Chapter VI—Defeated the Foul
Heinous (adjective): utterly odious or wicked.
"Tony."
He blinked at the crowd and shrugged to shake the intruding hand from his shoulder. "'m not givin' interviews..."
"Tony!" a voice hissed. He blinked again, and this time, the crowd dissolved, leaving a single face behind.
"You're not a journalist..." he slurred.
Loki pursed his lips. "No, I am not. Were you dreaming a press conference?"
"No. A bunch of persistent journalists..." Yawning, he rubbed his eyes. The room was dark but for a torch near to the bed. It was still night. "They didn't let me stay in your room. I think they were worried about my virtue..."
Loki's lips twitched into a smile, then curled downwards again. He found Tony's hand and locked their fingers together. "Maybe they were. Just not in the sense you mean."
"I don't think I like Asgard very much." He scooted away and held the blanket up, inviting Loki to join him. Which the god did, in a way; he took his boots off and lay down on top of the covers.
"How come you're here?"
Loki stared at him for a moment, thoughts flashing behind his eyes.
"I couldn't sleep."
"Mhm." Tony wrapped a strand of black hair around his finger. "You look wrecked. Are you okay?"
"Marvelous. Splendid. Wonderful. Take your pick."
He buried his fingers into Loki's hair. "You're not in pain, are you?"
"No."
The torch flickered slightly, making shadows dance over the walls, the bed, Loki's face.
"There's going to be a war, right?"
Loki turned at that, torchlight making his expression look as if it were carved out of stone.
"There already is. The question is: do we keep fighting?"
"Is it our war?" Had killing the henchman been enough of a revenge?
"Not yours."
"If it's yours, it's mine, too. So, is it?"
Loki closed his eyes and laid his cheek on Tony's chest. "Perhaps. Odin is trying to make it so."
"You talked to him?"
"Yes. You are to be introduced to the court in the afternoon as Thor's shield brother. Odin is officially ending my banishment."
"That sounds nice enough."
"You'd still do well to avoid being seen with me too much. I'm not liked around here."
"I'm not going to pretend I don't know you."
Loki lifted his head and caught Tony's gaze. "I wouldn't want you to. But intimacy is out of question."
"In public?"
"In public."
"Good." The inventor began drawing an arc reactor on Loki's cheek with his finger. "Why does Odin want you to be involved in the war? You've got a way to kick the Elves' asses?"
"In theory, yes."
"And?" he prompted. "What is it?"
Loki's lips formed a sour smile. "Power. Pure, unlimited power."
~*oO*o*Oo*~
There were still questions on Tony's mind, but Loki laid his head on the man's chest and closed his eyes. Without even thinking, Tony ran his fingers through those black strands.
"You think it would work?"
Loki hummed something nondescript and shifted a bit, probably trying to find the most comfortable position.
"Sleep?" Tony asked.
It wasn't even a real hum he received in return this time, just a muffled "Ng." Let it be Loki's way then. Tony could go answer-hunting in the morning.
The Jotun thing. Why hadn't his skin been burned black with frostbite? Could he ever see Loki's scars? Would Loki want to fight in the war? What would Asgard say to Tony's presence? Why hadn't Loki taken time to bathe or even change before coming to Tony's room? The god seemed to have only put on a new tunic, leaving everything else as it had been.
Sleep came before the answers. Too soon, the morning substituted it, bringing with it horribly loud banging (read: knocking on his door) that nearly had Tony climb up the canopy (because yes, Aesir beds apparently had canopy. Or he was just special; one could never know).
"I'm coming, I'm coming, no need to take it out on the door," he grumbled and staggered out of bed. Someone had to be really interested in seeing him.
He pulled the heavy door inwards and blinked at an unknown face. "Can I help you?"
"My name is Lirfeir, and I have been tasked with making sure you have anything and everything you may require for the duration of your stay, Lord Stark. We've delivered your morning meal."
