"Pffft," Natasha giggled mockingly as Clint's head fell forward, knocking down a cup of dubious contents in its descent. "Weak americans... I grew up on this stuff." She took another fortifying swig of her vodka, drinking it pure.
"Pretty sure you're just drinking water, 'Tasha," Tony slapped her thigh gently. Of the five that had began the competition, four now remained. Bruce and Steve had decided against joining them, the former due to fear of losing control, the latter because of "ridiculously high morality", as Stark had put it. He also had the distinct feeling that the super soldier didn't want to humiliate any of them, as he would surely have come out on top.
"It's what it feels like to me, in any case," she smirked, but her eyes had already acquired a red tint around the irises, and her flushed cheeks were conclusive proof that the cup in her hand did not hold any innocence.
"ANOTHER!" Thor bellowed, throwing a shot glass to the floor where it shattered in protest. It was the third one he had broken in the past hour, and Tony bitterly regretted getting out his custom made collection, each one engraved with a drawing of his arc reactor. He didn't blame himself for the state the god of thunder was in, though. He blamed Clint, two bottles of tequila, salt and wedges of lemon. If the confounded archer hadn't presented the god to the entire ritual, which the latter found extremely amusing, Thor might still possess some of his senses. "Midgardian beverages are much headier than ours," he slurred loudly. "I have had Midgardian ale, which is tasteless and far too bitter. But this!" He grabbed the bottle of tequila by the neck and shook it towards the sky. "This is worthy of the gods!"
Sitting on the floor, legs stretched and crossed at the ankles under the coffee table, Loki leaned back his head and laughed, interrupted midway with a delicate hiccup that made Natasha smirk. Hiccups, she knew, were the first sign of being too far gone. Even through the delicate drunken veil shadowing her thoughts she knew that it meant his brain synapses were slowing down and functioning chaotically. One look over at Tony, whose eyes were alert and observing the god on the floor next to his legs, told her he, on the other hand, was far from inebriated. His pupils themselves told the story as they adjusted to the light changes caused by the television without a second of hesitation. 'That bastard,' a voice in her head sparked up. She began watching him closely, trying to pick up any tips she could for other drinking games the future may reserve.
"Feeling good, god of mischief?" Tony smirked down at the god, whose eyes were slightly unfocused as he took in his brother mimicking a battle story with emphatic movements. Loki let his head drop back on the couch, amazed at the effect alcohol had on his human form. The odd position made him perceive the engineer over him from a different angle, making his head spin at an uncomfortable speed. He lurched himself back with miscalculated force and smacked his forehead against the coffee table before him. A roar of laughter emanated from his older brother, waking up Clint's sleeping figure on the couch. "Loki? Are you okay?" The voice seemed to come from far away, maybe even from Asgard. His view wasn't much better, shadowed by clouds of liquor and whatever else he had consumed. He shook his head, trying to lift the veil from his eyes but was only rewarded by thumping and further spinning. "Guys, we have another one down."
"Already?" Natasha's voice had begun slurring, her accent becoming oddly evident. "Oh well, as we say in Russia, bолко́в боя́ться, в лес не ходи́ть." Tony lifted an eyebrow at her. "If you can't stand the heat, stay out of the kitchen." She smiled, shrugged and downed the rest of her drink.
"Well, if it's all the same to you, I'm going to put the god of mischief to bed with some ice cubes on his forehead. Can't have our hostage all banged up." Thor paused the story he was telling an already asleep Clint to stare curiously at the engineer.
"I can take care of my brother, Anthony," he said imperiously. "He is my responsibility after all." As he made towards the younger sibling who still cradled his forehead in his hands, Tony stopped him.
