the grind
First night of summer holidays, before his senior year, and Tony is out of weed.
"Fuuuuuuuck," he groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. Didn't he save some specifically for this occasion?
No, you bought some, tried a little, then smoked it all in one go.
Dang.
He thumps his foot against the floor, hands on hips, thinking. Where can he find weed at 9pm on a school night?
Don't get him wrong, Tony isn't a pothead or anything. But ever since his father gave him a shot of whiskey on his fourth birthday, or the time after a particularly rowdy house party he nabbed a few puffs of a joint Uncle Obie was sharing with his business friends, Tony finds he doesn't discriminate with his substance abuse. If someone's offering, he's taking. As much as medically possible.
That being said, he isn't oblivious to different substances and they're…effects. And dammit, he just really wants to get high right now.
He whips out his phone and calls up some actual potheads.
"Dude!" Clint drawls and sure enough, Tony hears the distinct sound of bubbling on the end of the line.
"Hey man," Tony says, making it as sarcastic as possible. The bubbling stops and he hears a rustle.
"Oh my god," someone says in a harsh whisper, "is that Tony?"
"Stop—stop blowing it in my face, yes, it's Tony."
"Am I here?"
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
"Hey Nat," Tony calls. More rustling and then suddenly Natasha's dry voice fills his ear.
"Mr Stark, this is Special Agent Nat-Dog requesting your word on a few questions."
"Special Agent Nat-Dog has a-go from Mr Stark."
"Were you or were you not, Mr Stark, present at Clint's party with one Miss Gamora last night?"
"Oh my god, Nat."
Tony closes his eyes. He knows where this is going. "This statement is true."
A deep breath in preparation on the other end. "Did you or did you not, tap that? Mr Stark."
A pause for his grin. "Yes."
"Yes!" Natasha laughs triumphantly and the phone hears a tumble and some bickering. Clint's sigh signals that he is once again the owner of the receiver.
"I made out with her. I got her all buttered up for you."
"Clint, ew, people are not dinner rolls," Tony says. "No, look, I called you for a reason. I have a situation. Or, well, a lack of. You got any weed?"
"Whaaaaaaaat." Clint suddenly sounds far away. "We, hah, actually thought we'd swing by yours later, man," he finishes with an awkward laugh.
Horror dawns on Tony. "So you don't have any."
A lighter flick. Bubbling. A drag and an exhale. "As of now."
"Fucking dammit," Tony whines. "I am not going to sleep sober on the last night of the school year. I refuse."
"Are we going on a road trip?"
"I'm ready in five."
Natasha starts chanting in the background. "Road trip! Road trip! Someone get me some raspberry twizzlers before I fucking kill myself."
True to his word, Tony is waiting outside his house with a backpack slung over his shoulder when Clint's beat up car comes rumbling down the street, some 90s throwback hip-hop booming from the stereo. It's ugly brown and has a good number of dents, but out of all their cars it's lasted the longest, so he can't help but feel fond when he sees it.
Clint's got sunglasses on and Tony makes sure to call him a loser for it as he climbs into the back. Natasha's in the passenger seat, hoodie over her red side fringe, boots up on the dashboard. She has a bag of twizzlers in her lap and is already half way through her first rope.
"Fantastic timing to run out, as usual," Tony mumbles as Clint pulls away from the curb with a little squeak of the wheels.
"You're telling us? What did you do, buy an eighth and smoke it all in one go?"
Natasha laughs.
"Shut up. At least I'm not fucking drooling at 9pm. Are you even okay to drive?"
"I'm perfect," Clint tries to say, but his mouth has gone to flour and his letters slur. Tony nods, sitting back.
They start bumbling along, twisting through the suburbs. Clint and Natasha are trying to share a conversation but end up exchanging faces more than words. Tony doesn't feel the need to contribute anything; they all know where they're headed and sure enough they're sliding passed the park, through a narrow bricked tunnel that stands isolated and useless in the middle of the road and rumbling to a stop outside a sand-stone unit.
