Written to Fresh Snow - Moonlit Sailor, crosspost from AO3
Brumous: of grey skies and winter days; filled with heavy clouds or fog; relating to winter or cold, sunless weather.
Loki wakes one morning to find the clouds grey and thick outside the balcony windows, their underbellies pregnant with rain and snow and hail. As he rolls out of bed, he flinches away at the chilly stones beneath his feet. Thor, for once, is lying on his side in bed, still sleeping soundly, as Loki pads over to the windows and places his palms lightly against the glass, watching it fog up against his skin.
His glamour flickers, streaks of blue spilling across his skin like ink into water, and he watches with detached curiosity as his reflection's skin etches crimson, as his lips colour violet, until he looks the proper frost prince once more.
Hearing Modi's soft babbling from the other room and not wishing to wake Thor, Loki quickly hurries over to the nursery to attend to Modi's needs.
When he gets there, much to his surprise, he looks into the cradle to find a frost child. Modi gurgles up at him happily, reaching out soft blue hands to him, and Loki strokes his fingers through blue-black ringlets of downy hair as he presses a kiss to Modi's chubby cheek. His skin is slightly warmer than Loki's, and Loki arranges the blankets more tightly around his son as he carries Modi over to the nursery windows.
Modi peers outside with wide, maroon eyes, pats his fingers against the cold glass, and starts in surprise as a spattering of frost streaks out in brilliant bursts from where he touches the window. Loki grins and places his hand on the window next to Modi's, and Modi gasps in awe, drooling all over Loki's chest as Loki traces icy swirling patterns over the window.
"He is like you," a voice says from the doorway. Loki turns a bit, glancing over his shoulder to see Frigga leaning against the nursery door. Her eyes are soft and gentle as she watches Modi slap the window, bursts of frost radiating outwards from his palms. "Magic before he could even sit up by himself."
Frigga walks over, her footfalls light on the nursery carpet, and Modi looks over from the window. When he sees her, his face lights up in delight and he smiles toothlessly at her. She smiles back, pinches his cheek gently.
"Perhaps we should ask Farbauti to come," Frigga says absentmindedly, as Modi threads blue fingers through her hair and tugs. "She is much more skilled at these sorts of spells than I."
Thor watches the interaction from the grey shadows of the nursery doorway, watches his son spark magic across the window panes and clap his hands in delight. He makes a mental note to ask the blacksmiths to produce a training staff in addition to a miniature warhammer.