"I think we need to talk," Tony says, addressing Frank, because he's good at stalling by running his mouth off. "I know, I know, kinda sudden, we only just met and everything, but I do feel that potentially relationship-damaging issues like, I don't know, murder need to be got out in the open sooner rather than later -"
"Wouldn't you like to slip into something more comfortable before we have this chat?" purrs Frank. "Or should I say slip out of something uncomfortable?" Those feline eyes slide up and down Tony in an almost comically lascivious manner. "Your armour must...chafe something dreadful."
"You can talk," says Tony, before he can stop himself. He's not good at impulse control, in case you've been living under a rock for years and haven't noticed this about him. "Corsets at noon? Surely the boning -" oh god oh no oh christ why did he even think that word, let alone say it " - must really dig into your abs."
"Why don't we find out how much things -" eyebrow arch " - dig in?"
"Perhaps later," says Loki's voice and Tony has never been so simultaeneously glad and a tiny touch disappointed to see him. "Hello, Frankie. It's been a while."
"Loki," says Frank, not taking his eyes off Tony. "Come here, darling."
And to Tony's immense surprise and increasing annoyance, Loki obeys, without so much as a whisper of defiance. Frank snakes an arm around his waist and pulls him in, stroking up and down Loki's side in a possessive fashion that Tony isn't angry about, oh no, not a bit. Loki chuckles - no, giggles. Goddamnit. Oh, he'd so better be faking that.
"You're looking well," Loki murmurs. "Midgard agrees with you."
"Oh, I just love these humans," Frank enthuses. "They're so..."
There's an agonising pause, so long Tony kinda wants to smack Frank round the head just so he'll finish his sentence.
"...corruptible."
"Aren't they?" agrees Loki, and what the actual hell he's nuzzling into Frank's neck like a cat while Frank half-lids his immaculately painted eyes and lolls his head back in obvious hedonistic abandon. "So wouldn't you like to meet my human friends? They're such fun, you know. You've met Stark."
"Hi," says Tony, feeling glad to get a word into this escalatingly weird situation.
"...but I think you would just love to be introduced to Captain Rogers."
Tony can just tell Frank's working up to a properly British suggestive chuckle about people called Rogers, but right on cue here's Steve leaping banzai-style out of the bushes, in his full star-spangled glory and landing in his best classic superhero pose, shield raised.
Frank chokes slightly, licks his lips.
"Oh my," he says, blinking.
"Captain," chides Loki, "don't be rude. Take your hat off in the presence of royalty."
Steve hesitates, but evidently he has Fury shouting at him in his earpiece, because he pulls off the cowl and awkwardly runs a hand through his resulting hat-hair.
There's a sub-vocal sound that Tony realises is coming from Frank. He's actually growling, and he's looking at Steve like someone just served up Captain America a l'orange on a silver platter.
"I knew you'd approve," murmurs Loki, giving Frank both a kiss on the cheek and a pat on the bicep. "Have fun."
And Steve, god bless him in all his wholesome good-natured politeness, sticks out a hand and says "It's good to meet you, sir," in a voice that's only a tiny bit strained. Tony can almost see the pre-fifties values struggling with this vision of transgender pride standing in front of him, but he can also hear the barking of Fury's instructions from here. And Steve's a good soldier who does what he's told.
"Something's wrong," hisses Loki into Tony's ear, sidling up beside him and still wearing that oily little fake smile that he only uses when someone has told him to be diplomatic. "Something's wrong with Frank. We may all be in grave danger."
"Really? You think something's wrong with him? No offense to your ex, Rock of Ages, but how the fuck can you tell?!"
In front of them, Frank is wringing Steve's hand and Steve is looking first surprised then downright alarmed at the sheer force of the alien's grip. Frank releases him, chucks him under the chin, and says something Tony can't quite catch, but he bets it's filthy.
"And didn't you tell me not to touch him? Look. He's touching Steve. In fact if we let this continue I feel that later we're going to be providing Steve with a doll and telling him to point out the no-no areas that got touched. And it will be all of them. Loki - "
"It was a necessary sacrifice. The Captain will be fine, if a little confused for a while."
