CHAPTER FOUR – Fourth time's the charm

The last time Loki had walked the shimmering rainbow of the Bifrost it had led to his near destruction. As a boy he'd been drawn to its power, its promise of all the places it could take him and the wonders it could afford him. Now was predictably no different, but instead of the thrill he felt no small amount of trepidation. A little part of him liked to believe he could get away with this treachery, however unlikely. But of all beings in the nine realms the one person he would not lie to was himself.

In the meanwhile it certainly helped to not give pause to think of the consequences.

Perhaps this was how Thor felt on a daily basis…

In the short term, Loki knew the force of the Bifrost would free his magic, give him the chance to breathe freely, help Stark if needed. But it would also leave an imprint upon Midgard and the Bifrost itself, inevitably escaping back to Asgard, leaving indisputable proof of his disobedience. Given the extenuating circumstances, the logical outcome would ideally include forgiveness for the very obviously needed intervention. But nothing about life was logical.

Let Odin accuse and rage and rain down his fury.

Loki would not tread upon the minefield of the old man's paranoia like a fainthearted boy.

He would do it with purpose.

However frustrating said purpose was…

"Do you seek so soon to return to the dark of Asgard's dungeons," Heimdall asked him, without turning around. "My prince."

"I do not seek it," Loki said, stepping into the golden chamber. "But if that is to be my punishment, then I will gladly accept it. Look upon Midgard for me. Where is Stark?"

"The man of Iron," the gatekeeper asked, brow creasing as he looked afar. "Why would you concern yourself with-"

He rolled his eyes. "Just humor me…"

Out of curiosity alone, Loki suspected, Heimdall did as requested, turning his gaze afar and frowning upon the discovery. "He sits upon the edge of his tower, swaying in the wind, and very drunk."

Loki sighed loudly and pinched the bridge of his nose as he turned around to gather himself. "Open the gateway."

"The Allfather will rescind your freedom when he discovers you've broken your bond," Heimdall warned. "You cannot leave Asgard-"

"Yes, well, I was forbidden from leaving my rooms and here I stand. He will rescind it regardless of what I do now. It is and has been simply a matter of time."

Heimdall did not look impressed, but did not dismiss Loki either. "If you are determined, I cannot stop you. But I would ask that you answer me one question."

The Norns were truly trying his patience this day… "Ask it."

"Is Anthony Stark not a friend of Thor's?"

"Stark is a friend of Asgard, however recent. Ask me your true question, gatekeeper."

"Did you not once believe mortals were beneath us?"

Loki smiled slowly. "I once believed the Allfather to be a just and fair ruler."

Heimdall looked upon him darkly. "That is treason."

"So will be this act of kindness. I would love for nothing more than to debate pragmatics, but my time appears short. If you would be so kind in turn…"

Heimdall gave him a disapproving look as he reluctantly opened the gateway. "I will not lie for you. Dawn will come to Asgard before it comes to Midgard. Try to remember that."

"I will repay you for this," Loki promised before venturing forth.

"No," Heimdall sighed. "You won't."

Loki felt it the moment the force of the Bifrost broke through the chain holding his magic dormant. He distantly heard the chain around his neck break and fall to the ground beneath him. The first breath he took was sweet. He smiled wide at the way his magic spun and stretched and sang. It had been too long since it was so free and unhindered. The power made him feel whole again, so much more himself, in control of his body and too-often chaotic mind. It would take time for his reserves to fill properly again, but the breaking of the dam had already been done. Perhaps in a few hours he would have enough to store away for the inevitable punishment when he returned.

But that was not for now.

He opened his eyes and found himself on Stark's Tower. It was night on Midgard. There was a warm and humid blustery wind. In the distance were stationary storms, intent on raining themselves out though with no promise of relief as far as the moisture in the air promised. Ahead of him was the mortal in question, leaned precariously across and over a part of railing that had not yet detached from the ground. In his hand was a glass bottle. By his feet was another, but empty. The man looked the subject of misery, which was a far cry from the last time the mortal dared look upon him. Loki could still remember the smug smile and the silent gloating of victory with his new compatriots.

There was no denying this sight was somewhat vindicating, to see the mortal brought so low, but more curious was to what had been the cause? And typically when Loki got to the root of a problem, it inevitably softened his approach. Whether Stark would deserve it or not would be the second part of the problem.

