vi.
Mocha. Triple shot peppermint mocha, whole milk, whipped cream, no chocolate syrup.
Tony thinks it is possibly the vilest crime committed to perfectly good coffee he's ever encountered, topping even Pepper's preferred caramel macchiato.
It is also Loki's favourite.
(Hey, someone was going to have to start picking up coffee for the weekly team meeting.)
It's fucking disgusting-too sweet, too chocolate, too not coffee (seriously).
Tony drinks it anyway.
(It's not like it means anything; he's just making sure the baristas don't forget Loki's order before he gets back from Tuscany.)
Chocolate, itself, is kind of a problem.
(The smell of it. Not quite right, but close. Tony's never going to get that smell out of his head.)
Of course the barista asked how Loki was doing.
Tony said fine, because everyone knows fine doesn't mean well, just alive.
(Tony still wants to pat himself on the back for not saying how the fuck should I know? because Loki's been gone a month and hasn't said a single word.)
For the most part, he works. He turns the music up as loud as he can, because fuck if he's moping about anything (there's nothing to mope about, Loki was just flirting, whatever the fuck they might have had? definitely not a thing)(especially not now).
He ends up turning the music down. Marginally. (Like Loki's going to walk in and comment about how he must be going deaf in his old age, like Loki always does, just like Loki always brings some third rate tablet or off brand laptop when he wants Tony's attention-because the asshole knows Tony can't leave second rate well enough alone.)
No one walks in, and Tony pretends not to notice.
(It's like a hole in his chest; he'd know what it feels like anywhere, considering. This is like that, only more sentimental poetical humanities bullshit and less hard science actual hole in the chest.
He hates it.)
Tony does not take it personally when Loki sends everyone on the team presents except for him.
Absolutely.
"Why is he sending you entire outfits?" he asks Natasha. "You have clothes, I've seen you wear them."
"They weren't mine," Natasha says. "Some of us don't have endless bank accounts." She's admiring the pale green sundress she just unwrapped-it's all flowy and gauzy and it has a bias cut hem. There are sandals and jewelry already laid out on the counter, a matching lily hairpin. There's a small pile of boxes next to her, and though Tony didn't see her open those, he knows they all have similarly put together outfits in them.
Right. Tony should have known about the (lack of) clothes, but to be fair he's never stepped foot in Natasha's closet (massive, to accommodate all the spy clothes he thought she'd have) since her floor was finished. Better question-why does Loki know that? Why does Loki know what Natasha would wear?
Why is Loki sending Natasha clothes?
"Jealous, Stark?" Natasha asks. The corners of her eyes crinkle, of course she's amused. She just got an entire fucking wardrobe delivered without having to do any work.
"No," Tony says.
"You know he's never bought any of us anything?"
"What the fuck are you doing here? Jarvis, why is he here?"
"I mean it, he hasn't. Least not before this whole mess," Clint says like Tony isn't thinking about throwing a wrench at him. "Though you need to tell him thanks for new lenses, they're really nice. Way more expensive than I could afford on my SHIELD paycheck."
"Get out before you start molting," Tony says, annoyed. "You tell him if you're so grateful, I'm not the only one with his number."
Clint just stares at him for a second, then crosses his arms like he's actually disappointed in Tony. It's a fairly good impression of Steve, for that matter.
"You have to be one of the least observant people I know. You know I'm going to owe Bruce like fifty bucks now? Okay, genius, let me spell it out for you."
"Get spelling, bee."
"Loki never bought any of us anything. Just you, always buying you those stupid gadgets that you leave laying around for the rest of us to step on when you get bored. He's never even bought us coffee, he always made someone else come with to pay for them. He doesn't touch us. He touches you. You're the reason he's here. Hell, you're the reason he'll come back. Maybe you didn't notice, but Loki has. Why the fuck do you think he's suddenly showering us with gifts?"
"He's not getting me anything," Tony points out, but even he thinks he sounds petulant.
"Because he doesn't know where he fits anymore, and he's got even less of an idea when it comes to you! You two never figured it the fuck out. We've been betting how long it'll take before one of you finally makes a move since he showed up. He's been yours from day one, and you've been his. Don't even act like you're not-you know just as well as me that lack of boning doesn't make it less true."
Tony rubs his face with his hands. He can't deal with these people. Why did he ever think living with them would be a good idea?
