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Chapter Text

Heimdall stared emotionlessly into the vast abyss; the nine realms existed independently, functioned with little (if not any at all) knowledge of their neighbors, and oblivious to the fact that the gatekeeper kept a watchful eye upon them.

His gaze was upon Midgard, a section illuminated by cracks of lightning; it was in that desolate unwelcoming wasteland that drew his attention, and took note of the staggering figure whose body was battered and tousled beyond its standard princely appearance. The figure favored their left leg, wrapping artistic hands about their thigh, and took cautionary step after cautionary step.

But it was of no use; bright lights suddenly flooded the barren ground, blinding the figure and stripping them of all their devices. Midgardians in uniform descended from mechanical chariots, large flying contraptions that circled overhead; many held weapons, shouting indiscernible words and commands that baffled the figure temporarily.

The chaos, the cacophony of noise continued until a lone figure dressed entirely in black leapt from a ladder hanging from one of the many flying contraptions. He strode with a purpose, coat bellowing behind him in the now violently blowing wind; his face set grim, one eye focused upon the foreigner, the other covered with a patch, yelled out a very familiar name.

"Loki Laufeyson, I thought we saw the last of you,"

"Why Director Fury, your organization has proven its worth," the fallen prince of Asgard returned, hands tightening around his thigh further. "I've only just arrived."

"Well, I'm glad I could provide you with a welcoming committee," the one called Fury smiled grimly, whilst reaching into his coat. "Once we sent you off with the tesseract, I really didn't expect to see your face again. And to be honest, I would have preferred it that way."

"Fate plays many a tricks, Director Fury,"

"So it does, so it does," the Midgardian pulled out a shiny black object and pointed it at Loki. "But fate isn't the only one at the party, Laufeyson. Karma decided to pay you a visit as well."

Before the younger prince could retort, a brilliant light erupted from the end of the weapon the Midgardian held, followed by a deafening boom. There was a moment of pause amongst them, until the prince jerked his hand towards his throat which was painted the darkest of reds; he had been struck and was momentarily stunned, his wicked and calculated eyes now wide and pained.

The prince made an uncivilized sound, causing further blood loss, and took a defiant step forward. But the weight of his injury proved too much; he fell to his knees and toppled headfirst to the unforgiving ground at the Midgardians' feet. He lay motionless, perhaps dead but the likelihood was very slim.

"Call the medics," Fury said to a woman in a defensive stance, holding a weapon of her own. "This son of a bitch isn't going down without a fight, Agent Hill."

The woman surveyed Fury with disbelief, before lowering her weapon, and stalking away with an authoritative stride that parted the semi-circle of Midgardians. They were now enthralled with the bleeding prince, whose blood scrawled unheard tales and lies across the earth.

"Move him to a remote section of headquarters, after they dig out that bullet from his throat," Fury told the nearest bystander, who was a mild looking man in professional Midgardian garb. "And don't give me that look; you've been waiting for months for that, Agent Coulson."

"I won't confirm or deny it, Director," Coulson said.

Fury peered over his shoulder at the scene, smiling grimier still. There was obvious satisfaction in attacking the fallen prince; indeed, Midgard had suffered greatly at Loki's hands. As quickly as Fury had descended upon the scene, he left in the same way. His coat flew behind him, face returning to its serious and hardened state, and he was up in the air in a matter of moments; holding onto the ladder of the flying contraption, and being pulled into its belly.

Another group of Midgardians with a variety of strange contraptions, raced to aid Loki. Heimdall stared upon the prince's motionless body, before turning his gaze to the cosmos in front of him. He had seen the ambush against the prince, as several enraged citizens of Asgard had intercepted him before the guards returned him into the dungeon. Albeit, no one had attempted to intervene; certainly no one made pause as they tossed Loki into the abyss.

Thor, Lady Sif, and the Warriors Three had taken on adventures elsewhere; and the All-Father had fallen into Odin-sleep only days earlier. It would be some time before Thor returned, which left Loki to the devices and mercy of the people who he had attempted to enslave not so long ago.

"Be well, little prince," Heimdall said hollowly, as he turned his eyes elsewhere to Thor and his band of friends who chortled in merriment, none the wiser of the anarchy that descended upon Asgard.

Chapter Text

Minutes trickled into hours, which turned into days and inevitably weeks. The value of time had been instilled into Loki; he coveted the moments of silence, the dull ache of pain's recovery. His throat remained sore and raw, due to his level of healing now at a standstill. There were only so many opportunities in which he was given outside of the cell in which he was housed, that was made to repel any form of magic, and caused his injuries to linger like cancerous sores.

At the current moment, he was strapped to a chair with thick leather belts; Director Fury, Agent Hill, and a dispassionate Agent Romanoff sat across from him. They asked many of the same questions, reworded and rephrased in an attempt to confusion him; but despite his severe condition, he was lucid enough to see through their tricks and sometimes implement his own.

"Why are you back on Earth?" Director Fury asked, although the only time Loki answered truthfully, it had been taken as a falsehood.

Loki opened his tattered lips, tasting the blood that seeped between his teeth, and made a noise of condescension. It hurt to speak, no less in a satisfactory manner that the mortals across from him desired. Certainly he had found loopholes in his cell's magic barrier; Midgardian technology wasn't as sophisticated as his magic, although the flow was very small and could only heal a scratch after hours of concentration. So the injury to his throat was only marginally better after such a time.

"Maybe we should get him a piece of paper," Agent Hill suggested, but clamped up at Romanoff's steely expression.

"Let's and he can use his own blood for ink," she said icily.

"He can talk," Fury said, forming a steeple with his fingers. "And I suggest you do, Laufeyson."

"It benefit's me very little," Loki murmured in a slur that was no better than a lowly lush. "The pain is blinding; thank you, Agent Romanoff."

Romanoff had been given the task of his previous torture session; her normally stoic face had been alit with pleasure, despite her ability to wipe it from her face in a matter of moments. However, there was an ounce of pride that caused the corners of her mouth to currently rise; she didn't even attempt to mask it this time.

"It was my pleasure," she replied.

"Oh but the pleasure was all mine, as are the secrets that are clutched to my heart,"

"Why are you here?" Fury intercepted again, temperament close to his namesake.

"As I said before," Loki spat blood onto the table, breathing in a lungful of air which was far more detrimental than useful. "I was cast out of Asgard by abhorrent, mindless individuals whom carried vendettas against my previous trickeries upon them."

There was a moment of silence; Fury evaluated him with his good eye, perhaps in the midst of trying to discredit the answer he had provided. Of course they wouldn't believe him; he was a liesmith, known for his elaborations and falsehoods. Thor must have informed SHIELD of his slew of lies that had brought many a god to ruin.

Loki returned the stare without fear; they could do as they pleased with him, but they could not keep him imprisoned regardless of their methods. Fury assumed he had the upper hand, having injured him on first contact, and employing Romanoff to break flesh, to bruise and maim. Yet Loki had already begun to formulate a means of escape; once his injuries were of a decent state, it would be set in motion accordingly.

"Agent Romanoff, I know you've been itching for an assignment," Fury pushed back his chair. "Have at it."

"I am more than happy to oblige, Director Fury," Romanoff tilted her head, not immediately moving from her chair as Fury and Hill started for the door.

Once the door was tightly secured, Romanoff evaluated him with cool calculation; clearly there was a grudge to uphold, and Loki wouldn't deter her from doing so. There was very little he could do under his particular circumstances; and the magic he had managed to store in his body was preserved for his eventual escape.

He had found out from their previous session, Romanoff had a set of skills that exceeded many within the SHIELD organization. Small and intolerable things could become momentously painful if tweaked all at the same time; and he was certain that she would use every weapon within her arsenal to have him cry out for mercy, especially since she failed to do so last time.

"For a minute there, you had me fooled," she smiled. "You can make a very convincing argument; even your eyes were in sync with that lie."

"I have no reason to lie," Loki lifted his brows regally. "Why prolong my torture? Why not return to Asgard?"

"Maybe because you have a death sentence waiting for you,"

"I have yet to be properly sentenced,"

"I have yet to believe a single word out of your mouth, Loki," she rose from her seat, graceful as a cat of prey.

The sound of her heels on the tiled floor echoed off the walls as she rounded the table; she paused, an arm length away from him, before she struck like a snake in the grass. Her hand grabbed at his bandaged throat, using her impressive strength to shove him backwards alongside the chair, and forced him to the ground.

Loki gritted his teeth, halting the hiss that threatened to escape him. Pain flared through him in an excruciating wave, which was manipulated by the hand that pinned him to the ground. Romanoff's face hovered above his own, her impassivity still firmly intact regardless of the satisfaction that she was obviously getting from assaulting him.

"Last time, well that was child's play," she remarked, quirking an eyebrow. "This isn't going to be fun for you, Loki; because I promise you one thing – I will break you. God or not, you'll regret ever popping up on my radar. I can guarantee you that."

"And I look forward to your false guarantee, Agent Romanoff. I crave it." He grinned, his teeth now painted scarlet.

They exchanged smiles, both painted red; one red with blood, the other red with cosmetics. Both were sadistic twitches of the mouth, but only Romanoff's extended as her hand hit the pressure point on his neck, followed by an on-slate of torturous actions that would surely kill a normal human being. But he was a god and he would not die, not until he saw to her death in the most painful fashion imaginable.

He was patient after all, he could wait.

*

Tony Stark yawned, trying his hardest not to fall asleep; but Fury was making it very hard for him. Why he needed to be debriefed on the Manhattan clean-up efforts, the whereabouts of his fellow Avengers, and consulted on seventy-two broken computers was beyond him. Of course it was in his skill-set to help re-establish SHIELD's network; but this was merely a consultation, since Fury had a stick up his ass over his previous hacking success.

"Am I boring you, Mr. Stark?" Fury asked impatiently, setting aside the manila envelope he'd been overlooking.

"Yeah, I'd say you are," he yawned into his open palm. "It's pretty early for a consultation, you know."

"It's four-thirty in the afternoon,"

"Not everyone can be an early bird like you, Nick," he blinked behind his green-tinted aviator sunglasses, kicking himself for not stopping for coffee when he had the opportunity to.

Fury leveled him with a no-nonsense look that would make anyone quiver in their boots. Tony, however, only found it mildly disconcerting at the best of times, and Fury knew it. That was probably one of the many reasons for the ongoing contention between them. Not to mention Tony's need to play by his own rules instead of some secret organization's.

"Computer networking isn't my forte, you know," he sat up in his chair. "Any kid with a degree in computer science could set up a secure network; but any network can be hacked. It's just a matter of the hackee."

"And that's why I'm consulting you, because you've hacked our systems pretty easily," Fury looked like he ate a handful of sour grapes.

"So you want me to help you block me out of your network?" Tony smiled sardonically. "Well, where's the fun in that?"

SHIELD had proven itself untrustworthy amid crisis; the council had also made a unanimous vote to destroy the city of New York, rather than allow the Avengers to handle the alien invasion properly. It was no wonder that Tony found comfort in using his superior intellect to keep an eye on their newest activities, just as SHIELD liked to keep tabs on him.

Of course Fury was of a different opinion; Tony Stark philanthropist, billionaire, playboy was a potential hazard in the making, and needed to be monitored. Whereas the loons in SHIELD were exempt from being policed; Fury could even attest that there was reckless missteps in the organization's past, considering the council had gone right under his nose with their decision to nuke the city.

"I suppose I could give you a consultation or two, once you hire your band of tech geeks. But if you're expecting me to outline an impenetrable network with AI components like Jarvis, well you're fresh out of luck. That's my baby." Tony swiveled in his chair, before standing with far more enthusiasm than he displayed during the meeting. "You better start picking up all the unemployed college students; I hear they like to hang out in Starbucks and thrift stores."

"Stay out of my systems, Stark," Fury leveled him with an annoyed look.

"And why would I so callously try to hack into your already fractured network?" He feigned offense, although he'd already hacked the system twenty minutes before Fury had gotten into the room; it had been a piece of cake, considering most of the network was unprotected and was in desperate need of a facelift. "You, mister are completely and utterly paranoid."

"I have reason to be," Fury glowered, already at his boiling point; but he'd been in a mood before Tony had the good grace to open his mouth, and say something sarcastic and clever.

"Paranoia, Nicholas, paranoia," he replied in a sing-song tone as he turned on his heel, and walked out into the corridor without any objection. "It's not good on the skin."

That was a relief; normally Fury would leech onto him, lecture him about his responsibilities as Iron Man, and warn him that SHIELD would interject in his life if things got out of hand. So getting away with only spending an hour and a half with the guy was a miracle; and really, he wasn't about to consult on anything SHIELD was up to. A few weeks in St. Tropez seemed to be in order, before anyone could make further contact with him.

Slipping his hand into his pocket, Tony smiled slightly. The thumb drive with SHIELD's newest project data, PR incentive, and other nuggets of classified information was now in his possession. He was looking forward to having an evening with a bottle of his best scotch, maybe a pizza, and dissecting SHIELD from the inside out.

The corridors were mostly empty, which was a change of pace from months ago. A sporadic stony-faced guard was stationed along the way, but that was normal for a secret organization, filled to the brim with weaponry that would even make the U.S. government cower in fear.

Midway to the main exit, the number of guards fluctuated rather dramatically. There were guards guarding a narrow doorway, guards guarding other guards, and hell that one guard appeared to be guarding the light socket close to the floor. Now that was something worth investigating, had it not been for an annoyed Maria Hill barking at the colony of guards to look alive; and there was no way Fury's pet was going to let him anywhere near those guys.

Hill paused in her stride, shooting him a look of suspicion that wasn't necessarily warranted. Then again he was carrying confidential information in his pocket; but no one needed to know that, especially not her. She was wearing a Fury-like expression, which was far too creepy for his liking.

"Already done meeting with Director Fury, Mr. Stark?" Hill quirked both eyebrows, as if she couldn't possibly believe that a meeting between him and Fury would end before it hit the three hour mark.

"Well, we did get all that girl talk out of the way. And might I say Agent Hill, we both agree whatever you use on your skin makes you absolutely glow." Tony pointed at her. "You can't imagine how relieved I am that I wore my sunglasses; although it's to hide all the envy I feel mostly."

"Goodbye, Mr. Stark. I assume you can find your way out." Hill sneered, before hurrying the way he'd just came from.

"Call me," he yelled in return, catching the attention of the band of guards who wore identical lecherous smiles. "Carry on, gentlemen. We wouldn't want to let whatever you're guarding to slip through the air vents."

Of course it occurred to him that he had all the information he needed about the odd situation in his pocket. SHIELD very rarely used any paper forms, and when they did it was immediately put into their database. And that's precisely why he felt compelled to hack the system; there was something beyond his scope of imagination behind all that security, and it was undoubtedly a concern to them all.

With that in mind, Tony hurried towards the parking garage where he'd parked his newest toy in his car collection. The Acura NSX had been a gift to himself for a job well done on saving the world; even Pepper hadn't complained about the excessiveness of the purchase, and the slew of modifications that went into it. Because who really was going to tell Iron Man no, after he saved the planet?

Really it almost took his breath away every time he saw the black cherry paint, and the leather interior; not to mention he made it a point to install Jarvis into the car, just to spruce it up to the nines. Tony had parked across two parking spots, both that dictated the fact only SHIELD employees were given permission to park closer to the entrance. But when did he ever follow the rules?

"If I was wearing any, I'd be clutching my pearls, sweetheart," Tony almost purred, lifting his sunglasses so he could admire the car better.

He ran an appreciative hand over the hood, momentarily forgetting his curiosity about all that security; but he recalled how lingering in SHIELD's parking garage would only end up in disaster. Fury could pop out of anywhere like the master spy that he was, and demand he start working on that consultation, if not entirely writing them a security code that would be impenetrable to the outside world.

Spooked by the possibility that Fury might crawl out from underneath his car, or glide soundlessly from the shadows, Tony climbed into the driver's seat and put his key into the ignition. The engine revved to life, which appealed to every one of his senses.

"Would you prefer AC/DC or Black Sabbath during your drive, sir?" Jarvis chimed.

"Neither, I'm feeling in a Dio kind of mood, Jarvis. Cue up 'Holy Diver'."

"Yes, of course, sir,"

"Maximum volume, Jarvis," he readjusted his sunglasses, as the volume rose to an ear-splitting decibel.

Putting the car in reverse then flooring it out of the parking garage, Tony couldn't help but think it was really good to be him. And really everyone couldn't be so lucky.

Chapter Text

The time was now. It was the opportune moment, despite the many festering wounds that covered his body, and the inevitable fatigue that he felt. There wasn't any time to waste; healing so drastically within days would only alert his captors to the fact that he had some magic ability still. And that would only alter his plans, if not destroy them altogether.

His eyes flickered to the only surveillance camera within the area, before flicking his wrist subtly and caused it to malfunction if only temporarily. He only needed a few moments of privacy anyway; his magic was powerful, swift and both spells were well-known to him.

Within a split second, he created a perfectly solid doppelganger of himself before channeling his energy into a transfiguration spell. It was a very good illusion too, which could be attested by his small stature and red eyes; a lab mouse seemed appropriate in such a high-tech facility, no less he found it a cinch to squeeze through the tiny, almost invisible, crack of his cell.

But there was no time to dwell on his accomplishment, he scampered away as quickly as his rodent body would allow. Voices on the other side of the door murmured, before two heavily armed guards stepped into the room, complaining about the failing camera feed. Thankfully they were two notoriously inattentive people, who didn't spare his doppelganger a second glance as they lumbered over to the camera, prodding it like ancient man.

He ran through the open doorway, amid the many guards who looked bored and complained about being underpaid and over worked. Many made jokes at his expense; one was particularly miffed by the 'pretty boy' who invoked Fury's rage, and ended up with a hole in his neck, and torture sessions with the beautiful but mean Russian agent.

Although such statements did not deter his travels; he moved unseen by the fleet of security, and by chance entered the abandoned corridor. Staying close to the wall, he followed what he believed to be the way out. Of course, he could be heading in the direction of Fury or even that meddlesome Romanoff; either way, he had to trust instinct first.

He met no one at all, quite the opposite of the helicarrier. Albeit, the world was not plunged in uncertainty, to be ruled by a god that surely could rule them better than they ruled themselves. In fact, the hallways were unnaturally quiet; it appeared as if much of their security had been based to watch him every second of the day, apart from when Agent Romanoff was taking out her frustrations on him.

His daring escape extended for far longer than anticipated; much of his energy was focused upon keeping up both enchantments simultaneously, and both were equally draining. Concentration was particularly important when it came to retaining both spells; except the uncertainty of his actual escape was ebbing into every portion of his body. It was far too risky, after all, anyone could come across him and his current health was questionable at best.

When all hope seemed to diminish, weighed down by his fatigue, he paused at the sight of a directory that mapped out the facility. The parking garage was nearby, perhaps only a twenty minute scurry for a simple lab mouse. That was the only clear pathway to freedom; the details would be sorted, he supposed once he made it there. Well if he made it there without hindrance.

The sporadic SHIELD employee began to cross his path, many in a hurry to get into the building and some just as enthusiastic to leave. None had noticed him, as he hid into nooks and crannies, and only permitted himself to venture outwards once the coast was cleared.

The only true risk that he had come upon, was having to skirt a female employee's foot as she propped open the parking garage door with an oversized coffee mug in her hand. She'd been far too distracted to notice him, although she did come close to crushing him with the heavy door as well; which would have certainly been the death of him.

Luck was on his side today it seemed. Once in the parking garage, he found himself at a loss of what to do next. His body was draining of its energy, and his focus was flickering from all the hardships of escape, and perhaps having a shoddy plan from the beginning. But rationale meant very little for the imprisoned, and perhaps that led to such a dramatic decision to overthrow Earth to begin with.

He observed the garage as best as he could from such a low position, noticing several surveillance cameras within the area; but one could be hidden from view if they were crouched to the ground, shielded by a vehicle for example. That was a plausible alternative to his current predicament, which would in turn diminish some of the stress of maintaining the transfiguration enchantment.

Cautiously he slinked down several cement steps, only to be nose to bumper with a gaudy sports car. The driver had blocked the small stairwell from public use, having chosen to park right in front of it at an awkward angle no less. Weary but desperate, he broke the spell and ceased to be a lab mouse and retained his godly form once more.

Loki crouched very close to the bumper still, letting out a shaky breath which rattled in his throat. Pain threaded itself through his entire body, and continued to compromise his concentration. Uttering a simple spell, he conjured up a thin bladed throwing knife; had he been capable of sustaining such magic, he would have done more than conjure up a silly knife but it would make due.

Twisting sideways, remaining flush against the car, he slid the blade into the lock and attempted to pop it open. His hand was unsteady and his mind elsewhere as he retained the doppelganger; it was no wonder that the blade slipped, scratching the dark colored paint. He exhaled a heavy breath, but refused to end in such a pathetic way; he would free himself that was non-negotiable.

After several mishaps, the lock gave way and the top began to rise. Loki reached for it, halting its ascent, and quickly pulled himself into the available trunk space. There was very little to be had, but even less for someone of his stature. He pulled his knees close to his chin and managed to close the trunk with a reassuring thump.

Of course there were a slew of issues with his current position, that much was a given. Whoever owned the vehicle could be in SHIELD headquarters for the foreseeable future, and there was no way he could possibly maintain such a ruse for long. His energy was rapidly draining, and the pain was starting to swell in his throat; he could taste the metallic beginnings of blood on his tongue.

"Shall I die so pathetically?" He rasped, only to pause when a peculiar beeping noise sounded.

Footfall was now audible from his position; it echoed down the stairwell, and punctured by a pat on the trunk. Loki rolled his eyes upward, pondering if this could very well be his way out or not. Whoever was on the outside whispered a rather inappropriate, albeit affectionate sentiment to the car. It sounded very much like: I like to ride you more than my own girlfriend.

He managed to sneer through a pained grimace; and wondered had he fallen into cohorts with a sexual deviant? Either way it was not a concern of his, so long as he was transported off the premises and could heal himself along the way. If only he could remain conscious and lucid enough to do so.

The vehicle sagged underneath the driver's added weight, before they started up the engine with as much obnoxiousness as was humanly possible. They intentionally revved the engine, laughing as if it were one of the many pleasures of life; and for someone who appeared to be so dense, it probably was.

To add insult to injury, an agonizing loud symphony of noise roared throughout the car. Loki let out a small moan, fearing that his illusion was about to break underneath such stressful circumstances. Midgardian music, he quickly decided was barbaric and caused his head to ache with blinding ferocity; he knew the illusion wouldn't last much longer, it simply couldn't.

Suddenly the vehicle was thrown into motion, skidding across the pavement, and jostling Loki roughly against the sides of the limited space he was permitted. He tasted blood even more prominently in his mouth, but forced himself to swallow it rather than spit it out like he wanted to. Albeit, he regretted his respectfulness once the car slammed to a halt and did the unthinkable - it broke his concentration.

Loki felt something akin to panic, since the car was at a standstill; coupled with the fact there appeared to be an extensive conversation taking place between the driver and another person. Had they seen through his ruse, and set up another to counteract it? Had the god of mischief been outsmarted by Fury and his gaggle of mindless idiots, and would they finally allow Romanoff the pleasure of his death?

When the dimness of his circumstances began to weigh him down, the car shot back into reckless motion; so reckless in fact, Loki slammed face-first into the side. There was intense pain, mild compared to his throat, but enough to make him hiss; that could have easily broken his nose, and in all likelihood it did.

He pressed a hand to the bridge of his nose, the pain coming in steady waves; and it all became far too much. The pain, the slew of emotions that always seemed to test his patience, and now the uncertainty of where he might end up, and if it was even possible to flee without detection first; he hadn't slept in days, and the fatigue overwhelmed him all at once.

"Karma was it, Director Fury?" He uttered before the world abruptly grew silent.

Chapter Text

"Holy shit, mother of god," Tony yelled, fists clenched above his head.

Suffice to say, he was surprised if not entirely scared shitless. For one, his beautiful baby had sustained a nasty scratch mark and he would have to call his local Honda dealer to solve the problem (and who really wanted to do that anyway?); and two, not many people expected to find a body covered in blood in the trunk of their car, unless you were in the mafia.

"Is he dead? I think he's dead. Oh god, I bet Fury planted him in my trunk." He bemoaned, backing away from the car.

"Sir, perhaps it would be to your benefit to check his pulse," Jarvis chimed in helpfully. "If he proves not to be deceased, it's preferable that you attempt to sustain his life, rather than allow your worst fears to become a reality."

"He is fucking dead, Jarvis," Tony declared, if only not to touch the super-villain who looked like he'd gotten into a death match with the Hulk. "God or not, no one can sustain that much damage without being dead; dead as in dead as a doornail."

"You are making a grandiose assumption. Shall I telephone Miss Potts to have her input?"

"Keep Pepper out of this," he glowered at nothing in particular, before looking back to his open trunk and the body. "I mean no one can live through that. Fury wanted to make sure of it; and since I've been such a pain in the ass, he wanted to saddle me with the body."

"Shall I telephone Director Fury for comment?"

"Stop being a nuisance, daddy is not in the mood," Tony finally tiptoed closer, pausing to assess the incredible damage done to the once flawless god.

Loki appeared to have suffered before his death; SHIELD's fleet of interrogators must have put him through the wringer, before eventually allowing him to succumb to the weight of all those injuries. But really Loki didn't deserve any better, not after what he'd done to Earth. Hell, he probably deserved a lot worse.

He leaned inward, examining the god rather extensively. There was a thick dressing of gauze around his neck, several bruises in the midst of recovery, not to mention the cuts and scrapes that stood out against his pallor. That was the color of death, if he ever did see it; and he had, unfortunately, seen a lot of death over the past few years.

Reaching a hand out, Tony brushed his fingers along Loki's temple, feeling how cold he really was. Suddenly without so much of as a warning Loki's gasped and his eyes snapped open like he was in a horror movie, and which made Tony actually scream; scream like a teenaged girl at the latest boy-band's concert, front row center-stage.

"Son of a bitch," he screamed, stomping his feet in a weird show of terror. "You dick, you asshole, you're supposed to be dead!"

The god of mischief stared right through him, before his eyes rolled to inspect his surroundings; but he didn't make any move to climb out of the trunk, and start performing magic tricks. He opened his mouth, coughing a decent amount of blood into his hand. That was definitely not good; Tony couldn't figure out if it was a perfect outcome, or if it was really, really bad one instead.

"Hey," Tony said, attempting to grab Loki's attention.

"I knew it," Loki slurred, blood seeping from the corners of his mouth. "Sexual deviant was the proper assessment."

"I take offense, but I'm kind of disgusted that you were thinking of me sexually to begin with,"

"I would never think of you in such a manner, Stark," the god managed to fling a leg over the edge of the trunk, fighting to pull himself out. "There are men with greater honor and intelligence than you."

"So that's where all your childish rage is from, I get it. You're into gentlemen and they frown upon it in your overly masculine society of intergalactic Vikings." Tony snapped his fingers; glad his wit was serving its purpose since his pulse was still thrumming with the terror of Loki rising from the grave (or rather his trunk).

There wasn't an immediate response, much of it lent to the fact that Loki all but tumbled out of the trunk and onto the hard concrete. The god fell like dead weight, an unintelligent grunt escaping him as he lay supine on the ground. Tony couldn't help but flinch, temporarily wondering if he should suit up for precautions' sake; then again, what could Loki really do in this state besides bleed on him?

He found himself in a moral dilemma; should he even bother helping a known super-villain and murderer? Or should he just let him bleed out until Fury could lasso up some of his lackeys to transport him back to SHIELD headquarters? Because that was the only place he could have picked up such illegal contraband; unless Loki happened to be at that Hooters the night before, since he did have his hands filled with a loopy half-drunk Rhodey and really didn't notice much of anything else.

The better half of him won out, even if he was none too pleased with his own decision. He crouched down beside Loki, cautiously resting a hand on his shoulder; there wasn't an acknowledgement of it beyond Loki staring at him from under heavy lids.

"This isn't good, buddy," he observed with a frown. "And I'm not a doctor, so you hitched a ride with the wrong guy."

"Just rest," Loki breathed laboriously. "Let me rest, Stark."

"I think you need some medical attention. I doubt a nap is going to help you in this condition."

"You'd favor my death,"

"Not a great guy like you, nah," Tony pulled on his arm. "I mean who'd be the best man at my wedding if you died? So you need to stick around for, at least, the next twenty years."

Despite his best efforts, Tony couldn't for the life of him budge the god at all. Loki was dead weight and wasn't helping him at all; in fact, he shut his eyes and could have either fainted from blood loss or maybe actually took that nap he wanted to from the get-go.

"Jarvis, we have a problem on our hands,"

"It appears to be a large one, sir,"

"Set all the alarms, which means not even Pepper is allowed in the house without buzzing me, got it?"

"Setting all the alarms within the next minute,"

"Once you're done with that, make me an appointment with the chiropractor. I want a home visit because I know I'm going to end up pulling something out of alignment trying to pick up Snow White here; if I don't kill myself first."

"Shall I also telephone your previous massage therapist?"

"Trust me, this isn't going to end with a happy ending," Tony sighed, encircling his arms around Loki, and lifting.

When the god of heavier than two tons came to, Tony was halfway through a jar of Icy Hot, while finishing off the first bottle of scotch of the night, and had a burnt piece of toast to show for his five-star culinary abilities.

He paused with the toast to his lips, noticing Loki's head lull side to side, but he didn't appear to be in dire straits. Of course there was very little Tony could do for him; he wasn't a doctor, and he wasn't that chummy with any to ask them to fix up a well-documented super-villain. And really he wouldn't toe the line of decency by involving Bruce, who probably wasn't even in the country anyway. So his only option was to prod Loki and clean the visible wounds to the best of his facilities; but he left that throat injury by itself.

"Hey, maybe you should lose some weight," he greeted, taking a bite of his toast. "Your ass is heavy; I mean elephant heavy, which is kind of weird because you don't look like it."

Loki turned his head and stared at him, before lifting a hand that was suddenly lit up like a string of Christmas lights. The tips of his fingers were an electric green color, which he swiped over his face; he then ripped the gauze from his throat, initiating a pained noise from him, and then running his fingers over that painfully raw wound underneath the wrapping.

It occurred to Tony then, that he was actually using magic. Magic that could easily be turned on him once Loki was done feeling himself up. He wondered if this was some kind of weird sexual thing, since it looked strangely sensual with how he was stroking his throat, and how his lips quirked upward in an indescribable fashion.

"Am I intruding on your alone time?"

"Quiet, Stark," Loki managed to say in a tight voice, still running his fingers down his throat.

"You might be into being watched, but I'm not a voyeur,"

"Always participating, I suppose," the god hissed, now stroking his throat in a circular motion.

"For someone half-dead, you haven't lost that spunk," Tony dropped his toast back on his plate, rolling his injured shoulder despite its protest.

Of course lifting Loki had been a feat; after trying with his own strength for some time and injuring his shoulder in the process, he finally gave into suiting up, and setting him on one of the many tables in his workshop.

Loki seemed far too absorbed with whatever he was up to, to pay him much attention. Sad as it may seem, Tony found it tough not to watch as the god continued to run his fingers across the grotesque wound. He wondered if Fury had ordered someone to break Loki, figuratively and literally on top of that; which wouldn't be surprising to say the least. He had considered leaving Loki to bleed out on his workshop's floor, after all.

Several moments passed, before Loki paused in his ministrations with a frustrated sigh. The wound remained the same; it was stitched rather meticulously although the skin was inflamed and coated bronze by the antiseptic. But there was still blood to be seen, around the harsh edges of the broken skin.

"I really thought you were going to die," Tony wiped his hands free of any crumbles. "But let's be honest, I wasn't planning a candlelight vigil for you. I probably would have had a nice party, sans your brother."

Loki gazed at him with uncontained anger, all the while managing to sit upright as if he hadn't been at death's door. The pathetic, beaten and battered god was gone; he was replaced instead by the horned-helmet god of mischief who had narrowly taken over the world. Not to mention, he did throw Tony out a window for shits and giggles too.

"I am neither of his lineage nor he of mine," the god hissed.

"Try and tell him that yourself. And that actually brings up a great point – why are you even here? You did leave with Thor, if memory serves me correctly; unless you pulled a fast one on all of us."

"Oh, I was in Asgard," Loki set one of his feet onto the floor. "In fact, I'd been imprisoned for some time now, however…"

"You broke out," Tony leaned against the worktable, resting his arms on top of it. "And you were stupid enough to try and find refuge on Earth. The same place you tried to take over. I thought you were smarter than that."

Silence slowly ebbed itself in between them; Loki only smiled at him, choosing not to argue the point he made. That felt like a small victory to Tony; not many could make the god of mischief look sheepish, and he intended on reveling in it for as long as he could.

But that didn't last very long at all; the air was knocked out of his lungs suddenly, followed by an excruciating pain that originated in the back of his head, and enveloped his whole body. He was momentarily stunned, and could only look up at the workshop's ceiling, before his mind began to connect the dots.

The worktable pinned him to the floor, and its contents were strewn around him. He considered himself lucky that the glass decanter filled with scotch hadn't collided with him or the many tools he had set out, in order to repair Dum-E who'd smashed into the wall by sheer clumsiness a few days prior.

"You have extraordinary gall to blaspheme a god to his face," Loki roared, towering above him.

Tony blinked, trying to clear the haze from his mind; his chest ached but he managed to somehow shimmy out from underneath the table before Loki could attempt to kick it again. He let out a pained noise, as he wrapped an arm around his torso where most of the pain was now raging.

Loki stalked forward, climbing over the overturned table, and drawing nearer to him. At his current physical capacity, Tony couldn't protect himself; he was no better than a sitting duck. He really couldn't have predicted he'd be killed in his workshop, after choosing to be a kindhearted individual, and potentially saving a wayward god's life. It was a stupid way to go.

Before the god could take his head, maybe disembowel him with his teeth, he paused and turned slowly towards a series of mechanical noises that sounded oddly like Dum-E. Tony rolled his eyes in the direction that Loki was facing, and was surprised that Dum-E was mobile. After that collision with the wall, he'd been out of commission; however, that didn't appear to be the case after all.

Dum-E reacted at the same time Loki did; the robot moved its arm in a quick circular motion, catching Loki right in the throat, and sending him flying across the room and into the glass divider that led to the exit. The glass shattered on impact, which made Tony flinch; more so as Loki fell into the mess of sharp edges and pointed shards.

"Son of a bitch," Tony wheezed, pulling himself into an awkward sitting position. "This time, I really think he's dead. Good boy."

Loki lay motionlessly amid the broken glass, drawing very little concern from Tony at first. He focused on trying to stand up, and not howl out in pain after that misfortunate event. But he had to admit it was partially his fault; Loki was already ordained as a lunatic by everyone who came into contact with him, and he just had to poke him until he lashed out.

"Jarvis unencrypt the files I uploaded a few days ago," he staggered onto his feet, still bracing his midsection with an arm. "Then search for keywords: Loki Laufeyson, Thor Odinson, Asgard, and tesseract."

"Right away, sir,"

"And while you're at it, order handcuffs and chains; not the shoddy fetish kind either. So bypass ordering from any sex shops in the area, and I need everything within the hour." Tony said grimly, taking in a shaky breath that hurt like hell.

"In the meantime, I suggest you use your previous arsenal if only to ease your mind,"

"You cheeky bastard," he walked towards Loki, who was now bleeding excessively from his mouth; Dum-E sure didn't hold back any punches.

The appropriate course of action would have been to call Fury; he would eventually notice Loki was gone, if he hadn't already. And the headache of facing a bogus charge of aiding and abetting a war criminal wasn't something Tony wanted to deal with. It would have been much easier just to call SHIELD, and tie a ribbon around Loki's neck; but something made him resist.

Maybe there was a part of him that really was compassionate; even after Loki had attacked him, tried to take over his world, and impacted and killed so many on his domination kick. It just didn't feel right to hand him over to an organization that wasn't beyond torture. He'd been tortured, after all; and there was nothing to crow about when it came to those methods.

"Dum-E, stand guard," he stepped over the fallen god. "And Jarvis keep me posted on Loki's consciousness. I'm going upstairs to break out the whips and chains."

"Please return soon, sir. It would do you little good if you were distracted by the items intended on momentarily protecting you."

"You know me, I only play well with others," he shot back with a grunt. "Especially when there are toys involved."

Chapter Text

Heaviness and pain entwined into one sensational entity, that bore all its weight upon his fractured body, and made it rather difficult for him to open his eyes. His vision had been compromised; blackness rolled endlessly in front of him, until a quiver of light crept from his peripheral, and chased away that thick and dispassionate nothingness.

He blinked deliberately, only to find he was facing a white-colored door, and surrounded by cherry wood cabinetry. On further inspection, he observed racks and racks of clothing, separated by categories that ranged from casual to formal; albeit there wasn't much in between. There were far too many suits, an atrocious amount of t-shirts with oil stains on the sleeves, and an innumerable amount of tennis shoes that covered the lowermost shelves.

The space smelled of sandalwood and a spritz of very expensive cologne, which only served to befuddle him further. He was certainly no longer on Asgard, nor was he in the custody of SHIELD; although there wasn't much that came to the forefront of his mind to explain where he was, and why he was here.

He made a guttural noise deep in his throat, and regretted it as soon as it met his ears. His throat hurt far more severely than it had in days; he needed to tap into his magic to heal the injury. But his hands would not work, nor would his arms for that matter. He could feel them; they were sore and taut, as if they had been tied to something…

Alarm rendered realization; he was tied up, but not in a conventional manner either. His hands were contained behind his back, and were connected crudely to his ankles. He was, in very little words, hog-tied; and he hadn't the foggiest clue who could have done so without his knowledge.

He pulled on his bonds, only to insight a hollow pain deep in his muscles; but he was not deterred by pain. After all, he had been in many fierce battles against multiple foul creatures; had it been in the name of Asgard, or simply in his own namesake. So he fought fiercely and unwavering for several minutes, in the very least hoping to break whatever bound his wrists to his ankles.

Angrily he thrashed about, trying to kick and unfold his legs whilst his arms flexed upwards in an awkward and painful manner. But it was all for naught; his strength was at its lowest level from malnutrition, lack of sleep, and the many injuries he had sustained since being tossed off the shattered Bifrost.

After an intense, and futile, struggle; he ended up on his side, now faced with a heavy black box that had recently been open. He managed to lift his head, discovering a slew of questionable items that were deeply confusing; one in particular mimicked the male anatomy but was passion fruit red and appeared to be made of some sort of material that was well-used on Midgard; but the name escaped him.

"Sexual deviant," he uttered lowly, suddenly recollecting what had been lost to his mind. "Anthony Stark."

Rage enveloped his entire body; it overlapped the aches and pains, the hunger and thirst, and it erupted in an irrational snap of his neck. His head connected with the front of the box, hard enough to send it tipping backwards, and loud enough to sound like the beginnings of a thunderstorm.

"Anthony Stark!" He yelled as loud as he could, even if it felt like his vocal cords were tearing apart.

His voice echoed off the walls, impossible to ignore if one were anywhere near the vicinity. Although, that wasn't loud enough for him; he screamed so loud it caused his ears to ring, for the taste of blood to coat his throat and tongue. He screamed the mortal's name over and over and over again, thrashing and snarling like an entrapped animal.

Sometime amid his irrational fit, his head connected with the box again, and temporarily blinded him; but he was hardly deterred. In fact, he only continued the chant until blood dribbled over his lips, and it felt like he dislocated his shoulder.

"Anthony Stark!" He boomed for the umpteenth time, as something suddenly snapped and broke with a metallic ting.

His right leg came free, which provided enough momentum for him to side swipe the island nearby, and send it careening to the ground. The contents of the island spilled out onto the floor, revealing satin scarves, an array of ties and ascots, and a collection of pricey male undergarments.

He kicked the island again, sending bits of cherry wood flying; and he kicked it until there was a large gaping hole permanently engraved into it. He spat the blood collecting in his mouth at it, and screamed an animalistic sound that he could only recall being expelled from him during an intense battle against someone far more superior in strength.

Perhaps the cacophony was beyond ignoring, or maybe the mortal hadn't even been close-by to experience it. Either way, Tony Stark flung open the door with wide, infuriated eyes; but the severity of his emotions slowly faded towards nothing short of horror.

"You believe you can contain me?!" He screamed, and sent blood laced spittle flying everywhere. "I am a god! I am beyond your wisdom, your technology, and your bonds!"

"You're fucking crazy!" Tony yelled back, seemingly torn between properly handling the matter and slamming the door shut again.

"Release me!"

"In your fucking dreams," the mortal bellowed, finally drawing to a conclusion of what to do. "You're bleeding all over the place, and you have the craziest eyes I've ever seen! I bet you'd be a joy on the outside world!"

He rolled onto his opposite side, in order to kick a full-length mirror. It cracked and spider-webbed from top to bottom, which drew the mortal farther into the closet; he could see him pick up something, point it at him as if on the same level as Nick Fury's handgun. Truth be told, he was unsure of that thing's capacities; although it certainly didn't appear to be deadly.

"Calm the fuck down, you basket case," Tony roared, jutting the item at him again.

"And what will that do to me?" He snarled back.

"Oh this will, this will," Tony paused, staring at what was in his hand, and had the common decency to flush. "This is…son of a bitch!"

"Your weapon appears to be useless!"

"Oh yeah, buddy? You think this is useless?"

"Useless, indeed," he kicked at something solid, but he couldn't be sure what it was, since he was staring at the floundering mortal whose mouth hung agape.

The renowned man of iron, glowered at his weapon, and yet turned it on. A loud hum ricocheted off the walls; Loki ceased his destructive behavior long enough to observe the full capacity of the weapon that his captor had salvaged from the rubble. To say the least, it was nothing to be afraid of; although it was hard to continue his rampage with what he was wielding.

"Of all things I had to pick up," Tony vented, staring indignantly at the passion-fruit colored item that Loki had seen in the box. "A vibrator of all things; nice one, Stark; I bet the citizens of the world will be happy to know you're defending them one kink at a time."

Midgardian devices were still a foreign concept to Loki, and he had to draw to a conclusion on the purpose of what the mortal called a vibrator. He supposed it was used for deviant behavior, seeing as there were other odds and ends now strewn across the floor. He couldn't determine what most of them were, but he had a vague idea they were meant for sexual gratification.

While that was a momentary reprieve from his destruction, Loki chose to kick the mirror again, and was showered by pieces of glass. The pain was minimal though; he had far more pressing injuries, and much of his body had been shielded by leather and armor anyway.

"Hey," Tony yelled again, blurting out something that Loki could tell he quickly regretted. "You're going to stop breaking my things or I'm going to use this on you!"

The mortal tossed the vibrator onto a shelf within the closet, before evaluating the mayhem from top to bottom. He looked exasperated, angry, and embarrassed; although he wasn't afraid to approach him, and to grab a hold of his freed leg, giving it a good yank that caused him to growl in pain.

"I don't know about you, but I'm exhausted by all of this," the mortal bent his leg back into its previous position, and grabbed a hold of a handful of neckties and several belts. "I didn't ask for this, and I definitely didn't need any reconstruction in my closet either."

Loki attempted to thrash as he previously had; albeit, his energy had dropped very low and much of the fight in him was muted. It proved to be advantageous for Tony; within moments he tied his leg with intricate knots that felt far too tight, and probably were.

"You will pay for this," he snarled, baring his teeth that were covered in a film of blood.

"I wouldn't expect anything less from my god of chaos and destruction,"

"I belong to no one,"

"Hog-tied in my closet, well that's practically a wedding ring," Tony tugged on the knots; none of which gave way but Loki really couldn't be bothered with another fierce bid for freedom.

Despite his unwillingness to take such treatment, Loki rested his head against the carpet, and let all his aches and pains rush back through his body. There wasn't any position that would ease the strain of his bonds, so he remained supine on his stomach, and swallowed another mouthful of blood.

Escape appeared to be a foreign concept; he couldn't count the many days he'd been chained, tortured, and imprisoned. He shut his eyes and tried to gather the disjointed pieces of his mind; if only he could do that, he could begin to restore his depleting energy through magical means. And perhaps he could finally be free once more; either way he would die trying.

Chapter Text

The aquarium, as Tony cleverly dubbed it, was no bigger than your typical storage closet. It ran along an empty wall of the workshop, and resembled the containment cell that had been stationed on SHIELD's helicarrier. But Tony had taken some artistic liberty with the blueprints, and smoothed some of the harsher corners and installed a keypad that slid back a section of the glass, and granted access into the cell.

From his thorough study of the blueprints, the materials somehow restricted elements of magic; but he hadn't specifically dissected the blueprints, in order to understand how it was possible to retain it, considering he had an angry god on his hands that needed to be contained ASAP.

He'd lived nine hazardous days with Loki, and each day had been worse than the last. When Loki wasn't asleep and impossible to move, he was causing havoc and destroying everything within his grasp. The master closet was unsalvageable; the cabinetry had been splintered, holes had been kicked through the walls, and Loki was more than happy to spit blood on anything he could.

It was miraculous that Tony was still alive, no less Loki. They had fought an innumerable amount of time; but after a head-butt to the stomach, he made sure to suit up if only to protect himself from further abuse. And he was glad he had, since titanium alloy wasn't as easily affected by a god's skull as was flesh and bone.

"I feel like it's missing something," Tony muttered, running a hand along the glass exterior of the aquarium. "Maybe I should have added an oversized castle, or maybe a mermaid statue and deep sea diver."