With a few text messages, the door creeps open and a greasy looking guy called MODOK slips out. He's an older kid—he would've been out of high school for a few years now—and is the local hook up. No one's first choice, unless you were new at this. The guy was flaky as hell and his stuff wasn't even good half the time, but sometimes you just gotta suck it up and be a victim of supply and demand.
The car windows are already down and Tony gives a wave, slightly impatient.
"Greetings," MODOK wheezes, his eyes squinting despite being guarded behind giant moon-shaped glasses. His hair is oily and Tony can smell his body odour wafting into the car.
Let's get this over with. "MODOK, just the man I love to see in these specific situations only." MODOK grins and nods. He's never been able to tell when people are making fun of him. "Was wondering what the dealio would be on getting an eighth?"
"Half," Clint coughs from the driver's seat. Tony rolls his eyes.
"Oh, apologies Tony…I can call you Tony, right?" He sucks in a breath through his teeth.
Tony stares. "Let's keep it to Stark during business hours."
MODOK nods meaningfully. "Probably wise, you never know who's lurking around. Who's snitching." He quickly looks over his shoulder, like he isn't selling drugs in the middle of the footpath under a glaring street light.
"Yeahhhhhhh. So, what's the damage for a half?"
MODOK shakes out of his craze. "Oh, yes, I was saying, Stark, that I give many apologies because I don't have any of…of the green on me, right now." He scratches a blister on his neck.
Tony's mouth drops open.
"You're kidding," Clint says, twisting around. The shades somehow make him look even more furious.
"No. But I have some caps of pure MDMA I just got in if you wanted a competitive price—"
Clint has torn away from the curb before he can finish, leaving MODOK rasping in a puff of smoke from the exhaust. Natasha gives a delighted cackle but Tony is feeling more than a little put out.
"I was considering that, thank you very much."
"Which is why I got the fuck out of there," says Clint, smug.
"Well boys," Natasha says, "the search continues."
Indeed it does. Because they've put this much effort in already and Tony will be damned if he doesn't finish this night absolutely bent.
Their next option involves a phone call to one Bruce Banner. He picks up so quickly that Tony actually feels bad about why he's calling. Sure enough, one slimy request for his medical marijuana (just a taste!) ends the same way it always does.
"It's not—sigh—it's not for recreational use, Tone. It's not for calming down, it's for calming down me, when I'm….y'know."
Oh, Tony knows.
"Besides, I don't even get the plant, it comes in this gross paste. Good luck?"
It's the least Tony can do to end the conversation there. He sighs, leaning his head over the back seat, phone lamely in hand. Not even Natasha is finding this fun anymore. She's almost out of twizzlers.
"Really?" Clint says, staring at Tony in the review mirror. "The great Tony Stark's pimp list ends after fucking Banner?"
"Yeah?" Tony bites back. "And where's your guy? Oh, I'm sorry, your 'plug'. You guys are supposed to be the ones good at this."
"No one's been able to get shit after that east side gang got bust. Not our fault."
"Yeah and I usually go through Barnes, but I guess it is my fault the asshole's spending the summer in Idaho with his boyfriend."
Natasha twists around. "Barnes is gay?" Oh. Right. Sore subject.
"Bi. Right?" Clint says.
"Oh no, that boy is one-hundred-per-cent grade A homosexual. Sorry Nat."
Natasha shrugs, trying to make her lips do anything but pout. "It's fine, I'm glad I helped him figure it out."
"You can smell out secrets but you didn't notice your boyfriend was gay?" Clint sniggers.
"Fuck you, don't be a dick."
Natasha swings her legs around to kick Clint in the head and a petty struggle breaks out. Tony just sits back again, thinking intently. Clint's right—surely his list can't end there. Who does he know who's shifty enough to have a dealer, asshole enough to be alone on a Friday night and has Tony on their good side just enough to agree to help?