Confused. Tony watches Frank at work, circling Steve like a lion sauntering around a lame gazelle. "That's it. You're evil. I defended you about the city destruction, I laughed off the bit where you paid Doom to make a Sailor Moon Iron Man suit, but this...this is diabolical. It's gonna take a boatload of Mom's apple pie and the whole of Little House on the Prairie to fix him after this. Shit, Loki, I could've done it. At least I have experience. Why him and not me?"
"Steve is not mine. You are," says Loki, as if he really can't understand what all the fuss is about. "He is also close to invulnerable. Frank is unlikely to damage him by accident."
"I'm getting out of here," Tony decides. "I'm not going to be written up in the papers tomorrow for being Captain America's gay pimp. Pepper will kill me. Actually kill me." Loki gives him a long, cool look. "With knives," Tony adds, in a wounded voice.
"Stark," grates Fury over the comm. "Get. Him. In."
"And how come you get to touch him?" Tony continues, fixating on what is miraculously the safer topic. "You're all 'hands off' to me, but then you're all over him like you wanna wear him like a jacket."
"I am not human," says Loki. "Nor am I Asgardian, nor fully Jotunn. I change my shape. I would never claim complete immunity to Frank's charms, but I certainly have a measure of resistance that allows me some safety in his presence. Besides, we used to be lovers. He would take it ill if I ignored him physically." His eyes widen. "Stark. Are you jealous?"
Before Tony can answer this question, Thor strides into their conversation with all his usual subtlety: i.e. all the subtlety of a brick to the face. "Brother," he rumbles, his voice somewhat indistinct. "We must move this elsewhere. The humans are too susceptible."
"Is that why you're holding your cape over your nose and mouth?" asks Tony. "In case you accidently catch susceptiblity from us poor humans? Because I kind of think it may be something else you're worried about catching."
He can't be sure, what with the makeshift cape-mask and all, but he thinks Thor's giving him a dirty look.
To everybody's surprise (except perhaps Loki's, but then probably not much surprises Loki anymore: after the void, the mind control, the fact that his eyes can apparently shift from green to blue and back again, that sort of thing) Frank goes with them like a little lamb. If, Tony thinks as he trails along behind them, lambs were habitually predatory and liable to inappropriate touching.
He would feel sorry for Steve, if he weren't finding it all just a little bit funny. Frank is practically coiled around the man like a snake, and Tony suspects that any minute now there's going to be a melodramatic fainting damsel moment and lo, Captain America will be carrying their latest alien superthreat bridal style. Still, it's the least fighting they've ever had to do in order to subdue an alien invasion, so that's all good, right?
Right. And the fact that Captain America is getting his neck licked a by a man in makeup and lingerie and isn't recoiling in pseudo-puritan horror, that's all good too. Sure it is.
The photos in the press are going to be amazing. Tony can practically hear the journalists salivating from here, and the roar of the internet getting ready for its newest opportunity to be "broken".
He can also still feel the tendrils of Frank's weaponised sexuality grabbing at the edge of his awareness, but thanks to Loki's Good Idea (yeah, nobody's gonna actually be thanking you for this one, Lokes), the alien scientist is evidently concentrating all his effort on Steve. Thor doesn't seem quite so impressed by his baby brother's quick thinking. His big honest face is bent in a frown somewhat like a four-year-old's when learning their alphabet, and he is pacing alongside Tony without so much as a word. Maybe he's dreading all the inevitable jokes about his mighty weapon that Frank's bound to have stored up.
Fury's lackeys are waiting for them in the lobby, and Tony notices they're wearing discreet little breathing masks. Fantastic. So it's OK to sling the world's superteam onto Frank's, ahem, pheromone sword, but the rank and file? They get protected. Well. It's always good to know where you stand in terms of importance. Tony's mouth cannot be stopped, as is so often the case.
