Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

.

Is Tony trying to provoke him? Is he? What warrants this sudden favoritism for silk robes, that red, loose one especially? The way the rope ties shows off his waist’s dip, those ridiculous green furry slippers. Ridiculous man, sitting far too relaxed legs spread open. Boxers probably on. Probably.

Ridiculous man.

Tony notices him staring sometimes. Sometimes Loki doesn’t bother pretending his gaze was elsewhere. Sometimes he glimpses the corner of those curved, red lips curl up as he’d face away, aware. Aware exactly what he’s doing, isn’t he?

What exactly does he want Loki to do? He’d best use words, soon.

Soon because Loki’s particularly weary of catching him tug the robe shut at his chest, sheathing the reactor. Sheathing the scars, an often subconscious motion, that Loki’s quite fed up with, when done when they’re alone, when it’s just him – What in the nines would Tony think he need hide from him, like he doesn’t know.

Like he doesn’t have like them, even if they don’t show.

Tony knows, even if Loki’s never told him. Loki knows that he knows, and so Loki doesn’t know what he’s doing thinking he need hide, from him.

Chapter Text

Loki thinks about it, for a fraction of a second, before reaching deliberately for the slipped shoulder sleeve and sliding it back up, fingertips grazing warm skin briefly, too briefly – Tony paused mid-pouring coffee to look at him, visibly struggling to process for a beat. And Loki’s gaze remains, a look in them he knows Tony reads. For then the foolish man smirked wide, eyes gleaming mischief. Thor and Steve strode out the kitchen into the sitting space, oblivious to the silent exchange.

Thor and Steve really needn’t see that much of Tony – Loki really can’t see why must the robe remain outside the lab more often – at first mainly it was something he’d don there, in the workshop’s late evenings and Loki could assume it’s for comfort – it looks comfortable, soft, slippery. Inappropriate in a common space, before ‘other’ eyes – eyes that are not his – Loki isn’t jealous, to be clear.

And, if we’re being ‘clear’, Loki hasn’t any actual claim on him. Still. That may change, sooner than first thought, a thought in all seriousness now – Loki’s pondered before, held back, for many reasons. He keeps forgetting what they are, watching Tony saunter away with his coffee, a smirk still on his infuriatingly smug face.

Chapter Text

Yes, Tony is doing this on purpose. Tony is doing this on purpose, Loki’s doubtless, as the man bends over to lift the wrench that’d ‘slipped’ off his desk – and Loki’s right in the chair beside his, the novel in his hand inexistent as he watches a slow reveal of the back of Tony’s thighs, too little left for the imagination as the robe frames wonderfully his behind – Loki forced his gaze away, and now he has a problem – his grip declines the book further down, for now until he can get up without making it blatantly clear why he needs to get up now.

Tony innocently settles back in his chair, head just inclines Loki’s way but he doesn’t bother looking over his shoulder, a smirk imperceivable but there in his entire posture. The menace. Does he want Loki to bend him over the desk – because Loki damn well – okay that isn’t helping.

Oh Loki won’t indulge this game much longer. And Tony better damn well be prepared for the scores to settle.

Chapter Text

“Okay I’ll pass by the place,” he heaves himself from Loki’s side off their favored sofa.

“Why?” asks Clint from aside Nat on the couch adjacent. Indeed, they can get the order delivered.

“Wanna get some air too,” he claims. Proceeding past his bedroom, in that robe, towards the lift. Loki waits for him to halt and turn towards the stairs. He doesn’t.

Thankfully someone speaks up, Bruce: “Uh, shouldn’t you change first?” from the armchair by the one Steve’s in.

“Nah,” is the very reasonable, mature response, as he resumes his slow stroll towards the lift, in that robe – Loki gets up. Approached, voice low though likely audible to the rest still – he doesn’t care.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Tony paused, turned then, so casually answers:

“Uh, Hardee’s?”

“Like that?”

“So? Place’s got a drive-through.” Loki gives him a look.

“You’re not leaving like that,” end of story.

Not, apparently, as Tony’s brow raised and arms crossed, and he smirked. “Or what?” a dare, public. Loki gives him another look. Fine, Tony wished to play, here and now – Loki would be remise to refuse him, a smirk of his own formed mischief in green eyes.

“Or…”

“Yeah why do you care; you’re not my boyfriend.” Though the expression Loki pulls might suggest otherwise, seems to swell the smirk on Tony’s face.

He glimpsed Loki’s wrist twist, felt then looked saw, the robe gone in place, his Black Sabbath shirt, jeans and sneakers – looked to Loki, whose smirk remained though gaze firm, dare met. “Really? I can go change again you know.”

“Can you?”

“Yeah.” A standoff, with the god of mischief.

