Tony is fuzzy on the details of how they ended up back on the couch, but he has a bad feeling it's only because Loki was being merciful and decided not to full-out molest him on the bathroom floor. Maybe Loki got bored with his despicable behavior, or maybe he's an old-school romantic with grandiose notions of a first time involving candles and roses and 70s soft rock. Or maybe he's plotting out something worse. (That's probably it.) Whatever happened, Tony's still, thankfully, dressed. All clothes intact and in place. And for once Loki's wearing some pants, too. No shirt, but pants are good. Better than good. Great. Even if they're women's turquoise yoga capris.
"Don't even think about it," Tony growls as Loki shifts position on the couch beside him. "You try to cuddle with me, you even try to touch me, and I swear I will strangle you until your head pops off."
"I think we both know you lack the requisite strength for such theatrics," Loki sneers.
"I swear I will grab a pair of scissors and go for the hair."
That works. Loki raises a hand to the back of his head, covering his tangled curls. He doesn't say anything, but he does scootch over to put a couple extra inches between them.
There's nothing good on TV, which is probably par for the course at eight pm on a Friday. It's like the networks assume everyone has a real life and nobody's stuck at home in Atlantic City, chained to a scheming, degenerate space god while flipping through channels in search of anything better than a rerun marathon of Tattoo Nightmares. He needs to get Netflix in this place.
"When will Thor return?" Loki asks.
Tony yawns. "Why? You bored as I am and want a fight?"
"Yes, but that is not why I ask."
"Need more cuddling with your big brother?"
Loki doesn't answer. Tony assumes that means 'yes'. Also maybe 'fuck you for mocking me'.
Truth is, though, Thor's been gone too long, and it's something Tony's begun to worry about. The research facility isn't far. Maybe a half-hour flight, tops. Even factoring in Thor being unable to read the map and getting lost a couple times, it shouldn't have taken more than four hours to find the place, locate the Tesseract, and haul ass back home. So either he got really lost or... something else happened.
"You don't have any Jedi mind powers, do you?" he asks Loki. "Like being able to talk to Thor telepathically?"
"I do," Loki replies. "But as Thor lacks the ability to reply, it would be useless."
"But you could send him a message to come back now."
Loki nods. "I could."
"Aaaaand... you won't because?" Tony prompts.
"He's out of sight range. It would require too much magic, which, at this point in time, I am not willing to expend."
"Right, because you've expended your magic on such noble pursuits so far, like vanishing fog from the bathroom mirror." And other things that will never be mentioned again.
Once again, Loki can't seem to be bothered to answer. He just tucks his legs up so he can wrap his arms around his shins and rest his forehead on his knees. He looks pretty bad again, now that Tony takes the time to make an assessment. Maybe even worse that before. In the dim light radiating from the TV, he's white as a ghost with a sickly, clammy sheen on his skin. With every breath he inhales, he shudders.
"You look like shit," says Tony. "Guess that means you really do need cuddles, don't you?"
Unfortunately, that turns out to be the wrong thing to say. Loki decides to take it as an invitation, unfolding from his curled-up position to make a move towards Tony.
Quickly, Tony scrambles back and holds out his hand in front of himself as a barrier. "Hey hey hey! I didn't mean with me!"
"I'm sorry, Tony Stark. Please believe me when I say that you are certainly not my first choice, but alas I have nothing in the way of alternatives at the moment. As you so elegantly mentioned, I 'look like shit'. I happen to be feeling rather the same way."
"No. And I mean hell no. After what you pulled in the bathroom, if you think I'm ever letting you in my personal space-"
"After what I did?" Loki interrupts. "You tried to drown me in the shower! I have far more reason to be mistrustful of you!"
Tried to... what? "What are you talking about? You sex-magicked me into a stupor and then I woke up on the couch! Nothing else happened!"
"No," Loki growls, rising up onto his knees and clenching his fists at his sides. "After we kissed, you went berserk. First you threatened to tear my skin off, but then changed your mind and shouted I was destined to be your slave forever with the instruction to, and I quote, 'suck my dick you dirty whore'. Which, I must say, I found highly distasteful. Though you quickly changed your mind again and turned on the shower in a pathetic attempt to drown me. Then you lost consciousness and I dragged you back here."