The god of mischief glowered at him, sitting motionless upon the bench he installed against the wall. He was covered in blood; a large wound blossomed at his hairline, caused by another head-butt attempt that briefly stupefied him long enough to usher him into his new home for the time being.

"But aesthetics will have to wait for another time," he smiled cheekily. "Who knows how long you'll actually be here anyway. I mean if it's going to be permanent, then we'll spruce it up in your favorite colors, maybe I'll toss in a chia pet too."

"Mark my words," Loki slurred his eyes wild and delirious. "I shall escape this confinement, and I will make your death torturous and insufferable. You will beg for the suffering to end, and yet I will continue; I shall disembowel you, rip you limb from limb until I bore of your tiny and insignificant body."

"There's nothing tiny about me, buddy," he patted the glass, although his smile wavered at the bruises underneath the god's luminescent eyes and the hollows of his cheeks. "Jarvis, when was the last time I fed him?"

"You haven't fed him, nor have you offered him any water, sir," Jarvis replied. "I believe this is what one would call poor etiquette."

Tony furrowed his brow; he could hardly remember to feed himself let alone anyone else. That was why he was opposed to owning any kind of pet; he knew it would be dead within a week, unless Pepper nagged him to death daily about feeding it.

"In my defense, I don't even remember the last time I ate,"

"Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes made it a point to bring you sushi on Sunday, sir,"

"Today's Tuesday," he ran a hand through his hair, staring at Loki who had closed his eyes. "But I don't even know what gods eat; I mean do they have a special Nordic diet?"

"Mr. Laufeyson, do you have any special dietary needs?" Jarvis had the gall to ask to Tony's chagrin.

The god opened his eyes, seemingly disoriented as to where the voice had come from. Despite Jarvis's chatty nature, the AI had never directly spoken to Loki or vice-versa. Not many people were comfortable with that for some reason, unless it was Pepper or Rhodey.

"I require nothing," Loki slurred again, before slumping in a defeated manner against the wall.

"Perhaps you should offer him fruit. You have yet to touch the bowl in the refrigerator, and Miss Potts will be arriving within the next several hours, sir."

"Good idea," Tony agreed with an abrupt nod. "She's always nagging me about eating healthier, and if we get rid of the evidence, well everyone is a winner; especially me."

With a final look at Loki, Tony left his workshop and went onto the main floor. Pepper had restocked the kitchen, before she left on business to New York; unfortunately, most of the food was healthy if not entirely purchased from a farmer's market. Pepper was on a health kick; or rather she was on a kick to make him eat healthier.

Tony made a beeline to the refrigerator, once he stepped into the kitchen; he peered amongst the shelves of condiments and bottles of beer, and spotted a huge bowl of fruit. Large fist-sized apples of all varieties, oranges, bananas, peaches, and plums were stacked ornamentally in the bowl, as if to try and appeal to him; it was such a Pepper thing to do.

Grabbing the bowl, Tony cradled it to his chest and plucked out a few bottles of water; it would be sufficient enough to keep the god marginally alive. Then again, Loki seemed to be trying his hardest to kill himself by his violent outbursts. And Tony wasn't enthused about trying to help him with his many injuries; not when he was being constantly accosted and attacked whenever he was in the vicinity.

Once he was back in his workshop, he eyed the aquarium. Nothing had changed since he'd left, except a trail of blood had dribbled down the bridge of Loki's nose, down his chin, and was pooling somewhere at the base of his throat. His eyes were partially open, but soon closed as Tony approached.

"This doesn't look good," he frowned, stacking the water bottles into the bowl, before swiping his hand against the glass to make the keypad appear.

"Sir, if I could inquire,"

"If your inquiry has anything to do with a doctor or SHIELD, we're going to have to bypass that one, Jarvis. Because SHIELD will only exacerbate the problem; and anyone who gets near him is a target for death." He entered the code, struck by the strong scent of blood and sweat.

He paused in the doorway, wondering if he should even try and broach the distance; that head-butt was still pretty fresh in his mind. It was a risk he was willing to take though, if only to prevent Loki's further deterioration; after all, he could potentially study the god's magical ability for his own purposes; if only to prevent himself from falling victim to it in the future.

"What shall you do, sir?" Jarvis asked, and almost fooled him into believing his AI could feel genuine concern.

"Give me some time to think about it; just keep me posted on Pepper." Tony walked further into the aquarium, taking measured steps, and being sure to be on the defensive.

But Loki didn't stir, aside from a tilt of the head; the gauze, which was recently replaced around his throat, had a brownish-red stain mark on it. He felt a pang of guilt, since Dum-E had done some prolonged damage while trying to save him.

Carefully he set the bowl of fruit and bottles of water onto the bench, nudging it towards Loki who stared at it as if he was offering him poison. They exchanged a terse stare for several long moments, before Loki reached for a large green apple.

Tony watched as the god took a small bite and cringed as he swallowed. However, that didn't deter him from devouring the apple within a matter of seconds; another one was eaten just as quickly, as if he'd been starved for more than a few days. SHIELD could have deprived him on purpose, whereas Tony was just guilty of involuntary neglect.

"Finish peeling that orange with your teeth, and let's go upstairs. You might be the prettiest girl at the prom, but you smell like the homeless guy on the corner." Tony picked up one of the bottles of water, uncapping it, holding it out to him.

"Pardon me, Mr. Stark," the god practically snarled, while spitting out part of the orange peel. "I haven't had the accommodations that I so sorely need. Captivity, unfortunately, doesn't come with many amenities."

"Remind me you need to bathe at least twice a week then," he urged the bottle towards Loki again, until he finally snatched it away.

There was little to no conversation afterwards; Loki drank the entire bottle of water just as fast as he ate two apples, and destroyed the orange with three huge bites. It was pretty impressive; then again Thor was known for his huge appetite and his horrible table manners, so maybe it was just a god thing.

Tony backpedaled out of the aquarium, coyly reaching for the tangle of restraints that he placed on a nearby worktable. Even if they weren't in the midst of strangling one another, he didn't trust Loki for a minute; once he finished annihilating that bowl of fruits, he'd probably be reenergized enough to start throwing punches, and trying to use his hocus pocus.

Loki was teeth deep into a plum as he approached again, and motioned for him to give up his wrists for the time being; at least until he could handcuff them. Of course the typical sneer appeared, despite the sticky remnants of fruit around his mouth, and the path of caked blood that started at his forehead and delved into his collar.

"Don't play hard to get, daddy doesn't have time for that,"

"You are under the severe delusion that you are amusing," the god glowered, clamping onto the side of the plum with his teeth, and presenting him with both wrists.

Rather than provoke him further, Tony quickly handcuffed his wrists, and connected a heavy duty chain onto the handcuffs so he could drag him along if need be. Loki plucked the plum from his mouth, licking his lips in a strange almost sensual manner that no guy had the right to do, before standing slowly.

"Jarvis, lockdown the house; if anything happens to me, call Fury ASAP," he said, while tugging on the chain, and leading him out of the aquarium. "And still keep me posted on when Pepper's flight lands."

"Yes, of course, sir,"

Chapter Text

The god of mischief looked drastically out of place in Tony's master bathroom; while it was generally perceived as being decorated for a bachelor, feminine touches had been added in small amounts, almost unnoticeable to the eye. Several bottles and jars of lotion and facial creams were strategically placed on the countertops; but the centerpiece (and clearly spoke of a feminine presence within the vicinity) was the oversized pink bottle of perfume imported directly from France; it seemed even larger and more visible next to Loki's dark, masculine, and lumbering form.

Within minutes his energy had all but diminished again; despite eating a fair amount of fruit, and drinking two bottles of water, Loki seemed to waver on his feet. Tony held steadfast onto the chain, but paused short of leading him towards the oversized shower stall and Jacuzzi bathtub.

Undoubtedly it would be difficult to figure out the best way to go about the current situation. Tony had presumed Loki was well enough to bathe himself, since he had been up for an insult match; and now he was no better than dead weight, and was fighting to remain upright.

The simplest approach (and the most desired) could potentially be the deadliest; he could plop Loki in the bathtub and hope for the best. Maybe he wouldn't drown; but the likelihood was high enough to force him to think of the alternative, which was by far the most distasteful and dreadful.

"Can you still stand?" Tony asked, as Loki staggered forward a few steps.

"I'm perfectly capable," Loki blinked in a way that contradicted his words.

"Yeah, sure; come on, sit right here," Tony led him along, and motioned for him to sit on edge of the Jacuzzi tub. "And I'm going to take off this elaborate super-villain get-up."

Loki sat heavily, tilting his head back in a sign of exasperation and exhaustion. It was much easier than the last time to get the handcuffs off of him; Tony didn't sustain any physical damage, which was a plus; although he might have preferred that compared to what he'd inevitably have to pull off now.

"I can take off my own armor," the god yanked off one of his vambraces with a strange laugh.

"We'll see about that," he reached forward, unbuckling a belt strapped across Loki's chest.

It was one of the most surreal moments of Tony's life, and he had a dozen or so that had been unbelievable; some of which he still had a hard time comprehending. But none were as peculiar as helping undress a Norse god covered in blood, and who had attempted to kill him only a few months beforehand.

Not only was the whole situation stranger than imaginable, it also took a very long time to strip off the many layers of armor and leather that probably weighed close to a hundred pounds, if not more. They peeled layer after layer off of him, and eventually revealed something that could have passed as semi-normal and hadn't been bought at the super-villain depot.

Loki wore an evergreen tunic fastened with a belt and visible leather trousers; the sight made Tony uncomfortable as if he was imposing on something intimate. The idea that Loki was only a maniac that had a kink for golden horns was a lot more comforting than seeing a visibly emaciated, bleeding god that had been stripped of his armor. He almost looked human.

"You dawdle," Loki declared softly, undoing his belt and pulling the tunic over his head.

"Maybe you should have considered redesigning this whole outfit then," Tony hesitated, but crouched in front of him, and unbuttoned his pants. "It's not my fault you wear enough layers to cloth an entire orphanage."

"Forgive me for not being impressed by your jesting," Loki lifted his hips as Tony pulled his pants down over them.

The reality of the moment suddenly struck Tony hard then; he had thought it had hit him from the get-go, but it was different situation altogether since he was in the process of yanking off Loki's pants, and was now staring at him in all his godly glory. Tony swallowed, trying not to stare at how well-endowed Loki was, and yet his eyes drifted down more times than he liked to admit.

After tossing Loki's pants aside, Tony staggered backwards and onto his feet; he needed to put some distance in between them, lest it get any stranger than it already was; and knowing his life, the probability of that was fairly high.

He stepped halfway into the oversized shower stall, and turned on the water; he regretted not installing a bench into the stall, because it could have remedied some of the problem. Loki wouldn't drown and he wouldn't have to supervise the clean-up, no less up close and personal.

"Well, this is going to be a lot of fun," he muttered, yanking off his vintage Iron Maiden t-shirt. "The ultimate male bonding experience; I bet intergalactic Vikings do this a lot."

Loki didn't pay him any mind, as he was currently prodding the wound on his forehead with a glassy-eyed look. That was just fine with Tony; he didn't want the silver-tongued bastard to ask why he was unbuttoning his jeans and kicking off his tennis shoes, and making some kind of snarky comment about his playboy status.

Once he was stripped down to his boxer briefs, he reached forward and grabbed Loki by the bicep, and urged him back into standing. The god was unnaturally docile still as he got back onto his feet, shuffling into the shower stall, and cringing as the water pelleted him across the forehead.

Tony climbed in after him, shutting the door, and was relieved that the stall was big enough to accommodate both of them. Hell, he could probably stuff a whole cheerleading squad into it; if only Pepper would go along with that.

"All right, tall, dark, and crazy," he slowly let go of Loki's arm, after positioning him underneath the showerhead. "Just stand there, okay."

For the first few minutes, Loki made use of his position, and scrubbed the grime from his hair. Blood trickled down his body, coming from a slew of lacerations that hadn't been visible beforehand. Tony stepped away, trying to avoid getting wet; and really he didn't want to infringe on Loki, and potentially set him off again.

Although standing back watching another person shower, really could only go two ways for Tony. He was either going to get thoroughly scolded (mostly by Pepper) for being a voyeur; or things would progress towards some sort of intimacy. Of course the latter wouldn't happen; he was straight, after all. And it didn't matter that Loki might as well have been an Adonis; well, he was a god, and gods were supposed to be the epitome of perfection. And if there was one thing Tony Stark could appreciate, it was definitely perfection. So there really wasn't anything gay about it; he just appreciated someone who didn't have very many flaws, if any at all.

He shook his head, snapping himself to attention; which proved to be perfect timing. Loki swayed suddenly, and almost went careening to the floor, had it not been for him jerking forward and wrapping his arms around his waist tightly.

"Holy shit," Tony groaned, since the added weight knocked the air out of him.

"I'm fine," the god managed to say, but not as confidentially as he normally would. "Just a bit of vertigo is all."

"You keep saying you're fine, but you aren't," he grumbled, trying not to get any of Loki's hair in his mouth. "Seeing as you weigh as much as a freight train, I bet if you fall on my Italian tiles, you'll destroy them. And you don't know how much of a pain in the ass it was to get Giuseppe fucking masonry to ship them out, let alone put them in; so I guess I'm going to have to play the part of a nursemaid for you."

"A vast improvement from my previous nursemaid," Loki uttered, which made Tony pause; had he just made a joke?

To minimize the awkwardness both undoubtedly felt he chuckled while repositioning Loki back underneath the showerhead. It ended up sending a shot of pain through his already injured shoulder; and it took a lot of restraint on his part, not to drop Loki, because the real pain involved replacing the tiles rather than a bum shoulder.

"If we're going to do this, you're going to have to help me," Tony mumbled against his shoulder, which he could barely see over anyway. "Grab some soap and let's really clean you up."

"The rightful king of Asgard," Loki said lowly, but grabbed the bar of soap and started to make use of it.

The appealing smell of cleanliness wafted bit by bit off of Loki; no longer did he smell solely of perspiration, blood, and the heady scent of leather and metal. Tony bent his head in an attempt not to sniff Loki, and still trying, futilely, to avoid the showerhead. He was wet, if only by skin to skin contact and he found himself breathing in the combination of Loki's natural odor and his favorite soap.

He sucked in a breath, hoping that maybe his mind would stop thinking outlandish things. Or maybe that his body would get the memo, and stop feeling a degree or two hotter than it regularly was. The theory that maybe he was just a hyper-sexual person, really came into the forefront of his mind. It had to be the friction of being flush against Loki, and that whole perfect thing was a contributing factor too.

Loosening his grip a fraction, Tony tried to find a place to put his hands that would be inoffensive; albeit, Loki hadn't said a word about it, like they did this every Tuesday at five o'clock sharp. Because really what was so strange about Iron Man and the god of mischief spooning in the shower together? Nothing, as far as any equal rights group was concerned; a super-hero could spoon a super-villain if he damned near pleased.

"My back," Loki announced, holding the sudsy bar of soap over his shoulder.

"Right, nursemaid," Tony blinked, finally unraveling his arms, and taking the bar into his hand.

He dragged the bar across the god's broad shoulders, but making it a point not to be too thorough; his body was already tightening and tensing in places that it really shouldn't. It was an anomaly he didn't want to overthink, lest he unearth something telling about himself. And he wasn't the sort for self-realization unless under dire circumstances, for instance when he was close to death.

Had Loki turned on him, threw him through the glass stall, well then he'd get around to dissecting his purely physical response. But since things hadn't progressed down that road, Tony chose to mindlessly scrub down Loki's back that was bruised and yellowed. It was only when he came to his lower back did he pause, and look down to see Loki pretty much had the perfection mark nailed.

Rarely did he hesitate, or to be specific he didn't hesitate while in the nude; he was overall confident in most facades of his life, and sex just happened to be one of things he knew he excelled at. If this had been a tall raven-haired woman, he'd have grabbed her ass by now, squeezed it until he was satiated; he wouldn't have stared at her ass like it was the second coming, and wouldn't have had an identity crisis of colossal proportions because of it.

Just to make the moment as insufferable as humanly possible, Tony accidentally dropped the soap, and wondered, if only briefly, if he were to thrust his hands forward and lather Loki's ass like he actually started to do, if they were prison, would Loki be considered his bitch? Or did his panic lead him to committing a crime?

"Nice ass," he said conversationally without a hitch. "Do you work out much?"

The god of mischief froze, only peering over his shoulder in a subtle disbelief that didn't suit him very well. Considering his title, Tony figured he'd get a kick out of it.

"Well, I guess you do; who can forget that whole invading the planet bit?" Tony chuckled, giving him a good sportsmanly pat on the ass, as if that would cover up that he'd been rubbing it like the karate kid; wax on, wax off.

It was impossible to read what Loki was thinking; he wore an expression of neutrality, and the usual crazy in his eyes had dampened into nothingness. Tony figured that was a bad sign; at least when someone was outwardly offended, you knew what was to come, instead of having to guess on what might happen next.

He braced himself, but knew that if Loki wanted to do any serious damage he'd be able to easily. Except nothing bad happened; Loki slowly turned to face him, although he still appeared to be unsteady, and the look of exhaustion seemed to be etched into every part of his features. He observed him as if he were the one who lived in a glass aquarium rather than the other way around.

"Midgardian customs are most peculiar," Loki made eye contact, before his stare dropped down to peer at the arc reactor. "Unless you have grown enamored with me; and I might I point out that you are not a convincing liar, Mr. Stark."

Tony's jaw tightened, cursing his body's severe reaction. Fear intermixed with arousal, had become one blurred and paralyzing emotion; it overwhelmed him so entirely, that it was infuriating. He should have been able to laugh it off, say something witty, maybe even throw a punch; but all he could do was stand there, and let Loki observe him from head to toe.

"Your silence speaks volumes, however your body is even clearer," the god grazed his fingers around the edge of the arc reactor, but dipped down his torso until he hooked his index finger underneath the elastic of his boxer briefs.

Had Tony not been hyper-focused to what Loki was doing, he might have missed that finger slowly sliding his briefs down his right hip; it was subtle, so subtle in fact that he could barely feel it at all. And yet every part of his body seemed to burn, willing for Loki to take the upper hand just so it could justify his response; the means to the end.

"Have you been rendered speechless?" Loki bowed his head, centimeters from his open mouth; they were even sharing the same air. "Or are you anticipating something, Stark?"

"You tell me," Tony managed to say in a voice so husky it didn't sound like him at all.

"My imprisonment serves you well, in variety of ways," Loki leaned inward, his bottom lip grazing over Tony's; both their lips were parted, still taking in one another's breath, and doing incredible things to Tony's rapidly growing and painful arousal.

"Pardon me, sir. But the private jet has just landed; Mr. Hogan is on standby to bring Miss Potts to the mansion as we speak." Jarvis's monotone broke the heady, lust-consuming aura that built its way around them; and Tony felt his body run ice-cold.

The god of mischief didn't linger; he pulled away rather smoothly for someone who couldn't stand on his own two feet minutes ago. That, of course, brought up a number of questions and suspicions; but all of them were put to bed, at the realization that Pepper, his girlfriend, was on her way home while he was having a shower date with a super-villain.

Before he could even sputter, maybe to yell at Loki for putting a spell on him; he had already exited the shower stall, and left him there with the water spray hitting him right in the face. He would have been far more annoyed by that, had he not needed it. And oh joy, the water was freezing cold too.

Chapter Text

Pepper was radiate; her ginger-colored locks complimented the aquamarine of her blouse, which paired with a black pencil skirt could easily take a man's breath away. While she was the epitome of professional businesswoman, there was something strikingly sexy about her; and it was the first thing Tony thought after being apart for close to two weeks.

She sashayed into the house, staring intently at her Stark tablet, and in the midst of schmoozing someone on her Bluetooth headset. Happy followed after her, carrying bags of luggage like a flustered bell-hop; Tony would have appreciated the sight, had he been a better mood, which he certainly wasn't.

"Rest assured, Mr. Stark sends his best regards. And yes, he is actively participating in the Manhattan restoration project; unfortunately his other obligations made this current trip impossible to attend. But the next one, well I'm sure he'll volunteer to help with some of that heavy lifting." Pepper laughed in that business way, which meant she was talking to someone really important. "I will be sure to tell him, bye-bye."

"A board member, I presume," he raised his eyebrows, as if the idea was close to outlandish.

"It's nice to see you too, Tony," Pepper smiled meanly. "Happy, you can just put those down right there. I think Tony would like to carry them upstairs."

"I'll carry them directly to the elevator,"

"My perfect gentleman, who has conveniently forgotten the purpose behind a cell-phone," she glowered at him rather nastily; if looks could kill, he would probably have already been picked apart by vultures.

Of course with the current climate of things, Tony had just tossed his phone aside, and figured if anything was truly pressing that it would get to him somehow. He'd been avoiding any sort of human contact, since he figured it was only a matter of time before SHIELD got a hold of him about that consultation. And maybe a consultation on a missing god of mischief that he'd been in the shower with almost an hour beforehand.

"Oops, I guess I've advanced beyond your twenty-first century technology," he shrugged his shoulders, giving Happy a look that would have had him on the floor, had it not been for Pepper staring daggers at the both of them.

"Happy, thank you for all your help; but I'd like to have a few moments alone with Anthony."

"Using my sex name in front of the help, Virginia, please," he gasped, shooting Happy another look that was promptly ignored as he practically ran out the door to bypass the inevitable war ahead.

Once the front door closed with a resounding click, Pepper whirled around to stare at him; she was wearing her no-nonsense face, one that was horribly reminiscent of Fury's. And he always managed to be on the receiving end of it somehow; but in his defense, he'd been in a heated battle of wills with a Norse god, who broke his stuff and tried to break him too.

Clearly he couldn't say that; knowing Pepper as he did, she'd demand that he call SHIELD and return Loki to his rightful owners. She wouldn't let him keep him, even if he swore on a stack of engineering textbooks that he'd only use him in the name of science. Which probably wouldn't be true; he might use him as a punching bag, for even attempting to seduce him.

Yes, it was Loki's fault; someone with a sexual history such as his didn't just switch teams on a whim. He hadn't had any sexual attraction towards a man either; and since Loki had proven he was still capable of using magic on the first day they were reacquainted, it wouldn't be farfetched to believe he was trying to seduce him, if only to keep him cooperative.

"It would be nice if you could be serious for once," Pepper scowled, while setting aside her Stark tablet and almost ripping the Bluetooth from her ear. "And more importantly when it comes to your company, Tony; seeing as there were some really big decisions to be made, and you were too busy to even pick up the phone."

"Pepper, I put you in charge for a reason. I trust you and whatever you decide; so my opinion is pretty much useless, because I'll agree with whatever you decide." He tried to look sincere, although he realized his mind was wandering to the aquarium downstairs.

When he put Loki back in his cell, both blatantly ignoring the fact they came close to playing tonsil hockey, the god had crouched onto the floor before lying down and falling asleep. It was like watching a cat; and in some ways Loki was turning into one with how much he was beginning to sleep. If Tony had to estimate how much he slept per day, it would be close to seventeen-eighteen hours; and that was reason to be concerned.

"Why weren't you answering your phone?" Pepper insisted, not about to drop it.

"Well, I was doing a bit of an experiment with Dum-E, you know seeing if he could fold my clothes, and he destroyed the closet. Then he smashed the glass in the workshop to smithereens, and I have several consultations in the work with SHIELD." He lied smoothly, contradicting what Loki said about him not being a convincing liar. "So I kind of set my phone down and totally forgot about it."

"Why would you want to teach Dum-E to fold your clothes?" She asked, looking far more exasperated than when she first demanded an explanation.

"It was an experiment, you know me," he shrugged, before he went to grab one of her designer bags, and carried it to the elevator. "Come on, why don't we get reacquainted? Upstairs, in the bedroom, in the bed, and clothes are optional."

Pepper rolled her eyes, retrieving one of her smaller pieces of luggage, and following him into the lift. It wouldn't be too hard to break the ice between them; he'd grovel a bit, compliment her business savvy brain, and they'd be tangled in the sheets within the hour. And he really needed it; he needed to reiterate that he was only sexually attracted to women; that the shower episode was just a fluke; that it was just the combination of pressure and friction.

As they reached the second floor, Tony took a moment to admire Pepper further. Her hair was pulled back into its customary ponytail, and her makeup was impeccable albeit minimal. He had always found her attractive even before they started to date; but he also knew she was too damned good for him. She really was. He really didn't deserve her, especially if he was being swayed by Loki of all people.

"What are you staring at?" Pepper quirked an eyebrow, shifting her bag from one hand to the other.

"I was just admiring how beautiful you are, and how much I missed you," he responded with a nonchalant shrug. "Hard to believe, I know. But it sucks when you aren't around; I mean I tried to get Dum-E to fold my clothes because I had some time on my hands."

There was a crack in her stern façade; despite her reservations, Pepper smiled while stepping out of the lift, and walking towards the master suite. He followed after her, wheeling along her luggage, and taking more time to appreciate her; but this time from behind, and being sure to banish any other asses from his mind.

"I guess I could forgive you, but only this time," Pepper deposited her bag onto the bed, before turning towards him practically beaming. "And that's because I missed you too."

"Well, the offer is still on the table, you know about that whole getting reacquainted thing," he left the roll-on beside the door, before sweeping Pepper into his arms. "And this time, I'll be sure not to fall asleep right after."

"Because that promise always worked out so well for you," she laughed, as he pelted the side of her neck with kisses.

Tony hummed in agreement, if only to continue trailing kisses up and down her neck, and eventually along her delicate jawline. It was nothing like Loki's, which was razor-sharp and probably could cut diamonds. He had to admit, he really did prefer Pepper; she was soft curves, small proportions, and smelled like violets and sweet pea.

His hands brushed along her back, pulling her closer to him, while pressing a gentle kiss against the corner of her mouth. She exhaled softly, before pursuing the kiss to its full potential. It was sweet and chaste, none of which Tony's generally were. They were always so rushed and rough, as if even his body knew he needed to toss out his one nightstand for the evening as quickly as possible.

"Mm, I think I should freshen up a little," she pulled away from his lips, despite his silent objections against it. "So why don't you pull down the covers?"

"You smell as fresh as a daisy to me, but if you insist. I think I can handle this one job," he grinned.

"I'll be right back then," she bit her bottom lip, in that trademark tick of hers that made his heart race a little too fast.

He allowed her to disentangle herself from his embrace, before he tossed several pillows off the bed, and almost ripped the comforter down to reveal his freshly laundered linens. He hadn't slept in bed for the past nine days, mostly because of how disconcerting it was to have a maniac living underneath the same roof; even if the aforementioned maniac slept a hell of a lot of late.

It was only after Tony rearranged the remaining pillows, and tossed off his t-shirt that Pepper returned with a weird look on her face. She was carrying something that he didn't immediately recognize; but once she held it up, his heart almost stopped altogether.

"What is this?" She asked; he noticed the first two buttons of her blouse were undone, as if she'd been in the midst of taking off her clothes until she found that.

"That is," he reached for it, lifting it to the light. "Something I was toying with; you know for Mark VIII. I was thinking about changing the suit up, maybe with a Viking inspired motif."

"A Viking motif," Pepper repeated, having the good grace to laugh. "Tony, the bathroom's a disaster; water's everywhere like you jumped out of the shower. And now you're leaving armor for this weird upgrade to the Mark VIII in there too?"

"Hey, I just wanted to try it on in the privacy of my own bathroom," he defended, yanking on the gold vambrace that Loki had taken off earlier. "It looks good, don't you think?"

"It looks way too big for your arm," Pepper observed, while unbuttoning her blouse.

"It was a stupid idea anyway," Tony threw the vambrace over his shoulder, feeling suddenly ill by having anything related to Loki close-by.

Thankfully Pepper didn't notice any change in him, and he praised his exceptional acting skills for keeping her in the dark. It was usually hard to hide what he was feeling from Pepper or Rhodey; but most of those things were really stupid, things that would lead to him being scolded like a child. Whereas as this situation was deeply personal, because it felt like his emotions were somehow being forfeited to a different entity that wasn't necessarily Loki or anything in a physical form; he was changing in some complex way, even if it was subtly.

But he managed to pull it together, to appeal to the most carnal of his emotions, and pretend to be like the caveman that he was. Somehow, he managed to set aside that uneasy feeling, to clear his mind, and delve into something he was good at, something that he really knew.

He didn't think of Loki until he climaxed, and that made everything intricate and personal collapse on itself; but sleep covered it well enough, and he broke another promise to Pepper if only to protect himself from his suddenly shifting reality.

Chapter Text

It had been approximately fifty-six hours since he'd last seen Tony Stark. The rations that had been left behind had been gone for close to thirty-one hours, and his newest strategy had been foremost on his mind for just as long.

He could hardly be bothered to move from his position on the cold concrete, while he attempted to build up his magical capabilities; although it proved to be a difficult feat, due to Stark's thorough construction of the cell. Very few cracks were unsealed, but they were large enough to permit magic to seep through them, and to absorb into his core.

Sleep had been imperative, in order to even attempt to restore his abilities that had been diminished to the point of being entirely barren. He had been particularly exhausted by his grand escape from SHIELD, no less his failed attempt to heal the innumerable injuries to his body.

Without the perpetual interruptions, without Stark's snarky sense of humor, Loki was finding his attempts to reenergize himself to be far easier to do. His eyes fluttered faintly, satiated by the small spurts of energy that absorbed into his bloodstream, and swelled into his organs; it was hard to explain, aside from the fact he felt far more like himself than what he had for quite some time.

His mind was clear of any thought; his body had ceased to feel anything beyond magic. He was perfectly in-tune with the many things he had lost touch with; the quiet moments in which he'd meditate underneath Iðunn's trees, and would oftentimes pluck apples from the branches, and bask in their taste…

Had he only had one of Iðunn's golden apples, his ability to heal would naturally increase rather than doing so by means of magic. And yet his options were limited; he hadn't any access to Asgard, and no one within knew where he was, nor would they be willing participants to help someone like him. Heimdall would be the only one with knowledge to his whereabouts; and the likelihood that he could appeal to Heimdall's mercy was almost laughable.

The question; however was if he'd be willing to grovel for Heimdall's mercy? Would he even begin to feel that desperate to call to Heimdall, in order to remain alive? Or would the futility of his predicament keep his tongue still? Because if he did appeal to Heimdall, perhaps was even granted with one of Iðunn's apples, wouldn't the All-Father only return him to Asgard for inevitable execution?

His brows furrowed; his well-built concentration had been compromised by insignificant thoughts of lengthening his life, when he could do as much just with enough passage of time. So long as Stark kept him as his own personal plaything, then he could both heal himself and regain his strength. And despite his outward hostility, Stark had yet to hand him back to SHIELD.

As his mind swirled into a maelstrom of plots and half-thoughts, the echo of footfall emerged somewhere beyond his consciousness. The sound became more apparent as it came closer; but he chose not to open his eyes, lest he find himself on the end of a SHIELD operative's glare.

Stark really couldn't be trusted; he was capricious and entirely too brilliant to be human. But the recognizable sound of a code being entered into the invisible keypad, appeared to mean that it was Stark who had come down to see him after two and a half days of silence.

"Forgot a piece of that debonair outfit of villainy," the mortal announced, before tossing something that narrowly missed hitting him on the head; it was, undoubtedly, his missing vambrace. "I thought you'd like that back."

There was a clear inflection in his voice, a hostile one; it prompted Loki to open his eyes, and move his gaze upwards to see the haughty stance Stark had adopted. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest, and his jaw was set as if it took all of his willpower not to kick him in the face. It wouldn't have surprised Loki that much if he had though.

Wordlessly Loki reached for his missing vambrace, and slid it back onto his forearm. Something cracked on Stark's face; it was subtle, perhaps invisible to another mortal's eye, but to a god it was clear. His entire aura seemed to be disrupted, as if something had happened within the duration of fifty-six hours; something that appeared to be very upsetting to him.

"You have my gratitude," Loki murmured; his throat felt particularly raw, and his voice sounded crackled and strained.

"Get off the floor," Stark almost barked. "Make yourself look presentable, because I'm going to get in touch with Fury so he can sweep you right off your feet, and back into your little cell at SHIELD headquarters."

That exclamation was surprising to say the least. He hadn't anticipated for that; although he found any disbelief he might have had, slowly ebbed away and left him feeling rather numb. Had he allowed his emotions to best him, he knew he would boil over with rage. He would thrash out violently, attack even; but he couldn't diminish his building strength, and aggravate the multiple injuries his body already sustained.

Loki slowly climbed to his feet; every part of his body protested and buzzed with disuse. Blood began to flow through his appendages again; yet he disregarded the discomfort, while he instead focused on Stark.

"You are visibly distressed, Mr. Stark," he uttered just above a whisper.

"Yeah, because I'm going to have to explain to Fury, why I've been hiding you for almost two weeks," Stark snapped, jutting out an index finger, almost poking it into his chest. "And you know that isn't going to be a problem for me; since Fury is so nice and fuzzy, and so damn understanding."

"Then do not contact Director Fury; why not instead, reap the benefits of your fortune. No one can possibly say that they are in possession of a god; a willing god."

There it was again, another crack. Soon it would lead to many more, and spider-web outward until Stark's façade had completely crumbled away. He intended on taking advantage of it; he took several, small and measured steps forward, pleased that Stark didn't cower away.

"A willing god, is that so?" Stark guffawed. "So is this like a genie thing? Do I get three wishes?"

"What would a man with everything he ever desired, want with a wish?" Loki paused, only an inch or two away from him. "What is your deepest, darkest, most forbidden desire that you have, Mr. Stark?"

"I want you dead," Stark hissed, reaching out to grab him by the belt strategically buckled across his chest. "I want you to pay for every death you caused, for every kid who cried over this mess, and for every fucking thing you've done to everyone I know. And I definitely want you to pay for what you've done to me, buddy."

"Then kill me," he leaned inward. "If that is truly what you want, don't let Director Fury take it from you. Don't allow your cowardice to cloud that desire, Mr. Stark."

Another crack appeared; Stark's anger seemed to waver, which served Loki well. Maybe the mortal would surprise him and strike out, and maybe that strike would actually kill him. It might be far better than returning to SHIELD and back into Romanoff's awaiting arms.

Stark chuckled very softly; his eyes rolled skyward, but his hand tightened harder on the belt across Loki's chest. But the cracks were beginning to spread, showing the inner workings of what was underneath the mask that he had taken up, in order to throw Loki off of his trail.

"Kill me," Loki tilted his head, in close proximity to Stark's lips. "No one would hold it against you. For what am I? An enemy of this world; a murderer, an evildoer; no one would mourn me, and you would be positively celebrated. And it would ease your mind; avenge the many who I've killed, who've I made to suffer. So your only option is to kill me."

"I'm not like you,"

"No, you are good," he agreed. "You are a man of iron, if memory serves me correctly."

"Shut up,"

"You couldn't possibly kill me, rather you'll allow someone to soil their hands in your stead," He smiled coyly, which caused Stark's mask to crumble in its entirety.

While the mortal was several inches shorter, undoubtedly weaker and slower than he, it played no factor in how fast he struck out. Stark grabbed onto either side of his duster, and slammed him with inhumanly strength against the glass. The wall reverberated from the impact; and pain began to overcome every one of Loki's senses, but he refused to show it.

"I am not like you," the mortal reiterated, close to screaming. "I'll never kill people for the fun of it! I won't be a heartless bastard like you; never!"

"Never say never," he almost laughed, but was silenced abruptly by Stark's mouth wedged against his own.

It could hardly be categorized as a kiss; it was far too many teeth, an intense level of pressure that impacted Loki's jaw, and the mortal's facial hair was wiry and scratchy against his skin. Every angry thought, violent fantasy was driven into that contact; Stark wanted him to feel the extent of his rage and humiliation, and he chose to do so in ultimately what he desired the most.

Loki had realized the shift sometime earlier; the extent of it however hadn't revealed itself until that mishap in the shower stall. He could have taken full advantage of it, had it not been for that disembodied voice, announcing some crucial detail to Stark. But it would have been all in good fun; it wouldn't be quite on the same level as this.

Wrenching his mouth free of the abusive contact, he breathed heavily through his nose, and tilted his head up so he could avoid the sudden demands of Stark's mouth. Now that he had exposed his greatest of yearnings, there appeared to be no way to deter him.

As demanding and violent as Stark's mouth was his hands reacted in a similar fashion. Fingers dug into the unprotected skin of his sides, and pulled and tugged at leather and metal in clear desperation; it was rather offensive, if not entirely infuriating.

"Stark," he snarled, trying to practice self-restraint. "Unhand me this instant."

His words proved to not to be a deterrent; it only fueled him further, if not entirely too vulgar on top of it as well. Stark grabbed onto the front of his trousers, and began to knead his groin with painful dexterity that caused him to openly cringe.

The time for self-restraint ended with a painful bite to his throat, far too close to the stitches for his liking and undoubtedly intentional; Loki growled in fury so great, he swore he could rip the mortal's head from his neck. And he would have basked in the blood flow, if not drunk it out of sheer malnourishment and hysteria.

But he chose the alternative, angling his fist before unleashing an attack to his kidneys. He struck him hard enough to paralysis Stark, yet by no means to cause one of them to explode. Most certainly he was blessed with such strength, and he could have caused such trauma even while weakened; but he permitted Tony Stark to live, if only for his benefit.

The hit caused its desired effect; Stark let out a low moan of pain, and crumbled to the ground in an uncivilized manner. That defensive move would ultimately play a role if he were to remain here or be transported to SHIELD; and he suspected that it would be the latter, which would mean he would have to attempt to flee again.

Loki stepped over Stark's crumbled body, but was stopped by a swoosh of the door closing in his face. His eyes widened, once he realized that Stark had thought of everything. He knew he could overpower him, no less merely waltz out afterwards; and he prepared accordingly. He knew he was too smart for his own good.

"My apologies, Mr. Laufeyson, but you do not have access to leave your cell," the disembodied voice announced genially.

"Then call Director Fury, because I will kill your master," he slammed a hand against the glass door.

"I am not authorized to call SHIELD or Director Fury, Mr. Laufeyson; despite my many insistences to do so. I've been given specific orders to remain on standby."

"Enlighten me,"

"Mr. Stark has reprogrammed my itinerary as of two hours, fifty-one seconds ago," the voice informed.

"T-That a boy, Jarvis," Stark gasped, while attempting to unfurl himself from a fetal position.

"Sir, I do insist that you allow me to help in some way; perhaps I could inform Miss Potts or Colonel Lieutenant Rhodes of your predicament."

"And tell them what? I was mauling a Norse god, hoping he'd put out?" Stark coughed, before he moaned in pain.

"Rationale has never been your strong point. This would hardly faze Colonel Lieutenant Rhodes." The voice continued to insist, and angered Loki to the point where he began to bash his fists into the glass.

It was futile though; the cell was impenetrable, and in all likelihood was fashioned to withstand even that green monster's bouts of physicality. No less, any magic he did have stored within his body was rendered useless; there was no way out, aside from the Tony Stark.

That was, perhaps, the most infuriating part about the situation. Stark had orchestrated everything perfectly; regardless of being a deserving candidate for corporal punishment, the mortal had ensured his life would be spared, if only for the simple reason he was the key to Loki's freedom. If he had killed Stark, then he too would inevitably perish.

Loki breathed in deeply, trying to control his building and fluctuating indignation; it would do him no good to try and break out of the cell, no less to attack Stark who was still writhing in pain. He was at a standstill, and was at the mercy of someone lesser than he; someone who ultimately made him out to be a fool.

With very few options, he stepped away from the glass, and slumped against the concrete wall. He slid down, crossing his legs in a meditation stance, and decided that his only option was to mend himself bit by bit. He would outsmart Stark somehow; it was only a matter of time, before a misstep would appear so glaringly, that he could take full advantage of it.

But in truth, he knew what he had to do. He only had to reach out to grasp that loaded weapon, to point it at Stark, and inevitably pull the trigger. Stark's weakness was evident now; and yet he hadn't suspected that it would be actually be him.

Chapter Text

"Nice tan,"

"Saint-Tropez at this time of the year is glorious," Tony lifted his purple-tinted sunglasses, smiling. "Have you been? Or, don't tell me, the U.S. government consists of a bunch of cheap bastards?"

"Not everyone can just leave the country on the whim for almost a month," Rhodey scowled. "Besides I thought you had secret agent stuff to do."

Tony's smile wavered; truth be told, he was concerned by the fact that SHIELD hadn't contacted him about that consultation. In fact, he hadn't heard much of anything, aside from a cryptic message from Barton about SHIELD handling an internal affair issue.

Clearly he wasn't supposed to know what was happening on that end of spectrum; although his own cunning and a cruel twist of fate, pretty much gave him a clear idea on what was happening. SHIELD was on the hunt for the god of mischief; the same one he'd abandoned in his workshop, while he and Pepper had gone to Saint-Tropez for two and a half weeks and had even spent a few days in Paris.

It might have had been unkind, bordering on torture, to leave Loki alone for so long; no less without any food or water, but Tony was hoping he'd die already. And maybe no one would hold it against; maybe Fury would give him a medal, a fucking kiss even for finally ridding the world of such a destructive entity.

Loki would be better off dead; he hadn't proven himself to be anything more than a manipulative little shit. No one would really miss him, aside from Thor; but he too would realize the world, if not many worlds, were better off without him.

"I'm trying to avoid all that super-secret country club bullshit," Tony readjusted his sunglasses, before motioning a waitress to the poolside table they were seated at. "Besides I deserve a break like any other guy; I mean I only saved the world."

"And the world hasn't heard the last of it," Rhodey took a swig from his beer bottle.

"Considering my work ethic, I think you would be a little more understanding, James," he gave him an exasperated look, before quickly flashing the waitress an award winning smile. "Could I get a scotch on the rocks and another Miller Lite for my pessimistic, buzz-kill of a friend here?"

The waitress giggled appreciatively, in a way that meant she could either smell money in the air or could recognize world-famous Tony Stark/Iron Man from a mile away. He could probably get her in the bathroom before she even got to the bar to order their drinks. Oh and he would have, had it not been for the fact he strongly remembered he was taken; and well, things were a bit iffy on his side in terms of sexuality anyway.

But it didn't stop Tony from watching her as she walked away, appreciating the attractive way her hips swayed as she sashayed away. He found himself actually feeling glad he couldn't pursue her; she probably would have been a pain in the ass to get rid of anyway.

"So now that you're back, what's the plan? Going to save the world a second time?" Rhodey cracked a smile. "Or are you going to lock yourself up in your workshop until the end of winter?"

"James, this is California there aren't any seasons here,"

"I'm sure you're itching to play with all your gadgets,"

"Yeah, maybe," he furrowed his brow, incapable of keeping the inevitable at bay for any longer.

Rather than head directly home like any sane person would, Tony delayed it by scheduling a luncheon with Rhodey instead. But it was less of a luncheon, and more of an excuse to drink at poolside, admiring Beverly Hills' finest plastic surgeons' portfolios. And there was enough silicon to fill up at least five bouncy castles for some kid's birthday party.

He rubbed his jaw, wondering if he should ask Jarvis for an update on the situation. If Loki really was dead then he'd send Fury in his place, and just grab Pepper and head back to Europe or maybe Asia. He'd face the music once the clean-up was taken care of; so long as he didn't have to actually see the body.

"What's wrong with you?" Rhodey finished his bottle of beer, setting it onto the tabletop. "You'd think after a month of luxury, you'd be in a great mood; especially if that meant you could rub in how much fun you had in my face."

"It's nothing," he frowned, only too glad that the waitress appeared with their drinks.

She was a hot piece of ass, probably fifteen percent plastic if not more. She set Rhodey's beer in front of him, before taking the empty bottle, and placing a napkin and crystal tumbler in front of Tony. He could already see her number scrawled onto the napkin, and what would appear to be lip marks the same color as her lipstick.

He smiled tightly, waiting until she left again to retrieve the napkin. Rhodey was staring at him impatiently, as if he fueled the fire by being his naturally charming self, and snagging a number by chance. He should keep it just to prove a point, but knew better.

"Are you having a problem with Pepper?" Rhodey dared to ask.

"None at all; plus she isn't even pregnant. So the good times are still rolling on." He lifted his glass in a toast but didn't get Rhodey to lift his bottle. "Fine, I'll toast by myself. To no surprise pregnancies or any weird alien invasions; cheers!"

"I think you have jetlag," Rhodey mumbled, finally lifting his bottle for a drink. "Not to mention all of your personality defects on top of it too. So after this beer, I'm getting up to leave, and I hope you follow suit."

"Oh man, mom and I was just starting to have fun," Tony downed more than half of his drink, feeling a pang of guilt somewhere deep in his gut.

"I think you need to get a good night's rest for once. And stay clear of the alcohol until then."

"I'm pretty sure I can handle my liquor, Rhodey, unlike someone who I recall was a total mess at Hooters over a month ago." He winked, which only caused his best friend to glower at him.

Rhodey didn't stay true to his word either; he only drank a third of his Miller Lite, before he finally got up to leave. Tony didn't attempt to stop him; he had a lot to think of anyway, and it was the first time in a month that he'd been left alone to think about everything that had happened. Or for that matter, could be potentially happening now.

He had told Loki he wasn't like him, and would never get-off on people's suffering; but in a way, he actually lied. If it was any indication on what he ended up doing; he abandoned him in his workshop to fend for himself; all the while knowing that Loki couldn't do a thing to help himself either. That was cruel, maybe even worse than what Loki was capable of.

