Vitals
And it continues. I really did not plan for this. But damn, it's fun.
Please note that this chapter contains explicit sexual content. :) Enjoy!
It takes another few days before Tony is one-hundred percent back to normal, and by then he is buzzing with pent up energy because Bruce basically locked him in his room. He hoped that Loki would at least visit him and start up where they left off before Tony imploded a lung, but the god is no where to be found, even when Tony's finally out of bed.
He tries not to think about it, and he sure as hell isn't about to ask Thor where brother dearest has disappeared to. They stopped "containing" Loki in the tower nearly three months ago— Tony always uses finger quotes because he's positive the god could have dropped the mic and walked out anytime if he really wanted to— and occasionally, he disappears. Sometimes it's for a day. Once, he was gone for almost two weeks. It's none of Tony's business, and he doesn't care, not really. Not that it would matter if he did, because even though he's itching for the god's frosty touch, Loki is MIA and Tony's got a lot of other really important things to think about that don't include the god licking a cool trail along his jawline.
In a way, it's probably a good thing that the god's decided to go on a mini-vacation away from Headquarters. After being bedridden for almost two weeks, ideas are all but flying out of his ears. Tony's been thinking about the magical problem a lot since he was whisked along on Loki's teleportation adventure. At Tony's behest, Jarvis has been monitoring Loki since his return to Earth in an attempt to build up some data on how everything— Loki, other matter, other energy— functions when the god summons magic, and as Tony finally combs through the data his first day out of bed, he's glad he behested Jarvis because he's about to make Amora and Skurge and any other magic-wielding assholes' lives a living hell.
He cloisters himself in the workshop for the better part of a week slaving over what he describes to Bruce as his magical EMP. Occasionally he ventures upstairs for food, more coffee, or to laze around on the couch and watch Golden Girls with Thor and Steve. Sometimes he sleeps, but mostly he lives in his workshop and creates fun things he can't wait to try out.
He's in the zone when Jarvis' voice fills the workshop. "Sir, Ms. Potts has arrived and is on her way downstairs."
"What time is it?"
"Nearly six o'clock, sir."
Tony whistles through his teeth. The last time he checked the time, it was 4am. "I've been down here that long? God, I'm a machine."
Sixty seconds later, Tony hears the whir of the workshop doors opening. Pepper walks in, heels clicking against the concrete flooring. She stops next to his worktable and drops a large, leather binder on it, smiling tightly down at him.
"I needed these signed yesterday, Tony, but you've been avoiding my calls," she says.
"I was sick," he replies and pats the stool next to him.
Pepper sits, crossing one long, pale leg over the other. She follows his gaze and whacks his knee with her pen. "Don't you even think about it, Tony Stark."
"I didn't even do anything yet!" Tony says, words dissolving into laugher. "Give me the pen so I can get you out of here. I know you're a busy woman, Ms. Potts."
"That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me." She opens the leather binder. There's a lot of paper in it. She looks very pleased.
Tony skims through the paperwork, signing where he needs to sign and initialing where he needs to initial. Pepper watches over his shoulder and points out when she would like him to actually read the fine print of a contract before he agrees to anything. It's comforting, in a way. He gives her a lot of grief, but Pepper's always been his best friend. He should have known better than to get involved with her romantically. He's a walking time bomb when it comes to relationships. They always self-destruct and he's usually the one to push the big red button.
It wasn't any different with Pepper, either. New York shredded him to pieces for a while, and he didn't take care of himself, didn't want to or dare to try. Instead, he drowned his problems in a bottle (or a lot of bottles, really) of expensive whiskey and locked himself in his workshop for days, forgoing food and sleep until he hallucinated. He didn't want to change, not even for Pepper. It was the straw that broke the horses back.
He can't blame her for walking away because he knows it was the best thing she could have done for both of them.
Things didn't change much, to his surprise. He never worried about relationships before her, never cared how things would be the morning after because he never stuck around for a morning after, but he was worried when he and Pepper decided to part romantic ways even though it ended amicably enough. He should never have worried. Pepper never let their romantic relationship affect their work relationship, anyway, because Pepper is perfect.
He's glad she walked away. He would have hated to break her.
"I'm glad you're feeling better," she says as Tony is nearing the end of the pile. "Dr. Banner said you were really sick. I wish you would have called. I could have come by."
"I was fine," Tony replies, hardly able to hold back his grin. "I had a fair-skinned, dark haired nurse to take care of me."