Lord Stark?
"Oh. Yeah, great. Just... give it to me, then."
The servant looked at him with a puzzled expression and glanced to his side, a direction into which Tony couldn't see since he was still standing at the other side of the doorstep. He decided to amend that the next second—
Only to lay his eyes on three more men, each holding a silver tray with both hands. An enormous silver tray that was covered, but still had 'food' written all over it. And then there was a woman with a pitcher of something, too.
"Oh."
Nope, he couldn't carry all that, but Loki was still out cold in his bed. If only the curtains had been drawn...
"Excuse me for a moment. I'll let you in in a second."
Eternally grateful for the canopy he'd nearly started mocking before, he slipped back into the room, spared only a quick glance to Loki's sleeping form (beautiful), and yanked the curtains shut. Breathing a sigh of relief, he returned to the door.
"You can come in now."
Lirfeir bowed a bit, then led the group inside and to the table located near the fireplace.
"Do you require anything, my lord? Should I have Greld make your bed?"
Tony was about to ask what a greld was when he once again noticed the direction the servant was looking at, and followed his gaze to the blanket hanging down to the floor, clearly visible under the edge of the curtains.
"No, no, I'm good. I'll take care of it later, it's fine."
From the way Lirfeir looked at him, Tony figured he must have said something very, very strange again.
"That would be a poor show of hospitality, my lord. Greld will take care of it for you." He gestured at the women, so that at least explained what a—who Greld was, and perhaps letting an important guest make his own bed would really be unacceptable (the room had been impeccable when he'd arrived, a hot bath and meal, albeit much smaller than this one, waiting for him), but there was no way he was going to let anyone find Loki in his bed. Not after the god had told him just being seen interacting with him in public could make Tony unpopular or even outright disliked. If that was true—and it likely was, or at least Loki was convinced it was—then having somebody find the god here could be disastrous. Tony couldn't allow it. For Loki's sake, if nothing else.
"You can't—I mean, on Earth—Midgard—it's considered terribly rude to touch somebody else's bed. Really rude. Nobody would do that. So, uh, if you could not touch my bed?"
"Oh." Lirfeir shifted in the way of a man who'd just had his conviction that he could do his job well torn apart and trampled. "Of course. Apologies, my lord."
"That's fine." Tony was just glad they'd bought his lame lie. "If you'd go now?" Disappear. Vanish. Puff. Go.
"Yes, of course." Lirfeir bowed, and the others followed his example before backing out of the room. The moment the door closed behind them, soft laughter rang through the room (and maybe, possibly, made Tony's breathing hitch a bit).
"I must be a terribly rude person"—Loki pulled the curtains apart—"to keep touching you bed like this aaalll the time," he drawled.
Tony rolled his eyes. "Extremely rude. You even use my pillow."
"Such bad manners I have." The god kicked the bundle of quilts aside. "Thank you for covering for me."
"You're welcome. Will you join me for breakfast or scrub the dirt off your skin first?"
"Bathing, I think. There must be wasteful amounts of meat on those plates." Yawning, Loki clasped his hands together above his head and stretched his torso into a delicious curve. "Why don't you join me in the bath?"
"Swimming in all that dirt?" He cocked his head. "I'll suffer through. For you."
A pillow hit him in the stomach.
~*oO*o*Oo*~
He'd been surprised at the elegance and advancement of an Aesir bathroom at first. The bath was actually a small pool in the ground, shaped as an elegantly curved crescent, with warm water cascading into it from an opening in the wall surrounded by Celtic knots. Okay, the whole wall was one big knot, but Tony spent more time figuring out how old water left the pool and how the flushing system of the Aesir toilet (there were suspiciously many pipes) worked than admiring the art work. Perhaps because there seemed to be so much of it; both smaller walls, facing each other, were partially covered by mirrors and made the patterns on the other two walls continue into eternity.