Begrudgingly Tony pulled out his phone, tapping into his home security system, and directly into Jarvis. He raised the phone to his ear, swallowing any reservations that he might have had about asking about Loki's well-being.

"Jarvis, how's our newest edition doing?" He said it calmly, despite his feelings being torn asunder by another wave of guilt, maybe even fear.

"You must be referring to a one Mr. Laufeyson, sir," Jarvis responded.

"I think that's the only guest we've had in a while. Now give me the truth, even if it's the worst case scenario."

"Why Mr. Laufeyson is currently reopening a flesh wound he caused some time ago. I believe he might attempt to drink his own blood again."

"W-What did you say?" Tony almost choked on the ice cube he had sucked into his mouth.

"Mr. Laufeyson is severely dehydrated, sir. I believe he has had bouts of delirium as well."

"I'm on my way; Pepper shouldn't be home yet. And if she is, tell her the house is filled with cockroaches or with huge horse flies. Anything; just keep her out of the house." He shoved his chair back, almost sending it toppling into the pool.

"A feasible excuse, sir,"

"Shut up," he snapped too loudly, but he was already attracting far too much attention onto himself by bursting into a run.

Many people were already speaking in hushed tones, speculating that Iron Man was about to take on one of the worst foes that the world had ever seen. Why else would he almost topple over a chair into the pool, and yell like a maniac into his cell-phone? He was obviously in a hurry to unarm an evildoer, even if in reality that was farthest to the truth. Or maybe it was too damned accurate; since he was the one the one who'd actually done something vindictive and evil this time around.

Tony's throat contracted painfully; he could hardly breathe, horrified by watching the Norse god bite into his own flesh with razor-sharp teeth, and suck away the flow of blood. It was an act of desperation, no less an illogical one; but that was to be expected, after complete and utter abandonment for close to a month.

Guilt, horror, and shock swelled throughout Tony's whole body, fully aware he was the cause of this. The realization shook him to his core, and inspired him to take some sort of action, any really. He couldn't stand by and let it progress any farther than it already had; he'd be no better than Obie, who watched him as he slipped closer and closer to death after taking the arc reactor from his chest.

Fueled by a Molotov cocktail of emotions inside of him, he sprinted to the holding cell, and slammed both hands against the glass, if only to stop Loki from harming himself any more than he already had. The sound of his hands slapping into the glass paused the mutilation almost immediately; Loki stared at him as if he were a figment of one of his many delusions, and even had the courtesy to smile through all that blood.

"Loki, stop it," he managed to croak out, as he swiped his fingers across the glass, and brought up the brilliant blue keypad. "Stay with me, buddy."

The god merely tilted his head, before a faint and unstable chuckle escaped him. It was a disjointed sound, one that caused Tony to jam his fingers against the keypad, and forced the glass to slide away, granting him access into the cell.

The pungent aroma of blood struck Tony as he hurriedly walked towards Loki. Stains of previously spilled blood stained the concrete, and traces were visible underneath Loki's fingernails. It was everywhere, it smelled like something had been ripped apart, sewed back together, and then ripped apart again. It probably wasn't that far from the truth either.

Maybe it was the reality of the matter, the confusion and self-loathing that had accompanied him at every waking moment since this disastrous situation had begun; whatever it may be, Tony fell to his knees in front of Loki, grabbing onto both his forearms, and stared at him with sudden desperation that he couldn't even properly vocalize.

Loki observed him like a curious, albeit rabid animal would; his eyes were glazed over, his cheeks hollowed, and his skin covered in a sheen of sweat. There was some sort of disconnect in Loki's brain, maybe even a short-circuit, from being left alone for so long; and yet something seemed to brighten very slowly behind that glassy veneer.

"Stark," Loki whispered.

"Yeah, yeah it's me," Tony nodded, feeling his throat tighten harder. "Piece of trash mortal, Tony Stark; you remember."

They exchanged a look for several moments, until Loki shut his eyes and made a pained noise deep in this throat. Tony zeroed in on the stitches that appeared to be unraveling by their own volition; or maybe Loki had started to dig into those as well. Nothing really could surprise him anymore.

"Outside," Loki attempted to move his arms, despite Tony's grasp. "Take me outside."

"I can't take you outside,"

"I'll die otherwise. Chain me if you must."

Tony hesitated; his emotions were getting the best of him. That unrelenting guilt was boring heavily onto his shoulders and this could easily be a trap of some sort. But logic dictated much of his mind, and the probability that Loki was faking any of his malnourishment or even his desperation for that matter was unlikely.

With a resigned sigh, he got back to his feet and grabbed the tangle of handcuffs and chains from the closest worktable. Loki remained perfectly poised on the bench, not attempting to gnaw off his own skin or do something equally as troubling. In fact, he willingly allowed Tony to cuff his wrists that were covered in small bite marks and caked in dried blood.

"Let's go," Tony said, holding onto the chain connected to the god's handcuffed wrists; even if he felt responsible for the whole mess, he had to remember to walk on the side of caution. "And Jarvis stay on high alert; this time I'll give you permission to call SHIELD."

"I will be quick to do so if anything goes awry, sir,"

It felt like several eternities piled onto one another as Tony led Loki upstairs; he had chosen to use the steps, if only to prevent being in a contained space with Loki for longer than a few minutes. And he couldn't trust himself to react swiftly either; his head was buzzing and roiling with static, and those unrelenting feelings that he felt had been nicely buried somewhere in the wastelands' of his mind had resurfaced a tenfold.

However, Loki didn't do anything to draw suspicion; he walked sluggishly behind him, having to pause more than once to catch his breath or make a pained noise that seemed genuine. Even while in the presence of sharp pointy objects, and ugly Grecian vases, Loki didn't try to grab one to use as a makeshift weapon. But that still didn't take the edge off the walk through the living room, the lounge, and eventually onto the patio that overlooked a knoll of green grass that plunged into a precipice beside the ocean.

Once they stepped outside, Loki took in a lungful of air that sounded reminiscent of a drowning man hitting the surface of the water. The god took several similar breaths, before attempting to stagger off the patio and into the grass; but Tony held steadfast onto the chain, and was almost dragged along by Loki's insistence.

"Hey, I brought you outside so don't push your luck,"

"I want to see the stars, the sky," Loki looked almost crazed again. "Afterwards you may lock me away for however long you please; so long as I can see the vastness of the sky."

"Only this once," Tony sighed in resignation; he loosened his hold on the chain, and allowed the god to pull him onto the grass that had been freshly clipped.

The sky had already darkened to an impenetrable black; stars were barely visible through the perpetual city haze and pollution. But Tony rarely star-gazed unless he was suited up and that was by far more thrilling than doing it at ground-level.

Loki staggered farther into the grass, before pausing to take another deep breath. Tony couldn't help but admire the way the moonlight caused the god's skin to glow, even if it was bordering on gray nowadays. And yet he looked better than he had while enclosed inside; maybe some fresh, ocean water air was really what he needed; aside from food, water, and extensive medical attention.

"Heimdall," Loki whispered; it was oddly soothing, unlike his many growls, snarls, and declarations of godhood and his threats of death. "I expect very little from you, as I would expect of anyone of Asgard; and yet here I stand, humbled by ailments far too many, and helplessness that only increases as time goes on."

Confused by his abrupt monologue, Tony felt the compulsion to intervene, and ask what he was going on about. Jarvis had mentioned that he'd fallen victim to delirium, so this could have been an extension of that; albeit there was something to it, something realistic about it, shown by the gravity in which he spoke. He was actually begging someone for mercy.

"Mayhap I've only reaped what I have sown; and I am meant to suffer like a lowly and mangled beast because of it. For what have I done for Asgard?" Loki parted his hands as far as they would go. "Have I not proven my loyalty to the All-Father for centuries? Have I not fought alongside my liege, my brethren, if you will, and protected those in need? Or have I only been a mar upon the fables and lore in which our legacy is written and lives upon?"

"Loki?"

"Did I not slay Laufey, a mortal enemy? Had I not the best interest of Asgard in my heart?" The god filibustered, ignoring Tony entirely. "Or has my lineage marred my legacy? Have I brought irreversible shame upon the house of Odin? Despite Thor's indiscretions and recklessness that had the ability to cause cataclysmic ruin to all?

"Shall I be condemned for equally atrocious behavior, whilst you sing Thor's praise so highly that all nine realms can hear your choir's song?"

Loki paused and smiled like a humbled child; it lit up his face, shedding away things Tony had always found repugnant and bat-shit crazy about him. He looked close to innocent, as he tilted his head, peering into the sky for some sort of sign; anything really.

Within a span of ten seconds, that boyish mentality had disappeared, and was replaced by a weird mixture of confusion, hostility, and despair. Innumerable emotions flashed over Loki's face, none of which appeared to be well-suited on his gaunt features. And yet the final one was ultimately the one that seemed to be the best fitted for someone of his caliber.

"I call upon you, Heimdall! I know you can see me, I know you can hear me!" Loki screamed at the top of his lungs. "Alas, you with all seeing eyes will not help me! I, who served the house of Odin and its kin and groveled at their feet; and yet you shall deny me?!"

Tony gripped the chain between hands, fearing that Loki would go on a rampage. The potential was there; it shone in his shockingly green eyes, in the twists of his mouth, and the clear tremors in his body. There was potential for disaster, which only increased further as Loki yelled at the sky.

"I, Loki Odinson," Loki let out a shuddering breath. "No, Laufeyson; my true parentage, my true legacy lies within Jotunheim. And yet Asgard reaped the benefits of my ignorance; the All-Father groomed his greatest weapon, and questions its fondness for mayhem, suffering, and war?!

"May the All-Father no sooner cross my path, for I will no longer be a relic; and mark my words, Heimdall, I will rise again, and I shall destroy this realm and others; with these very hands that you see, and yet you choose to ignore!"

Loki raised his hands as high as they could go, all the while disregarding the impressive yank Tony administrated to the chain. It was obvious there was no way he could reach him; Loki was consumed with whoever Heimdall was, and angry that he wasn't getting any acknowledgment from him.

Suddenly Loki dropped to his knees, letting out a beastly noise; he raked his fingers through his hair in such a violent fashion, it looked like he might resort to pulling clumps of it out just to relieve the emotional tirade he was currently on.

"I could have done it! I could have done it for all of us!" Loki screamed so loudly, Tony could feel the reverberations go up his spine. "And yet you'd leave me to die, as insignificant and tiny as I was born! Curse you, Heimdall! Curse your liege and his lady and the house of Odin! Curse you all!"

Anguish shone in Loki's eyes, as he stared skyward; his whole body convulsed before he doubled over, burying his face against the grass. Nothing significant changed around them; the faint crash of the ocean's waves against the precipice was the only audible sound, aside from the heavy gasps that expelled out of Loki.

Tony stood very still, struck by his own arsenal of emotions. He'd been so damn good about hiding them; he'd almost forgotten all about them while Pepper's legs were wrapped around his neck, and the smell of Parisian perfume, and the salty and warm undertone of the Mediterranean sea were assaulting his senses.

Everything had been muted then; but now his emotions threatened to rip out of his chest. Without a second thought, Tony fell to his knees too, and pulled Loki up before wrapping his arms tightly around him. He pulled him close to his chest, tangling his fingers through his hair, and held on until he felt like his heart might very well explode.

They remained like that for a long time; Loki eased into him, his hands gripping onto his lapels, leaning into him as if he hadn't the strength to hold himself up. Albeit that was fine; Tony had enough strength to hold them both up for now. He'd do it, even if every alarm was going off in his head, telling him he was on the path to destruction, to treason.

"I'm sorry," Tony whispered against Loki's temple, incapable of resisting the temptation to kiss it. "I fucked up; I'll never do that to you again. I'll never leave you alone."

"Loneliness becomes me," Loki said thickly.

"I'm here now," he retorted, struck by how significant that declaration sounded; and yet he wasn't about to correct himself. "I'm not going anywhere."

"And why would you ever-"

"I don't know," he pulled away to finally overlook Loki's face; it was strained and embattled with emotion again. "There's no point on trying to figure this out now. All I know is that this feels okay; and so long as you don't ask questions, then we don't have to justify it. Not now."

Loki looked him dead in the eye, before his gaze rose skyward again; there was a visible twitch of his lips, tension in his jaw that seemed to be permanently etched in his features. Although he tried his best to mask them, once his eyes fell back onto Tony's.

"If you are the harbinger of my downfall, then I advise you to take me to your bed chamber," Loki uttered in that low and ambiguous tone of voice. "For I've already been fated to…this."

Tony didn't know what the implication was, and yet he assumed it was something negative. It had to be; and he should have walked away then, instead of nod in agreement, more than willing to walk on that road, which probably led to perdition. But that never stopped him before, and he knew it wouldn't stop him now.

Hell always seemed far more appealing to him anyway.

Chapter Text

The quiet was disruptive; had AC/DC been playing at an ear-splitting decibel, partnered with the usual mantra of inventing, maybe Tony would feel more at peace. His mind would have settled into what could very well be described as nirvana, oneness with everything that his hands touched, with the lucidity of his body's movements; he could create effectively, and permit his higher facilities to take control.

Currently, however, he was in limbo; despite lying in bed with Pepper only inches away, and the sounds of the ocean emitting from the open balcony doors, he couldn't find any comfort or peace of mind. Not when only a few hours ago, he'd offered the god of mischief some sort of solace; a promise of some kind.

Nothing had happened, really. He had taken Loki to the master suite again, so he could bathe without repeating that strange scenario from the previous month. And afterwards, he fed him most of what he could find in the kitchen, before having to (reluctantly even) take him back to the aquarium. Pepper had come back, clearly unafraid of the prospect of rats and horse flies, and other atrocities Tony had mindlessly made up in a panic.

Pepper hadn't been pleased with the batch of disjointed lies; they had an argument, or a one-side argument which Tony chose not to participant in. There wasn't any way to win it; and really the truth was far too confusing to put in laymen terms anyway. So he let her yell, accuse him of being selfish and deceitful, until they went to bed angry. Or Pepper went to bed angry, while he drank a glass of scotch, and eased into bed several hours after her.

He was restless; he wanted the monotone of working with his hands, and he couldn't deny he wanted to see Loki; the clean Loki, whose wounds had been dressed and bandaged, and who smelled like he did. The one who docilely sat onto the bench in the aquarium, rolling fat red grapes between his fingers, and eating them cautiously because he admitted his throat still bothered him. But mostly he wanted the one who cupped the back of his neck, and enunciated his name as carefully as he could before finding refuge back in his cell.

Tony turned his head, staring at the outline of Pepper's body; she was on her side, back facing him. He could tell she was asleep, rather than pretending to be so like she sometimes did when she was angry with him, and inevitably wanted him to shut up. That was enough to boost his bravery; he slowly slid out from underneath the sheets, and climbed onto his feet, and picked up his discarded jeans and tennis shoes from the floor.

Hurriedly he stepped out into the hall, dressing himself out there, before taking the elevator to his workshop. Albeit the ride seemed to take forever, and his anxiety only grew by every second that he was left to his own devices. He re-boarded that carousel ride of guilt, confusion, and disgust; it spun him around over and over again, to the point that he could have puked.

Whether it was a blessing or a curse, his thoughts were abruptly cut short; although he was of the opinion it was for the best. The elevator came to halt, and the door slid open to reveal the dimly lit workshop. As he stepped onto the floor, his gaze fell on the aquarium; the shape was barely visible from his vantage point; not to mention Loki had asked for it to be as dark as he'd allow it to be. The fluorescent lights hurt his eyes; or so he claimed.

Tony ambled closer to the cell, but stopped short of getting close enough to touch the glass. He squinted and almost panicked that the bench was abandoned; although he got a hold of himself, realizing Loki had only relocated onto the floor, slouching against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest.

One of Loki's eyes slowly opened, revealing an effervescent green iris. Neither of them spoke immediately, and to be honest Tony found it hard to breathe, let alone spurt out something witty and smooth like he was prone to do.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Mr. Stark?" Loki asked in a murmur.

"I couldn't sleep," he replied, looking in the direction where he kept his scotch. "And I still owe you that drink."

"I believe you have more pressing matters at this time," Loki said coolly, having saved face after his hissy fit towards the sky. "A woman, if memory serves me."

Tony swiped his hand across the keypad, tapping in the code; he didn't know how to explain Pepper to Loki, and he was definitely stumped about the vice-versa. Pepper and Loki really didn't live on the same planet to him; even if they were under the same roof, they might as well have been on Earth and Asgard respectively.

"Don't try and egg me on," he waited until the glass retracted, before motioning Loki to come out. "So come out here and let's have that drink; or maybe two."

The god observed him for several uneasy moments, but eventually stood and walked out of the aquarium of his own volition. Just when it appeared as if Loki might approach him, Tony made a beeline to grab the crystal decanter and two tumblers. He set everything onto the nearest worktable and filled both tumblers halfway full.

He took a sip, while pushing the other tumbler into Loki's direction. Loki lifted it in deft fingers, but didn't take a drink; instead he chose to keep staring at him, like he might have done something suspicious rather than offer him a bit of scotch.

"Emotions run high when one is desperate," Loki said, finally bringing the glass to his lips. "Some would say we say and do things that are out of character; which, in turn, would cause a similar reaction from the ones around us."

"So you're backpedaling," Tony suddenly felt very tense. "And this is a subtle way of saying you're dumping me."

The god paused with the tumbler still to his lips, before the corners twitched ever-so-slightly. There was something painfully attractive about it; it roused a familiar heat in the pit of Tony's stomach, and caused his whole body to relax from its previous tension.

"I too had been enamored," Loki admitted, and looked momentarily forlorn. "Her name was Sigyn; whom captured my naïve heart so many years ago."

Tony saddled up beside Loki, leaning against the table, and giving him his utmost attention. Aside from the information Thor conveyed to the whole Avengers team, he knew very little about Loki. It was almost hard to believe that he could have been so normal, when he could have easily popped into existence wearing his horned helmet, and smelling of crazy.

"And what happened?" He pressed.

"She married another," Loki stared at him, intensity clear and electric in his eyes. "Therefore I keep upon the side of caution; for I will never be that foolish again."

"Ah, you're jealous of Pepper,"

"Such an absurd name,"

"And Loki is such a stellar name; besides that isn't even her real name anyway," Tony took another sip. "It's Virginia."

"You think rather highly of yourself, Anthony," Loki set his glass down, as the telltale signs of a smirk were beginning to creep onto his features again.

"I do, but you're kind of on the same boat," he gently nudged him. "But I probably could convince you why I'm pretty awesome."

The offer hung in the air, an insidious thought that had been evolving since that shower situation; and now it was out in the open, even if it probably should have stayed locked up in Tony's head. Because in reality it was far too overwhelming to think about, let alone perform.

Of course the mechanics were the same; anatomy was anatomy, after all. But the roles were undetermined, and he had to figure that Loki wasn't into the whole submissive song and dance; neither was he for that matter, even though his dreams had dictated a fairly clear picture of how things would inevitably play out.

And yet Tony felt a magnetic pull to Loki, one that was irrational and perfectly chaotic. His whole world ran knee-deep in chaos that discombobulated everyone around him. He should have known better, should have stopped himself from setting his tumbler aside, and from positioning himself even closer to the god of mischief. Something should have stopped him, but nothing did. Not even the knowledge that Pepper was upstairs, asleep in his bed; their bed.

"What the fuck am I doing?" Tony managed to say, as he reached up to run his thumb along Loki's jawline.

"You are a hedonist by nature and nurture, I believe," Loki muttered. "Whilst I was always the reasonable one in my most formidable of years."

"I call bullshit; you, reasonable?"

"Oh, I am far more reasonable than even you, Mr. Stark,"

"Tony,"

"Anthony," Loki leaned inward, his lips perked ever-so-slightly. "I can control myself, whereas you are nerves and sensation, and want. As you've proven so inelegantly beforehand; or have you forgotten?"

"I remember that punch to the kidneys, all right," Tony furrowed his brow, landing a playful hit underneath his chin. "So maybe I can avoid that this time around."

The god laughed lowly, while broaching the distance between them; but he stopped short of lip-on-lip contact. Tony attempted to make contact, only for Loki to pull away far enough out of reach that it was both challenging and frustrating.

"Patience is a virtue, or have you not heard that old adage?"

"I heard it and I don't live by it," he almost growled, as he caught Loki on the cheek with a kiss. "There's a time and place for foreplay, you know."

"I suppose mortals tend to be impatient for a reason,"

"Yeah, I'll be dead soon, now kiss me," Tony reached up, cradling Loki's face, and finally pressing his lips against his with a satisfying smack.

Pleasure coursed through Tony's entire body; it was like that warm fuzzy sensation in his gut, once he downed half a glass of scotch, or the satiation he felt after taking a few hits off a joint. It was essentially everything and nothing that he expected from lip-to-lip contact with another man; or should he say god?

The kiss was strangely tender, although it was desperate too. Loki tilted his head to further accommodate their height difference, but kept his hands to himself; whereas Tony stroked his jaw and toyed with his hair subtly. He bit his bottom lip, before lapping it with his tongue in a way that brought out a sigh of contentment from Loki; which benefited him just fine.

With a bit of maneuvering, Tony slid his tongue past Loki's teeth, flicking the tip behind his front incisors, before delving in further. He ran his tongue against Loki's, and was pleased to receive similar treatment; this time around it was mutual.

Tony shut his eyes, deepening the kiss as much as he was permitted to. He wasn't met with any resistance, and was even encouraged by a long-fingered hand closing at the nape of his neck. It was the perfect unison of lips, tongue, of Loki's fingers squeezing his neck; and for the briefest moment, he felt some deep emotional shift, which by no means was a figment of his imagination.

It was there, marred in reality. There was no way to stifle it, to sweep it under the rug; his emotional dam had finally broken, and it led to him to suck on Loki's infamous silver-tongue, for his hands to roam underneath his leather duster, and knead at any sort of unprotected flesh he could find.

And yet the excruciating urge to breathe superseded pleasure; he pulled away, chased by the god's eager and hungry mouth, but he refused him so he could take in a much needed breath. He filled his lungs with a ragged pant, as he palmed Loki's cheek, and admired how his eyes narrowed in cunning if not simple calculation and thoughtfulness.

"I want you," Tony admitted, sincerity oozing from every word.

"Yes, you may," Loki smiled in that child-like way he had earlier in the evening. "And yet you are conflicted; conflicted by your baser instincts, and the complexity of your mind. Stark, I do not play a minor role in any sensibility of the word – I am your singular or I am no one; I do not participate in such games."

Had Tony been capable of self-restraint, he'd have given Loki a piece of his mind, rather than jam his tongue back into his mouth, and moan like a druggie getting his next fix. Then again the analogy wasn't that poor of one either; it was eerily similar.

There was an addictive factor about this; he'd always been a danger junkie, and always lived haphazardly on the edge of caution. He had a comfortable life before Loki stowed away in the trunk of his car; he'd finally gotten over the emotional turmoil and stress of the Avengers' newfound fame, the critics, the glitz and glamour of being a savior and a pariah (although that wasn't very different from his real life). And he was perfectly content to be with Pepper and Pepper alone.

Things were returning to some sense of normality; and then his feelings did a one-eighty. Loki had needled his way into his head, intoxicated him with that godly imperfection (because he was really too crazy to be that perfect); and Loki reminded him, to some degree, of what he was. They both were fucked up with severe daddy issues; and maybe Tony found it appealing to relate to someone, even if they both were murderers in their own rights.

Loki broke the kiss this time; his eyes smoldered with what could only be described as lust. Tony felt just as much, if not more so, the same way; which was only exacerbated by the fact, that it was so damn wrong. He was a super-hero, Loki was an enemy; they were both men, undoubtedly tops, and yet it didn't stop him from pushing both his hands underneath Loki's duster, and finding purchase on his ass.

Tony squeezed his ass hard, hard enough to send Loki onto his tiptoes and make a noise that sounded rather surprised, if not entirely aroused. That reaction only fueled Tony onward; he pulled the god flush against him, pressing a kiss to the underside of his chin.

"I don't want you," Tony said in between kisses. "I need you; everything about you, I need it all."

Before Loki could respond to that declaration, Tony forced him backwards until they hit the closest wall. His hands drug downwards, digging his nails into the back of Loki's thighs, before his fingers furled back around the swell of his ass, and held steadfast onto it.

"Heh," Loki chuckled, accompanied by a tight smile that seemed to be a matter of self-control. "I do believe you've lost your ability to deem what is wrong and what is right."

"I never was a fan of that from the get-go," he admitted, managing to take Loki's earlobe between his teeth.

The god's hands finally moved, pressing into his chest and splaying his fingers over it. His index fingers were close to the arc reactor, and twitched as if he wanted to touch it. Hell, at this rate Tony would let him lick it and suck on it, as he fucked him on the workshop's floor.

"You're not a proponent of restraint either," Loki tilted his head, allowing Tony to lave the corner of his jaw with his tongue.

"You have no idea; I want you out of these clothes, writhing underneath me. Get where I'm going with this?" Tony ran his tongue along his jaw, before pressing a hard kiss onto his mouth.

They kissed long and impassioned, and proved to be enough of a distraction for Tony could move his hand to the front of Loki's trousers, and subtly attempt to unbutton them. He could feel the button begin to slide out of place with his insistence, as he kissed Loki deeper and more demanding; the ache in his groin became more pronounced at the sheer thought of what he assumed could very well become a reality.

Just as the button gave way and his fingers clamped onto the zipper, a very familiar voice filled the workshop; one known for ruining perfect moments. He pulled away from Loki's mouth, ready to yell about the unneeded interruption; but he was only cut off before a word could leave him.

"My apologies, sir; but there appears to be an intruder on the premises. More precisely off of the veranda; it appears to be a small boy." Jarvis announced.

"What?" Tony almost barked, hazed by lust and extreme confusion. "You're telling me a kid got past all that security and is in my back yard?"

"Perhaps he has been inspired by your technological genius, sir. Although I must admit he appears to be dressed in peculiar garb."

Despite wanting to remain latched onto Loki, Tony disentangled himself from the god, and strode to the many LED screens. He swiped his hands across them, demanding that Jarvis bring up the camera feed for the back of the house; and paused at the sight of a mousy looking kid, cradling something in both hands. He looked like he'd come from Medieval England, due to the tunic and leather trousers...

"The hell; is that kid from Asgard?" He asked; only to receive a rough push out of the way for his troubles.

Loki stared intently at the screen, his lips parting in a weird twist of both elation and rage. Within the blink of an eye, Loki almost put his foot through the glass partition that Tony only replaced weeks ago, but chose instead to use the door instead (which hadn't been reprogrammed due to Tony's vacation), and was taking the steps two at time; sometimes even three.

"Loki, hey," Tony yelled after him; only to take chase. "Come back, you son of a bitch!"

By the time Tony reached the first floor, the god was nowhere in sight; but he had a pretty good idea which path he'd taken. He rushed through the living room, straight through the lounge, and wasn't surprised to see that the double doors leading out onto the patio were flung open.

The darkness temporarily disoriented him once he ran outside; his eyes swept from one side of the yard to the next. Dangerously close the precipice Loki knelt beside the boy; they spoke in hushed tones, although Loki appeared as intimidating as ever, which didn't go by unnoticed by the trembling kid.

Tony hesitated, unaware if Loki was irate enough to fling the kid off of the cliff; and that would be the last thing he needed now, especially since he was still packing a hard-on that would kill lesser men. And no one wanted to be in the vicinity of a kid in his condition anyway; so he was in between a rock and a hard place.

Suddenly Loki presented both his hands, palms-up to the boy; his teeth glinted in the sporadic moonlight, and made him look like a predator. The boy bowed his head, before depositing the tightly wrapped item into his hands, and said something that wiped the smirk off of Loki's face.

Rather than attack like Tony feared, the god clasped the item in one hand, and tousled the boy's hair before standing. The height difference between the boy and the god was exceptional to say the least; Loki could still do it, push the kid off, and toss him like he'd tossed Tony out the window. But he only walked away, hiding the item in the folds of his duster.

"Boy," Loki called, pausing and staring Tony directly in the eyes. "Tell Heimdall I owe him a debt; in due time I will repay it, and I am aware of what this debt will entail. Although, I imagine he can hear me quite clearly now."

"Y-Yes, my liege," the boy stammered.

Loki sidestepped Tony, casually strolling back into the house as if he were a guest there, and hadn't just escaped captivity to talk to some kid. Weighing his options, Tony knew he should follow Loki rather than worry about some Asgardian kid walking around his back yard. The main concern was what this Heimdall character sent to Loki, and if this could lead to potential trouble; more trouble than he was already in.

With one last glance over his shoulder, Tony shut the doors, and followed Loki back through the darkened house, and back into the workshop without any trouble whatsoever.

Chapter Text

If the god of mischief didn't choose to reveal something, it was damned near impossible to pry it from him. Threats were particularly useless against him, and promises of further privileges and sexual favors were downright ineffective.

Worse yet, any sort of sexual interest that Loki had developed had simply dissipated. Whereas Tony's was solidly intact, even while he tried to con an answer out of him about that weird incident only half an hour earlier. But the god wouldn't budge, and had even retreated into his cell as if he'd accepted it as his home away from home.

Tony leaned his forehead against the glass of the aquarium, observing Loki openly and feeling a strain against the zipper of his jeans. His arousal would not go away, and Loki wasn't helping the matter by staring at him with those brilliant green eyes, and with that twitch of the lips that seemed to indicate he'd end up smirking very soon.

"Torture is illegal in America, you know," he said conversationally, attempting to preserve some of his dignity and not parody Midnight Express.

"Is that so?" Loki tilted his head. "Then why haven't the authorities arrested much of the SHIELD organization, not to mention you yourself, Mr. Stark? Because I believe the withholding of essentials such as food and water constitutes torture."

"But SHIELD is probably a secret sect of the U.S. government, and well I'm rich and a super-hero. You, on the other hand, are a known war criminal and an alien. So technically you can't withhold sex from me, and if you do that is the definition of torture."

"I presumed I was withholding information, Mr. Stark," Loki quirked both eyebrows, as if naïve to what he was doing. "But sexual intercourse, why would you ever want that; haven't you a willing woman within your grasp?"

Somehow, regardless of the irrationality of it, it only aroused Tony further. Maybe it was the idea that Pepper was upstairs, unaware of their misadventures underneath the house; and the growing and irreversible sexual attraction that was developing at such a rapid rate. Or it could very well be that Tony was just a glutton for punishment; maybe even a bit of both, to be honest.

"I've pretty much reserved myself to the filthiest, most animalistic, and immoral sex with you. And despite your prim little attitude, I know you want to it just as much as I do." Tony almost purred.

"Ah," Loki grinned. "And to think I've only been in excruciating pain in every part of my body for so long for no reason. Only to find out the cure of all my maladies resides within your trousers. I hadn't the foggiest idea beforehand."

"You know this is cute and all, but I'm in pretty desperate need right now," he motioned to the visible bulge in his jeans, and prayed that Loki wouldn't continue to be the tease that he'd apparently been born to be.

The god of mischief studied him for several terse moments, before his gaze met Tony's. It was impossible to read what Loki was thinking; Tony hated that most of all, being completely at the mercy of someone else. Had he been of his normal brain capacity, he'd have gone upstairs, and begged Pepper for forgiveness. But instead he remained rooted to the spot, and waited for Loki's decision.

Loki raised his hand elegantly, beckoning him with a jerk of his middle and forefinger. Relief hit Tony like a ton of bricks, and he almost ran into the aquarium once the door reopened. He knew he shouldn't be so eager, since that was a weakness that Loki could truly exploit; and yet it was already on the table, had been for a while now.

"Pull them down," Loki said rather flatly, in no way having to elaborate his point.

Tony immediately did as he was told, letting out a contented sigh as he undid the button on his jeans, and pulled the zipper down. The pressure was killer, but he was still suffering from a serious case of blue balls; since really kissing and fondling Loki was an aphrodisiac like nothing he'd tried before.

Without any hesitation whatsoever, he yanked his jeans down around his thighs, and did the same with his underwear. The cool sensation of the air struck him; he suppressed a moan, more so with the way the god stared at his groin with a neutral expression. It was the first time he actually exposed himself to Loki, and there seemed to be some sort of intrigue in that for him.

"Touch yourself," Loki continued after a few moments, still in that flat tone of voice; but the way his eyes snapped up to stare at Tony made him bite the inside of his cheek.

He'd be damned if he started mewing like a newborn kitten, even though there was something incredibly arousing (more so than it already was) about Loki being so abrupt. Before he could do anything, Loki repeated himself authoritatively and parted his legs farther than they already were to accommodate to Tony if he chose to stand between them.

That pretty much sealed the deal for Tony; he shuffled to stand between the god's knees, pressing his less dominant hand against the wall, and took his cock into the other. He couldn't suppress the low moan that escaped him, not when he'd denied himself for so long. Not to mention, he was finally getting what he wanted; well, in a way.

Slowly he stroked his erection, quivering as the god leaned back against the wall and watched him without any definitive expression. There was something incredibly erotic about the situation, something he couldn't pinpoint as he continued to please himself with nice, even strokes.

Moan after moan tumbled out of his mouth, while his hips thrust forward trying in vain to relieve his painfully swollen arousal. But it somehow only got worse, once he felt the iron-clad pressure of Loki's thighs against his knees. He locked him into place, making escape almost impossible; and god, that was exactly what he wanted.

"Holy shit," he rasped, almost certain that he was close; the warmth in his stomach burned hotter than before, and in all likelihood could probably set him aflame at any moment.

His hand worked faster, demandingly until cool fingers flitted underneath the hem of his t-shirt. With diligence and practiced ease, Loki pushed his t-shirt up until it could go no further and held it bunched up to his collarbone. Tony paused in his ministration, only to be met with a cool gaze.

"I do not recall telling you to stop," Loki drawled, as he fisted the material of his t-shirt into one hand. "So your pause is unjustified."

Tony could only grunt in return, before he pumped his member at the same speed he adapted to previously. Another pitiful moan exploded from his lips, which he manipulated out of himself by squeezing the base of his arousal with a tightly closed fist. He could almost see stars, which was emphasized by Loki's sudden release of his thighs around him.

The contact was replaced rather quickly and by far a more pleasurable way. Loki leaned inward, trailing his tongue alongside the arc reactor, darting against metal and skin in lush laps that caused Tony to almost thrust into Loki's armor-clad chest.

The god's free hand skirted along his hip, before reaching back to clasp onto his ass. His hold was far from gentle, nor was the sudden introduction of teeth into biting around the edge of the arc reactor. Maybe he was a sucker for pain, or the fact that Loki was appearing far more eager as time went by; either way, Tony felt the pressure rising and felt that familiar tightening in his gut.

"Oh god," Tony shuddered, pumping faster as if to combat the way Loki's fingers began to furl along the cleft of his ass; which should have had him running for the hills.

He wasn't into the whole ass play thing, even if he reluctantly allowed some of his more adventurous one-nightstands to experiment a bit. But at least they were women, and well Loki was an oversized god who could easily overpower him and violate him in ways that only seemed possible in prison.

"That's enough, Stark," Loki managed to say as he sunk his teeth into the edge of the arc reactor and his skin too. "Allow me the honor of your release."

"Y-you're not going to fuck me, are you?" He asked, unable to mask the quiver in his voice.

Rather than respond verbally, Loki unhanded his ass and slapped his hand away from his erection. Tony yelped like a wounded animal, hyper-sensitive to touch; but he relinquished his hold on his throbbing member, only to grasp onto his rolled up t-shirt so it could free both of Loki's hands accordingly.

Loki returned one hand back to his ass, and back to the position that was causing Tony to squirm; the other, however, dashed any sort of reservation he might have had. Loki slowly took his erection into his hold, before giving it an experimental stroke that made him cuss in about half a dozen languages; all thanks to his genius.

"I-I can't last," he stammered, feeling beads of sweat crop up over his entire body.

Loki's tongue returned to lapping at the arc reactor, while simultaneously jerking Tony off and fondling his ass. His fingers glided along Tony's entrance and almost caused him to crumble into the god's awaiting lap.

Tony felt like he was an exposed nerve; his gut tightened at his fast approaching release, and leaned heavily against Loki who was sucking and slurping at the arc reactor like it was keeping him alive as much as it was for him.

"Oh shit," he moaned louder, jerking into Loki's hand as his strokes became firmer.

Letting go of his t-shirt, Tony slammed his hand into the wall to join the other, and rocked his hips erratically to match Loki's hand movements. His eyes rolled back in his head as Loki squeezed him with even and measured precision, just as he bit onto the edge of the arc reactor jarring it only slightly but enough to jolt and alarm him, and effectively setting him off.

He came hard and fast; an inarticulate noise escaped him, as he thrust his hips forward several times, as he rode out his orgasm in Loki's tight grip; which provided enough friction to heighten the experience. And by god it left him seeing those metaphorical stars; bursts of light exploded across his vision, as he quivered and twitched through one of the best orgasms of his life.

As he slowly descended from his high, Tony familiarized himself with the tiny things that made up his environment. The low hum of multiple computers running in the background, the buzz of the sole fluorescent light that was on, and his own ragged and disjointed breaths echoed in his ears.

He continued to buck into Loki's hand, riding out the little spurts of pleasure he still managed to attain, before letting out a contented sigh. It was only after he regained some sort of semblance of lucidity, that he looked down to observe the god of perfect hands.

A distasteful expression graced Loki's features; his hand was still firmly intact on his member and ass respectively, but his eyes were lowered and staring at the front of his chest where Tony had uncouthly lost all control.

"How charming," Loki muttered, before letting go of him.

"Sorry 'bout that," Tony panted out, reaching down to tilt his chin up. "But you are fucking incredible; everything about you."

Before Loki could contest his statement, he leaned down, flicking his tongue against his lips and pressed a chaste kiss against them. At first the god was nothing short of unresponsive and cold; but he soon warmed up to the kiss, and returned it in a dignified manner.

"Let me get something to clean you up,"

"As you very well should,"

"And next time, well we'll focus on you," he kissed Loki again, and felt for the first time since this whole debacle began that it was entirely worth it.

Chapter Text

Rendered speechless wasn't a viable option when it came to Tony Stark; in fact, he was blessed with razor-sharp wit that would put most people to shame. He always had some sort of response on the cuff, and even if he was momentarily taken aback, he could always recover with an ungodly speed. But this time around, well he could only stare at Agent Phil Coulson as if he was being visited by a ghost.

Coulson smiled kindly at him, as if he hadn't been killed by the very same god of mischief that lived in an aquarium in his workshop. Not to mention the same one, who he had the best orgasm with and that was simply from his hands. That was irrelevant though; since he was staring death in the face, or what should have been death. Instead he was staring at cordial, clean-cut Coulson in his trademark suit and tie.

"I apologize, Mr. Stark," Coulson said, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm sure this is a bit of a surprise, and I would like to catch up with you. But as you are aware, we have an internal affair issue within SHIELD that takes top priority right now. And Director Fury would like you to handle something within your expertise."

"You mean that whole computer issue?" Tony swallowed, trying to balance his shock and sudden panic appropriately; no less without sending up any red flags.

"Unfortunately not,"

His panic rose; he managed to bite his tongue without saying Loki's name aloud, but that didn't ease any of the tension. Of course Fury would want the remaining Avengers to track down a war criminal, who could have been wreaking havoc at any moment, in any country across the globe. Loki was a security threat, and security threats had to be taken care of accordingly.

Since Asgard hadn't necessarily been able to contain Loki, the only alternative was death. They couldn't keep Loki imprisoned, because he proved himself able enough to escape even with a slew of injuries. So their options were limited, and really Fury probably would prefer to wash his hands clean of Loki anyway.

Tony opened his mouth, wanting to subtly inquire about the matter further; but he was cut off by Fury entering the room like an oversized bat. His signature trench coat bellowed out behind him, and his face was grimly pulled into a frown. His ever faithful sidekick, Agent Hill, scampered behind him and made sure to regard Tony with a skeptical side glance.

"Mr. Stark," Fury began, before walking towards one of the LED screens at the front of the room. "We have a problem and his name is Doctor Doom."

"Doctor Who," Tony asked, close to sputtering.

"Victor von Doom, or more appropriately called Doctor Doom," Fury replied testily, before tapping the screen to reveal the aforementioned super-villain; because really what other career choice could you have with a name like that?

"Doctor Doom," Tony repeated, feeling some semblance of relief. "Don't tell me he has an army too; one that could potentially cause as much damage to the world as, well last time."

Fury enlarged a photograph of the super-villain in question, and it took a lot of self-control for Tony not to roll his eyes. The whole super-villain versus super-hero thing was beyond amazing; the only problem were the stupid spandex, bellowing capes, and whatever Halloween mask Doom was donning.

At least Mark VIII was aesthetically pleasing to the eye, and really it served a purpose. If there wasn't a suit, well there technically couldn't be an Iron Man. Now there could be a Captain America without the star spangled spandex; Steve could use the shield in jeans and a t-shirt if he really wanted to.

"Doom has been a bleep on our radar for some time now, however he was a minor threat compared to what we'd dealt with in recent months," Fury managed to not scowl, although his whole face twitched from self-restraint. "However, he decided to crop up in a big way in downtown L. A. two nights ago, and quite frankly I want to nip this motherfucker in the bud before he gets out of hand."

"Okay, so am I on this mission alone or do I get some assistance?" Tony asked.

"Agents Barton and Romanoff, and Rogers will back you up. Obviously we can't get in touch with Thor and Dr. Banner is currently on sabbatical."

"Hey, why does he get a sabbatical? I think I deserve one too, you know instead of your constant harassment you dish out all the time, Nick."

"Tough shit," Fury muttered, before motioning at Coulson to push along an official looking packet across the table, cover sheet and all.

Tony snatched the packet up, and leafed through the information; he could care less about Victor von Doom's origin story, and really did it matter that his mother was a gypsy? Did that somehow pertain to his overall loony antics in the City of Angels? The probability was very low; although it did matter that he was a handy inventor and a sorcerer to boot. He could have easily been his and Loki's lovechild, but not with that outfit on.

"Well, I guess I don't have time to tell the missus goodbye," Tony muttered, scanning over the incident report, in which Doom demolished a business district with the help of something called doombots.

Despite it being a huge pain in the ass, he couldn't ignore the intrigue of the situation. It would be interesting to see these doombots in action; and really, he'd hung up the suit for some time now, besides the times he carted Loki's heavy ass from one place to another.

After scanning the majority of the report, Tony rose to his feet; Fury probably wanted the team to be in L. A. within the hour, and well that left little time for him to do anything. He'd use the old Mark V he jammed into the trunk of his car (because you never knew what you'd pick up at SHIELD headquarters), and fly there in a cinch.

That, of course, wasn't the ideal situation though. Having Pepper and Loki under one roof without any kind of referee, seemed like a disaster in the making. Regardless of Loki being willingly contained in his aquarium and Pepper none the wiser; Tony felt better when he was there, just in case something went awry. And he learned from experience how easily things could turn onto its head.

"We're not done, Agent Coulson," Tony pointed at Coulson, giving him a stern expression that threatened to break that perfectly neutral façade that Coulson was known for.

"I look forward to having an in-depth conversation with you, Mr. Stark," Coulson nodded. "Of course within the perimeters of confidentiality; so it'll be brief, I believe."

Tony rolled his eyes this time; then again he shouldn't have expected any less from Coulson. He was the perfect SHIELD agent; he could be the biggest pain in the ass if pressed to be, always business and no play even if it meant losing that cellist. Not to mention pretending to be dead for a few months, probably in order to rally the troops against Loki, really showed his dedication.

It was becoming a struggle, admittedly, for Tony to think about that. Loki the super-villain who killed countless people, who had at least attempted to kill Coulson; and the thought of the Earth being under his control, was bone chilling. And then there was Loki, the docile little house pet who sometimes threw a fit when he didn't get his way; the one who smelled clean and identical to him, who had a predilection for grabbing him by the base of the neck with a kindly pressure, and who kissed him like how he fought – desperate and firm.

But it was stupid to try and compare the two, since they were one entity. Loki was only being somewhat well behaved because there was nothing else he could do. He had to be cooperative, report back to his cell after getting a few minutes to roam; eat his food even if he didn't like it. Maybe even jerk-off his captor for a couple of brownie points.

Tony wasn't stupid; he'd questioned Loki from day one, and he'd question him on the millionth day too. He wasn't dubbed the god of mischief, because he was fond of telling the truth; and Loki was a sneaky little bastard, who'd use everything within his reach to get the upper hand; even if it meant toying with Tony emotionally and physically.

"Problem, Mr. Stark?" Fury asked, leveling him with a suspicious stare.

"No, not really; I was just thinking." Tony pulled a face, grabbing the packet from the table. "I really hope you don't wear a speedo, Nick. That'll totally ruin my image of you being a tighty-whitey kind of guy."

Fury narrowed his eye, while Agent Hill visibly spurted as if the visualization hit her head-on. He'd done his job; or at least the bit where he'd angered Fury, shocked Hill, and did absolutely nothing to the straight-laced expression on Coulson's face. Yeah, that was about right.

Waving the packet in goodbye, Tony hurried out of the conference room before he could be thoroughly scolded, and maybe tortured for that comment. And the last thing he needed was an interrogation; considering he was in possession of SHIELD's top secret files (which he hadn't even gotten around to going through), and more importantly that whole war criminal thing.

Now that wasn't something he'd get away with; and if it was any indication, SHIELD were still going to pursue Loki until they had him back. Dead or alive was strictly conditional; dead was preferable though, since Loki wasn't about to hand over his secrets, and especially to SHIELD.