Tony's head snaps up. Oh no.
Clint and Natasha immediately stop fighting as soon as Tony picks up his phone again. They start to question but Tony cuts them off with a sharp gesture, waiting for the dial tone. He barely has to wait two seconds before—
"Hello Anthony," Loki's voice oozes into Tony's ear, and jesus christ.
"How many time do I have to tell you not to call me that, it's so fucking creepy, nobody calls me that."
Loki Laufeyson is weird, to put it lightly. A pale, black-haired boy who's height would be intimidating if he weren't so shockingly thin, who showed up at school one day already neck deep in detention slips and glares from the teachers. He's a dark, sarcastic character with more than a little imbalance. A few rumours buzz around the school every now and then: Loki Laufeyson's dad is a serial killer, Loki Laufeyson totally drinks blood, Loki Laufeyson sets cars on fire in his spare time. Loki never fails to answer to each of these murmurs with a very well-practised shit-eating grin. He'd probably be expelled by now if he weren't so damned smart.
Why does this concern Tony, you ask?
Fantastic question, Tony would say, because it really shouldn't. He was just the unlucky bastard tasked with cleaning the beakers in the science lab one afternoon and ended up opening the door to the infamous lanky teen, eating his sandwich alone at one of the desks. Tony wasn't surprised. Everyone knows Loki Laufeyson has no friends.
"Well, well, well," Loki had said with a smile too tense, "looks like you've caught me."
A harmless interaction followed, really, filled with surprisingly hilarious and biting comments and one or two gazes at nimble-fingered hands, covered in bruises.
And after that, every now and then when Tony was feeling particularly bored, he'd go into the science lab at lunch and eat with Loki. Which was fine. They weren't friends or anything. It wasn't like Loki ever offered anything more than just company.
Speaking of.
"Nobody? Interesting," Loki says, too calculating for Tony's liking. "It's past lunch hours. Why are you calling?"
"You home?" Tony asks.
A very long pause, and when Loki answers he sounds caught off guard. "Um, yes? Why?"
"Who the fuck is it?" Clint hisses.
Tony quickly mumbles an address to him instead of answering and Clint frowns, but complies and soon the car's moving again.
"Aw, alone on a Friday night? It's summer Lokes, don't you have any plans?"
"We're driving to Loki's house?" Clint screeches.
"I have tons going on," Loki says airily. "There's this imbecilic rich kid, lives in this big mansion up on the hill, who likes to call people's houses at night, thinking he's cute. I'm gonna go cut his brake lights."
Tony swallows. "Okay! Okay, I'm sensing I'm in need of back-peddling here."
"Peddle away."
"I didn't—" Tony sighs with a wince, is he really this much of an asshole on accident? He leans away from the others, voice lowering. "I didn't call to make fun of you. I was wondering if I could ask for a favour."
"You're calling me in the middle of the night for a favour."
"Yeah!" Tony says brightly, happy the conversation is going in his direction. "Look, this is totally uncalled for but it's the end of the school year and I'm desperate, do you know where we can find some dope?"
"Dope? Like crystal?" He doesn't sound bothered.
"What? No! Like, weed, dude." All three of them share looks.
"Oh!" Loki says. "You need my help finding weed."
Tony doesn't like this 'need' word. "Well, I certainly would like your help finding weed."
The car pulls up to the side of a shitty looking bungalow with an overgrown lawn and peeling paint.
"What will I get in return?"
That means Loki has a hook up and Tony could give his left testicle in return with how relieved he is. "Uhhh, I'll owe you a favour?" he offers instead. The line goes dead silent. "Loki?" Tony frowns, sitting up. "…Loki?"
Suddenly the car door opens and Tony shrieks as Loki climbs into the backseat as nonchalantly as someone would a taxi. He raises an eyebrow at Tony's reaction, manoeuvring his bag-pack onto the floor.
"Did you….." Tony recovers slowly. He swallows and looks down at his phone. "Did you," he holds it up, "leave your phone on call for…..dramatic effect?"