Tony can feel something hot like shame creeping up his throat. Or maybe it's just bile. "We... we... kissed?"
In answer, Loki stares at him with a disbelieving I'm-going-to-slap-you expression. "Of everything I just said, that is what you heard?!"
No, he heard a lot more, but that's the most disturbing. He kissed Loki. In the bathroom. On the bath mat. Next to the toilet. He kissed Loki. And what's worse than the mental image that thought conjures is the cloudy memory floating through the back of his mind that Loki was actually a really good kisser. "Oh, cripes..." he groans, dropping his head back and running his hands over his face.
"We're going to cuddle now," says Loki, and Tony's pretty sure he's never heard the word 'cuddle' uttered in such a vicious and threatening tone.
"No, we're not."
Loki's hand shoots forward, stopping just a fraction of an inch from grabbing Tony's throat in a claw-like grip. "Yes, we are. You can agree nicely, or I can crush your spine and paralyze you from the neck down, thereby rendering you immobile and incapable of refusal. Which would you prefer?"
Well, when phrased that way, how can a guy say no? "I see," Tony says, edging away from Loki's grasp as best he can. "I guess that's a reasonable choice for you to offer me and not at all like something out of a Saw movie. Um. Can I at least get drunk first?"
The words of refusal almost visibly dangle from the tip of Loki's tongue as he scowls.
"I can guarantee I'll be way better at cuddling once I have a minimum of seven drinks in my system."
With a roll of the eyes, Loki relents and nods. "I suppose."
The walk to the kitchen might as well be an execution march, and Tony's choosing his preferred method of destruction from the liquor cabinet. He's never been a big fan of vodka, but this feels like a Russian Standard kind of night. A cheap, quick drunk is appealing.
"You want anything?" he asks Loki. Please say yes. Please get drunk and pass out before this gets any more out of hand than it already is.
Loki scrutinizes the array of bottles on the shelf, but ultimately shakes his head in disinterest. Then it's back to the couch.
This feels even more like an execution march.
"Just gimme a sec," Tony says when Loki, who appears to be in an all-business mood, tries to shove him down into his seat. He unscrews the bottle and throws back a series of good mouthfuls. Enough to bring on a starter buzz. If he's lucky, the booze will kick in fast. And he's destined for a bit of luck, the way things have been going, right?
"Okay," he says as he sits. "Let's get this over with. But just so we're clear, all I'm doing is sitting here. Everything else is up to you. You cuddle and do your weird magic, I watch TV and think about how much I hate you. Nothing more."
The snort Loki gives in reply must mean he agrees. He sits down at Tony's side and Tony braces himself for the impending blast of porn-touch-magic, which... doesn't exactly arrive as expected?
It's there (oh, it's there, and Tony won't pretend he doesn't feel it), but it's nowhere near as strong as it was in the bathroom. It doesn't jolt through his bones like a head-on collision with an electrical storm. It doesn't leech away all his strength or turn his brain into mush. It just slides smoothly through his skin, caressing his nerves and saturating every last inch of his body. Maybe Loki's holding back, or maybe Tony's working up a tolerance. Who knows. But this time, it's a good feeling. Not overwhelming. Not all-consuming, not mind-frying. Nice. Calming. Content.
It goes well with the vodka.
He takes another couple swigs, enjoying the way the drink burns down his throat before slowly spiraling up again to wrap around his brain. It's starting to kick in as the minutes tick by, and it takes the grating edge off everything. Life feels so much smoother with alcohol greasing the way. Easier to slide over all the bumps and inconsistencies. Easier to face whatever the world dishes up. Easier to convince himself he's having a good time. And really, it could be worse. Loki's finally quiet, tucked up like an innocent little snuggle-pet under his arm, and any time Loki's neither talking nor moving is A-OK in Tony's books. So maybe this won't be such a crappy night after all. He's got one hand on a bottle and the other resting on the shoulder of a lithe body with long, careless black curls and china-doll skin in the flickering blue TV twilight. No, not so bad. Not bad at all.
