For Marvel HEA's Harlequin Hoopla, romance prompt for February 9: only one bed.

Title from Chelsea Jade's 'Low Brow.'

They were trapped. On Jotunheim.

They were trapped on Jotunheim and night was falling.

Hopefully the situation was temporary, but still. The fact was, Loki had called for the Bifrost and no one had answered. Strange had misplaced his sling ring, which wasn't a good look, as far as Loki was concerned, for the Sorcerer Supreme. But there was hardly anything that could be done about it at this point. It was gone and they had to deal with the consequences.

Anyway, they'd already had a fight about it.

At least the palace on Jotunheim was empty. Small blessings. Loki kept his knives out just in case, but they encountered no one as they crept through the massive hallways. For once, Strange kept his mouth shut. Another blessing, this one slightly larger.

It was full night outside now, and though Jotunheim was always dark, night was an entirely different kind of dark. Black, frigid cold, howling wind. Predators that you couldn't see coming, that were made for the ice and the dark. No, it was safer to possibly face Jotun squatters in the ruined palace. Loki didn't necessarily feel confident that he could fight them off, but he knew he couldn't fight a Frost Beast off, so possible Frost Giants were the better option.

And, as it turned out, he found a room that didn't have gaping holes in the walls. So that was a victory. At least they'd be sheltered from the wind.

As Loki vanished his knives back to his forearms and looked around the room, he said, "I think this will be fine." His eyes fell on the single large bed in the room, which bore more than a passing resemblance to a slab of ice. He put his hand on it, but it felt warmer than the surrounding air. Not ice, then. Some kind of Jotun technology, such as it was. Glancing at Strange, he said, "You can conjure another of these, right? So we can each have one?"

Strange had his arms wrapped tightly around himself and his teeth were chattering as he shivered. "C-conjure another one?" he asked. "What do y-you think this i-is?"

"A room with one bed," Loki said, not in the mood for Strange's attitude. "We need two."

Hugging himself more tightly, Strange said, "Look, for one thing, I c-can't pull furniture out of hats. That's n-not how it works, and you know i-it. For another—" But he broke off, shivering so hard that he couldn't speak.

For the first time, Loki felt a twinge of concern.

Alright, fine. It wasn't the first time. But he'd been pushing it away since they arrived on Jotunheim, because he didn't want to be concerned about Stephen Strange. Why should he be? He barely liked the man. He didn't like the man. He just…didn't not like him. But he certainly didn't want him to expire from hypothermia.

There was a blanket on the bed, so Loki grabbed it, then approached Strange. Wordlessly, he wrapped the heavy fur around Strange's shoulders, pulling it tight around his front and holding it in place. Frost Beast hide, he thought. It would be warm.

Gradually, Strange's shivering calmed. He was still shaking, but at least his teeth weren't chattering so hard that he couldn't speak. When Strange's breathing steadied, Loki asked, "What was the second thing?"

Under the blanket, Strange's hands reached up to take it, which meant Loki could let go. He did, taking a step back. A normal person would ask 'what second thing?' But not Strange, who remembered every insufferable word that came out of his mouth. Loki watched breath fog in front of Strange as he said, "We're going to freeze to death on this planet."

"Nonsense," Loki said, waving a hand. "It's not that cold. I'm perfectly fine." When Strange just looked at him, Loki sighed. Maybe he'd be fine, but Strange was right about himself. There wasn't even a fireplace in this room, let alone anything to burn. A human couldn't last much longer in these conditions.

He glanced over his shoulder at the bed and rolled his eyes. This was not happening. Two clichés at once, one bed and huddling together for warmth. What had he done to deserve this? "Fine," Loki sighed.

"Fine?"

Cocking his head, wondering if perhaps he'd misunderstood, he said, "Fine, let's go to bed, Strange. But keep your hands to yourself, or you'll lose them. I sleep with my knives."

A smile pulled at the corner of Strange's lips, the one that Loki always had to look away from or risk returning. The smile that, despite himself, made his heart beat just the tiniest bit faster. "I like to save the knifeplay for at least the third date, Odinson."

