~Sometimes I'm terrified of my heart; of its constant hunger for whatever it is it wants. The way it stops and starts.~

Loki woke up as a disgusting, sweaty, headache-ridden clusterfuck of self-loathing and emotional backlog. Because, really, had his life ever been this enormously fucked? Here's a quick rundown of the recent fantastic facts of Loki's rollercoaster life:

a) He's a fucking orphan.

b) Last night he probably screwed up any possibility of having a relatively normal life.

c) He kissed his best and currently only true friend.

d) He enjoyed kissing that friend far more than he would ever admit- even to himself.

e) Everything hurt- especially his burnt arm.

f) It was Monday. It was noon. And he had missed half his classes.

g) He's a fucking orphan.

To be honest, it's not really that bad. Things could be worse. Of course, in Loki's currently fabulous state of mind, he seriously doubted it would be more than five minutes before things did get worse. And wasn't that just fucking perfect.

The taste of cigarette smoke still lingered on his tongue, and the acidic wear-and-tear on his teeth reminded him of the copious amounts of vodka currently roiling around in his stomach, and the soft smell of something that was spicy, hard-working, and had caramel eyes that made him melt emanated from his t-shirt. A smile toyed with his lips, lips that had been crushed to a certain engineer's lips not too long ago. That kind of made everything suck a little less hard.

Oh dear god, is he a special kind of screwed.

Loki's fairly sure he's going to scream before the day is over. I mean, really, he's never felt this utterly hopeless and helpless. He has nothing. No family, no home, no friends, no sanity left to be destroyed. He was a little ball of misery, insanity, and despair. Because everything good in his life was destroyed. Everything he clung to dissipated. Everything he reached for stayed just out of reach. The people he loved hurt him, and the things he loved left. Loki was abandoned, betrayed, and wounded possibly beyond repair. Do such things as happiness and joy and peace exist?

Groaning at the vortex of banal teenage angst whirling in his head, he pulled the covers over his face and huffed a huge sigh. Where was he? Considering the fact that absolutely everything- even he himself- smelled like Anthony's strange amalgamation of expensive cologne and all things scientific and geniusy, Loki guessed he was at the engineer's apartment. And that smell brought back all of last night's completely stupid, absolutely perfect, fantastically euphoric events succeeding his utter breakdown in his car. Yeah. That hadn't been even slightly pitiful. -snort-

"I won't wake up in the morning regretting anything. Will you?" The look on Stark's face was priceless. He looked ready to swoon. Really, stop being cute. It's not okay, Anthony. Loki has to keep his head to stay all suave and smooth and superior.

The genius licked his lips, making Loki's heart skip a very fluttery beat. His heart had turned into a hummingbird and was beating at about three thousand miles an hour, and if Loki survived this, he was fairly positive he'd never feel this on fire and this alive ever again. Why is it that pain makes the fleeting moments of happiness all that much more razor sharp and in focus and overwhelming? Was it just the Universe apologizing for the seventh circle of hell that Loki currently resided in? Or was life just cruel and taunting that way? Loki neither knew nor cared, because right now there were ridiculously red lips pressing against his.

Everything got warm and comfy and sweet and perfect. Loki couldn't think because his mind was spinning so fast he was dizzy. Or maybe he was dizzy because this kind of euphoria was a fickle 'fuck you' to vertigo and a regular pulse. And gods, he felt secure and safe and untouchable in this man's arms, like the world couldn't get to him, like he was shielded from all the bad memories and painful reminders and the past few hours of breaking down and crying and agonizing over everything he suddenly felt as it flooded into his veins like a fatal poison. His life was arsenic, and Anthony Stark was the only cure. There was an antidote. A teenager with narcissism, ADHD, and addictions he didn't even begin to realize the extent of. A boy with daddy problems, suicidal tendencies, and more recklessness than Loki had ever experienced.

A soft warm tongue that promised the intoxicating taste of cigarettes and whiskey licked the curve of his lips gently. Loki's mouth opened without his permission, and that taste of everything that made up his new friend/ confidante/ and permanent irritant, slid into his mouth and shoved his mind into pure white noise.

