Hey guys! This is my first attempt at FrostIron fanfiction…so I am really nervous, but I hope you all enjoy! If something is inaccurate or anything, especially when it comes to Loki's part and those descriptions, feel free to PM me or tell me somehow so I can correct it :) This fic is also rated M for a reason: it is gory and descriptive, and uses some strong language.

Also, much love and thanks to my amazing friend who is known on this sight as GreenLoki- if you haven't already, go check out her stories, because they are most definitely fantastic! :D

And without further a due… enjoy :)

Chapter 1: 'I'll Do It'

It was never supposed to happen like this...

Ever since Loki Laufeyson and Tony Stark met in their first year of high school at the principal's office (Loki for insulting a teacher's intellect and making said teacher cry and Tony for getting bored and blowing up something in chemistry) they were best friends, practically inseparable. They were brought together for their desire for danger and trouble, their more than-slightly- rough family lives and inability to be understood by anyone other than each other. Their friendship was unrivalled, a match made in heaven, dangerous (well, for those around them) and together people started to fear that they would eventually become the school's downfall… which they weren't for the record. Soon into their friendship, they decided that it would not be worth it.

Years later, they both gained scholarships to the same university (Tony had been offered several other scholarships during his early teen years to more than a few universities and colleges, to which he declined soon after meeting Loki). Loki was an arts major, and Tony was…well, Tony Stark: master of technology and intellect. At university, they met others like them, but never strayed far from each other: in fact, if you ever wanted to find one of them, the most common retort soon became "Wherever Tony is," or "Wherever Loki is". Their relationship even gained public recognition when the press got a hold of several pictures of the two of them together. But no matter what happened, they were always, always there for each other.

Loki was always there after Tony's nights of drinking and partying to help him with the hangover and aftermath.

Tony was always there to hold Loki when the bruises on his arms and the harsh words of his father that came with them became too much.

And they were especially there for each other when they were actually caught and held accountable for one of their many pranks. But then again, most of the time, no one could really prove it was them anyway, so they ended up walking calmly from the main offices before cracking up, leaning on each other for support and snickering while doing it.

And it was when these things started to happened that their relationship changed. Touches became longer, more lingering, stomachs started to flutter when their emerald green and deep brown ones met, and hearts started to beat faster when the other was around….which was a lot. Their flirting, which had always been palpable, was suddenly in full force and constant. Everyone started placing bets for went the two would finally get together, but it never happened.

And not even the two of them could understand why.

But eventually even university had to end. They both graduated top of their classes, and Tony threw a giant celebration party at one of his many giant mansions, so big that there actually had to be security guards to escort hopeful young people desperate to get in and paparazzi dying for photos of Tony drunk and embarrassing himself (…because that totally hadn't already happened before).

And it was at that very party that everything went to absolute hell.

Tony had somehow convinced Loki, who was always so adamant about not drinking, to have one drink, which soon turned into two, and then three, then four, until both of them were completely and utterly wasted. And two drunk, secretly-in-love teenagers seeing each other for one of the last nights before they are being forced to part ways?

…Well, what do you think happened?

That night soon lead to shed clothes, tangled sheets, drunken confessions and moans in the dark. Feelings were revealed in the dead of night, whispers and promises made against pale skin and mingling with sweat and seldom-shared tears that neither realized they were shedding. Sparks flew, beautiful and blinding, as the two such closed-off people completely opened up and let their passion and feelings finally take over. But that night couldn't last forever, despite Loki and Tony's fervent wishes and prayers.

…and the aftermath wasn't nearly as beautiful.

Heats were broken, more tears shed and the two said things they still, to this day, regret and that haunt them. The morning ended with Loki storming out of Tony's mansion, heading off to England a few days later in order to find a new job (he soon discovered that art reminded him too much of Tony), while Tony went to live in New York City.

The two never spoke or saw to each other again.

Tony went on to become the person everyone knows him as today: genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist and superhero/Avenger Iron Man. He met Pepper, and finally met somehow other than Loki who understood and could put up with him (but she still wasn't Loki, although Tony pushed that fact as best he could to the back of his mind). The two eventually started dating, and Tony could feel the happiness he once felt with and around Loki returning to him. He was starting to feel, dare he say it, happy again.

Loki, on the other hand…chose a darker path. When he went back to England, he soon had no choice but to take a job from his father, who's line of work was considered quite…unsavoury. (Horrific. Awful. Gruesome.) But Loki's downfall had just begun, and soon he found himself as one of his father's best 'workers'; rising his ways through the ranks, skills growing every day until he knew nothing other than his next assignment. He wasn't happy, per say…but he was content, for the most part.

