A/N i wrote this for my friend for christmas and honestly it's so specifically catered to him that i don't even know if it's worth posting here but uhhhh have a fic ig

Loki loves a good party.

Unfortunately, Asgard's parties tend not to fall into that category.

They were fun at a young age. As kids, the princes were supposed to be cute; they were supposed to have fun; they were supposed to be mildly mischievous (as long as nobody was seriously injured, but, in their defense, that only happened a small handful of times).

These days, the royal family's parties are about maturity and responsibility and recounting tales of glory on the battlefield. They've grown tiresome over the last few centuries. Thor, of course, would disagree. He could spend hours talking about his adventures. Personally, Loki's never seen the appeal.

Which is why Loki has decided not to attend tonight's festivities. Even a feigned illness was hardly enough to get out of it, but while Odin tried to insist both of his children should be present, Frigga had taken pity on her youngest. What sort of example for the Asgardian people would Loki be setting in his weakened state? They deserve the royal family at their best, and only their best.

Loki was thrilled.

With this newly-allotted privacy and the racket covering up any noise Loki makes, there is absolutely nothing to stop Loki from using these new fancy instruments:

Her tap shoes, stolen from Midgard no more than a week prior.

She'd tried to put them on in her male form, but they wouldn't fit her feet. Her female form, however, almost feels as though it were made for these shoes. She's yet to truly use them, but she's worn them at least a dozen times since, lying in bed or sitting on the floor or reading her books. She'd taken them because they looked fun, but, she's come to learn, they're more than that. They're validating. Her whole life, everybody has insisted she act more masculine. Some people were loud about it; others, quieter; small changes in their attitudes or the ease with which she was addressed. Eventually, she let all of these subtle jabs at her femininity convince her that it was wrong; that it was ridiculous to act like a woman when she had her princely duties to attend to.

Her tap shoes disagree.

Her tap shoes tell her that she's valid; that she is a woman; that there's nothing wrong with being feminine. And even if she can only express herself in the privacy of her own room, she's damn glad she gets to be a woman.

She slips her tap shoes on and fastens them against her feet. One shoe goes tap, tap, tap against the hardwood floor; then the other. Tap, tap, tap. Even just sitting on her bed, hearing the sound of her shoes on the floor is bliss. She pushes herself to her feet, and the quiet clinking puts a small smile on her face.

Now for the fun part:

Figuring out how to use them.

She taps her toe against the floor, once, twice, three times, then steps on that foot again. With the other foot, she lifts her heel and drops it once, twice, then scuffs it forward. That one makes an interesting sound – duller than her toe taps, but just as nice. She digs her heel into the ground, then drops her toe.

She shifts her weight again, then picks up the other foot. She brushes it forward, and the ball of her foot hits the floor, ringing out through the air. She brushes her foot back, and it makes nearly the same sound. Intrigued, she does it again, faster this time. She likes that. It makes a fun noise.

She digs her heel into the ground, then spanks the ball of her foot against the floor as she pulls it back. That one is so loud, she has to do it again, and then a third time for good measure. She giggles, a childlike joy in her heart, and puts her foot down, toe first, then heel. She does the same thing on the other side – heel, spank, heel, spank, heel, spank, toe, heel.

She has no frame of reference for this. She saw somebody performing in shoes like these the last time she was on Midgard, but only for a brief time, and she only remembers how fun it looked. She doesn't know what the dancer was doing, and she certainly can't copy it from memory. But that only makes it more fun. She can do whatever she wants, and it can't be wrong. As long as she's making noise – no, as long as she's having fun – she knows she's doing it right.

She gets so distracted by her dancing, she doesn't hear the knock on the door. She's oblivious to the presence outside her room, until suddenly–

"Yes, you look very ill."

Loki whips around to face the doorway, where she finds Thor standing, an amused smirk on his lips that only makes her feel more flustered. He eyes her up and down, his gaze hovering over her shoes much longer than necessary, and she glues her feet to the floor, as though she could possibly hide their special qualities from her brother.