Loki rose to his feet silently and slowly approached. Upon closer inspection, Stark's eyes were bloodshot and glassy. He was staring down at the city, but Loki got the impression the man wasn't interested in all the life beneath him. "You stupid mortal," Loki breathed. "Are you actively trying to kill yourself?"

"Depends," Stark droned without turning around. "You gonna try to kill me first? I'll race you."

"It would be pitifully easy in your position," Loki said sitting down next to him. As soon as Stark made eye contact, he flinched away on instinct, a portion of the railing breaking away and nearly taking the man over the edge with it, but Loki grabbed his arm and pulled him back. Loki sighed heavily and gave Stark an unimpressed look, who just seemed clueless and confused about everything. "Letting you drunkenly fall off your own tower would be so tempting, Stark. Just remember I chose not to."

Stark fixed his full attention on the god then, blinking furiously and visibly trying to pull himself together despite his inebriation. "You're… you're…"

Loki raised an impatient eyebrow. "Yes?"

"Here?"

"Obviously. You didn't answer your phone."

"Yeah, well. Dropped it. Next model's almost done though," he said lifting the bottle to his lips. "Maybe I'll just keep it for myself."

Loki snatched the bottle of amber liquid out of Stark's hands and measured the small remainder before smelling it for its potency. "How much of this have you had?"

"That bottle, specifically? Kin'of obvious, isn't it?"

"Norns," Loki groused after an eye roll, tossing the near empty bottle over the edge. The bottle fell from the tower, spilling the remainder of its amber liquid as it descended. And Loki couldn't care less. But Stark did.

"Oh, come on," he complained, turning and daring to look at Loki with a sour attitude. "Wreck my tower, toss the booze… god of tricks and chaos'n whatever else, my ass. You're no fun."

Loki watched, slightly amused, as the mortal tried to stand and ended up nearly face-planting into the concrete. Rather than attempt to stand again, Stark chose to crawl on all fours toward the door. "Oh good," the god drawled, getting to his own feet and following behind. "You've decided to move indoors and away from a fifteen hundred foot drop. I can see my positive influence already working on that slugged brain of yours."

"Like you care," Stark muttered. "'maginary asshole."

"Yes, my breaking of Odin's law and risking re-imprisonment over concern for your drunken welfare is indeed me not caring."

Once inside, Loki reached down and mercilessly pulled the mortal to his feet, pausing only to hold him long enough to regain his sense of equilibrium. Thankfully, though Stark looked as if he was about to be sick, he did not end up purging the contents of his stomach. More surprising, however, was that Stark shook off Loki's help and stumbled over to the bar.

"And where do you think you are going," he asked, words laced with threat of bodily harm.

Stark didn't even turn around as he began reaching into the shelves beneath the counter. "You want anything?-"

"Yes, actually," Loki hissed, grabbing the man by the collar and yanking him along the hallway toward where he assumed the bedroom was. "You in your bed."

"I mean, wasn't the first thing on my mind, but if you want to, sure. M'up for anything."

Loki stopped and frowned down at the mortal before rolling his eyes. "Please."

Stark frowned. "What?"

"You're as insufferable as Thor when he drinks. Move."

"Your brother makes passes at that ass too?"

"If he ever did, he would have had his throat slit faster than he could say one word."

Norns, how many rooms did this idiot have?

"So what about me? S'a nice ass. You work out?-"

Loki growled and had him shoved up against a wall in less than a second. "Are you trying to be a nuisance?"

"S'it working," he asked with a lazy smirk.

Loki leaned in with a deadly glare. "If I wanted to I could wipe that smirk off your face and make you beg for nothing else. Anthony."

With a small bit of satisfaction, Loki saw the mortal's eyes dilate in desire. It was nice to see such a reaction after his games with the mortal over the past few weeks. The lust radiated off the man like sweet perfume. And it wasn't as if Stark was a hard man to look upon.

"Not like I haven't th-ah… well, you…um…Hm… how drunk am I? You're not really here, right?"

"I wish I wasn't," Loki said, narrowing his eyes and hauling the stumbling mortal along by his collar. "Come, child."

"Whs'a buzzkill."

Finally.