But now, after years and years of not speaking, of ignoring the never-ending and non-disapating holes in their hearts, Loki and Tony are about to meet again. Only this time?

…it's all even more complicated and fucked up than before.

The man screamed and screamed and screamed, the dark and tortured sound reverberating around the room. His flesh was melting, mingling with the tears that were dripping steadily down his face. Stark white bones began to show as the skin gave way, glowing and eerie as the flames danced hauntingly around them. His eyes, which shone with agony and terror, were being consumed, waves of bright orange licking around them and burning the eyes sockets, leaving gaping holes around them. He struggled against the restraints that bound him in a solid, wooden chair, thrashing and screaming and sobbing and moaning as the fire began to creep down to his clothes, burning them greedily and lapping at the fresh skin. Long gashes already ran down the man's chest, deep and bloody, and blood continued to drip down onto the floor, a beautiful crimson against the broken pieces of concrete that made it up. Something between a gut-wrenching scream and a broken and bloody sob worked its way down his parched throat, followed by a word that was barely distinguishable.

"Please."

And with that final plea, another man stepped from the shadows, a gun in hand, and shot the man straight between the eyes. His unrecognizable body slumped against the chair, splatters of blood and chunks of burnt and dead skin and brain flying and hitting the wall behind him, painting it as if it were a canvas.

The other man simply sighed despite the brutal sight, his bright, iridescent green eyes flickering upwards at the still burning flames and smoke that was trailing off into the air. The smell of rotting, burning flesh and metallic blood hit his nose, but he paid no mind to it. Striding forward, his long black boots clunking against the floor, he walked up to the man, giving him another one over, before his long lean arm stretched out and grabbed a phone from the pocket of his leather jacket. Pressing a few buttons, he raised the cell in front of him and snapped a few photos, a clicking sound and bright flash following each one.

One.

Two.

Three.

And with one final press of a button, the man sent the pictures to an anonymous number. Below the gruesome photos was a single message, typed out long before the actual murder took place:

It's done.

Because then again, when did he ever fail?

The man sighed once more, black hair falling in waves around his sharp, angled face. His pale, porcelain skin glistened, flickering due to the slowly-diminishing flames, which had now taken the place where the other man once sat. Said dead man was now a pile of ashes and burnt slabs of skin, the putrid stench of the two filling the room.

But this was what his client had wanted, so that was what his client was going to get.

Eyes flickering down back to his phone, he scrolled through his minimal amount of text messages, and pressed on a particular one. It was a short list: cool and clipped and to the point.

~Warehouse on Donavan Street.

~Fire used before death.

~Cut before death.

~Single bullet to the head.

~MAKE HIM SUFFER AND BURN

The last part sent a ripple of unease through the man. Part of his job description was never supposed to be torture, before or after death. But he had soon discovered how much people actually paid to include that. So he had given in. In times like this, what else could you do?

He made every one of his clients give or send him a list before it happened. What they wanted to happen, how they wanted the means of death to be, where it should happen…it was uncommon for someone in his line of business to give so much choice, but the pay was worth it. He had a waiting list for fuck's sake.

And even assassins as skilled as Loki Laufeyson had to make a living somehow.

The flames disappeared entirely, leaving a sweet but rotting and smoky smell. Loki was used to the smell though, so used to it, it was almost as if he was simply breathing in everyday air. The sight didn't sicken him, nor did the scent make him want to retch. Watching the man screaming and in pure and utter agony as the flames burned and disfigured him did not make him flinch. He was just another person that he had been hired to 'take care of'. There were so many that he knew that in a few days, he would forget it ever happened.

To others, it was horrifying, cruel, soulless of him to think these things, but for Loki, it was just another day at work.

He brushed his sweaty bangs out of his eyes, and his phone beeped, the sound thundering against the cool silence of the room. Loki reached down and flipped it open, glancing over at the bright screen, which had been illuminated with a text from his latest client.

The money's been sent.

Loki sighed slightly, annoyance flickering through him, before he typed out a reply.

Of course it has. Also, his wife has just been widowed: I suggest not trying to seduce her until at least after the funeral.

Smirking lightly to himself (even he could have a bit of however-twisted fun sometimes), Loki then dialed a number, stalking forward on light feet and kneeling in front of the spot where his most recent hit once sat. Come to think of it, Loki didn't even know the man's name. He was just told an address, where to 'pick the man up' and what to do with and to him. It was simple, distant, and effective: just the way he liked it to be.

"Hello." A gruff voice eventually picked up on the other end, holding a thinly veiled iciness that over the years had become but a familiar welcome to Loki, who responded swiftly and shortly.