"Why the fuck are you still here?" Tony asks when he takes his hands away and opens his eyes to find Clint still sitting on one of the workbenches.
Clint shrugs.
"As much as I love seeing you wallow in the emotional angst, Steve really is like two seconds from just hauling you out and making you do charity work with him as a distraction."
"Oh god."
"I'm just saying, maybe you should try talking to Loki. I'll make sure to get Steve off your back if you do."
"Deal."
Tony doesn't do talking-rather, Tony doesn't do talking about feelings. Besides, Loki is totally going to talk to Tony when he's ready. Tony calling first is just… clingy.
Tony isn't clingy.
When he gets a phone call about the second spending spree that he's definitely not in Tuscany for, he gets an idea. He'll just send Loki a new copy of the credit card, with both their names on it. That's exactly like talking to Loki-Loki's great at reading between the lines.
(Plausible deniability-it's just a credit card, fewer questions from the bank, Tony doesn't mean anything by it, and he's certainly not suggesting anything.)
It's just like talking.
(Really.)
Tony knows exactly when Loki's signed for the credit card.
(He just happened to look and see it had been delivered. He's not obsessing. That's for things getting delivered to himself.)
Because Loki getting the mailer doesn't mean anything (really), Tony goes about his day like nothing at all is different. It's not like he expects Loki to open it right away. Or even call. Loki is practical, he'll understand exactly why Tony sent the new card, so there isn't actually anything to talk about for that matter.
He takes his phone with him to a meeting at four, because meetings are dull and he's going to need a distraction.
Mistake.
"Come on, it's not like Steve," his phone buzzes, and he reflexively glances down at it (Loki, yes), swiping his thumb to look at the message , "can actually…"
Tony is sure that everyone in the room except him sees the exact moment his brain short circuits-because that? That is definitely a picture of a dildo. Or a vibrator. Might be a vibrator. And it's slick.
Tony is about 99.9% certain that it's not lube either.
He's still trying to stop picturing what led it to be slick (fuck) when a second message shows up.
Hows it compare
"Tony?"
"Um." He glances up. Wow. So this is what utter embarrassment feels like, because everyone on the team is looking at him, and so's Fury.
"Care to share with the class, Stark?" Fury asks.
"Gotta go," Tony says, and bolts before anyone can stop him.
The next hour is a lesson in sexual frustration the likes Tony hasn't dealt with since puberty. Loki is both drunk and in heat-that's the only explanation Tony can think of for the texts (picture and otherwise and he did not need the selfie of a sweaty and sex flushed Loki with his free hand-) and the shit spelling.
Let it never be said Tony Stark lacks self control.
Because he doesn't immediately fly out to Tuscany. Because he doesn't call Loki despite wanting to hear him like this. Because he doesn't palm himself or jerk off never mind how hard he is.
Tony is not taking advantage of this. Loki's in heat, he's going to treat it exactly like any time he's dealt with an O whose heat started early-disengage and, if that doesn't work, distract.
(Even if he really, really wants to treat it differently-he's not an animal.)
He tries to discourage Loki by not replying to the quickly growing mass of texts (Tony's getting a fairly good idea of how many toys Loki has, Jesus). He deletes the pictures about as soon as they arrive instead of look at them, and once he's safely in the lab he has Jarvis filter for them so he doesn't even have that to deal with.
(Well. Other than his mind helpfully reminding him of what he did see, before he put two and two together and realized yes, Loki really was going to keep this up.)
Ignoring doesn't work, or doesn't give any sign that it will, so Tony goes for changing the subject. Some Os get talky during heat.
(Tony can't say he's surprised Loki's talky between peaks.)
That works. Mostly. Tony, for his part, is much more comfortable asking about the materials Loki's toys are made of-lets the engineer in him start ticking so instead of wishing he were there and trying to concentrate on anything besides his hardon, he's thinking about manufacture and construction and safe things that keep him from taking advantage. Loki, at least, seems content to badly mangle text in trying to answer questions, too far gone to remember why he'd texted in the first place.
Eventually, Loki gets bored (bored, that's one word for it). Tony keeps playing with schematics, just switching to electronics instead of the slew of toys he and Loki had been talking about.
He almost feels… peaceful.
(Funny, considering how this might ruin whatever was left between them.)