Maybe it's the booze. Maybe it's the frustration of the day finally starting to uncoil. Maybe it's the warmth of Loki's skin pressing up against his, or the way Loki's hand possessively rests on his chest. Maybe it's the smell of coconut lingering in Loki's hair. Maybe it's Tony's rational brain finally burning out and giving up, handing the reins over to the part of his brain that just says, 'Hey, why the hell not?' Or maybe it's the porn-magic drenching his mind with its relentless suggestions. (It's probably mostly the porn-magic.) Whatever it is, Tony finds himself setting the bottle aside and lifting his hand to cup Loki's chin in a gesture that seems way too sure of itself.
Loki knows what's coming; he follows Tony's minimal direction and tilts his face up. He's not grinning like an asshole now. There's no smirk, no triumphant I-told-you-so. Just eyes dark and smoldering with desire, and soft lips already parted. Ready.
The kiss is gentle at first, hardly more than a brush of contact. The barest touch and mingling breath. Once. Twice. The soft curve of Loki's lower lip skimming against Tony's. Testing. Then a sharp inhalation of breath as Loki strains forward, searching for something further. His tongue skirting the shape of Tony's mouth. "Tony Stark..." he whispers.
And that's enough to send everything crashing over the edge. No more time for gentleness. Tony's hand slides around to the back of Loki's head, grabbing a fistful of his hair and dragging him closer into a kiss that's bruising and harsh. His tongue finds its way between Loki's lips and past the barrier of his teeth. Learning him. Tasting him. Claiming him. And Loki... Loki's going right along with it, wrapping his arms around Tony's neck and pushing nearer with a feral little growl, the bare skin of his chest pressing hard against Tony's shirt.
It should be weird, says the part of Tony's brain that can still think. Every law of reason and logic tells him kissing Loki should feel wrong, but no. It's hot as hell and he wants more. Needs more. Needs to be closer. Needs Loki's body up against his, grasping and clinging. Needs his shirt off. Needs Loki sliding down between his knees, parting his thighs in a dangerous way, hands on his fly. Needs Loki to quit screwing around and get his belt undone already. It's a stupid belt. Why did he choose such a stupid belt with such a stupid, complicated buckle?
"Let me," he rasps against Loki's cheek, at which Loki nods and pulls back just enough to let Tony's hand reach down. He fights with the buckle for far too long, fingers clumsy and shaking, until the damn thing's undone and he can whip his belt off and throw it aside. Then Loki takes over to unzip his pants and slide deft fingers past the waistband of his shorts and... Oh god.
"What do you want, Tony Stark?"
The hoarse words dance in his ear but can manage no better than a desperate moan in reply.
"Hand? Mouth? What do you desire? Tell me."
"Yessss," he hisses. Yes, he wants that. All of that.
Loki laughs softly before tracing the curve of Tony's ear with the point of his tongue. One little touch, but the feeling of it reverberates down Tony's spine with a shiver. He arches along with it to rise up into Loki's embrace.
"Yes," Loki echoes back to him.
"Yes," he repeats.
Loki's lips trail down Tony's neck, breath warm and soft and very real, caressing his skin in a descending path. To his collarbone. Down the side of his chest. Subtle kisses falling to his hip, preceded by light fingertips. His muscles tense in anticipation, exposed body tingling with desire. Just a little farther and… Tony bites his lip and sucks in a heavy breath through his teeth as that curtain of black hair tickles against his inner thigh.
Pushing his hair back from his face, Loki glances up and wets his lips with the point of his tongue. That might be a depraved grin flickering for a fraction of a second on his face before he slides down and the magic surges with explosive new strength. Tony's hips jerk forward; there's no way to stop himself as building pleasure swells up through his body. His hands reflexively reach out to hold the back of Loki's head, urging and guiding, but the gesture isn't necessary. Loki knows exactly what he's doing and exactly when to do it to fuel the need raging in Tony's core.
Just a little… more…
It won't last much longer. Tony can't last much longer. He's hovering at the line, straining into Loki's touch, until release slams into him like a punch to the gut, and he's clenching his teeth so hard his jaw shakes with strain. Body rigid as every muscle tightens, twisting his fingers in Loki's hair...