Pepper closes her eyes and takes in a deep breath as she pinches her nose bridge. "Please tell me you did not pay a hooker to come here while you were sick, Tony."
Tony barks out a laugh and accidentally scratches through one of his signatures. He clamps his lips closed when Pepper gives him the death glare from hell. "I did not. I really didn't. I swear. Cross my heart and my robot heart."
"Then who?"
He watches her out of the corner of his eye, debates whether he should be honest, and then thinks, what the hell. "Loki."
Pepper's perfectly plucked eyebrows disappear under her bangs. "What?"
"We're buddies now. BFFs. What can I say. I sway even the coldest hearts with my sad eyes and great abs."
Pepper shakes her head. "You are going to get yourself killed one of these days, Tony."
Tony just grins and signs the last page. "Then it would be a normal day in the life of Tony Stark. All done."
She hits him with the pen once more before scooping up the binder and standing. "There are a few fundraisers I would really like you to make an appearance at. I'll send you the dates within the next day or two, and you will put them on your calendar." She looks up. "Jarvis, I am holding you responsible for that because I know this idiot won't do it."
"You can count on me, Ms. Potts," Jarvis replies.
Tony leans back in his chair, arms hanging limply at his sides, and groans. "Jarvis, you're killing me."
"Better him than me," Pepper says matter-of-factly. "I think he would be much nicer about it."
Before Tony can respond, the air in the center of the workshop trembles.
Pepper stumbles, eyes wide, and looks from the anomaly in the middle of the room to Tony and then back again. "Tony? What's going on?"
"Jarvis, what the hell is that?" Tony demands, standing up. He pushes Pepper back, towards the doors, and orders, "Go now. Get upstairs."
"You're going to just stay here?" she hisses, but she allows him to herd her away.
Tony grits his teeth as the air becomes more unstable, almost shimmering. "Jarvis, seriously, what do I pay you for? What is that? Alert Cap immediately."
There is silence, and then Jarvis replies, "Sir, you have a visitor arriving. The energy signature is Mr. Laufeyson's."
He doesn't realize until Jarvis says the name that the temperature of the workshop's dropped several degrees. His forearms are covered in goosebumps and the hair on the back of his neck is standing on end. He grits his teeth, still blocking Pepper, as the air finally tears open and a body pours through it. The hole closes quickly, and then everything is still again.
Loki doesn't move, his body splayed across the concrete like a rag doll. He's wearing his Asgardian leather without the gold-plated armor, and and it's stained with dark blood. His hair is tangled and matted with it, as well, sticking to the side of his pale face.
"Jarvis, I want his vitals now," Tony snaps and moves to the fallen god's side immediately, dropping to his knees as Jarvis speaks.
"Sir, Mr. Laufeyon's pulse is forty-seven beats per minute and his respiration is labored, but there are no signs of respiratory distress. Brain function appears normal. He has sustained injuries resulting in a significant amount of blood loss. Despite this, he appears stable."
Tony lets go of the breath he didn't know he was holding. "Jarvis, scratch that. No need to alert Steve."
"Yes, sir." There is silence, and then, "Shall I call for Dr. Banner or Mr. Odison?"
"No," Loki croaks, moving suddenly, jerkily. "I would not have them here. Only you, Stark."
Tony isn't sure he's ever heard the god sound so broken. It does crazy things to his heart and his stomach, twisting them painfully until he isn't sure they're in the right places anymore. He swallows the lump in his throat. He has no idea what's happening, but he thinks Loki's trusting him. Really trusting him.
"Pep, can you go?" Tony asks quietly, unable to look away from Loki.
"Are you kidding?" Her voice has risen a few decibels. "You should call for Captain Rogers, Tony. This is serio—"
"Pep," Tony says, and there's a warning behind it. "Please go and don't mention anything if you run into anyone upstairs on your way out."
"I hope you know what the hell you're doing, Tony," she whispers, voice trembling with fear and anger, and then her heels clatter against the floor. The door whirrs open, then closed, and then she's gone.
Tony wastes no time. He grabs Loki's chin gingerly and angles his head to the side. The god's eyes open slowly, heavy-lidded. His pupils are blown, irises a barely visible ring of dull green around them.
"Hey," he says. "Are you with me? What the hell happened, Loki?"
Loki doesn't answer, just stares at him, his lips pinched together so tightly they're turning white.
"Well, fine then," Tony mutters under his breath and starts tugging at leather straps and buckles. After a full minute with no progress, he snaps, "How the hell do you even get into this bullshit outfit?"