"Why are you–what're you doing?" Loki stammers awkwardly.

"Well, I had intended to check on my sick little brother," Thor says. "But it seems you are neither sick nor my brother."

Loki can feel the heat rushing to her cheeks, and she looks down at her shoes, very much preferable to making eye contact with her brother right now. Her hands meet in front of her, and she finds herself picking at her fingers, a nervous tick she's yet to learn how to hide. She's sure Thor notices it. He notices everything.

"Is there any particular reason I have a secret sister tonight?" Thor asks. "It's been a long time since I've been able to say that."

Loki shrugs tensely. "No," she says. "No reason."

"I haven't seen you in this form in decades – centuries, even," Thor reminds her. "There must be a reason you've chosen it."

Loki shakes her head. "No reason at all."

"I don't believe that for a moment."

He invites himself into her room, closing the door behind himself for some semblance of privacy. And then, because his arrogance knows no bounds, he then invites himself to her bed, sitting down on the edge of the mattress like he owns it. How she wishes she had even a fraction of his confidence.

"Sit," he says, somehow both a lighthearted invitation and a demand at the same time.

Loki shuffles her way over to the bed, her feet never leaving the floor. Maybe if she doesn't make any noise, her brother won't realize she's wearing tap shoes? (She's almost positive he already caught her tapping, but her pride won't let her admit it.) She sits down a foot or two away from her brother, and Thor slides closer to her because god forbid he understand her not-so-subtle hints.

"If I had a pheasant for every time somebody asked me about you," Thor tells her, "even Volstagg couldn't help me eat them all."

In any other situation, that would have earned at least a smile. Right now, she feels too awkward to react.

Thor either doesn't notice or doesn't care. He puts an arm around her and squeezes her shoulders. "I've missed my little sister. It's been too long."

"You do understand that I'm the same person you saw this afternoon," Loki reminds her.

"Yes, but you're far less annoying right now," Thor says teasingly.

Loki hits his hand away and shoves him playfully. "Go away, Thor."

Thor nudges her shoulder with his own. "Never."

Loki just rolls her eyes. He's such a pain.

"I'd ask why you skipped the party," Thor says, "but I think your shoes answered that for me."

Loki does her best to hide her feet under the bed. It doesn't really work.

"Where did you find those?" Thor asks. "I've never seen anything like them."

Loki shrugs awkwardly. "Midgard."

Thor huffs a laugh. "Of course," he says. "You and your little Midgardian journeys."

Again, Loki just shrugs. Is it her fault that Midgard is far more exciting than her home realm?

"I don't understand, though," Thor continues, "why, of everything on Midgard, you would choose to bring home loud shoes."

Loki shrugs again. At this rate, her shoulders are going to be very sore tomorrow. "I don't know. I liked them." It felt like they were calling to her. She just had to have them. Somehow, she knew they would be more than shoes. They'd be... an experience. A piece of her heart she hadn't known she'd lost.

Thor looks down at her shoes thoughtfully. "They're nice, I suppose," he says. "They seem rather inefficient – but wonderful if you want to turn heads in every room you walk into."

"They're not for walking around," Loki says. "They're for..." Dancing. Because Thor wouldn't think that's stupid at all.

"Flailing like a baby bird?" Thor finishes teasingly.

Loki shoots him a glare. Thor just chuckles.

"I'm kidding," Thor says. "I thought it looked great."

"No, you didn't."

"No, I didn't," Thor admits. "But I could see that you were having fun, and that matters more than how ridiculous it looks or how unreasonably loud it is."

Loki pouts. "I don't know whether to be upset or appreciative."

"The latter, obviously," Thor says with a grin. "How could you not appreciate a brother as wonderful as me?"

"It is definitely the former," Loki deadpans.

"You can lie to me, but you can't lie to yourself," Thor says teasingly.

Loki can't help the small smile that creeps up on her face. He's such an idiot. She loves him for it (except for when she hates him for it, which is frequently).

"Can I watch?" Thor asks.

Loki furrows her brows. "What?"