Loki takes it all. Every last, shuddering speck, until the fever subsides and Tony sinks back into the couch, breathless and drained. Slowly, Loki pulls away to rest his cheek against Tony's bare leg and smile in that enigmatic way of his.
Tony has to close his eyes. He lets his head drop to the side. He pulls in one deep breath after another, trying to slow his heart and clear his mind despite the remnants of pleasure still rolling through him. But this afterglow isn't all that rosy. More of a tarnished gray. With a groan, he lifts his hands to his face and pushes sweat-slick hair back from his forehead. His head hurts. It's starting to spin, turning his thoughts fuzzy and confused.
Maybe Loki's magic doesn't go so well with the vodka after all. He opens his eyes. Loki might be the one kneeling there on the floor with an open mouth, but suddenly Tony's the one feeling powerless and vulnerable and... used.
"Uh," he says to break the silence, and the sound catches thick in his throat. The rest of the words come no more easily. He has to dig for them through the sluggish fog in his brain. "Yesterday you... you said... you need physical contact to... balance your power. I guess by that you really meant...?"
The nod Loki gives him in reply is almost imperceptible. Just a little shift of the head, which Tony feels against his skin more than he sees.
"Right," Tony whispers.
The languid grace of a predatory animal ripples across Loki's body as he rises to his feet. "Any physical contact helps." His own voice is low and soft. "As much as a single bite of bread might alleviate hunger. But to be truly sated, when the magic has gone this far..." He sinks down onto the couch, straddling Tony's legs and taking Tony's hands in his own to guide them, gently, to the waistband of those ridiculous yoga pants. "You see why I have need of you. And I do thank you for your cooperation."
Those words are barely audible, murmured as Loki shifts forward to press the rock-hard shaft of his arousal against Tony's hip. With a little hiss of uncertainty Tony pulls back, struggling to keep the safety of distance between them, but then Loki's hands are on his shoulders, one sliding around his neck while the other dips down his back, and Loki's lips graze over his cheek, warm breath catching in his ear, and... Somehow his thumbs are hooked in Loki's waistband. Shakily pulling the fabric down. Looking, through Tony's eyes, like somebody else's hands, and somebody else's actions.
The first warning, he doesn't hear.
But Loki does. Loki freezes where he is, mouth seeking the hollow below Tony's jaw, then in an instant he's up and perched up like a groundhog with his eyes scanning towards the front door.
Tony hears the second warning.
"Brother? Tony Stark?"
Lightning couldn't move faster than Loki: it takes him only one perfectly choreographed second to roll aside, snatch the throw blanket from the armrest, and curl up on the far end of the couch, pretending to be asleep. Leaving Tony with his pants around his ankles, his belt tossed aside, and his shirt... Yeah, God knows where his shirt went, and he can only hope (with his slowed and booze-soaked mind) that Loki didn't toss it somewhere that Thor will see. He reaches down to grab his pants, but his fingers feel like they're floating through molasses and something's bunched up with his boxers. Too drunk to see what or how as Thor's footsteps get louder and closer. "Shit..."
A grunt of disgust rises from the other end of the couch, and Loki tosses the blanket at him. He has just enough time to cover himself before Thor rounds the corner. For the first time since this whole misadventure began, he's actually thankful for the Asgardian habit of sitting around the house half-dressed, if only because Thor will find nothing strange about him sprawled on the couch, shirtless, with only a throw blanket tucked around his waist.
And he's right. Thor doesn't give him a second glance. "Tony Stark. Is Loki asleep?"
"Think so," Tony lies. Loki pretending to be asleep is about the same thing, and all Thor needs to know.
A yawn and a sigh do a good job of exposing just how beaten down and weary Thor really is as he makes his way around to the front of the couch. Tony knows he should be shocked at the sight. Somehow, he isn't, like this sort of shit has become commonplace. Thor looks like hell, to put it politely. He's cradling his right arm in his left and favoring his right leg, and every inch of him is covered in filth. Mostly dust or soot, a bit of mud, and a red scrape of blood across his face that ends in matted hair below his ear. And then something Tony can't even identify, an iridescent purple oilslick ooze, spattered all across the front of his armor. On top of that is the smell. Sweat, singed hair, and the sickly odor of gore.