But really that was a concern for another time; he had to get to L. A. and handle the newest nuisance to mankind. Loki couldn't destroy much of anything in his aquarium, and Pepper should be at work for most of the day anyway. Whereas Doctor Doom was demolishing parts of L. A. with his super-duper robots of destruction; and well, that was something he could hardly ignore. Or SHIELD for that matter.

So Tony cleared his head of the god of mischief, and decided to focus all his energy on taking down another caped lunatic for the time being. He just hoped that he wouldn't have to send a nuke into space again; he considered that a special and intimate occasion between he and his little golden horned deity of destruction.

The suit was heavy, too heavy. The Mark V wasn't as graceful as Mark VIII, and lacked many of the amenities that Tony had gotten accustomed to. He was just lucky he'd only gotten away with a mild concussion and a number of abrasions across the face, after a particularly aggressive doombot got up close and personal with him; then proceeded to wipe the street with him.

Within a matter of hours after leaving SHIELD's desolate headquarters, Tony alongside Romanoff, Barton, and Rogers had found the new minion of evil who thought destroying Rodeo Drive would be fitting for the citizens of Los Angeles. Not to mention his doombots proved to be a challenge, aggravated by Doom's shoddy little magic tricks.

Despite SHIELD providing them with ample information on Doom, it really hadn't prepared any of them for the struggle. They had all suffered some sort of injury or another; but at least they could boast about being alive, even though they only managed to chase Doom away and destroy the doombots he brought along for the ride.

So it was only plausible to believe that Doom would show his face again, having pissed off the Avengers, and wanting some sort of revenge for being an absolute idiot. Then again, Doom might have only been playing the role of an inept villain to throw them off; maybe to make them lower their guard, once he showed up with an army of competent robots, and the David Copperfield arsenal of magic tricks.

"I could use a drink," Tony groaned as he dragged himself up the driveway that led into the workshop. "Maybe a whole bottle of Macallan, and an entire pizza to myself,"

He paused at the point where the garage ended and the workshop began. Everything appeared to be intact; one of his previous attempts to start work on the Mark IX were still sprawled across two worktables, and there was a stack of paperwork that he still had yet to sign and hand back to Pepper. She'd kill him if he didn't get back in her hands by Thursday; and today was Wednesday.

Finally he turned his gaze on the most crucial piece of the room. The aquarium was brightly lit underneath the fluorescent lights; Loki was on his knees, leaning forward with the tips of his fingers pressed against the concrete. An unfriendly expression fleeted across his face, before it was smoothed over by a mask of neutrality.

"Already on your knees, baby," he smiled obscenely, despite his many aches and pains. "I didn't know you missed me that much."

"I hardly noticed you were gone," the god muttered, leaning back onto his haunches.

"I hate when you play hard to get," he returned. "Jarvis, let's get me out of this suit; I think we can safely say Mark V is out of commission."

"Right away, sir,"

"And I want a full status report on what our friend was doing while I was away,"

"Mr. Laufeyson proved to be on his best behavior, sir. In fact he spent much of his time napping; it was only recently he'd awoken and began his meditation."

"Please say he was doing yoga too, and we caught it on tape. I really want to see him doing downward-facing dog." Tony climbed into the center of his device, which slowly began to pull pieces of the armor away from his body.

"Unfortunately for you, Mr. Laufeyson appears to find such poses to be demeaning,"

"Sex is demeaning too, but that's half the fun," he managed to swivel around to wink at Loki, who had returned to his previous stance.

Once the suit was removed, Tony climbed down and headed for his stash of scotch. He wouldn't be getting sleep tonight; mostly due to the concussion, partly because of the paperwork, and slightly because he hoped Loki would let him return the favor after their kinky little masturbatory session from the day before.

However, that seemed like an impossibility; Loki appeared to be on guard, if not entirely cold. If Tony knew any better he would think he was up to something; which could very well be the case, since he had yet to find out what that Asgardian kid passed along to him. And he'd gotten off-track when it came to discovering what it had been, in between horniness and Doctor Doom; neither related, for the record.

"Want to come out of there?" Tony poured himself a drink, hoping that he'd say yes; like he was a hopeless nerd in an eighties teen flick, hoping the hot cheerleader would accept him. It was pretty demoralizing and humiliating.

"Is that a subtle way of asking me to fellate you?" Loki asked.

"I wasn't planning for it, but if that'll make you feel better who am I to stop you? I am known for being a philanthropist; and you do seem to need some goodwill." He leaned against the worktable, biting his bottom lip in feigned flirtation.

The god only stared at him with disinterest, before he rolled his shoulders and spread his hands further apart on the concrete. Tony, of course, was curious if not entirely suspicious of what he was doing; it would be stupid to let his guard down now; especially when he took into account that Loki could very well be manipulating him for his own gain.

"You know, there's something different about you today," Tony observed, although he wouldn't be too surprised if his concussion was causing him to see things that weren't necessarily true.

But maybe there was some truth to it; Loki paused and raised his head with spark of indignation. It hit Tony like a stack of bricks; when he left for SHIELD headquarters, Loki had looked tired and haggard, and downright refused to eat. He was being particularly difficult, compared to the days previously; and curled up underneath the bench to sleep. This Loki, however, looked healthy, spry, and looked like he'd walked out of a five star spa and hotel.

On further inspection, it appeared as if Loki had removed his own stitches; leaving behind a marble-like complex in its wake, as if there hadn't been a god awful mess thanks to SHIELD. Tony set his glass aside, before peering over his shoulder at the many holographic screens behind him.

"Jarvis, did you see reindeer games do anything suspicious while I was gone; aside from yoga and meditation, and lighting incense?"

"He did appear to eat something two and a half hours prior, sir,"

"Did he hide a candy bar in his pocket?"

"I don't believe he shares your horrible dietary habits," Jarvis said primly. "However, I did observe that he consumed a something that had a golden hue to it."

Loki did very little to hide his annoyance; he fell back onto his haunches again, sneering at the ceiling as if Jarvis was strung up in the air vents. Clearly he thought he'd get away with whatever he was doing without Jarvis being none the wiser to it; not to mention there was a hidden camera angled at the aquarium, so there was surveillance video of his antics on top of that.

As calmly as he could muster (which it wasn't that hard to do), Tony crossed the room and stood in front of the aquarium. He tried to smile, although the pain in his head made it far more gnarled and unpleasant; he could see his reflection, and boy he wouldn't have wanted to get on his bad side right then.

"Show me what you're hiding," he demanded.

"I know not what you speak of," Loki replied grimly.

"Cut the bullshit; I'm not in the mood for it. Especially since I was fighting Loki-lite down Rodeo Drive all afternoon; and just to let you know, I'm doing excellent after getting a concussion. Thanks for asking, honey."

"Should I be sympathetic towards you then? The mortal who keeps me contained within a cell, and has left me for periods of time without proper sustenance, and claims he is better and philanthropic due to his evident narcissism that led him to play the role of a hero. Although I believe that anti-hero would be far more fitting, don't you agree?"

"Okay, fine I agree," Tony glowered. "You win; good for you. And what do you have to show for being a competent head doctor? Oh, that sounds like a whole lot of nothing. You're still sitting in a cage like a wild animal, holding onto your little secret, because that's all you've got; but trust me, I'll find out, and when I do you'll regret that you didn't tell me in the first place."

Loki cracked a smile, the kind that only psychopaths were capable of. It was disconcerting and Tony felt like he had to reevaluate what had happened between them; he especially felt like he finally needed to sit down and psycho-analyze himself, may it be uncomfortable and completely unnecessary to a degree.

"You'll have my death soon, Stark," Loki stood and pressed his body to the glass, now wearing a Cheshire grin. "And who better to have it than the merchant of death?"

The blood rushed out of Tony's face, and it felt like a jackhammer had been turned on inside of his head. There was something very deviant about Loki knowing that; because really the only way he could have known it, was amid all that gossip in SHIELD. He might have been Iron Man, part of the Avengers, but in a lot of ways he was still an enemy in his own right.

"What would one more life matter amongst the many you've already inadvertently taken?" Loki continued, the smile slipping away. "And despite your many claims of wanting to covet me; I believe what you truly want is my death. To boast to your band of heroes how you've destroyed a god. And for you, mayhap I'll give it to you freely."

Had there not been a barrier of impenetrable glass between them, Tony felt like he could have struck Loki; maybe even attempted to kill him with his bare hands. But that wouldn't have changed anything; it certainly wouldn't change Loki's opinion of him, and well he hated to think of Loki being right about anything either.

He walked closer, pressing a hand to the glass, directly over Loki's heart; he needed to calm down, to put all those horribly violent thoughts to rest. Generally speaking, Tony wasn't a violent person; he was known for being a borderline alcoholic, a sex addict, the occasional stoner, genius extraordinaire; well, the list went on and on. Violent, however, hadn't been on the list now or ever.

"I really don't want you dead," he admitted solemnly. "The only one who wants you dead is you."

The god stared at him suddenly childish and confused, as if the realization hadn't hit him either. Considering how disconnected Loki appeared to be from any kind of emotion, aside from all that crazy, Tony wasn't that surprised.

"You make things hard on yourself, so you can justify all your insidious actions. And you're trying to antagonize me, and I deserve it to some degree, obviously. And you do it because you won't have to think about how you really feel." He continued, before tapping his fingers against the glass, still over Loki's heart. "You're a lot more fragile than you let on; I know, because I'm kind of the same way."

"Release me," Loki tilted his head. "As you kindly offered beforehand,"

"I don't know if that would be a wise decision,"

"The likelihood that your death would serve me well is flawed logic, Stark," Loki turned away. "You are a mortal of superior intelligence, so you could easily see why your death would only cause more harm than good."

"Touché," he agreed, even if he wasn't exactly sold on the idea still.

For whatever reason, undoubtedly emotionally based, Tony did let Loki out of his cell. He backed away and waited for Loki to either start flipping tables and throwing things; or to advance on him into something heavy and solid.

But neither scenario came to pass; rather Loki pulled something from the inner pocket of his duster, and what Tony recognized as being the mystery item exchanged between that kid and Loki. Since the workshop was brightly lit, Tony could finally see that the item was no bigger than a fist, and wrapped delicately in a silk handkerchief.

Loki pulled one corner of the handkerchief down, slowly revealing what he'd refused to show him the night it had happened. Sitting in the center of the fabric was an apple; a quarter of it was missing and had been properly cut away (danger Will Robinson, danger), and was no doubt what Loki had been eating. Although the most striking thing about it was definitely the color, which could be described as the richest color of gold Tony had ever seen.

"The only reason I'm alive is because of this," the god revealed, lifting the apple to eye level. "Had Heimdall not taken mercy upon me, I would have died hours ago."

Tony reached for the apple, only for Loki to hold it above both their heads with a defensive glint in his eye. While he wasn't exactly well-versed on Nordic folklore, he recalled something about golden apples and maybe a story about how Loki had a hand in some mischief when it came to the goddess in charge of the harvest.

So that had to mean someone in Asgard had taken pity on him; which by all means was hard to believe. Thor had told them bits and pieces about what had happened between he and Loki and well Thor had a lot more reasons to hate Loki than most of them did. Not to mention the entire kingdom of Asgard on top of that.

"I believe I've proven that I can be trustworthy, don't you agree?" Loki dangled the apple above their heads, reminiscent of mistletoe. "But you, Stark, I haven't gauged you properly at all."

"I think we have an issue with communication," Tony rolled his eyes. "Then again you're kind of throwing me different signals here."

"And you haven't engaged in contradictory behavior, have you?"

"Not on this sort of level," Tony muttered, feeling a twinge of pain in his head; it was probably the concussion, although all signs pointed to Loki instead. "Right now, I'm not into this. Whatever this is; my head's killing me and I have a shitload of paperwork to do. So roam around if you want, and we'll talk about this magic apple thing later."

Loki appeared to be full agreement, due to his sudden and lucid action. He suddenly dropped the apple before using his other hand to swipe quickly over it, and pulling off one hell of a magic trick. It disappeared out of thin air; and Tony had to hand it to him, he probably could entertain a group of third graders at a birthday party for an entire hour.

"Guess that apple gave you back your mojo," Tony said. "Maybe that means you should be back in your cell."

"That used very little magical ability," the god muttered, before he placed both hands atop of Tony's head.

"Don't tell me you're trying to baptize me into your freaky self-worshiping religion now,"

"I've told you many times, I do not find you amusing. In fact, you are much too intelligent for such things." Loki readjusted his hands, which sent a tingle through his head, and directly down his spine. "Now do me the honor of being quiet."

Tony chose to be silent, rather than take direction. It just so happened that they had the same thing in mind; but he wasn't about to complain. Whatever was happening between the two of them was both too intense and confusing for him to understand. And it could be frustrating as hell too; since they both were individuals devoid of any normality when it came to being touchy-feely.

The pain that had been a dull, oftentimes sharp and sudden was replaced by that pleasant tingle that seemed to be emitting from the god's fingers. It felt pretty damn good, like he was receiving a massage to the brain.

He shut his eyes, focusing on that sensation; and he suspected in hindsight he'd chide himself on what a risky move that was. He didn't trust Loki as far as he could throw him; and yet he was allowing him to do whatever he was doing. Maybe he was leeching on his physical pain, like some kind of misery vampire; which seemed fitting for him.

Loki's fingers trailed to his temples, pressing against them lightly, and sent another wave of relief into Tony's brain. The pain was almost gone in its entirety within the span of a few minutes. There wasn't even a trace of that agony; not a throb, a zinging pain, zilch.

"Magic fingers, that description was accurate," Tony mumbled, opening his eyes. "In more than one way too; you know if you get my drift."

The god barely spared him a glance, as he maneuvered his hands to link behind Tony's head, and sent another wave of pleasantness throughout his body. But the sensation soon dissipated as Loki removed his hands; the pain was gone too, like he hadn't been knocked out of the sky by a doombot.

In fact he felt pretty damn good; he might even get through the stack of paperwork before dawn at this rate. Then again, he might be getting a little too enthusiastic; that was a huge pile, and well he only just recovered from all the trauma and anguish of his first date with Doom; baby steps, Stark.

"You're like my vastly improved first-aid kit," Tony patted him on the chest. "This might work out after all."

"If only that were the case, Mr. Stark," a familiar voice interrupted, which sent a shiver down Tony's spine.

Very little fazed Tony; he liked to think he was solid like a rock in many respects. However, turning around to see Nick Fury and various SHIELD personnel, standing on the invisible threshold between the garage and the workshop was a little too much for him to absorb.

Sensing his shock, Fury reached into his pocket to reveal an unremarkable, atypical flash drive; but the sentiment was lost on him, which only caused Fury to smirk. Clearly he liked knowing something Tony did not.

"Honestly, do you think I would fall for another one of your stupid-ass attempts on hacking our systems?" Fury pocketed the thumb drive. "I knew you couldn't help yourself; so I made sure to crypt quite a bit of our files with spyware. And to answer your question – yes, that's why your AI let us in without forewarning."

"You hacked my system?" Tony asked, shocked.

"Doesn't feel very nice, now does it?" Fury motioned for his posse to raise their weapons. "But I'll deal with you later, Stark; rest assured it's not going to be a walk in the park either. Right now though, I'm only interested in Loki."

"How I missed you, Director Fury," Loki smiled, as he raised his hands.

"Not as much as I missed you," Fury pulled out his own handgun, leveling it in the area between Loki's eyes. "I assume you will go quietly."

"Nick-"

"Step aside, Mr. Stark. I doubt you want go any higher on my shit list."

"Oh, I will certainly go along with you quietly, Director. How could I forget our previous rendezvous once I returned to Midgard?" Loki took a step forward, his hands still raised in submission.

Fury tilted his head sharply, and sent a fleet of his men to overtake Loki. They swarmed him, grabbing onto his appendages, jerking them violently as they cuffed his ankles and then cuffed his wrists behind his back. But they weren't any old shackles; they appeared to be on the high-tech spectrum. Tony felt a twinge of jealousy that he hadn't thought of it himself; although that was the least of his concerns.

Loki shot him a glance, one that could only be interpreted as someone about to take responsibility for something that had been entirely out of their control. Somehow Loki was going to absolve Tony of any guilt in the situation; and if only he could talk, yell at Fury that he'd been a willing participant in hiding a dangerous war criminal, he would have; but he couldn't say a word.

Tony opened his mouth willing for anything to come out; even when his throat tightened, he tried to make a sound, a squeak even. But he remained quiet, as SHIELD drug Loki towards the garage's exit, and eventually out of sight.

"We'll be in touch, Mr. Stark," Fury lowered his weapon, before he strode after his team. "And trust me, you'll regret it."

But the truth of the matter was that Tony already regretted it.

Chapter Text

The lie was elaborate, detailed, everything in which a true lie should be. Inconsistency could cause any potentially good lie to crumble; if the liar felt any sort of anxiety or panic that was a clear indication of inevitable failure. Most individuals were incapable of withstanding severe interrogation, without breaking to their captors' wills. But Loki had remained lucid, consistent, if not entirely convincing to a fault.

It didn't hurt either that SHIELD wanted to believe his lie. He could see the desperation within the operatives' eyes around him; sorely wanting to believe that Tony Stark, Iron Man would not aid and abet an enemy. Even Nick Fury, who didn't seem particularly fond of Stark, seemed to hope for the best as well. And Loki fed them the truth that they had been seeking; every falsehood that would clear Stark of any responsibility.

It had been a long time, since he designed such an elaborate hoax for the benefit of another. The last had been so long ago that he couldn't recall the details; but he remembered that he had protected Thor and his randy band of friends from certain punishment, administrated by the All-Father himself.

The reason behind the lie, well Loki found really no justifiable motive for it. He supposed he should be grateful to have only been tied up, imprisoned, and starved for periods at time rather than physically tortured like SHIELD had done to him. Or perhaps there was something else to it; a matter in which Loki chose to believe was unnecessary to think about. Lest, he find some sort of weakness when it came to the matter of Tony Stark; although one could argue that weakness had already been shown by protecting him from Fury's wrath in the first place.

"So this mind control, it was weak at best?" Fury asked, leaning back in his chair, and exuding intimidation.

"Well, even the best of plans have weaknesses," Loki affirmed. "Due to my multiple injuries, I hadn't a grasp on my magical abilities; while I could control Stark for much of the time, the spell was often broken; in which case he ended building that lovely and insufferable cell for me. But there were flaws in the design, as there was with yours, Director Fury; so I could still access magic, and most certainly could control him within my cell."

That appeared to cover one of the many cracks in the story; Fury clearly needed as much reassurance that one of his most valuable assets wasn't a criminal. And his explanation appeared to put him at ease; Fury let out the breath he'd been holding, and thrummed his fingers on the interrogation table. The lie was flawless; Loki could see that in Fury's eye.

"Then I imagine Stark will be able to back up your story," Fury said, and almost caused Loki to react in a spark of panic; almost.

"Seeing as the spell is rather unlike the last I had used on Agent Barton, you'll have a hard time extracting any sound information from Stark." Loki returned, in no way deceiving his initial reaction.

"It wouldn't hurt to interview him," Fury rolled his eye towards his second in command. "Agent Hill, I want Stark in here to corroborate Loki's story. I doubt he'd be stupid enough to try and hop a flight."

"I'll put a call in with Miss Potts, sir," Agent Hill spared Loki a look, one that was hardened with undeniable indignation.

"If you have to, send Agent Coulson to drag his ass in here," Fury called after her as she left the interrogation room; although it felt more of a confessional if outward appearances had any determination about it.

Once the door closed, leaving Loki and Fury alone, Fury leaned inward with a determined expression on his face. While it appeared Fury believed Loki's well-crafted lie, it didn't mean that all was said and done. In fact, Loki believed he would be subjected to unknown atrocities that would have the potential of breaking him; although he suspected death would occur first.

Truth be told, Loki wasn't aware if death would be favorable or not. Either way, he wasn't keen on the idea of a group of mortals causing his downfall. That was particularly unsettling, if not entirely disappointing; more so than even the All-Father sentencing him to execution.

"I'm getting really tired of having to deal with you," Fury began. "And I have to figure you're sick of being poked and prodded, and constantly interrogated. So let's do each other a favor and cut out the bullshit."

"My interpretation of what you are saying is clear," Loki leaned inward too with a smile. "If I do not provide you with the information you desire, well I am expendable. Am I right in that assessment, Director?"

Fury crossed his arms and seemed to consider what to say next; although it was evident that was an accurate analysis of the circumstances. And in all likelihood a death sentence was the only way to resolve the issue of an evil deity, who had been hell-bent on world domination.

"I put my faith in the fact I wouldn't see you again," Fury admitted. "I thought Asgard would have dealt with you accordingly already. But clearly they can't even control you; so our options are limited, since imprisonment doesn't work."

"Killing me is your only option, I'm afraid," Loki affirmed, raising both eyebrows.

It felt like a futile endeavor to argue otherwise; the truth of the matter was that allowing SHIELD to (again) take him into custody was an acceptance of his death. Had he thrown Stark to the wolves, if only to temporarily deflect attention from him, maybe he wouldn't be begrudgingly about to accept his death sentence now.

That proved to be even harder to understand than his willingness to accept death as a possibility. He had begged Heimdall for mercy not so very long ago, in order to sustain his life; and yet he tossed away his second chance at life to cover for Stark. Stark, who was no better than SHIELD and Fury and every other mortal that he encountered.

The only difference between Stark and the rest of humanity was his intellect. He was far smarter than he even realized which was hard to believe since Stark was known for boasting of his superiority in both brain and appearance. And well, Loki found him to be eccentric and interesting, if not entirely mind-consuming.

"So we see eye-to-eye for once," Fury made a move to stand.

"As unfortunate as it may be," he returned grimly. "But do not be under the impression that I will go down without a fight, Director Fury."

"I wouldn't expect any less from you. Trust me." Fury rounded the table, only to pause beside him; but he chose not to acknowledge his heavy, if not entirely intimidating shadow. "But don't worry it'll be far too humane for you; I think Stark wouldn't have it any other way."

The control he had honed and mastered throughout the interrogation almost faltered again. For a split-second Loki felt his eyes widen and his lips part; but he managed to recover, maybe before Fury could see anything significantly altered on his face. Because if he had, well his many intricate lies could only fall apart; and Stark would be held responsible for his part on aiding and abetting someone of his criminal status.

"Stark would demand a barbaric, if not an utterly savage death for me," he rolled his eyes towards Fury. "I have manipulated that intelligent brain of his for my own doing. And I believe you know better than anyone, Director; he doesn't take too kindly on being one-upped."

"Stark really didn't look like a puppet to me," Fury smiled poisonously. "He actually looked like the fucking prom queen getting crowned. Almost as if he thought you were more than a, and I quote, vastly improved first-aid kit."

"Mind control effects people rather differently, and Stark is clearly an eccentric," Loki replied coolly, making it a point to stare straight ahead. "You'll see once you corroborate stories with him, and whatever notion you might have otherwise will be dashed. I'm sorry it couldn't be any more scandalous than it already is, Director Fury."

"Oh, don't worry everything will be revealed," Fury almost laughed, as he started for the door. "But it won't be during any interrogation; it'll be when I get the honor of putting the bullet in your head."

"I anticipate the barrel," Loki glanced over his shoulder, smiling. "But I yearn for that bullet, Director."

"You'll get one, trust me," Fury returned the smile, before sweeping out of the room, and leaving behind what one could describe as unfamiliar feelings in his wake.

Loki was never one for self-sacrifice; he had oftentimes betrayed Thor during the best of times. And yet he had chosen execution to protect a mortal; one that had effectively deterred his plan to rule Midgard, and who openly mocked him on more than one occasion.

"Anthony Stark, you will have my death after all," he breathed softly, before turning his gaze to the security camera and grinning rather sadistically for SHIELD's benefit.

Chapter Text

The restoration of his security system hadn't been an entirely oversized mess; Tony had anticipated viruses that SHIELD developed for world domination, comparably to the bugs that infected his system and put a muzzle on Jarvis. In fact, it had only taken a few hours to flush everything out, restore the Stark home security to its previous glory, and start revamping it so tightly that breaking into Fort Knox would be an easier feat.

Things were going along smoothly; firewalls were being erected, Jarvis was running diagnostics, and his mind was thoroughly engrossed on the task at hand. He didn't have time to think about the circumstances that led to his system being hacked, and that sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach. The one that wouldn't go away even after he drank three bottles of beer, and felt his mind go fuzzy at the edges.

The feeling nagged him, demanded to be recognized; but he denied it for as long as he could. There really wasn't any point on thinking about SHIELD having Loki back in custody; more so he couldn't think about what it meant for him. And let's face it; his hide was far more important to him than Loki's, right?

Not even Tony Stark could get away with aiding and abetting a fucking war criminal, a god of chaos. His lawyers were damned good at their jobs, but there was no way they could talk their way out of a threat to national security. He'd be lucky if he got out of prison by the time he was ninety; which only left one option to his disposal, and even that made him feel worse than he normally did about himself.

He could always just leave. Dear 'ol dad had set up several off-shore accounts in Switzerland and the Cayman Islands, and well the executors of his will had wired money into those accounts until Tony was able to take control of everything. Obie had been good about that too, even if he proved himself to be a fucking weasel to the end. And he was damned sure to check Obie hadn't funneled any of that money and lined his own pockets with it.

It would only be too easy; he'd get a crew in to pack up his labs, send everything to an undisclosed location until he set up shop somewhere else. He could get on his private jet, grab Pepper, and they could just disappear while pulling the strings for Stark Industries behind the scenes.

Since he hadn't been formally charged with anything, SHIELD didn't have a foot to stand on. They couldn't even try and confiscate any of his tech (including the Iron Man suits), without having a search warrant; and his lawyers were piranhas in that area. A secret organization wasn't entirely above the law, especially when it meant coming toe-to-toe with Tony Stark.

He could do it too; it wasn't like he was a team player. Cap was the Avengers' fearless leader, and Nat and Clint were the perfect SHIELD lackeys; Bruce would always come back in some capacity, if only to be allowed the space that SHIELD clearly gave him in exchange for his participation in their boy-band. And Thor, well that was hard to pin down; especially if SHIELD finally executed Loki.

There it was again; that feeling hit him in the gut. It was the only thing that stopped him from running upstairs, and throwing as many pieces of clothing he could into a suitcase. It was the only thing that stopped him from yelling at Happy to pick up Pepper from work, and to meet him at the private jet. It was Loki that was holding him back.

He was compromised; the man who'd touted himself as a genius, and who took pride in helping others (despite being inherently selfish) had been compromised by a mass murderer. Loki had killed people, destroyed a good chunk of New York City; he had tried to take over the world. There wasn't any misunderstanding about that; and even while he knew all of this, Tony had fallen under his spell.

"Son of a bitch," the words fell out of his mouth before he could stop them.

"I think we need to have a talk," Pepper's voice cut through everything he'd been thinking, every desire to flee and hide like a common criminal; and god that tone was simmering with anger.

It took strength that Tony didn't even know he needed or had to turn around. He moved methodically on his feet, leaning against the table for the support he knew he'd need. Pepper was closer than he had expected her to be; she must have rushed from the office, because she was still business ready and had the severe expression on her face to match.

"Hey Pep," he grinned, but he knew it probably resembled more of a grimace.

"I just got a telephone call from Agent Hill of SHIELD," Pepper bypassed any greeting, which was never a good sign. "She wanted you to come in; she thought you'd like to explain why you had a war criminal hidden in your workshop for over two months."

His mouth went dry, coinciding with Pepper whipping around, and staring at the aquarium. There was no way to explain that away, not when there was clear evidence that he had contained someone in there. It didn't look like it had been habituated at all; Loki took up surprisingly little space for his stature, and he hadn't chosen to smear blood and other bodily fluids across the walls in protest.

"Did you remind her you aren't my personal assistant anymore, that you're actually the CEO of my-"

"Tony, what the hell have you done?!" Pepper yelled, her face turning red. "You had a vindictive god in this house for two months, and you didn't think you should tell anybody?! You didn't think you should tell me?!"

"He was contained in there, Pepper. He didn't do anybody any harm, unless you count my walking closet as a victim."

"Stop it, just stop it! Stop with your jokes and talk to me like a normal human being! Stop being the Tony Stark you ham up for the press!" Pepper stomped her foot, while her face contorted into such an angry look that she was almost unrecognizable.

The anger was justified; Tony understood why Pepper looked on the verge of clawing out his eyes. Things could have gone momentously wrong; Loki could have gotten out of his cell just as easily as he had from SHIELD headquarters, and he could have killed anyone in the house. Pepper, Happy, or even Rhodey could have fallen victim to a psychotic god of mischief. He had put them all at risk, and for what; the potential to study his magical signature?

Tony raked a hand through his hair, trying to take deep and steady breaths. It was never his style to wear his emotions on sleeve, unless it was saturated with sarcasm and dry humor. He had learned how to protect himself from a young age, considering the old man wasn't big on emotions, and well there wasn't any reason to let the world see what you were really feeling.

"Do you even understand how serious this is?! Do you even care for that matter?!"

"Of course I care!" He snapped, close to a yell actually. "But what should I have done? I found him bleeding out like a tortured animal in my trunk! Should I have sent him back to SHIELD for they could poke and prod him, and eventually kill him? Because that's what would have happened, and I don't know about you but I'm not really fond of the torture song and dance!"

"That's different Tony-"

"Torture is torture no matter who you are, Pepper! I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy, and if Loki's my worst then maybe you'd understand why I'd hide him here! Trust me, you don't understand what torture is until someone tries to break you!" He bellowed louder at a decibel that even hit his ears in the wrong way.

His heart pounded unpleasantly in his chest at the sudden realization on why he did hide Loki. He had wanted to study Loki for his magical principles; but the thing that made any of this possible wasn't the mess in his trunk, it was what SHIELD had done. They had tortured a war criminal like he was tortured; it was more than sexual attraction, more than all the daddy issues combined; it was about being tortured.

Pepper stared at him, frozen to the spot. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her; he never wanted that, and yet that was the only thing he was capable of doing. He almost killed her recently with worry over the whole nuke debacle; and he wasn't getting any better on protecting her from himself.

"I'm sorry," he managed to say.

"I didn't know," she started, diverting her eyes towards the cell. "I just thought…I don't know, that you were just being reckless. That maybe you were doing this to spit in Nick Fury's face; hold one over on him since he clearly couldn't keep a handle on Loki. But I didn't know that…that you saved him."

That hit the ear even worse than Tony's rant. He didn't save Loki; Loki saved himself. He'd only saved him from SHIELD's grasp temporarily; and even then he had inadvertently (or purposely actually) withheld Loki of both food and drink, out of some childish emotion.

He wasn't a hero. Iron Man hardly constituted as a hero; Cap made it well known that he wasn't going to be a hero as vigilantly and valiantly as the next guy. And that was okay; he could live with being a guy in a suit that averted crime from time to time, or even tossed a nuke into space. But he did a lot of that selfishly, if history hadn't already proved it.

"Pepper, do me a favor," he muttered, swiping his hands across the holographs that he'd been studying before her arrival. "Call Bill and let him know I'm in deep shit. I'm probably going to go up the river on this one, and I don't want SHIELD to get a hold of any of my tech. Bill will get it out of here; probably drop it off in the Swiss Alps or somewhere that SHIELD can't wiggle their way into.

"Stay here and watch the house like a hawk. Don't let Barton or Nat anywhere near here; hell, don't let Cap in even if he gives you the 'all shucks ma'am' bullshit. And call Rhodey just to let him know I'm screwed and well, I'm going to miss him."

It was futile to pretend like any visit to SHIELD headquarters would end nicely. Fury wasn't going to give him a slap to the wrist, or even give him a light prison sentence. This was serious and the window of his potential escape had officially closed; not because the jet wouldn't be ready, or even that Bill (his attorney) wouldn't be on-call, or even that Pepper would be unwilling. It was still about Loki.

Loki. Loki. Loki.

"No, you're going to stay right here. I'm calling Bill and you aren't going anywhere until he gets here." Pepper hurried over, grasping his upper arm. "And I'm going to call James, and he'll go with you too; but you are not going alone, Tony."

"Pepper, I fucked up," he sighed. "And I'm going to fix it somehow; just do what I told you to, and I'll handle the rest."

"But-"

"No buts; you're going to have to trust me on this. Trust Bill too."

"This isn't a case of slander or some sex scandal! This is on an entirely different level, Tony! This could send you away for a long time!"

"Virginia," Tony enunciated very slowly, with an edge of finality. "Do as I say. Listen to me; not as your fuck-up of a boyfriend but as your boss. Even if you technically outrank me; but listen to me to the T, and we'll figure everything out from there. Do you understand me?"

He reached out and cradled her cheeks between his hands, clearing his face of any emotions that might betray his words. This really wasn't his style; they both knew it too. He was going to get his ass handed to him, and probably be side-by-side with Loki in a magic containing cell. Maybe they'd be made to fight to the death for shits and giggles; and well, Loki was going to win that fight.

"You know that I love you, and if shit gets out of hand, I want you to get the hell out; for me."

"Tony,"

"Just say you love me,"

"But-"

"Say it,"

"I-I love you,"

"Good girl," he returned warmly, before pressing a kiss to her lips; and it didn't really surprise him that he felt lower than scum by doing it.

The kiss was brief, which was perfect since Jarvis chose (again) to speak at such a crucial point. He barely batted an eye at the announcement that Agent Phil Coulson was on the premises, and was there to escort him back to SHIELD headquarters. It was, of course, SHIELD's MO to think he might try to run from justice; it was stupid even to entertain the thought of fleeing to begin with, really.

Tony pecked her again, somehow managing to extract himself before things could escalate into a sob fest (which it probably would, and Pepper probably wouldn't be the one crying). But it wasn't any way easy to force himself to walk away and towards the stairs, away from the only person that loved him through thick and thin.

"Jarvis go into lockdown mode if anyone besides me or Pepper tries to access the systems," he breathed out heavily as he mounted the steps. "It's been a pleasure, by the way."

"The pleasure was all mine, sir,"

"Take care of DUM-E and Butterfingers for me, will you?"

"I shall maintain the household in your stead, sir,"

"That's what I wanted to hear," he smiled, before finally heading to the front door, and to face the music. What a bummer.

Chapter Text

This was a test; an attempt at psychological torture. The thick-paned glass was impenetrable, suppressed any flicker of magic (although the cuffs in which his hands were bound were sufficient enough), and faced an empty interrogation room much like the one he had been in previously.

There was a reason for this; Loki understood torture very well, and SHIELD executed every move that they made like a seasoned chess player, if not a grand master. Since Romanoff hadn't joined him for the past few hours within his newest holding cell, he suspected that SHIELD had taken up a new approach; and the truth revealed itself rather quickly.

The door on the opposite end of the room was thrown open, revealing the always-grim looking Nick Fury. He strode towards the window, hardly acknowledging Loki as he flipped a switch, and motioned for a mystery guest to join him.

Stark stepped into the room, in no way intimidated by his surroundings. He always carried himself as if he belonged anywhere that you placed him; and he wasn't shaken by the darkened room. At least he wasn't until his eyes darted towards the glass in which Loki leaned into. His mouth opened a fraction, perhaps speechless for the first time in his life.

"I thought you two would like to see one another again, since I did break up the fucking honeymoon," Fury explained with a sneer, while motioning between the two of them.

"Does that mean I get a conjugal visit?" Stark didn't miss a beat; he took a moment to recover, but he saved face far faster than Fury appeared to believe possible. "Since we didn't get to consummate the marriage, you know with how you swept my god of chaos off his feet and whisked him away and back here."

"Sit your ass down, Mr. Stark," Fury glowered, not in any mood for Stark's banter.

Stark followed direction, sitting at the chair presented to him which faced Loki. It was crystal-clear, Fury intended on using each of them as pawns against the other. Neither of them could win; unlike him and Thor, Loki hadn't a clue what Stark would say, or what could be running through his mind. He was truly an enigma.

Leaning further into the glass, Loki captured Stark's gaze but it was evident that he couldn't discern the message he wanted to convey. And Fury saw his intent; in fact, he had fooled him into believing he had actually fallen for his lie to begin with; if his expression didn't say it all.

Anger boiled very close to the surface; he had been fooled by a mortal. His words had been brittle and unconvincing as if his tongue had been tarnished and turned to lead. Nick Fury had all the cards in his possession, which surely meant both he and Stark would suffer the consequences.

"I wanted to get a statement from you," Fury sat across from Stark with his back to Loki. "You know to see if your stories coincide."

"Well, isn't that stupid," Stark retorted, smiling at Loki. "He's a pathological liar; so you can be damn sure that whatever comes out of his mouth won't match up with what I have to say. I mean, really you're dealing with a deity called the god of mischief, Nick."

That was a card which wouldn't have been effective in Loki's hand; but Stark could use that to his advantage. In the very least he could save himself from potential prosecution. Loki, on the other hand, was fated for unknown atrocities; he had reserved himself to an extended stay with Romanoff, if not Barton who undoubtedly had a bone to pick with him.

As far as he was concerned, it was far more imperative to have Stark walk away in one piece. Something deep inside of him continued to press that idea to the forefront of his mind; but he refused to heed it beyond the necessary. And the necessary result was to see Stark walk out of the interrogation without being put into custody.

"So his little tale about putting you under his control was all a lie?" Fury asked testily, which was the first misstep he made in his battle of wills.

Stark raised an eyebrow, his gaze shifting to Fury before it whipped back to penetrate Loki. It was intense and alert, perhaps understanding too; whatever it was, the emotion was powerful enough to cause Loki to step away from the glass. In fact, he wanted to hide away from those eyes that seemed to infiltrate every part of his body, insistent on piercing his core.

The intensity was too much; it was akin to when Thor turned to him with unshed tears in his eyes, when his voice quivered because Loki simply could not be bothered to listen to another declaration of brotherhood that never truly existed. The illusion was the only thing they had between them; and yet Thor could only respond with that gaze, the one pointed at him but right now it came from brown eyes.

"With all due respect, Nick, or not," Stark cleared his throat, opening his mouth to undoubtedly go into a long prattling explanation.

"Why bother to interrogate your man of iron?" Loki managed to speak and cut Stark off, although there was an odd inflection to his voice, an unfamiliar one. "I told you the truth, Director. I haven't any reason to protect him; in fact, I would love to kill him oh-so very slowly."

"So why wouldn't you implicate him? You could lie your damned mouth off about how this bastard willingly kept you as a house pet, but you chose to tell the truth? That is fucking suspicious if you ask me."

"In theory you are correct, Director," Loki narrowed his eyes, while stalking the length of the room. "However, I'm not foolish enough to believe that you would in any way believe me. Particularly when you sorely need Stark, and I don't think that is an exaggeration in the slightest either."

Fury let out an abrupt laugh, before he turned to face the glass; there was no denying the validity of his remark. Stark was crucial, if not entirely essential to SHIELD; not only was Stark apart of the Avengers, but he was also a leader on clean energy (which he heard was important) and a technological genius. He'd done his research while previously on Midgard, and clearly Stark was an asset that would be much too valuable to imprison (or so he hoped anyway).

"Furthermore, Director, why would Stark have any reason to keep me from you?" Loki pontificated, smiling in a way that suited his role as villain well. "Your goal is the same; I am a criminal who had killed many within my path, and I attempted to rule your world. Why would Stark have any use for me? What could he accomplish, when I wouldn't willingly help him in any way?"

"I liked you better when you were gagged," Fury snarled.

"That would make both of us," Stark returned, looking down at his hands which were spread across the table. "But let's be honest for a minute, Nick. Whatever I say he's going to say the opposite. Maybe you think one of us is going to break, and we're going to end up agreeing if you put the heat on us. But the fact of the matter is that it's not going to happen. So you have two choices – you can charge me with aiding and abetting or you can let me walk out of here scot-free."

Had Loki even allowed his mind to process the emotions he knew he was capable of, well he imagined he'd feel a slew of things, and none of which would be positive. His emotional palette was almost singular in its depth; he reserved his feelings to resentment, annoyance, and homicidal tendencies. In all likelihood, he should be annoyed by Stark and his need for self-preservation (even though that was the point behind all of this); but really, he couldn't allow himself to recognize disappointment, mayhap betrayal at how easily he switched sides.

He was alone as he always had been.

Slowly he turned his back to the interrogation room, reveled in that thought until he heard the racket of a chair being pushed backwards. He could tell it was Fury; the man carried himself with heavy steps, as if he was weighed down by an unknown burden, and in some ways Loki could relate.

"You have a point, Mr. Stark," Fury said, but far more calmly than he had sounded previously. "Just remember this – your ass was saved by a psychopathic son of a bitch. Because if we didn't need you, which we obviously do, then I wouldn't have any problem throwing your ass in prison, and basking in fact that you'd be living in subpar conditions instead of your mansion or penthouse suite."

"Club Fed isn't for me, Nick," Stark laughed, although it sounded odd.

"Get the hell off my base, Stark," Fury returned. "And get a good look at your little friend, because this'll be the last time you see one another."

The implication was crystal-clear; Loki hadn't expected anything other than that. SHIELD was going to execute him, but there was always a silver lining to everything (which he knew would reveal itself after his death). He peered over his shoulder and caught Stark's eye; the intensity that had been there was gone, replaced with something stormy and dark but the fight was gone.

"I hope my execution is soon, Director," he tilted his head, enough to crack his neck. "It would be a bother to wait for the inevitable; and Hel beckons me."

Stark opened his mouth again, but no sound came out. Or at least he couldn't hear it; Fury flipped the switch that he had turned on when he entered the interrogation room, and cut off the sound. That piqued his curiosity enough to fully turn around again, as Stark rose from his seated position and motioned towards the glass wildly.

Every vein in Stark's neck started to pop underneath his skin, in the exertion of what could only be described as yelling. He and Fury both began to motion with dramatic sweeps of their arms, and fists pounding against the tabletop, and fingers wagging; but their words were lost to Loki, and he hadn't a talent in lip-reading to even try and discern anything beyond the obvious. They were fighting over him.

The argument progressed with Stark kicking over his chair, and pointing an accusing finger at Fury who had the good grace to only shrug in response. However, that only seemed to infuriate Stark even more who slammed a fist into an adjourning wall and punched a hole straight through the stucco, before walking out of the interrogation room without any hindrance whatsoever.

Fury didn't follow after him, but he did turn to stare at Loki. A grim smile was on his lips; there wasn't any satisfaction on what just transpired between him and Stark, even if they couldn't stand one another. Of course, having SHIELD against Iron Man and vice-versa would only lead to ruin; and the seed of distrust had already been sewn on top of that.

"I know," Fury mouthed it, enunciating it for Loki wouldn't be mistaken, before he too left the interrogation room in the dramatic fashion in which he first entered.

That uncomfortable, heavy feeling that he had felt earlier on grasped him. Fury was far more observant and intelligent than what he gave him credit for. It was easy for him to disregard him for being only mortal, and he supposed that led to many of his missteps in both his invasion and subjugation of Midgard. He underestimated them.

He had sorely underestimated the Avengers, and he had done so again but this time with Fury. Fury knew and that was all that needed to be said. He knew.

Chapter Text

Lady Sif marched determinedly along the Bifrost, choosing to leave her companions several paces behind as they dawdled and openly complained about having to meet with Heimdall. Volstagg and Fandral bemoaned being called upon, while Hogun remained as silent as he normally was; but he too wasn't looking forward to any mission that the gatekeeper might send them upon.

It had only been two days prior that they returned from a long hunting expedition, if only to take Thor's mind off of the inevitable fate of his brother. But much of the hunt was saturated with melancholy; Thor was not his normal jovial self, and instead lamented on how Loki could have helped the hunt of wild boar with his trickery and intelligence.

No one had chosen to point out that it had been centuries since Loki had joined them on a hunt; and the last (and only time) Loki had joined them hadn't gone as planned. Loki had chosen to pull an elaborate prank of sorts and stole much of their preserves and weaponry, which had ultimately led to Fandral receiving several broken bones after encountering an enraged bear.

"Hurry, you lot," Sif called over her shoulder. "It won't do us any favors to make Heimdall wait."

"What possibly could Heimdall want with us?" Fandral retorted, fastening his pace until they were side-by-side. "This could only be marred in unfortunate news. After all, why didn't he call upon Thor as well?"

"That isn't for you to question," Sif spat, leveling her companion with a narrow-eyed look. "But if you must question it, wouldn't you recognize the obvious? Thor must rule Asgard in the All-Father's stead, until such time as Odin-sleep has passed."

"Even so, this can only be a task that neither you nor I would want any part of," Fandral motioned towards Heimdall's observatory on the horizon. "Come now, Lady Sif; we aren't privy to take direction from Heimdall."

"You'd do well to hold your tongue, Fandral the Dashing,"

"You wound me so with your venomous tongue, Lady Sif," Fandral placed a hand over his heart, but didn't the press matter anymore than necessary.

They strode with renewed vigor, Hogun at their heels and Volstagg falling farther behind, until they reached the newly restored observatory. The Bifrost was still in ruins, although many magic-wielders had attempted to restore it to its previous glory but to no avail. Many had murmured that Loki might be the only one with the knowledge to fix the bridge, however no one chose to involve the trickster god in any way.

Heimdall stood in the golden spherical cover of the observatory; it wasn't as grand as his previous dwelling nor was it placed in its proper location. It had been speedily restored, if only to have a resting place for Heimdall while he studied the cosmos and the nine realms.

