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When they were young, he let his hair grow long, for no reason except that he loved when Thor played with it.
When they were children, Mother would read them a story while they got ready for bed. Loki would braid Thor's hair, so it didn't tangle impossibly in the night. Then Thor would do the same for Loki...
Except, his never quite got finished. Thor kept undoing and redoing it, for as long as Mother would let them get away with it.
When they became too old for bedtime stories, and were given separate rooms, it stopped.
For a few days.
Then Thor would come to Loki's room, and read while Loki braided his hair. Then Loki took over reading, while Thor combed and braided and played his fill.
If he were a cat, he would have been purring contentedly. Half the time he didn't even remember what he'd read.
When they got older...
The delicate touches took a new, illicit, meaning, never spoken of aloud. As a child, it had been a pleasure of the moment. As an adolescent, the touches followed Loki into the night.
Thor's hands would wander sometimes. Just a little. Fingers brushing his neck, or just happening to trail along his spine as his hand moved, making Loki's heart race.
Loki worried he would not be able to hide his reaction. He should send Thor away, before this got out of hand.
He didn't, of course.
One evening, Thor was experimenting with buns, and other styles that pulled his hair up. The tug of it was incredible, shot straight down his spine. Loki desperately tried to keep his voice steady and calm, as he always did.
Then soft lips brushed the back of his neck.
His mind froze. His tongue, so used now to reading steadily through his heart's distraction, just kept reading, with barely a catch in his breath.
Thor kissed him again, one hand softly brushing down his shoulder. Then again. Then again, slowly covering the back of his neck.
It was a kind of panic, perhaps, or shock. Loki kept reading, even as Thor's arms closed gently around him. As Thor's warm chest slowly pressed against his back.
His tongue stumbled when he felt Thor drag teeth lightly across his spine. Then he kept reading, voice shaking.
When Thor pulled him into his lap, he finally released the book, and groaned.
Thor touched him and destroyed him, hands and mouth finding so many places to crack him, and when he released Loki's hair from its tight bun, let it suddenly loose, Loki shattered and cried Thor's name and knew he was ruined for any other.
It was a good while before they got back to reading. They had a new evening game to explore.
Still, Loki's hair.
Thor would leave it loose and messy when he intended to make Loki a wild thing of pleasure. Would braid it and use it as a handhold when he wanted to dominate. Would comb it to delicate arrangements when he wanted to overwhelm Loki with love.
Loki would braid Thor's hair into its nightly neat braid - Thor never seemed to want anything else - then sit still, enthralled, as Thor's strong hands determined his fate for the night. He'd wait quietly, in breathless anticipation as Thor's fingers combed through his hair, and traced along his scalp, before settling at last on a pattern. Then he would put Loki's hair together, and take Loki apart.
Loki loved it. He could barely wear his hair in anything but a ponytail during the day, for each style he might have tried now brought up thrilling, erotic memories, and a desperate, needing ache. He had to do more elaborate styles for formal occasions, and he might as well have been asked to spend the evening with one of their toys inside him! He would feel Thor's eyes follow him around the room, seeing his blush, knowing how his heart was racing, knowing exactly what state Loki was in.
When they were finally able to leave for the night, Loki would leap on Thor, wild and demanding, and not be satisfied until Thor had had him, and had him, and finally took Loki's hair down.
Then there were nights when he was upset, and he would fall asleep cuddled against Thor's chest, comforted by Thor's hand stroking his hair. There were nights when he was caught in a spell, eyes distant, seeing things that were not in their realm, seeing power and its flow through Yggdrasil, and only Thor's hands, combing his hair out of the way, could bring him back. There were...
A thousand things, a thousand ways.
So of course he kept his hair long. He would never think of cutting it.
Until he did.
It was a stupid argument, turned bitter. Thor would be king, they both knew, for all that it hadn't been announced. And there were so many angry things to snarl over about that.
Thor would be expected to marry, for one. To a woman. Then what would Loki be? Unnecessary offspring, discarded sibling?
The bickering had turned vicious, and in a fit of hurt fury, Loki had cut his hair to almost nothing, feet of black coils falling to the floor around him.
And it was gone.
They didn't talk about it, after. It hung between them, as they awkwardly tried to determine new boundaries. Smiling and close one moment, strained and tense the next.
Loki's hair was short. A constant reminder that things were not as they had been.
Then, well. A ruined coronation. A trip to Jotunheim. Thanos and a mad invasion of Midgard. A faked death, and the destruction of their realm.
No need to dwell on such things.
On their cramped ship of refugees, he stood before a mirror in his room. He didn't know what he was anymore. Not Asgardian. Not truly Jotun. A prince and a prisoner, a villain and a savior of Asgard. He shifted from form to form, from pale to blue, from man to woman, from heir to enemy, and back, searching for something that he could be. What was he? What did a Loki wear, he wondered. Where did a Loki fit?
Thor came up behind him, cautious of his welcome, and smiled softly at his shifting appearance.
"Will you cut your hair again?" he asked, voice wistful.
Loki looked at his brother in the mirror. Shorn and one-eyed, changed with hardships. But still, Thor.
His brother. His Thor.
"No." he said, softly. "I think I like it long."