He had been so happy. Happier than he had been in many years, happier than he had been in some of his most fondest childhood memories. Because right here and now, he was free of the shadow hanging over him; living with no great expectations, or lack thereof. It was just Anthony, and Loki, and everything they expected from one other was already a part of them. Neither asked the other to change, they simply existed together.
He never had to tell Anthony to stop, or push him away because the mortal seemed to know when Loki needed silence. Or the times when he somehow understood when Loki couldn't bare to be touched. Or the times he knew when Loki needed to be touched, to be grounded in reality. It was as though they had known one another for years, rather than one short month.
Nothing was perfect, it could never be with the two of them. Both still woke up screaming or crying some nights, and both would feel the same wave of embarrassment every time. Anthony would calm him with his voice, and if it was the mortal who woke screaming, Loki would sooth him instead. Things were not perfect, nothing ever was, but they were happy enough and that was something Loki had never thought he would feel again.
Really, it was just so impossible that he had even stopped wondering if it was all a dream. He didn't care anymore, because dream or no, he would enjoy it until it ended. So, it made sense that everything would come to an end.
Because this was Loki's life, after all.
"It is not magic."
"You have yet to explain how it is your science."
"It's a loophole in physics, I can't explain it."
"A loophole in your science, therefore: magic."
"Bees are not magic!"
Loki crossed his arms with an unimpressed look. "Until you prove to me, firstly, how they fly, and secondly, how they seemingly disappear in mid-air, I shall consider them magical creatures."
"I'm not arguing with you over bees," Tony groused, mirroring Loki's crossed arms with his own.
"Arguing?" Loki asked with a smirk, "hardy and argument, if you have no weight to your words."
"Sometimes I want to smack you."
"Consider it a shared sentiment."
Pausing for a moment to look the god over, Tony uncrossed his arms and sauntered over to him. He knew better than to believe any of Loki's threats of violence. The god had yet to lash out once since he arrived, albeit, that might have originally had something to do with his road kill impersonation. Why he hadn't since was one of those things Tony opted not to question, because it lead to further lines of questioning that he refused to touch. He also never acted on his threats, which was a little less surprising considering his 'issues with abuse'.
So, with a tilt of his head, he declared, "I'll kiss you, instead."
"Anthony..."
"Yeah?" He asked, already on his toes, his arms wrapping around Loki's neck. No reaction, Loki just stared at him with those intense eyes. Tony almost pulled away, because it was one of the few expressions the god wore that he had yet been able to read.
Danger, danger, do not touch?
Kiss me right now or so help me?
"Nothing," Loki answered at last, some of the seriousness fading from his expression. "I believe you were providing me with a service?"
Tony hummed, pressed his lips against Loki's, and allowed himself to get pulled out of reality. Somewhere, his body was telling him that there were arms circled around his waist and a body pressing flush against him. The entire effect was completed when Loki let out that little needy sound that Tony had discovered only recently after their kisses started to go from fast paced mouth fucking to slow dreamy mouth fucking. And speaking of dreamy, it was way too late to save Tony now, he was gone. Kissing Loki was like being sucked into a whole other world. It wasn't just that he was a good kisser—he was better than good—it wasn't even the haze of lust that fell over them every time their lips met, it was the surprising amount of comfort Tony felt when they got close. It was almost like trust, and that was something he promised himself he would never do. Not again, not after Pepper, and not with Loki.
So he decided to call it something else, he just couldn't think of a name for it yet. Maybe 'relaxation', or some form of sexy meditation. Maybe he could—
"Would you please stop thinking so much?"
Tony jumped a little, his eyes fluttering open. When had they stopped kissing?
Loki's lips were still brushing against his, but his eyes were open and watching with a hint of concern. His brow furrowed more the longer Tony stared up at him like an idiot.
"Sorry..." Tony rasped, his voice catching oddly in his throat, "just a lot on my mind."
Loki huffed, and the breath against Tony's lips did something to him he never wanted to explain to a psychiatrist. "Bees, again? Really, Anthony, I thought my time was worth more than some flying insects. At the very least, think of something more complex."