"Heimdall, you've called upon us?" Sif asked, stopping short of entering the observatory.

The gatekeeper turned his gaze from the skies, and pinned their group with his golden stare. Fandral stiffened visibly underneath the attention, but chose to keep his previous opinions to himself. Volstagg was in the midst of catching his breath, no doubt doubled over in his attempts; but Sif and Hogun met Heimdall's stare without flinching.

"I called upon you, Lady Sif and the Warriors Three, because there is a pressing task that I can only entrust to you," Heimdall spoke carefully, as if the task was indeed as unpleasant as Fandral foretold it to be. "But this must remain between only us, and shan't reach the ears of the prince."

Sif exchanged a look with Fandral, who in turn rolled his eyes as if to say – I told you so. Heimdall rarely, if ever, called on them for any reason; but the seriousness of his tone seemed to indicate that it was beyond any request that they'd been faced with beforehand. And to blatantly leave Thor in the dark about the matter, clearly spoke volumes.

However, that didn't deter Sif's resolve; she was never known to back away from a challenge, and more importantly one given to her by someone of such high regard. Even if the Warriors Three chose to decline the offer, she would not.

"How may we be of service to you, Heimdall?" Sif asked, squaring her shoulders.

"While you were absent on your hunt, and the All-Father had succumbed to Odin-sleep, several men of the court had taken custody of Loki." The gatekeeper conveyed in a monotone. "They tossed him from the Bifrost, and after some time he landed, unfortunately, back upon Midgard."

Heimdall's words echoed off the observatory's gold-plated walls, and drew a collective noise of surprise from the group. None of them had any fond feelings towards Loki; in fact they had all been wronged one way or another by him. Much of the time, they held their tongues while in Thor's presence; but no one had mourned Loki's fall and his eventual imprisonment.

"Good riddance," Volstagg declared suddenly in a raspy voice. "Imprisonment was far too kind of a sentence for a snake like him! May the mortals have their way with him; a proper punishment indeed!"

"I mirror his thoughts, dearest Heimdall," Fandral smiled. "With Loki's death, our Thor can finally heal and come to terms with what an unfortunate creature he called brother for so long."

"I see a broken heart has made you bitter, Fandral," Heimdall returned with a razor-sharp edge, which was almost nonchalant in the same breath.

"That was centuries ago," Fandral's smile crumbled into a sneer. "And what do you suggest of us? We cannot possibly return to Midgard with the state of the Bifrost, and certainly the All-Father wouldn't authorize our use of that cube Loki had tried to claim while he was amongst the mortals."

"You know of another way," Sif supplied. "Mayhap you found one of the ways in which the liesmith had traveled unseen to your eye beforehand."

Heimdall nodded with a jerk of his head, although his expression remained untouched. There were a variety of questions that Sif wanted to ask about why they should fetch Loki from Midgard. She agreed with her companions whole-heartedly that he should be left to the victims of his chaos, since imprisonment could only last so long.

The All-Father would eventually crumble; Loki was still a prince of Asgard, despite his evildoing, and he would be freed within a century or so (if not less). But the Midgardians wouldn't be swayed by relation and the sweet words that even drew her in from time to time. They would want his blood, if they hadn't already drained him beyond saving.

"The little prince is in the custody of men who will end his life," Heimdall began, returning his eyes to the cosmos. "I must admit I made a bargain with him; I preserved his life, only for the All-Father could have it in the end."

"Do you mean to say the All-Father's intent was not to keep Loki imprisoned?" Fandral took a step forward. "Rather he intended to sentence him to death?"

"Therefore we are to go to Midgard and retrieve Loki for execution?" Sif almost laughed, if only from the surprise in which she felt.

Execution had seemed improbable; sentiment had a way of blinding people, even someone of ultimate power such as Odin. But perhaps the offense was far too large to overlook; the citizens of Asgard clearly had had enough, and took matters into their own hands despite the potential consequences for such a reckless decision.

A cold chill ran down her spine; she had always loathed Loki for a variety of reasons. Her once golden hair had been cut for his own mischievous ways, if only to cause her to suffer for unknown reasons. And yet some part of her felt sadness so great, that she could only look to Fandral for some direction.

The expression on Fandral's features was well-masked; he smiled carefree, before raising an inquisitive brow as if to say that this was unsurprising. But it didn't stop Sif from grabbing his forearm in a tight vice-like grip, if he chose to do something uncalled for.

"Where will we find him?" Sif asked, while ignoring the look Fandral shot her.

"He is in a remote location, which will prove to be hard to infiltrate," Heimdall said. "However, there is a mortal, a friend of Thor's that will undoubtedly assist you in taking custody of Loki."

"And why would a mortal help us, friend of Thor or not?" Hogun finally spoke, vocalizing a question that all of them wanted to know.

The mortals had every reason to want Loki dead; he had caused irreversible damage, and slaughtered innocents out of insanity that had always masqueraded itself as harmless. No one had thought Loki capable of such mayhem; but the wildness in his eyes, as he was returned to Asgard had spoken volumes of the changes in which he had undergone whilst in the abyss.

It proved to be much easier to forget the merrier times; for the times between them hadn't been all that bad. They had fought side-by-side, and Loki had saved their lives many times as Thor had; Sif could recall being saved by Loki's dagger in Jotunheim not so long ago.

"It is not for me to say," Heimdall turned to look at them again. "I shall direct you to the tear in which Loki oftentimes used in his travels, which will take you to Midgard. Once you are there, seek out a mortal named Anthony Stark, the man of iron."

"The man of iron, wasn't he one of the mortals that fought alongside Thor against Loki?" Fandral squawked in surprise.

"The same,"

"Heimdall, certainly you can see why this makes no sense whatsoever! The man of iron would want Loki's blood more fervently than the rest!"

"Very little of this makes sense, Heimdall," Sif agreed, keeping a hold of Fandral still. "A brother in arms would be opposed to allowing an enemy once more to be taken from their custody. May he be fond of Thor or not is irrelevant."

Silence befell the observatory again, but there was much to consider. The thought that any mortal would help them was ludicrous, but to have one of Midgard's warriors help them was beyond the scope of rhyme or reason.

"Questioning fact will only confuse you further," Heimdall uttered, his golden eyes narrowing in what might very well be annoyance. "My question to you instead, is that are you willing to travel to Midgard and return Loki for proper judgment in front of the All-Father?"

"The response is clearly yes! Aye, we shall if only to prove our allegiance to the All-Father!" Fandral snapped bad-temperedly, freeing himself of Sif's grip. "Now direct us, so we shall leave in haste and without Thor becoming none the wiser!"

It was only once they were given the location of the tear, one obscured in a thicket miles away that they left the observatory. Sif hurried alongside the Warriors Three, who had reserved themselves to silence, unlike when they were first summoned to Heimdall.

An uncomfortable feeling radiated about them; none of them wanting to speak of any attachment in which they had to Loki, and how some affections hadn't truly been severed despite all the trickery and madness that ensued over the throne.

"Be strong my friend," Volstagg suddenly broke the quiet, as they stepped away from the Bifrost.

"Why haven't you a turkey leg in your mouth, that way it would silence any insufferable words that you might say?" Fandral snarled viciously, turning around to the group with a horrid look. "Loki is no comrade of mine, nor is he yours. Therefore you shall be smart to leave sentiment behind!"

"And yet your sentiment fuels you so, Fandral," Sif retorted just as viciously. "In which case you shall do yourself quite the service by keeping your temper; and I shall lead until you have controlled whichever demon has possessed you from the past."

They exchanged an unpleasant stare, but Fandral only motioned for her to take the lead. She knew that she would have to keep their party together once they hit Midgard; because at least she could grasp desperately to the many wrongdoings that she suffered at the hands of Loki, in comparison to the rest.

At least she hadn't been conversational intellects with him, hadn't relished in his magical ability to prepare food, and hadn't rendezvoused with the god of mischief for almost half a century. She wasn't as compromised as they were.

Chapter Text

Tony liked to think he was a member of every exclusive club that mattered. The Stark name had clout and people generally bent over backwards to please him. But to be frank, he was relieved that he didn't have to join Club Fed; in fact, it was strangely easy to get away with harboring a crazed Norse god whose main ambition was world domination.

Even when he'd taken his anger out on a wall, Fury hadn't even bothered to reprimand him; he'd let him waltz right out of SHIELD headquarters, and didn't even send Coulson to tail him just in case he tried to return the hack job on their systems; which, in a way was slightly more disturbing than having a full-time babysitter.

It was an uneasy feeling that shadowed him all the way home, straight into Pepper's wet embrace and run-on sentences and sentimental gasps, and directly into the still assembled workshop (which he had to thank his attorney for, since he waited until the verdict had been read before sending his shit to Istanbul). It lingered still as he started to dismantle the useless holding cell; there wasn't any reason to keep it now that his prisoner had been handed over to SHIELD anyway.

Then again that was something he didn't want to actively thing about; considering he had taken the path of self-preservation in a matter of minutes. Some hero he was; but he also had to recognize the facts for what they were. Regardless of how he felt personally, Loki deserved to be imprisoned, tortured, or even executed for what he'd done months ago. He had declared war on Earth for some convoluted reason that Tony still didn't understand entirely.

SHIELD had a right to the god of mischief; and well, they wanted to keep Iron Man out of the pen (may it be for their own selfish reasons or not). So technically things worked out for the best; of course there would be trust issues (more so than usual) between Tony and SHIELD, but that was to be expected.

But the problem lay in something entirely personal now. He caught sight of his own reflection as he disassembled part of the glass wall, and felt something inside of himself snap. Or maybe it was just reinforced those self-loathing emotions that he thought he'd buried in the back of his mind. Because really wouldn't the most narcissistic big-mouth on planet Earth, have to secretly hate himself with every fiber of his being?

He furrowed his brow, almost tossing the glass pane to the ground. Leave it to Loki to bring out the worst in him in any scenario; and just when he started to like himself a bit more than he usually did. Not to mention the bastard attempted to fuck with his head in the terms of his sexuality on top of that.

"My apologies for interrupting you, sir; but there are several intruders on the property. Miss Potts is on her way-"

"Tony," Pepper called out, clearly panicked, as she ran down the stairwell. "There's this group of people at the front door, and they're dressed in all this armor like a bunch of-"

"Vikings, I'm assuming," Tony paused, feeling a weird flip-flop in his stomach.

Pepper only nodded once she was on level ground again, although the fear was evident in her eyes. He'd been able to shield her from some of the stranger elements when it came to the Avengers initiative; she hadn't been introduced to the likes of Thor, and she hadn't gotten acquainted with their previous houseguest either and for a damned good reason. So being bombarded by a gaggle of intergalactic Vikings wasn't an everyday occurrence, even when you were Tony Stark's number one squeeze.

"Pepper stay here," he set down the drill he'd been using on the nearby workbench, and took in a heavy breath that did nothing for his nerves. "If things get messy, you know what to do."

"I can't let you go up there unprotected! They might want revenge for Loki!"

"Trust me on this, not many people in S&M heaven were big on Loki. He was apparently a bigger dick to them than he was to us; so I figure they might want to present me with a huge battle ax in thanks." He tried to smile, but the odds of that having the desired results was probably zilch.

"I'm calling SHIELD,"

"Jarvis don't let her call SHIELD,"

"Jarvis,"

"Don't listen to your stepmother,"

"My apologies, Miss Potts; sir has instructed me not to telephone SHIELD. I am privy to do as he commands." Jarvis returned, sounding as close to apologetic as a machine could.

Before Pepper could argue any further, Tony was quick to head upstairs. The sound of the door being assaulted by his alien guests was extraordinarily loud. He was actually surprised that the door hadn't been thrown off its hinges by the sheer force; not to mention the whole house seemed to shake from the fist on the other end of the door.

Tony cautiously climbed the stairs, peering around the first-floor just in case this was a sneak attack; although he suspected Jarvis would have informed him of it. Unless, of course, Jarvis only enjoyed ruining his life when it came to finally getting what he wanted (and what he had wanted, at the time, had been Loki).

The knocking persisted, accompanied by a cacophony of sounds that very well could be yells. It was almost reminiscent of the villagers, taking to Dr. Frankenstein's castle; and well if that metaphor didn't make him feel all warm and fuzzy.

Once he was on the other side of the door, Tony grabbed the knob and struggled to keep a hold of it. The vibrations were shockingly violent, and made his teeth chatter; but he somehow managed to flip the lock and yank it open to reveal just what Pepper had described to him – a group of people dressed in armor, and boy if they didn't give him a height complex.

The motley crew consisted of three men (one bigger in both height and girth, and probably the one responsible for the indentation in the door) and a woman who would have been beautiful if she wasn't scowling like someone pissed in her tea.

"Why hello there," Tony deadpanned, easing open the door a bit more for he could observe just who was on his doorstep. "I think you just abused my door beyond what was necessary. I mean you could have used the doorbell."

The woman only looked angrier, but the whole group didn't look any better. The Robin Hood lookalike appeared as if he wanted nothing more than to rip off her head; Bruce Lee looked both broody and nonchalant; whereas Fatty Arbuckle just looked miserable, probably because he wasn't stuffing his face.

"You must be the man of iron," the woman said in the same Shakespearean speak that must have come with the armor. "I am Lady Sif and these are my comrades, the Warriors Three; we have been sent here on an important task by Heimdall, the gatekeeper."

At least one thing registered to Tony out of her little speech; Loki had been calling for that Heimdall character, and after a brief stint with Wikipedia, he'd found out that Heimdall was the god who kept watch for the on-set Ragnarök. But really he'd gotten bored after reading the first paragraph, so his knowledge was limited.

"For one, I don't go by man of iron," Tony's gaze flickered across the group. "It's Iron Man; and two I don't know what this important task is, but if it involves a crazy-ass god named Loki, well he checked-out of Casa de Stark yesterday."

"I do not understand your jesting," the woman, Lady Sif or whatever, sneered. "But it is crucial that we find the liesmith immediately."

"Good luck with that sweetheart. SHIELD has him now and trust me; they aren't going to hand him over again after you let him escape."

"Loki did not escape," Robin Hood said tersely, holding up an arm to keep Sif from stepping forward. "He was taken from his cell by an angry mob, and they chose to toss him from the Bifrost. So it would prove you well to hold your tongue."

Tony hadn't bothered to question Loki on how he ended up on Earth again, and well it was hard to do any talking with how violently they fought one another when they were first thrown together. But it really didn't surprise him either that an angry mob threw Loki out like a piece of Microsoft software.

The group stared at him in a mixture of hostility and expectancy, clearly wanting him to bow down to their demands and lead the cavalry to SHIELD headquarters; the same place that he narrowly escaped with his freedom intact earlier that day.

"Sorry, but this isn't my problem," he said slowly, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "I guess Thor didn't tell you about me, but well Loki and I aren't on the best of terms. He kind of threw me out a window and destroyed my house."

"However can you be the man in whom Thor speaks so highly of?" Sif snarled pressing farther into Robin Hood's outstretched arm. "He praised your warrior's heart and sang of your courage; and yet you will not assist fellow brothers in arms?"

"Honey, you are no brother in arms," Tony swiped his eyes over her lecherously. "And for your information I am not a warrior. I'm a man of science; I just happen to don a suit, and I just happened to save the world. But I'm not a warrior and I'm not a soldier; I don't come from an archaic society, where I have to honor Thor by taking your asses to find his bat-shit crazy brother."

"How dare you," Sif spat, and boy did she look angry.

That would have been almost amusing had Tony been in the mood for it. But anything that was directly connected to Loki was a headache in the making. It also had a way of making him reflect on his cowardly attempt to save his own hide from SHIELD; and even though he did yell at Fury and throw a colossal hissy-fit, he still hadn't protected Loki like he intended to.

And now another opportunity presented itself; the angry Viking gang was on his doorstep, asking for assistance on saving Loki. They wanted to take him back to Asgard, far away from whatever torture SHIELD wanted to subject him to, and the inevitable execution that was just around the corner. They could actually do what Tony couldn't; they could save that infuriating bastard once and for all.

"We understand that you are a victim of the liesmith's chaos," Bruce Lee suddenly spoke in accented English that deviated from the others. "And revenge is your right; but he is still of Asgard."

There was a quiet sincerity to Bruce Lee's voice, one that was almost relatable compared to Sif's squawking and Robin Hood's snotty ass snark. He always knew Asgard had a peculiar sense of loyalty from spending time with Thor; but he never knew it would accumulate into a rescue mission.

He hesitated to slam the door in their faces, maybe call out the hounds (which he didn't even have, but damn he really wanted some now), and studied each of them. There seemed to be a conflict of interest between them; none seemed to have any love for Loki, although there might have been some sexual tension between lady warrior and everyone's favorite trickster. Tony could relate; he wanted to rip someone's head off too.

"You know I'll be wading in shit if I help you guys," he let out an exasperated noise, and pulling his hands out of his pockets. "I don't mean a slap on the wrist either. I mean I'll be thrown in prison and protecting my ass like it was the fucking ring to rule them all."

"What ring does he speak of?" Fatty Arbuckle whispered, although his definition of whisper was on the same lines as Thor's.

"What I'm saying is that helping you could ruin my life," Tony waved his hands dismissively at the confused looks the intergalactic gang was giving him. "SHIELD doesn't take too kindly to their allies leading rescue missions to save war criminals; and I would be really fucking stupid to agree to it, warrior's heart or not."

Robin Hood muttered something under his breath, definitely not in English; and well, look at that – he too seemed to be wearing a sexually frustrated mask. Maybe the whole gang consisted of Loki's horny suitors, no pun intended, and it just so happened that they stumbled upon their genius (or idiot) leader.

Despite his better judgment, Tony knew he couldn't say no. There had been a point when he was driving home from SHIELD headquarters, and had plotted a convoluted rescue plan. None of it had made much sense, coupled with the fact any sort of computer hacking would take more than a few hours to accomplish, particularly now that Fury would be on the lookout for retaliation.

By the time Tony actually orchestrated his flawless plan; Loki would have probably been killed twenty different ways, and buried just as many times. So really the sophisticated and intelligent route would only be too time consuming, whereas storming the castle with hardened Viking warriors was fast and probably effective. Even SHIELD couldn't foresee that happening; not to mention, Tony could breeze through their security systems (or in the very least disable them temporarily), which would boost their success rate exponentially.

"This is just going to end badly for me," Tony scowled. "But you only live once, and if I'm going to be in suspicion of committing crime, well I'm going to do it fucking right. So here's the plan – we're going to pile into my chariot and we're going to blow the fucking roof off the place and party it up like it's Ragnarök."

Chapter Text

Tony wasn't particularly fond of hummers anymore, not after Afghanistan. They reminded him far too much of the fun-vee; they were way too boxy, militaristic, and could easily fit half a dozen people in them. But for all intent and purposes, his hummer was carrying four very boisterous deities, one of whom could have easily weighed a ton (if his previous experience with gods and their weight was anything to go by).

They rode in relative silence, which made Tony even antsier than he was to begin with. Not many people would have the gall to attempt to infiltrate SHIELD headquarters; especially their west-coast headquarters that were located in desolate desert country, and half an hour from civilization. That was just asking for trouble, even if he was far more brilliant and infinitely brighter than all of SHIELD's agents combined.

But at least there was a plan; it was a bit archaic for Tony's taste but it was a plan nonetheless. Jarvis was in the midst of hacking into SHIELD's main-frame, and already begun to close down many of the security systems; so by the time they arrived, it would be only a matter of storming the castle, and rescuing the princess.

That would be a piece of cake; he intended on leaving the storming to the Viking folk, and well he would wait in the getaway vehicle. Although that wouldn't make him any less culpable for what would inevitably occur amid their rescue mission; he feared (and for good reason) that they'd use brute force to gain access to Loki.

"How's it going Jarvis?" He asked, while tapping his fingers nervously against the steering wheel; he could see SHIELD's headquarters on the horizon already.

"Quite well indeed, sir," Jarvis replied primly. "In fact you will be happy to hear that Director Fury, Agent Coulson, and Agent Hill have retired for the evening."

"What about Romanoff?"

"Absent as well,"

"Now that leaves locating our missing princess, mind doing that for me?" Tony sneaked a peek in the rearview mirror, and tried not to grin at the befuddled looks on the gods' faces.

"It'll be my pleasure, sir,"

"That's Jarvis," he said conversationally, even though he was anything but. "Don't worry; he isn't some wood nymph or tiny sorcerer who lives in the console. I made him, so he's pretty loyal. Then again sometimes technology can backfire and turn against you."

As was to be expected, none of his new buddies grasped the concept of his technology. They exchanged looks of confusion, although Lady Bitchiness looked even more indignant than she had when he directed her in the back of the hummer with her pals. But now he regretted that decision, especially if she got angry enough to use that spear against him; and he didn't need any other holes in his head other than the ones he came with at birth.

Redirecting his eyes back to the dirt road ahead of him, Tony let out a heavy sigh. SHIELD headquarters was only a football field away now, which did little for the building anxiety he was feeling. The lack of cover would be a disadvantage, especially if SHIELD decided to dispatch a few helicopters to recover that pain in the ass of a god.

"Well, we might as well have our little pow-wow right now and talk about the plan," Tony clicked his tongue, looking again at the unpleasant group in the back. "My AI is in the middle of shutting off all the security systems in the building, and trying to locate our favorite fucking person. Once Jarvis pinpoints his location, well you guys can go crazy; storm the castle, sweep Loki off his feet, and get back to the hummer pronto. But kindly, you know, keep your war-mongering ways to a minimum. Murder is a no-no in this neck of the woods."

"Blood shed is inevitable, man of iron," Robin Hood scoffed with a bitter smile on his face.

"No, it isn't an inevitability my friend," Tony pointed at him via the rearview mirror. "Maybe you come from a society where you swing your sword and ask questions later, but that isn't how it works here. You can subdue someone without cutting off their head; and trust me; I'm going out on a limb for you guys so I'd appreciate it if you could restrain yourself for once."

"Then you shall be escorting us," Lady Bitchiness stated rather than asked.

"No, hell no,"

"My rapier will guide us well, Lady Sif," Robin Hood chuckled, as if murder was that matter-of-fact to him.

It took all Tony's restraint not to throw the hummer into reverse; Loki really wasn't that important to him anyway. Just because a super-villain gave you a hand job, didn't mean you had to lead a whole damned rescue mission in his name. And to be perfectly frank, he'd had better; Loki was probably way too prissy to do anything that could make his toes curl, and would justify all this hub-bub over him anyhow.

But actions really did speak louder than words (or in his case thoughts); because he didn't put the hummer into reverse, and he didn't ask Jarvis to telephone whoever was on the night-shift at SHIELD, and tell them about the hostile aliens in his backseat. No, he just kept driving along the well-worn dirt road that slowly turned into pavement, and led to the security checkpoint.

The booth was abandoned for the evening; apparently SHIELD felt secure enough that they didn't need a security guard twenty-four seven. Instead there was a slot for a keycard, which would give authorized personnel access inside; Tony had a keycard but with limited access to anything, and it wasn't like he carried it around like Captain Boy Scout.

"Jarvis," he said simply, which garnished the results that he wanted.

The partition slowly rose and allowed him entrance into the underground parking garage, a place that he'd gotten too familiar for his own liking. Very few vehicles were in the garage, suggesting the base was almost entirely vacant which would serve their purposes well; and might very well save human life on top of it.

"Sir, I've located Mr. Laufeyson,"

"Bring up the coordinates," Tony reached for the console, as he steered the hummer towards the door. "And how many people are in the building right now?"

The console flickered to life, detailing the building's coordinates; in the middle of the building's layout flashed a bright red dot, which only could be Loki. Of course, Fury would move their captive into the middle of the building, flanked by an impressive number of smaller green dots that could only represent SHIELD agents.

He whistled lowly, parking the hummer behind a number of non-descriptive black cars. Getting past that many agents would definitely be a pain in the ass, and he figured all of them would be dead if he left the natives unattended to. It really wasn't his style to get his hands dirty, especially if he could avoid it at all costs; but it wouldn't do him any favors to let people be slaughtered in the name of Viking justice (or whatever their reason for wanting Loki was).

"There are approximately forty-three SHIELD operatives in the premises, sir; four of which are in the bunkers on the upper-most level of the building."

"Transfer the coordinates to my phone, I'm going in,"

"Shall you be taking a more active role in Mr. Laufeyson's rescue, sir?"

"Someone has to lead the cavalry, peacefully," he eyed the natives again, before reversing the hummer and parking it to face the way they came; the faster they got in and out, the better. "Let's get going then; don't want to let your crowned princess suffer any more than he already has."

The silent one, Bruce Lee, managed to open the door without any trouble, and stepped out followed by Robin Hood and Lady Bitchiness. Tony climbed out of the driver side and pocketed his keys, before rounding the hummer and letting Fatty Arbuckle out from the back.

The hummer lurched as the oversized ginger climbed out, already breathing heavily from such a small amount of physical activity. Maybe he'd be better off left behind, but Tony wasn't about to suggest it; he was already on thin ice with them now.

"So man of iron, you shall lead us after all?" Robin Hood smiled again, but in that condescending way that only Tony himself could pull off when talking tech and science with the masses.

"Just call me substitute Thor," he mockingly bowed, pulling up the coordinates on his Stark phone. "But standing around here isn't going to get your boyfriend back. So let's get going, chop-chop."

There was no denying the spark of indignation that flared up in Robin Hood; but what Tony hadn't expected was that he'd feel a growing knot in his stomach. He managed to dismiss it as nerves about infiltrating the building though; it made sense, of course it did.

Pushing those strange and uncomfortable thoughts from his mind, Tony led the natives to the door that lay parallel to the main entrance. He eased the door open, eyeing the brightly lit corridor, and referring to his phone. The closest SHIELD operative was further into the building, seemingly working in one of the laboratories that were off-limits to him. He knew, he tried to get into one of the labs, and was tongue lashed by Fury for what felt like hours.

"Just follow me," he whispered, despite no one being nearby. "Big guy, take up the rear. And you guys can flank me; you know just in case someone gets trigger happy, and tries to rearrange my face."

Wordlessly the group followed his orders, although none of them looked thrilled to be taking orders from a petty little mortal. Tony led them into the corridor, trying to minimize the echo of his footfall, which was pointless when he was being followed by thousand year old warriors who wanted to be heard.

They strode along the empty corridors for what felt like hours; every second felt more like an hour, and every small and insignificant noise made Tony jump out of his skin. But there wasn't much activity in the front of the building; they had gotten past the lab with a SHIELD agent in it, without drawing the agent out, and managed to avoid any unnecessary interaction so far.

As they drew nearer to the epicenter of the building, those bright green dots flashed forebodingly on Tony's Stark phone. There was two agents meandering around the corner; he could hear their voices in low murmurs, and caught a few words intermingled with exasperated laughter. They were talking about Loki, he could tell, especially with the visible tension that ran through his cohorts.

He raised his arm, in hopes of deterring them from running ahead with weapons drawn. But that didn't dissuade either of Robin Hood or Bruce Lee from taking the lead, confidentially walking around the corner despite Tony hissing at them to come back. In all reality, it was a pipe dream to believe that any of them would follow his lead; he wasn't Thor, not even Loki.

"You haven't any reason to fret," Lady Bitchiness spoke, a tiny smirk on her lips. "Despite your reservations of our skills, we are not simply wielders of swords. Intelligence comes with war, man of iron."

The hushed voices of the SHIELD operatives raised an octave, but were quickly silenced by a clatter of armor on armor. Dead weight hitting the linoleum floor followed, which made Tony cringe. He didn't know what to expect when he looked around the corner; he figured Bruce Lee went ninja style on the overworked, poorly paid agents. Thankfully, both agents were only limply strewn on the ground, no visible injuries on their bodies.

Robin Hood flicked his wrist, bidding them over. Tony felt a flash of annoyance at that, although he didn't have any time for that. He hurried around the corner, checking his phone again, and hurrying further into the building.

The presence of other agents began to increase; they didn't meet any others until they skidded to a halt close-by to where Loki was being held. Bulky and well-armed guards stood three men thick at the heavily enforced door. There wasn't any of the good natured guys he'd run into previously, when he'd made those wisecracks at Hill. No, these guys were professional ass-kickers and potential murderers.

"Jarvis," he whispered against his phone. "Disable all the security in Loki's cell; anything haphazard, shut it off."

"Mr. Laufeyson appears to be in good health from my readings, sir,"

"Glad to know they didn't go gung-ho on him once they got him back," he breathed heavily, turning to look at the group. "Okay, we have a lot of security outside of the cell. And from what I see, there's even more inside the room. If you guys can pull off the beautiful knock-out moves you did back there, well we won't have a problem."

Robin Hood craned his neck, glimpsing around the corner, and gave Tony a speculative and demeaning look. That definitely wasn't promising, especially by the way he started to finger the rapier strapped to his side.

"The likelihood that we can do that against so many men, twelve by my estimation-"

"Fourteen actually-"

"Is an impossibility," Robin Hood scowled at the interruption. "We will have to use brute force."

"Listen, let me just waltz over there and convince our pals we come in peace,"

"I trust Fandral's observations," Lady Bitchiness said seriously, raising her spear. "Stand back, man of iron. Your hands will not be stained by the blood of your fellows."

Tony didn't want any killing on his watch; but the likelihood that they'd get away without someone ending up dead was slim. Even with that knowledge, he didn't want any part of it; not over Loki especially.

"Do not attempt to dissuade us," Robin Hood unsheathed his rapier, jerking his head for the others to follow after him. "Words will not gain us access to the liesmith; in fact your strategy will only leave us vulnerable to an on-slate of further attacks."

"That doesn't mean you can just kill people," Tony insisted fervently, waving his hands. "There has to be a better way. There is always a more intelligent way."

"Then stay behind and use that intellect for good," Lady Bitchiness returned, no longer hesitating to go head-first into the fray.

The natives hurried towards the army of guards, wielding their weapons with clear intent. Tony couldn't watch, and it would prove impossible to stop a fucking god without the suit. He should have at least suited up, instead of blindly going along with some half-baked plan. This wasn't like him, to use his brain in hindsight; he was beginning to suspect that he was purposely sabotaging himself and it was because of Loki.

The sound of the inevitable collision of warrior and guard resonated loudly off the walls. Gunfire started almost immediately and made Tony slump to the ground, before peering around the corner. The oversized ginger was grappling with two of the guards, easily disarming them, before hoisting both into headlocks that left their legs dangling and struggling to breathe.

Robin Hood was slashing through the crowd with precision that was pretty damn admirable; then again there was blood gushing from someone, although its origins were questionable. Bruce Lee and Lady Bitchiness were just as lucid and precise as their fearless leader, drawing blood as they swung their respected weapons.

"Man of iron," Lady Bitchiness yelled to him, seemingly catching sight of him cowering on the floor. "You must release Loki now!"

It was only then Tony realized the door behind the chaos had opened, and over a dozen more guards filed out to join the skirmish. Gunfire erupted once again, bullets flying haphazardly off the walls; Tony ducked and pressed himself to the floor. His heart was pounding like a jackhammer, but for whatever reason he didn't hesitate to belly-crawl towards the door.

Blood slicked the linoleum, pooling from at least two bodies that had fallen victim from the surprise attack. Somehow by the grace of god (although the term god was becoming a sour sentiment), he managed to weasel his way through the door and into the brightly lit room.

Struggling to his feet, he quickly ran to the back of the room. Tinted glass separated him from the tall and imposing form of the god of chaos. Loki tilted his head in inquiry, looking back and forth between the open door and Tony, who was slamming blood-covered fingers against the keypad attached to the cell.

Jarvis had already done the heavy lifting for him, disabling SHIELD's code and replacing it with a very familiar one – the same one that opened the cheery little aquarium in his workshop. The cell opened with a beep and Loki quickly forced his way past Tony.

"Well, it's great to see you too honey," he staggered after him, noticing that the magic suppressing manacles were still attached to his wrists.

Maybe it was that whole crazy thing, or maybe Loki just had a death wish; whatever the reason, he stepped directly into the crossfire, and did a rather elaborate tuck and roll underneath one of the guard's legs.

Tony dropped to the ground again, staying close to the wall, before taking his chance back in the corridor. There several more bodies piled on the ground, and far more blood than before. The gaggle of Vikings was still on the offensive, except for Fatty Arbuckle who was now face-to-face with Loki. Within the blink of an eye Fatty Arbuckle raised his battle axe and brought it down…

Tony shut his eyes, fearing that maybe the whole purpose to this rescue mission was really an execution mission instead. Slowly he opened his eyes again only to see a vibrant green flash of light strike a SHIELD operative in the chest; and then there was an insistent hand jerking him off the ground by his elbow.

"Stop dawdling," Loki demanded furiously, before forcing him onto his feet, and giving him an impressive push forward. "You've failed to gather all the variables in order to prepare yourselves better. Many of those agents were on the last hour of their guard duty, therefore-"

"There are going to be a whole fucking new batch of them on the way," Tony almost yelled. "Jarvis, tell me there aren't any more SHIELD agents headed this way!"

"There seems to be growing activity in the east-wing, sir," Jarvis returned after a few moments. "Evidently there is another entrance into the base, which is only for high-ranked operatives."

"Let us make haste," Robin Hood supplied, motioning for Tony to take the lead again; but he had the distinct feeling the god really just wanted to swap spit with Loki behind his back.

Without any hesitation, he referenced his phone's screen again; there weren't any incoming SHIELD operatives that he could see, although that didn't put his mind at ease. They needed to get out now; who knew if Fury was on his way, maybe hiding in the ventilation system with Barton, and ready to strike him dead.

He took up the lead again, trying to avoid stepping in any puddles of blood, or even looking at his blood-covered companions. Robin Hood's immaculate armor was now tarnished scarlet, but his stupidly handsome face was untouched except for the tiniest nick at the temple. Lady Bitchiness had a bullet wound to the upper-arm and somehow looked even bitchier than he thought would have been humanly (or godly) possible. Bruce Lee looked completely untouched, and Fatty Arbuckle had a nice gash across the nose for his troubles, and a new chain wrapped around his war axe's handle; the same chain that had bound Loki's hands together only moments ago. And Loki, well that was a story for another time, and maybe he'd have to reference a book of poetry for the proper description of his cocky-ass.

They quickened their pace as they traversed the hallways again; the sound of armor on armor made the reality of the situation direr to Tony. They had killed at least twenty-five people within the span of five minutes. And not a single one of the natives looked perturbed at all; they weren't going to have nightmares for weeks like he was. Hell, they'd probably go back home and tell their fellow Vikings of their conquest.

"Explain yourselves," Loki's smoky voice suddenly demanded.

"My, my; your temper hasn't improved since we've last seen one another," Robin Hood retorted with a carefree laugh; the bastard.

"Has Heimdall sent you?" Loki continued, which was good because if Tony heard slurping sounds he was calling Fury.

"We wouldn't have come on our own accord, liesmith. Rest assured of that." Lady Bitchiness snapped back.

"And to think I have missed you most of all, Lady Sif," Loki practically purred. "You, no doubt, have proved instrumental in my escape. For that I am forever indebted to you; whatever your heart so desires, I shall grant it to you."

"I hate to break-up the Romeo and Juliet romance back there, but we have to get the hell out of here," Tony barked, shooting the gang a warning stare. "Because unlike you guys, I kind of feel like shit for all the lives we just took over Reindeer Games of all people. And all of us know he doesn't deserve that kind of consideration."

There was a foreboding kind of quiet that befell the group, and Tony was pretty damn sure it didn't have anything to do with the killings that had taken place either. But any chance for reflection was abruptly cut short; Jarvis's voice rang out from his phone, warning them of an on-slate of SHIELD agents that strategically popped out of nowhere (although Tony had a feeling that maybe they had used the vents to pull off such an elaborate formation).

SHIELD agents poured out of every direction, boxing them into the center corridor. All of them raised handguns with confident stares, as if they wouldn't be opposed to shooting them all out of the water. And maybe a good number of them would love to shoot Iron Man right between the eyes too.

None of them were immediately recognizable to Tony; they looked like the standard prototype for a secret agent in a top secret organization. He was done for; Club Fed was probably out of reach at this point, and well a dirty cell in one of SHIELD's other headquarters (probably in a third world country) was where he'd probably be spending the rest of his days.

Numbly Tony raised his hands, only to pause halfway in his movement, once Loki stepped in front of him despite the warnings the agents yelled at him. That was weird, but what was even weirder was how the other deities shifted until he was entirely covered by their bodies.

"I say mates, let's relive our days of glory," Robin Hood said cheerily.

"Not of Niflheim, I hope," Fatty Arbuckle grumbled, lifting his axe.

"Of course not of Niflheim," Robin Hood snapped. "We were almost slaughtered, had it not been for-"

"Loki," Bruce Lee and Lady Bitchiness supplied at the same time.

Tony tried to see the expression on Loki's face, but it was mostly obscured by the defensive stance he'd taken in front of him. It felt oddly intimate to hear other people beyond Thor, his fellow Avengers, and SHIELD talk about the god of mischief. Because these blood-stained warriors actually knew Loki before he went bat-shit crazy; they had been his comrades and gone on stupidly masculine journeys of grandeur together. They knew a side of Loki that only Thor did, and probably a side Tony never would.

"The game is simple, gentlemen and lady," Loki began slowly if almost sluggishly, while crossing his arms behind his back; a bluish-green light flickered from his fingertips and the air wavered until two deadly knives dropped into his palms. "We must level the field, while also keeping the mortal alive."

"Such games you come up with, love," Robin Hood said fondly, too fondly.

"If only to make the art of war more civilized, pet," Loki retorted with a smirk to his tone.

"Men and their follies," Lady Bitchiness actually laughed.

Suddenly each of the deities flew into action, almost choreographed down to the exact same second. Each of them charged towards a group of SHIELD operatives, fearless in the face of the gunfire that started as soon as they separated from their center (Tony), and swung their weapons with reckless abandon.

Tony gaped at the fierceness in which each of them fought; despite sustaining injuries from their opponents who were technologically more gifted, they kept going back for more. Loki conjured a ridiculous number of throwing knives, hitting his targets with precision, before choosing raw magic instead; which proved to be that much more effective.

Instinctively Tony crouched to the ground, but he soon realized there was no need for it. A wayward bullet ricocheted off of what could only be described as a shield in front of him. It was a magical force-field erected by the maniac who just shot at least three SHIELD agents into a wall. And then did a graceful spin, before throwing a knife into an agent's throat that was about to blow away Lady Bitchiness.

"You are cheating," Robin Hood announced, while elbowing an agent in the nose. "A protective shield, how trite,"

"There weren't any rules established, my dear Fandral," Loki grunted.

"How uncommon for a trickster to cheat," Fatty Arbuckle offered with a swing of his axe.

"The rules were not established," Bruce Lee finally piped in, as he effectively shattered an agent's knee with his mace. "Therefore it cannot be cheating."

"I take back my previous statement, I have missed you the most, Hogun," Loki pulled back his arm slowly before sending an impressive shot of magic through the remaining SHIELD operatives.

The smell of ozone permeated strongly in the air, intermixed with burnt skin and blood. Dead bodies were strewn around them like autumn leaves, and horrible images began to gather in Tony's brain. They were only SHIELD grunts and now they were all dead; he was responsible for it, and that horrible nickname echoed in his head: merchant of death.

"Stark," Loki's voice pulled him away from his macabre thoughts. "Lead the way."

It took several tense moments before Tony could even move, let alone climb over so many bodies that congested the area. It took a lot of inner strength that he didn't necessarily know he had; but somehow he led them through empty hallways, which felt more like graveyards than what had once been a bustling government agency when a national threat appeared.

Guilt bore down on every part of his brain, and he clung to his phone to the point where he thought he might actually break it under the tension of his grasp. The smell of blood still wouldn't go away either; it clung to him like a second skin, and he had an even harder time looking at the damn intergalactic Vikings who'd protected him from every bullet that could have killed him.

Somehow he managed to lead them to the parking garage, where they scrambled into the hummer with growing anxiety. If Tony hadn't been compromised by the things he'd seen, maybe he would have demanded Loki to get his ass in the back rather than saddle next to him in the passenger's seat; and god maybe he wouldn't have wanted to kiss him breathless, if only to silence the horrors that were stewing in his head.

It wasn't supposed to end this way, there wasn't supposed to be an innumerable amount of death. But there was and they got away without even getting shot at by a fucking helicopter. The hummer sped effortlessly into the darkness of the desert, reminding him more and more of Afghanistan, and the nickname that the press dubbed him with. Although now there was a personification of it; he wasn't only the merchant of death, not by a long shot; when he looked over to see those acidic green eyes peering at him through the dark, he knew he found his match.

Chapter Text

The quiet felt infinite; the minutes slid away in what felt like increments of hours. The god of mischief was again reacquainted with the value of time, and demonstrated his immeasurable patience that his fellow cohorts could not begin to understand. Patience was a virtue, and while much of his virtue was tarnished beyond recognition, he still grasped onto a fragment of it, if not loosely.

His former comrades paced outside, shooting annoyed glances towards the oversized vehicle in which Stark had been piloting only moments before. That is until a violent wave of emotion overwhelmed him, and he had to pull the vehicle to the halt, in the middle of nowhere no less.

Stark's ragged breathing rattled wetly in his chest, while he pressed his forehead to the steering wheel, in a failed attempt to regain his composure; it was inanely human. Loki felt an odd detachment as he observed Stark from his peripheral; there was much to be considered, although he knew the mortal had done him a great service by assisting the Warriors Three and Sif with his rescue; but at what cost?

Stark appeared to be unraveling at the seams; one of his oil-stained hands curled around the glowing mechanism in his chest, as if it might short-circuit with the inevitable guilt that weighed him down. The horrors of war were not for a man of such intelligence with the hidden sensitivity of a poet. Loki had once been of that nature, until the inevitability of war and death eclipsed his childish fancies.

They were more alike than either would admit to, readily anyway. In fact, there was a ghost of an emotion, whimsical in nature, that made Loki feel somewhat complete; as if his soul hadn't been torn asunder once he fell from the Bifrost so long ago (although time at that point was muddled by unspoken atrocities too great for him to describe properly).

"Stark," Loki uttered, inadvertently catching Fandral's gaze; which was an unpleasant feat with how his brows furrowed in means of frustration.

There wasn't an immediate reply; instead another watery noise escaped the mortal, followed by an obscenity that was said for the sake of being said. But that was how Stark conducted himself; he was brass and unapologetic, cocky to a fault, and infinitely energetic and intriguing.

"Stark," Loki repeated again, only to be met with an angry noise that could have been the word what; although it was too guttural in nature to be coherent.

The mortal finally lifted his head, unashamed by the rivulets of tears that marred his normally jovial face. The wrinkles about his eyes appeared more heavy than boyish; every part of the man of iron looked aged and ragged, something Loki hadn't noticed beforehand.

Human age was a foreign concept to him; he hadn't a clue how old Stark was, how much abuse he'd put his body through, and if he soon would find death's door rather than it finding him. And there was an uneasiness in that thought, one that Loki found no comfort in; it was a heaviness that settled into the pit of his stomach, and reminded him of what Fury had said: I know.

Fury knew better than he; perhaps he knew better than Stark as well. Despite being a self-renowned genius, Stark had a way of avoidance that only rivaled Loki's own. And this was meant to be avoided; it inevitably had to be, lest something absurd blossom from the wreckage of two broken beings beyond repair; one an anti-hero and the other a super-villain.

"Don't look at me that way," Stark croaked out suddenly, wiping a hand across his face.

"In which way am I looking at you?"

"Oh god and that voice," Stark laughed bitterly. "You could be a heroine in a Jane fucking Austen story."

"You've resorted to petty Midgardian references that you know quite well I will not understand," the god muttered, again catching Fandral's gaze which caused him to grit his teeth. "Very well, I shall leave you to your self-induced agony in peace. I have plans elsewhere."

No truer words had been spoken by the god of lies. He knew once he had seen his former comrades that Heimdall had sent them for him. They had an understanding, he and Heimdall; for repayment for Iðunn's golden apple, he would return peacefully back to Asgard.

Running a hand along the door panel, Loki gripped the handle but stopped short of leaving the vehicle. Stark's own hand shot out, gripping him rather tightly for a mortal; his eyes, while still wet, were intense and his pupils blown-out in some sort of manic desperation that looked peculiar on his self-confident face.

"They killed people, you killed people," Stark whispered. "And I let you do it; I didn't want any of this to happen, but it did."

"What is done is done,"

"That's all you have to say after those people were slaughtered like pigs? What's done is done?"

"What would be the appropriate reaction to it then?" Loki tilted his head, properly looking at Stark comparably to Fandral whose eyes were still boring into him hotly. "Shall I sit here and mourn for their losses as you have?"

"They deserve that much,"

"Stark, you are not a warrior; the truth is evident in your eyes. Perhaps you save lives, battle for what you deem is right, but you are not an artisan of war. You haven't spilled the blood of your enemies, and felt both pride and detachment of what you have done. No, you are a man of intelligence who possesses the tenderness of a babe."

"Cut your bullshit," Stark snarled, his hand releasing his arm and grabbing his throat which was still tender from the previous damages. "You're right I'm not a fucking warrior, and I'm not a psychopath who justifies murder by some archaic code of honor! You and your buddies killed innocent people, and I was fucking compliant in it! And for what; so you could be free and run back to Viking heaven with a slap on the wrist?"

"I do not know why you have done what you have done," Loki returned evenly, although his voice was somewhat raspy. "But rest assured my punishment will not be kind."