Loki raises a hand, just barely lifting it off of the ground. The weak, green glow around his fingers stutters, but when his arm drops and hits the concrete with a thud, the leather's gone, leaving Loki in a blood-soaked linen undershirt and calf-skin pants.
Tony rips the shirt open and can't help but blanch.
There's an oozing laceration splitting open the pale, perfect skin of the god's chest. It's a clean cut, but it's torn through muscle and tendons and ligaments. It starts at his right collarbone and extends across his mid-abdomen. Any normal person would probably be dead, innards spilt on the ground, but Loki's a god, and Tony's never been happier about it. He tugs the shirt off and uses it to staunch the bleeding. Loki's breath hisses through his teeth, chest rising and falling quickly, but his eyes don't leave Tony's face.
"I'm going to make an assumption," Tony says, surprised as the roughness of his voice. "I'm going to assume magic is out of the question and you can't heal right now."
Loki's lips curl into a snarl. "Your astute observations astound even me, Stark."
Tony grins, he can't help it, because he knows things will be fine as long as Loki can still insult him. "Stay here for a minute."
He finds his first aid kit, which he keeps well-stocked because he's had quite a few bloody mishaps in his workshop. Loki's head is turned away from him now. Tony doesn't say anything, just starts pulling things out of the kit.
"You going to tell me what happened?" he asks calmly.
Loki's jaw muscles jump as Tony removes the balled up, bloody shirt and begins wiping some of the blood away with a clean towel. "Perhaps if it were any of your business, but it is not."
"Really? Because you're lying on my workshop floor like roadkill. I could just leave you here. Or have one of the others deal with you. Thor would probably worship the ground I walked on if I let him in on this, you being so needly and all."
"You would not do so," Loki whispers fiercely.
Tony shrugs, unwilling to react to the way the god's voice hitches. "No. I wouldn't. I like you too much to let you bleed out."
"Bleed out," Loki scoffs.
"I'm not stitching you up," Tony says. "It needs stitches, but I only repair robots, not people."
"Sutures will not be necessary once my energy is restored. I will be able to heal myself shortly. Finish your feeble ministrations, Stark."
Tony snorts derisively. "Why do I even need to play nurse, then, if you're gonna just going to heal yourself. And feeble? Is this how you treat your savior?"
Loki grabs the front of Tony's t-shirt without warning and drags him down until their lips are almost touching. "What would you have me do?"
Tony wants to lean in the rest of the way, close the meager millimeters of distance between them. But he doesn't. He pulls back slightly, licks his lips. "Keep it in your pants, Aphrodite." Then he sighs dramatically. "God, I can't believe I'm the one saying that. There is a first time for everything."
Loki released his shirt, and Tony thinks there might be a quirk to his lips. It's gone before he's sure.
There is no more talking while Tony finishes cleaning the wound, slathers it with some ointment, and then gently presses a line of non-stick pads on top of it. Tony doesn't touch, but he can't help but notice the lattice of scars that decorate the god's torso. There are a few large ones he wants to trace with his tongue. Maybe later.
He helps Loki sit up, not missing the way the god clenches his teeth so tightly the veins in his neck bulge, and then cocoons his chest and abdomen in a thick gauze wrapping. Absently, he combs his fingers through the god's dark, wild hair, gently working out the tangles. It doesn't occur to him what he's doing until Loki leans in to the touch with an almost inaudible sigh. He's not looking at Tony— he's just staring off— but his features are more lax than they've been.
"Tell me what happened," he says, cupping the back of Loki's head and forcing him to make eye contact. "I get it, not my business, but seriously. You had me kind of worried. Not to mention that wasn't some of your best teleportation work."
Loki raises a brow, lips curling in a half-hearted sneer. "The Man of Iron, worried for his enemy?"
Tony groans. "Let's be honest here. You stopped being our enemy a while ago. I mean, you live in my house. Clint hasn't killed you. Cap let you eat pancakes."
"Have I?" Loki asks carefully and then places his bloodied hand on Tony's chest where the glow of the arc reactor weaves through his cotton shirt. "Am I no longer your enemy? Are you so sure, Tony Stark?"
Tony recalls the night Loki pressed his hand to the reactor for the first time, recalls the way it felt when the god's magic hummed in tune with the reactor's energy. That sensation affected him, made his breath hitch.
