"Barton, get down—Clint are you listening get your ass down here!" Steve shrills, but the speed it takes for sound to travel twenty feet up isn't fast enough for two-hundred-pounds of Clint as he slips and slams hard onto the polished floor, tinsels and baubles tumbling after him.
Bruce braces his forehead in his hand with a sigh, having seen enough terror and destruction for the day. "Tony, is it really so important we decorate this tower?"
"It's the holidays, Banner," He reproaches with a frown, "and even our humble abode deserves some cheer!" This thirty-story 'humble abode' was complete with three elevator shafts, movie theatre, and a weapons vault to rival that of Asgard's. There was even a penthouse encased by floor-to-ceiling glass windows, overlooking the city of New York pulsing and positively radiating with light, looking especially beautiful just two days before Christmas. Tony had brought up the festive idea to dress the floor from head to toe in holiday decorations simply to aggravate his housemates, but with Thor's enthusiasm at the thought—"ah yes, York City could rival even Asgard in celebrations"—the rest of the team was swayed into picking their asses up and cracking open the cardboard boxes of décor Pepper had dropped off.
Naturally Natasha had given Project Holiday Cheer up first and was busying herself mixing some vodka. The fridge door was thrown wide open, and Natasha was on her tippy-toes searching for a carton of lemonade. "Stark, where's the lemonade?" She calls. Tony doesn't turn to look, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he messes with the electric box. The cords were all tangled and the wiring messy, but with a little help from his magic wrench he was determined to light the room in disco colors. "Top shelf. I think." Then after a bit more of thinking, "JARVIS, where's the lemonade?"
There's a split second pause as JARVIS takes inventory of the fridge stock and matches densities to items. "Top shelf, second from back right corner, sir. Also, sir, may I suggest you remove the spilled cottage cheese from the second level before bacteria infests it."
Steve makes a face, from his spot next to the dazed Clint. "I pay you guys to keep this house clean."
"No, you just guilt-trip us into cleaning it when there's a mess," Tony retorts, and then immediately feels a little bad when he remembers the state of his workshop.
"That's just you," Banner remarks mildly, "the rest of us really do get paid."
"What, I—"
"You're the only one gay enough to fall for Steve's puppy eyes," Barton sniggers by way of explanation. So the asshat was still alive. What a shame.
"I don't know, I seem to remember a heck of a lot of fuchsia on someone's loincloth."
"Indigo, thanks!"
The elevator door slides open, and a roar bellows out. Five pairs of eyes travel to Thor, wrestling an oversized pine tree out of the cramped compartment. The tree trunk is caught in the corner of the door at the tip is trapped at the opposite corner as the door threatens to slide shut and take half the tree with it. Thor snarls again, before thundering, "MY FRIENDS, A LITTLE HELP PLEASE!"
Steve drops Clint's glass of water and Advil and ignoring the resulting yelp and splinter of glass, rushes to aid the thunder god. "Thor—what on earth—where did you find a tree like that?"
"You'd think a god could get himself out of an elevator," Clint grumbles, pushing himself up out of a sea of shards.
When the tree (and Thor) is out of the elevator Natasha wanders to the sofa, a glass of blue lagoon in her hand, intent on watching the festivities bloom in the room. She immediately frowns at the irritated looks shot her way. "What?" She says, defensive. Clint rubs his back pointedly. Then looks at the daunting, unopened box of ornaments.
"Aw hell," Natasha consents with a sigh, kicking a stray wreath across the floor. She slips a sliver of a knife out of nowhere, and cuts the box open with quick little shnicks. Silver trinkets and things tumble out and even Tony turns to look at the cacophony of ornaments finally freed from the bulging box. Thor cheers and scoops up an armful of colorful baubles. "This tree," he declared, "shall be more glorious than any to be found in Midgard!" Tony snorts lightly. The tree was certainly taller than any Christmas tree he'd ever seen in this world, its forty-foot fronds folded up against the ceiling. There was no way they could put a star atop that.
But in the end Thor manages to hang Mjölnir on the highest, thinnest fronds, to everyone's amazement and delight.
"How does that work?" Steve asks, mouth agape and eyes trained on the hammer dangling precariously above his head.
"The tree is worthy," Thor declares proudly.
"Or it's just sturdy," Tony supplies. Then the windows shatter.
"What the fuck!" Barton shouts, and it takes all of Tony's self respect to not echo the sentiment. The wind howls in, rattling the hanging mistletoe shaking the Worthy Tree's fronds violently back and forth, strangely reminiscent of Thor's hair. The cheerful holiday lights flicker and die out, leaving the room bathed in a gloomy darkness.
