A/N: I must start off by saying that I am so sorry that this is up so late. I've left a lot of you waiting, and I apologize. Excuses in cases like these always sound lame, but there were some things that happened that were out of my control, the most annoying of which was my motherboard on my desktop dying. I had already written a huge chunk of this chapter (for the second time, no less) on my desktop and I had all of my drafts as well as my outline on it, so I thought I would wait until I got my new motherboard before I finished this chapter and uploaded it. The delivery on my motherboard was delayed and now we have to reformat my computer.

So I re-wrote this chapter a few times. This version is not the same as what I had previously written, but I hope it is still to your liking. I have a feeling you'll like the next chapter a bit more than this one :P, so I hope you will still stick around! It should be up by next Wednesday (May 30th) since I'm out of town this weekend. I'll have the drawings up as soon as I have use of my scanner and tablet again (hopefully they will be done by next weekend).

Thank you all for your support, comments, and readership. I appreciate it so much. As always, if you have any suggestions or comments, please feel free to review!


Chapter 8

Loki woke up alone. He uncurled himself from his tight ball of sleep and stretched as languidly as a cat, unclasping his cape from around his neck and letting it fall into a pile on the bed. His neck burned as he passed his fingers over it, evidence of his further humiliation from yet another witch of a woman- and looking around Tony Stark's bedroom only made the feeling worse. Not only did it put strain on his bruised skin, but he was also forced to remember what the Black Widow had said to him after she had given him this collar of bruises. Had he really allowed her to call him Tony Stark's pet? And he let her leave alive? If anyone had told him a fortnight ago that this is where he would be at this moment, then he would have laughed in their faces and brought about their demise all the sooner. Yet, there he was, sitting in the bed of Iron Man himself after having spent the night curled up in his arms. He hadn't even needed any convincing, verbal or physical, to get him there. Maybe the assassin's words were more true than he wanted to admit. Loki's behaviour was no better than that of a dog.

Perhaps it was the curse of the Aesir to fall for mortals after falling to Midgard. Thor had been no better in his own exile, although the comparison made Loki feel sick. He had always considered Thor's interest in that woman to be further proof of his weakness. Loki had thought himself above such nonsense. And yet he still could not help but relish the feeling of falling asleep in the mortal's embrace.

It was pathetic, really. He was above this sort of behaviour. He had long ago given up the idea of relationships even with his own kind. Having companions only led to problems, and no one Loki had come across appreciated his trickery as much as he did-and that was one of the only ways he had been able to get anyone in his own bed. Loki wasn't an imbecile. He knew exactly what the people of Asgard thought of him. Anyone who bedded the God of Mischief was a social pariah for years after the fact. No one would dare sink so low, unless they were thoroughly inebriated. Of course, Loki would prefer to make a game out of it: see who he could cast out of the Aesir social circles through illusion. It was fun...and slightly depressing. He would rather hold the opinion that no one was worthy to lie with him. But such lies to himself were not convincing enough to halt the loneliness. Still, Loki had never thought that such desperation would lead him to have feelings for one of the Avengers.

He shuffled out of the bed, attempting to shirk off the warmth he had felt just as he had done with his cape. He should not enjoy the warmth-he should despise it. Loki may have grown up in a world of towers and castles and trees, but his true home was a land of ice, and it made Loki desperately long for the cold. He wandered over to the window, watching the sea birds taunt him from the shore. They had such freedom that he could only wish for, flying about in the warm breeze and dancing along the waves. Here he was in a prison of glass, his magic so distant from him that he could barely caress it with his thoughts. He couldn't even call himself a God anymore. He did not feel strong, and his mischief had been sorely lacking in any real consequence. He had even agreed not to lie to Tony Stark, although that could have been a lie in itself-if he wanted it to. He had been Loki, the God of Lies and Mischief. Now what could he call himself?

Loki pressed his palm against the glass and leaned his face against the cool surface. He could even pretend that it was ice if he wanted to. It was easy to imagine the cold seeping up through his fingertips, sending an icy fire sizzling down his nerves. He could feel the frost prickling his skin, covering the window as moss would a tree. Loki sighed. Such fantasy would only make the reality of the situation more difficult to bear. He had to deal with his predicament, find a way to break out of this house, and cast away all thoughts of Tony Stark. Well, at least the thoughts that didn't have to do with killing him. It would do him no good to pursue his interest in the mortal.

Reluctantly, he pulled away from the window, ready to begin his search for escape anew. But this time when he looked at the glass surface, he could no longer see through it. The entire window was covered in a fine frost, rendering the clear surface opaque and the view an obscured darkness beyond the misted white ice. Loki's eyes widened in surprise, a grin already tugging at the edges of his lips. He looked down at his fingertips just as the blue was fading from them, suddenly feeling more powerful than he had in ages. For once in his life, Loki was glad to be a Frost Giant.

He nearly skipped out of the room, filled with triumph and scheming, leaving the frost to drip into water in the light of the sun.


Loki wandered through the empty house, knowing that it was routine for Tony Stark to spend his free mornings in the workshop downstairs testing whatever new technological idea sprouted in his puny mortal mind during the few hours of sleep he allowed himself. It gave Loki time to test an idea of his own. He went to the kitchen first, trying to remember where he had hidden the utensils before withdrawing a large kitchen knife from the drawer under the stove. Then he made his way to the room where Natasha Romanoff had strung him up by his neck, passing by the spot where he had been certain he would die. He avoided looking at it, focused instead on the far window. He had no interest in the events of the night before, or anything in the room, for that matter. It was just the last place anyone would think to look for him.

He stood in front of the glass window and pressed his palm on the smooth surface. His other hand held the kitchen knife idly as he stared out at the water that lapped at the beach mere steps from where he was standing. A wood paneled patio area extended out from the side of the house, granting perfect access to the sun and the sand. All of this was also irrelevant other than the fact that he was on the ground level of the house and all he would have to do was run once his plan had worked.

Loki closed his eyes and concentrated on the cold, trying to feel the same icy fire through his limbs as he had mere minutes ago in Tony Stark's bedroom. He stretched his fingers over the glass, exhaling once he finally felt the frost begin to bite at his fingertips. It wouldn't be much longer now. He concentrated the cold to that one area, certain that whatever substance the window was made out of would not be able to handle such a rapid temperature change. Once he had frozen it, he would strike, cracking open the prison and escaping into the land beyond. When he could no longer feel his hand, he opened his eyes, their reflection flashing green in the glass as he raised the knife. He would have to work quickly, removing his hand just as he moved to crack the glass with the blade. He held up the knife as if he were playing the five finger fillet, silently counting down.

One...two... Loki's fingers twitched in anticipation. Three.

"What are you doing?"

Loki's grip slipped as he stabbed at the glass, the blade bouncing harmlessly off of the warm surface mere inches away from the frosted handprint he left behind. The knife flew out of his hand as it ricocheted off of the unbreakable substance, falling to the ground with a 'clang'. Loki growled in frustration, the sound rumbling silently in his throat. He turned and glared daggers at the man who had come up behind him. Why must you ruin everything, mortal?

Tony Stark picked up the knife and turned it in his fingers as he inspected it, shooting Loki a suspicious glance. "What makes you think a knife would work any better than anything else in my kitchen? You've already gone through all of my bowls. I guess I'll give you points for creativity, though." He stepped closer, appearing more and more adept with the blade the closer he got to Loki. Tony spun it around his fingers with a smirk.

"But if you decide to toss my fridge at the window next, give me a heads up. I'd rather you not waste any of the alcohol that's in there. Speaking of which, a drink would be pretty nice right now, don't you think? You look like you could use-hey what is that?" The smile on his face vanished as he peered at Loki. The man closed the space between them, forcing the God to take a few rushed steps back to avoid contact. The wall hit solidly against his shoulders, and Loki did not have time to edge away before Tony's fingers had touched his neck.

"Did you do this?" Loki wasn't sure whether or not the mortal's voice was filled with anger or concern. It sounded more like anger to him, even though his fingers were gentle. Tony had clasped Loki's jaw in his free hand, passing his thumb along the edge before tilting Loki's head upwards to clearly see the bruises that mottled the skin below it. Loki's face burned with embarrassment, both at his discovered defeat and at the ease with which he accepted the mortal's touch. Disgusted with himself, Loki gave Tony a rough shove, forcing the man to release him.

Do. not. touch. me. If Loki could snarl, he would have. Of course I didn't do it. Why would I strangle myself, you idiot?

Tony reached out for him again and Loki struck him hard across the face. Loki was a wordsmith by nature, but having had his words taken from him, he was forced to resort to other methods. Tony stared at him, shocked, as if this behaviour was uncommon for Loki. He'd been docile too long, this man had started to forget he was a villain.

"That was uncalled for," said Tony pointing at him with the knife. The man looked down at the raised weapon as if he hadn't realized it was there and then gestured with it again. "What happened to you? Did you do that to yourself?"

Yes. Yes of course I did. Your company was just so damn pleasant that I tried to off myself because of it. Loki rolled his eyes.

Tony peered at him again, taking another step closer. Loki stood his ground, body tense and ready to fight should he decide to get closer. But the mortal only studied him. His intelligent eyes panned across the oddly shaped bruises in a knowing way that made Loki feel unreasonably guilty. There was a moment when that glance looked angry, as if Tony was ready to strike out, but it faded with a sigh and a shake of the head.

"Come on. You really do need a drink." Tony let his hand fall to his side and turned away, gesturing for Loki to follow.


Loki hesitated. It was much too early in the morning for alcohol and just the thought of spending time with Tony Stark while having such mixed feelings about him made his stomach turn. But looking back at the window, his plan undiscovered yet interrupted, Loki had to agree with him-he really did need a drink. He followed Tony into the kitchen where the man had already started the search for the glasses Loki had hidden the other day.

"You have got to get yourself a hobby," Tony muttered, finally discovering two tumblers in the cutlery drawer. He filled them with ice and then poured them both a generous dose of scotch. He then proceeded to lead them into the living room, where Loki found his whiteboard on the table. Tony set the bottle of scotch beside it and sank into the couch.

"So it looks like you and Natasha had fun yesterday," Tony indicated the marks encircling Loki's neck and raised his eyebrows expectantly. Loki shifted on his feet and then took a drink. For Midgard liquor, the stuff was quite good. Loki located a spot on the couch that was quite a distance from Tony and took a seat. "You want to tell me why SHIELD isn't banging down my door right now?"

As if they would have to bang down your door. They could breathe on it and it would open to them. Your security is pathetic. Loki pointedly ignored the whiteboard and took another sip of his drink.

"Fine," Tony set down his glass and pulled out his phone. "I'll just ask them myself." He flicked through his contacts and had it ringing on speakerphone in his hand.

"Hello, Mr. Stark." The woman's voice made Loki cringe.

"Hello, Ms. Romanoff," Tony responded sarcastically in kind.

"What do you want? And make it quick. I'm in the middle of something." There was a jumbled noise- something like a crash- in the background.

"I want to know why I came home and found my stuff broken." Tony sounded miffed, as if Natasha had come in and raided his workshop, but the look Tony shot him made Loki burn with rage.

How dare you call me that. I am a GOD, not some object.

"And by 'stuff' you mean your new pet? There are rules about keeping wild animals, Tony. I had to make sure he wasn't going to bite anyone."

"Any reason why you didn't cart him off to the zoo? I'm sure Fury would think he'd make an excellent exhibit."

Loki snatched the whiteboard up from the table, his knuckles gripped tight around the edges. They were talking about him like some kind of animal. He would tolerate it no longer.

After a pause, the woman's voice answered, somewhat out of breath. "You seem to have him sufficiently muzzled. If he goes feral give us a call." The phone clicked as Natasha ended the call.

"Well, I guess that answers th-"

Loki had gotten up from his seat and swung the board at Tony Stark's head. It caught the man across the jaw and there was a flash of red as it cut a line along his cheek. He managed to get in a couple more hits, none as good as the first now that his element of surprise was gone, before Tony caught the board and wrenched it from his hands. The man aimed a well-placed hit to the gut and Loki recoiled, pulling back before assaulting the man again, this time with an adept backhand strike and a kick that sent Tony sprawling back on the couch. Getting up would be a mercy Loki would not allow. He grabbed one of the man's arms as he tried to fight back, twisting it sharply until Tony Stark writhed on the couch in an attempt to get free.

You're not as tough without your suit, man of iron. And I am not so weak as I once was.

He continued to twist Tony's arm until the man was forced onto his stomach, his cut face bleeding into the couch cushions. Loki straddled him, confining the man's kicking legs between his own and pressing down on the back of Tony's neck with his forearm. He increased the pressure until Tony cried out.

"Uncle! Uncle! I give in! You gonna take my lunch money or what?"

You mortals and your currency. I have no use of such things.

Loki did not relinquish his grip, but instead concentrated as he had with the window, calling upon the ice inside of himself to freeze the prone man beneath him. It should not have been difficult. He recalled the feeling of the icy fire through his limbs, could even feel the ghost of a frost on his fingertips, but he could not conjure the ice as he once had. Whether it was because of the realm or the heat or his current weak state, he could not tell. The man's skin felt sizzling hot to his touch, forcing a different type of feeling shooting through his limbs. Perhaps- just perhaps- he did not want to freeze this mortal.

How absurd. Of course I want to kill him.

Tony echoed his thoughts. "Are you going to kill me already or are you going to just sit there?" The man's voice was slightly muffled from the couch cushion. Loki found himself easing up a little on the pressure but didn't move. "Okay, fine. I'm sorry! I'm not actually going to let them put you in a zoo. Ow! Ow! Ow! Will you quit it already? I can't feel my arm."

Loki peered down at him, enjoying his position of power. He wondered how much he'd have to twist Tony Stark's arm before he had him begging for mercy.

"You know, if you wanted to straddle me on the couch, you should have just asked," the man grumbled. "Now if you're not going to kill me or take advantage of me, then let me up. I could really use a fucking drink."

Despite the humour, Tony's voice sounded strained. It struck Loki that he'd only fought this Avenger in his suit until this moment and that he appeared to be much more fragile than Loki had thought. He shouldn't have cared that he was hurting this man. In fact, part of him wanted to finish him off right then. It wouldn't have taken much more effort-just a bit more pressure. But he did care. And besides, he did owe him a favour.

Curse you. Loki released his grip with a huff of annoyance. If you refer to me as anything less than a God again, I will personally see you drawn and quartered. Do you understand?

Loki toppled as Tony Stark shoved himself upwards, quickly gaining the strength back in his freed arm. Panic and indignation flashed through Loki as he fell, landing splayed on his back as Tony got up. There was a moment when Loki was sure that Tony could have reversed their previous positions, but instead the man poured himself a new glass of scotch and took a long drink.

"You didn't kill me." Tony Stark shot him a sideways glance, smirking as he continued to sip his drink. "You really do like me."

If that is your criteria, it is no wonder why you are so full of yourself. Maybe I just don't feel like killing you right now. Maybe I'm planning something more painful. Loki pushed himself into a sitting position and crossed his arms defensively. He avoided the man's gaze, instead focusing on where his drink had spilled on the floor when they had fought.

"Here." Tony had re-filled his glass and nudged it against Loki's arm. Loki accepted it with raised eyebrows.

Are you trying to get me drunk?

As if reading his thoughts, Tony grinned mischievously.