Stark bared his teeth; his hand loosened about his neck, replaced by several precise strokes against the column of his throat. They were gentle in their ministrations, as if the mortal believed Loki of fragility that didn't suit his character.

Fury's words reappeared in the forefront of his mind, ghastly little demons that caused him to lean haphazardly into that touch. He shouldn't have; he was far stronger, superior, and intelligent than the frail and aging human who fought with his own control so severely that his jaw clenched and pulse jumped underneath his skin.

"Asgard should make a contribution to science then," Stark spat without the acidy undertone that he desired; in fact it was rather weak.

"So you would have me?" Loki scoffed; but his words drew pause.

Maybe if he had worded it differently, he wouldn't have been witness to Stark's fall from grace. It was an inelegant fall, all limbs and jerky movements; and the way in which Stark's face slackened and tightened in a slew of half-emotions was a thing to be admired, if not entirely mocked thereafter.

"You have a fucking way with words," Stark barked with humorless laughter. "And I thought you were supposed to be smooth, instead of you know, needy and wanton."

"I am neither of those things, Stark," the god steeled his stare, before pulling Stark's hand away from him. "But you have shown your weaknesses rather valiantly."

Another abrupt bout of laughter fell from Stark's mouth; he shook his head, while his features scrunched up into what only could be described as a scowl. There was no denying it, Loki had inadvertently touched a spot that hadn't been entirely healed, and perhaps it never really would be either.

Stark was damaged as he was; while he hadn't any knowledge of Stark's inner demons, he suspected they were on a grandiose level. By observation alone, Loki had noticed the damaged psyche that the mortal possessed; the way in which he spoke, and how his narcissism and self-loathing intermingled into a cacophony of chaos that Loki found far too familiar for his liking.

"Compassion is weakness?" Stark motioned outside, towards the Warriors Three and Sif who were occupying themselves with crudely cleaning their weapons. "Is that a thing in Asgard? So I guess that would make Thor a freak, since he actually has a conscience."

"My dearest man of iron, how you are shrouded by assumptions," Loki glowered at him, removing himself from the familiarity he had recognized between them. "The crowned prince of Asgard has killed more than I or even his faithful companions have combined. You have only acquainted yourself with the foolish Thor of new; you haven't a clue of his callousness, of his cruelty."

There was bitterness in those words; memories of old conjured up in the back of his mind, of the savagery in which his pseudo-brother had conducted himself with. And yet there was a yearning for the old; he had understood that Thor, although he certainly hadn't understood himself then. But little had changed in that field; Loki was only a name, a reputation, a gnarled shadow.

"He hurt you," Tony snuffled obnoxiously, thumbing the corner of his eye. "And so you tried to take over the world for revenge. What a fucking childish thing to do; you know for a centuries old god of chaos."

"You are very presumptuous, Stark," the god spat, reaching again for the door handle; but Stark lurched across his seat, clasping onto Loki's wrist with something akin to desperation.

It was an unbecoming look, particularly for an individual of Stark's caliber. He was a fascinating creature, whose mind encompassed everything with a hungry fervor that rivaled no other. It was frighteningly reminiscent of his first fall from the Bifrost; he had been looking ever-so-desperately for words of praise (mayhap just acceptance) from Odin. And yet they never came; but what Stark was looking for remained to be seen.

Stark's grip tightened as his eyes shone with unshed tears; he was coming apart, unraveling at a faster rate now, and Loki could only watch him. And why should he cease the inevitable? This fragile, crippled little mortal was bound to shatter into a million little pieces; because in the end, Fury still knew.

"He knows," Loki leaned inward, close enough to smell Stark's perspiration and the undertone of an aftershave.

"What?"

"Fury knows,"

"Fury knows," Stark repeated; his brow creased in confusion, before it suddenly dawned on him. "You mean he suspects this wasn't some kind of stupid, well, you know?"

"Once he is informed of my escape, you will be suspected without a doubt," Loki muttered, drawing his eyes away from Stark's; he was beginning to grow increasingly uncomfortable.

It had been quite some time since he felt awkward. His only true recollection of such a feat was during those unexplainable moments of sporadic interest from Fandral when he was in the equivalent of his adolescence; although nothing came of it for centuries thereafter.

But this was certainly different; Stark was a mortal, regardless of his fascinating intellect, he was still very much expendable. And yet he had willingly offered his neck to Fury, if only to keep Stark out of the mess that was to come. Stark, however stupidly placed himself into a position of suspect again; and for what really?

"We can skip town, easily," Stark tightened his hold on his wrist. "I mean you have your bippity-boppity-boo back, so we don't even need to go through airport security."

"You are insinuating that we run away with each other,"

"You were hog-tied in my closet, remember? And I told you that's practically a wedding ring." Stark smiled grimly, but seemed to realize the weight of his suggestion. "I mean, you could just teleport me to Barbados or Cyprus, and you can just mosey on back to Viking utopia."

"I suggest you return to your home, collect your woman, and make yourself sparse," Loki disentangled Stark's fingers from his wrist, and opened the passenger-side door. "It would be a pity for such a fascinating human being to be imprisoned for such a silly offense."

Pain flitted momentarily across Stark's face; maybe he began to recollect the slew of dead bodies at his feet, slaughtered for the god of chaos may roam the planet (if only briefly). Stark had put his freedom on the line, allowed deities with war-mongering intent to kill innocents; and oh the guilt must have weighed him down terribly!

Loki slid out of the oversized vehicle, far different than the last one he'd curled himself in, and offered a sardonic and almost bemused grin to the mortal. It would do no one any good to surrender to emotion; emotion had proven itself to be a double-edged sword for Loki. And he couldn't allow himself to be as foolish, pathetic, and idiotic as Thor.

"You've done your people a great service, man of iron," he said whimsically, as he took several steps backwards. "Perhaps you are a hero, after all. Farewell, Iron Man."

Before Stark could respond, aside from the stricken expression that marred his features, Loki shut the door with a resounding slam. He turned his gaze onto the Warriors Three and Sif, who were in the midst of exchanging telling looks; but it was Sif who braved the distance between them.

The hardened maiden, who had been nursing her wounded arm, pointed her spear at him; it was only a fraction of an inch (if that) from the tip of his nose, and he knew any camaraderie that had been established in SHIELD headquarters was only an ends to a mean. As if he had been under any other delusion though.

He raised his hands, gladdened by the fact his attention was drawn away from Stark. After all, he had plenty of time to reflect on the matter while waiting primly in the dungeon, and awaiting execution as a lover awaited an embrace.

"I haven't any intention on causing an unneeded ruckus, Lady Sif," he drawled, but she kept the spearhead steadily in his face, willing him to do something that would cause her to use it against him.

"Put down the pointy stick, sister," Stark emerged from the vehicle, sounding far more like himself than he had previously. "This guy almost took over this entire planet, so do you really think threatening him like that is going to slow him down? Doubt it."

"Return to your machine, man of iron," Sif spat, readjusting the grip on her spear. "Your assistance is no longer needed."

"Oh, so I get to put my life on the line for you guys, and I don't even get something in return? That's pretty fucking low, if you ask me. I mean I know you're crazy extraterrestrial barbarians, but I thought you wouldn't brush a favor off so easily; a motherfucking huge one at that."

"Your service will be compensated; the All-Father will shower you with riches, and glorify your name for assisting the people of Asgard on helping recapture the liesmith." Sif continued without missing a beat, her spear still at the ready to take out Loki's eye if he even breathed in a way that she found displeasing.

"I have a better idea. Tell the big man upstairs he can keep his animal pelts, all those nice and shiny gems, and he can give me something more useful." Stark circled the vehicle until he was standing close-by.

"And whatever would be more useful to you, man of iron?" Fandral stepped closer now shoulder-to-shoulder with Sif.

Stark paused for half a heartbeat, before his customary grin tugged at his mouth. The weakened, emotionally distraught man had finally returned to the man he allowed the world to see. It was that sort of confidence that Loki found so enviable; regardless of his best efforts, he hadn't the ability to be as personable, if not entirely cocky and charismatic as the mortal.

"It's an exchange of favors, really," Stark spread his hands apart, before clasping them together conspiratorially. "Your sky king repays his debt, and well I do you another favor. But this one won't have to be repaid, because technically I've already gotten what I wanted from you guys. Unless you can grant immortality and well, I'm totally game."

"As if immortality would have you, Stark," Loki smirked.

"What would you have for your service then?" Fandral shot Loki an icy glare, before turning his eyes to Stark.

"I want the one thing I don't have. Trust me, I bet your alien jewels are top-notch, but I can afford Earth's finest. And I'm not much of a fur person; you know PETA and all; and who really wants to ruin a perfectly good pelt with red paint?" Stark babbled.

"To the point, mortal,"

"Give me Loki," Stark said in a manner that sounded sane, despite the collective inhale of breath that said otherwise.

A cacophony of outraged voices overlapped one another, each one questioning the mortal's mind. But Loki could not gather any words to describe his current state; he felt oddly detached again, as if his emotional capacity was growing far smaller and less intense than it already had been.

The sheer gall Stark had was beyond reprehensible; to think he actually imagined owning a god, to imprison such a powerful entity, and to use one for his own means was beyond the scope of reason. Perhaps the time of holding him captive had intoxicated Stark with possibilities; or maybe he simply had second thoughts on leading a rescue mission that surely would compromise his freedom.

Whatever the reason was inevitably meaningless; the request would not be fulfilled, and the Warriors Three and Sif hadn't any authority to bargain such means behind the All-Father's back. But Stark didn't appear shaken by the vehement arguments that were directed towards him; in fact, he smiled larger than ever.

"He'd be more useful with me than in a prison cell,"

"You presumptuous, arrogant mortal," Loki sneered, overcome by innumerable emotions, before they promptly desisted into numbness again. "Do you believe that crimes of my caliber would be punished by imprisonment? Have you not realized the severity of my actions?

"By no means would a rescue party be given clearance to search Midgard, if my punishment was to be as trivial as imprisonment! They mean to execute me, Stark! In a glorious way that only my ancestors would approve of!"

"W-What," Stark's confidence slipped, replaced by a haunted expression instead.

"Your Director Fury would have been far too kind, although he would realize gods do not die easily. Our bodies sustain damages that would kill a mortal a tenfold over. But only the immortal know how to kill an immortal." He pontificated, while smiling at his former comrades. "Do not tell me, they kept the truth from you, Stark. I thought they would gladly tell whoever they met of their intent."

Of course, he knew better. The Warriors Three and Sif wouldn't have divulged such crucial information to a mortal, particularly if said mortal would have a moral opposition to their stance. Certainly it wasn't a flawless untruth, but Loki prided himself in the fact that they had attempted to hide their intent all the same.

He laughed in spite of himself; this wasn't what he had expected when he'd been thrown from the Bifrost. Entrapment was a given; he had made quite a splash while returning to Midgard, and SHIELD were hyper-aware of peculiar activity after his failed attempt at invading their world. However, there wasn't any way he could have predicted finding someone with a mutual understanding, of intellect that intrigued him so hopelessly…

He didn't expect to want Tony Stark.

"You bastards," Stark uttered finally. "I put my neck on the chopping block, so you could save; I'm using the term loosely, save him just so he'd be killed by your apple-pie in the sky society you all tout as so goddamn superior."

"It was the only way," Fandral lifted a hand, as if to ward any outbursts that might come.

"Fuck you, Robin Hood!" Stark roared, before grabbing Loki's arm in a vice-like grip. "I'll be damned if I let you take him! Especially after the hell I've been through to keep him!"

"Stark," Loki hissed immediately; although he was too taken aback to properly cease the mortal from jerking him towards the vehicle.

"Get in the fucking hummer, you gigantic pain in the ass," Stark shoved Loki at the hummer, before whipping around to stare at the others. "Don't even think about coming for me; I can easily blow your asses out of the water. And let's be honest, Thor wouldn't be thrilled if you put a finger on me, and I know he's big daddy in your group."

Stark played on the group's biggest weakness and it proved its effectiveness. The Warriors Three and Sif paused in the midst of drawing their weapons, and only watched as Stark shoved Loki into the oversized hunk of metal before climbing in himself.

There was something incredibly absurd and dire about the matter; the looks of shock that flashed across their faces as Stark threw the vehicle into drive, and slammed onto the gas pedal were priceless. The beast of metal roared to life and shot off into the awaiting darkness, kicking up clouds of dust in its wake, and leaving the Warriors Three and Sif behind.

It was only then, after several moments of stunned silence, did Loki laugh; he laughed a side-splitting cackle that made his whole body shake uncontrollably. He laughed until he was breathless, and it was only then did Stark heave out an unbelievable but something told him that he was on the verge of laughing himself.

It really was just madness.

Chapter Text

This was the definition of insanity; it was bat-shit crazy even. Tony had done many things that could have been defined as such; he had broken several laws, and committed a few felonies in his wake. But this was on an entirely different scale of severity; this was the type of crime that had lesser men (maybe even greater men) thrown into the bowels of a dingy prison, never to see the light of day again.

But did he regret it? No, he couldn't say he did; carpe fucking diem. He figured if he was bound to go down for his crime, well there was no point in regret. He wasn't the type of guy to second guess himself, unless the world teetered on the edge of destruction; and at that moment, nothing was aflame, no one was dying, and there was nothing to save.

So he was going to ride on his temporary high. The high of pinning an all-powerful deity's hands above his head, while memorizing the way that sporadic headlights flickered and illuminated the god's poisonous green eyes.

Tony drew in a shaky breath; those eyes were staring up at him, half-lidded and consumed with lustful intentions that mirrored his own. Loki had unraveled like spool in his hands, once they passed into the safety of the Nevada desert; and dear god, he couldn't deny him as he murmured into his ear, demanding to be taken.

The god of mischief squirmed underneath him, but chose not to upend him despite having the ability to do so; which Tony found to be strangely erotic. For someone who strove for ultimate power, who had even led an army to overthrow the planet, it was arousing as hell to think he wanted to be pinned down, dominated, and be taken by Tony in the filthiest way imaginable.

Tony hadn't been this hard since he was a teenager. To be honest, not much could make him painfully and almost excruciatingly hard; he'd been saturated by over indulgence, had been for almost thirty years. So there were few kinks that could really get his engine going, and few women that could make him lose his mind; not on this level anyway.

"Son of a bitch," he exhaled against Loki's lips, before dipping down to kiss him in a lazy and languid manner; and holy shit, there wasn't any resistance from Loki either.

They kissed until Tony felt both lightheaded and daffy from lack of oxygen; but he'd already lost any semblance of sanity long before then. He had to be mad to join up with a group of war-hungry Vikings to save an even crazier Viking magician from SHIELD headquarters, then leave the group somewhere in the desert unattended to.

But his madness had gone beyond even that. He had effectively left his entire life behind. Once he had agreed to join the rescue party, Tony had thrown everything away. It was the biggest fuck-you to all the achievements he'd made as Iron Man, and the hard work he had put into his relationship with Pepper. Everything had been torn asunder, gone down the drain; and it was all because of Loki; the fucking god of mischief.

He nuzzled the damned god's throat, flicking his tongue out to trace over his adam's apple. Loki let out a ridiculous chuckle, which was as effective as an eager hand to his groin. Tony's arousal throbbed painfully against the denim of his jeans, and at that moment he only wanted to fuck the insanity out of Loki (and maybe sweat out his newly formed psychosis as well).

One of his hands drifted away from Loki's wrists, leaving the task to one instead, in order to rake his fingers down the many layers of leather and metal that shielded the god's body from prying eyes. He tugged on a section of his clothing, wanting nothing more than for them to just disappear.

"I need to fuck you now," Tony stressed, giving into his baser needs and pressing his erection against Loki's thigh. "And I really can't deal with any prolonged foreplay."

"Then take me," Loki uttered gruffly against his lips, as if it were a dirty little secret that neither of them would have admitted to later.

Then again Loki probably would deny it, and Tony wouldn't acknowledge it either; aside from the times when he fantasized about it, which he inevitably would do for years to come; even if he was rotting and festering away in a prison cell.

"Oh I plan to," he grinned, pressing closer to the god's lithe form, discreetly rolling his hips in order to alleviate some of the ache in his groin.

Loki made a guttural noise deep in his throat, a noise that sounded under-used and probably was. Tony couldn't imagine Loki had any free time to get laid in between trying to conquer the world, and trying to out-run the law since he was an intergalactic war criminal.

Tony pressed another bruise inducing kiss to the god's thin lips, feeling them let way underneath his insistence. He slid his tongue into his mouth, unable to suppress a moan of appreciation as Loki's infamous silver-tongue entangled with his slowly and deliberately.

His whole body shuddered in appreciation, especially once Loki pulled one of his hands free and made a grab for his ass. He pressed further into the god, although the many layers of leathers made it impossible to know if his feeling of arousal was mutual or not.

Maneuvering proved to be a daunting task (unless he was writhing like an animal in heat), although Tony managed to unbuckle that pesky belt across Loki's chest. He muttered a curse (not for the first time either) the complexity of Asgardian battle-wear, since he wasn't looking forward to wrestling twenty pounds of leather off of Loki. After all he was older, and he wasn't sure that he could keep it up under those circumstances.

He yanked on another belt crisscrossed lower than the first, but he had to pull away from the rapidly animalistic kiss in order to see what he was doing. The lack of light (including the dampened light of the arc reactor) didn't do him any favors; and of course the megalomaniac had to be wearing black leather, which made it harder to discern belts from straps of leather that were sewn into the asymmetrical skirt-like contraption the god was wearing.

"Seriously how do you even have the patience to get in and out of your clothes?" Tony huffed, remembering the pains of stripping him out of his clothes during their shower time; but his level of frustration was at a new level altogether currently. "Is this how you guys keep yourselves celibate or something?"

"Oh, you are so simple," the god smirked condescendingly. "Leathers protect the body, Stark. The combination of both armor and leathers, while certainly not war-ready ensure my safety in enemy territory. And who am I but an enemy to your world?"

"Your clothes are an enemy to my-"

"I inquire you to not finish that thought,"

"I'm packing heat," Tony released his wrist, snatching at whatever piece of clothing he could, and attempting to pull them free from the many buckles, buttons, and zippers that made up Loki's super-villain ensemble. "And I'm not some young stud with weekend alcoholism anymore. I'm middle-aged and some would say I'm a full-time alcoholic. But I prefer to call it socially peppy."

Loki grabbed him by both his forearms; forcing him to sit up even if that was the last thing he wanted to do. But he wasn't up for trying to showcase his strength (minimal at best) against a thousand year old deity with the emotional stability of a teenage girl. Not today, not now, especially when Loki was going to let him do things to him, filthy things.

Once Tony sat back, Loki flexed his fingers experimentally and rolled his wrists, before snapping his fingers and causing the layers of leather and armor to dissipate in a golden wave. He was only clothed in his too-tight leather trousers and forest green tunic with another fucking belt securing it around his waist.

"Sweet mother of god," Tony moaned as close to pious as he'd ever get. "You're fucking hard too. Like crazy throbbing hard and it's because of me."

Rather than offer a verbal quip or even a roll of the eyes, Loki simply beckoned him back with a crook of his finger. Tony practically leapt onto him, forgetting to be suave and cool; but then again he wasn't his normal self around Loki anyway. He felt like someone entirely different; he was an awkward, sexually frustrated kid and it was impossible to hide.

The impact of his body against Loki's sent the god careening to his back; but for all intents and purposes it was the perfect position. He made good use of being on top; he quickly unbuckled the belt around Loki's midsection, before shoving his hand underneath the hem of his tunic. His mouth attacked Loki's again and found no resistance whatsoever; in fact the god was showing an eagerness he hadn't displayed beforehand.

They rutted against one another, throwing self-control aside; and damn did it feel good to be pressed against Loki without the obstacles of leather and metal. He could feel the hardness of Loki's erection pressed into his hip, alongside the frenetic rise and fall of his chest as they kissed deeper and hungrier.

Loki's hands grazed his back, ran over the swell of his ass, and urged Tony to bury himself in between his mile-long legs. And he did just that, jutting himself in between Loki's thighs, and pressing his erection against Loki's for the first time. He wasn't disappointed either; the icy-hot sensation that rose from Loki's body was heady, and was close to being in both an inferno and blizzard without the consequences of such.

Somehow amid the chaos, Tony lost his tee-shirt followed shortly by Loki's tunic, effectively putting them skin to skin. He shivered as the arc reactor pressed into the smooth flesh of the god's torso; he dragged his fingers down his sides, needling the grooves of his ribcage until Loki let out a strained noise of pleasure.

That sound was enough to destroy any remaining self-restraint Tony had; there wasn't any way he could last an extensive period of foreplay without losing it completely. And that was one thing Tony Stark was not known for – premature ejaculation; well, unless he was drunk and needy.

He pulled away long enough to admire Loki's swollen lips, and the absentminded way in which he licked them as if relishing the taste of the cheeseburger Tony had eaten sometime after they abandoned the crazy Viking gang and before they crossed state lines.

"No more playing around," Tony said gruffly, running his hand along the length of Loki's throat, and down to the top of his leather trousers. "Any more of it and I'm going to ruin my jeans."

"Utterly crude," the god breathed, resting his hand over Tony's in an eccentric manner of affection, which would easily lead to broken bones had he mentioned it aloud.

"I'm sure you've heard worse,"

"From you, certainly," Loki smirked as he redirected Tony's hand underneath the waistband of his trousers. "And it will be ill-advised to try and make a mockery of me currently."

"I wouldn't imagine it, darlin'," he returned, running his fingers along the unseen skin, before extracting them and quickly undoing the button and zipper; and it was really one of those come to Jesus moments.

It was a sight to behold, one that probably only came about every few centuries, and was no doubt exclusively seen by fellow deities. But to see the god of mischief, war criminal extraordinaire, lift his hips and allow a petty mortal to pull his trousers down almost gave Tony heart palpitations.

Even though Tony had the honor of seeing Loki in the buff beforehand, he hadn't seen him erect. He bit his bottom lip, shimmying Loki's trousers down his thighs only to remember those damn fuck-me (or maybe they were: I'm going to take over the world, and there's nothing you can do about it) boots.

"Hey how about you make my fantasies come true and make these pants disappear; but why don't you keep those boots on."

"I suppose it's a small stipend to pay for my rescue," the god's mouth twitched, before he snapped his fingers and paid his debt in full. "Is this to your satisfaction, Stark?"

"You have no fucking idea," Tony managed to stutter, running his hands across Loki's bare hips in admiration. "I'm going to fuck you so hard."

He leaned inward, nuzzling the thin line of hair that led to Loki's impressive member, and laid open-mouthed kisses along the skin. The god hummed in appreciation underneath him, until he sat up again and fought a valiant fight with his jeans, which felt way too constrictive now; but he managed to push them down nonetheless.

Just as Tony was about to shove his obscenely bright red boxer briefs down, Loki beat him to the punch. It was way too sensual to be legal; he slid his fingers along the swell of his ass, before they hooked underneath the band and pulled them down until his own erection flopped unceremoniously into the cool air.

"Prove to me that I haven't made a grave mistake in my judgment, Stark," Loki leaned inward again, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. "I haven't allowed a mortal such a feat in some time. And the last time ended poorly for the both of us; particularly for the mortal."

"Even your homicidal spiel is sexy as hell right now," Tony groaned, forcing his jeans further down his thighs until he was a bit more comfortable without taking them off entirely.

As obscene as his brightly colored underwear, watching Loki lounge back onto his elbows was even more so; not to mention the way he bent his knees, parted his legs, and touched himself was probably enough to make all his ancestors scandalized.

Tony ran his hand down Loki's thigh, kissing his knee in reverence that would normally make him ill. But he now understood why primitive people built shrines in honor of the patron god of chaos and destruction, and fucking fruity pebbles for brains. He was very close to sacrificing a goat and a virgin in his honor, if only Loki kept touching himself in languid strokes.

"This is surreal," he moaned against Loki's knee, sucking against the skin as he watched Loki stroke himself still. "I'm going to have my first, full-blown gay experience with a fucking super-villain in the back of my hummer, seventy miles away from Reno."

"I've forgotten how conservative you mortals are," the god breathed out, before letting go of his erection and grabbing Tony's dominant hand, and flicking his tongue across his fingertips. "Even one of your reputation,"

"There goes my question about your sexuality…oh sweet mother of god…" Tony shuddered as Loki began to suckle on his fingers, using that infamous tongue of his to do lewd tricks that were generally reserved for porn stars.

For once in a very long time, Tony felt slightly out of his element. Loki was doing things to his fingers that women hadn't done to him when they were blowing him. And the sheer possibility that he'd do that to his cock sent pleasant shivers throughout his entire body.

He nipped at the god's knee; he was mesmerized by how self-satisfied the god looked as he sucked on his fingers, and in the way his erection twitched in growing arousal by his actions. The soft glow of the arc reactor made the green of Loki's eyes stand out even more, and made Tony's own erection react as Loki's had.

After what felt like hours of agonizing torture, Loki released his fingers with a wet and gaudy pop. A wide Cheshire-like grin flickered across his face, as he urged Tony's hand downward and lifting his hips in a clear invitation of what he wanted.

"I suppose I have to guide you," Loki quipped, leaning forward so he could adjust Tony's hand accordingly.

"I'm not a moron, you know," Tony scowled, yanking his hand free. "Unless you have a hidden orifice that only Asgardians have, I think I know how to work this end pretty well, thanks."

Before the god could protest, Tony brushed his fingers over his entrance and felt him stiffen immediately. At least the smug little smirk was wiped off Loki's face, replaced by sudden wanton anticipation. He hooked his arm underneath his knee, before throwing it over his shoulder; he bit into the edge of the god's boot, suppressing any untoward noise that might escape him, while he pressed his finger against that tiny ring of muscles until they gave way.

Tony felt a familiar heat flare in his stomach, hot and blinding, which was reinforced by the small gasp that escaped Loki. Encouraged by that reaction, he pressed his finger further into Loki and wiggled it a bit; slowly he began to build up a rhythm that was thorough and deep and would probably drive anyone a bit mad. Or in Loki's case, a bit crazier than he already was.

Tony bit down harder onto the leather, since he came closer to responding to that tiny little pleasure-noise that the god made as he hooked his finger ever-so-slightly upward, and gently pressed a second finger into him to enhance the experience further.

Loki bucked his hips, gritting his teeth in an attempt to remain quiet too. But Tony would be damned if he let that cocky bastard remain levelheaded; he might have lost his mind, even thrown his entire life away, but he was still Tony Stark. And Tony Stark made all of his conquests melt into blubbering piles of goo.

Hooking both his fingers sharply, he felt Loki clench around him and let out several words that were definitely not English. But his body language was easy to understand; he lifted his hips again and threw his head back until Tony was knuckle deep in his ass, and viciously thrusting his fingers in and out of him.

He forced two more fingers into him, grinning at how taut Loki's body went as he maneuvered his way further into his scorching heat. Precum glistened at the head of Loki's cock and spilled along his abdomen, which only spurred Tony's actions to the brink of violent.

"I need to fuck you," Tony growled, parting his fingers and stretching him further. "You're so fucking hot, burning even,"

He didn't get a response beyond a physical one; Loki clasped tightly around his fingers again, arching his back in a way that someone possessed would have. That was his limit; he pulled his fingers out, unashamed as he gaped at Loki's entrance, which fluttered with every breath he took in.

Tony spat in his palm, slicking his member as best as he could. The blowjob was out of the question; he'd probably cum before Loki could even get him into his mouth.

"Stark," the god heaved raggedly, raising his hips, and arching his body until only his shoulders were supporting him.

"I'm ready, baby," he wrapped his arm around the leg tossed over his shoulder, and used his free hand to brush the head of his cock against Loki's entrance.

With a shallow thrust, Tony pushed into the god's awaiting body; he moaned quietly, pressing further into him until he was sheathed into him fully. The heat that enveloped him was incredible; he'd never felt anything like it, not even with his extensive sexual history.

His head dropped, resting against Loki's collarbone before he began to move. His rhythm was erratic and disorderly as he slid in and out of him; the coil of warmth swelled in his stomach, as Loki clenched around him and met his thrusts with a buck of his hips.

Tony buried himself to the hilt again, doubling over the pliant body underneath him, and trying to develop a better rhythm; although he found it almost impossible with how good Loki felt. Loki let out a breathy laugh, as one of his hands wrapped around his neglected member and pumped it fluidly.

"I will not break, be rougher with me," Loki demanded.

Wordlessly Tony sped up, jerking his hips in unforgiving jabs that pulled out small and appreciative noises from the god. He pounded into him, slowly finding some order in his movements; and there wasn't anything like it. It was filthy, gritty, and rough; everything that he hadn't experienced in a long time, and the pressure was a glorious thing.

Loki's ass had a vice-like grip on his cock, as if it was trying to milk him dry. He clambered onto his knees, propelling himself as deeply as he could go into his ass, before pulling out almost entirely and repeating the action until his gut tightened in pleasure.

"Going to make me cum," Tony puffed, managing to keep a cap on a pleased noise as Loki gripped onto the side of the hummer's interior, and met the thrust of his hips with as much force as Tony was using.

Sweat trickled down his spine, although the god was barely winded despite the twist of desire that overwhelmed his whole body and the quickening of his hand that was jerking himself off. Tony pressed a sloppy kiss against his temple, meeting Loki's movements point for point.

Bursts of pleasure swelled in him, punctuated by the sound of their skin slapping together in the relative quiet. The god's free hand ran over the width of his shoulder, gripping onto it as they came together in another powerful thrust.

Tony clung to the mile-long leg hooked onto his shoulder still, losing himself bit by bit, until he was rutting desperately into Loki as his release became more and more of a reality. Every nerve-ending began to stand to attention as his breathing came in short and shallow gasps; and the sight of Loki's face was bringing him closer to the edge.

His normally smirking and lie-telling mouth hung open, and his eyes were scrunched together in inarguable pleasure. There was very little holding Tony back; even as his limbs screamed and burned from the strain of maintaining such an awkward position, it only heightened the inevitable climax he was about to have. He just needed that one little push…

"Loki," he growled, planting a kiss against the side of his nose. "Say my name."

Loki snarled softly in return, while attempting to squirm away from the kisses Tony started to plant all over his face. It was only when Tony kissed him painfully against his lips, and slid his tongue into his mouth that the god finally opened his eyes, half-lidded and lusty.

"Say it," he demanded.

"Bite your tongue,"

"Say it," he repeated, thrusting with enough force to jar him, and cause both of them to moan.

It didn't surprise him that Loki wanted to be difficult, despite being fully penetrated and doubled over. He wouldn't be Loki otherwise; but Tony wouldn't be Tony if he didn't get what he wanted either. Slapping Loki's hand away from his brilliantly red erection, he grabbed onto it and tugged on it until the god rambled in the harsh tones of his Viking speak.

Tony ran his thumb over the head, spreading the precum as it appeared. A guttural and animalistic noise soon followed the god's indiscernible words, and there was a clear break in him. His eyes opened again; they were surprisingly wide, teetering on innocent. Tony swore for the split-second this was a different Loki, the one that Thor briefly described in passing.

"Stark," he breathed out against the corner of his mouth.

"Tony-"

"No-"

"Tony," he squeezed the head between this thumb and forefinger, punctuated by a hard thrust against what he was damned sure was his prostate. "The name's Tony."

"Anthony-"

"Try again, Tony,"

"Tony," the god suddenly gasped, as his whole body trembled and clasped down in a vice-like grip around Tony's cock.

His vision wavered momentarily, and then everything suddenly came crashing down on him. An explosion of intense pleasure swelled through Tony's entire body, and he was coming deep into Loki's perfect ass. He fucked through his orgasm, uttering out expletives that would have made a pirate blush from the sheer number and creativity behind them.

He collapsed against Loki, whispering fragments of his curses into the crook of his neck, until he was unceremoniously upended. The god was still hard, but chose to take the matter into his own hands, and began to rub himself in measured and brutal strokes, completely ignoring Tony as he watched in a daze.

It didn't take very long until Loki climaxed, painting his chest and stomach with his seed, and falling back with a pleased hum. The sound of their slowing breaths intermingled with the low hum of the radio; and Tony really couldn't think of a nicer way to recover after some of the best sex he ever had (actually he knew it was the best, period).

Rolling haphazardly onto his side, Tony flung an arm across the god's chest, and wasn't met with any resistance. Maybe it was the afterglow, because Loki only regarded him with a blank look that was strangely soft compared to his usual expression.

"I-"

"Don't speak, Stark," Loki murmured, while his hand came up to cradle his chin. "Over-analysis is inappropriate at the moment. Sometime feeling is more appropriate for the occasion."

"A god after my own heart," he kissed him until they were both breathless again, and both slipping into a doze that felt like the world wasn't effectively being toppled over.

Chapter Text

The rundown trading post sat several miles off of the highway; several non-descript vehicles were parked outside of it, with even more non-descript tourists taking pictures with their cheap disposable cameras. Rhodey let out an exasperated sigh, as he adjusted his sunglasses; he had easily spotted the oversized hummer with the vanity plate Stark 7 and wondered for the umpteenth time what was going on.

He knew it was better to not question Tony's madness; there was always a method to it, so once he'd been instructed by his friend's lawyer to tap into his personal funds, and head to Nevada with the cash, well he did so without complicating the situation. Even when Pepper hysterically called to say Tony had gone missing after trying to shoo away a group of individuals dressed like Vikings; he only reassured her that Tony would crop up very soon.

But just because he hadn't vocalized his curiosity at the time, didn't mean he wasn't about to once he saw Tony again. He had a lot of questions, and he'd be damned if he didn't get them answered; not after he piled in an inordinate amount of money into a briefcase like a common criminal (and really the looks he'd gotten from the bank manager was enough to make him feel that way).

He strode towards the dilapidated turquoise colored building; a small diner was attached to it, and looked just as dingy as the showroom with overpriced souvenirs in it. Several overweight tourists with the mandatory straw-hats and logoed tees, eyed him with suspicion as he passed them, and pushed his way into the greasy diner that looked like every diner in the history of diners.

An L-shaped bar stood in the center of the room, while red-vinyl booths lined the walls. There were at least a dozen more tourists meandering at the bar, and several waitresses ran to and fro, carrying oversized trays above their heads. A jukebox was nestled into the corner of the room, and was being fed quarters by a downtrodden Vegas gambler, who eventually selected a Johnny Cash song.

Rhodey observed a gaggle of kids shaking a gumball machine, speaking in high-pitched and annoying voices about the travesty of getting a white gumball rather than a better color, and felt his exasperation hit a new time high. But his eyes slowly zeroed onto a booth with a lone figure eating an oversized piece of pie.

Tony was wearing his green aviator sunglasses, his hair sticking up every which way, and he had a bright red rash on his throat. His normally well-groomed goatee looked scraggily and unkempt; he didn't look like he'd slept in days, and probably didn't either.

He approached the booth, shifting the briefcase until Tony took notice of him. A shit-eating grin spread across his face, as if he hadn't just disappeared out of thin air and gave his long-suffering girlfriend a heart attack.

"Hey, Rhodey," he said, motioning to the unoccupied side of the booth. "Have a seat, stay awhile."

"Oh I intend to," Rhodey returned, slipping into the booth, and setting the briefcase beside him if only to not bring further attention to them.

"So I guess you got Bill's call,"

"After the many hysterical ones from Pepper, yes," he took off his sunglasses, before eyeing his friend. "You look like shit."

Tony laughed brilliantly, in no way distressed or even worried. He could read Tony, maybe not as well as Pepper; but he knew when something was amiss, or if he was upset in some way. But there wasn't a telltale sign that this wasn't just one of his former whims, of taking off and wanting money to gamble away.

However, if that had been the case, Tony ordinarily would have gotten the money himself. Or at least he'd have Pepper do it for him; he never went so many days without phoning in with her. And well, his disappearance correlated with a peculiar encounter with people dressed up like Vikings; as in the same kind of Viking who tried to take over the world several months beforehand.

"You know I'm not leaving here without getting answers, Tony," Rhodey managed not to scowl as Tony shoveled a whipped cream covered bite of pie into his mouth savagely as if he hadn't eaten in days either.

"Hmm, want some coffee or a piece of pie? This banana cream pie is pretty good, I mean it's not the culinary skills I'm used to, but good for a roadside diner."

"I'm not here to eat pie; I'm here for answers,"

"Okay, shoot," Tony licked his fork, before smacking his lips.

There were hundreds of questions that Rhodey wanted to ask; he didn't know where he should start, since while this was somewhat normal for Tony, there were also factors that were completely off-kilter. Tony had given up his wild ways once he and Pepper became a proper couple; but that didn't mean he was in any way tamed.

"Where have you been?" Rhodey asked, although he regretted not asking one of his hard-hitting questions instead.

Tony paused for a split-second, reaching up to rub his throat; if Rhodey hadn't known any better it looked like a bite mark, like another person had bitten him. Then again that wouldn't be all that surprising with Tony's lifestyle as both Iron Man and a billionaire playboy.

"I was in Reno for a few days,"

"You decided to vacation in Reno after having a pow-wow with a couple of crazy Vikings?" He quirked an eyebrow, and saw Tony's resolve crumble a bit.

He knew there was more to the situation than what Tony was letting onto. Pepper had been somewhat mum about the events that led up to the Vikings arrival as well, which only made him that much more suspicious of the whole situation. He feared that Tony might have very well pissed off the wrong people, and his immediate thought was SHIELD and Nick Fury.

Leaning into the table, Rhodey gave his friend an unflappable look; he wasn't going to back down, and he wanted Tony to know that. And he really needed to know the extent of the trouble he was in, because this was feeling more and more desperate by each moment that passed. This wasn't just some whim.

"What have you gotten yourself into? I know it's serious and I want answers, so don't jerk me around."

"I did what I thought was right, at the time," Tony murmured ashamedly, looking at his half-eaten slice of pie. "And well, it kind of got away from me."

"Details, Tony," Rhodey leaned inward further; he could make out Tony's eyes behind his sunglasses and noticed how they were crinkled unhappily.

"A few months ago," Tony cleared his throat, stabbing his fork brutally into his pie. "Well, Nick called me to SHIELD for some bogus consultation. And a few days after the initial meeting, we had a follow-up, and well I got a little more than I bargained for in my trunk."

Tony stroked that red mark again, but quickly stopped once he noticed Rhodey was watching him closely. They stared at one another; it was awkward, and it took Rhodey a lot of self-control not to look away. After all if he did, Tony would probably gloat about being the alpha male, and he'd never hear the end of it.

"What do you mean?" He asked, since Tony was still staring him down.

"Just imagine opening up your trunk to find a body in it," Tony quickly held up his hand, before Rhodey could blurt out anything in shock. "But not any body, a bleeding one, a tortured one; and that body happened to be the fucking god of mischief, who only a few months beforehand attempted to enslave the planet."

"So you're telling me that Loki was in your trunk?"

"That's exactly what I'm telling you. SHIELD had caught him somehow, and they tortured him pretty damned good. And he managed to stow away in my trunk; and I mean I could have called Fury, and I could have been a good little soldier and pretend like none of it happened, but I didn't. I couldn't be that callous."

"Torture, right," Rhodey nodded in understanding, although he could see the flaw in his logic as well.

Regardless of the matter of torture, Loki was still a war criminal, and a dangerous one at that. So while the inevitable action Tony had taken was heroic (if not entirely valiant), he had still put the entire planet at risk.

If Loki had somehow managed to escape from the Malibu mansion, well the world could have easily been faced with the same danger that it had only half a year previously. And the sheer fact that the Avengers were able to stave off an entire alien invasion (of course with Tony demolishing the oncoming army with a nuke) it was still a miracle; and the probability of the planet getting off so effortlessly was very slim.

"Listen, I don't expect you to understand. Pepper lost it when she found out and for good reason; I hid him for months in my workshop without her knowing. And I can't even tell you why I did it, because it doesn't even make sense to me."

"So you had him in your house for months?"

"I built a magic suppressing containment area for him," Tony began to dissect his pie and push it around his plate. "He was mostly on his best behavior, you know beyond the honeymoon period."

"And that's why you took off?"

"No, not necessarily," Tony sat back, before lifting his sunglasses; he looked tired and suddenly very guilty. "There's a lot more to the story, and none of it I'm very proud of. I mean I'm taking a risk by letting you know where I am; and I wouldn't hold it against you if you contacted SHIELD."

Dread slowly ebbed into Rhodey; he could never believe his friend possible of doing anything inherently evil. But he couldn't deny that he feared his potential, especially when he believed something was unjust. That was a characteristic that followed him from Afghanistan, and one that Rhodey still had a hard time getting used to.

"Whatever you tell me at this table stays between us,"

"You can't tell Pepper either, although I imagine Nick will give her a call any day now," Tony flashed him a pained smile. "I never meant to hurt her, James. That's the last thing I wanted to do; if I could turn back time, I would do it in a split-second."

"Sometimes people get hurt, it's just a fact of life,"

"Nick found out about Loki," Tony quickly supplied, as if the topic of Pepper was too painful to get into. "Since I stupidly hacked into his systems during that initial consultation, he made sure to be prepared.

"Once I transferred the data into my home systems, several unseen viruses were planted and began to overrun my security; the files I downloaded had been encrypted by low-level but highly effective trojans. So Nick had access to everything, from Jarvis to the video feed; I'm actually surprised he hadn't suspected me sooner; or even reviewed my activity for that matter until months after the fact."

Even though he hated to admit it, Rhodey couldn't help but be impressed by Fury's preemptive strike. Tony, after all, had a penchant for putting his nose into things that didn't necessarily concern him; and sometimes he could use his intellect for evil (even if it was generally harmless).

"Okay he found out that you had this crazy god in your custody, one that threatened national security for that matter; so I can imagine he didn't react very kindly to that."

"Spot-on, my friend," Tony grinned. "He swept Loki into custody, and forced me to come in and corroborate stories with him; you know the god of lies. But it didn't work out very well for Nick, and well he realized how much he needed me and actually let me waltz out of there with a slap on the wrist."

"Then why are you here? Why did you have your lawyer ask me to bring you this?" Rhodey pointed at the briefcase. "If SHIELD was just going to let you get away with it, why on earth aren't you at home with Pepper?"

That pained look swept over Tony's face again; he slowly lowered his sunglasses again, and directed his gaze to the dirty tabletop. The murmurs of the other diner's patrons and Dolly Parton's "I Will Always Love You" hit Rhodey's ear suddenly and it was definitely unpleasant. He hated this place, and really hated that Tony had gotten himself into trouble over a super-villain.

Tony was smarter than this; he knew the difference between right and wrong, good and evil. But his thought process had always been different, and it had been reset once he came back from Afghanistan. He never spoke in detail about what happened during those months of his captive; and he spoke even less about what happened between him and Obie.

There would always be a piece of him beyond anyone's grasp, or even their understanding for that matter. And maybe that was the contributing factor to this whole mess; maybe it was as simple as torture being used by SHIELD, regardless of who was on the receiving end of it. Someone was still being tortured.

"Those Vikings you heard about, well they were sent from their neck of the woods to rescue Loki," his friend tilted his head back, exposing his neck further; and that was most certainly a bite mark. "They wanted me to help them get into SHIELD headquarters, and weren't about to take no for answer. So I was trapped in between a rock and a hard place."

Rhodey chose not to point out that he could have called Fury; considering the fact that Tony would be more than likely to gnaw off his own hand, before going to Fury, especially with him hacking his systems.

"I played along with the rescue mission too. I just didn't want anyone to get hurt; but when does that ever happen?" Tony scoffed bitterly. "They killed people, a lot of them. And none of them even felt a tiny bit of guilt over it. I mean Loki is a fucking psychopath, so who would expect anything from me? But the others, they were just as bad; and I let them get away with it. I led them in there to slaughter people."

"Tony-"

"No, James, I did,"

"But you didn't kill anyone, they did it. You're not going to be held culpable for their deaths."

"I'm guilty of helping hostile aliens get into SHIELD headquarters; I hacked their security, which could easily be seen as retaliation for what they did to me. And I set free Loki fucking Laufeyson, who killed his fair share of SHIELD operatives alongside his buddies." Tony slammed his hand down onto the tabletop, which drew offended stares from a nearby family. "I could have stopped it somehow, but I just let them call me a puny little human, and stood back as they went stab happy."

"Where are they?"

"Where is who?"

"The Van Trapp family," Rhodey snapped. "I mean the hostile Vikings, of course!"

A bemused laugh abruptly came out of Tony, before he wagged his finger at him. If he concentrated a bit, Rhodey could pretend like they weren't in a dingy diner with Middle-American families who looked like they might have had Confederate flags hanging in their garages, and listened to country western music at a nauseating volume when they had family reunions.

But the fact of the matter was that they were a hundred miles away from Las Vegas, sitting in a dirty diner that was attached to an even dirtier trading post. Plus Tony was guilty of leading hostiles into SHIELD headquarters, which resulted in death and destruction. And there were chocolate-covered kids coming closer, as if they finally realized the unkempt hobo across from him was actually Iron Man.

"I left the assholes in the middle of nowhere. But they probably got onto their rainbow bridge, and are plotting my death now."

"Loki's gone then," Rhodey breathed out.

"Not exactly," Tony jutted out his chin. "He's with me. I mean he's not here right now."

Rhodey gaped at him, gripping onto the edge of the table so he wouldn't reach into his pocket and dial Pepper. Pepper would know what to do about this; she would probably call SHIELD so they could detain Loki again; and she would book Tony a ticket out of the country. But something was holding him back from getting his cell-phone out of his pocket, and it probably had to do with the way Tony was looking at him.