Loki snorted with laughter before he could stop himself and Strange's smile become less sardonic and more easy. Almost…soft. Something squirmed in his stomach.

With a glance at the bed, Loki sighed, "Well, let's go to bed, then, darling."

At that, Strange chuckled, then shuffled over to the bed and sat down, looking surprised. The Frost Beast hide rode up around his ears. "It's warmer than I thought it was going to be."

Loki opened his mouth to say, Does that mean you don't need me to sleep with you? But a couple things stopped him, the first being the obvious euphemism, and the second being…well. He found, suddenly, that he didn't want the answer to be 'no.' Which was absolutely the most stupid thing he'd ever thought in his life, and that was really saying something, considering the number of stupid things he'd thought. It was just—well, he wasn't cold, per se, but he wasn't warm, either.

As Strange laid down, pulling the fur over himself, he said, "Are you coming or what?"

His heart had started beating faster when Strange had given him that crooked little smile and it had never slowed down. Now it hammered even harder. He took a deep breath, trying to slow it, and made his way over to the bed. Strange was curled up in a tight ball, the blanket covering his head so only his brown hair was poking out. If Strange wasn't creeping closer to freezing to death, Loki would have thought he was…cute.

Oh for heaven's sake, don't think that.

Fine, he wouldn't think it. He shed his armor and pulled his boots off, then lifted up the blanket and slid underneath the fur. Awkwardly, he stretched out, not touching Strange, but close enough to feel his body heat. At least he was still giving some off.

Strange didn't say a word, but he squirmed closer to Loki until his back was touching Loki's arm. Loki closed his eyes and tried to sleep, trying to ignore the fact that Strange was still shivering. But he'd be fine, they were next to each other, they had a blanket, they weren't sleeping on a block of ice. He'd live.

But Strange kept shaking. What if he would't be fine? What if this wasn't enough? What if he did freeze to death? The idea of never sniping at Strange again, of not seeing that sardonic smile, was unexpectedly terrible.

With a huff of air, Loki turned onto his side, slid an arm around Strange, and pulled the man against him. He pushed his other arm underneath Strange's side and wrapped that one around him too. There was nothing gentle about it, but Loki wasn't doing this to be nice. He was doing it because no one would let him live it down if he let the Sorcerer Supreme die.

A surprised noise escaped Strange, but Loki said, "Oh, shut up."

With a muffled laugh, Strange said, "Aw, I love you too."

"Shut up," Loki repeated. But his stomach squirmed again. Stupid stupid stupid. Not Stephen Strange. Anyone but Stephen Strange.

Slowly, Strange uncurled himself until he was stretched inch for inch along Loki's body.

Loki squeezed his eyes shut, his mouth going dry. Oh gods. He needed to think about something, something that wasn't about the man he was suddenly sharing a bed with—no, wrong turn of phrase—he needed to think about a mood-killer.

"I wonder what Thor's doing now?" Loki asked, hearing the desperation in his tone.

"You'd know better than me," Strange said. His voice sounded relaxed. Sleepy, almost.

Clearing his throat in an attempt to make his voice come out at a slightly more reasonable pitch, Loki said, "Right. Yes. I suppose that's true."

"Don't tell me you miss him."

"I never miss my brother." Not true. He always missed his brother. This particular moment, though, wouldn't really have been improved by Thor's presence.

Gradually, Strange's shivers stilled, until he wasn't shaking anymore. That gave Loki a ridiculous sense of self-satisfaction, as though he'd provided anything but body heat and snark. That was all he was here, a warm body. A warm body without those implications. Damn, he needed to not…what? Just…not.

"So can I ask you something?" Strange said. For once, he didn't sound like he was lining up a sarcastic quip.

Loki shifted his arm, accidentally put his hand over Strange's, and moved it away quickly. Not before he'd felt two things though, one being Strange's surgical scars, and the other being the fact that his hands were freezing. Even colder than Loki's were normally, and that was normal for him. Strange's were like ice. And it made him wonder, for the first time, if he was ever in pain. Yes, his hands trembled, they were weak—but did they hurt? And was the extreme cold of Jotunheim making it worse?