This touch is different. This is a threat, thinly veiled. Warning bells sound off in Tony's head. Something about the neutral expression on the god's face curls his innards into knots because he can't read it. Tony realizes he probably doesn't know a goddamned thing about the god. It pisses him off more than it should.
"So," he says casually, clearing his throat to erase the edge in it, "does that mean I'm aiding and abetting a criminal? Should I bust out the handcuffs? I can do handcuffs."
Loki's fingers curl, nails biting into skin through Tony's shirt. "You trust me much too easily, Stark," he says.
Tony's hand falls away from the god's hair and he sighs. "Are you planning to kill me? If so, can you let me know so I can give Cap and the others a head's up? It will make clean up easier."
Loki moves, slowly climbing to his knees until he's facing Tony. His eyes are a little brighter, skin not so pale, and that makes Tony's insides clench all the more when the god slides his hand from the reactor up to Tony's throat, thumb trailing along his windpipe. He wasn't kidding, Tony thinks, when he said he would heal fast.
The god cocks his head to the side. "I could kill you."
"That is true," Tony says without much feeling. "Will you?"
"I will not."
"Why?"
Loki pulls Tony towards him by the throat. "Is it not yet evident to you?"
Tony swallows. His pulse is going crazy from fear, but he's pretty sure he's never been so turned on in his life. "Has anyone ever talked to you before about mixed signals? 'Cause I'm kind of getting those—"
Loki kisses him, his other hand inching underneath Tony's shirt to find skin. Tony shivers from the chill, opening his mouth when Loki's tongue demands entrance. It's a rough kiss, bruising even, and when Loki licks along Tony's bottom lip and then bites down, dragging his teeth and sucking, Tony's heart pummels against his ribcage and his cock strains against the confines of his pants.
"You may touch me, Stark," Loki breathes, ducking his head to nip at Tony's neck.
"You're injured," Tony groans, tilting his head back to allow the god better access. His hands are fisted at his sides, and he's got his fingers curled so tightly the nails are biting into his palms. "I don't want to hurt you."
Loki laughs breathlessly against his skin. "Hurt me? You underestimate me. The wound heals already. Put your hands on me. I demand it."
"Well, if you demand it," Tony says mockingly, but he obliges. He starts with his fingertips on the god's knees and slowly inches up until his hands are flattened against Loki's mid thighs. He can feel the god's legs shaking ever so slightly. "You can call me Tony, you know. Should I demand that? I feel like we should be even on demands."
Loki tugs at the neck of Tony's shirt, exposing his collarbone, and draws his tongue along the dip, then doubles back with his teeth. "That would denote intimacy."
Tony presses the palm of one hand to Loki's groin. The god hisses out a breath and arches his hips forward into the pressure.
"This seems pretty intimate to me," Tony replies huskily.
"Would it please you?" Loki murmurs, working his way up to nibble on Tony's earlobe. "For me to call you by your first name."
"Well, sure." Tony slides his hands around to Loki's back, following the contour of sharp shoulder blades before gently drawing them over the gauze wrapping. Then he reaches down and grabs the god's ass, hauling him forward so that Loki is straddling one of Tony's knees. "Bending you over my worktable and fucking you silly would please me more, though. Just saying."
He has the pleasure of hearing Loki's breath hitch.
Loki's still pale, and there's still blood in his hair and smeared randomly across his sinewy body, and Tony knows it's a bad idea. He knows he should put a stop to it now. But when Loki tears his shirt open like it's nothing, bends down so his back arches beautifully as he trails cold, biting kisses along the scarred skin surrounding the arc reactor, and whispers, "ask and you shall receive," adding a thoughtful "Tony" afterwards, Tony knows there's no way in hell anything could stop him now.
Within two minutes, he's got the god completely naked and on his feet. Loki's hands are at his belt, deftly undoing the buckle and the button of his jeans.
"I don't have lube down here," Tony groans as Loki bites down on a nipple, then soothes it with his tongue.
"Shall I prepare you, then?" Loki murmurs.
"Prepare me?" Tony repeats, but before he has any idea what to expect, the god is on his knees and swallowing Tony to the hilt.
"Holy shit." His fingers tangle in the god's hair and he pulls, forcing himself not to thrust forward. "You— what are you doing?"
Loki's response is to suck as he pulls back, his tongue pressing against the underside of Tony's cock.