He sets his hammer down near Loki's feet, but doesn't touch the chain just yet. He looks apprehensive. Like it's safer, maybe, to leave Tony shackled for now? At least until he spits out whatever stupid thing it's taking him so long to say. "Tony Stark..." he begins.
"Let's just not," Tony interrupts before he can go any further. "We can talk tomorrow. Not now. Not... yeah, no. 'Cause I'm kinda drunk and you look and smell like a warzone. We'd fuck up our team meeting like this. So call it a night?"
"Agreed," says Thor, letting his head drop with a grateful nod. "We will discuss this tomorrow."
Tony nods, repeating, "Tomorrow." And there will be a lot to discuss tomorrow. Because despite Tony's hazy mind and despite all the distraction of blood and guts and dirt of all kinds, one thing is glaringly obvious.
Thor doesn't have the Tesseract.
ooo
It's going to be a grumpy day. Tony gets out of bed, showers, shaves, and shuffles into the kitchen with all the good cheer of a bear fresh out of hibernation. At this point, it's hard to tell who he hates more: Loki or himself. Maybe both equally. Loki for being Loki, and himself for drunkenly enabling Loki being Loki. And if Thor hadn't interrupted when he did... Yeah, that's not even worth thinking about. None of this bullshit is worth thinking about. Easier to just be indiscriminately pissed off without delving into too much detail.
Loki and Thor are already sitting at the kitchen island when Tony walks in. It may be his imagination brought on by the foul mood, but the two of them look extra-cuddly this morning. Their stools are all snugged up close together, and each has one arm around the other. Assholes. They look way too content, sitting there like everything's puppies and rainbows as they eat their toaster waffles.
"Good morning, Tony Stark," says Thor.
Tony grunts something along the lines of 'mrrrr' in return. He drains the last half-cup out of the coffee pot (great), and pours a big bowl of cereal only to find out there's no milk left (even better). Screw that. He fills up the rest of his mug with some cheap rye and grabs a bag of beef jerky from the cupboard before sitting down across from the Asgardians. Thor looks like he might be about to question whether or not this is a valid Earth breakfast, but in the end keeps his trap shut. As for Loki, Tony had been hoping he'd have the decency to avoid eye contact or look embarrassed or something, but no. Loki stares. Maybe smiles just the tiniest bit. And slowly licks his lips.
Fuckwad. Tony pointedly turns away from him and concentrates instead on the one he can stand to look at.
"So. Thor." As far as Tony's concerned, there's no need for small talk. It's time to get down to business and sort out some of this mess. "What the hell happened yesterday? And FYI, you better have a damn good reason for coming back empty-handed, because if you feed me some bullshit when I'm already wishing I'd gone in your place to do things right, I will fuck you up in every way I know how."
"With scissors?" scoffs Loki.
"Can it, Harry Potter," Tony snaps. "I've had enough of your special kind of crazy to last five lifetimes. You shut up and eat your waffle or you're next in line to get your ass handed to you."
Thor's eyes and lips narrow into slits, and he leans forward like he's some kind of shaggy blond jungle animal trying to make himself look bigger. "Do you threaten us, Tony Stark?"
"Yep," says Tony. "I damn well threaten. And you know why?" He glances from one Asgardian to the next: Thor's snarl and Loki's bemused smirk. "I'm not afraid of you dicksmacks any more. Yeah. You heard that. And I admit it: I was kind of iffy around you two at first, all-powerful alien overlords. But you know what? Now I know better." He points an accusing finger at Thor. "You're a fuck-up. You failed at stealing a small cube from a bunch of physics nerds, and worse than that, you can't even get the concept of wearing pants through your thick skull! I bet you're wearing a towel right now. Am I right?"
That surreptitious little glance downward is enough to tell Tony his guess hit the mark.
"And you!" Tony rounds on Loki. "You had endless chances to kill me yesterday, or cut off my hand to slip the chain, or even grab me by the neck and run out the door. But did you do any of that? No! Instead of acting like a legitimate psycho supervillain and escaping, all day you amounted to nothing more than an inconvenient sex-pest!"