Except it doesn't.
Tony has no idea what to make of it. No idea what to make of the sudden deluge of second-rate electronics that means Loki was clearly buying them when he went out to get everyone else's things.
It's like he admitted something, and Tony's nearly ready to chase his own metaphorical tail just to figure out what.
"See?" Clint says, smug. "Talking isnt so bad."
Tony takes the high road and benches the plans to trap all the vents.
In fact, he might even say he's doing pretty good with Loki. The gifts feel like an all clear from Loki (even if Tony still is trying to figure out what he did to make it okay for Loki to 'talk' to him again). He still feels good.
Hell, Loki even texts him sometimes.
Then Natasha's late to a team meeting.
Weird, by itself, but she comes in with coffee and a shopping bag stuffed to the brim, sits down, and crosses her legs. Everyone stares at her.
She glances at them, eyebrow raised.
"Did I interrupt something?" she asks.
"What's with the bag?" Tony asks, just as Clint says, "Who are you and where is Natasha?"
"Where were you?" Steve asks, because someone has to ask the obvious question.
"Oh," Natasha says, widening her eyes in surprise, and Tony knows he isn't going to like whatever she says next, he never does when she gets that faux shock look, "I had to go pick Loki up from the airport. Did he not tell any of you? I wondered where you all were," and no, no, Tony really doesn't like this.
"And you forgot to mention that," Steve says. He doesn't sound convinced; smart man, Tony isn't convinced, Tony is see-sawing between furious and confused and hurt-what does she mean Loki's back, more, why didn't Loki tell anyone? Besides Natasha?
The fucker planned this. With Natasha. Because Natasha doesn't just forget to mention plans, and he would.
"Problem, Stark?" she asks, smiling sweetly.
Tony makes it until it's dark out before he shows up at Loki's apartment, entirely sober, still fuming that Loki didn't tell him that he was coming back.
(Not that Loki had—
No, Loki totally should have told Tony. Things were (sort of) good again.
Tony pounds on the door, but he keeps himself from yelling. Just mutters under his breath about how stupid Loki is, he thought things were alright, and why didn't Loki say something. He's about to start knocking again, eyes taking in the door and figuring out where the best place to hit it to break it in might be, when he hears the lock, muffled indistinct grumbles—
And there's Loki.
He's rumpled, his hair is tied up but just barely too short to stay put, little fly aways wisping at his neck, a too large sweatshirt hanging off his shoulder, sweatpants to match. Rich scent of not-quite chocolate, shallower one of vanilla (soap), a low dark musk beneath all of that. He's blinking at Tony, bleary, barely awake; Tony takes it all in as he sweeps his eyes up, opens his mouth to say something, and meets Loki's eyes—
home.
He can't remember why he was angry. He's rooted, grounded in smell and green-brilliant and sharp, like… like everything is just… perfect.
(Like he fits)
(fuck)
"Loki," Tony says, reverent, awed without meaning to be.
(fuck fuck, retreat, bad idea, stupid—)
Loki blinks, then slams the door in Tony's face.
Tony just stands there.
(Move, perfect moment for an exit, he doesn't do talking, especially not emotional talking, but…)
(Just this once; if Tony didn't fuck up before maybe, just maybe, he won't fuck this up either.)
"Loki!"
"Go away!"
Tony isn't that great at picking up emotions muffled through a door (or ever); even so Loki sounds panicked.
But he's not in heat, not even close-Tony knows that smell-and just maybe…
"Loki, I'm not leaving, come on, it's cold out here, you're not an idiot, you knew—"
"Then freeze, I'm not-"
"Loki," Tony says, but Loki doesn't say anything. Tony presses his palm to the door. Fuck. He's not the only one who was blind-sided, was he? "Loki," he repeats. He chews his lip. Tony Stark doesn't do emotions, doesn't do talking. So far, nonverbal has worked fine.
But he's here, even if his sense of self-preservation is telling him to leave.
"Hey, you listening?"
Silence. Tony takes it as a yes.
"Just…" he pauses, eyes searching over the door. "Just… welcome home."
The door creaks open, just a little, and Tony steps back. Loki doesn't open it all the way this time, just stares at Tony-face blank, blank as it was the first time Tony pushed that stray strand of hair behind Loki's ear.