“You can, I suppose. You can also find all of your precious cars inoperable.”

“…I can walk.”

“The doors can become inoperable too.”

“Hoho you’re playing a dangerous game, prancer.”

“Oh this is child’s play, sweetheart.” Tony grins.

“Do you two intend to start fucking right here and now or can you take it upstairs?” Tony peers past Loki to give Clint an unimpressed look, noticing the others he’d briefly forgotten were there too, varying expressions of shock and humor amid them.

Loki’s face remains amused, Tony’s heats up. He spares one last, languid smirk before turning back towards the lift, decently dressed.

Chapter Text

When Tony returns, unsurprisingly he doesn’t find his robe. He makes a beeline for the library, rehearsing in his head lines like ‘you can’t tell me what to wear’ and ‘newsflash, we’re not married’, see what Loki’ll say, or do.

He, does not expect, to find his robe there. On Loki. Loki in his robe. The robe tighter on him, stretching at his biceps, chest left open, pale, toned – a wolfish smirk on his face green eyes gleam. Halting across the desk Tony just, stands for a good ten seconds or more, thoughts crowding heart pounding.

“Um, hi. That’s mine.”

“Is it? You wear it so freely I assumed it was free for all.” Tony’s brow raised, mind reboots and arms for comebacks.

“Payin’ way too much attention to what I wear Reindeer Games.”

“Oh so attention isn’t what you’re after?” Tony gives him a look.

“No, unlike someone, who is wearing my robe.”

“Come take it then.” A beat, Tony huffs a shaky laugh looked down, felt the blush spread down his neck – an idea forms.

“Alright. Okay snowflake. Game on,” he turns away.

XXX

The lift parts on its way up from the lab on the library’s floor, revealing a Loki still in his red robe riding unfairly above-knee on the tall, gorgeous bastard. Whose taken, blushing features quite satisfy Tony. Who’s managed to don a dark, emerald green robe, shorter, looser. Loki gives him a look. Tony smirks.

Resolve on the god’s face then he stepped forward into Tony’s space, backing him up till his back hit the lift’s wall and it resumed its course up, despite the pair face to face Loki’s hand come aside Tony’s head, he leaned in, voice velvet. “Having fun, are we?” Tony grins despite a shudder suppressed, chin held high, a dare.

The lift dings, arrived, doors part to a Bruce, who blanches at the sight – Loki hasn’t moved, Tony peeks over the god’s shoulder. Bruce’s hands raised he slowly backs up. “I’ll just uh, take the stairs,” he does, quickly. Tony blushed in spite a smirk, like Loki’s, leering green eyes lidded, dark in a way that bid Tony’s heart race and every nerve lights up, nudges him closer – Loki pulls away, turns leaves into the currently vacant common floor. Tony breathes.

Chapter Text

Casually they go about prepping their ‘morning’ afternoon coffee. They tend to sleep in, given a lack of nightly sleep, an affliction they share and are aware that they share. They sneak looks at each other, repeatedly, in the two minutes it takes for mugs to pull down and the machine to peep.

They move at the same time, come face to face again, and pause. Something’s different in Loki’s expression that makes Tony wonder, something, lighter. But then those grass-green eyes decline and, Tony’s hand thoughtlessly raised tugged the robe’s hem at his chest – Loki’s grip on his wrist halts him, light, like the look in those eyes that Tony can’t read. Loki lets go but doesn’t move away. Tony feels contact near his abdomen, Loki’s hands, slowly undo the robe’s tie – he froze.

Didn’t stop him. Heart hammered as the robe parts and he’s bare, in a sole pair of black Calvin Klein boxers. Loki’s eyes take him in unhurriedly, leaving heat in their wake. Slowly rise but stop just short of his face, a soft huff from the god’s nostrils – Tony flinched, when Loki’s fingertips feather-light traced, one of the scars – his head turns he shifts to turn away – Loki’s palm, cool came pressed to his cheek his voice too soft: “Anthony,” that he can only answer, only look back.

He likes him, a lot. He trusts him, despite it all. He wants him, too much. Wants to touch draw closer and he wants Loki to touch him – but here? – he doesn’t want Loki to see – “Not from me,” Loki says, so softly that Tony’s breath hitched. In those eyes there is no sympathy, no pity or disgust or wonder.

Only knowing, that abruptly Tony’s eyes well unreasonably quickly – he looked down tears pooling too quickly to blink away – furious now he is, for this unwarranted, exaggerated reaction – then Loki’s pulling him forward by the shoulder and bare waist, into him into his chest, warm and Tony can only reach to grip, clutch the back of Loki’s robe as a gasp tore from his lips and the tears slipped. He buried them into the silk of Loki’s robe burrowed his face against his chest – hiding, into him, rather than from him.