A/N: Two chapters in one day because I'm just that awesome. (Or it might be because this was originally supposed to be one chapter but it was too long and I like my chapters to all be the same length pretty much.)
Also, I apologize for the lack of Frostiron. The end of this chapter should more than make up for it.
Thanos is waiting for Loki at the entrance to Berkeley, leaned against a sleek black car, his arms folded across his chest. He smiles and walks forward, giving Loki a quick hug before saying:
"You ready?"
Loki nods, and they get in the car. Thanos drives with the air conditioner on full blast, the radio cranked up to nearly full volume. He's got it on a heavy metal station, but when they cut corners too fast the signal fades a little and the vicious guitar riffs are momentarily interrupted by soft violins and sad cellos. It's a little like driving in a weird alternate universe, but it's not exactly bad.
When they get to the restaurant, Thanos parallel parks—something Loki never actually got used to—and they go inside, the laptop case the only thing between them. A waiter shows them to an empty booth and, after taking their drink orders, leaves them alone with the menus.
"So you wanted my help finding less morbid quotes," says Loki, playing absently with the end of his jacket sleeve, still remembering the way Tony held his hand under that tree. He finds himself wishing he hadn't pulled away, then wonders why he's purposefully torturing himself with thoughts of a relationship that is never going to happen again, then feels a slight flush rising up his cheeks when he realizes that Thanos replied to his question and is now looking at him with an expression in his eyes of barely concealed amusement.
"I'm sorry, I… drifted off," he apologizes lamely, and thinks, damn you, Stark. "What did you say?"
Thanos' smile grows. "I said yeah, I need your help softening my reputation before I try to sell out t-shirts to the general public."
Loki laughs a little. "How about you try this one instead; it's inspirational and beautiful without bringing death to mind: 'And this, our life, exempt from public haunt, finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything.'"
"Shakespeare?" Thanos guesses, and Loki nods. Before he can stop it, he hears Tony calling him that again, and a small, sad little smile grows on his face.
"Did you memorize that quote?" Thanos asks, typing it in, apparently oblivious to Loki's expression. "Because that's sort of brilliant."
"I memorized it, yes." Now he's remembering reading As You Like It to Tony in the library in the beginning of their senior year, remembers laughing when Tony said, "I liked Macbeth better," and kissing him, replying, "You only liked Macbeth better because I read it to you naked in your bedroom."
He misses Tony, and he hates himself for it.
"What about song quotes?" Thanos is asking, his fingers hovering over the keys on his laptop.
"'My Shangri-La beneath the summer moon, I will return again, sure as the dust that floats high in June, when moving through Kashmir,'" says Loki absently, because it's one of his favorite songs, not because it reminds him of Tony and hot summer afternoons spent lounging at the pool with him while Led Zeppelin blared from the classic rock station on the radio.
"Wish I had thought of that one," says Thanos, impressed, glancing at Loki for a second before typing it in. And then:
"Hey, you okay?"
Loki neutralizes his expression and folds his hands across the table. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah, I'm fine."
Thanos hesitates, then shrugs. The waiter comes back with their drinks, they place their orders—Thanos gets the fettuccini because he always gets that when he comes here, and Loki gets pizza because he knows every Italian restaurant has that and he doesn't want to look at the menu—and then they're alone again.
Loki spends the next half hour giving Thanos various quotes to use, eating pizza, and wondering vaguely what Tony is doing right now—not like he cares, he's just curious. He's running out of quotes—which means there's going to be a fucking silence and Thanos is going to realize that outside of intelligence, Loki really does not have much to offer in the way of companionship—when suddenly Thanos closes his laptop, pushes aside his half-empty bowl of fettuccini, and asks, all serious:
"You seeing anyone?"
The question is so startling that it causes Loki's mouth to drop open for a second, and a tiny slice of pepperoni falls back onto the plate. Thanos laughs; Loki does not.
"I'm single," he says, carefully, after a few seconds. "I had a boyfriend once, but… he cheated."
Thanos frowns. "Sorry to hear that," he says. "Who was he?"
More hesitation. "Tony," Loki says finally. "Tony Stark. You met him the other night."
A look of comprehension dawns on Thanos' face. "Ah yeah," he says. "So that explains why you were looking at each other like that."
Loki wants to ask, looking at each other like what, but the words are stuck in his throat, and he cannot say them. He's blushing again; he tugs on his jacket sleeves and looks away from Thanos and says:
"I would like to leave now."
"Oh, sure," says Thanos, clearly unaware that he's upset Loki at all. He sets two twenties on the table beside his plate and they walk out, get in his car, and drive back to Berkeley with the same infusion of classical music and heavy metal blaring into their ears.
Once Thanos has parked his car, he and Loki get out and walk on the side of the road, the sun slowly setting ahead of them. They are quiet for a long time, but it's not uncomfortable, and when they have nearly reached their dorm Loki says:
"We should do this again sometime."
Thanos pauses mid-step and grins. "You asking me on a date, Laufeyson?"
Loki shrugs. "Guess so," he says, and when they kiss, it's hardly surprising. Loki trails his thumb over the lines on Thanos' face and marvels at how similar they are in looks.
Eventually, they pull apart and walk into the dorm together. Clint and Natasha are sitting on a couch in the main area downstairs, and Natasha grins at Loki knowingly, but he doesn't rise to the bait. They head up to the third floor, and there's a final kiss, with Thanos running his fingers through Loki's hair, before they go to their respective rooms.
Tony's drunk.
It's obvious the minute Loki opens the door, and he wonders why he's surprised. Tony is curled up in a ball on his bed, the bottle of Stolichnaya wrapped up protectively against his stomach, dripping a little onto the blankets. Loki winces, shrugs off his jacket, sets his room key down, and walks over.
"Stark," he says. "Stark, wake up."
Tony opens his eyes instantly. They're over-bright and dilated, and Loki's wondering if maybe he should get him to the nurses' station when Tony sits up, sets the bottle aside, and says, his speech slurred:
"You were with Thanos, weren't you?"
He says 'Thanos' like it's poison, his upper lip curled in disgust. Loki shrugs.
"Why do you care? You were with Pepper. Where is our favorite little slut, by the way?"
"What I do with my trash is my business," says Tony, rubbing his temples like he's trying to wake up from a very bad dream. "Besides, I don't see you bringing anyone in here, either."
"That's because unlike you, I have the decency to leave my dates at the door." Loki folds his arms and steps back as Tony staggers to his feet, staring at the bottle of vodka as though he could will more liquid into it with his mind.
"Decency is my middle name, darling," Tony drawls, grinning now.
Loki rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah." He waves his hand in the air, a careless gesture. "You smell like a whiskey factory. Go shower or something."
Tony sticks out his lower lip, moves forward, and touches Loki at the base of his throat. It's not much, but it's enough to give Loki pause; his breath catches and for a second he thinks he's going to fall.
Then he regains control of himself and calmly—or as calmly as he possibly can, because Tony hasn't moved his thumb and he looks startlingly sober for someone who just drank half a bottle of vodka on his own—tells Tony to go away.
"Not until I repay you for what you gave me," says Tony, and then they're kissing. Tony's mouth is hot and wet on his, and Loki wonders how much of this he's going to remember in the morning.
They step backwards, falling onto Loki's bed, and Tony's on top, his teeth scraping Loki's lower lip as he struggles with the buttons of his shirt. The kisses are messy and taste of liquor; they are short and fast and teasing until Loki grips Tony's shoulder—bare now, because his shirt's halfway across the room and when did that happen—and says, "Get on with it, Stark," and Tony laughs and kisses him deeper, slower. An almost pained sound pulls itself from the back of Loki's throat, a sound of want and need and desperation, and despite the alcohol clouding his brain Tony finds himself wondering how long Loki's been wishing this would happen. They pull off their pants—Loki's hands are shaking, and he hopes Tony doesn't notice—and then their boxers, and then they're naked, and Loki wonders, where do we go from here?
Tony leans down and slides his tongue in a slow, tantalizing arc along the side of Loki's neck, and the taller man shivers, another soft moan escaping his lips. He can feel Tony's fingers pressing against his inner thighs as he kisses, bites, and licks lower down, closer to his sternum, and it occurs to him, suddenly, that this is happening, and he jerks, pushing Tony away.
"The fuck?" Tony says, looking up at him, his face flushed, his eyes dark. "What are you doing?"
Loki's shaking his head. Fuck off, Stark, he wants to say, but what comes out is a half-hearted, "It's too fast," and Tony frowns. He crawls back up, leaning over Loki, his hand on his jaw, his eyes never leaving Loki's.
"If you really think you don't want this, you get up, Laufeyson, and you walk away from me right now. Put your clothes on and walk out and lie some more." Tony's eyes are hard on his, and after a few seconds Loki drops his gaze.
Tony smirks. "Yeah, that's what I thought," he says, before leaning in and ravishing Loki's mouth with his own again. Loki grasps Tony's hips, biting his lower lip hard enough to make him bleed, punishing him for making him want this, drawing a moan of aching want from the back of his throat.
I'll kill him, Loki thinks.
Fucking manipulative little shit, Tony thinks at the same time, but when he finally gets the lubricant ready and goes between Loki's legs, both of them are long past the point of protest.