"No, it's okay, I'll take care of him. I've had enough anyway." Natasha scrutinized him, still not seeing any effects of alcohol though he had seemed to down a bottle of scotch in the past hour. He noticed her inquisitive stare and smirked uncomfortably. She was too astute for his own good. The shrug he threw her way was coated in Stark swagger, something he had unconsciously picked up from his father while still in his teens. "You guys continue. I should keep off the sauce, you know, plus Natasha is giving me a run for my money." He stood up, feigning a sway to perfection and throwing the russian agent off guard. Stooping down, he scooped Loki up by the shoulders and supported him, guiding them both to the elevator. The walk was slow, hesitant, but the god put up no resistance and leaned against Stark contently. Strands of black hair fell over his closed eyes and lips, brushing against the engineer's collar bone as light as a feather. The urge to brush them softly away had to be fought with an intensity Tony had not expected.
The elevator doors closed behind them, the ride up was smooth yet heavy with the silence and Loki's drunken breathing. Stark shifted him, his shoulder cramping from holding the god at an awkward position, and let a hand rest around a sharp hipbone. It stuck out just so, the hours of workout they had been having together had worked miracles on a figure that seemed so close to starving before. The god stumbled forward, once again losing his fleeting balance, but Stark's reflexes were sharp. His other hand shot up, pushing Loki back by the chest, and the planes of muscles he felt underneath the thin tissue separating skin from skin contracted gently at the touch. The doors opened silently. Stark was thankful the elevator was across from Loki's room as he was beginning to feel the situation going to his head while blood seemed to desert it. He took a particularly long breath, trying to grasp at the reasons for which he was doing this. It all seemed so petty when the god in his arms looked so fragile.
"C'mon, big guy," the engineer lowered Loki gently onto the bed. A hand clenched at his shirt, not daring to let go. "Hey, don't worry. I'm not just going to leave you here." The grasp loosened, a movement of trust. "Really, Loki. Don't worry." The body in front of him relaxed completely, a sigh escaping thin parted lips. Stark couldn't help but grin at the slight figure underneath him, realizing how much this small trust between them influenced the god's reactions. "Hey, can you hear me at all?" the engineer's voice was gentle, wondering if he had waited too long to bring Loki to bed.
"I -hic- I can hear you, Anthony," the answer came slowly, voice of velvet and accent thick. "I thank you for bringing me back to my chambers..." Stark's smile only grew with the reassured tone of the god's voice. "Would you mind fetching me some water?"
While Tony filled a small cup full with tap water, the god pulled himself up on the bed, begging his body to cooperate. The alcohol did not seem to obey his brain, altering his center of gravity and pulling him to one side or the other. Returning to the room, the engineer couldn't help but chuckle at the sight before him. A god had let his guard down under his watch. "Are you sure you're doing okay, Loki?"
The trickster sipped down a few gulps of water, trying to appreciate the relief it brought to his already raspy voice. The only problem, he realized, was that the raw feeling in his throat was not due to a lack of hydration, but due to nerves. Though he was sure they were made of steel and he could control them in front of any mortal, Anthony Stark was an exception. The fact that he was human notwithstanding, he stood out next even to gods. An intelligence sharp enough to match his own, with capabilities Loki could only imagine...
"I'm quite fine, Anthony. This mortal body is much too fragile for my -hic- taste."
"Well... You did very well, all things considered. When Clint brought out the tequila, I thought you'd be gone for good."
"Have I stumped the all-mighty Stark, then?" The engineer laughed, a deep meaningful sound that ripped through his whole body. Being called 'all-mighty' by a god was one joke too far for the man who considered himself nothing more than a gifted techie. Oh, he realized his inventions were exceptionally applicable to the modern world and that they changed the way the world was perceived, but Anthony Stark could not consider himself any better than any other inventor the world had seen before (though he had an uncanny ability to appear to be an arrogant daddy's boy). He was, after all, no hero. Just a man in a suit like so many others.