In that moonlit alley behind the bar, where nothing existed but them and the twinkling, blinking, smiling stars above them, Loki kissed the one person on earth who could truly understand him. In a world where they were the only things that mattered, Loki could stop thinking about the fact that he was suddenly an orphan, that everything in his life was a lie, that he was breaking inside and shattering into tiny little miserable pieces of agony and heartbreak. And he loved Stark, for being his shield and his comfort and his little teddy bear, cried on and held close to his heart because nothing else could soothe that pain that resided in his chest. Even if it was superficial and shallow now, Loki loved him. Loved him with all his heart could muster.

Stark pulled back and started trailing kisses along his jawline. Loki closed his eyes tightly, wanting nothing but to ingrain this moment into his brain forever, to pull it out of his memory when everything went to hell again and again- because, with Loki's luck, it surely will continue to go to Hades. Maybe this was all he would have of happiness, of real, true happiness that he had always envied in his brother. Maybe for tonight, and tonight only, Anthony Stark would be his sunshine. Even in the midst of a furious hurricane, there is a calm, there is a moment of sunlight, there is a moment when the skies clear. Before the storm comes crushing down upon the serenity again, shattering it until it's over, until the havoc has been wreaked and chaos and destruction have had their way. This was the eye of the storm. It was not a delusion, it was not him doing as he had done before and throwing himself into sex and lust to escape his life, this was someone loving him and caring about him and wanting him. Not just his body- although knowing Anthony, that was surely a big part of it- but him. Who he was. How he thought. His silvertongue and sharp, cutting wit. He was as much of a handful as the strong, cold, screwed-up teenager holding him close. He was a bitchy, misanthropic, wolfish young man with a flair for the dramatic and a razor sharp tongue and extreme issues with trust. Anthony was an addicted, out-of-control, absentminded genius with a diva-narcissist-self-destructing screw loose. And somehow, Fate had pulled them together, like two flies on her spider's web called Life. Maybe she would devour them heartlessly, or maybe she would let them be, happy as two in such a position can be.

"Come on." Stark pulled away, threading their fingers together in his unique way. "Let's go home." The smile on the brunet's face really made Loki just want to burst into tears with how soft and sweet and warm it was and all the comfort and concern and care and love it conveyed. Did Stark realize the immense impact he had on his ridiculously imbalanced state of mind right now?

He trailed behind the teen in his car, letting himself be led back to Stark's apartment. It was the first time he had ever gone home with another man (other than the last time Anthony dragged him home whilest they were both drunk off their asses). Then again, there were a lot of firsts with Stark. He was the first person to make Loki feel safe, to make him feel like it was okay to let his walls down just a bit, like maybe in time he could trust the boy. He was the first to kiss Loki slowly, tenderly, like it wasn't just a prelude to sex and biting and ripping off clothes and pulling hair and sneaking out early in the morning. He was the first to push past Loki's mask of indifference and irritability and misanthropy to weasel into his heart and force Loki out of his comfort zone of hatred. And god, that was refreshing and freeing and all these amazing feelings Loki wasn't sure he actually had the ability to process.

And then there was the way Stark looked at him. Like he was the most beautiful, special, perfect human being those brown eyes had ever seen. It made Loki feel like he actually meant something to someone and it was so amazing it hurt. It hurt to feel this accepted and wanted and desired. It was something he had never felt before. No one had ever looked at him like they saw right through his masquerade, like every sophist lie and carefully wrought mask was as translucent as glass. Somehow, that touched his soul in a way he had been positive no one could ever touch him.

All of this was an overload for his massively underused heart. For so long- uh, nineteen years (also know as forever)- he had cut himself off to this feeling, this emotion, this overwhelming sensation of giving a shit about someone. He had never even cared about himself. As narcissistic and selfish as Loki was, he hated himself more than anyone, even Odin. For almost two decades, he had been loathing himself for not fitting in, for not coloring between the lines, for being so damnably different. And Odin had fueled that all-consuming fire, Thor had fed the flames as well- not on purpose, of course-, and all of his backstabbing friends and Benedict Arnold peers had made it grow and the flames consume more of his soul and eat away his insides. Now that someone was healing those burns and those wounds, it hurt. The healing always hurt. Even a balm to soothe the soul burns before it comforts.