For his part, Bruce just sighs.
In a flash of green light, who but Loki materializes, smirking viciously and a little sexily, frame illuminated by a glow from the city backdrop. Then in the next instant, wind suddenly vanishes as the glass walls instantly repair themselves, and Tony's heart rises a little in pride of his own handiwork. It instantly sinks, however, as Loki raises his scepter and blue, destructive light starts glowing ominously, directed in Thor's direction
In the instant before Loki releases his magic, Thor roars out, "NOT THE TREE!" And consequently flings his body in front of the grand pine in some heroic attempt of protection. Loki is so startled lowers the staff, and suddenly takes in the jolly environment.
There is an awkward minute of silence as Loki processes the poinsettias, the stockings hung above a glowing fireplace (Barton's was bulging with coal), the Christmas ornaments littered atop carpets depicting Santa and his nine reindeer, and finally the magic hammer on top of a tree. It is so awkward even Natasha refrains from sipping her blue lagoon. Loki just stands here in complete and utter silence, scepter limp at his side, a confused frown creasing his brow. Then Tony connects two cables and all the lights explode in a rainbow of colors all at once, and from the radio in the corner Winter Wonderland starts blaring. The model of the Polar Express even gives a little choo choo and chugs back to life.
"What is this mockery?" Loki suddenly seethes, startled out of his reverie. He smashes a china replica of Jesus's birth with a swoop of his staff, to which Tony winces at. But he supposes a god like Loki wouldn't particularly give a damn about a God like, well, God. "The great Mjölnir, from the halls of Asgard herself, reduced to naught but a knickknack atop meager Midgardian flora?"
"Worthy Midgardian flora," Thor corrects passionately, but has the decency (or sense) to remove the legendary weapon from its sagging branches.
"Look, Loki," Tony says a little wearily. Loki had been paying them little friendly 'visits' for the past year, each more confusing than the last. He pulls off his safety goggles and walks a few steps so he meets the green glare full-on. "It's almost Christmas. Why don't you let us continue celebrating and then come back later to finish what you've started?"
The sorcerer narrows his eyes, but the fire falls flat in them. He matches his steps to Tony's until they are almost nose to nose. When he responds, his voice is like liquid silver, fiery and smooth. "And what, mister Stark, would be my incentive to do so?"
Tony's gaze wanders to the set of long dark lashes framing a remarkably attractive eye. And then to splendidly sculpted cheekbones. To an aristocratic nose. Damn, Tony thinks, why did he never notice how good Jotun genes were? Before his brain can comment on the lips, it slowly finishes processing Loki's question. "How's a glass of eggnog sound?"
"Eggnog." Loki tests the word distastefully, eyes still trained on Tony's. "I personally would not fancy a cup of the nog of an egg."
"Oh no, brother," Thor interrupts excitedly. "Miss Romanoff mixes magic into it, and it tastes absolutely delightful."
His brother sneers. "Magic? You talk to me of magic?"
"It's actually called bourbon," Natasha corrects, a little miffed and a little flattered. "And I never said I would mix him a glass." Steve glares at her, until she gives a little huff and sets back out to the fridge. "Fine, but he's not getting the twenty-three year."
"Meanwhile," Clint suddenly speaks up, a gleam in his eye. "I demand that you two kiss."
Loki splutters in a seldom moment of inelegance. "What?"
The archer looks above them. "Sixteenth century English traditions require it."
Tony looks amusedly at the perfectly positioned batch of mistletoe above their heads. Maybe it was luck that had left just this one sprig up. Maybe the universe was playing some hilarious joke. Or maybe it was destiny. To hell with it, Tony thinks, an answer good as any, and captures Loki's lips.
It lasts just long enough for Loki to gather his wits about himself and destroy the room in a frantic release of magic, gasping for air. Clint is bellowing with laughter and Natasha has paused her mixing to watch on in amusement. Bruce and Steve merely watch on in astonishment.
Thor stands a little off-balanced, utterly appalled. He had completely abandoned his Worthy Tree is shock and it now lay in a little heap of ashes, unable to withstand the burst of pure energy. "Stark," he thunders, "You have defiled my brother!"
Loki pauses in his gasping to train a very, very odious glare upon his brother. With all the meaning of flipping a middle finger, Loki initiates another kiss on his more than willing target.
Clint whoops.
Thor faints.
Loki stays for some eggnog, and leaves. But he stays true to his promise and does come back to finish what he's started.
Much to Tony's delight.