Before Loki has the chance to look sheepish, Clint speaks from the front.
"Hey Loki, drink much blood lately?" He doesn't sound as outraged as before, but he still doesn't sound happy.
"I'm confused," Loki says. "Am I a vampire? Or is it just the blood drinking part that I do?"
"I think it's just the blood drinking part," Natasha says.
"Ah. Then no."
"So you got this magical dealer or what?" Clint says.
"Just start heading into town," Loki answers, digging into his bag-pack.
"Someone gonna pay for my fuel?" The fuel meter is full, so Tony gathers Clint's just scrapping for a fight.
"I'll pay for your fuel if you stop being so fucking shitty," Tony says with a bat of his eyelashes. Clint grunts, getting the message and soon all of them are on their way, finally.
Loki pulls out a flip phone from his bag. It's a clunky silver thing that Tony hasn't seen since 2003, he thinks, and an idea pops into his head that makes him snort. "What is that, your burner phone?"
Loki starts clicking away at buttons and doesn't answer. Tony's humour leaves him in a cold flush. "….is that a burner phone?"
"Take the third exit off the freeway," Loki instructs and Clint's high must be wearing off because he just nods.
"Who's the guy?" he asks.
Loki shrugs. "Just some gangbanger called Thanos."
Tony laughs. "'Thanos'? Really?" Loki doesn't look up from his phone but he does smirk. "Wait," Tony says, sitting up, "how do you know actual drug dealers?"
Loki's smirk widens. He looks intent on not answering, which is why it's so funny to watch his face drop when Natasha then says, "Hey wasn't Thanos that guy who's dick you used to suck?"
Loki glares at the girl. Natasha grins and takes another bite of her twizzler. Tony doesn't know how or why Natasha knows that piece of information, but boy is Tony's opinion of Loki expanding by the minute.
Clint's laughing—Natasha has definitely scored first player on his X-box for that. "You sucked off a guy named Thanos?"
"Not his real name," Loki mutters under his breath.
"You do that often?" Clint's almost shaking with laughter. "What you do it for? A frozen coke? Haha! A fucking sandwich? Christ, your dad really is a serial killer isn't he?"
"Hey, lay off!" Tony yells suddenly. "Too much, Clint."
"I'm sorry," Clint says, looking back in the review mirror. "I'm sorry, dude, I'm just fucking high." He's still laughing.
Loki doesn't seem effected but his cheeks are faintly pink from the whole conversation. Natasha and Clint try to contain their sniggers and punch each other's shoulders which only succeeds in igniting more of the same.
"Sorry," Tony says, feeling like he needs to. "Clint's just high. And a dick."
Loki gives him a funny look that eventually smooths into a smile. He nods softly in appreciation.
For the next thirty minutes of the car ride Natasha and Clint both argue over what music they want, struggling between disco and indie rock, while Tony and Loki have a small conversation.
"Your dad's not really a serial killer, right?" Tony prods cheekily.
"No," Loki smiles. "Just a loser."
Oh. Tony remembers the peeling paint on the front door of Loki's house, the bruises on his arms. Tony instinctively looks for them now but he's wearing long sleeves, clad completely in dark green.
"What about your mom?"
"Died, giving birth to me," Loki says easily; rehearsed, almost gleeful in the way it stumps Tony. "And my brothers are off fighting something in the army. Probably each other."
"Lonely house," Tony says.
"Not for me," Loki says quickly.
Tony's able to relate. "Yeah," he says, sitting back and looking out the window as the freeway blurs passed them, "I don't like it when my dad comes home either."
He doesn't look for it, but Loki's mouth curls at the corner and Tony feels warm when he sees it.
Soon Clint needs more directions from Loki as they navigate their way into the thicket of the city. It's still relatively busy at this time of night and with school out, the police are a plenty. Driving down some main street, Clint starts to get paranoid.