Right now, he was completely satisfied watching Loki sit on the edge of the bath/pool, rippling the water's surface with his legs. Long, pale legs, parted just so, as if they were meant to give Tony ideas...
He waded across the bath from where he'd been sitting and came to stand first in front, then between those legs. His hands settled on the slick thighs, and he glanced up at Loki, who met his gaze. Tony's hands moved a bit, and the god shifted.
It was entirely unfair that he should be so attractive. His skin glistened with droplets of water, the moisture in the air made his hair curl, and the way his breathing caught when Tony slid his hands over his inner thighs and up but not quite up enough, was just sinful.
"Tony. Tony."
"Is that okay? Should I stop?" Oh, how he didn't want to. His body had stirred awake, and having to spend any more time in the bath with Loki without touching him would be torture.
"I don't... I don't know."
"Lo?"
The god shook his head. "I don't know."
Nodding once, he slowly slid his hand to Loki's cock—
And Loki jerked away. Tony's heart sank. Perhaps he should have expected it, what with the stress of the last few days, but after they'd had actual sex, he'd been hoping they'd moved forward.
"I'm sorry," Loki murmured. "Please, don't."
"It's fine. We don't have to."
"You want to." Loki partly straightened his leg to point towards Tony's half-hard cock. What, the idea of having Loki in a fancy bath with all that wet skin either sliding against his was arousing, okay? "You need..."
"Nah, I'll just...do something later."
That was awkward. And a bit embarrassing.
"Do it now."
He blinked. "What?"
Loki bit his lip (which was not distracting, no, not at all). "Do it now. I want to see."
That sent blood rushing down. "Let me get this straight. You want to watch me masturbate while I'm thinking about all the things I would do to you?"
Slowly, Loki nodded.
"How is that not involving you in sex?" It better be, too. If such a show would leave Loki cold, then Tony should be starting to get seriously worried just about now.
"Distance. Tony, please. There are different variations of hot. I want to try this."
"Fine by me, then." Like anyone would object to that.
He let his gaze caress Loki's body; his lean chest, his long, long legs, muscles of his arms that shifted just so when he leaned back onto his hands, the dips of his collar bones. A part of him imagined Loki could feel his eyes worship his skin, and when their gazes met, Tony's hand slowly travelled down and closed around his cock.
There was something in that green, something that held Tony's eyes open even though he would have closed them otherwise. A certain kind of want, not even physical so much as it seemed to be rising from all those secret places behind Loki's breastbone. Perhaps Tony should be drinking in Loki's body with his gaze, imagining what he would do to that expanse of pale skin and lean muscles, but he found himself unwilling to break the connection. Unable to. Loki's eyes held his attention like a beacon, the centre, the axis of his universe. Tony's body was submerged in heat that was entirely different from the caressing warmth of water.
His lips parted to let a sigh through. His hand sped up; water resisted the movement. He didn't care anymore. Soft, heated moans filled the humid air. His own, probably. They had to be.
Some other time, he would have Loki's legs wrapped around his waist, drawing him in, and his hands could tug at black strands just so while his lips sang secrets to Loki's and their breaths eloped.
He came with a shudder that gripped his body and arched his spine. Finally, his eyes slid closed, but even then the green remained in front of his mind's eye.
A gasping breath or two later, he forced his eyelids up again, only to discover he wasn't the only one breathing too fast. Loki's eyes were wild and dark, his cock half hardened, his chest rising and falling quickly.
"Like that?" Tony offered a lazy smile. He wasn't sure what to expect next, but then Loki would let him know. Probably.
"Like that."
The god hopped off the edge; droplets painted his skin and settled in his hair. He made a languid swimming motion, and them he was there, right in front of Tony, and pressing himself into an embrace.
"Hey." Tony smoothed the wet strands at Loki's nape. His other arm slid around the god and pulled him close, his thigh slipping between Loki's. "Want me to take care of this?"