"I guess he couldn't stand the idea you might be late with his coffee because you were banging the prisoner in the broom cupboard, right?"
The agents don't dignify this with a reply. One of them turns to Frank and says "Doctor. Director Fury thought you might like to dress for the occasion." It has the delivery and feel of something scripted, and Tony makes a mental note to read all those Denton Affair files as quickly as possible, because he doesn't like Fury knowing more than he does. Ever. And woah, what is that thing that the flunkey is holding out? It's green. Surgical scrub green. Are those gloves? They're pink. Pink with hospital green? Urrrrgh. But regardless of taste, Tony just knows that this is Fury's diplomatic stab at getting those skimpy, sexy panties covered up before he has to meet with Frank. Classy, Nick. Really. And wait, Frank's a doctor? Does he even want to start wondering about doctor of what?
Too late. Tony's wondering.
Frank, however, coos with delight at the sight of the things, uncoils from Steve (mother of fuck, Steve actually looks disappointed) and slides into the scrubs like a catwalk model slipping into the latest Dior number. The gloves are rubber (of course they are). They make a snap sound as Frank pulls them on, and Tony can feel Frank's eyes on him, watching for a reaction to the noise even through the suit.
When he can speak to Loki again in complete privacy, Tony's going to apologise for calling him a full-tilt diva. Because now he's met the king/queen of all divas and Loki isn't even close to that level of flamboyant narcissism. That's it! Doctor Furter, PHD Diva Studies!
The scrubs look a lot better on, though. Jesus. Perhaps he can persuade Loki to play a quick round of doctors and - no, no, NO. Snap out of it. Tony stares at the wall deliberately until the door opens and Fury comes in, at which point he stares directly into the man's single eye. There's nothing sexy about Fury. Fury is a libido-dampener if ever Tony saw one.
Frank clearly doesn't agree with him on this one, because he's advancing on Fury like the British Queen on Honours Day, gloved hand held out. Fury doesn't so much as blink. He looks like a sullen teenager who's been forced by his mum to wear a sailor suit and be cuddled by a battalion of elderly aunties.
"Doctor Furter," he grinds out. "Thank you for agreeing to join us at such short notice."
"And thank you for - mmhmm - having me," says Frank, and chuckles, the sound sliding down everyone's spines like molten chocolate. He grabs Fury's hand - gloves as well, Nick, kinky - and instead of shaking it, raises it to those dark-cherry lips and kisses the knuckles. "Enchante."
Tony can't help it. He laughs out loud, mostly because Fury looks as if he's about to choke (either himself or somebody else) and also because he can see the look on Frank's face and just knows that the alien has found the perfect target to fuck with. Can't you see it? Tony wants to say to Fury. He is playing with you. Because he thinks it's fun. If you don't want to play, don't make it fun. Don't tell him he can't, or shouldn't, because as soon as you do he can, and he will. The less you want to encourage him, the more you will.
You'd better hope all your precautions work, Nick, because otherwise I suspect we're gonna be seeing you in a naughty French maid outfit, polishing Frankie-baby's pearl necklace, Tony thinks, and feels an escalating hysteria bubble up in his throat at the image. He clamps down on it. There's still blood visible on Frank's ankles. The little silver anklet is dyed crimson.
Something is wrong with him, Loki had said, and if Loki, Prince of Overconfident Sass, is uneasy, now is the time to get the fuck out of Dodge.
"I'd like to discuss a few matters of protocol with you," Fury continues, ignoring the big beautiful lipstick mark on his glove. "If I may."
Frank rolls his eyes. Tony recognises that look. It's the same look he gets when he hears the words "Tony, you missed the board meeting again. Here are thirty million gazillion papers to sign. In the next five minutes. In blood. And also, eat some wheatgrass."
He wonders if Frank has a Pepper, who looks after him, keeps him on track, reminds him to, hell, who knows, polish his rhinestones or something. Against all sense he finds himself hoping so. After all, who knows better than he that even if you're looking like a galactic playboy, it doesn't mean you're happy. Just that you're a good actor.