"Your... noisey shoes." He gestures vaguely to her feet. "Can I watch you use them?"

"Um... no."

Thor frowns. "Why not?"

"Because you think it looks ridiculous," Loki reminds him. "And you have guests to attend to. I can't imagine the party is over already."

"It might as well be," Thor says. "It's far less exciting without you."

"I assure you, my mischief will return at the next party," Loki says. "For now, I just want to use my new shoes in peace."

Thor sighs dramatically. "Okay." He hangs his head low with exaggerated disappointment. "I'll go back to the party. Alone. With no company. To this boring party. All by myself."

Loki rolls her eyes. "I'm not going with you. I'm 'ill,' remember?"

"Oh, yes," Thor says sarcastically. "You are deathly ill; I can see."

"You're not going to tell Mother and Father, are you?" Loki asks warily.

Thor huffs. "Of course not." He nudges her shoulder with his own. "I could never tattle on a lady."

Loki shakes her head to herself. So maybe there are some perks to being a woman in Asgard. Very few, she'll admit, but she'll take the advantages she can get.

"I'm glad you're okay, sister," Thor says. "I'd been worried about you."

Loki gives him a small smile. "I appreciate that." She would have appreciated it more if he'd stayed out of her room, but she should know better by now than to think she can keep a secret from her brother.

Thor stands up and heads for the door, but just before he walks out of it, he looks back at her. "Are you sure I cannot watch you and your shoes?"

"No."

"Even for a few minutes?"

"No."

"One minute."

"No."

Thor groans. "And to think, I was so nice to you today."

Loki rolls her eyes good-naturedly. "Maybe one day."

Thor beams. "Wonderful!"

It seems that's all he wanted, because he leaves then, paying no mind to the door he leaves open in his wake. Loki shakes her head. One day, he'll learn to close the door. Today is not that day.

When she can no longer hear the sound of his retreating footsteps, Loki hops to her feet, and the satisfying clink of her shoes against the floor brings a smile to her face. She crosses the room in dramatic little steps, enjoying every click and clack of her feet as she does, and closes the door.

She takes a deep breath.

And then...

She dances.

Many years later...

As punishment for his crimes against Asgard, Midgard, and Jotunheim, Loki's been sentenced to life among the humans he once despised. It took some time, but he's come to like it here in Avengers Tower, sharing this space with those he considered enemies only years earlier.

The tower's population has grown in recent weeks. It's hard to say whom he finds more interesting: the Vision, who holds the Mind Stone, or Wanda Maximoff, who has its powers flowing through her veins. Admittedly, he hasn't spoken much to Vision, but Wanda Maximoff has become a fast friend. She's less uptight than the rest of the Avengers. He appreciates a woman with grey morals.

Still, she's been rather sad since she arrived. Her brother, he learned, died only hours before they met. He can't even begin to imagine the pain it's brought her. He doesn't know what he would do if his own brother died. She doesn't talk much about him, and Loki doesn't ask. He's more than willing to be a distraction for her when she needs it, but he's never been one for healthy coping mechanisms.

The Avengers are different. They've done everything in their power to make her feel at home here. They're hell-bent on becoming her new family, though they must know deep down that they'll never replace her best friend since birth.

But that's all beside the point. Right now, Loki's focus rests on the board that separates him from his brother. He's won the last four chess games, and he should have taken the advantage while he had it, because this time, he's not entirely sure he can pull through. (And Tony's commentary is certainly not helping.)

Natasha and Wanda enter the room then, and as everyone's attention shifts from the gameboard, Loki "makes his move," while simultaneously moving one of Thor's pieces a square over where it can't take his rook. He's not above a little cheating to get the job done.

"Someone looks happy," Clint remarks. It's hard to tell which of the women he's referring to.

Natasha pats Wanda on the back. "Guess what we just did?'

"Assassinated a high-level Russian official," Tony says immediately.

"Even better," Natasha says.

Loki had assumed that remark about assassinating someone was a joke. Surely the heroic Avengers wouldn't consider murder the ideal solution for an unspecifed problem? Natasha's answer makes him less certain.