Moving his leg a bit made Loki's breath hitch in his throat.
"N-no... There's no need. Tony..."
The strength of the arms around his increased and, "Ouch. Babe, I still need my ribs."
The pressure decreased.
"Ah, blessed air..." It had sounded more melodramatic in his head. "Is my bag still in your room?"
Loki shook his head against Tony's shoulder. "I brought it with me. But beware: they will have Aesir clothes prepared for you tonight."
"For the feast?"
A nod this time.
"And what do we do until then?"
Loki lifted his head. "Either Thor will come bother you or has arranged for you to be bothered, or Odin has decided you are really a guest of honour, in which case he will send somebody to remind Thor you need to be bothered. Or you will be left alone. The latter option is highly unlikely to occur."
"Right... I take it whoever will be bothering me, it won't be you."
"No, it won't be me."
Joy of joys. Was he really about to be stuck with noisy people all day?
"But I can find a way to see you if that is all right?"
His brow furrowed. He didn't really know what it was, but something seemed just a tiny bit off. Perhaps that Loki was explicitly asking for permission rather than just stating the fact and waiting for Tony to simply tell him if whatever the god had suggested wouldn't work? Or maybe, maybe Tony just hated what Asgard in general did to Loki, the discreet but ever-present tension in his body, the way his gaze darkened too often, or his voice turned bitter whenever he spoke of his own position in Asgard or anything related to that.
"Of course it is," he said quietly. "Babe? What happened on that ashen world? The whole Jotun thing? Why didn't your touch hurt me?"
Loki's arms fell away from Tony's body.
"I don't know," the god said. "I don't want to talk about it."
"Is there a way for you to figure it out?"
"I don't know," Loki repeated, an edge to his words this time, and Tony decided he should take the hint now if he wanted to avoid an argument.
Surely Loki had ways he could go about gathering information. Trying things. Coming up with theories. Hell, even Tony could do the last one. Instead, he just said, "Okay," and swallowed the questions.
Loki nodded in return. Then, lips barely moving, he muttered, "Perhaps Mother could help."
Tony pulled him back into a hug.
~*oO*o*Oo*~
Loki had been right.
He was also gone, having left barely a minute before Tony's peace was disturbed by another loud knock. This time, he found only two people outside the door. Warriors, by the looks of it. Then again, he wasn't overly familiar with Aesir clothes and what ranks they implied, if any.
"Can I help you?"
The man, a blond, short-bearded representative of the species with what seemed to be a devil-may-care attitude, smiled widely.
"We are here to help you."
"You have to excuse Fandral," the woman—tall, tough-looking, with a waterfall of black hair—spoke. "He lost his manners at the sight of the first woman he'd seen this morning and hasn't been able to recover them since." She closed her fist and put it on her chest. "My name is Sif. This is Fandral the Dashing"—Tony held back a snort—"and we are friends of Thors. He sends his apologies, but his duties do not allow for his presence here at the moment."
Uh-huh. "And by duties you mean Jane Foster?"
Sif's eyes narrowed, but Fandral laughed. "Clever, this one. I think we'll get along just fine."
Doubtful.
These were Thor's friends. The same friends who had committed treason against Loki.
Tony wasn't exactly planning to become best buddies with them. As it was, he also had no intentions of making enemies in a foreign realm, especially since every person in the said realm could kill him with their bare hands.
"Of course. I'm Tony Stark."
"We have heard of you, Man of Iron. Thor has told us about you heroics in battle."
Yeah. That. Wiping out perhaps an entire alien species so that humans could live. It had never been a real choice; nothing to consider. He would choose the same any time, and he wasn't even overly troubled, because the Chitauri happened to look the way they did and were trying to destroy his home, but as far as heroic battle went—well, he could imagine something better. Or just avoid crap altogether. Too bad crap always managed to find him.
"Yeah. Look, my room is kind of messy, so if you want to come in, don't say I didn't warn you."