"Stumped, Loki? Very few things leave me stumped, and your lacking metabolism for alcohol was expected." A heavy silence followed. "You... fascinate me. You're hiding something and puzzles interest me. I'm sure that if I knew you better I'd be able to grasp at all the implicit meanings in your sentences." The engineer's hands went to the god's shirt, sliding it slowly off his body. He was surprised the trickster allowed himself to be stripped of the cloth so easily, and the ivory skin exposed to Tony's eyes was flawless. It covered sinewy muscles; hip and collarbones apparent under it. 'Tony, calm the fuck down. You need him to talk, not you to moan.' As the words made their way across his brain, it was already too late. A delicate whimper left his lips as he unfastened the god's belt, trying to make him as comfortable as possible for the atrocious night's sleep intoxication always brought as company. The god's eyes shot up at the sound, but Tony was quick enough to make it sound like a cough.
"Implicit meanings?" Loki lifted an eyebrow while lifting his hips to facilitate his trousers being taken off his body. "Anthony, not even my father or my brother can see into my stratagems, and yet they think themselves my kin. What hope do you have next to them?" The body over his own shrugged, a movement that reflected doubt and... was that want? It couldn't be, but it bent and leaned into him just a tad too much...
"I'm cleverer than Thor, you know?" the engineer seemed to be reassuring himself rather than boasting. "And I can see this weird thing in your eyes every time you talk about your... situation on Earth." Another shrug. "When you said that one time that if you wanted the world to be destroyed you would have done it... Well, I have this feeling you wanted to tell me something."
The god's body tensed, moving as far away from Stark's as possible. "What could I possibly have to tell a mortal?"
"Woah, woah, calm down." The engineer's voice took on a soothing tone, stroking the god's hipbone absentmindedly with a thumb. "You keep speaking of righteousness of actions... I just want to understand why." Emerald eyes shot up to meet chocolate ones, and muscles slackened under Tony's touch.
"They will never understand, Anthony," the god's voice was pleading and desperate all of a sudden. "How could they ever understand sacrifice when all they ever do is for meaningless valor and their precious humility?" There was pain in the viridian eyes, begging for understanding. "Even my brother's exile was to learn modesty, but what good can it come to when it cannot protect our family?" Silence was once again heavy around the two men. The trickster's voice dropped an octave before he spoke again. "If it weren't for me the Norns would have taken them, and they do not even know it."
"Norns..." the engineer was thoughtful, a hand still stroking skin, muscle and bones beneath him. "Like the Destinies in greek mythology?" The trickster lifted a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at him.
"The Olympians could only dream to fall at our feet, Anthony, but your comparison is acceptable. They work in the same ways, I would guess. If you prefer that I express myself in modern Midgardian, let us say that my family would be long gone if it weren't for me." Green eyes turned to red as he spoke, the inventor jumping off the bed of fright at the sudden change. "Not that any Asgardian would recognize my hand in their salvation. This is why I accept any and every punishment they decide is mine to bear."
"You saved them?" the engineer sat on the edge of the bed gingerly, wondering if the flash of red had been in his mind. "How?" The god's eyes flitted closed for spare seconds as he gathered whatever forces he had left. The alcohol had left his brain cluttered, ideas running amok and screaming at him from different directions, feelings unbridled. The touch of the engineer's rough hands on his hipbone still burnt, not only due to different body temperates but... He couldn't place it. It wasn't natural for him to lean into a touch, to want more of it. He kept his lids closed and forced air through his vocal chords, willing the words to make sense and that dark-haired man before him to understand.
"I needed a distraction," Loki swallowed hard. "Something to keep someone occupied, one would say. And Midgard seemed like the ideal place, so central and fragile and -hic- willing." He forced himself to a sitting position once more, and wrapped his arms around his exposed body. The image was difficult to conceive, a god suddenly looking like a teenager, thousands of years expressed in the motions of a child. Tony fought down the impulse to wrap his own limbs around the taller man, but his plans were unfolding before his very eyes and any false movement would send the god hurdling to a stop. "I fell, Anthony, and I saw. Eyes such as mine, and even less such as yours, are not meant to see what lies just out of reach of our boundaries... Imagination has a limit for obvious purposes. We cannot conceive what is out of our own understanding, and seeing it drives us mad, or worse." Loki's slur became confused, even philosophical, and the inventor couldn't help but smirk at the archetype of drunk he was. Such the opposite of his sober personality. Usually closed, mysterious, evasive, he was suddenly putty in his hands. Words came flowing out, though not smoothly or logically, but they were words none the less, and they would help Stark understand what lay under emerald eyes.