Tony smiles at him. Tries to smile; it hurts, even just smiling with the corner of his mouth. He should have left when he had the chance.
"I missed you," Tony tells him. He lets himself meet Loki's eyes again-green and home, he's not ever going to get that association out of his head (to think he nearly lost—)
Loki hesitates a moment, then reaches out and grabs Tony by the wrist. His grip is loose, it'd be easy for Tony to break free of it, but when Loki tugs, Tony follows, trying not to think how utterly terrifying this is. Worse than any other situation he's been in by half.
(He's never-he's fit, but not like this, never needed someone as desperately as he needs Loki, now.)
"Were you asleep?" Tony asks as Loki closes the door, looking around the apartment. He knew Loki had it (obviously), but he's never seen it before. It's… cluttered, cluttered the way Tony's lab is, he's sure Loki knows exactly where everything is, heavy curtain over the front window and furniture a mishmash of things probably gotten over the years. Entirely at odds at how Loki presents himself. He turns to look at Loki again. Loki has his arms crossed over his chest; he's made an attempt at pulling the stretched out neck of the sweatshirt up, but it's already sliding back down. It leaves the pale expanse of his neck bare, wisps of black hair stark against it-Tony forces himself to look up at Loki's face before he can make this any more awkward than it already is. "You were."
"Why are you here?" Loki asks.
"I'm not repeating myself," Tony says. One of Loki's brows goes up.
"You actually—"
"Meant it? Yes." Tony chuckles. "Don't know why I told you."
Loki swallows, looking away. He looks small, smells… unsure, maybe. Tony doesn't know, but he wants to.
"Hey." He risks stepping closer to Loki, risks sliding a hand along Loki's arms, risks tilting Loki's face towards his with a hand. Start small, little, ease into whatever the fuck they are and both are finally admitting. (Fuck, everything feels massive right now anyway, small at least won't crush him under the weight.) "Why don't we go back to bed?"
Loki eyes Tony through his lashes, face still again, then he breathes out in a rush as he leans into Tony's touch.
Awkward-they're both awkward. Tony looks up as he slides his shoes off next to where he's ditched his coat and catches Loki staring, eyes darting away to look anywhere else in the room, arms still folded over his chest.
(He's never been so happy to feel so out of place in his life.)
"Come on," Tony says; this time he grabs Loki's wrist, rubbing his thumb on the thin skin of Loki's pulse, and tugs. He smiles, steps backwards towards the bed (because awkward or not, Tony knows beds, knows bedrooms, knows this situation (even if not in this context)); keeps his hand around Loki's wrist but doesn't do more than exert slight pressure, giving Loki the room and ability to stay put if he wants. Loki doesn't move his feet, but he lets his arm extend, and Tony laughs, nervousness easing, because it's so Loki to both give and not give at all. "Come on," Tony says again, and takes another step back though it will put him too far away to keep his grip if Loki doesn't follow.
Loki's eyes slip down to where Tony's hand is on his skin, and follows a step. A second. Tony keeps backing up until his knees hit the edge of the bed and he sits down-he lets himself just look at Loki where he's stopped.
"I won't bite," Tony says. "Much." He winks.
Loki laughs; it's shakey, uncertain, but his eyes crinkle at the corners as he closes the distance, standing between Tony's legs, shaking his hand free so he can settle both on Tony's shoulders.
"I was going to say," Loki says.
"You like biting? Excellent." Tony rubs his face into Loki's stomach, breathing him in-there, the high almost-chocolate scent all bittersweet and mouth-watering, under that the musky base, vanilla soap, lavender (detergent?), salt tang of sweat, a high note of excitement or nervousness (maybe both). Tony doesn't know, there's more there to try and map. Feels like he could spend all day just figuring out the scent of him, but pushes on, edging the tips of his fingers under Loki's sweatshirt to his skin.
"There's a strong possibility," Loki says, shivering and hands tightening on Tony's shoulders as Tony slides his hands next to Loki's spine. "Lack of test data to know for certain." Tony moves his head enough so he can look up at Loki; Loki's staring at him like there's nothing else that exists, awe and confusion and a little want, sharp contrast against how steady he's keeping his voice, and Tony presses his fingertips into Loki's skin for a moment, just holding him.
"We don't ha—"
"Natasha taught me how to break your collarbone," Loki interrupts, eyes narrowing.
