Crosspost from AO3.
Written to: It's Been a Year - Greg Laswell
Additional Note: Alright, alright, changing the status of this story to incomplete since several people have requested it be made a large story. Please send me any good music by giving me the song/artist name in a review or PM so the story can continue to grow! Thanks.
There is no other way to say it. Loki has gained weight.
Thor cracks open an eye and hugs the pillow closer to his head, watching the rosy early morning sunlight spill over his brother's body as Loki struggles into a pair of dark jeans. He has to hold in a laugh as Loki hops from one foot to the other, wriggling his hips and shaking his bum - rather provocatively, Thor thinks as he feels the reluctant stirrings of an erection against the mattress - as he tries to draw the dark denim up his legs.
Loki sighs as he finally manages to get the button and zipper done. "They didn't use to be so tight before," he grouses to himself as he stuffs his notebooks into his messenger bag.
Thor closes his eyes quickly when Loki starts to turn towards the bed. He can feel his brother's stare, and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop the laugh that threatens to ruin him.
The mattress dips a bit as Loki perches himself carefully on the edge, tentatively reaching out to push a strand of golden hair behind Thor's ear. He bends over and presses a shy kiss to Thor's cheek, and Thor lets himself smile.
"I am fat," Loki announces as he walks through the door after his lab session that day, the tails of his white lab coat flapping against his knees, dropping his messenger bag on the floor.
"I - you what now?" Thor asks, trying - and failing - very hard to draw his gaze away from Loki's backside, which passes him too quickly as his brother plops down on the sofa next to him.
Loki looks at him, before repeating very slowly, "I have gained weight."
"I suppose you have," Thor says. "But I would not venture to say you are fat."
Loki looks down at his jeans. "This is my favourite pair of pants," he pouts, "and it's hard to fit into them now."
Thor rolls his eyes. "This is a common side effect of your medicine, Loki. You know that."
Loki opens his mouth to protest that, yes, he knows, but he hates it, but Thor interrupts him.
"This," he says, running his hand over the length of Loki's thigh, "is my favourite pair of legs, and if you were unable to wear any of your pants, I for one would not mind."
Loki blushes, a brilliant scarlet colour flooding his cheeks and darting quickly across the bridge of his nose, but he does not make any moves to push Thor's hand away.
"You have had much practice in saying pretty things," Loki murmurs, the blush spreading to the tips of his ears, and Thor laughs.
"Never have I meant it as much before."
"Loki," Thor says one evening three weeks into April. "I have signed us up for an art class."
Loki arches an eyebrow as he looks at his brother across the dining table, where, Thor is displeased to note, he isn't eating as much as he ought to.
"Why an art class? You don't really like drawing," Loki replies, pushing around the noodles in his bowl.
"It will be good for you," Thor says firmly. "I have been reading about schizophrenia, and many of the things recommend group therapy." At this, Loki tenses, and Thor hastens to explain. "Of course I thought you would not like that, so I read about other things also. Lots of people say art is good, also."
Loki rolls his eyes. "And I suppose your books also say things about dancing outside wearing only a tea towel and chanting to the skies as a way to release stress," he snorts as he twirls his fork around his fingers.
Thor shrugs. "I would do whatever they said, if it might make you feel better."
There is silence for a moment, and Thor wonders what his brother is thinking. Then Loki sighs dramatically.
"Fine. I will go with you to this art class of yours."
Thor smiles gleefully and thanks Loki profusely, and, as he gathers up the dishes and notices Loki's half finished bowl of pasta, he decides to leave that issue for another day.
Thor watches as Loki smears shadows into his thick, creamy paper with the side of his hand, staining the edges of his fingers with charcoal. Loki's green eyes dart over his face, then back to his paper as he sketches Thor's face.
Loki pushes up his glasses from where they have slipped, and leaves a little streak of charcoal on the bridge of his nose. Thor bursts out laughing, because Loki really does look silly, but his brother frowns at him and tells him to stop laughing so that he can finish drawing.
"Look," Loki commands as he unpins the sketch so Thor can see. "What do you think?"
Thor smiles as he looks at Loki's sketch, at his features mirrored back at him in varying shades of black and grey. "It is lovely, Loki," he says truthfully, admiring his brother's talent. "It looks very much like me."
"Yes," Loki agrees. "That is the point."
He turns the easel around to Thor and pins a new, creamy page to it, hands Thor a stick of charcoal. "Here, it's your turn."
"You know I am not good at drawing, Loki. I would shame your likeness."
"Being good at drawing does not always mean you can draw exactly what you see," Loki explains. "All you have to do is make the first mark." Loki smiles at Thor, and Thor looks admires the curves of Loki's mouth, the smudge of charcoal on his nose, and he sets the charcoal to the paper.
Even though Thor's drawing comes out looking more like a cat, Loki tells him that it is a brilliant drawing.
"Now sign it," Loki tells him. "That's to let people know that it's yours."
Thor watches his brother sign his own drawing, pressing the elegant lines of the "L" and the "k" into the corners of the page.
"See? This is mine," Loki says as he holds up the drawing, and Thor cannot help but agree.
Thor watches Loki as he sleeps, the lamplight playing gently across his face and casting his long eyelashes into delicate shadows across his cheekbones.
Thor likes him like this, he decides. His face has filled out a little, his cheeks no longer quite so hollow, not quite so pinched. The shadows under his eyes have cleared up, and his lips are just the slightest bit fuller, the slightest bit plumper, the slightest bit redder.
Better for kissing, Thor muses as he bookmarks the page in his finance textbook for a short break from cramming.
Loki's skin has lost that strange, unhealthy pallor of the past and glows with a freshness that Thor can only recall from their childhood days. And his brother has always been good with regimens of lotion and moisturizers to keep his skin from cracking and peeling, but Thor finds himself marveling even more at the soft way the delicate pads of Loki's fingers can so easily worry the head of his cock while the other hand's digits are buried in the pages of a book.
Thor can still feel the bones of his brother's ribcage, but they are layered over more now; he doesn't look quite so malnourished, and Thor is no longer so worried about breaking him if he thrusts too hard, if he bites too sharply.
Loki watches his brother studying from underneath his eyelashes. Even though Thor is next to him, his figure is slightly blurry and Loki finds himself once again wishing he had perfect vision.
He watches Thor worry his bottom lip between his teeth as he narrows his eyes at a particularly stubborn paragraph, and Loki has to force himself to think about anything but how those lips sucked kisses into his chest and made purple flowers bloom underneath his skin.
He closes his eyes tightly as his brother closes his textbook with a soft snap and turns to look at him. He struggles not to grin and hopes Thor won't see the blush that is bubbling up underneath his cheeks, won't come close enough to notice the telltale beginnings of arousal. His brother has a final tomorrow and it wouldn't do to disrupt his studies.
The mattress dips slightly as Thor leans over and tucks an errant strand of glossy black hair behind the curve of Loki's ear, brushes a kiss against Loki's cheek, and Loki lets himself smile.