"I'll have you know that bees are very important, just not to me," Tony stated, bumping their noses together. "So, no, I wasn't thinking about fucking non-magical bees. I was thinking about you, SnowGlobe. Lo' and behold, something more complex."
"What of me?" Loki asked quietly, his fingers now tracing small circles on Tony's back. He voice said he didn't care, but his eyes retained that sharpness to them that Tony had grown to understand as doubt, or worry. He had seen it a lot since Loki arrived in the tower and had assumed for a long time that the god was pissed, promptly blown him off one way or another, and then noticed how fucking sad Loki seemed after, and then did it again anyway. He really should have just asked, or talked about it, but Tony didn't do talks and, well, Loki sort of looked pissed all the time. Tony also didn't do godly confrontations with a man who slept in his bed every night. He got the feeling greater men had tried, and died. He liked living, maybe a little more so as of late.
It was kind of alarming how good he was getting at recognizing Loki's expressions. Maybe it was because he was so much closer to his face these days, close enough to have his tongue down his throat. Tony snorted to himself, shook his head, and glanced away.
Thinking too much, yeah, Loki wasn't half wrong about that.
"About you..." he began hesitantly, "Aboouuut you, huh. Just random stuff, nothing Earth shattering," he lied. Some of those thoughts were pretty Earth shattering to him, not that he would ever tell Loki. Especially the whole epiphany he had before they started kissing five days ago. That whole possible 'like' with a capital 'L' thing that Tony's brain refused to touch since then.
"Random things about me," Loki repeated slowly, causing Tony to glance back into the danger zone of Loki's gaze. God damn, those things were so vivid green when he got serious. How was Loki even real?
Maybe he should actually be concerned by the magic wielding god in his arms who currently looked a little more irate than usual.
"Woah there Silver, don't give me that look. Nothing bad, I promise."
"Yet you will not tell me, which begs to question what you are thinking of that is supposedly not 'bad'," Loki pointed out dryly.
Tony hissed in irritation, feeling cornered, and blurted out, "I like kissing you, okay? I like it a lot, I like it so much I was thinking about it while doing it. I like how it feels, I l-like..."
The look his admission earned him was well worth the self sacrifice of admitting he liked anything about Loki and the growing embarrassment of saying the word 'like' five times. The gods eyes went wide, and a sort of half smile, half jaw-drop happened around the mouth area. Tony liked that part the best. Did he mention he had a fascination with Loki's mouth?
"You like it..."Loki opened and closed his mouth a few times before trying again,"I... you confuse me, often."
"People say that about me, often."
Loki snorted delicately, and Tony felt the brush of cold fingers against his cheek. There was another expression, now, that Tony didn't recognize. He should probably make a Loki Face Diary, or something. This one was a sort of soft look, gentle eyes and a relaxed smile. It was honestly the first time Tony had ever seen the god look like that, so he had no reliable data to compare it to.
What the hell was Loki thinking that made him look so... happy, and was it too much to hope it was him that put that look on the god's face?
Probably. Stupid to hope, too. This wasn't— god forbid— love, this was just two people making each other feel less insane. With kissing and groping. And maybe cooking, and science, and snuggling, and singing. The singing part was suddenly the least weird part of this not-a-relationship thing.
He wondered, not for the first time, how mind blowing the sex was going to be. If sex was going to be. Shit, he really was thinking too much. He was going to ruin this thing, not-a-relationship thing. Something way more delicate than what he had with Pepper, and so much easier to fuck up.
God, he really didn't want to fuck this up.
"Sorry, I'm just an asshole with too much brain power to be good for him and a lot of baggage. Ignore my rambling," Tony mumbled with a hint of bitterness. That was a little too close to Pepper's closing line when she left.
Loki's hand curled under his chin, squeezing his jaw ever so slightly. If Tony had PTSD—he did, but who was counting— he would have had a small freak out at the familiarity of the grip. As it was, he reminded himself that there weren't any windows in the lab to be thrown out of, anyway.
"That statement does not define you whatsoever," Loki hissed, searching Tony's face for something. He let that last word linger in the air for a moment before continuing in a much softer voice, "You are a controlled chaos... I like it."