"So we're definitely testing biting," Tony says, letting his smirk get a little toothy as he nips Loki's belly. Well, more sweatshirt, but Loki's jumping back like it's skin Tony's nipping; Tony applies pressure to Loki's back, holding him, watching him out of his peripheral. "Any other requests?" he asks as he rubs from Loki's back to his waist with one hand, pushing the sweatshirt up-for a moment, he just stares at the slight curve of Loki's hip before it slides under the low-riding sweatpants (definitely not alpha hips), the ripple of muscle tensing beneath the skin.
(There's another smell, now-warm, wet, almost floral-and Tony has to choke back a groan, shifting to ease the pressure of his pants, because Loki's arousal still smells as sweet as he remembers, as mouth-watering, even if now it lacks the hothouse quality Loki's heat gave it before.)
Tony presses a kiss to the inside curve of Loki's hip thoughtlessly, closing his eyes, trails a string along the bone. Loki goes still, fingers digging into Tony's shoulders, and for a moment Tony worries he's fucked up, starts to pull away-then Loki lets out a breathy little whine from the back of his throat, a hand grabbing Tony's hair. Tony smiles and runs the tip of his nose back up the curve, leaning back so he can look up at Loki.
(That look again, awe and confusion, but more want, so much more want, near raw—)
"Come on," Tony says, sliding back further on the bed; he nearly falls over as Loki crawls into his lap, tangle of limbs and Loki's so fucking tall; Tony can't help laughing, grabbing Loki to keep from tipping backwards even as Loki's cheeks stain red.
(The tips of his ears-with his hair tied up-Tony had no idea the tips of Loki's ears went red, it's—
"What?" Loki snaps, shoulders tight.
"You're hair does the thing," Tony says. That's not a lie, even if it's not what he's staring at right until it is, the words reminding him to look a little down and yes-still wisps of hair that managed to escape licking at Loki's throat and Tony's always had a thing for throats nevermind how stereotypically alpha it is.
"What thing?"
"This," Tony says, gently rubbing his fingers over a wisp, where the hair joins neck; Loki goes boneless (Tony wraps an arm around his waist to keep him upright), lids drooping as his eyes roll up, lips parting with a soft whine and unconscious hip roll. "Oh," Tony breathes (half-smothered under the weight of-this isn't his first, he's slept with dozens of people, but suddenly he can't remember any of them, fingertips following the line of Loki's throat, Loki's fingers caught loose in Tony's shirt as he gives soft, breathy whines, grinding against his lap, and Tony could get off on just this and be perfectly content).
"Anywhere else I should…" Tony trails off, because he doesn't want to ask, he wants to find all the places that make Loki go lax himself, this isn't-this isn't like anyone else. This is Loki.
He has time.
Loki opens his eyes, lips still parted, blinking dazed and all Tony wants is to keep him this way, half-worship and all possessive.
"Tony," Loki says-his voice is low, rough. "Tony." His grip tightens, tugging at Tony's shirt, and Tony's all too happy to let go of Loki long enough to pull it off, undershirt quickly following; keeps getting glimpses of Loki's skin, Loki pulling his too big sweatshirt off, but he's got time (even if he doesn't feel like it). It's not like it's long before he's got his hands on Loki's skin again, kissing his collarbone and feeling Loki's hum against his tongue.
"Come on," Tony says, dragging himself backwards across the bed until his back hits the pile of pillows, trying not to knee Loki or knock him over, Loki following on hands and knees (nearly a prowl, but soft, just barely, at the edges). Loki keeps touching him, eyes on Tony's skin, breeze light touches of scars, ghosting over his ribs, all pale skin that looks luminescent next to Tony's tan. Tony hooks a leg behind Loki's knee and drags him closer-hurry up, but his tongue's stills as Loki meets his eyes (everything's going to be green this quarter, that's it). Tony doesn't know how long they just stare at (drown in) each other.
"I—" Loki starts, then stops, hands cupping Tony's face. His thumb strokes along Tony's jaw, and Tony rests back on his elbows, watching the way Loki looks at him (no one looks at him like that, but here's Loki, proving him wrong). "I have no idea what I'm doing," Loki says; before Tony can say anything, Loki kisses him.