Natasha nudges the younger girl. "You want to tell them?"

Wanda's smile grows just a little bit bigger, her cheeks turning a faint shade of red. "Natasha and I signed up for a dance class."

Loki raises his brows. Natasha Romanoff signed up for a dance class? Wanda, maybe he would understand. She could use a hobby – preferably one that doesn't involve mind-controlling people. But Natasha? A survivor of the Red Room, where balllet is a form of torture used to harden up the students? She wants to take a dance class? He almost can't believe it.

Nobody else seems to have the same train of thought.

"Oh, that's awesome!" Steve gushes.

"Good for you," Tony agrees.

"What kind of dance class?" Clint asks.

"Hip hop, right?" Tony asks teasingly. "Gonna go hipping and hopping? 'Cause I could totally see that."

"God, no," Natasha says immediately. "I could never."

"It's a tap class," Wanda says shyly. "Just a few minutes up the street."

"We figured we'd try a class or two and see how we like it," Natasha says. "I think it'll be fun."

"You know," Thor pipes up, "Loki used to–"

Loki teleports to the other side of the table and slaps a hand over his brother's mouth. "Don't."

Tony snorts. "Okay, this is interesting."

"Loki used to what?" Natasha asks, an eyebrow raised.

"Nothing," Loki says quickly. "It's nothing."

Thor mumbles something incomprehensible, and Loki kicks him in the shin.

"If it's nothing, you'd be fine if he shared wth the class, right?" Tony asks teasingly.

"It's nothing," Loki repeats. "He is wasting your time."

"I have time to be wasted," Natasha remarks.

"Ditto," Tony says. "Does anybody not have time to be wasted?" He looks around the room, only for the briefest second before anybody could possibly react. "Nope; we all got time."

"He is making things up," Loki insists.

"How do you know that if he hasn't said anything yet?" Natasha asks.

"Because I do."

Wanda squints her eyes slightly, cocking her head to the side. "You used to tap dance."

The room erupts after that, into both obnoxious laughter and commentary he really does not want to hear.

Great.

This is just great.

He drops his hand from Thor's mouth – because what good will it do now? – and instead buries his face in his hands.

Maybe he should have just let the Allfather kill him after all.

But while everyone else seems to think this is absolutely hilarious, Wanda finds it fascinating. She walks up to him and gently grabs his wrist, and he reluctantly lowers one hand from his face to look at her.

"You could come with us," she offers.

"I would rather die," Loki deadpans.

"You used to love tap dancing," Wanda reminds him.

"Will you stay out of my head?" Loki asks, exasperated.

"Sorry," she mumbles. (She's not. She'll do it again. They both know that.) "Come with us. It will be fun."

"Those were antics of a child with too much free time," Loki says. "I'm not a child anymore."

"I didn't realize growing older meant losing your sense of fun," she says teasingly.

"You are in for a rude awakening in a decade," Loki tells her. He's joking, of course, but she doesn't need to know that — though he's sure she does.

"Do I need to make you watch Singing In The Rain?" Wanda asks. "Dancing is for everyone – old, young, girls, guys..." She nudges his shoulder pointedly. "Is it a tap class if there's no guy in it?"

Loki does his best not to react to that.

Thor does not.

"Actually–"

Loki slaps a hand over his mouth again, much to the amusement of the rest of the room. He's fine with that. He'd rather they laugh at him for his complicated relationship with his brother than his complicated relationship with gender.

Wanda's eyes go wide. "Woah."

Loki shoots her a look. "Don't."

Wanda mimes zipping her lips. "I won't say anything." She leans in close and whispers in his ear, "Ma'am."

Loki lets go of Thor's mouth to slap the palm of his hand against his head. Great.

Wanda giggles. "Even if you don't want to go to class," she says, "you at least have to let me teach you what we learned."

Loki narrows his eyes. That's ridiculous. He's passed this now – passed the immaturity of tap dancing. He would never–

"Okay."

Wanda beams. "I knew you'd come around."