Tony's never ending stream of thoughts were rudely interrupted by that statement. Great, now Loki was throwing 'like' around, too? That sounded like a capital 'L' to him.
"Is..."Tony cleared his throat, "is there such a thing as 'controlled chaos'? Isn't that kind of contradictory?"
Loki let go of his chin, but not before brushing a thumb over Tony's lips, and really, Tony begged internally, enough with the distractions already.
"It is a thing, yes. It is the difference between you and I. You have a darkness in you, just as I do. Chaos, madness... I've seen it in your eyes, I've seen some of it in your fights. But you control it, let it out in bursts of creativity or hyperactivity." He paused, looking hesitant to go on.
"And?" Tony prompted, curious to know where this was going, and maybe a little unsure he was being complimented, or insulted. Was there a word for that? Insuplimented? Complisulted? He should write to Webster.
"I envy you," Loki admitted in a small, pained voice, and the words hit Tony in the chest as though the god had screamed them.
"M-me? Fuck no. I know you went through hell and back again, but you could do a lot better than me. My life is no banquet of roses."
Loki leaned closer, eyes boring into Tony's with a sincerity he rarely expressed. "Yes, which is precisely why I envy you. You lived and loved through all your pains and trials. You bottled your vengeance, your anger, and crafted yourself a weapon from it. Then, what did you do?" He asked with a faint smile, "you used it to defend others. Anthony, you could have taken over this realm years ago, and instead you created, rather than destroyed. You did this, all the while unleashing that relentless chaos without losing yourself..." Loki breathed out and added in almost a whisper, "without taking the world down with you."
Tony's mouth answered before his brain could stop it, "I took enough of it with me, already."
Loki hummed in question, and curled his fingers against Tony's back like he was supporting Tony by his touch. Tony leaned into it, and there was that hint of trust again.
"I did," Tony began again, "I was a warmonger, a death dealer, the Merchant of Death. Witty name, that. Merchant, meaning a person involved in trade or commerce, and Death... well, you know that one." Tony took a deep breath and kept going, because he really didn't have anything to lose, it's not like Loki could judge him, or would judge him. "I think 'chaos' is too romantic for me, I failed at even that. Hell, I couldn't even destroy myself properly."
"You aimed to... end your life?"
Tony shot him a look. "Have you met me? I spent my entire life is aiming to end my life. I can't even remember a time when I wasn't full self deprecating thoughts and reckless behavior. I'm not even sure why I save people, but it's probably just for my own self-satisfaction."
"No, you are misunderstanding something, surely," Loki interjected, "Self sacrifice stems from making mistakes, which you have clearly done... and just as I have. But you and I separate there, in that moment when we were given a choice. You chose good—" Tony snorted loudly, "alright, decency?"
"Better."
"Some sense of justice, then. Revenge served without overstepping some sort of moral bounds. Where as I, I chose a savage revenge, the relentless sort that is purely selfish. I am not satisfied, even now. My anger will always burn for their slights, and I would pick and pick away at their lives until they finally broke... and yet..." Loki trailed off, his voice saddening, "and yet, my hunger would never be slaked. I am, and always will be, a vengeful god."
Tony thought about it, tried to think of how to word it without insulting him, or complisulting him. "So doesn't this technically make you a controlled chaos, too?"
"No, I just said—"
Tony interrupted with a hand on loki's chest, "you just said you're a hungry, vengeful god. I got that part, I understand that part. But where are you standing right now?"
Loki gave him a look one would give a stupid child, and answered, "your workshop... the smithy."
"Okay, for one thing, never call it a smithy again, but otherwise, you're correct." Tony pushed the hand a little harder against his chest, as if confirming that he was solid. "You're standing here, snuggled up to man who fought you. You're in my home, you're in the metaphorical den of lions, and you're living right on the spot of your greatest failure."
Loki bristled, hands snatching Tony's away from his chest before he stepped away. "You—!"