Well, one thing was sure to make it worse, and that was frostbite, if his fingers didn't stay warm. With a sigh, he moved his hand back, taking both of Stephen's—Strange's, Strange's—hands in his own and rubbing at them gently to try to warm them. This was going to get something sarcastic, like 'I didn't know you cared,' or 'a little to the left.'

But Strange just made a surprised noise and said, "Thanks." And somehow that was worse.

Loki bit his lip, drawing in a slow breath through his nose, hoping that by some miracle, Strange wouldn't hear it, when obviously he could. His face was about an inch from the back of Strange's head and was burning, very incongruously with the frigid air temperature. As he kept rubbing Strange's hands, he finally said, "Yes, you can ask me whatever you wanted to ask." Probably a mistake. But it was a distraction, and he desperately needed a distraction.

Strange shivered again and cuddled—oh for Norns—and moved, moved closer to Loki, who wrapped his arms tighter around him, hating the way it made his stomach drop straight out of his body. "You're the heir to the throne of Jotunheim. Right?" Strange asked.

After hesitating for a moment, Loki said, "Yes." It was still an effort not to cringe away from people when they brought up his heritage. What would they say? What would they think? He'd been training himself for years not to think of the Jotnar as monsters, but it was hard when you'd been raised to feel that way for so long. The irony was, Thor did a much better job with this. It was probably easier not to think Frost Giants were monsters when you loved one of them. And gods knew Loki didn't love himself.

Of course, why did he care what Strange might think or say?

Delicately, Strange asked, "Do you ever thinking about coming back here to claim it?"

For a moment, Loki thought about that, even though he knew the answer. His gut instinct was always to answer, answer with the thing he wanted other people to think, regardless of the truth of it. But suddenly, he wanted to tell the truth. The actual truth. "I've thought about it," he answered slowly. Strange's hands felt a little warmer, but Loki kept holding them, rubbing them gently. "I don't want this throne, though. I don't want any throne. I never did."

Strange yawned and his chin fell towards his chest. Loki could smell his hair. There was something sandalwoody that gave him an insane urge to bury his nose and breathe deeply. He shut his eyes tightly and cursed himself in the sort of language that his mother would be appalled to hear him using.

"Can't imagine why," Strange said. "This place is so nice."

With a snort, Loki said, "Yes, I know, I'd be the envy of every other monarch in the Nine Realms."

There was nothing but silence and a bolt of worry went through Loki's heart. "Strange?" he said, gripping his hands. "Stephen?"

"Hm?"

Loki sighed with relief, going back to rubbing Strange's hands. They felt like a normal human temperature now. After a moment, Loki said, "Stephen. Do your hands hurt? From the cold?"

Stephen shifted, somehow getting even closer. "Little bit," he murmured. "Been worse. Feels good, what you're doing."

"I…that's good." It would be nice if he could do some kind of healing magic, any kind of healing magic, because it suddenly seemed very important to ease Strange's pain. But Stephen's breathing slowed and evened out, and Loki felt himself drifting off to sleep, too.

It shouldn't have felt so comfortable to hold this man in his arms. He didn't want it to feel comfortable, or nice, or right. He didn't want to be secretly happy that he was wrapped up with Stephen Strange, breathing in time with him. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be.

But as he drifted off to sleep, a horrible thought snuck into his head. This was right, and he was happy, and maybe this was the way it was supposed to be.

Luckily, his mind shut this down by slipping into unconsciousness.

At some point, he woke again. It was still dark outside. Stephen was breathing slowly, sleeping soundly. He'd kicked his boots off, because Loki could feel his feet. His hands felt warm. Stephen, in general, felt warm. Relaxed. There was something so…so…oh gods, so perfect about this, stuck on Jotunheim with a human who couldn't survive it, but here they were. Loki didn't want to come fully awake because he knew he'd just get upset. At himself, at Strange, at the Norns, at a ridiculous universe that would throw the two of them together like this when it was the last thing that Loki wanted.