"It's a short tour around the palace that we had in mind." Or what Thor had had in mind and sent them to do. As far as 'short' went, Tony doubted in was even possible; the place was enormous. He accepted nevertheless (did he even have the right to refuse or would that be considered an insult?), but as they walked the golden halls and Sif's chatter filled his ears with details of battles and hunts of long ago, Tony began to wonder where Loki would have taken him if he were Tony's guide. Library for sure. The gardens. Probably to some tower with great view, and to all those amazing little hiding places he'd used as a child. Loki would have taken him to places that were important to him, that had value, and Tony would very much prefer those as opposed to depictions of battles and golden statues of god-knows-who. Why did they even have so many painted walls in the first place? To boast?
Nobles. Typical nobles. Except for the little fact that Tony knew paintings of lords and ladies who were doing their best to look regal and sophisticated as opposed to these depictions where strength and readiness to kill seemed to be at the forefront.
"And this"—Sif turned to face the shorter wall of the room—"is the last Great War, in which Odin Allfather defeated the foul Frost Giants."
Tony's gaze followed hers—
And he froze.
It was just another scene, painted directly on the wall like all the others, only it was larger, much, much larger, covering the entire wall. Larger and violent. The Jotnar's eyes shone red, their bodies were hunched, mouths opened in feral snarls, hands clawed. Tony could practically hear them growl. His gaze followed the shards of broken ice to a fallen Aesir soldier and two Jotnar crouched next to him and leaning over the body. No, not leaning. Feeding from the body, gorging on the man's intestines while the poor soldier's face twisted in pain—
Tony swallowed and turned his gaze to the other side, doing his best to oversee a body chopped to pieces and a pile of Jotnar corpses somewhere around the middle. The far side of the painting, though—the far side was full of light coming from some invisible source and enveloping Odin's figure, making the painted gold of his armour seem real. One of his feet was resting on dark blue body, mangled in a strange way; Odin's spear had skewered the Jotun's head to the ground. In the god's other hand was a glowing blue box that reminded Tony on the Tesseract a bit too much even though it wasn't the Cube. Not that he cared right now. What he was seeing—what the artist had depicted—the Jotnar—they were monsters. Savages, creatures so feral that one could almost think they deserved to be slaughtered like they were. And Asgard? They were the heroes, the saviours.
He felt sick. Loki looked nothing like this, was nothing like this. Yet this was what he'd grown up with, what he'd spent so long believing. Racism at its finest.
"Man of Iron?"
He managed to turn towards Fandral. "Hm?"
The latter clasped Tony's shoulder for a moment. "Let's move on, shall we?"
"Yeah. Yeah, that would be… Yes." He swept the painting with his gaze once again. "Are they really like that?"
"The Frost Giants are monsters." Sif strode back the way they'd come, and the two men followed. "Beasts."
"But I've never seen them eat anyone," remarked Fandral. It probably wasn't meant to sound all that nice, but Tony was still a little bit thankful for his words.
~*oO*o*Oo*~
Loki stood in shadows, glamour wrapped around him. If somebody paid attention to his corner, they would see him, but of the few people that had come and gone, nobody cared to let his gaze linger on the corner he was sharing with a heap of straw.
The stable emptied, and still he didn't move. His attention was on the other side of the building, on the stalls he knew were hidden there behind the pillars.
He clenched his fists and unclenched them again.
His sigh was covered by the quiet snorts and the sound of an occasional hoof hitting the ground.
He swallowed and forced his feet to move.
A/N: If it seems I'm making Fandral somewhat sympathetic, it's because I am. Of the W4, he's the nicest to Loki in the movies, and I really like him in that TDW deleted scene with Hogun.
Crossposted at Ao3. You can find me on tumblr as shadesofmidnightsun, too. I'm still looking for a beta, in case anyone would be willing to do it.
Thanks for reading, and please drop a review. :)
~shades