"It's done."

Loki could practically see his smile emerge over the phone, cold and feral at the edges, sending shivers down even the sturdiest of spines. Even Loki, for all of his talents and gifts for reading people, couldn't see through it.

"Well done son." Laufey, the man with the dangerous smile, replied, his voice scratching over the cheap cell phone, further altered by the bad reception that the dark and deserted warehouse gave.

Loki felt a flash of cold fire run through him. I am not your son, he wanted to scream. You never raised me. You never cared for me. You didn't even bother to attempt to hide the beatings you gave me…

But Loki swallowed the rising bile and angry words that threatened to overtake him, as always, and spoke once more, "And when have I ever done a bad one?"

Loki could hear his father's sigh on the other end, used to Loki's sarcasm and attitude, but didn't comment any further, "I need to meet you at the office. Now. Don't be late."

"I wouldn't dream of it," came Loki's short, almost venomous reply, before he promptly hung up the phone.

He could barely see, since the fire was somehow gone and so was the light that came with it, but lightning was starting to flash outside, allowing him glimpses of his surroundings.

Without any further hesitation, he dropped the phone onto the ground, smashing it with his foot a second later. Feeling the screen shatter and the plastic break, he leaned over and picked it up, holding it in front of him as he strode forward, walking behind a large, nearby crate. Tucked behind it was a long, green briefcase, which Loki promptly picked up, carrying it over to where the flames once stood and the man previously sat. Dropping so that his knees were just brushing the smooth, cool concrete, Loki opened the case, eyes skimming the black leather that lined the inside.

Methodically, in a well-practiced manner, Loki reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out the gun he used to shoot the man with and placed it in the suitcase. Next, he put the broken cell phone in it, followed by the latex gloves he was wearing during the murder. Lastly, he pulled out a lighter, pressing the side lightly and watching a single flame erupt from the device, glowing and beautiful. He watched it for a second, mesmerized, before dropping it into the suitcase and swiftly shutting it. He could practically feel the heat radiating and pulsing from it, even as he walked away. In his mind, Loki counted, just like he did with the camera flashes.

One.

Two.

Three.

Loki heard the suitcase burst into flames, crackling and loud and decimating. But this time, Loki didn't look back to watch.

He walked calmly right out of the building, relishing in the way the thunderstorm roared around him, blocking out his thoughts and what was occurring behind and around him. The rain drenched him, flooding his ears and soaking his clothes as thunder rolled in the distance. Lightning flashed every few seconds, unbelievably bright, providing enough light for Loki to be able to stay walking on the side road and reach his car: a black SUV, no doubt.

He climbed in it quickly, but in no haste. Starting the car, and eventually pulling away from the building, he looked through one of his side mirrors, and saw bright orange flickering and swirling in one of its windows. A smile flitted across Loki's face, brilliant and lighting up his face.

See, Loki was not a psycho-path, or a sociopath, and though he knew he wasn't a good person, if what he did for a living was any indication, he liked to believe that, in a way he was, or at least had his moments.

No…Loki just liked chaos.

"You want me to do what?!"

Nick Fury could only sigh at the man in front of him, whose deep brown eyes were fixed on his in disbelief. "Look, Stark, I'm not pleased with this either, but the council has requested-"

"Okay, first of all, when have you ever actually listened to the council, and secondly, when have I ever been used or requested for something like this?" Tony Stark's normally charming and smooth voice was punctured with annoyance. Normally, he would be making some smart-ass comments about 'good ol' one-eye' as he often called the S.H.I.E.L.D director, but damn it, he was having a bad day.

First, Dr. Doom had decided that today would be the perfect day to try bombing the south of New York City. Meaning, Tony had to 'suit up' and go into full Iron Man mode. He, along with the other Avengers (a.k.a Earth's Mightiest Heroes) were forced to take on his army of Doombots (and who the hell named their army after themselves? Okay, well, Tony might, but he would call them something way more awesome then what Doom did…) resulting in annoying and painful injuries, ruined armour, and pissed off superheroes who proceeded to, on the way back from the battle, nearly destroy each other (again). Also, tomorrow was Tony and Pepper's five month anniversary, and Tony still didn't know what to do or get her for it- and his team/housemates, especially one Clint Barton (if what he convinced Tony to do for their two month anniversary was any indication), were no help whatsoever. Even Thor, the god of thunder himself, had stated, "Man of Iron, you are very much screwed." And now, Nick Fury had called him in order to persuade him to partake in some mission that was on Tony's list of least important things to do right now.

So yeah…Tony was having a shitty day.