"Guys, I think it's happening…..I think I'm freaking out," he says through his teeth, shoulders all tense. A giant Wendy's mascot looming over the side of a star-lit building isn't helping. "Anyone got a cigarette?"
"Ew, no, don't smoke in here, you'll stink out the whole car," Tony whines. "Just pull over—I'll drive."
"If I pull over they'll know," Clint rasps.
"Oh you big baby," Natasha sighs, plugging her phone into the stereo. Soon the unmistakable sound of drums and a synthesizer radiates through the vehicle and Tony is almost as confused as Loki.
"Um, Nat, how is Soft Cell's Tainted Love going to solve anything—"
"No, no," Clint says, clearing his throat. "It's….fine."
Tony's mouth drops open. "Soft Cell is your safe music?" That is too funny.
"Hey, Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret reached Platinum status at its release, thank you very much."
"Yeah you see, I didn't know that because I'm, like, a normal person."
But then Loki is quietly tapping his foot along and mouthing the lyrics and suddenly Soft Cell doesn't seem so lame anymore. Natasha sees it and joins in, throwing away the subtly. The dashboard almost breaks from the powerful stops she does to the two signature beats of the drums. The chorus is coming up and just before a pair of traffic lights turn green Clint says over his shoulder, "Sing along, fucker," so Tony guesses this is just going to be a Moment and he throws away his cynicism to belt out 80s British synth-pop.
Eventually they leave the glowing excitement of the city's centre to park in front of a very normal looking apartment building. It's not overly large, with a nice little garden at the front which is gated. The music is promptly turned off.
"This is it? It looks so…..normal," remarks Clint.
"This is a very nice neighbourhood," Natasha agrees.
Loki clicks away at his phone for a bit before clacking it shut and looking up. "Well, this is it. I'll be back in a second." He opens the car door.
"Whoa whoa whoa wait a minute," Tony scrambles, leaning over and pulling the door shut, more aggressively than he means to. Loki gives him an incredulous look. "That's an actual drug dealer up there."
"Yes," Loki says with a frown. Tony swallows. Clint and Natasha also don't seem to share his concerns.
"So that's, like, dangerous as shit! I'll come with you," he says before thinking.
Loki's confusion quickly simmers into irritation. "I can handle myself."
"Yeah," Clint snorts, "he's handled Thanos before, remember?"
The reminder just makes Tony's stomach drop. "I don't care, I want to come with you, just for some protection in case something goes wrong."
"Oh," Loki says, violently sarcastic, "oh, you'll protect me?" He even clutches his heart. "You'll beat up the big bad drug dealer for little helpless me?"
Now Tony is angry. "No need to be a dick about it, god," he sneers.
"Tony, just let the man do his thing," Clint says easily, trying to deescalate what's about to happen.
"I'm trying to be responsible here!" Tony argues.
"Do you always hold each other's hands while you buy your drugs responsibly?" Loki mocks.
"Shut up! I don't want to deal with the cops if one of you fuckers gets shot in the head!"
"Watch much NCIS lately?" Natasha can't help but smirk.
"You guys are being such assholes right now and I'm just trying to keep everyone safe," Tony sulks.
"No one asked you to save anything," Loki says.
"I'm not trying to—christ, okay, calm down, first—"
"Fuck you, you're the one yelling!"
"Well no one's listening!"
Everyone erupts into heated argument that's only stopped by the sudden sound of a metallic ringtone. Silence falls as everyone looks at the phone buzzing in Loki's hand.
Loki slowly opens it to see the caller and it's no secret who it is by his expression. He swallows and answers it, bringing it to his ear. Everyone holds their breath.
"Yeah?" he asks politely. "Mm-hm. Yeah, I'm just outside." Loki then looks up at them, eyebrow quirked in confusion. "Yeahhh? Just some….friends, I don't know. Well I didn't plan to bring them up."
Oh. Maybe there was a good reason why Loki didn't want Tony to come. Now Tony feels like a dick and is more than a little embarrassed.