Loki should have known the biggest room in the tower would have been Stark's. The bed was a slightly larger than Loki's own in Asgard, and was made with the perfect creases of a servant. Most Midgardians had less than two hundred square meters to call their own, while this one had an entire tower and Norns knew what else.

"It was intended to be, you dunce," he chided. "Now, sit."

As Stark was pushed down to sit on his bed, Loki pulled out a vial from the pocket of his cloak, threw said cloak off, and deposited it on the corner of the bed before uncorking the vial and shoving it into the man's hand. Stark stared at it, then back at Loki who just rolled his eyes.

"You have two choices," the god explained. "Drink it of your own volition or I will make you. And preferably before you die of alcohol poisoning…"

To his credit, Stark did drink the potion after an uncoordinated shrug, where he almost spilled the damned potion, before Loki kept him from doing so. The man nearly gagged, but Loki didn't let him not finish it, biting out a "All of it," as if Stark were a child. To be fair, the mixture was awful, but it was only effective in a full dose. Loki learned that the hard way when he was a boy who had just come of age.

Frigga had not been happy with him at the time, any motherly affection glaringly absent.

Stark groaned loudly, falling onto his back. "This is how you're gonna kill me, right? Poison?"

Loki rolled his eyes and just turned his back on the mortal in search of extra pillows in what he supposed was the master closet. "Be gladdened I consider the method too boring."

Finding the pillows did not take long, and he returned to shove a few against the headboard before hauling Stark up against them.

"Stop that… too much move…ugh…the hell," Stark whined and complained.

Then, Loki moved to the bathroom, happy to find an empty drinking glass on the counter. "You will want to make yourself comfortable," he said, filling it with cool water from the faucet.

"Why?"

"Because if this mixture is unpleasant enough for me," Loki warned. "It will be most unpleasant for you." Loki left out his concern that it might kill the poor man, but the god would try his utmost to ensure that did not happen.


Warmth. Heat. Sweat.

There was a bowl with water in it on his bedside table. Water was dripping, being squeezed, out of a washcloth, into it. Into the bowl. Loud. Water was loud.

The washcloth-must have been-cool and wet-shit, he needed more of that-was being pressed to the side of his face and neck. He made a noise. He tried to talk, but found the thought of trying to make his mouth form words too tiring. Fever, he realized. Damn. Sleep would have been nice. But the heat was so distracting. Suffocating. Almost.

A muffled voice. Or maybe softly speaking, "…should be happy for the…my mother left me to…last time this happened."

The coolness disappeared. He reached for it blindly. When had he closed his eyes? Something grabbed his wrist and pinned it to his stomach. Clothed stomach. Body heat against body heat. Too hot.

The voice again. Something like calm down. But he could barely take a breath in because it was so fucking hot. He grabbed at his shirt and tried to pull. The coolness was back, but not where he needed it most. He heard himself curse. Other words. Other words would better. Shit. Brain melting. Something was dripping down his face and chest and he couldn't fucking-

A long-suffered sigh.

Then he was being manhandled-out of his shirt-yes! He groaned. Cooler. Marginally, but much better. Oh and cool wet on his chest. On his chest, his neck, under his arms?-He didn't care. The cool wet was better than the hot wet.

Was that wheezing his own breathing? Maybe that was why his lungs felt like they were burning. Not enough air. Not enough cool air. Hot air never felt like real air. It was either too humid or too dry-

The cave. He was in the desert. That made sense, didn't it? It was dark. Someone was taking care of him.

"Yinsen…?"

Yinsen couldn't breathe either. Tony had left him to choke and die on his own blood. This was hell then-hell was a place where you couldn't breathe.

His hand was being grabbed again, pulled, placed against a cool smoothness. Underneath it was a beating. It expanded and retracted-

"Breathe, Stark. Follow my breaths."

He tried. He really tried. He thought they had a chance. The both of them. Tony had his blood on his hands. On his chest. Dripping down his face. Terror electrified his blood. Made it boil.

Then there were cool hands on either side of his face and neck. "Relax," Loki whispered. "Let it in."

Did Tony know what that meant? He wasn't sure, but sure. Wait… Loki had never been with him in the desert.

He wasn't in the mountains of Afghanistan. It wasn't that hot. And icy coldness started to enter his body from everywhere, cool him down, make him gulp at every ounce of air he could drag into his tired lungs.

"Good. Now lift your head up."

It wasn't until the vocal command of "Drink," that he realized how thirsty he was. Tony could have swallowed a lake and still felt thirsty. He lost count of how many glasses of water Loki pressed to his lips and made him empty. Distantly he knew if he had too much water he'd just get sick and throw it all up. Rhodey had told him that when they plucked him from the desert back then.

But this time he didn't feel sick.

Just more thirsty.

And then the shaking started. Shivers turned to trembling, and then to full-bodied and painful contorting. He gasped and moaned as his muscles twisted and tightened to the impossible, forcing tears from his eyes no matter how hard he tried to keep them in. God it fucking hurt!

"Just breathe. Let it pass."

He couldn't.

Why did it hurt so much? If he bore the entirety of it would it give him Yinsen or Liam back? There was no denying he deserved it. All he brought others was pain, so karma could just have her fucking way with him because this was a long time coming. Maybe he should have been happy that Loki was so strong that Tony couldn't escape his arms, because it felt like all his anxieties and depressing thoughts were actually materializing and trying to rip their way out of his body, right through his skin. Tony was shaking like a leaf in a hurricane, trying to wrap his head around the torrent inside of him, trying to gain some modicum of control over his body, and failing miserably.

Then he opened his eyes and the pain dulled with the blood-chilling sight that greeted him.

At the foot of the bed sat his Irish lover, exactly the same from the last time Tony had seen him. But instead of his typical half smile, Liam was staring at him with a completely emotionless face, pale skin, and dead eyes. Tony stared in disbelief. Liam looked so fucking real. Was he hallucinating? Was this his reward for all the pain he had to endure? Or was this part of it?

"Don't waste yer life," Liam said.

"Li-," he whispered, tears spilling freely. "Liam…"

"Don't waste it," the ghost repeated, unmoved.

"I'm sorry," he sobbed, crying openly. "I'm so sorry-I didn't know-I…"

"Stark," Loki said, next to his ear. "Whatever you are seeing isn't real."

Not real.

Not real?

Tony gasped, squeezed his eyes shut, and held onto the god's arm tighter to ground himself. The potion. That must have been why, but…it was just so cruel-

"Wh-What the h-hell is in that stuff?"

"Sap from a life-giving tree," Loki replied. "By itself it would kill you. But when mixed with the correct ether it traps and expels threats to the body and soul. I may have forgotten to mention the voracity of the purging side effects."

"I think I'd rather puke my brains out from the worlds worst hangover."

"You may yet."

"Oh great," he said, starting to laugh hysterically. There was a hand in his hair, combing through the sweaty tresses. "Is he still there?"

"I can't tell you that."

Tony didn't want to remember Liam this way. He wanted to remember him as he was in that picture, full of life, happy, smiling. Perfect. This Liam was a lie. He knew that. It didn't make opening his eyes to confront it any easier, but he reached down inside of himself and did it to prove a point. He was not going to let whatever this was warp those good memories. And when he looked again at the foot of the bed, there was no one.

"Well," Loki asked, after a while.

Tony nodded and fell into the god's chest after breathing a sigh of relief. He was so achingly sober it almost made him wish he was shit-faced drunk again. And tired. Awake and very much on edge. But so tired.

"If the hallucinations are gone, the potion will have run the majority of its course."

Tony huffed out a breath. "I feel like I owe you a punch in the face…"

"You were dangerously ill," Loki reminded him softly, but seriously. "The alcohol was taking over your blood. If I left you, you'd have been dead before sunrise. The potion is only as unberable the closer you are to death."

"Shit…"

Loki just snorted humorless laughter and shook his head.

Tony lay back against the pillows, only then realizing that Loki no longer had him wrapped in his arms. For the first time that night Tony wondered exactly how Loki had managed to get here. He was supposed to be on house arrest, unless he got off early for good behavior. Tony supposed that made sense since the dinner thing was supposed to be…oh, tomorrow. Right.

Tony had been so worried about seeing Loki in person after so long and had been dreading it so much that he had almost convinced himself he should cancel, but here they both were already because of Tony's idiocy in the first place. "Guess I owe you an explanation…"

"One of a few," the god replied.

"There was a person… when I was younger. My…business partner-took me in after my parents died, or tried to…he murdered him, covered it up for years, and I didn't know a god damned thing until…God, what time is it? Few hours ago. Hence the…extreme desire to drink myself to death."