And this interrogation-like thing he was going through wasn't helping in the least.

Fury sighed, his one eye sweeping over the genius/billionaire/playboy/philanthropist, who was attempting to give the Director an intimidating bitch-glare… and not succeeding.

"Look," Fury stated, leaning back in his chair, "I know that you are very busy, saving the world every other day and whatnot, but this is something that is starting to pose as a problem for S.H.I.E.L.D, and the Council is refusing to let it go. And they think you would be valuable in helping us."

Tony sighed, deep brown eyes flickering over to the screen in front of him. A long, slick black table was spread out in between the two men, and a large, almost see-through screen stood glowing right above it. Pictures and reports of murders, some old, some recent, covered the screen. Some were simple and effective: a bullet to the head, the swift slitting of a throat. Others were painstakingly brutal and deliberate, the pictures making even Tony, who was very much adept and knowledgeable on the world's horrors and what people were truly capable of, feel sick. Some people lay in literal pools of blood, their bodies mutilated and mangled, cut beyond recognition, while others were tortured, burns scarring them and tear tracks still visible on their fear-filled faces. The screen showed and was scanning through hundreds of people, all dead, all murdered. Tony's eyes glanced back down at Fury, whose face was grim, also affected by the pictures but a master of hiding it.

"We have evidence that supports that this is the work of a single man." Fury spoke, eyes fixed on Tony.

"Hired?"

"Yes, we believe so. This man," several video clips and pictures flashed across the screen of a long, lean man dressed in pure black walking away from several of the crime scenes. "has been on S.H.I.E.L.D's watch list for a while now, but has been killing more recently and gruesomely. We want him off the streets, and therefore off of our radar as soon as possible. Are you up to it?" he leaned forward as he spoke, hands curling and resting on the table.

"How are you sure all of this is the work of just one person?" Tony asked, wary.

"He's clean: no evidence is ever found at any of the scenes. He is approximately six feet two inches, weight is still being determined. He strikes at places that usually have cameras, but always evades them and keeps them from allowing us to identify him. He's intelligent, clearly highly skilled and most likely trained. He also does…something that sets him apart, something that allows us to gain at least a vague estimate of his body-count."

Tony rolled his eyes slightly at the delay and raised his eyebrows in question, interest spiking.

Fury took out a slim remote from one of his leather pockets, and pressed a few buttons that caused the screen to light up once more with several other videos. Tony stared up at them, watching as they showed the man put the murder weapons and several other items into a briefcase before exiting the scene. Seconds later, they would go up in bright orange and ice blue flames. This occurred in quite a few videos and at several murder scenes.

"We don't always catch him on video, but we always find the remains of the briefcase at every murder scene, along with the murder weapon and other items used in it. All evidence is gone, and the kill is completed. And S.H.I.E.L.D officially cannot track him down. He is, simply put, the perfect assassin. And we want him done." Fury's voice grew hard towards the end. The fact that he wasn't bitching on/insulting Tony was proof enough the he was very serious about this 'problem'.

"How do you think I could help with this?" Tony inquired, eyes still boring onto the screen. It was now displaying what was left of the broken, scattered briefcase of the most recently discovered murder that the man committed, and what it once contained. A list on the side showed that a shattered cell phone, melted latex gloves, and the remains of a gun and lighter were left and found in it.

Fury sighed, clearly unhappy with the decision to have Tony in on the case, but begrudgingly going along with it. "You have access to some of the world's best technology: hell, you own most of it. And SHIELD is, at this point, desperate for help. With your -god help me- intelligence and capability to somehow get people to agree to do whatever it this that you fucking want, we want you to track this man down and shut him down. I don't care how you do it, so long as you don't start a war while doing it. But I want it done."

Tony paused for a moment, before saying cheekily, all snark and charm once more, "…You think I'm intelligent?"

You could practically see Fury's one eye twitch. "Stark, this is no laughing matter. We need your help: I will admit to it." The director suddenly slammed his hands on the table, causing Tony to start slightly, "Will you do it?"

Tony paused again for a while, eyes flicking between Fury and the screen, which was once again scanning through the murder cases and photos, as well as videos and photos of the assassin. Images filled with pain and terror and blood and death overtook it, and Tony felt a distinct burning rising in throat as his mind flashed back to Afghanistan. He knew what those people went through, how they felt. It didn't matter if this man was hired for it or not: he deserved to pay for what he did, and was, doing.

Taking a deep, long breath as he fought back his thoughts, Tony turned to Fury, eyes fixating on the Director as he replied.

"Yeah. I'll do it."

So... *coughs nervously* ...thoughts and reviews? :D