This was all spinning around in his brain and mixing with endorphin's and repressed pain and the misery of knowing your life as you know it was always just a lie, whisking together to make a batter of sensory overload. Then they were stopping, and Stark was at his door, pulling him into a tight hug before Loki even realized he was sobbing. Everything he had gone through in the past 72 hours was too much. Everything hurt, everything burned him, everything wounded him deeper and deeper. When would it become too much? When would Loki snap, once and for all?

Now, Loki buried his nose in the pillow under his head and breathed in Stark's intoxicating mix of smells, relishing the somewhat icky warmth that cocooned his body and seemed to thrum across his skin. He could feel his heartbeat, that hyper-awareness that comes with being hungover making itself beyond recognized. There was a desperate need for a shower and coffee and clean clothes and shampoo and glorious, glorious soap that presented itself. Loki ignored it for the gross warmth of his little curled up half-asleep position and the fact that not moving was much better than getting up which guaranteed him upchucking everything he had ever eaten as well as all his guts- which he much preferred inside his body.

"Goodmorning, sunshine." A door opened and a cheerful voice, blessedly low and husky with sleep, assaulted his poor ears. Somehow, it didn't hurt like it should have. Maybe because now he liked that voice and appreciated it's depth and richness and warmth and dear god, he's turned into a mushy sap overnight. Is this what emotional devastation and boys made of teddy bear fluff do to a nineteen year old teenager?

"I'm not sure it's either good or morning." Loki murmured, burying his face in the pillow and forgetting how to breathe for a few seconds. Then claustrophobia- something about smothering yourself tends to bring that up- kicked in and he looked up and breathed in cool, fresh air again. Stark was smiling down at him with twinkling brown eyes that melted Loki's hard, icy core. "Okay, maybe it's not so bad." He grinned playfully.

"That's the spirit!" Anthony knelt down by his bed and placed his chin on his arms right in front of Loki's face. "You need food, like carbs or something, and water and coffee and probably Tylenol." He commanded.

"Ugh. You are determined to make me fat and addicted to painkillers, aren't you?" He moaned throwing his arms over his face with a dramatic sigh.

Long fingers ran down his ribs firmly. "Oh yeah, you're so gonna be so overweight, Loki." He could hear Stark's eyes roll. "Come on, up and at 'em, princess." Two hands fastened around his wrists and helped him gingerly get to his feet.

"Ow." He groaned, burying his face in Anthony's shoulder. "Shoot me. Please." He could feel the other boy laughing at his misery.

"Contrary to popular belief, all dashing, charming, ridiculously sexy millionaire bachelors are not serial killers." Anthony teased playfully. "Seriously, let's try food, caffeine, and Tylenol before execution, 'kay?" He kissed the side of Loki's head.

"Okay. Then I have to go shopping, because these clothes are disgusting and the rest of my wardrobe was either burnt with the rest of my belongings, or...is still at the Odinson's." He looked down at his ragged nails, bit to hell by his own jagged, nervous teeth. Fabulous. His perfect manicure, ruined.

Tan hands twined with his own. "Hey, it's okay. I'm here. Alright?" Loki looked up into warm brown eyes that promised of a light at the end of this tunnel, even if he couldn't see it now. Gods. Curse you, Anthony.

He nodded and allowed himself to be dragged into the kitchen.

Tony stretched out on the floor, staring up at the ceiling while Loki showered. He still couldn't believe he had kissed the boy. And he hadn't gotten slapped for it. In fact, Loki had actually liked it. Will wonders never cease? Of course, there was still the niggling doubt in the back of his mind that said Loki was just vulnerable and scared and upset and would have kissed any boy who dared to comfort him and hold him and love him. And maybe they were both that way, because really, who had ever dared to comfort them and hold them and love them but each other?

But there was the fact that, yeah, Loki had been through an insane amount of personal tragedy in the past few days and he had come to Tony. Tony. Loki had come to him. He couldn't get over it. Sure, it didn't mean they were in love, or trusted each other, or hell, it didn't even mean they liked each other- or that Loki liked Tony because Tony is finally willing to admit that yeah, he likes Loki a whole fucking lot-, but it meant it was the beginning of something. Something that could end up being...amazing. Fuck, that was scary. But Tony wasn't running away. Not this time. Because Loki Odinson was fucking special, he could see it in those radioactive green eyes that threatened to burn his flesh and char his bones. He had never felt that way before.

The air conditioner clicked on. Cool air started filling the apartment. Everything was silent except for the sound of the A/C and the running shower. It was like serenity embraced the apartment for the first time in ever. When had Tony ever experienced peace or quiet or calmness? When was his life not a maelstrom of anger and addiction and Howard and media problems and the consequences of his own fuck-ups? When did he lay down without being drunk as a skunk or getting laid? When did he ever just lay still and let his mind think happy thoughts? When did Tony have happy thoughts, ever, for that matter. It all hit him like a brick wall.

Tony was happy.

Sort of.

Momentarily.

Knock on wood.

No, literally, someone was knocking on the door and Tony had to get up- groaning and grumbling irritably (whoops there goes happiness)- and answer the fucking door. Cue one goatee-adorned jaw drop.

"Stane?" He frowned, what was his dad's right-hand man doing at his apartment? Sans Howard, thank fuck. "Uh. Whatcha doin' here?" He tugged a wayward curl- like they weren't all wayward (-snort-)- nervously.

"Well, I was thinking maybe we could have a little talk." Obadiah sounded a little too calm and placating for Tony's taste. "Your dad didn't think coming would be wise because of your...current estrangement." He smiled neutrally.

Obie was not one to interfere with Tony and Howard's shit relationship. This had never happened before and really Tony wasn't okay with it happening now. What went on between him and Howard was strictly between him and Howard. As much as he hated the man, he didn't really want all the words passed between them to be aired out in front of the media. Especially Howard's recent insinuations about Tony causing Maria's death. A sharp pang hit his chest like a dagger to the heart.

"Uh. Okay. Fine." He stepped back to allow the man inside. Then followed, and flopped on the couch insolently. As much as he respected Obie, he wasn't going to even pretend to be pleased that the man was here, in his apartment, invading his personal space and short-lived happiness. Plus, Loki was here, and he was pretty sure the boy would not want Odin finding out he was fraternizing with Tony. Especially if Odin knew anything about Loki's iffy sexual orientation. "So, what's up?" He looked up at Obie, all business man in his Italian suit and pricey gold watch and bald head and meticulously trimmed beard. And, really, he was fairly sure he already knew what the older man wanted.

"Well, I'm working on a new weaponry project and I could really use your expertise. There are a few things I'd love to pick your brain about. And...well, your dad mentioned you were looking for work. This will pay handsomely." Tony barely kept himself from rolling his eyes. Everything was about money, money, money. Tony was tired of money, he was sick of it. Every time it was mentioned, he wanted to barf. Although, okay, he really did need a job because if he didn't get one soon, the money would run out and his rent would be due. And getting kicked out on his ass was not the type of rebellion he went for. Ascetics weren't really his style.

Tony looked up at the ceiling. "Nah. I'm good. I really don't want to be in the armory business. I'm pretty sure Howard has supplied the world with enough weapons of mass destruction for the both of us." He muttered. 'Merchant of Death' was not an idle title. His dad lived up to it with every fiber of his being. Tony refused to follow suit. Even if they were rare and scant, Tony did have a few morals- including, thou shalt not kill the world with atom bombs and big ass missiles.

Sure, Tony could pretty much build anything. And explosives were child's play. He'd been building rockets and mini bombs when he was like six. So, it wasn't even slightly surprising Obadiah wanted his input on whatever this 'project' was. Nevertheless, ever since Maria had explained to Tony exactly what it was 'Daddy' did for a living, he'd had a strong antipathy towards it. Maybe it was the idea of having international blood all over his hands- even if he wasn't the man to drop the damned thing on another nation, he had made its existence possible- or maybe he was just a pacifist, but he couldn't bring himself to be willing to follow in his father's ensanguined footsteps. He couldn't even enter the Stark Industries building without a shiver shaking his spine.

The towering man frowned down at him. "Come on, Tony. You know how it is. The player with the bigger stick always wins by default. Don't you want to keep America from being jugular-deep in war? And hell, if she does go to war, don't you want to be the nation with the most firepower?" Obadiah had crossed his arms over his chest and was looking down at Tony with a sense of false patriotism. Tony knew for a fact that Stane would sell to the highest bidder, American or not.

He laughed. "I actually don't care. Appealing to my sense of patriotism isn't gonna get you anywhere, Stane. I said no. And I meant it." If Tony hated anything, it was having to repeat himself. When he said no, he meant it, no takesies-backsies. And, letting his voice gain a bit of completely unnecessary venom, "I'd think you'd know better than to question Howard Stark's son." And okay, considering how much he really hates his father, he sure points out their biological relation a whole fucking lot. There is a valid reason for this.

Howard Stark is known as being a subzero, Arctic, frozen son of a bitch that won't take no for an answer and will not tolerate being questioned. He is the smartest, quickest, most sly bastard in the business. He's made his millions quickly and impressively; building an empire and making a name for himself that is recognized all over the world. His charm is unparalleled, but everyone knows instinctively that getting on his bad side in not a place they want to be. He plays the media like a master puppeteer. He could ruin anyone with a few words in the right ears.

If Tony so desired, he could be all that and more.

In fact, he could be all that and worse.

Being the son of an Arms dealer, millionaire mogul, and full-time charming asshole had it's rare perks. Tony considered his bone-chilling tone and passive-aggressive expression to be a few of those perks. Apparently, it worked on Stane, because the man blanched a smidgen. "Look, Tony, I'm just looking for a little help. No need to get upset." Tony heard the shower turn off. Time for Stane to go bye-bye.

"Yeah, well, you looked and you didn't find. Not here. I'm not getting into the weapon-making business. That's my final word. Now, it was nice to see you, give Pep my regards and tell her I'll see her around." In other words, get the fuck out. Maybe it was Howard who had taught him to dismiss people. But Tony really doubted it. There were some skills he had learned all by himself. And hell, Life is a fucking kick-ass teacher, too.

Getting to his feet finally seemed to get the message through that shiny bald skull. Grimacing, Stane headed towards the door. But Tony saw something in the man's grey eyes he didn't really like. Something a little violent and threatening. Something he couldn't trust, that diminished his respect for the man a little more. Hiding beneath all that meekness, there was a bit of an antagonist in Stane. A chill spread across Tony like an eerie breeze in a wintry cemetery.

"Let me know if you change your mind, Anthony." Hearing his full name come off a tongue other than Loki's made him go rigid. "I can always use a high-powered brain like yours." The bearded smile wasn't half as charming as it was supposed to be.

"Yeah. Bye, Obadiah." He closed the door, locking it and leaning back against it wearily.

Well, that was fucking weird.

Skipping classes had been fun- although also unintentional. Loki was free and smiley and close. And Tony fucking loved every second of it, soaking up the attention like a god damn sponge. Because really, he knew Loki could be back to his usual acrimonious, frigid self in the morning. And yeah, he still hadn't gotten him to agree to stay at his house until he happened to work something else out- which okay, his devious plan was that Loki wouldn't want to move after a week or so, but hey- despite threats of tickling and other various forms of good-natured torture.

"Oh come on, Stark. You and I both know we'd rip each other's throats out within the week!" Loki protested, swiping some of the whipped cream off Tony's coffee with a pale, long finger. Tony gulped, watching him lick it off his digit with a pink tongue. Damn.

Recovering before Loki could notice his severe blush, Tony sighed dramatically. "I know no such thing! I do know I won't be able to sleep knowing you're out here stubbornly sleeping in your car or on some cardboard in a dark, dangerous alley or something." He teased. "And seriously, you gotta admit, my apartment is big enough for both of us. And it's comfortable. And warm. And there's an actual bed." He grinned, sipping his latte with a predator's look in his eyes zeroed in on one pretty raven-haired teenager that was regarding him with narrowed green eyes that, yeah, took his breath away just a little. If 'little' meant completely and totally and oh my god, was there actually such a thing as oxygen?

Then his phone rang. Thor. Shit. Fuck. Damn it. Stupid fucking Thor.