"Liam?"

"Yeah…" Then Tony chuckled without any true mirth. "Sorry, that's got to be the biggest buzzkill yet-me talking about… well, we never really talked about it but… Sorry."

"I happen to understand more than you know, Stark."

"It just fucking sucks… being the one that's left."

"It does."

"It would be so nice if it didn't just fucking suck for once…" He adjusted and pulled himself further up on the pillows so he was properly sitting up. "You know?"

Loki made a noise of agreement, but seemed distracted.

Tony watched with no small amount of apprehension as Loki touched his arc reactor with his bare hands. He felt silly afterwards, because he didn't feel any different. And he knew if Loki actually wanted to do something to him, he'd had countless opportunities before now to do it. Watching those fingers trail along the light of his reactor though was just… weird.

"This is a part of you," Loki asked softly with a creased brow.

"Hasn't always been," Tony answered, truthfully.

Loki gave him an unimpressed look. "Obviously. Midgardians are not born with technology embedded into their chests. How did this come to be," he asked as he removed the wet washcloths from their discarded places on the bed.

"It's funny… it was really shitty, but it was the best thing that ever happened to me."

"Do tell…"

So Tony did. It ate up the better part of an hour, admitting to his previous days designing weapons, being an overall asshole, then falling into the hands of an idiot terrorist group hired by his partner to kill him, then ultimately having his life saved by said terrorist group with crude mechanical parts and a car battery. Tony went through every detail he possibly could to give himself time. Because the latest side effect, to add to the long list of things he'd had to suffer tonight, was a raging hard on.

It was definitely by far the most embarrassing.

Even moreso than the open sobbing and hallucinating of his dead college boyfriend.

Tony couldn't be sure Loki hadn't already noticed, but he'd made no indication otherwise, and the best defense Tony could possibly have in this situation was to just keep talking. So he did. He even went so far to explain the palladium poisoning, the Stark Expo take-over by an army of drones, and eventually not dying again. Loki appeared amused by it all, and for that Tony was thankful. The god hadn't glanced down at his pants once. But then, Tony wondered why it mattered so much. It wasn't as if he hadn't spent the past several days jerking off to thoughts of himself with the god. Maybe he was just worried it was one of Loki's games. That the interest hadn't been genuine. That he'd been played…

"Loki," he asked, after a long silence after finishing with the Hammer incident. "Why did you send me that text?"

The god straightened and his facial expression changed, neutralized rather. "You'll have to be more specific-"

"Please don't play those games with me," Tony asked. "Tell me why."

"Are you asking the god of lies and mischief for his honesty?"

"I'm asking you."

"He is me."

"He's not all of you."

Loki studied him for a long time, and Tony let him. Those blue eyes narrowed down on him. "You are different," he said eventually.

Tony frowned. "Is different a good thing?"

"Yes, Stark. It is. And in the case you were wondering, persistent arousal is one of the after-effects of the potion."

Tony stared, unable to speak at first, his bubbled fear of discovery successfully popped. "You knew that…?"

"I actually planned on leaving you to settle your own affairs once the worst of it passed. I still could."

I still could.

Was that an invitation? Tony hoped to God that was an invitation. Because if he read this wrong like he potentially read those texts wrong…he wasn't sure if he wanted to deal with the consequences of being such a moron. So, he took a leap of faith.

Tony let loose a shaky breath. "I don't want to be alone."

Loki closed his eyes and exhaled slowly through his nose. "Are you asking me to stay?"

There was a loose strand of hair in front of Loki's face.

Tony reached to touch it.

What would he have done with it? Grabbed onto it and pulled? Smoothed it back with the rest of his hair? Or just touched it to see what it felt like?

Whatever he would have done, he didn't get the chance, because his wrist was caught in that powerful grip.

It was gentle, of course, but commanding nonetheless.

Tony supposed he could have gotten out of the hold if he wanted to, but that was just it. He didn't want to. He was actually enjoying this, because it was like the first note of a song, breaking the silence with the first note, with the accompanying promise of a journey if you stayed to listen. It made his mind stop churning with guilt and panic and sadness and anger. The first touch made him feel… real.

Needed.

Wanted.