"Loki!" Tony snapped over him, "you've been in my tower for a month now, and you're still fucking here! The building is still standing, Clint isn't dead yet, hell, i'm not dead yet. Thor hasn't been attacked by anything more than words, and you really expect me to believe you're not in control? Because if this is what you look like out of control, just how far gone were you when you attacked?"
His voice seemed to echo throughout the room, which was impossible because the objects in the room were well within the 343 meters needed for the sound to reverberate at the 2 second minimum for the human ear to hear—and why the fuck was he thinking about this?
Ah. There it was, anger. Real anger this time, and every ounce of it was directed right at him. Tony didn't even flinch when Loki lifted his hand, he couldn't tear his gaze away from those green eyes narrowed into slits. He wondered, vaguely, what expression he had on his face, because instead of hitting him, Loki let out a hiss and disappeared in a haze of gold.
So much for not ruining the thing.
"Well, shit..."
His room felt cold after such a long time away. It was ridiculous, but somehow Loki could not bring himself to leave the tower. Even worse, he couldn't even bring himself to leave Anthony's—no, Stark's floor. He went right to his room like a sulking child told to go by his parent.
This served to anger him more, and the only objects that could provide him with an outlet for his rage were the furniture. Or, he could have hit Stark as he had so very-much wished to. But he hadn't.
Controlled chaos.
Loki snarled, his fingers spread wide for slashing, nails like claws to rend anything he dig them into. The furniture would have to suffice, and tearing every object in the room to shreds did seem destructive enough to suit his needs.
The bookcase splintered, scattering tombs across the floor.
He was chaos, he was madness.
The bed began to come apart, sheets shredded, mattress torn to pieces.
He was rage, he was a monster.
Loki spun and his magic faltered when he was faced with nothing but a window. A single pane of such a fragile substance was all that stood between him and the world. Air, trees, the thrum of life he missed so much. He could leave now, when he no longer had a reason to stay. If they wished to fight, he would fight them till their final breath. With his decision made, Loki stalked over to the window, laying a hand on the cool glass, and waited. He was waiting for something, perhaps a sign. Some sort of proof that he should stay.
Controlled chaos.
Loki growled, and just as he reached a hand back to shatter his prison walls, the door burst open and someone yelled.
"Loki?! Are you alright?!"
If the tone had been accusatory, had the worlds not been asking of his well being, the man would be dead. Instead, Loki turned slowly to see the confused and worried face of Steve Rogers. It was the last person he expected to see, and not the sign he expected. He accepted it, anyway, and moved away from the window and his freedom.
"I am fine, Captain. I was simply releasing some anger."
"That... okay, that's acceptable," Rogers agreed, still looking at little stunned at the state of the room. "Did Stark finally piss you off?"
Loki twitched at the name, or perhaps the fact that the soldier's guess was spot on and maybe sounded a little hopeful. Loki glowered in defense. "No."
"Really?"
"... perhaps."
Rogers nodded and held the door for him, giving Loki an honest smile. "Well, come on then, let's get you some tea."
"I do not think tea will solve anything,"Loki groused, but followed him out anyway.
"I think the conversation might help more than the tea."
"I am not speaking to you about this."
"Suit yourself," Rogers said with a shrug, and strode into Stark's kitchen as though he belonged there. "Barton!"
Loki flinched and peered around the captain's shoulder to see the smaller blond sitting on the kitchen table. Instead of his usual knife or bow in hand, he had a large assortment of meats and cheeses that he was shoveling into his face with a speed that could almost match Thor's.
Rogers stomped closer, his mood clearly becoming irate. "Barton, what did I say about coming up here and—"
"Those are mine," Loki interrupted cooly, crossing his arms and leaning on the doorframe. He didn't bother to seem inoffensive, a fight was welcome this time.
"Whatf yourf?" the archer asked past another mouthful. He didn't look to be in a fighting mood, which was almost more irritating.
"The victuals you are currently stuffing into your mouth."
"Sfo?"
Loki gave him a nasty grin, replying, "soo, it is poisoned in such a way so only I may eat them."
As disgusting as the spray of chewed food was, the entire sputtering mess that was Barton was highly rewarding.