Tony can't really speak because his voice is lodged somewhere in his throat, so he watches Loki's head instead as it bobs back and forth. His mouth is insanely hot, but his lips are still cool, and the warring sensations are driving him insane. When the god looks up and makes eye contact, Tony has to shove him away before he comes embarrassingly fast.
"I do not think this is your reputation proceeding you," Loki says with a smirk. "Such haste."
Tony hoists him up, turns him around so Loki's hands are pressed against the workable, and curves his body against Loki's back, cock slotted between his ass cheeks. His skin is so deliciously cold against Tony's overheated body that he shivers. He reaches around as he grinds against the god and takes hold of his cock, trailing his thumb along the slit and slicking precum down the length. The sounds coming from Loki's mouth vary between whimpers, gasps, and feral growls as he thrusts into Tony's hand.
"I grow impatient," he finally snarls.
"Now who's being hasty," Tony laughs, kissing a line from Loki's ear to his shoulder.
Loki responds by spitting on his own hand, reaching back to coat Tony's length and then pushing himself back onto it with a strangled gasp that dissolves into a throaty moan.
"Holy fuck," Tony hisses, both hands flying to Loki's hips. He grips so tightly he's sure the god's going to bruise, but he can't help himself. Loki is tight, insanely tight, and Tony has to use every ounce of self control he has left, which isn't much, not to lose himself.
"Tony," the god growls.
He never prided himself for his self control, so he pulls out and then thrusts back into Loki.
It all goes downhill from there, a frantic pace and mix of nails, teeth, and almost violent hands. Tony tries to avoid the area covered by the gauze, but he can't find it in himself to care where he's touching when he hits Loki's prostate and the god's long, thin fingers dig into the worktable so hard that the wood splinters beneath his nails.
When Tony's close, he grips Loki's cock again and pumps until the god is arching against him, come slicking Tony's hand. The way Loki straightens afterward, pressing the length of his body back against Tony like he's seeking warmth, is really what sends Tony over the edge. He grabs a fistful of Loki's hair and forces his head to the side so he can moan into his lips as he loses himself.
He's breathing heavily, his cheek pressed against the back of Loki's neck and his arms loosely looped around the god's waist, when the blackness washes over him. He's already lightheaded, and he stumbles when they're back on solid ground. Tony straightens, looked around dazedly. He doesn't recognize where he is, but it's obviously someone's bedroom. Aside from a few pieces of forgettable furniture and a four-poster bed covered in neutral sheets that are an indistinguishable color in the dim light, the room is ordinary and barely lived in.
"My chambers," Loki murmurs, leaned back against Tony as he yawns.
Tony nods and swallows. He feels nervous suddenly, and that just pisses him off. "Your magic is back?"
Loki grunts and disentangles himself from Tony's arms. "It was barely enough to bring us here," he says, voice groggy. "I must rest."
Loki makes his way to the bed, swaying like a cat as he walks, and crawls in without a care. He's already under the covers, face shadowed, but Tony can see the way his expression hardens when he realizes that Tony is still standing in the middle of the room.
"You do not have to join me," he says stonily.
Tony knows he needs to tread lightly. They're at the edge of a cliff, and Tony's always the one to push things over the edge in the worst possible way. He's stunned, though, because he wasn't expecting this. He wasn't expecting this kind of trust or whatever else is bending Loki towards him. Falling asleep in a chair is one thing, but the god is injured, naked, and drowsy, and if that isn't vulnerability, Tony doesn't know what is.
Loki stares at him expectantly, his expression souring by the second, so Tony smiles gently, taking a step forward. "I didn't know if you, I don't know, actually wanted me here. I mean, to sleep. With you." Definitely knocking it out of the park, Stark, he thinks.
"I would not have wasted precious energy if I did not," the god snaps, eyes flashing in the low light.
Tony doesn't let himself think about the morning after because deep down, he wants this. He wants to pull the God of Mischief into his arms and fall asleep with him there, and he doesn't care if he's still covered in dried blood or the stickiness of good sex. Tony walks to the unoccupied side of the bed, sliding in under the covers.
"Do not speak," Loki orders, turning towards him. "I am loathe to listen to you rant at such a time."
Tony actually laughs. It's doused quickly when Loki reaches out and slowly pulls the blanket down. The light of Tony's arc reactor casts ghostly shadows across his face. Tony's pulse kicks up again.
"Why?" he asks quietly.
"Why, indeed?" Loki murmurs and leans against the pillows.
He's asleep within a few minutes, one hand pressed over the light of the reactor, and Tony wonders why this feels so right before he passes out, too.