Maybe Tony should have felt self-conscious, but all he felt was a jolt of electricity run straight to his pants. Loki was still at first, as he stared at him, and then the god's thumb moved against the bottom hollow of Tony's palm. Was he waiting for a reaction? Oh, right. There had been a question.

"Yes," Tony answered, honestly.

"Is that all you want me to do? To stay?"

Now was the turning point.

Loki was trying to be painfully clear, not for his own benefit, but for both of them. It was one thing to fantasize about someone. It was something else entirely to turn it into a reality. Tony didn't think about the consequences. He didn't think about Shield or the Avengers or Iron Man or Pepper or Rhodey or anybody else. Because he kept returning to that first time in the shower, when he felt like for the first time in a long time he knew what he wanted.

"No," he whispered.

"What is it you want," Loki asked, his hand still holding Tony's wrist.

"Touch me?"

The god's lips parted as he kept eye contact and took a few moments to respond. "Where?"

He wanted to be touched everywhere by that hand. He needed it. He needed so badly. So he said as much in answer. "Everywhere," he said.

Loki said nothing, but climbed more fully on top of the bed, on top of him. Tony leaned back into the pillows, inevitably sliding downward as he watched the god move over him, one leg on either side of his hips. Loki hovered close, pressing Tony's wrist to the pillows beside his own head. The god leaned down toward Tony's face, locks of dark hair creating a partial curtain from the soft light of Manhattan beyond. With his other hand, the god tilted Tony's chin up with one finger. Wisps of cool breath-Why was it cool?-then there were warm soft lips ghosting his own.

He didn't dare breathe at first. His whole body tensed up like a bowstring. It was an offering. And he readily accepted by meeting the god the rest of the way, pressing his own lips gently upward. It was a soft and slow meeting at first, a test of pressure, intent, and boundaries.

And it all got thrown out the window the moment Loki slipped that wicked tongue between Tony's lips for the first time. Meeting and wrestling with that tongue had him distracted enough to only notice Loki's hands magically appearing at the base of his skull and traveling over his chest, across his nipples, and down his abs toward his pelvis. Tony managed to only get one hand wound into those dark curls. They were soft, and they fit around his fingers so freaking perfectly.

Then Loki's hand snaked around to grip Tony's ass. He gasped into the god's mouth and Loki smiled against him. In retaliation, he caught the god's lower lip between his teeth and sucked. That drew a surprised groan from him and Tony released it with a smirk of his own. Loki just growled and gripped Tony's chin in a bruising grip to prevent him from moving and completely devour his mouth.

His hips begged for action and friction, but annoying as it was, the god's legs were positioned across Tony's thighs with his feet hooked along the insides near his knees. Even if Tony wanted-needed to feel an answering weight between Loki's own legs, there was too much space between them and it was starting to drive him crazy. The moment he released the god's hair with his loose hand, Loki grabbed it and pressed it to the other side of Tony's head.

Tony wanted to be held down. He wanted to be teased. He'd fantasized about both. But when presented with the real thing and having the god's response held just out of his reach was almost too much. Tony growled into Loki's mouth after the umpteenth attempt to lessen the space between them.

...

Hours later, when they were done, Tony looked and found Loki's eyes to be their normal gorgeous blue. "Same time tomorrow," Tony breathed. "Right?"

Loki smirked at him and gave a breathy chuckle. "You prideful creature."

"It's me. And it's not my fault you do amazing sex…or that I had four orgasms…Jesus, I had four orgasms."

"Is that a record? I'm shocked it's so low."

"S'been a while since I pulled an all nighter. Gimme a break."

"We will have to work on your normal stamina. You've spoiled me."

"I'll get you back…"

Loki's hands were on his back, tracing comforting patterns up and down.

"Keep doing that," Tony warned. "M'gonna fall asleep…"

"You will regardless of whether I stop. And I quite like the texture of your back at the moment."

"Mmhm…"

Right before Tony fell into the oblivion of sleep he heard Loki whisper above his head, "I will miss this." Tony had wanted to question the god, but felt sleep and his physical exhaustion mercilessly drag him under. All he could do was wrap his arms around the god tighter as he fell under, and hope he'd be there in the morning.


A/N: Yeah, remember how I said I had to split the last chapter into two parts? Almost had to do it again. You're welcome. (Also, an explicit extended version of this chapter exists on AO3)