Loki huffs, annoyed. "How was I supposed to know that?...I'm sorry," he says quieter, looking at the floor, hugging himself. This is probably a conversation he doesn't want to be having in a crowded car. "Fine. Okay. The one up the street? Okay. Yep. Bye." He snaps the phone shut and takes a deep breath. Something tells Tony that Thanos was hoping for more than a simple drug exchange. When Loki speaks again, his voice is steady. "New meeting place. Gas station car park, at the end of the street."
Clint nods and pulls away from the gutter without a word. They drive in complete silence.
When they reach the gas station Loki points out a small white car next to the ice trough. They park a couple spaces over, hand over their money and watch Loki get out and walk over. Tony can't see the driver in the shadows, but the hand that passes a brown parcel through the window looks like a woman's. The exchange is completed without incident and soon Loki is sliding back into the car, wagging his bag-pack. Done.
The ride back is quiet. Natasha chooses the music as she pleases and no one complains. Clint prohibits anyone from smoking up in the car before they reach their neighbourhood—"The cops around here hate me enough as it is." So Tony spends the drive sitting awkwardly next to Loki, head against the window.
When the bright lights of the city dull into the yellow glow of the suburbs and Clint asks whether he wants to bunk with him or head home, Tony decides he doesn't want to end the night just yet.
"Um, can you drop me at the park?" he asks instead. Clint looks surprised but doesn't comment. Tony shuffles before finally turning to Loki. "You…wanna come get high with me?" It's not until he says it out loud that he realizes it's the only way he wants his night to end. He wants to apologise.
Loki looks thrown by the invitation, but luckily any bitterness he's held during the past hour has ebbed away and he nods with a shrug. "Sure."
They pile out of the car and Tony just catches the "good night, love birds" from Natasha before he slams the door shut. The car squeals away with echoed laughter.
Both boys walk until they settle at the foot of a small hill, in front of the swing set. It's passed midnight now and the park is completely abandoned. Tony sits down, opening his bag-pack and getting out his helping of the weed along with his grinder and a few papers and tips. He's shit at rolling, but he's not gonna get Loki know that.
Loki sits with his chin resting on the palm of his hand, watching Tony struggle to wrap the overstuffed paper with shaking hands.
"Shit….shit….ah, shit…" He's really trying. Loki continues to stare but doesn't comment or offer to help, which Tony appreciates greatly. Eventually he ends up with a lumpy joint, the filter sticking out far too much. But it's smokable and that means good enough.
"There you go," Tony beams, holding it up. "My apology blunt."
"Apology?" Loki asks with a frown.
"Well, yeah," Tony says. "For screaming at you in the car."
"Oh." Loki gently takes it. He looks at it, no, admires it. "Thank you." Tony's chest swells more than it probably should and he quickly passes him a lighter.
"Will you do the honours?"
Loki gives a funny smile and lights the paper.
For an unknown amount of time they sit and smoke, letting the effects take them over. Tony almost moans at his first drag, god yes, totally worth it, one-hundred-per-cent. He feels his high creep into him slowly and he starts feeling giddy, not because of the weed yet, but just because he was going to get high and that was fantastic. Then after his third lungful or so it happens and he starts giggling. Yes, yes, this was good. He's overwhelmed by a sleepy, warm happiness and he suddenly knows exactly what he wants to do, he wants to swing, there's a whole swing set in front of them! They should use it!
Loki doesn't seem to be feeling it yet so he leans against the metal frame, puffing away. Tony flops over the seat on his stomach, softly swinging himself in little superhero poses before letting his arms dangle. Experiencing the effects of gravity was awesome.
"This is fantastic," he mumbles. "I could stay like this for….a hundred, million years…" Unfortunately gravity turns devious as his mouth fills up with saliva and he quickly has to stand before he starts drooling. Just the thought of it has him mortified. He wipes his mouth just in case.