"Where is he?" Rhodey asked as calmly as he could.

"That's irrelevant, and I need you to remember that," Tony gave him a stern look, before motioning towards the briefcase. "Just give me the money, James. If you want to call SHIELD that is up to you, but at least give me a head-start, you know for old time's sake."

"This isn't a game, Tony,"

"Don't you think I know that?" Tony raised his voice, on the verge of a yell. "I'm not proud of this, James. I actually hate myself more than you'll ever know. But I can't go back, not now."

"You're playing with fire here," Rhodey hissed in return. "This isn't just running from SHIELD, Tony! This guy could kill you, and probably will! So it's beyond me why you're helping him get away!"

"Because," Tony actually yelled this time, all the while ignoring the stares they continued to attract. "Because that's all you need to know!"

"That isn't good enough for me! And it's definitely not good enough for Pepper!"

"Pepper, Pepper, Pepper," Tony bellowed, before abruptly standing up. "Nothing's good enough for Pepper! The woman is a saint and it kills me that I'm doing this to her! My Pepper, my beautiful Pepper is going to suffer because I couldn't control myself! That I stupidly fell in love with someone who is crazier than Charles fucking Manson!"

Rhodey was stunned speechless; it took several moments before the words began to connect, for the meaning to sink in. It made sense all of the sudden, but it also didn't at the same time. Why else would Tony go through so much trouble? Simply relating to a crazed deity over torture wasn't a good enough reason for risking his neck twice; but how could someone who described himself as pussy crazy actually be in love with a man; a war-mongering alien?

"Tony, you can't be serious," he managed to say, staring at his lifelong friend like he grew a second head.

"Give me the briefcase, James," Tony held out his hand, eyes blazing behind his shades. "I'll be gone before you know it. I'll be out of yours and Pepper's lives, and I promise you if Loki does anything to hurt anyone again I'll take care of him myself."

"Tony, please,"

"I'm sorry, I'm really fucking sorry," Tony reached across the booth, snagging the briefcase, and crossing the diner in record time before he shoved the door open violently.

Something rooted Rhodey to the spot; maybe it was the shock still. Or maybe some part of him wanted Tony to get away before he could call Pepper or SHIELD or anyone else for that matter. Even if Tony had gone insane (which was the only way to describe it), he couldn't let him get caught, let him be made an example of by SHIELD.

"I hope you know what you're doing, Tony," he whispered after several moments, and was assaulted by the stares of everyone in the diner who had watched the end of their exchange.

As calmly as he could, Rhodey climbed out of the booth, and followed the path back to the front door. The chocolate-covered kids were staring out one of the dirty and scratched windows, probably in hopes of catching a glimpse of their favorite super-hero. But by the time Rhodey had stepped out the door, the hummer with the Stark 7 vanity plate was already gone.

Chapter Text

The brilliantly colored lights twinkled in a chaotic and uncoordinated manner; every small flash advertised a service that the droves of mortals that walked underneath his watchful gaze would undoubtedly be compelled to partake in. He pressed his hand to the glass, blatantly disregarding the reflection of Stark with a tumbler of scotch in his hand, and wearing nothing but his under garments.

The faint light from the mechanism in his chest lit his face up, emphasizing the many wrinkles that settled deeply into his skin. His eyes were pinned onto his back, unashamed that he could easily be caught staring; although he was oftentimes unapologetic to a fault.

"You're lucky, you know," Stark murmured softly, sounding weary. "That this glass is reflective, because everyone would be able to see you naked; full-frontal."

"That concerns me very little," he returned in a clipped tone.

"Exhibitionist," Stark stepped closer to him, only a hair's width away.

"Sexual deviant,"

"Oh yeah, talk dirty to me, baby,"

"Idiot," he caught the mortal's eyes through the window's reflection, keenly aware that despite his usual banter there wasn't any feeling behind it.

Stark had been shut-off from the world since their grand escape; although he hadn't suspected he'd ever be open with him or vice-versa. Whatever the meaning behind their companionship was shrouded in mystery; neither of them could precisely describe the level of attachment or lack thereof. And neither was willing to broach the subject either.

Regardless of its definition, it couldn't last much longer. They were both aware of it, even if Stark was more prone to denial than he was. Maybe it was a trait of humanity, since denial delayed the inevitable, and the inevitability of finality.

Stark pressed two of his fingers between his shoulder blades, before gradually running them along his spine, tracing the vertebra, and finally nestling them against his lower back, and keeping them there. His gaze was firmly intact on him still, although his expression was an anomaly; he looked both sad and wantonly needy.

"We can't stay here forever," the mortal began, before lifting his glass to his lips. "Rhodey knows we're in the state; and he's pretty smart, you know he could figure out where we're hiding out in Vegas."

"Where do you suggest we go?" He asked in means of humoring him.

"Out of the country, preferably,"

"Does SHIELD's authority only stretch this country's borders then?" He tilted his head, offering Stark a sardonic smile through the glass's reflection; since they both knew that was untrue.

SHIELD had dispatched the Avengers to Stuttgart in order to capture him. So anywhere that they might run was unsafe; but Loki had very little to fear now that his magic was returning to him bit by bit. He could find one of the many tears in space, and slip into another realm before anyone could detect him. Stark, on the other hand, could not escape the consequences of his actions.

Despite his strenuous efforts, Stark had chosen to involve himself further and further into his plight. Nothing seemed to deter him; although the arrival of the Warriors Three and Lady Sif had complicated the situation altogether. And they would continue to undermine him, until he upheld his bargain with Heimdall.

"I'll figure something out," Stark finally piped up again, before pressing the palm of his hand against his hip. "I'm just not at one-hundred percent right now. But I'll get there eventually; I just need some time."

"But will fate grant you time is the question, Stark?" He finally turned until he was fully facing the mortal. "Or have you made a grave mistake?"

"I don't regret things, not anymore," Stark returned sharply.

It sounded like a lie; Loki could see it in his eyes. The regret was deep and heavy; but emotion had dictated Stark's common sense and whatever desperate need that they held for one another and effectively ruined them. While Loki could surely walk away, there were still consequences that he was meant to face; and he couldn't hide forever from Heimdall's watchful eye.

He laid his hand on Stark's newly shaved cheek; his skin was smooth despite his age, and spoke of the many luxurious he afforded himself from his momentous wealth. His touch spurred Stark to wrap his arm around his waist, and pull him close until Loki's face too was illuminated by the light from his chest.

"I regret nothing, Stark," Loki bowed his head, placing a kiss against his lips. "But you are only human; you regret so many things, and so very quickly."

"Of course you don't regret anything, I mean you fucked a horse," Stark chortled, squeezing his arm around him. "But I can't say that, can I? I'm sorry; please don't throw me half-naked out the window."

Loki normally would have reacted impulsively to such an insult, but he managed to remain levelheaded. It was not to say he didn't want to throw Stark out the window; he just knew that such a grandiose measure would bring unwanted attention onto him.

"You are lucky that I am a merciful god today," he said slowly, before walking the mortal backwards and towards the oversized bed with the sheets freshly turned down. "I do not take jests such as that graciously; you would be wise to remember that."

"Noted and noted," Stark nodded as the back of his knees made contact with the mattress, and he sunk down to sit.

The mortal looked up at him expectantly as if he anticipated a reward for his understanding. But instead Loki only reached down to extract the glass from his hand, and took a tentative sip. He was still unimpressed by Midgardian liquor, despite Stark seeming to live on the substance from what he observed.

After he took a second sip, he flicked his wrist and motioned Stark to move farther up the bed; which he immediately, if not enthusiastically, followed through with. There were several things that could make the mortal agreeable, and aside from his Midgardian liquor it was the promise of sexual gratification.

"You are rather peculiar," he eyed Stark who was now sitting cross-legged in the center of his bed, almost appearing as if in meditation if it wasn't for the devilish glint in his eye.

"That might be an insult or a compliment coming from you,"

"Take it as both then," he rounded the bed and set the glass onto the nearby table. "However, you interpret it means very little to me."

"Ouch, right through the heart," Stark scowled, before maneuvering until he could slip off his gaudy colored underwear; he tossed them away with an enthusiasm that had been gone for several hours now. "You sure know how to make a guy feel special."

Loki suppressed the urge to roll his eyes, and instead climbed onto the mattress to meet Stark in the middle. The mortal had already returned to his previous position, tilting his head in an invitation to broach the distance between them.

Wordlessly he climbed into Stark's lap, distributing his weight in a way that wouldn't crush him. But that probably would have been a worthy death for a warrior who only seemed to find any sort of satisfaction in sex.

"Much better," Stark rested his hands on his hips, observing him with piqued interest, which perhaps was close to reverent.

Slowly Loki ran his fingertips along Stark's forearms, drawing patterns on the swell of his well-defined biceps, before he slid his hands onto both of Stark's shoulders. He admired the many unexplained scars that marred his skin, and the bite mark that remained as a temporary reminder of his ownership of the mortal.

"Stop giving me love eyes," Stark smirked up at him. "I'm already planning on erecting a ridiculously flashy shrine in your name."

"As you very well should," he nuzzled his jaw gently, inhaling the clean scents that masked Stark's normal fragrance of motor oil and scotch.

There was temporary peace for those brief moments; Stark's forlorn expression wasn't hidden behind his usual sarcasm, nor did Loki have to think of the inevitable consequences of what had transpired thus far. He focused on the feel of Stark's touch; his calloused hands slid along his sides and drew small circles against his skin almost lovingly.

Loki tilted his head, catching the mortal's gaze; there was an unmistakable similarity reflected in them. The pint up emotion, the hidden guilt and distress, and the brokenness that had been buried so deeply inside that it was almost invisible; he and Stark were very much alike, despite their moral standings, and he couldn't help but crave for that understanding.

Stark linked his fingers around him, resting his hands at the curve of his ass, and offered him a small but genuine smile. There was still sadness attached to it, as if he finally begun to realize precisely what he had done when he aided the Warriors Three and Sif. Loki knew he would begin to feel the weight of his decision and the consequences attached to it, despite denying his ability to regret.

But regret was natural; mayhap it was Stark's default emotion. And that separated them a tenfold and made their similarities seem almost petty in comparison. Loki didn't regret anything he had done, particularly since he had fallen from the Bifrost; he hadn't any remorse for the many he had killed, or the lives he had dismantled on his path for righteousness.

Regret was a step backwards; indifference and cruelty were a step forward. Even if that step inevitably led to death; he wasn't delusional, he knew they would come for him again, and he knew that he couldn't resist them, he wouldn't resist them. Honor still had a meaning to him, despite what outsiders might have believed.

"What's with that faraway look?" Stark asked, his eyebrows creasing. "Don't tell me you're thinking about Robin Hood."

"I know no one by that name," he returned while lightly running his nails across his shoulders.

"Oh I don't know, you seemed to know tall, blond, and douchey," the mortal looked annoyed. "One of your little pals, you know, that went ape-shit crazy on those SHIELD grunts."

"Ah, Fandral,"

"Ah, Fandral," Stark mocked him, even going so far to attempt to mimic his accent; albeit it was a poor attempt.

The previous melancholy that had encompassed Stark was now replaced by another, far more amusing, emotion. If Loki hadn't known any better, he would have never believed Stark capable of something as trivial as jealousy. Then again he had accused Loki of the same thing over that woman with a silly name not so long ago.

"Jealousy does not suit you, Stark," he purred, allowing his hands to dance downwards and encircle the device that kept him alive. "However, you are observant in a way."

"I knew it, you and Blondie did the nasty,"

"It certainly proved to be filthy," he affirmed and felt Stark's fingers twitch against his skin.

Such a revelation would prove to be a very good distraction; and he suspected that was exactly what both of them needed, particularly his mortal. He had been teetering on the brink for some time, and his meeting with the one he referred to as Rhodey had disrupted any calm that might have been.

The mischievous part of Loki, which was ultimately dampened by his baser need for all-out subjugation, returned a tenfold stronger than it had in sometime. He raised an eyebrow at the growing look of indignation on Stark's face, and managed to smother any laughter that might arise.

"Fuck you," Stark returned, as if sensing his amusement.

"Our dalliances occurred centuries ago," he tapped his index finger against the center of what Stark referred to as the arc reactor. "Your ancestors were merely babes themselves at the time; so to think I could stave off any sexual appetite that I might have had and wait for you to be born, grow, to become my enemy, and my inevitable savior, well that is foolish."

"Was he better than me?"

"I haven't the foggiest recollection of Fandral," Loki admitted. "Although I must have offended him in some way; mayhap when I disarmed him and allowed a feral boar to attack him. But rest assured it was only a spell of boredom; I am not one for the hunt."

Despite his words, Stark continued to look petulant. It was only when he lifted his body slightly and grazed his hands along Stark's thighs that the expression slipped away. He tickled the skin before scratching at it until Stark tightened his grip around his waist, and placed his palm flat against one side of his posterior.

He lifted himself fully onto his knees, pressing his body against Stark's, and made a point to rake his fingers through his unruly mop. It was all very instinctual; he had taken an innumerable amount of lovers over the centuries and quickly learned of what they enjoyed, what would make them tremble, and what would inevitably make them fall apart at the seams; and Stark had a predilection to having his hair stroked

"Perhaps I'll allow you to prove yourself once more," Loki smirked, tugging on the mortal's hair and causing him to grimace. "Unless it is a daunting task after Fandral the Dashing has had me. And while I do not remember our trysts, his name is upon every maiden's lips in Asgard."

"Hey, my name's on every supermodel's lips in the well-known world," Stark snapped back, while trying to disengage from his hold.

"Mortal women," he supplied, tugging a bit harder on his hair, and exposing the lovely bite mark he'd left after their dissatisfactory rendezvous in Stark's oversized vehicle.

He hadn't openly admitted his disapproval, believing the jab would be far too bruising to Stark's ego; and he was already uncharacteristically fragile that it might lead him to partake in reckless behavior. Or he even might be compelled to call SHIELD on him, having been pushed much too far; and Loki wasn't fond of the idea that he be executed over his opinion on Stark's sexual prowess.

Stark made a guttural noise deep in his throat, before bringing his hand down in a thunderous clap against his ass. Loki jerked violently in response, but managed to keep any noise of shock and dismay to himself.

"No wonder you were tossed out of Viking heaven," the mortal scoffed, repeating his action against Loki's already stinging skin. "I bet you were even more insufferable while touting the title of prince. God, I can only imagine."

"I think you are in a very vulnerable position to make such jests," Loki reached behind him, taking a hold of Stark's favorite body part, and coupling the action with a threatening look. "My fall was by no means a joke. So if you intend on keeping me in good cheer, you will be wise to refrain from such petty retorts."

Stark sucked in a breath, his entire body going rigid; although the most peculiar thing was the growing rigidity in his anatomy that was currently at stake. That was something Loki hadn't prepared himself for; his instincts hadn't directed him towards Stark being into aggressive foreplay.

Reflexively he tightened his hold on the mortal, and was rewarded with a powerful buck of the hips that would have jostled him had he still been seated in Stark's lap. A maniacal grin spread across his face, far more intrigued by this piece of knowledge than any of his other discoveries thus far; Stark was a paradox of sorts, and his only desire at the moment was to dissect him piece by glorious piece.

"Now Stark, I hadn't known you had a partiality to threats. However do you fight your foes under such strenuous conditions?"

"Not threats," Stark swallowed hard, shaking his head. "Just kinky ass gods of chaos,"

The smirk on his face twitched, threatening to become an overpowering grin; but he controlled himself, and instead tightened his grip a fraction more until Stark let out a distressed and aroused noise. The rapidity of his arousal was extraordinary, which only made Loki's self-control that much harder to contain.

Stark rutted against his hold, thrusting shallowly, and caused a familiar icy-hot sensation to stir in the pit of Loki's stomach. He caressed Stark, loosening his hold, and was assaulted by his callused hands furling around his ass before roughly drawing up his back.

"I think I would let you have me again," he murmured against the mortal's ear.

"Good, yeah," the mortal agreed, although he looked overwhelmed by the increasing pace of Loki's hand on his cock. "Better yet, lube. Got lube; it's all over the place. It's Vegas; unexpected and drunken marriages; anonymous hook-ups; strippers, lots and lots of strippers."

He disregarded the unnecessary babble, before releasing Stark and climbing off the bed. There was a plastic bag on the side-table; Stark had brought it back with him after his brief absence from that afternoon. He had brought in the plastic bag with a red insignia on the side, and also a black briefcase that he immediately locked into the safe that the hotel provided.

Loki found neither worth his attention, not until that very moment anyway. He pulled out the contents of the bag, tossing aside packaged food and toiletries, before coming across what he suspected was what Stark spoke of.

Without further ado, he returned to the bed and handed the box to Stark, who made quick work of it and tore open the lid. The box was tossed off the bed, while Stark began to generously squeeze out the substance into his awaiting hand.

Languidly Loki stretched until he was properly aligned in front of the mortal; he settled onto his stomach, while propping his chin against one of Stark's knees, eyeing his erect member. He ran his index finger along the vein, pleased by the sudden intake of breath Stark took in.

"Allow me to please you, Stark," he murmured, darting out his tongue to follow the vein as his finger done only moments beforehand. "You haven't had my mouth yet."

"Damn you," Stark clenched his fist; the substance he'd just poured into his palm dribbled out from between his fingers and onto the awaiting bed spread. "Like I said before, you have a way with words."

Taking that as favorable response, he dragged his tongue from the base of his cock towards the head. He then took the base into his hand, lavishing the head with firm licks until the tip beaded quickly with precum. Stark grabbed him by the hair, willing him to take him into his mouth; but he chose instead to swirl his tongue around the head, which elicited an obscene noise from him.

The grip on his hair tightened further, as Loki coached the head in between his lips and suckled lightly. He hummed in approval at the mortal's eagerness, and the series of expletives that tumbled out of his mouth. He slowly began to suck harder for several moments, but eventually grew bored of the game and chose to take as much of Stark's member into his mouth as he could.

Stark reflexively jerked his hips, making his intention to fuck his mouth crystal-clear. The hand that had been covered in lubrication was slapped across his shoulder blade, and sent the substance flying across his back and into his hair. He would have had said something rather scathing, had he not hollowed his cheeks and began to bob his head in order to please Stark to the best of his abilities.

"S-shit," Stark breathed out, rutting his hips again. "You really were born to suck cock."

Loki responded to the remark by thoroughly laving the underside of Stark's member, and moaning in a lewd manner. His own body was roiling with increased arousal; as coyly as he could, he pressed himself against the mattress, trapping his erection between his stomach and the bed.

The friction caused him to shudder, even more so as the irregularity of the mortal's breathing increased. Slowly and deliberately, he coaxed Stark's length further into his mouth, forcing it beyond the boundaries of what he was normally capable of. His gag reflex reacted automatically, but he persevered until he managed to take the majority of Stark down his throat.

Stark's reaction was strangely beautiful; he arched his back, while his face froze in a twist of pleasure, illuminated by the pale blue glow of the arc reactor. His eyes fluttered shut but soon opened to reveal two eyes wanton and possessive and, mayhap, loving?

Loki held steady, reaching up to hold Stark's hips lest they try to buck, and stared him directly in the eyes. He wondered, although he heavily suspected, his eyes were speaking similar volumes; and he loathed to think he had become vulnerable in that instant, but believed the mortal would forget once his release became a reality.

The hand furled in his hair disentangled itself, before running along his forehead, his temple, and the hollow of his cheek. The intimacy almost spooked him; he had bedded many, and yet none of them were intimate. He and Fandral had found more amusement on their copulating because of Thor's clear ignorance of it; or they had until Fandral began to look at him similarly to how Stark was looking at him; although he never responded in kind, not like this.

Painstakingly he dislodged the cock from his throat, dragging his teeth gently along the flesh, and drawing further noises of approval from Stark. He only halted until the head remained firmly between his lips, sucking obscenely for several moments before drawing away with an audible pop.

Stark let out a laugh, as his body quivered visibly. His lubed hand slid off of Loki's back, before it encircled his erection and rubbed off any of the remaining substance from shaft to head. He grabbed the discarded tube, pouring more into his hand but this time he had the sense to immediately prepare himself.

"I'm really sensitive right now," the mortal took his hand away, again trying to suppress a shiver. "Give me a minute."

Loki didn't object, finding himself instead mesmerized by Stark's flushed skin and thin veil of sweat that enhanced the curve of his biceps and the groove of abdominal muscles that while not entirely defined were still attractive. But he tried to suppress his admiration, suddenly fueled by disgust at his foggy and undefined emotions and uncorrelated thoughts.

"Get in my lap again," Stark broke his reverie. "I want you to ride me."

"Could you possibly handle that?" He almost sneered as he got onto his knees, and tried to disregard the hungry way Stark's eyes went directly to his ridiculously hard erection.

Thankfully there wasn't a vile comment to be had; Stark only reached for him, wrapping his arms around his waist once he was appropriately straddled, and buried his face against his neck. Loki stiffened in his grasp, but found himself gripping Stark's shoulders tightly as he began to suck on his skin.

Stark's callused hands found their way back to his ass; he squeezed both cheeks, before parting them in a manner that Loki found caused him to squirm like a harlot. One Stark's fingers slid easily into him, slicked with lubrication; although the sensation was too much for him to handle; which he believed was becoming far more connected on an emotional basis, comparably to just a physical one.

"T-That is well enough," he managed to say, shuddering as Stark began to press a second digit into him. "I am not ill-prepared for this, Stark."

"Eager then," Stark returned, pumping his fingers into him a few times before pulling them away. "I'm glad because doing that was getting me absurdly close."

Reaching backwards, he took Stark into his hand and aligned himself; he began to lower himself, feeling the familiar sensation of being penetrated. Stark wrapped his arms around him again, uttering out a curse as he sunk further down onto his cock, and finally was sheathed entirely on him.

Waves of pleasure roiled through him; he clenched his eyes closed, and enjoyed the weight and girth of Stark inside of him, and how wet and hot breaths were being blown against his collarbone. Everything that should have mattered, which were of the utmost of importance, faded away; Stark was the only thing that mattered now, and how he held him uncharacteristically close. So close that the arc reactor was digging into his sternum, and its illumination was evident through his eyelids.

Their hurried breaths intermingled with one another, the only sound above the low hum of the air conditioner. Loki opened his eyes, surprised to find that Stark was staring at him reverentially. It was out of character and he suspected Stark realized it too; and yet neither of them could hold onto their true selves at the moment.

Loki eventually made good use of his position, lifting himself a bit before dropping fully onto Stark. Both of them made noises of approval, which only increased as Loki continued, building a rhythm that felt both too slow and far too fast. It was torturous and it made his blood boil; which was only amplified as Stark snapped his hips just as he began to sink onto his cock for what could only be the umpteenth time in the span of several seconds.

Sparks of uncontained ecstasy rippled through Loki in icy-hot spurts, and his body responded frenetically. He wrapped an arm around Stark's shoulders, while lifting himself off of the sheer heat that consumed the mortal's body, and in turn turned him into an inferno, a devil whose crimes were reflected back at him from those emotive brown eyes.

He dropped back, urging Stark to embed himself as deeply as he could into his malevolent and war-mongering body. He stole bits and pieces of his humanity, stripped him of his super-hero persona and his intent, and fucked himself on his cock until the pleasure-sounds couldn't be contained even with his iron-clad resilience.

Stark bucked with uncanny force, which caused pinpricks of lights to cross his vision; but it was nothing compared to Stark's contorting face, and how overwhelmed he was by their physicality. His lips parted in silent moans and his eyes were wide and glassy but still aware. Aware of whom he was holding so close, and who he allowed to take pleasure from him.

Loki rode Stark with increasing ferocity, propelling himself up and using his knees for proper leverage, and repeated the motion in both short and frantic ministrations, and slow and torpid ones. But each always coached him deeper into his body; each one brought Stark closer to his prostate. And when it hit, precise and spot-on, he couldn't help but convulse and choke on the animalistic noise that bubbled in his throat.

His muscles tensed, squeezed Stark's cock which drew the most erotic sound that Loki had ever had the privilege to hear. Their entwined vulnerability and the slow spiral into complete and utter madness, allowed Loki to be that reckless. He forced himself to move harder and faster, impaling himself over and over again until everything had grown absolutely chaotic, absolutely perfect.

He, the god of chaos, found the ultimate pleasure in pandemonium and destruction. Stark was utterly chaotic, unhinged, and beautifully broken; he exuded madness and brilliance, and everything that pressed on Loki's pleasure points until his head was tossed back, vocalizing everything he only dreamed to express while causing irreversible havoc upon a race so much weaker than he.

Stark's hand clenched his ass again, urging him to lose himself entirely. And the madness was unleashed to its greatest of capacities; he leaned backwards, clinging to Stark still, while his unoccupied hand supported his weight against the mattress.

"O-obtuse angle," the mortal huffed out, before a broken chuckle rumbled in his throat.

Loki ignored him, continuing to escalate his movements; and this newest position proved to allow Stark to pound into him easier. His hips worked like pistons just as erratic and uncoordinated as Loki's actions were. They collided over and over again; the sound of flesh-on-flesh, the unashamed sounds of bliss overwhelmed Loki, and it was that moment he knew he fell. He had truly fallen.

The reality, the fantasy bled into one truth, and his mind could only repeat a mantra that was foreign, imperfect, and oh-so-human: Starkstarkstarkstarkstarkstark. It was the only thing he knew, wanted, craved, and he felt the world tilt on its axis; his whole reality only consisted of Stark.

Stark sweat-veiled body, his determined and lust-blown eyes, his mouth that was drawn into a frown of concentration, and his hands that held onto his flesh tightly, was anchoring him to this world even as his hips thrust him into a utopia of the purest form of insanity. The man set his body aflame, despite his own quivering and the evidence of trying so hard not to lose himself as he had before.

Loki clenched his fist, holding onto the bedspread; he heard fabric rip underneath his fingers as he canted his own hips to match Stark's punishing motions. And then, so suddenly and unexpected, he caught Stark's gaze with his; it was an anomaly, pure and simple. He had never been stared at so openly or with such fondness that his heart began to pound much harder than it already had been.

It felt like completion; it was the wholeness he had long since lost once he learned of his true parentage, and as he fell from the Bifrost willingly. The emptiness that all-consuming sentiment, which had eaten him alive while in cohorts with Thanos and lured by the tesseract's ever-glorious power, had suddenly vanished. It was broken by Stark, his enemy, his bane, his jailer, his champion.

Unprepared, he was jarred by a powerful thrust that sent him unceremoniously onto his back and came close to unseating him on Stark's cock. He moaned in surprise, pleasure-waves rushing over him from head-to-toe; and once Stark began to pound mercilessly into him, hands now cemented to his hips, he felt the world crash, explode, and dissipate only into bliss.

He shouted in the old tongue, nonsense really, and came in a swift, all-encompassing way. His eyes clamped shut and his body shuddered violently as his seed spurt across his stomach and chest, and nearly onto his very chin.

Stark was quiet but held steadfast onto his hips, pumping into his body several more times until he too came in a rush of heat that spread and painted Loki's insides, and caused them both to let out the breaths that they had been holding.

It took a long time until either of them could move, let alone speak. They remained in the awkward position until Loki found the strength to disengage himself, and roll uncaringly onto his stomach. Stark followed after him, but settled onto his side; his breathing was still ragged and uneven as if he had run a marathon.

They laid in relative silence, side-by-side, neither able to articulate what had happened. The copulation was evident, a given of course; but the sentiment behind it was becoming a greater enigma that two head-strong individuals were incapable of actually admitting to.

"Tomorrow," Stark managed to say after some time, although his voice was gruff and unpleasant to the ears. "We leave. I don't care where, but we leave; just you and me, anywhere in the world."

Loki hadn't the gall to speak, let alone contradict the conviction in his voice. He, however, blindly reached over and grasped his hand, and squeezed it in understanding, camaraderie, and dare he say love?

Chapter Text

"How can you fuck yourself into a coma?" Tony scowled, taking a huge bite of his messy burrito, which was his second biggest mistake of the day, if the stains on his tee-shirt weren't enough to go by. "And why didn't you wake me up?"

"I don't recall it being my responsibility," Loki responded coolly, studying his nails like many of the prissy girls Tony had the privilege of spending the night with; and god did he hate that nonchalance.

"Last time I checked we're in this together now, compadre,"

"I am not in your servitude,"

"Servitude; we're talking about you waking me up! You know, so we can escape before the fuzz can find us!" He took another bite, suppressing the urge to throw the rest out the window as its contents oozed out of the back and onto his napkin-covered lap.

It was already six-thirty at night and they were only half an hour out of Las Vegas. They would have already been in Colorado maybe even Texas or Kansas, had Loki kicked him out of bed at a decent hour. But instead Tony had woken at four, having long since given up on waking himself up particularly if he had Jarvis for the job.

Unfortunately, Jarvis hadn't been there and he wouldn't be anywhere until he hacked into his own systems and transferred him into a more permanent location (which remained to be seen where it would even be). All he knew was that Europe seemed like the ideal spot; and maybe Loki could fit in better than he would if Asia was the destination.

"I bet it would literally, and I mean literally, kill you to do anything nice for someone besides yourself,"

"I see," the god eyed him menacingly. "Fellatio proved to be a punishment for you; as was the copulation that we partook in the previous evening. I wasn't aware of that, Stark. I'll be mindful of that in the future."

"That's why my body's sore," Tony tossed his burrito unceremoniously onto the napkins in his lap, licking his fingers clean. "Maybe if you didn't ride me like you were charging into battle, I might have actually woken up at a decent damn hour."

Loki shot him a cross look, which he responded to by grinning cheekily. Of course, he'd never object to the wild sex they had; he'd be an idiot of the highest degree if he did, although he might have inadvertently shot himself in the foot.

"Listen darling, sweetie-pie," he motioned, as if he could get his point across that way. "This isn't a joke; we need to stay under the radar. And because you can't teleport anywhere, since as you put it your magic is still abnormally dilapidated, we can't take the risk of sleeping in."

"Then you've put us in grave danger, Stark,"

"Honey-bunches, apple of my eye," he continued, trying not to grit his teeth in frustration. "Sugar-plum, I need your help as much as you need mine. Because if you let me go down, I'm going to make sure they find your ass; and they'll toss up both in the pen. But in the very least, we can take our relationship to the next level – prison marriage."

The god rolled his eyes, but retained that haughty attitude since Tony gotten up. To be fair, Tony hadn't exactly woken up on the right side of the bed either. Not when he saw the clock and deduced that they lost a good twelve hours of travel, which would have taken them across at least three or four states away from Nick Fury. And the farther away they could get away from Nick was for the best.

Cautiously he reached over and wound his fingers through Loki's hair, while he kept his eyes on the road. But he suspected he was getting a look of sheer hatred since he had just been licking his fingers clean of that awfully messy burrito; and he really didn't think he could handle another rant about how he soiled Loki's precious hair for the second time in two days.

"You have to trust me, okay," he said, shooting him a pleading look. "And I'm going to have to trust you. But you can't pull the servitude card on me anymore; and I really don't appreciate it when you think it isn't your job to help me out, because it is now."

"So I've become your glorified time-keeper,"

"Some would call it a clock, but whatever you say, light of my life,"

"Stop calling me such ridiculous things, Stark," Loki sneered, trying to pull away from his hold.

"They're called endearments," he returned quickly. "Besides you're all I got now."

He was hoping that it would come out as humorous, albeit it was far from it. Not so long ago he had said the same thing to Pepper; they both had declared that they only had one another, and now well he only had a psychopathic god who fucked like a race horse and who also fucked a horse on top of that.

Loki appeared to have understood the implication as well, since he stopped struggling and was now staring at him. He could feel the heat from his stare, but he refused to take his eyes off the road. Safety first, of course; it wasn't like his heart was about to force the arc reactor out of his chest for being that candid with the god of mischief.

"You are, in fact, the only one I can call my own within all nine realms," the god uttered, almost on the verge of disgusted at his own admission.

"Well, look at us," Tony let out an abrupt laugh, although his heart-rate doubled but for an entirely different reason than it had before. "Both of us are hopelessly alone and pathetic. What's that old saying – keep your friends close and your enemies closer?"

"Something to that effect, I suppose," Loki leaned into his touch ever-so-slightly, which really sped up his heart-rate.

"Cupcake, do you mind getting this burrito out of my lap? The chile's dripping onto my pants, and it is way too close to Tony Jr. for comfort." He laughed again, easily finding a way out of the emotional whirlwind that they were inevitably getting into; but he made a note to revisit it once they were settled into a shitty roadside motel somewhere.

"Enough with such names, you insolent human," Loki snapped back, yanking away from his hand, before taking the burrito and hurling it into the backseat.

"Hey, that is leather upholstery, you psychopath," he yelled, returning his hand to the wheel.

But that definitely didn't mean a damn thing to Loki; and he didn't expect it to either. He would really have to lower his expectations, if he thought for a minute that Loki would display any sort of common courtesy towards him, or any of his belongings for that matter.

It didn't mean that he'd have to like it though. Even if he hated the hummer, he still didn't want a Mexican fiesta in the backseat; it was bad enough he had Nordic gods covered in blood back there, so adding refried beans into the mix wasn't necessary.

Annoyed but pleased that silence prevailed once more, Tony jammed his finger against the mp3 player that was housed into the console, and turned on Judas Priest at full blast; if only to annoy the god more so than he already had.

Whatever he expected Loki to do in the midst of Rob Halford's vibrato, didn't come to fruition. In fact he was surprised by the lack of reaction; Loki was now staring out the window, at the darkness that had already fallen.

Tony repressed the urge to say something, anything; because there was something terribly unnerving when Loki was quiet, as if he was planning another shot at world domination. Or maybe it was simple homicide at that point, which was probably worse (on a personal level, of course).

But it was probably for the best anyway; he didn't feel comfortable getting into his feelings and vice-versa. They weren't touchy-feely people (or person and god), and he wasn't sure he wanted to change that. Even though in the peak of intimacy, he'd seen the way the god's normally blank eyes had shifted, and looked on the brim of blowing out from emotion.

The way Loki had looked at him, propped in his lap, lost in motion, had been overwhelming. And he loved it; loved that he could stoke such a reaction from a being that was a hollow-out shell most of the time. He caused Loki's face to contort into something human, for his eyes to warm up, and maybe just maybe it was something akin to…

His thoughts came to an abrupt halt; a loud noise, similar to a gunshot, roared in his ears. It several moments for his brain to process what had happened, more so to realize the hummer was weaving haphazardly along the road despite his hands firmly attached to the steering wheel.

He stepped down onto the brake, trying to keep the hummer in control and not panic despite the bumpy and jerky motions that threatened to jar him out of his seat. But he suddenly got help from an unexpected place; a long-fingered hand reached over, grabbing onto the wheel, and managed to steady the vehicle better than Tony was able to do on his own.

Once he gotten the hummer to a steady speed, he pulled it onto the side of the road, and let out the breath he'd been holding in. Loki's hand was still on the wheel; as if he suspected that they might lose control again despite being in park now.

"Blow-out," Tony swallowed hard, trying to shake the sickening feeling he had felt; it reminded him of Afghanistan a little too much, particularly because he was still piloting a disgustingly huge hummer.

He shut his eyes, overwhelmed by snapshots of the fun-vee, and the smell of blood and sand. Then he was in that dank, dark cave with Yinsen again, carrying a car battery underneath his arm, and filled with fear whenever anything creaked or the shadows elongated unexpectedly.

His chest ached and burned, as if his body remembered the trauma as much as his mind did. He was spiraling back into that miserable place, where night terrors consumed every part of him for months after the fact. But something drew him back; he felt a palm cupping his cheek, and his eyes shot open to see Loki with his brow drawn down in curiosity and what could have been defined as concern (but Tony still had a hard time believing it).

"It's just a blow-out," he said, more so to himself than to Loki. "And it couldn't have come at a worse time."

He attempted to smile, but knew it wasn't effective. Not to mention he didn't know why he wanted to reassure Loki of all people; Loki probably didn't forget about how he'd left him unattended to for over a month, because he certainly hadn't forgotten and didn't feel any less guilty about it either.

"Yes, of course," the god returned, although Tony suspected he didn't have a clue what a blow-out was.

"I have a spare tire in the back," He couldn't help but lean into his touch. "But I'll need your help; I know, I know, that's totally below you but remember, we're in this together."

"I wasn't about to object," the god's hand began to slip away, but Tony held it firmly in place.

"Just give me a minute first," he turned his head and further into Loki's touch.

Those unpleasant memories slowly ebbed away, replaced by some essence of calm that seemed to radiate off of the god of mischief. He never realized Loki could be a source of peace; not with his title, his many deeds, and what could only be described as his well-established madness. But he somehow grounded him, and chased away the terror he'd been feeling.

Reluctantly Tony pulled away, pressing a quick kiss against Loki's palm in a way that he hoped was nonchalant compared to being grateful. He still didn't trust Loki and he suspected the feeling was mutual.

"Come on, Reindeer Games, that tire won't change itself," he pulled the keys out of the ignition, before slipping out of the hummer and letting the napkins flutter off his lap; it was getting cold already and he wasn't looking forward to losing any more time either.

Tony rounded the hummer, and popped open the hatchback; he found a flashlight, which he turned on and quickly swept it towards the back wheel on the right hand side, whose tire was mangled beyond repair. Although he couldn't help but trace Loki's body with light as he appeared around the corner.

The spare tire had been pushed farther away in the back, since they'd used the space for unorthodox means several days beforehand. He passed the flashlight to Loki, before crawling into the back and pulling out the toolkit and setting it at the end of the trunk space.

Just as he got his hands on the spare tire, he heard something that made his skin curl. He didn't necessarily understand why, not until he quickly backtracked out of the hummer only to find the flashlight abandoned on the ground.

"Loki," Tony snatched up the flashlight, aiming the light to and fro, before finding the god several feet away. "Hey, don't try to get out of the grunt work."

The god slowly turned to stare at him, his eyes were unreadable but Tony had a bad feeling about it. Maybe he was just being paranoid, considering they were on the run from a secret organization with super sneaky spies with access to nuclear weapons; but there was something else to it, and it soon formulated in front of Loki.

Tony's paranoia solidified itself into a being that was a tad taller than Loki, and wore armor of blue and silver; his wavy brown hair fluttered in the slight breeze, and his face was kindly and peaceful although the expression didn't meet his gray-blue eyes.

"Brother Loki," the being said, before smiling beautifully.

"Brother Baldur," Loki returned stiffly. "Tyr, Váli, Ullr,"

Three other figures manifested from the darkness, all of which wore grim expressions on their faces. But they did not broach the space between themselves and Loki, not like Baldur who opened his arms and engulfed the chaos god in an unbreakable hug.

"How I have missed you, Brother Loki," Baldur held Loki steadfast.

"Has Heimdall sent you?" Loki asked, but didn't return the hug.

"Nay, my heart," the god released him from the embrace, but held onto his shoulders. "The Warriors Three and the Lady Sif returned to Asgard with their tails between their legs and downtrodden from being hoodwinked by you and yours; so I volunteered to return you home!"

Anxiety struck Tony like a mallet to the side of the head; he knew once those oversized, armor clad gods appeared that there was only one reason for it. It wasn't like they were coming to Las Vegas for Wayne Newton and the world-renowned gambling.

Tony took a step forward, which drew everyone's attention onto him. It was the first time in a long time that he shunned away from the undivided attention. He didn't like the looks on the guys' faces behind Baldur; although Baldur didn't make him feel any better with that creepy-ass smile.

"You must be the mortal in whom I've heard so much about," Baldur freed Loki finally, before approaching Tony with an extended hand. "Brother Thor has spoken of your valiancy; although his fellows had more hardened words for you."

"Brother Baldur," Loki almost snarled, which caused Baldur to stop short of trying to take Tony's hand in between his own. "I will not fight you, nor will the man of iron try and dissuade you."

"Bullshit," Tony intervened immediately. "I think we're past the point where I'd willingly throw you to the wolves."

He steeled his gaze on Loki, whose eyes flared in sudden and unshakeable ferocity. But something told Tony that it was a defense mechanism; because even Loki couldn't be excited to run off to his execution. And that made him think, firmly and irrevocably, that Loki was trying to protect him again like he had with Fury.

"Do not lay a hand upon this mortal, Brother Baldur," Loki stepped forward, grabbing a hold of his fellow god's wrist. "You should show your gratitude; he, unlike so many, protected me."

"What of Lady Sif and the Warriors Three?"

"My doing, of course," Loki smirked. "You know of my whims, eldest brother."

"Ah, my mischievous sibling," Baldur said almost lovingly, before returning his attention onto Tony. "I must thank you for keeping my youngest brother safe. I dare say the other mortals would have caused irreversible damage to his fragile body."

"So you're the missing brother? I thought it was only Loki and Thor." Tony glowered at Baldur, and noticed the other gods shift, ready to attack if need be. "I guess you're the unloved one, since I never heard of you. Did they keep you locked away in a tower like Sleeping Beauty?"

"That is enough, Stark," Loki sneered, before moving his hand to hold onto Baldur's bicep, and steering him away. "Brother Baldur, I have a favor to ask of you. I do not believe it to be unreasonable, considering the circumstances."

"What might that be, although you know I cannot deny you," Baldur smiled even larger than before.

Tony knew instinctually that he shouldn't aggravate the situation; Baldur appeared to be far more of a threat than the other members of the rescue team. And there was a part of him that feared that the kindly looking god might kill Loki in front of him, if he attempted to intervene to such an extreme extent.

But he'd be damned if he just let Loki be taken; not after everything that happened. People had died, people had been injured and had been hurt, and Pepper had been hurt. His entire life had fallen apart, and he couldn't let that happen again; because all he had, what he'd probably only have from that day forward, was Loki.

May it be selfish or not was irrelevant; Loki still had more to lose by going with his newly revealed brother. The probability that he'd be immediately executed once he set foot into Asgard was almost a given; because he'd shown a penchant for escape.

"As I mentioned beforehand, Stark has been instrumental in keeping me alive. And if I am to go willingly, I believe you should compensate him accordingly." Loki explained, raising a hand to stop Baldur from interrupting. "And I do not mean in the treasures from the All-Father's vault. Rather he must be given absolute leniency for his actions thus far."

"Of course, Brother Loki," Baldur announced, slapping a hand against his shoulder. "Why else do you think I've brought Tyr, Ullr, and Váli? They have come to negotiate with the organization, in which captured and imprisoned you. Therefore, our demands will be as such – to allow the man of iron to be freed of any responsibility; because if they had harmed you, Asgard would have taken drastic actions."

"Of the highest order indeed," one of the other gods remarked grimly.

"Wait a minute," Tony piped up, coming up from behind, and grabbing Loki around the waist. "We're not done talking, so stop making decisions for me."

Loki released his hold on his brother, turning in Tony's hold, and giving him his undivided attention. There was an uncharacteristic expression on Loki's face, one that resembled the one at the height of their intimacy. Loki's face was open and vulnerable, and everything that the god hid from the rest of the world.

"I don't need anyone to fix things for me. I made my decision and that decision was you. And I'd like to think your decision was me." Tony said, throwing caution to the wind. "No, I actually know it was me."

"How astute of you," Loki cracked a smile, a real one. "It was you, my dear Anthony."

"Then don't do this to me,"

"I'm doing it for you," the god cradled his face, before pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead. "You will eventually thank me, Anthony."

"I'll hate you until the day I die if you do,"

"You already do," Loki chuckled, brushing his lips across his temple, along the bridge of his nose, over his cheeks and his jaw, before eventually pressing a kiss firmly onto his mouth.

Tony squeezed his arms tightly around the god, returning the kiss with as much passion as he could. He projected every emotion that he felt into that kiss; he deepened it, disregarding his need to breathe because he feared that if he stopped, he'd never get another chance to express what he truly felt.

Loki carded his fingers through his hair, which caused Tony to moan fully into the kiss. He let all his reservations go and held the god to him as close as humanly possible. For that brief interlude, the world only consisted of him and Loki; everything else could have gone to hell for all he cared, if only he could hold onto him for a bit longer.

And yet Loki denied him; he pulled away, his lips swollen and smiling sweetly and innocently. Tony knew that this was the real Loki; the Loki that Thor loved and defended so fervently. But this wasn't Thor's Loki anymore, it was Tony's Loki.

"Never forget that I feel," the god mumbled against his lips, for only he could hear. "You are the only one that my madness cannot touch, Anthony Stark. But you are the only one who can touch my heart."

"Listen honey, darling, sweetie-pie," Tony repeated himself from only half an hour ago, maybe more. "I only have you; that's it. Just me and you, from here on out,"

"I require that shrine then," Loki grinned mischievously.

"The flashiest and most over the top shrine money can buy,"

"Yes, that will appease me, pet,"

"God, I love you," Tony admitted, before kissing him again.

"Then forgive me, Anthony,"

"If you think I'm going to let you go-"

"Not for that," Loki tilted his head. "Forgive me, rather for this."

Before Tony could ask what he meant, a blinding pain seared through his whole body. The heat bloomed in his solar plexus where the god's fist had punched him. His eyes widened in shock and pain, but nothing could surpass the pain he felt while looking at Loki's face.

Maybe it was a figment of his imagination, or an illusion invoked by the god-awful pain; but Tony swore for a second before the world turned completely black that a single tear rolled down Loki's cheek despite the maniac grin that stretched across his lips. And god did that hurt more than any physical blow could.