"You're fucked up."
"B-barton—"
"So I've heard," Loki agreed over Roger's stuttering complaint.
Clint wiped his mouth, grumbling, "I still don't understand you."
"Good," Loki replied with a pleasant smile, "the day you do is the day Hel freezes over, and I do not wish that day to come anytime soon."
"Tea," Rogers said firmly, looking between the two of them with threatening eyes. Loki gestured for him to continue, and watched the archer as he started sniffing every piece of ham on the plate. He seemed satisfied, or stupid, and started eating again.
Loki resigned himself to the fact that he would have to ask Anthony, no, he could ask JARVIS to order him more. If he was staying. He still hadn't decided yet.
Rogers turned from the kettle and held out a mug to Loki, who accepted it as graciously as could manage at the moment. He breathed in the steam—citrus, some sort of dark blend— before taking a sip.
"So, we don't seem to be attacking each other," Rogers commented dryly. Both Loki and Barton shrugged at the same time, and Loki immediately opened his mouth to throw an insult his way before the hairs on the back of his neck rose. Something in the air became static around them.
He knew that feeling, he had felt it once before. The mug slipped from his fingers, and Loki turned to face a portal forming behind him, the same portal that opened up in his cell on Asgard. He teleported before the mug hit the floor.
Tony was in the middle of working on his suit, or pretending to while his brain went through long lists of ways he could have fucked up less, when the tower exploded.
At least, something exploded.
Tony stood, dropping his tools and reaching for a gauntlet. "JARVIS what the fuck was that?"
"Detecting an overflow of intruders. Some sssss-sort oooffffffffffffffffffffzzzzzaaaaMmmm... Device."
"JARVIS?"
"Buddy?" he tried again, his voice wavering.
Tony frowned up at the ceiling, and suddenly got very, very afraid. JARVIS did not get shut down, it simply did not happen. Whatever was happening, was beyond all reason and comprehension, and therefor dangerous as all hell.
Tony kicked himself into action, slipping on his gauntlet and darting across the room for the rest of his suit. He collided with a body, and screamed. Just a little.
"Anthony?!" Said the offending body, and Tony nearly relaxed.
"Loki? What the fuck is—"
"They've come, they're here!"
Tony blinked up at Loki, and somewhere in the back of his mind, a note was being made about Loki's expression. Because he had thought he knew what Loki's fear looked like. He had been so, very wrong.
"I-it can't be... I have systems in place for this sort of—"
"No, not for this," Loki interrupted, backing away from Tony as he glanced around the workroom. He was seeing the room with fresh eyes, the eyes of the hunted and desperate. Tony reached out for him, and froze when there was a crackle. Something was coming through a hole in the air, and it was coming through right behind Loki.
Tony blanked out any other thoughts, and screamed, "Loki!"
The god twisted away, but too late. A hand, much larger and more scaly than what was acceptable, gripped Loki's arm and started to pull him into the portal. Loki tore himself back desperately, but still started to slide into the swirling clouds that hid the owner of the hand. His eyes flicked up to find Tony, and Tony knew it was too late for him, because, without a second thought, he ran across the room and tore Loki from its grip. Because, as Loki fell away, eyes wide in utter shock, the too-large hand found Tony's neck instead.
He had a second to open his mouth in surprise, before he got pulled away into another world.
Alarms were blaring, the air smelt of ozone, and Loki wondered vaguely what that stinging feeling in his chest was.
Loki was still standing, still staring at the space where Anthony had disappeared, when the others came running in. Someone was screaming questions, someone was asking him what he did. An arrow was pressing into his neck, and blue eyes looked at him with an old disappointment.
"Loki..." Thor growled, and all their possible chances at trust disappeared the second the hammer hit Loki in the chest and pinned him to the floor.
So this was how everything came to an end.
How easy it was to break trust, how easy it was for Thor to betray him yet again. Loki laughed, crushed under the weight of the hammer, chest burning from the inside out. Another treasured person lost, and how easily his control slipped. There was a pattern here, and it somehow made sense to him now.
Because this was Loki's life, after all, nothing but chaos.