So he let himself drift, half conscious, breathing in Strange's scent. He wrapped his arms around Stephen more tightly, letting go of his hands and hugging him close, and let his face fall forward until the bridge of his nose rested against the back of Stephen's neck. His hair tickled Loki's face. The rise and fall of his chest sent Loki slipping further towards sleep, but part of his consciousness floated, still awake.

Stephen shifted, one of his hands moving to cover Loki's. It made Loki start nearly awake, his stomach coiling tight, his heart hammering.

"Hey," Stephen said sleepily. "I think I'm probably not going to freeze to death."

"What a shame," Loki murmured.

Stephen made a noise that sounded like a laugh. "Such a jerk," he mumbled.

His hand stayed where it was. So did Loki's arms. "Takes one to know one," Loki mumbled, moving so that his forehead rested against the back of Strange's head. Stop stop stop stop. But he was half-asleep, and this was fine, it was to keep warm, he didn't like Stephen but he didn't want him dead; they would wake up in the morning and find a way off Jotunheim and everything would be exactly as it had been before between them. They were neither friends nor enemies, simply two people who didn't get along even though they probably should have, two people with more in common than Loki liked to admit.

Two people who fit together alarmingly well.

It didn't matter. He wasn't doing that. He wasn't going there. Not with anyone, but especially not with Stephen.

Stephen shifted again with a long exhale, squirming back so he was tucked completely against Loki, every part of their bodies from their feet to their legs, hips to hips, Stephen's spine running the length of Loki's chest. Stephen murmured something unintelligible that sounded like it involved the word 'comfortable,' and Loki said, "Hm?"

"You feel comfortable, Odinson." His fingers weren't trembling as badly.

"You're delirious," Loki replied.

Another sleepy laugh. "Loki," Stephen mumbled.

There was silence. Loki waited for more, dropped off to sleep for perhaps a second or two, or maybe a few minutes, and woke again to find Stephen breathing deeply again, sound asleep. He wondered what he'd been about to say, then just as quickly decided that he didn't want to know.

He didn't want to know. He wasn't doing this.

Stephen was warm and no one had ever felt this good wrapped up in his arms.

No. Stop. He wasn't doing this.

Something ached in his chest and he tried ignoring it. When it only ballooned more, squeezing at his heart, he pushed it down. No. No, no, no. He'd made so very many poor decisions in his life, and this wasn't going to be another one. Some people, maybe most people, were built for romance, and he simply wasn't one of them. He was terrible at trusting people. His close relationships could be counted on one hand. And he hadn't had a healthy, normal romantic relationship in…ever. He hadn't had one ever. Because he didn't know how to. The physical part, fine. That he could handle. But pair it with…everything else, and he was lost.

And he wasn't going to try to figure it out now. Especially not with Stephen Strange, a man he could barely stand. Clearly, obviously, there were no feelings of that nature between them.

Stephen's fingers twitched in his sleep and interlaced with Loki's. If he was more awake, he would have disentangled their hands. There was no need for it, now that Stephen's hands were warm. But he wasn't more awake. Sleepiness made allowances for feelings, for sentimentality, where his conscious mind would have brooked no such weakness.

So he let Stephen hold his hand, curling his own fingers around his, and breathed out slowly as he slipped back into unconsciousness. Jotunheim would forever carry the scent of something sandalwoody in his memory, of a warm body next to his and shaking hands that stilled when he held them.

Loki felt himself hovering over the black edge of sleep. Without thinking about it, he allowed his lips to brush the back of Stephen's neck, a soft kiss that he could already feel himself forgetting. When he woke, it would be a dream that he would dismiss.

But for now, he held Stephen. And if he perhaps dreamed that they didn't dislike each other, that maybe it was all a game, a front, a shield against something else, it would be easy to forget that in the morning, too. For now, though, this was fine. It was nice. He was happy.