Thor looks over at Loki. "You did what?"
"Are you finished?" asks Loki, conveniently ignoring Thor.
"No!" Tony takes an angry bite of beef jerky and chews, which takes longer than anticipated. He really should've stuck with cereal. By the time he swallows, the moment is gone. "Fine. Yes. I'm done." One minute of angry outburst per day is probably enough. He tosses back his coffee and rye, then pours another. Just rye this time. "Okay." Trying again. Calmer. "Thor. Please be a good pal and tell me what happened yesterday. We need a new plan, since it's statistically improbable that the Tesseract will fall into our laps on its own. Tell me what happened and where it went wrong. Go."
Thor doesn't look thrilled, but at least he starts talking. "I found the building. I found Erik Selvig, and I found the Tesseract. Whatever device they were constructing to house it was complete, or nearly so. I shall omit the tedious details, but the man of S.H.I.E.L.D., Agent Barton, tried to fight me off. He was easily overcome. At this point, I believed I had everything well in hand."
He pauses to rub his forehead. "And then?" asks Tony.
"And then everything turned around very quickly. The moment I touched the Tesseract to take it from its casing... I do not know what happened, Tony Stark. It... came to life. As if it recognized the touch of my kind. Its energy flare filled the entire room, powerful enough to knock me off my feet. I jumped up immediately but he space hole had already opened."
Tony can feel the expression of unclouded WTF spreading across his face at Thor's words. "...Space hole?"
"Yes," confirms Thor. "A space hole. Not large, but enough to allow seven Chitauri warriors to pass through before it closed."
"Space hole," Tony repeats.
"A space hole is a hole in space," Thor helpfully explains. "It connects two points-"
"Yeah I got that part," says Tony. "I guess I just thought the technical name for it would be a little more... impressive." And less unintentionally lewd.
"No. On Asgard, we refer to this phenomenon as a space hole."
"It is how I came to be here," Loki adds. "Through the space hole."
"Please stop saying 'space hole'," says Tony. "Let's agree to call it an energy portal or something. So, back to the Chitauri coming through the energy portal?"
"'Energy portal' sounds awkward, but if you insist..." Thor shrugs before continuing. "The Chitauri themselves, like Agent Barton, proved easy to defeat. All seven are now dead. But the concentrated energy released by the Tesseract damaged the building's structure. I was across the room finishing the last of the Chitauri when I saw Erik Selvig grab the cube and run. I tried to follow him, but the roof collapsed between us. By the time I pushed through the rubble he was gone. I spent the next several hours in search of him to no avail, eventually having to abandon hope and return here. You are right, Tony Stark." Pausing, he shakes his head in the shadow of defeat. "This failure is mine. I will take responsibility. And I will set it right."
"How?" Tony asks. It's one thing to talk about doing the right thing, but a whole other kettle of fish to actually do it. Especially when doing now involves tracking down a man on the run who was last seen on Long Island eighteen hours ago.
"Loki will help me."
He says it like he's so sure of himself. Loki, meanwhile, looks less than convinced. "I will?"
"No, Loki will not help you," says Tony. "Loki is a perverted sociopath who cannot be trusted."
Loki rolls his eyes at that, but, Tony notes, does not deny the allegation.
"Look, here's the thing," Tony continues. "The minute Selvig took the Tesseract out of the lab, it probably popped right up on Banner's scopes. I'm betting S.H.I.E.L.D. picked it up within an hour, so going forward? We have to run on the assumption that they got it first. But you know what... that might not be so bad. S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn't exactly have a stellar record for getting shit and keeping it."
Slowly, Thor nods. "We can take it from them."
"Yeah. I mean..." He points a thumb over in Loki's direction. "We're pretty much sitting at a hundred percent success rate when it comes to stealing their stuff."
"Hilarious," mutters Loki.
"Then we should go now," says Thor. "We will return to their airship and take the Tesseract in the same manner we rescued Loki."
Tony nods, and suddenly he's starting to feel a little more optimistic about the day ahead. "Explosions and wrecking things. I like that. Nice plan, Thor. Finish breakfast, then we suit up?"
