Written to: Never Let Me Go - Florence and the Machine, crosspost from AO3.
Sirimiri: A light rain, a fine drizzle.
Loki hums a little tune to himself as he rocks Modi in one arm, the other hand spread out among the pages of a book. Outside the nursery window, a storm rages, muted by the thick glass and by Loki's seidr, muffling the claps of thunder for Modi's little ears. Rain beats down against the window, drawing little watery lines of shadow across Modi's cheeks, and he reaches out tiny fingers to try and catch the little grey drops running across his skin.
Thor is training for future battles, calling the thunder and the lightning and the wind to swirl around him and do his bidding. Loki has seen his brother (his fiancé, now, he supposes, looking at the soft silver glint on his finger) gripping Mjolnir firmly, raising it above his head to send it smashing down on the head of some unlucky opponent, has admired his strength and force from a safe distance. Thor, for all his roughness, has a grace that Loki could never hope to possess: rough and raw and polished all at once, the sharp edges of diamonds, beautiful in its ferocity.
The balcony door bursts open with a loud bang, and Modi squeals in surprise. Loki, who has had millennia to get used to Thor's abrupt, loud entrances, quickly closes his book and cuddles Modi to his chest to calm the baby's squalling before turning to look at Thor.
Thor is framed in a white flash of lightning, his hair dripping, Mjolnir dangling loosely in one hand. The clap of thunder follows not even a few seconds later, and, unmuffled by the thick wood and glass of the balcony door, is much louder. Modi begins to wail, and Jörmungandr, rudely woken from his afternoon nap, slithers down from his pillow and up Loki's body, twining himself around his mother's shoulders to stare down at the little pink thing fussing in its bundle of blankets.
Thor crosses the room quickly, gently setting Mjolnir down on the floor, wrapping Loki in a tender embrace from behind. Loki feels the rain soaking into his robes, but allows Thor to hug him close and peer over his shoulder at squalling bundle.
"What is it, beloved?" Thor asks gently, reaching down to stroke a broad thumb across Modi's tear-stained cheek. Modi grabs at the thumb and clings tightly, snuffling. "Why must you despair?"
Loki smiles quietly and bounces Modi up and down in his arms. "He is scared of the storm, I think. It is very loud, and he is not used to such noises. They are big and frightening."
Outside, the storm abates, the grey clouds growing lighter as Thor commands, until all that is left is the soft pattering of a light drizzle on the balcony stones outside.
Modi looks up at Loki, his eyes huge and blue and wet, still clinging to Thor's thumb with a tight grip. His cries dissolve into tiny hiccups, and Loki smiles down at his son reassuringly.
Jörmungandr flicks out a tiny forked tongue to lick at the tear tracks on Modi's cheeks, makes a face. They are salty, and not at all to his liking. Modi giggles hesitantly, tiny pockets of brightness in the air, and Jory looks at the fat pink thing in distaste and slithers away to a cushion, settling in for another nap.