Burn My Kingdom Alive
Summary: It's just another night. But that is, doubtlessly, their worse fight and Tony isn't sure if he's ready to face it, not now, so he burries his emotions and sentiment and fucking feelings deep within him, shoves one of his hands into his pockets and inhales of the relaxing cigarette.
"Have a fucking nice day without me then, Laufeyson, if you'd like it so much." Tony slams the door shut behind him, tears welling up and that I'm-about-to-break-down-or-something feeling is threatening to take over him again, but he doesn't cry. Furiously, he shoves his hands into his pockets and backs away from the door because he can't fucking stand Loki's face anymore and all the anger, all the tension, it was becoming too much for him to bear already. The room smells just like him, it's dense and erotic and Stark isn't sure whether he wants to think about this now but he goes for not.
And damn, he does hate himself. For making Loki sad. Again.
He walks, and walks. His muscles start to hurt after about an hour and a half, because he's in a good form, but he keeps walking and tries unsuccessfully not to think of Loki's broken, self-depreciating, ironic smirk when they started off the fight because of that stupid jealousy, and Pepper meant fucking nothing, the God should know by now!
Fuck, they've been together for almost nine months now, wasn't that enough proof?! What else did he fucking want?!
It starts to anger Tony then, so he takes a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, because shit he does need a cigarette. It's not like he's been telling himself to quit for months now, no. All this goes to hell when nervous times and those stupid arguments keep happening. Fuck, he's a professional engineer, genius, philanthropist, billionaire already. He doesn't deserve that. For one moment, he kicks the wall and thinks Loki doesn't deserve him, but the thought pains him so deeply and reopens such deep wounds that he shoves it to the side because HE is the one who doesn't deserve someone like Loki. And he knows better than to go on with this thoughts, so he puts the cigarette between his lips and lightens it, taking a large amount in and damn the world fades for a while, he buries himself in that feeling. It feels so good.
Almost as good as looking into the pair of emerald, beautiful eyes of his Loki. His Loki. The pain's there again and he has to face it because it won't go away, so he just suppresses his urge to cry and run back into Loki's arms and screams, because no one's gonna listen anyway. And again, he hates himself for being such a self-centered asshole. But at least he didn't cheat. Never. He never fucking cheated. Which he considered either stupidity or miracle. But if he had someone like Loki, why'd he cheat? That's the only question that lingers into his brain, making him start to feel less drunk and more like hangover, and his head throbs. After a long time leaning in someone's car and staring at a brick wall, cigarette after cigarette, Tony sees looks somewhere else and fuck is that the Sun.
So he walks back home. And walks, and walks, and circles the block few times, thanking any kind of nonexistent divinity it's still that early so the paparazzis and people won't be there. Because, though he loves attention and the whole world knows it, he hates those guys and their cameras. His eyes are locked on the ground as he walks into the building; buried 8 feet below thoughts which threatened to overwhelm and likely kill him. Then he arrives his-and Loki's-room, and the familiar sight of the shirtless, delicately muscled body laying there, with his raven hair disheveled, sprawled through the pillow and shit, he has those tear-stained marks down his cheeks and the more Tony looks at them the more he hates himself. He shouldn't make the God waste his tears. Not on HIM. He's not worthy of those fucking tears and he knows it.
Loki's body moves in the bed and suddenly Tony knows he's not asleep. He opens his eyes after a while and they just stare at each other, the small drops of sweat in Tony's forehead running down the sides of his face, wetting softly his beard in the slightest way. He smells like a mix of sweat, alcohol and cigarettes and that's such a strong characteristic of his that Loki learned to love it and know it afar. His lover's scent. His love's scent, above anything else. Loki too has to shove this thought away before he started to cry all over again and fucking hell no, not in front of Stark, that's hurt his pride far too damn much. Stark's hazel eyes stare into Loki's emerald orbs and they love each other so fucking much.
Tony steps forward then, and Loki moves aside to let him sit because he's not going to refuse Tony's presence by his side. Not now, not ever. "Stark." Tony winces at the name because Loki hasn't called him like that since... Ever. It's been a long time since you called me by my surname, Laufeyson, he thinks. "Laufeyson." Tony replies, and their voices are dangerously devoid of emotion, something lingers between them and it feels like unresolved tension and a doubt whether they wanted to make out or scratch each other raw and claw their eyes out. Loki tenses lightly at the surname because it always sound like an offense to him and shit, that wasn't good.
The shorter man sits down beside the trickster, and yet again they look at each other. Tony's eyes dart from cell to cell in Loki's body and he thinks that it isn't completely uncomfortable, but Tony's practically undoing him. And he feels what it's like to be unmade. Again. Tony loves doing that to him, and it sends his heart in a crazy, maniac race which, he has to admit, it's not unpleasant. The quiescent room remains in the silence as Loki leans slightly up, and Stark lowers himself. As expected, from the both of them, their lips meet and shocks, shivers, chills run through their bodies because that just won't stop happening. And they know, they just know, that that's what it's like and that's how it's going to be forever because it's meant to be.