"Agreed."
Good. That sounds good, and Tony finds himself nodding again just to think about it. Truth is, after more than two full days without his armor, he's itching to get it back on and level the playing field between himself and Thing One and Thing Two. (Also, the chances of Loki's porn-touch working through metal are slim. He hopes.)
Then Loki has to throw in his two cents. "Why in the Nine Realms would you try to fight your way into S.H.I.E.L.D.'s stronghold? That's a terrible plan."
Well yes, but 'terrible' and 'viable' aren't always at odds in Tony's experience. "Let me guess: you have a better idea? Sneak in dressed like janitors? Put everyone to sleep with an enchanted whistle? Swap the cube out for a bag of sand?"
"No, I would blast them out of the sky. It's far easier to find the treasure in pile of rubble full of corpses than in a fortress full of armed guards."
For a long time Tony just stares at him, trying not to think too hard or in too much detail about what goes on inside that insane little head. "You disturb me. In many, many ways."
"Your lack of practicality disturbs me. Why risk your life fighting your way in when it would take far less time and effort to destroy their worthless machine and wait for everyone to die? The airship has four propellers. If the three of us each target one, it's finished. Once it crashes to the ground and the fires have burned out, the Tesseract will be easy to claim from the ashes."
"No. No crashing, no burning, and no death. Just... no."
"Fine," Loki sneers. "But at least allow me to suggest one slight improvement over your 'plan', such as it is. Before you and Thor burst in and clumsily destroy everything, I create a diversion to ensure the Tesseract is unguarded. That way, no-one dies and we can all feel good about ourselves and bask in the loving glow of our harmless thievery."
Tony glances over at Thor, who looks back at him with an expression that practically shouts out what they're both thinking: Is he serious? "Good try, bud," Tony says to Loki, "but I think you're forgetting that you're the prisoner. You stay here, chained to the water heater. You're not part of Super Team."
"That's not what you said yesterday when-"
"Everything I said yesterday is null and void," Tony quickly cuts over him. "Yesterday does not count. Yesterday never happened. Yesterday exists only in the Twilight Zone."
Like the dick he is, Loki smirks. "Yes, do continue to tell yourself that."
"You're still not part of the team."
"Wait, Tony Stark," says Thor. "Loki's suggestion could be valid. If he creates a diversion-"
"He's not part of the team!" Tony snaps, and he can feel his aggravation level slowly rising again. Not that it ever fell very far in the first place. "Look, there was nothing wrong with the original plan. Can we stick to that? We go, Loki stays here, and if he escapes... well, I don't really care right now. He can run wild through New Jersey and then die quietly in an alley after being mugged for his yoga pants.
"I'm not wearing-" Loki starts.
"I don't want to know what you're not wearing! Can you please shut up and let the men get back to planning their war?"
But Thor leans forward with a shake of his head. "I would have Loki come with us. If we face a repeat of what happened yesterday, we may have need of his magic. And I only seek the Tesseract so I may use its power to return us to Asgard. If we take it, yet Loki escapes in our absence, my mission will still fail." He pauses, not for dramatic effect as Tony would have expected, but just to grab Loki's mostly-uneaten toaster waffle. Loki lets him take it, and he continues through a mouthful of food, "We must all three go together. It is the only choice that makes sense."
'Sense' isn't the word Tony would have used, but he lets it slide. The two Asgardians are staring at him from across the island. Just staring. Expectantly. Waiting for him to agree, or to disagree so they can make more stupid arguments. For the sake of whatever sanity he has left, he can't really do anything but let them have their way. "Okay. Fine. If you insist, Loki can come with us. But he's your responsibility, Thor. He tries to bail on us or does anything crazy? Not my problem. If I get so much as a sneaking premonition that I'm about to be fucked over in any way, I'm telling Fury you two took me hostage and used some deep space mind control magic, and I'm saving my own ass."
Neither of them says anything. Neither of them does anything, apart from Thor eating the waffle and Loki absentmindedly tapping his fingers on the countertop. Does that mean they have an understanding?
Tony empties his mug. "Right," he says. "Let's plan this thing."