"Thor? Why is my brother calling you?" The confusion on Loki's face mirrored his own. Then, Tony realized, he had been the one to practically turn knight-in-shining-armor and show up at the boy's hospital room a day or two ago. And really, had the fire only been three days ago? It felt like a fucking lifetime. "Well, answer him." The misery screaming in Loki's eyes starkly contrasted the indifference expressed on his face.

"Uh, hello?" He answered reluctantly, knowing his walking a very thin line here, like, fucking anorexic. God damn Thor for putting him in this position.

"Tony! Have you seen my brother? Loki kind of...disappeared the other day. We're all very worried about him." The grief in the older boy's voice hit Tony hard. He grimaced.

"Uh..." He looked at Loki, who was staring off in space with a steely set to his lips. "Uh, no. No, I haven't seen him, Thor. Sorry." As far as Tony was concerned, Loki needed to take his time to deal with this and contact his 'family' whenever he felt he was ready to face them. Of course, avoiding a problem is never healthy, but Loki was kind of dealing with a lot, right now. Surely a little unhealthy avoidance wouldn't hurt. Anyways, any confrontation he had now would probably end up in emotional scarring out the ass and Tony refused to be responsible for Loki's pain. Tony was all cure, not cause.

"I'm scared, Tony. There's no one else he would go to. Steve hasn't seen him, and his professors say he didn't show up for class. What am I going to do?" The desperation in Thor's thunderous, emotional voice tugged hard on Tony's heart-strings, but what could he do?

Then his phone was plucked out of his hand and Loki's white fingers were wrapped around it so tightly, Tony was pretty sure the boy was going to crush it. "Thor, I don't want to see you. I don't want to see Frigga. And I sure as hell don't want to see Odin. When and if I ever do again, I will let you know. Until then, stop calling. Leave me alone! I deserve at least a modicum of respect from you, in the very least." His voice was hard as diamond, cold as ice.

Tony never wanted to hear that steely tone directed at him.

Loki felt everything inside him go below freezing. He was turning into ice. It wouldn't have surprised him in the least if he had turned blue by now. A shiver gripped his spine and suddenly he was trembling like an earthquake. The warm wetness on his face translated to tears, and the pained look on Anthony's face told him there was no hiding this behind an excuse and a quickly fixed expression. No, the boy understood far too well for that.

And when Stark came to sit beside him at the picnic table and wrapped his long, strong arms around him, Loki didn't mind pushing his face into the warm shoulder and inhale the delicious faint smoke of the cigarette Stark had been smoking. It felt good, it felt soothing, it felt like his pain was blowing away just a bit. The tears were soaking into the engineer's black AC/DC t-shirt, and his pitiful sniffling was muffled by warm flesh and there was someone here. Someone was just sitting here, rubbing his back and whispering sweet nonsense and brushing his hair with rhythmic fingertips. Was this what he had been missing? Was this what he had been looking for for so long?

Nevertheless, it wasn't like last night. He couldn't just push away the overflowing emotions or the rib-cracking sobs or the throat-closing anxiety that wrapped itself around him and sucked away his considerable self-control like a leech. It felt like he was breaking in two. The betrayal and the sound of his brother- no- of Thor's desperate voice put him right back where he had been when he was staring in shock at Odin and realizing, oh yeah, he wasn't part of this family. He got strange looks because he didn't belong. He was the problem.

He was just a lie.

He was nothing.

He didn't belong.

He didn't fit.

He wasn't right.

He wasn't worthy.

He hurt.

He ached.

He wanted to die.

A/N: So, this chapter kicked my ass. I'm really not certain if it's in any way good or terrible or what. I AM SO SORRY. I've rewritten this like three billion times, I shit you not. I admit, the whole kiss thing scared the shiiiiiit outta me. But, FrostIron. Fucking FINALLY.

I LOVE YOU ALL. I swear, I have the best followers/viewers on all of FFN. Seriously. -BEAR HUGS TO ALL-

And yeah, I leave you on a terribly angsty note. I'm so sorry.

And yes, there is a point to Obadiah's weird little visit. But, shh. It's a secret.

And, I apologize, I use 'and' wayyyyy too much.

Review, maybe? Please?

P.S. All the reviews I've been getting warm my heart. And make me smile. So much. xoxox