It's hesitant, softer than even the way Loki touched him as they crawled into the bed. Tony doesn't press, lets Loki figure this out (Loki's never been shy). Loki hums (Loki hums when he's content, Tony files that away). Tony slips his hands back to Loki's waist, tugging, and Loki settles against him, heavy and warm, straddling one of his legs. Loki's still sorting out Tony's mouth, teeth grazing and tugging at his bottom lip. Tony grins, pulls Loki down as he shifts his leg—
Loki groans, sliding down Tony's thigh most of three inches, hot and damp even through two layers of pants; claws at Tony's skin for purchase, panting and wide eyed, trying to right himself. Tony lets him-just a little-before pulling again.
"Tony," Loki rasps, voice wrecked, and Tony can't help laughing, nosing at Loki's throat, wrapping an arm around him to keep him down. Loki gets the idea and lets his weight settle, beginning to grind against Tony's thigh, damp soaking through both their pants. Tony watches Loki's face (greedy)-flush riding high and brilliant red on his cheeks and ear tips even in the dim light, bottom lip caught between his teeth, eyelids drooping. Loki's hands have found holds, nails digging into Tony's ribs, other hand grabbing the bed frame behind Tony's head.
"Loki," Tony purrs back, reaching up to cradle the side of Loki's face with one hand and Loki fucking whimpers, eyes squeezing shut tight, and Tony's utterly gone, pulling Loki's head up, trying to get him to look, realizing—"Come on, Loki, come on, look at me," as he rubs Loki's cheekbone. Loki's eyes slip open, meet Tony's, and he whines-yes, there it is, Loki's all about sight and smell and oh Tony loves this, loves that noise. "Yes, yes, that's it, that's it, be loud," and Loki's biting his lip again, shaking his head, trying to bury his face in Tony's shoulder, so Tony grabs his hair, yanks his head back, and bites Loki's throat, using his free hand to grab Loki's ass and haul him closer.
Loki howls, hips rutting faster as sweet scent of his orgasm fills the room, until he's boneless in Tony's arms while Tony keeps pressing kisses to his throat. Even though he's not gotten off, and probably won't at this rate, Tony feels like he'd be perfectly content as long as he could just keep on kissing Loki's throat.
(He's got time.)
But eventually, eventually, his blood has settled (mostly), and damp things are starting to get cold. He rolls them both to their side, despite Loki's murmured and half-asleep protests, peels both his and Loki's pants off, and navigates his way to the bathroom and a washcloth. And hey, if he jerks one off while he's alone, he's only human and Loki is definitely mostly asleep in the other room.
He does get a different washcloth to clean Loki up with and goes back. Loki's eyes are half open, watching him as he comes over.
"Ass," Loki says; his voice is shot, and Tony can't help his smirk even if it gets him punched in the arm. Loki tries to steal the washcloth, but Tony gets him pinned (enough that Loki can pretend he's actually pinned) and cleans him himself; Loki's otherwise being quiet, though, and when Tony glances up at him, an eyebrow cocked, Loki's staring at him.
"I could have…." Loki trails off, licking his lips and glancing away.
Tony chuckles, leaning up to steal a kiss.
"While you could have, you didn't, and you were drooling on my shoulder." Tony pauses.
(He's been saying later in his head, has kept thinking there's time, but he hasn't voiced it, and what if…?)
(Better now than never.)
"Anyway," Tony says, looking back down, folding the washcloth into quarters, "we've got time."
The words hang there, and Tony (almost) wishes he could take them back.
Then Loki hums (content), grabbing hold of Tony's wrist and tugging (lightly, so Tony could pull away if he wanted). Tony goes, catching Loki's mouth in another kiss (this time pushing, taking the lead), and settles in Loki's bed (their bed? no, too big, still, stay small).
He can't sleep (strange new place), but Loki curls close and drapes closer, asleep in moments. Tony strokes a hand through his hair, watches him with a smile he wants to get rid of (but not enough to stop), and (for the first time in a long time) feels home.
closing notes: Yes. I absolutely think Tony did right in regards to the pictures; anything else would have been fucking creepy. Loki wasn't in a coherent frame of mind (being both drunk and in heat) to give a coherent 'yes i want you to have these pictures.' Consent doesn't have a blurred line-Tony said as much in his chapter 2 intro. Loki's reaction when sober and sound of mind again when he realized he'd sent them just proves the point.
That bit of soapbox done, thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed~