return home, to where they belonged, and Loki was a mage, an immortal, so very superior.
And yet he did not feel so superior when Aramis ran a tired hand through his scruffy hair and Loki felt his chest tighten at the sight, felt his fingers twitch with the sudden need to push a stray brown curl behind Aramis' ear.
Because he could not deny how incredibly, foolishly, grateful he was that Aramis had returned.
Aramis didn't notice his silence – in fact, he was probably used to it by now – and looked down to eye his shirt distastefully. It was still a little bloody from their various scrapes and apparently it had finally crossed the boundaries of acceptability, because Aramis drew it over his head in a swift movement of flexing muscle.
Loki's mouth dried and he forced his gaze aside, desperately deliberating why he was so affected. He had seen Thor and his idiot friends half-naked before, and although he had sometimes allowed himself to admire Fandral's form, the sight had never made heat betray his cheeks.
He had certainly never felt an almost overwhelming craving to trace his fingers over faint lines etched into tan skin.
His neat stitches had disappeared, he realised belatedly with a quick glance to confirm. He must have healed Aramis more thoroughly than he had thought when they had been sat around the fire.
"What would you usually do with the thread?" Loki found himself asking, and Aramis answered with his head buried in his cupboard.
"Clip it out after two weeks, leaves a dashing scar," the man replied, grinning over his shoulder at the last. Aramis then frowned at Loki's regard and question, and placed a tentative hand below the back of his neck, his eyes widening when he felt no mark. "Well," he said with forced nonchalance after noticing Loki's frown, "I suppose I had too many already."
Loki allowed himself a brief once-over, just so that he could answer Aramis, and decided that the man was wrong. Yes, there were scars, physical proof of action and a cause well fought for, but they were not indicative of the self-deprecation in Aramis' tone.
As someone who did not scar, Loki was merely fascinated by the interesting symbols, not disgusted.
He stepped forward, feeling oddly disconnected from his body as his hand lifted to brush the small but dark line across Aramis' forehead. Aramis' pupils dilated immediately, and his breath caught when Loki murmured, "They suit the life you lead."
The reactions pleased him, he wasn't sure why, but they did. Loki couldn't quite stop himself from watching his hand fall back to his side, his eyes trailing avidly down a chest dusted with dark hair and shuddered with Aramis' stuttered breathing.
"The life of a fool who throws himself in harm's way?" Aramis asked with a shaky laugh, and Loki dragged his gaze back to meet blown brown eyes that seemed ever-so-nervous.
"Yes," Loki replied with a smirk, "But a brave one." Aramis ducked his head and beamed, until Loki caught his chin with his fingers and added with a hint of a threat, "Perhaps too brave."
If Aramis had seemed nervous before, it disappeared under an onslaught of fire that made Loki's own breath catch as he released him. Aramis turned to charming in the blink of hungry eyes and said gracefully, "It is worth it to keep those I admire, safe."
Loki frowned at that self-sacrificing statement and turned away, finding it surprisingly difficult to do so. "I will not pretend to know how that feels, survival is too important to me."
"We will see," Aramis said with what sounded like a smile, and Loki didn't want to deign it with a response.
He was no hero; he did not take blades for others or rampage through the woods on revenge missions. Thor did, but his brother did not have to worry about lasting damage. It was another reason as to why they needed to leave; these Musketeers were too valiant- too senseless.
They were dangerous.
Aramis' mind was reeling, he had no idea what had just happened.
He hadn't been able to deny himself the pleasure of Loki's presence, of being able to wake up to such a gorgeous sight, which was why he had thrown caution to the wind and returned to his room instead of staying with Porthos.
It was with a thread of unease that he had seen Loki watching him when he awoke, and Aramis had been so very worried that Loki would deny him again. Those truly derisive words still rang in his head, and yet here he was, anyway.
He was such a fool.
And yet, just then, when Aramis had been confronted with silence and been tempted to run for Porthos, Loki had seemed concerned for his safety, especially when Aramis had tried to tell him that he was one who he admired. It had put such startling vulnerability on Loki's face, and Aramis had seen it, because his angel had almost ramped his heart into oblivion by crowding him and brushing a gentle finger over the scar on his forehead.
Aramis had never liked that mark more.
He knew then, without a shadow of a doubt, that he would never be able to turn away from the absolute authority in Loki's emerald eyes, certainly never from the hidden strength that lay coiled within that slender form. A viciously hot part of Aramis knew that, somehow, Loki could out-power him.
And that was positively mind-blowingly attractive.
Loki didn't turn back around from his almost prudish retreat until Aramis had tugged a clean shirt over his head. It made Aramis sigh sadly, unable to ignore the feeling of how he had missed something important, as if he had missed a chance to ensnare Loki once and for all, for it seemed that he had finally been succumbing to his charm offensive.
When a noise sounded from beyond, Loki seemed to glare at the wall that they shared with Porthos, and Aramis' brain took a moment to catch up with the reaction. Was it… jealousy that caused that striking scowl?
And then that scowl smoothed as it fixated on his slightly bared chest, and Aramis had to hide a delighted smile.
Maybe he hadn't quite missed the chance.
Aramis held no illusions that he was anywhere near conquering his angel, but when he had finally coaxed Loki into breathing distance and could have kissed the stunning flush along his cheekbones, he thought that he might just be a little closer.
A knock at the door had Loki tensing, so Aramis held up a placating hand, because he already knew who it would be.
Porthos' glare was something that Aramis had seen countless times, and although it warmed his heart to see it aimed at a scowling Loki, it would never compare to emerald eyes that never failed to make his pulse jump.
"You alright?" Porthos asked gruffly, his expression turning to one of concern when he finally looked at him.
"Yes, mon ami, I'm fine." Porthos gave him a look that said he wasn't buying it, so Aramis chuckled and added, "Je t'assure, I am quite bouleversé."
"You are?" Porthos replied in quiet tones, and Aramis let his happy shrug say, well, I hope it's Loki who has undergone a drastic change.
Porthos grunted in reluctant acceptance and jerked his head outside. "Treville wants us," he said grumpily, but his hand gently rested against Aramis' hip where Loki couldn't see.
It was a gesture of comfort and Aramis smiled his gratitude, nodding his head in fond dismissal. When Porthos left, Aramis turned to see Loki's look of complete scathing antipathy disappear almost immediately. Aramis considered it and wondered whether something should be established, something that, perhaps, Loki didn't realise.
Men could be so very stubborn.
"You know," Aramis said idly as he fetched his weapons, "I think Porthos has a tendre for your brother."
Aramis almost couldn't restrain the bark of laughter that wanted to sound at the absolute shock on Loki's face. Was it because he finally realised that there was no relationship between Aramis and Porthos, or because he had a sibling's level of disgust at the thought of his brother intimate with someone?
Both made Aramis shake in withheld laughter, for it probably wasn't often that Loki had to have something pointed out to him.
Finally, Aramis could bear the delightfully affronted expression for no longer. "Come, mon ange, let us see what Treville has for us today."
Loki aimed a calculating look at him, as if able to tell that he wanted to laugh, but there wasn't the usual level of coldness in it, instead it was almost soft exasperation. In fact, Loki might have even huffed happily when Aramis hadn't called him by his true name.
Aramis couldn't stop his smile then, because everything that Loki had done since he had woken up was telling him that, perhaps, there was a glimmer of hope, of possibility between them.
And that was worth any tedious mission that they might be sent on.
As they walked out, Loki appeared at his left side, and his fallen angel felt right, there.
AN: The thought of Loki and Thor acting like brothers just makes me want to roll on the floor and squee, whereas Loki and Aramis just make me want to scream in excitement. The brainstorming we do for this fic is just capslock and exclamation marks, so please join in with us and review! :D - K
^It's also moments of shocked silence any time we come across the perfect idea and temporarily forget how to breath. - L