"Sooooo," Loki says as Tony jump onto the seat and starts swinging with his arms. He takes another drag and blows it out slowly. "This night has been pretty fucking weird."
"We should do it more often," Tony says, slightly breathless. "Hang out, I mean."
When Loki doesn't answer for a while Tony gets the terrifying idea that maybe he's bored, that Tony is boring him. He subconsciously wipes his mouth again—did he wipe his mouth before?
Thankfully Loki does answer. "I would like that," he says very slowly. Tony gives him a grin he hopes looks normal.
The night lives on. After a while Loki starts to feel it and starts to feel it hard. Or maybe everything's just out of proportion. Tony doesn't know! He's fucking high! They're lying back on the grass, a second joint between his fingers, Tony's music playing softly between their heads, and wow the stars are fucking beautiful and the air is so nice and—
Holy shit Loki is saying something. How long has he been talking? Has Tony been staring into space for hours? Has any of this night actually happened?
"It's just, like, weird, to think about, like, how you're just born, and you have no say in it, and, um, like, you could have been born to anyone anywhere and you're here and you're you, and, um, mm."
"Hmm," Tony hums, passing the joint over. "Yeah, I guess. Do you think about that a lot? Being born to another family?" Tony looks over to Loki's glazed eyes.
Loki worries his bottom lip between his teeth. "I don't know. I guess…I'm so much like my family and I hate my family."
Tony winces, not liking how hard that hits home. "Yeah." He wants to say more, to verbalize how much he fucking gets that, but as soon as a half decent thought passes his mind it's gone before he can grasp it. Putting thoughts into sounds is so much effort. Language is crazy.
Wait, what were they talking about?
Loki passes the joint back and Tony sets it aside. If he smokes anymore he might just melt into the ground. He continues staring at the sky and tries to ignore how horny he is.
"Do you ever think about unicorns?"
A choked noise that isn't quite a laugh bubbles up Tony's throat. "Excuse—what?" He rolls his head over to look at Loki quizzically.
"I just don't think they're all that special," Loki shrugs.
Tony wants to answer but he's still getting over the fact that scary loner Loki not only thinks about unicorns, but thinks about unicorns often enough to have a serious opinion of them. In the end what leaves his mouth is,
"You're cute as shit."
Loki looks at him and tries to control his expression before giving up and burying his face into the grass. After exhaling hotly and getting a hold of himself, he returns to look at Tony with a sly smile, cat-like. A terrifyingly exciting moment passes where they stare at each other, both alive with glee, until the tension snaps and Loki springs forward to catch Tony's mouth in a hard kiss.
Tony eagerly pushes himself up onto his elbows and Loki curls his fingers into his shaggy mop of brown hair. Tony feels delirious, he feels like the main character of a teen movie, he feels powerful, he feels on top of the world and he tries to say all of this through his tongue and teeth and Loki swallows it all just as enthusiastically, and Tony is certain this is what perfect is, no two people have ever been so in sync, riding the exact same high, only succeeding in building each other higher and higher; they're connected, they're minds are see-through, their emotions are maps laid out bare for each other and Tony has never felt so with someone in his life, "Well, well, well, looks like you've caught me—"
And then Loki breaks the kiss and leans down to pick up the joint, smoking lazily. Tony leans back, lips wet and hair messy, breathless, watching in silence. Loki doesn't say anything and Tony feels the white hot passion he experienced mere seconds ago slowly melt away. By the time Loki lies back against the grass, Tony's can't remember what had him so crazed.
His music is thankfully still playing which helps him not to feel so suddenly lonely. He looks aimlessly around until he's sees Loki's burner phone.
Heh. Burner phone.
Without really thinking, he grabs it, flips it open and breaks it in half.
Loki springs up like a jack-in-the-box. He stares at the broken phone, mouth agape.
"What the fuck, Anthony?!"
Oh. Not a burner phone, then.
Woops.
A/N: i listened to lana del rey once