chaos isn't a pit;

“Long day?” Erik mused while godling shed his clothes, exhausted but unabashed with each layer dropped unceremoniously to the floor, before he lowered himself into the basin, betraying a hiss at a soreness that grew between his shoulder blades, tension still radiating from his frame.

Loki didn’t have a response to Erik’s question. At least, not immediately. The hot water sapped the fitful energy from him, the power pulsing in his bone marrow dulling to a muted buzz. News of the godling’s little…outburst must have traveled quickly and Erik knew without having to be told what happened just before Loki arrived at the safehouse. Even had Erik not heard the story in so many words, he no doubt could piece it together by the cinders in the trickster’s raven hair, the smear of soot on his face and forearms, the smell of destruction still clinging to him like a cologne.

Erik chose not to pry, just as Loki chose not to acknowledge what was now seeming like an overreaction, and the two sat in silence as the bathtub filled. In another effort to avoid addressing the obvious, Loki slipped beneath the surface of the water and pushed his hands through his hair and down his face in a vain attempt to rinse away the evidence of his actions, but there was no undoing it now. He knew that; Erik did too.

When he surfaced he half expected a wry, knowing look from the other, but Erik had positioned himself at the tub’s end, over Loki’s shoulder, and only reached for the bottle of shampoo. There wasn’t judgement in the way he dolloped a generous amount in his palm, nor was there expectation as his fingers slid into Loki’s hair and worked a lather.

Every pull of those fingers away from his scalp drew the tension from him, ounce by ounce. It was only after—after the second lather and rinse; after the dutiful application of condition to see the ends of his hair didn’t end up a gnarled mess; after the inky locks were draped over the edge of the tub as the trickster had relaxed into the side and slid somewhat until the water lapped at his chest—that he realized just how wound up he’d been, to become so boneless and calm as Erik combed through the length of his hair with loving, careful hands.

“There must be some satisfaction,” The godling finally found his voice and the words left him on a sigh as Erik’s fingers began the gentle switchbacks of a braid. When Erik didn’t prompt him, Loki continued, “In resetting my ‘Days Without an Incident” record to zero.”

The laugh that followed was quiet but it managed to skitter along Loki’s nerves regardless. He was grateful Erik couldn’t see the way his lashes fluttered, the sound paired with the occasional tug of his hair being braided making his head swim. “You were overdue for some theatrics.”

Loki huffed at that, but there was no true resentment in it. “To be fair, I was provoked.” Fingers brushed behind the godling’s ears and the train of thought was very nearly derailed. “I didn’t like the way he was looking at you. Smiling at you,” The rhythmic weaving of Erik’s fingers slowed momentarily, attention gathering. “No one smiles that much unless they want something.”

“My, my, is that a confession?” Erik’s flippant response had Loki’s eyes rolling, the seamless resumption of braiding the only thing stopping the trickster from turning to look directly at the mutant. By design, perhaps, because Erik’s knuckles grazed Loki’s nape and he was again limbless and aflutter simultaneously. He blinked as Erik continued, humor coloring his tone, “My dear, you are the most jealous man I know.”

And it was the finality of it, paired with the terminating twists of his braid being tied together at the end, that had Loki asking in mock offense yet real territorial instinct, "You know other men?"

The answering tug on the braid was short but no less affectionate because of it and an ache yawned open in Loki’s chest as his head tipped obediently back, following the pull on his hair, and his emerald gaze shot to find Erik’s. Despite the playfulness, it had been a slip of honest truth which Erik chose not to dignify with a response. A final brush of fingers along Loki’s hair and Erik was standing. “Come on. Out of the bath.”

Loki, all of a sudden aware of how cool the bath had gotten, did as he was bid, rising from the tepid water with Erik’s hands to guide him. He sidled over the tub’s edge, taken aback by just how tired he was.

Erik took the opportunity to press a kiss to his temple; purposeful; intent.