Chapter Text

Nick Fury had been accused of many things, but no one could (or had the gall for that matter) accuse him of being stupid. He had been frequently called malicious, hardened, and even evil; because he was someone that would use any means to an end. He took his job very seriously; and it was his duty to ensure that the country, no less the world, was protected from unnecessary threats.

So it was expected that he would, in the very least, entertain the three intimidating and heavily armed gods who stood across the way from him. One of the bigger, darker, and meaner looking ones had an unconscious body thrown haphazardly over his armor-clad shoulder; and Nick was unsurprised from past experiences to see that it was Stark.

His many years at SHIELD had suspended his disbelief; everything that could possibly exist in fiction and fantasy, very well had a place in reality. Not many people had been acquainted with that truth, but he'd been face-to-face with it for so long, that he rarely batted an eye at it anymore.

"You must be the leader of this organization," the golden-haired god, who resembled Thor in some ways although he appeared much older and hardened, asked in an authoritative tone.

"Nick Fury," he introduced himself with a tilt of the head. "And you are?"

"I am Tyr of Asgard, and my fellows are Váli and Ullr,"

"How can I be of service to you gentlemen?" Nick asked as genially as he could, but it proved impossible to soften his features, not when he had hostiles on his base.

As far as he was concerned, anyone who declared Asgard as their origins was a threat; Thor being the only exception; after all, he had twenty-three dead agents that said as much and a missing god of chaos on top of that.

"We have been sent by Baldur," Tyr declared. "He is the eldest son of Odin, the eldest brother of Loki; and he has taken Loki back to Asgard for his impending execution."

"With all due respect, I reserve the right to be skeptical," Nick crossed his arms, smiling thinly. "After all, Loki crash landed on Earth several months after his attempt at world domination. I figured if we sent him back to Asgard that you folks would have already taken care of the problem; rather than give him the opportunity to escape, and give me a bigger headache than I already had."

"Loki did not escape, rest assured," the god returned. "He was taken from the dungeons by an unruly group who he had wronged; and they chose his punishment, rather than allowing the All-Father to pass judgment. And their actions led to Loki's return to Midgard."

Strangely enough this wasn't unheard information; in fact Loki had declared as much, while they had first interrogated him. Of course, he hadn't believed a word from the bastard's mouth, since his forte had everything to do with lying.

He quirked an eyebrow, but really couldn't muster up any regret for wounding Loki. Furthermore, he wasn't about to apologize for the extreme actions he took in means of interrogation. Loki was a war criminal, one who had caused hundreds of deaths, and caused billions of dollars of damage; and quite frankly, Nick just didn't like his smug-ass face in the first place.

"How can I be sure that you've secured Loki?" He began slowly. "This is all hearsay."

"If I must, I shall bring his very head," Tyr had the gall to smile. "But we are not here solely for Loki; we have been sent to negotiate the man of iron's fate."

"Negotiate? I don't think there is anything to negotiate." He drew in a steady breath, counting back from ten so he wouldn't burst a blood vessel.

The last thing he wanted to do was negotiate with an outside party about Stark's fate. Regardless if the three gods had willingly brought Stark to him, that didn't give them the grounds to demand a negotiation. They hadn't any stake or authority in the matter; and he'd be damned if he gave Stark a second chance to redeem himself. After all, the first one turned out so beautifully.

Stark was compromised, Nick knew that. But he had also been under the belief Stark wouldn't be so stupid to lead a rescue team, a hostile rescue team at that, onto his base. He still had some faith in Stark when he allowed him to leave the interrogation room without being arrested, and that faith had been tattered beyond recognition.

In his personal and professional opinion, Stark was a hostile himself. It was under his watch that twenty-three agents had died, and fourteen others were injured. Iron Man or not, his actions were inexcusable; he had put the world at risk over some fucked up infatuation that he had with the loony toon that almost destroyed Manhattan. And he'd be damned if he turned a blind eye to that sort of thing again.

"I don't mean to be disrespectful, but Stark is a citizen of this planet not to mention this country, and I'll be personally dealing with his fate,"

"As we shall deal with Loki, no doubt," the god hummed, looking to his cohorts. "But we owe the man of iron a debt, since he kept the third son of Odin safe. And I shall not leave until you have agreed to our terms."

"That sounds like a threat,"

"Far be it for me to threaten you," Tyr grinned almost as manically as Loki was known for. "I, Tyr, god of war, do not make threats. I uphold them."

Nick had to hand it to the mastermind who sent this particular god with a title he could not ignore. He might have been pissed off by their decision to force themselves into the building, and he was pretty incensed by the fact that they wanted to negotiate Stark's fate; but he wasn't stupid enough to brush it off when confronted by a supernatural being dubbed as the god of war.

"By all means then," he said begrudgingly.

The god turned to his cohorts again, having a mental conversation that Nick couldn't discern, before he made eye contact with him. There was something savage in those dark blue eyes that made Loki's green ones look like child's play.

"We demand that you pardon the man of iron,"

"That's unthinkable; Stark led a party of your kind into my building and killed my agents,"

"He did so in favor to Asgard," the god retorted arrogantly.

"He committed crimes against his own planet,"

"He fought a war for you, Thor has said as much in his tales,"

"Fighting in a war doesn't give you free reign to do whatever you please," Nick grit his teeth. "Stark is egotistical and reckless; just because he has a fucking whim, excuse my French, that doesn't mean he has the right to pursue it. He had the opportunity to back off, but he purposely inserted himself into the middle of a shit-storm. He isn't going to get off that easily; he shouldn't get off that easily."

There were plenty of things he was willing to overlook in Stark's situation; in fact, he should have been declared a saint for even allowing Stark that second chance. But it was out of the question to pretend like no one died, like Stark hadn't fled the state with Loki in tow.

Stark was used to the world bending over and taking it up the ass from him; and Nick would be damned if he was going to grab his ankles and take it without a fight. Billionaire or not, technological genius or not, Stark didn't get a free pass when innocent lives had been lost.

"I would say the man of iron has saved you once again," the god rumbled with a thunderous clap of laughter. "Because if you had executed the crowned prince of Asgard, we would have declared war upon Midgard; and you would not have survived such a feat."

"Is that a message from the All-Father himself?"

"We are here on gentle Baldur's account,"

"That Baldur is a genius," Nick began to pace. "He sends the god of war to negotiate for him."

"As he has sent Váli who is the god of revenge," Tyr motioned to the god who was in possession of Stark. "And Ullr who is god of hunt and duel; Baldur is kind, but he knows how to negotiate with the leaders of the nine realms."

It was beginning to feel like he was being put in between a rock and a hard place. And he did not like being put into an inescapable situation. Especially when he knew what was the proper course of action; and in this case, Stark would be fined heavily to compensate for his crimes, stripped of his technology that correlated with Iron Man, and jailed for a good twenty years if not more.

"I'll negotiate, but the idea he'd get off scot-free is ludicrous," he continued to pace, eyeing each god with renewed suspicion. "Stark will have to pay restitution; I don't know the exact number, but we're looking at least two billion dollars which is really no skin off his nose. Secondly, he will have to willingly give up any and all technology that powers his suits, and declare to the world that Iron Man is no longer America's fucking sweetheart."

He expected the god of war to look completely confused, since really who would think he kept up with the Avengers initiative; and yet he looked anything but. Then again they had a direct source of information from Thor, who probably provided some of the inane details in his boasts.

"But more importantly than even that, he's serving time. There's no way of getting around that; my suggestion is twenty years, minimum."

"We reject it," Váli, god of revenge, said in a warped baritone that almost made Nick's crawl, almost.

"He shall not be imprisoned," Tyr provided simply, as if he had a foot to stand on. "As for stripping of his warrior's status, we cannot agree to that either. No one who has valiantly fought in war deserves to be humiliated in such a fashion."

"Pardon me, Mr. God of War," Nick snapped. "But the fact of the matter is that we live in a civilized society, where war is only raged if necessary. It's not for game; and I don't care if Stark saved the Queen of fucking England, he doesn't have the right to do whatever the hell he wants."

"Our compromise is as follows," the god almost growled, no longer agreeable (if he really was to begin with). "The man of iron shall compensate those he has harmed; Asgard will surely do as such as well. But he shall not be stripped of his status as one of your world's champions, nor will he be imprisoned.

"In return for such, Asgard will allow you access to the Warriors Three and Lady Sif whom have fought alongside Thor for centuries; therefore your numbers have increased, and your world will remain safe. And I shall personally bring you the head of Loki to ensure you that Asgard has held up its bargain of executing him."

"You drive a hard fucking bargain," Nick glowered, but he wasn't so close-minded that he wouldn't at least think it over.

Of course it burned his ass that he even had to consider it. He liked his idea way more than only punishing Stark financially. Two billion dollars was nothing to him, and he'd probably make it back within a few months, considering his company's revolution in clean energy technology.

But he also couldn't risk another declaration of war from a rival planet (or realm). New York City was still in shambles from the Chitauri attack, and it would take years to rebuild everything. He weighed the pros and cons of telling the gods to go fuck themselves than agree to their terms; since really the rule of thumb to play by was never to negotiate with terrorists (or potential terrorists). And yet his hands were tied.

"I want that head on my desk the day after it comes off that scrawny little neck," he seethed, before motioning haughtily at Stark. "Stark will have to stand down, in the very least for a few months, as Iron Man. I think that is reasonable, if I'm not throwing his ass in jail or declaring him a hostile."

"We haven't a problem with that," Tyr nodded. "So our deal is as such – the man of iron keeps his title, shall pay monetarily for his crimes; and you shall have both compensation from Asgard, access to four of our finest warriors, and Loki's head."

"And how sweet it is," he returned, before reaching into his pocket and pulling out his cell-phone. "We'll get that in writing, since I don't play by word alone. But first thing first, we get someone to take Stark's ass home, and far away from me as humanly possible. Because I can't promise I won't try to beat his stupid ass if he wakes up."

He tapped the keypad, and found the number he needed quickly. He brought the phone to his ear, keeping a close eye on the gods still; since he trusted them as far as he could throw them. After a few rings a pleasantly calm voice greeted him, which was exactly what he needed.

"Agent Coulson, I need you to get in touch with either Pepper Potts or Colonel Lieutenant Rhodes. I have a parcel for them, wrapped in a stained tee-shirt and ripped jeans; and I want it off my base ASAP, before I decide that homicide is a hobby that I want to take up."

Chapter Text

It was a death hymn; the choral of his final breaths. His footfall echoed across the hallowed halls; his hands bound at the small of his back, and he recalled his youth vividly. Small and dark, he had pursued Thor ever-so-faithfully; he, the follower and never the equal; he, the moon, and Thor the sun.

These halls held many memories, but far more secrets; hidden within the shadows he had glimpsed upon Thor taking a maiden, when such physicality had stirred unpleasant shame within him. He had caught sight of ruddy warriors, who spoke of war as if child's play. He had even spied upon Baldur stargazing, only to flee once his gray-blue eyes had caught him in their steely gaze; a gaze that promised unspeakable horrors.

However, he no longer feared Baldur; he feared very little beyond the scope of being utterly forgotten. To be forgotten meant that his purpose, his immortality had all been for naught. If death could annihilate the mayhem that he committed, then he had simply wasted centuries in vain; and that was the most terrifying thing to him.

It was only through chaos that he would be remembered. It was within his deviant ways that he preserved his livelihood; marred the tapestry of the house of Odin. Not even Thor could banish him from thought once he ascended the throne with Baldur, kindly Baldur, as his advisor. They would rule Asgard as it was meant to be ruled; although his memory would still remain, a specter amongst these halls.

His memory would haunt the labyrinths of the kingdom; his very essence would remain with his brothers until they too fell in war. Their wars would be raged against enemy hordes, rather than against themselves and the monster within. And they would die gallantly with weapon ready; whereas he wore death's cloak for treason.

"Your silence leaves much to be desired, Brother Loki," Baldur smiled crookedly at him; it was the sort of smile that he had once feared so fervently, but he told no one.

"I am chained and being led to slaughter, I haven't any wisdom to share," he returned, standing much straighter as if to save his dignity; but his hands remained chained behind him, which dampened the effect considerably.

"Wisdom is unnecessary," Baldur waved his hand dismissively. "I yearn for your words, interwoven so beautifully by your silver-tongue. Come brother; tell me of your trials."

Gnarled fingers of remembrance swept and entranced Loki; no matter his centuries of life, the intensity of those moments on Midgard was enough to bring him to his knees. What had ultimately been lost as he had fallen, had been found in a fragile human body whose eyes emoted things that his lips could not.

How could one such as him, a god meant to be king, find companionship in such a creature? But that dark understanding connected them by a thin thread; which was bound to snap and had been by the whimsical instance of death.

"My trials are beyond understanding, Brother Baldur," he said delicately, capturing the fervor that began to encompass his captor. "There is nothing to speak of; to the dungeons with me."

"If only imprisonment was so simple,"

"The theory of entrapment is rather complex indeed,"

"The theory of entrapment; by the Norns, I have forgotten your cleverness, dear heart!" Baldur chortled, shattering the quiet of the halls that they traversed; but it was not a sound of merriment, rather it was the sort that would have chilled his blood had his parentage been the same as Baldur's.

"However, the reality of it is simple," he raised his chin, if only to project arrogance; since he no longer felt confident in his eldest brother's company. "Being confined physically is the simplest part, Brother Baldur. But the cerebral part, oh you will never be able theorize the complexity of such."

Baldur remained quiet, although his wicked smile still persisted. Since he was a child, he was forbidden from keeping company with Baldur; while Thor was readily given permission to peruse Baldur's chambers, and hear of the many battles that he had fought in so bravely.

Loki had learned to fear Baldur; mayhap it was a projection of Odin's fury if he had accompanied Thor to Baldur's chambers, or perhaps there was good reason for that fear. Needle-pricks, very subtle ones, crisscrossed down his spine, and left him temporarily breathless; which led him to believe there was much to dread in such close proximity to his eldest brother after all.

They had only met in passing throughout the centuries; they fought alongside one another upon different campaigns. But he had always shadowed Thor, whom welcomed him as Baldur could not. Baldur whose smiles were magical and unrelenting, and whose eyes were oddly disconnected and always followed him during banquets and war-grounds; he never understood, and yet he was suddenly heightened by fragments of awareness.

This was not the way to the dungeons; this was the way to Baldur's chambers, which were isolated from Thor's, Odin's, Frigga's, and his previous ones as well. Now this was a turn he did not expect; he quirked an eyebrow, and was rewarded with that lying smile.

"You know much about imprisonment, Brother Loki," Baldur's voice was small. "My heart aches for your pains; it bled horribly as you had fallen from grace."

"Did you mourn?" He echoed the question he'd directed towards Thor so long ago.

"Fervently, more so than all of Asgard,"

"What of Thor?"

"What of him? He loves you naught as I love you, Brother Loki." Baldur paused, no longer leading him; instead he turned to stare at him. "Brother Thor loves fickly, whereas my love is unwavering."

He held his breath, before tilting his head to stare at the vastness of the royal blue skies. It was well past midnight and all of the court slept; there were no feasts to be had, no celebratory and rambunctious behavior to be seen. It was only he and Baldur, Baldur and he.

There had never been an explanation on why he and Baldur were kept apart; Odin and his glorified wisdom hadn't the need for explanations. He also hadn't the need to reveal Loki's true parentage, until the blue of his skin bled so macabrely over white.

"Love for a brother whom you know little of?" He asked, unable to control the way his fingers furled at the persistent needle-pricks that had begun to run through his arms.

"Ah, but you are mistaken. I know of you well, Brother Loki. Brother Thor has confided in me; once we deemed you dead, he told me of his tales; from the moments of your youth, to the minute in which you had fallen."

Loki's lips curved manically, if only to stave away the worry that melded into that unpleasant physical sensation. He didn't know how to respond to such candid words, no less from his eldest and forbidden brother. Although Baldur was no more his brother than Thor was; the relation was a lie, as had his entire time on Asgard had been.

"You flatter me so, Brother Baldur; albeit I am befuddled by your curiosity. After all, our paths were not meant to cross as mine and Thor's." He quirked an eyebrow, and somehow managed to not step away once Baldur broached the distance between them.

"Our fates have been entwined from the beginning," Baldur ceased to smile, which suited his overall demeanor just fine. "Our bond is far stronger than you realize."

"Oh, I beg to differ," he said, finally taking a step back as his personal space was violated.

But Baldur was not deterred; in fact he only drew closer, until there was nowhere for him to go. His back struck one of the many pillars, and he was effectively boxed in between the marble and his eldest brother's body.

The needle-pricks flared as Baldur placed his hands on him; the touch was far different than while on Midgard, in the presence of Stark. This touch was deviant, even though his hands were only on his arms, and remained there without any tell-tale sign that they would travel any further.

"You have little time left, Loki. It would prove foolish to question so much, when the truth has already revealed itself. After all, why would our father keep us apart? Why could only Thor be in my company, and my raven-haired and bewitching youngest brother could not?"

"That concerns me little, as you have said Brother Baldur; I haven't much time left," he emphasized, discontented with Baldur calling him by name alone.

"And yet such a creature with endless knowledge and talent, has befallen the same illness that Thor has," Baldur continued, unaffected. "That mortal does not deserve your devotion, Loki. And yet you freely gave him every ounce of it. Has he had your body as well?"

"That does not concern you, as it concerns no one but the owner of said body," he snarled. "You will do well to remember that, until this body can no longer remind you due to its missing head."

The swiftness in which Baldur moved was astounding; his hands flew from his biceps, and implanted themselves on his forearms like the manacles that kept him bound. The closeness was unwelcomed; he could see the perturbing intent in Baldur's eyes, the way in which blue met gray, gray met blue. It was utter madness, and something snapped.

By no means was it unpleasant; something that had been missing, mayhap for most of life, finally connected in his brain; and everything made sense. The needle-pricks dissipated into nothingness, and he was keenly aware of the way Baldur had begun to finger the links of the manacles before taking a hold of either side as if he only needed to grant him permission.

He leaned inward, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips; and he knew this was what had kept them apart. This was what Odin had tried to prevent; but it was inevitable as Baldur had eloquently put it not so long ago. Their fates were interwoven, connected by unbreakable twine; Baldur was his soul mate.

"Release me, Baldur," he uttered lowly.

"Not quite yet," his elder brother grinned, pressing his body flush against him. "After all, I haven't been granted my heart's desire for so many centuries. And I cannot be denied any longer."

Before Loki could reply in turn, Baldur smashed his mouth against his in painful kiss. He didn't hesitate for an instant and reciprocated in a violent fashion, implementing teeth against the sensitive flesh of Baldur's bottom lip. He could feel the flesh let way, and his mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood which only escalated the savagery of their actions.

Sharp flashes of pain suddenly overwhelmed him; his head felt like it was on the verge of splitting open, and revealing the contents of his brain and the many insidious thoughts that had lain dormant up until this point. But it did not deter him; it only propelled him further into the kiss, as if he was possessed by the many devils that had taken residence in his head.

His tongue curved and shot into Baldur's mouth; there was more blood to be had, and he no longer knew if it was only his brother's or if it was his own that had been spilled as well. But it was no more important than everything else; for this was the reckoning, this was completion; this was death!

Baldur's grip increased on his bonds; with a great jerk that would have even left Thor envious, he pulled apart the chain, making it into two separate entities, and releasing him. Without a thought against the contrary, Loki reached upward and cradled Baldur's face; he dug his nails into his jaw, forcing himself so much closer that they would meld into one being.

Every fiber of his being screamed that this was right. This was another thing that Odin had denied him; this was the truth that had been shrouded in shadow, had been left to rot until it ceased to exist altogether. But he clung to it, burrowed himself into the ugliness of it until the pain quaked through his body, and caused spasms that would have warranted a healer's immediate attention.

Muddled memories slowly began to surface in white-hot bolts; they undulated and tangled, separated and regrouped, burnt and seared until his youth became his present, and his present was ordained in the past. The small god-child who had shunned and hid from eldest brother Baldur, whom had returned from a campaign covered in blood with a victorious grin that never reached his gray-blue eyes. Baldur, who had always been kindly to others, stared upon him as if he had wanted to devour him with those crocodile teeth; who would have found pleasure in eating him alive.

Mother, no Frigga, no Mother had buried him into her bosom, in an attempt to keep him ignorant to the crimes of war; to hide the savagery in Baldur's eyes, and to dissuade the animalistic way in which Baldur had viewed him as if he were his prey. As if the entire court knew that Baldur would drink from him until he was an empty vessel, as if they knew Loki too would allow it so readily.

If only Brother Baldur had asked sooner.

And then there was Thor, battle tattered with Mjölnir in hand. He had stood between Loki and Baldur, eyes alit with primitiveness that could not be masked while at war. But he had held steadfast between them, regarding Baldur with adoration, admiration, and caution. And it was with that smile, pointed and beautiful that he had eased Thor's worries, and set Loki aflame.

There had been no one to protect him from Baldur as he had looped an arm about his midsection, extracting him from the growing pile of dead bodies. He had held him too closely as a lover would embrace their beloved, and whispered hasty words of comfort; although they had the opposite effect. Loki had fallen to his knees and vomited until only dry heaves were a testament to his stomach's contents.

And suddenly he was chained and gagged, being led to Odin's throne room; Thor had escorted him to the dais and forced him onto his knees, where he had been met with Baldur's unwavering gaze. For the briefest of moments, he had allowed himself to fear, fear so deeply that his skin crawled. But it hadn't the All-Father's impending judgment, nor the sneers of the court that had made him feel so entirely vulnerable; it had been because Brother Baldur had found him again, and his many fellows could not shroud him from view. He had been exposed and he hadn't been able to run.

Baldur would have had him, and then would have devoured him whole.

Except now there was Stark; Stark whose intentions were good, although his methods were oftentimes misdirected. He felt guilt heavily and would carry the burden of it until his last dying breath. And he lit Loki aflame more intensely than even Baldur's eyes could; his hands were callused and artful, and his mouth sinful but kind.

Stark was lightness and wholeness, whereas Baldur was darkness and emptiness; one filled him and the other drained him. They were opposites in every matter, and Loki was the thread that tied them together; he was the true connection between good and evil, life and death. He was the personification of all, while being neither or any.

Another white-hot flash cemented him in the present; his body ached as if he had returned from the battle field but only just. Blood filled his mouth like mead at feast time; but he felt strangely alive, electrifyingly so. And he knew so instinctively what he had to do, and what he had always wanted to do. He had yearned for it for so very long, that it was a wonder why he hadn't done so sooner.

His fingers twitched against Baldur's skin, and he moaned through the blood and that macabre smile that was so misplaced on his brother's face. The adrenaline raced through his body, willing him forward, begging him in near-hysterics; and oh how he had waited so long for completion!

And yet something stopped him; he felt it and pulled himself free of Baldur's insistent tongue and those white teeth now stained red. There was savage victory upon those lips, and finally after so many centuries of life, emotion filled those gray-blue eyes.

"I am your sovereign, your liege, and your executioner," Baldur declared darkly and deliciously, while pressing the blade of his sword to the side of his neck. "You are my brother no more, Loki."

Another unforgiving wave of pain enveloped him; the same white-hot agony that threatened to undo him entirely, and he couldn't hold back the scream that escaped him. It was wild and mangled as blood spilled from broken skin, gushed from origins unknown, and painted the marble in oceans of scarlet.

His body flailed, burned and seethed until the white-hot pain exploded into the blackest of blacks. It was in that moment that everything that he had been, everything that he desperately strove to be ceased to exist. It was final; it was death. And Loki was no more.

Chapter Text

The house was empty; it was dark and quiet, devoid of human life. Jarvis had greeted Tony when he came too, and explained to him that Rhodey had transported him from SHIELD headquarters, before leaving to attend to far more pressing matters at the Air Force base.

Pepper, he also learned, had been informed of the circumstances of his disappearance by Agent Hill; in which case, led her to abandon ship two days prior. Her possessions were gone; every last one of them. The oversized perfume bottle in the master bath, her Christian Louboutin shoe collection stripped from the walk-in closet and her many manila folders (which held the paperwork Tony always needed to initial and sign) that had been stacked haphazardly on the bed-side table were now all gone.

He didn't expect any less; hell, he didn't know what to expect anymore. He hardly batted an eye when Jarvis pulled up an official looking document from Nick Fury, which outlined what was loosely called a punishment. There wasn't anything that drew much concern from him; he forwarded it to Bill with a note attached that he didn't want to be bothered unnecessarily if he could help it.

All Tony wanted was peace; it had been a long time since he could enjoy the nothingness of it, and listen to the low buzz and whirl of his tech singing in the background. He didn't saturate the air with classic rock; he didn't want to feel amped up, lured to create when he felt so numb.

This was a new feeling for him (or lack thereof). When he'd come back from Afghanistan, he'd been determined to change, to fix every mistake that plagued the company and even what personally plagued him. He had a purpose, he had a reason to live; he had finally gotten to be a good guy.

Being Iron Man had allowed him to redeem himself; he had worked towards the better good, although he was far from a hero. But he had been someone to at least be admired, especially after the Chitauri attack. He had been revered for the right reasons for once; even Nick fucking Fury had patted him on the shoulder then and said good job.

Now he was back where he started; worse even than where he started. Because it wasn't like he had just slept with a promiscuous reporter and spilled internal company business, which ran in the New York Times, front page. He hadn't just shown up at a gala two hours late, half-drunk, and proceeded to climb onto a banquet table only to fall off of it while trying to moonwalk.

No, those were fixable faux pas'; Pepper would have worked her fingers to the bone, handling the PR crisis like a champ. She would have called whoever would listen, make an excuse about a mix of medication, that he was led into false pretenses by his bedmates; anything that would make the whole thing go away.

But this, well no one could make this go away. Pepper was gone, after all. No one was there to bail him out for the many mistakes he'd committed; and he didn't deserve any saving. He'd consciously done everything that he was accused of; he would have freely admitted that he hadn't been swayed by anything, beyond his own selfishness too.

Tony had fucked up; he had ruined everything that he held dear, and it was impossible to see the logic behind it. He should have known better; he should have stared into those poisonous green eyes, crinkled in evil intent, and felt everything that a good guy should have felt. He should have been disgusted, should have throttled the god of mischief when he had the chance.

Loki's blood should have been the only blood on his hands. Maybe he could have lived with himself better; maybe Pepper wouldn't have left without even a note. And just fucking maybe, he could stand to look at himself in the mirror without feeling like he might vomit, or even curl into a ball and cry himself to sleep.

And yet the pain only persisted; he knew it was more than his life being torn asunder. It had everything to do with the ache in his heart that scorched and twisted in his chest, and wouldn't go away despite trying to lose himself at the bottom of a bottle.

He felt like breaking down for so many reasons, but the most pressing had to do with Loki. He hadn't been able to stop the inevitable; he hadn't been able to tempt fate and beat it. Every force in the universe, the nine realms, whatever the hell you wanted to call it, had intervened and made sure that the impossible remained as such: impossible.

On reflection, Tony knew it would never last. He was only a human being, a middle-aged billionaire who donned a titanium alloy suit and fought against anyone who posed a threat to the innocent. Loki was a thousand year old god, whose main intent was to see the world burn; he was chaos' personification. And it was never meant to be; the universe knew it couldn't be.

But it didn't hurt any less; the pain made him double over, pressing his forehead against the cool workbench surface, and taking in deep, wet breaths so he wouldn't lose it. He didn't want to lose it; he was stronger than that; and so long as he didn't think of Loki's face in those last moments of consciousness, he could keep a hold of himself.

The tightness in his throat slowly subsided, and he managed to take a drink from the vodka bottle beside him. He'd run out of his favorite scotch, but any alcohol would do at this point. He just needed an escape, even if every room was a reminder of something he'd lost.

The upper-part of the mansion was a memory to Pepper; most of the furniture had been picked by her, strategically placed in its proper place so that it would optimize the room best (and he suspected there was some feng-shui to it as well). And the lower-half was sickeningly familiar of Loki; even though he kept his back to the wall that had once supported a magic suppressing cell.

He sucked in more vodka from the bottle's neck, before his eyes flickered to a screen that Jarvis had suddenly brought up. It was the security feed at the front of the house; he paused with the bottle still at his lips, and studied the feed until his AI supplied the reason behind bringing up the screen in the first place.

"My apologies, sir; but it appears that you have a visitor. From my cross-references, she had introduced herself as a one Lady Sif."

"Son of a bitch," he whispered hoarsely. "What the hell is she doing here?"

It was more of a rhetorical question, but that didn't dissuade Jarvis from cheekily pondering if he should ask her; which Tony immediately shot down. He couldn't imagine the Lady Bitchiness herself being so regal when a disembodied voice asked her about her business with him; she'd probably take up her spear and start stabbing anything that looked suspicious.

"Maybe I have a death wish, Jarvis, but go ahead and let her in," Tony took up the bottle again and took a healthy swig; he figured he'd need to be fuzzy around the edges, if he was faced with another fucking alien Viking again.

Not to mention, he knew Jarvis would be chatty regardless of being forewarned. Well, it was mostly a necessity since he wasn't about to move and actually lead her into the workshop; not when he had alcohol at his disposal, and a comfortable place to sit on top of that.

It was risky though; he hadn't exactly made an ally when he left her and her buddies in the desert. He really wouldn't be surprised if she was coming back for revenge; and with as much enthusiasm as he had shown towards his SHIELD mandated punishment, he put the same amount of it into his potential death.

Why bother getting up and putting on one of his gauntlets? They were way over there, on the other side of the room, and really would it even hurt a crazy woman? Crazy mortal women were super-human most of the time; so a crazy immortal woman had a greater chance at deflecting a repulsor blast, and chopping off his head.

Then Loki and I would be a matching set.

He grimaced inwardly at that thought, before he looked at the multiplying screens in front of him. Jarvis was mapping out Lady Bitchiness's descent; and while she walked with the gait of a hardened warrior, he noticed how her head would snap up from time to time, with a childish wonder that almost made her endearing, almost.

Swiveling on his stool, Tony faced the glass-pane wall that separated the workshop from the stairwell. He hadn't bothered putting up the security, since he really didn't have much to fear in terms of enemies, or people who wanted to steal his tech. But even if there was an impending threat, he really couldn't muster up the strength to give a damn.

He took several more swigs from the bottle, keeping his eyes peeled for his unexpected guest, but heard her first. The soft sound of footfall echoed off the topmost stairs, growing more audible as the goddess finally descended. She looked different than the last time he saw her; and god, if he didn't feel a little turned on by her in that tight leather ensemble, accessorized by metal.

Her face was steeled into mask of nonchalance, as she stepped into the workshop cautiously but in no way intimidated. But Tony couldn't help but tense, when he took inventory of what she had in her hands. It was a heavily ornamented box, covered in engravings that were indiscernible from his vantage point, and looked to weigh a metric ton.

"And to think I thought this would be a dull night," Tony set down the bottle, before clasping hands between his knees. "I figured we were on bad terms, you know after I left you stranded in the desert."

"Rest assured, I have not forgotten what you have done, man of iron," Lady Bitchiness openly seethed, while pausing and observing the workshop in that same childish fascination that she had with Jarvis. "But I was elected to perform this duty, and I shan't allow my personal disdain for you to muddle it."

"Let me guess, this is some flashy reward from Odin," he grinned, although the words left a sour taste in his mouth. "What did he send me? Come on, the suspense is killing me."

The goddess of bitchiness moved light on her feet; it reminded Tony of how Loki moved as if a cat of prey, and how he was graceful without any forethought. His chest suddenly began to ache, and he couldn't help but put a hand over the arc reactor, as he watched her breach the distance between them.

She halted several feet away, holding out the box for him to take. But his first instinct was his truest; he wanted to tell her to fuck off, that every piece of gold, every gem in all of Asgard was worthless in comparison to Loki. That maybe to everyone in their barbaric society Loki was the worthless one and that he couldn't even be compared to Odin's riches, but to Tony he was the most valuable thing in the world.

"This is not a gift from the All-Father," she said, still holding out the box to him; although annoyance began to paint her face at his unwillingness to take it.

"Oh goodie, someone else likes me up there," Tony finally reached out and took the box from her; and he wasn't exaggerating that much when he thought it weighed a metric ton.

He almost toppled off his stool, but managed to catch himself by firmly planting his foot onto the ground. But he was freed of the burden almost immediately; Lady Bitchiness took it from him again and instead placed it onto the workbench as carefully as she could.

"If you were to drop this, you would mar his memory," she bristled, before stepping away in order for Tony to study the golden box.

Those words made his heart flip; he didn't know what to think, how to feel. His curiosity was the only thing that led him to brush his fingers along the engravings, discerning their intricate designs, and recognizing several from Loki's armor. The wolf, the snake, and the steed were interwoven amongst patterns that were heavily reminiscent of the Baroque era to Tony.

He traced every pattern, every decoration until he pulled off the box's lid. He didn't know what he expected, but he hadn't expected what he found. Pain zigzagged through his chest, and he came very close to dropping the lid to the ground. But Lady Bitchiness, no he should really stop calling her that, Sif, took it from his numb fingers and placed it beside the box.

Maybe Sif realized that he couldn't muster up the strength to reach into the box, or maybe she was as impatient as she seemed to always be. Either way, she extracted Loki's helm and held it with the utmost of care, as if it would shatter if it was handled too roughly.

"This is," Tony uttered, finding it to be impossible to say anything else without his voice cracking.

"Aye, this is Loki's helm," Sif affirmed, but didn't force it onto him. "I was given word from Tyr that Loki wanted you to have it. It is an honor, despite his tarnished reputation. But at one point, he was an esteemed prince of Asgard."

The first time Tony had seen Loki; he'd been wearing that ridiculous helmet and didn't even have the gall to be embarrassed. Those oversized golden horns made Cap's star-spangled spandex look fashionable; and yet Loki had somehow made them look dignified, even when he was throwing jabs at him. He was unaffected by the scrutiny, as if he believed the symbol behind his helm held unwavering valor, and no one could tell him otherwise.

Tentatively, he touched one the horns. It was cold to the touch, as Loki's skin was on first contact; he traced the curve of the helm upwards, until he pricked his finger on the very tip. A small pin-drop of blood welled up from his skin, which he watched in a macabre fascination as if he was struck by the realization that he was very much alive and Loki…

He put his finger into mouth, turning away from Sif; he didn't trust himself to say anything, let alone retain his composure now that he was faced with those fucking horns. At least he could pretend that Loki was causing havoc in some other realm, being an insufferable jerk while wearing his goat horns. But now that they were in his possession, even that small comfort was shattered into a million tiny pieces.

"Why the hell would he want me to have this abomination?" He managed to ask, choking on a horribly unconvincing laugh. "I mean look at it; those horns are fucking atrocious."

"Warriors," Sif began in a gentle voice, which he swore someone like her was incapable of. "Oftentimes choose whom they will give their helm, their sword to if they are to fall in battle. I had always believed Loki would hand over his helm to the Lady Sigyn; although Fandral believed it would be him.

"Oh, how he was offended when Loki exclaimed he would rather give it to the surliest dwarf of Nidavellir."

"So if I'm getting this, that means he's already…?" Tony motioned helplessly in the air, as if to conjure up the word physically than to speak it out loud.

Slowly Sif approached him until she was a hair's width away. He could have easily grabbed her by the nape of the neck and smothered her to death with one of Tony Stark's infamous kisses. He even imagined it would temporarily make him feel better; but he didn't have the gall, and he definitely didn't have the desire.

"I do not know; I had only met briefly with Tyr as he returned to Asgard. He elected me with the task to bring this to you, since they feared further upheaval and chaos once Loki was taken for public execution. And they, I suppose, wanted Fandral, Hogun, and Volstagg to intercept any trouble." She explained almost on the verge of bitterness, albeit Tony knew it had nothing to do with Loki; it had to do with her being forced to carry out a delivery to a mortal she wanted to kill.

A fresh brew of hatred swirled in his gut, even though he knew any hatred or nonchalance towards Loki was definitely justifiable. He hated him too; after all the bastard had attempted to kill him, and tried to enslave the world on top of it. There was a hell of a lot of things to hate, very few to love; but god did he love them, and he wanted him, and he would have done almost anything just to see his face again.

He gripped the edge of the workbench, trying to steady his breathing and clear his mind of those few days when he had been alone with the god. He tried to banish the phantom touches along his arms, across his neck, and that wicked mouth against his.

"I can't take that thing," Tony muttered dismissively. "I'm not some maiden in waiting. You should give it to Robin Hood, since he wanted it so badly."

"You dare offend the dead?"

"Why the hell do you care? You hated him, and you said as much. And now it's all Loki this and honor that; and now I have to take this ridiculous helm in order for him not to be pissy when he's burning in hell?" He came close to shouting, but reeled it in before he lost his mind.

He couldn't take those horns, not if he wanted to keep some semblance of sanity. But dammit he wanted them, since they were the last link he'd ever have to Loki. If he was already dead, if he couldn't touch him again, talk to him again (and effectively piss him off in the process), and kiss every inch of his body like he wanted to, but hadn't been able to do, then this was all he had. And yet he couldn't risk taking them.

Despite his outburst, Sif rested the helm in front of Tony; her face was hardened with steely determination. That was her battle-ready face; her mouth was set into a thin line, and her eyes were narrowed, observing him critically.

"It was a burden you had willingly taken up, man of iron," she pointed at the helm, leaning inward until he could smell something flowery and other earthly on her. "And this, this is a symbol of gratitude and adoration. No greater symbol can be passed from a warrior of Asgard to their beloved. This, man of iron, proved that Loki had a heart."

That made him pause; Pepper had displayed the first arc reactor for him to prove that he had a heart. The correlation was eerie; no one knew about that except him and Pepper. And now he was faced with the same analogy for Loki.

"If you choose to reject it, I will return with it to Asgard, and I will make due with passing it onto Thor," her eyes narrowed even more. "At least he shall cherish what you cannot."

"Listen, sweetheart, you don't know a damned thing about me," he straightened up, and pointed directly in her face. "So do not threaten me with Thor."

"As you hadn't threatened me with the same, man of iron?" She seethed in return.

Just as Tony opened his mouth, ready to return with expletive laced rant, the loudest clap of thunder he had ever heard boomed overhead. He jerked uncoordinatedly, ready to drop into a crouch just in case a bomb was being dropped on his house. He peered up at the ceiling, and was startled again by another explosive boom.

The lights in the workshop flickered several times, until everything went black. Sif made a noise that could have been defined as a squeal, but he figured if anyone said that to her face, they wouldn't live to see another day.

"Jarvis, you with me buddy?" He called after several moments, waiting for the back-up generators to kick on. "Jarvis, speak to me."

It was a tense few minutes, which made Tony worry about the possibility that something had gone horribly wrong. Then again he was paranoid for a good reason; considering what he'd done against SHIELD, would it really be that farfetched if they messed with his back-up generators? But luckily the lights began to come back on one by one, and filled the workshop in an icy-blue hue.

"Damn, what the hell was that?" He peered at Sif, who returned his gaze but there was something off about her eyes. "What, is Thor having a fit that big brother got to pick up Loki instead of him?"

"Pardon,"

"You know, the forgotten brother with a creepy-ass grin,"

"Lord Baldur?" Sif asked with a weird panicky tone of voice.

"Yeah, that's the fucker," he affirmed, before he was unexpectedly bowled over by her. "Hey, what the hell's your deal?"

"The fools," she shrieked, racing up the stairwell with an agility that Tony envied.

Quickly and confusedly he leapt to his feet, and staggered after her if only to figure out what the hell just happened. But she was fast, really fast and she was nowhere to be seen when he got onto the first floor. He looked to and fro, before heading to the entranceway and found the front door thrown wide open.

He slowed down, wandering into the cool evening air, and found the warrior maiden in the driveway with her eyes directed skyward. That too felt eerily familiar, and he tried to suppress the way he was suddenly aware of how her hair looked black in the shadows, and wildness of her olive-colored eyes looked awfully familiar. She could have been Loki if he were a woman, and for the briefest moments he wished it were true; that Loki was pulling a huge elaborate rouse on him, and he'd smile that wicked little grin just for him, and he would spit out his surname like it was a bad taste in his mouth.

But he knew it wasn't true, even if he wanted it so badly. This was Sif, the Lady Bitchiness herself; and her eyes were wide and blown-out in shock as she stared at the sky. Tony followed her gaze and blurted out a curse drawn on by shock.

The center of the sky had gone a blood red, ringed by hues of deep blues and purples; as if it had been ripped asunder, and now resembled a gaping wound. Lightning flashed and spider-webbed from red to blue, illuminating the world every few moments, and looking as if chaos had been unleashed.

"What's going on?" Tony forced himself to look away, and stare at Sif, who was muttering things under her breath in what could only be described as disbelief.

"Lord Baldur," she finally said, before turning to look at him with a seriousness that was strangely bone-chilling. "He's dead."

Chapter Text

There were very few reasons that Heimdall left his observatory. The cosmos always needed a watchful eye upon them; there had to be order, which inevitably would lead to a semblance of peace. He was ever vigilant; a constant that only very few knew of beyond the realm of Asgard; but his duty was to all nine realms.

However, he abandoned his post in favor for one of the many labyrinths that encompassed the royal kingdom. His gait was by no means hastened, for the inevitable had come to pass. He hadn't been able to deter it, although he always attempted to keep watch over the two, who were heavily entwined in the thick red string of fate.

Fate could not be tested, nor could it be prevented. It could only be delayed for so long; and oftentimes the results were more heinous than if fate was allowed to take its natural course. Mayhap he would not have discovered the mangled, scarlet painted prince of Asgard; who so foolishly had slipped out of his sight to Midgard, if he hadn't deterred the inevitable.

It was his very reason that he had sent the Warriors Three and the Lady Sif; he had hoped to gain far more time, in hopes to sever the thread entirely. It had been a risk, which had only become far harder to carry out once those outraged men had thrown the little prince from the Bifrost.

Had he only been granted some more time, Heimdall believed things might have changed. Or so he had hoped, despite the whisper of fate in his ear saying otherwise. Whatever he had done, or even if he had several centuries more; he suspected that things would end similarly; perhaps not as bloody though.

Scarlet rivulets spider-webbed away from the fallen prince; Baldur's body was afloat in an ocean so dense that it appeared a matter of witchcraft or sorcery had bled him so severely. And it was not so far from the truth; the many exasperated gods who had gathered around the travesty, had already drew to their conclusions.

They whispered in blasphemous tones, with building anger that would soon boil over itself, and lead to unnecessary bloodshed amongst one another. For there had been evil in those marble halls; black burn marks had turned the once white purity of the castle, into a target for unknown horrors that would inevitably rise from the ashes.

Heimdall turned his eyes away from the eldest prince's mutilated form, to observe the charred marks that ran the length of such a great hall. Only the flames of Hel could replicate such damage; and yet the wielder could only be the chosen one, the fated one, the doomed one.

But he could not see him; once the little prince learned many intricate spells that even his elders could not, he had hid from prying eyes. He could slip through tears in space; although many of such remained hidden, undiscovered, and undoubtedly dangerous as well.

"How could this have happened?" One of the elders questioned in a hushed tone; although it was only a matter of time before the palace awoke to the eldest prince's demise, and the little prince's hand in it.

"Heimdall, how did you not see this?" Another asked accusatorily.

"Fate is unpreventable," he returned, while grazing his fingers across the blackened pillar in which outlined a body that was lithe and tall, whose helm now possessed horns that appeared to have sloped forward even further, mayhap to represent a demon; the demon the little prince had inevitably become.

He was fated from birth to rise; whereas Baldur was fated to fall. They had been separated, although Baldur had always been seduced (may it be unconsciously or not) by the little prince. Their bond was much too strong for the kindly eldest prince to remain righteous; and they had feared he would be consumed by that wanton need to be close to his youngest sibling.

The allure was far too much for Baldur to deny; it was the only explanation to why he had gone to Midgard. For he knew, as Heimdall knew very well too, that the little prince feared him. Baldur, whom had been beloved by all, had frightened and terrified the little prince until he begun to grow. But even then, his entwined mate could not stave away from the inevitable.

"Has anyone informed the All-Father of Lord Baldur's death?" Heimdall rested his hands upon the silhouette against the pillar, and smelled blood, ozone, and something so dark and macabre that it hadn't any name.

"We shall send word soon," the first elder said gravely. "But we must not dawdle, for he must be in Asgard still."

"He is no longer here," Heimdall returned without looking away from the silhouette. "I believe he used his dark magicks to create a point of escape from this realm to another."

"His magicks are that advanced?" The second elder asked in alarm.

Heimdall did not deem the question worthy of a response. They knew not of what had consumed the little prince; as they would not understand why Baldur had gone to Midgard despite Odin's fervent demands that he keep his distance from his youngest brother.

Fate had gnarled their sanity, caused them to become beasts of singular needs. Both had craved to rule the other, to harm the other, and to inevitably slaughter the other. But Baldur would never be victor; Baldur had still been good and kindly. The eldest prince had still been a beacon of light, although his mind slipped in the mantra of madness, sung by little devils.

However, the little prince had already given into the darkness; the allure enchanted him, and yet there had been hope for the briefest of moments. The darkness had almost been chased away by a faint blue glow that had been made by man; and Heimdall had held hope, until the heaviness of his sword could no longer be ignored, and Baldur loved so deeply and desperately that its depth could have moved mountains.

"I shall find him," he uttered in finality, as he walked away from Baldur's broken body. "Loki shall not lead us all to ruin, in this I assure you."

But his words felt hollow, for fate always had its way.