"What did you see, Loki?"
"Death. My death, and their death, and all for nothing. All for love."
"You're making absolutely no sense, big guy," a heavy sigh escaped tired lips. "I should just let you sleep." Standing up slowly, he felt long fingers wrap around a wrist. A strange sense of deja vu filled his mind, but roles were reversed this time.
"She's waiting for all of us, Anthony," the grip tightened. "Odin and I made sure of it, so she would be safe. Yet there is another who would take her place and claim her throne, and those who would aid this treachery. It cannot be allowed and, for the moment, they are all safe. I did it." A manic grin gleamed through the low lighting, eyes flashing red again. Sure he didn't imagine it this time round, Stark snatched his hand away from Loki's. "I frighten you with my words, Mr Stark?" The tone was oddly subdued, disappointment dripping from the formal term of address.
"I've heard worse," Tony shrugged, trying to slow down his shallow breathing. "Why do your eyes do that?" The god shot him a confused look. "They go... well... red when you get all high-and-mighty."
"Ah..." Loki mused, resting a chiseled chin on his knees. "I believe you call it genetics?"
"Never seen Thor do it, though."
"What is the official word you have for it again? Ah, yes. Adopted, Mr Stark. Never forget it. Thor's blood is as close to mine as is yours."
"Well, what are you, then?"
The god's pupils became slits, nose furrowing into a scowl. "Who am I, not what. I have heard the monsters stories often enough from the All-Father, Mr Stark, and I do not need a random mortal to undermine me further." Being suddenly addressed as a random mortal was a slap to the ego Stark did not expect. Speaking to Loki was, under normal circumstances, enough of a nightmarish roller coaster ride, but this was becoming ridiculous. He was going through ten emotions per second, each new one contradicting the one before, and his head was beginning to spin though it was free of ethanol.
"I..." the engineer fixed his gaze on his bare feet, liberating himself from the strong clasp the god still exerted around his wrist. "Sorry." The word rang out true, though barely above a murmur. A soft eyebrow lifted at the sound, amazed at its being pronounced in a tone so... tangibly real and full of meaning.
"You're the first." Tony looked down at the figure on the bed, curling one hand around a snowy shoulder and squeezing gently. Something small dropped from the god's face and disappeared in the folds of his legs beneath him. Forcing Loki's head upwards, the engineer witnessed a tear drop gathering at the corner of his eyes, where it solidified into ice and dropped heavily from his lids. He poised himself in the middle of the bed, no longer caring about the whirlwind of emotions buffeting him into different directions and finally latched to the one instinct that screamed louder than the rest.
Strong, tanned arms enveloped slender ivory in one quick gesture, cradling a frame that seemed too large in one expert movement and in the perfect position. Long black hair protruded from under Tony's chin, where the god's face matched ideally with the crook of his neck. The engineer felt muscles tensing beneath him, arms straining away and eyes tightly closed. It was a painful reminder of how he personally reacted to any act of kindness and support. The times Pepper had done the same for him, and he had shoved her away or shrugged her off, muttering he was fine (or words to that effect). This thought only made him cling more savagely to the odd being, neither mortal nor god, neither Midgardian nor Asgardian... A non-entity, a concept. Stark's own situation could be relativized from this stand-point. Father issues were all well and good for humans, hard to admit to and ever harder to overcome. What the man (Stark wondered at this choice of word) beneath him had gone and was going through was something out of reach, a kind of broken that transcended universes. Problems that would make psychiatrists shudder and sociologists wonder. A situation that made suicide seem petty, because why cry for attention when no one would answer?
Muscles loosened when the trickster perceived the desperation in Tony's unrelenting hold. The engineer wasn't only holding on for the god, he was holding on for himself, and Loki's gift to him was to let him. As long as he needed.
