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viridian_magpie
Title: Mirror Mirror
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Supernatural, Norse Myth
Continuity: Set not long after these ficlets, before Weregild
Characters/Pairings: Gabriel, Loki, Gabriel/Loki
Summary: Loki doesn't look exactly like Loki anymore ...
Wordcount: 447
Disclaimer: Not mine
viridian_magpie Title: Mirror Mirror
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Supernatural, Norse Myth
Continuity: Set not long after these ficlets, before Weregild
Characters/Pairings: Gabriel, Loki, Gabriel/Loki
Summary: Loki doesn't look exactly like Loki anymore ...
Wordcount: 447
Disclaimer: Not mine
Mirror Mirror
"You don't look like you," Gabriel had commented, once. Distantly, almost absently, as they lay curled together in front of the fire in Hel's halls. As Loki worried small hands through his wings with a Trickster's sly glee and the fascination of a child long denied. Gabriel watched his god's face, watched the narrowing of clever eyes and the focus in the line of that mobile mouth, while his hands skated their own lazy way up and down the god's spine, and the words fell out of his mouth, all by themselves.
You don't look like you.
Because Loki didn't. Loki didn't look the way Gabriel remembered him. Loki didn't look like the god shackled screaming in that cave. Loki didn't look like that hard, cruel, clever creature, didn't look like the god who had whispered threats against Gabriel's soul, and threaded eager, demanding fingers through his Grace. There were lines now, that hadn't been there before, shapes of laughter and fear carved into the god's face that hadn't been his. There were expressions, now, that didn't have the sly, sardonic shape of Loki's soul, softer, deeper expressions, expressions that seemed to come from some hole that had bloomed inside the god.
That face, that exact, familiar face, that should change only to Loki's will ... didn't look like Loki. Didn't look like his god. And Gabriel had said so, almost unconsciously, feeling nothing but a faint, distant bewilderment.
And Loki had paused. Had frozen, sly fingers wrapped in feathers, body curved over Gabriel as the god looked curiously down at him, and then ... then Loki smiled. Amused, and possessive, and richly satisfied.
"You don't look much like an archangel anymore, either," the god whispered, to the bewildered echo of his own features, to the face that no archangel had ever worn. Loki looked down at him, at his twin, and smiled a dark, terrible little smile. "You stole my face, Gabriel," he reminded softly. "Only fair, in return, if I get to steal your soul ..."
Gabriel blinked, held still for a beating minute beneath the weight of the god against his chest, beneath the pressure of the mirror of himself ranged above him. Gabriel held himself still, for a long, shuddering second, as the thought of that settled inside him, into the hollow where the god's soul had rested for so long. He held still, and then ... Then he laughed. A soft, wondering little thing. He laughed, and wriggled, and tugged until his god fell into the gap in his arms, at his side, in his heart. He laughed, and stole a biting kiss from the mirror of his face.
"Only fair," he'd agreed, quietly. And it was.
"You don't look like you," Gabriel had commented, once. Distantly, almost absently, as they lay curled together in front of the fire in Hel's halls. As Loki worried small hands through his wings with a Trickster's sly glee and the fascination of a child long denied. Gabriel watched his god's face, watched the narrowing of clever eyes and the focus in the line of that mobile mouth, while his hands skated their own lazy way up and down the god's spine, and the words fell out of his mouth, all by themselves.
You don't look like you.
Because Loki didn't. Loki didn't look the way Gabriel remembered him. Loki didn't look like the god shackled screaming in that cave. Loki didn't look like that hard, cruel, clever creature, didn't look like the god who had whispered threats against Gabriel's soul, and threaded eager, demanding fingers through his Grace. There were lines now, that hadn't been there before, shapes of laughter and fear carved into the god's face that hadn't been his. There were expressions, now, that didn't have the sly, sardonic shape of Loki's soul, softer, deeper expressions, expressions that seemed to come from some hole that had bloomed inside the god.
That face, that exact, familiar face, that should change only to Loki's will ... didn't look like Loki. Didn't look like his god. And Gabriel had said so, almost unconsciously, feeling nothing but a faint, distant bewilderment.
And Loki had paused. Had frozen, sly fingers wrapped in feathers, body curved over Gabriel as the god looked curiously down at him, and then ... then Loki smiled. Amused, and possessive, and richly satisfied.
"You don't look much like an archangel anymore, either," the god whispered, to the bewildered echo of his own features, to the face that no archangel had ever worn. Loki looked down at him, at his twin, and smiled a dark, terrible little smile. "You stole my face, Gabriel," he reminded softly. "Only fair, in return, if I get to steal your soul ..."
Gabriel blinked, held still for a beating minute beneath the weight of the god against his chest, beneath the pressure of the mirror of himself ranged above him. Gabriel held himself still, for a long, shuddering second, as the thought of that settled inside him, into the hollow where the god's soul had rested for so long. He held still, and then ... Then he laughed. A soft, wondering little thing. He laughed, and wriggled, and tugged until his god fell into the gap in his arms, at his side, in his heart. He laughed, and stole a biting kiss from the mirror of his face.
"Only fair," he'd agreed, quietly. And it was.
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