Author's note: And so, it's time for the much anticipated "quality entertainment time"…
The Black Sabbath elevator music fades from his ears as the door closes behind him with a soft whooshing sound. His slightly off-tune whistling picks up where the well-familiar song got cut off as he saunters on towards the kitchen, desperate for a drink. No, charity events really aren't the place to go if you're looking for decent alcohol. Perhaps he should just stay away from them altogether, at least until they start serving decent drinks.
He kicks off his shoes off as he goes, grabbing a glass and a bottle from the liquor cabinet and then flops himself down on one of the kitchen chairs, one foot coming to rest propped up against the edge of the opposite seat.
Sighing contentedly, he pours himself a generous glass of whiskey, and downs it in one big gulp. Oh yes. He fills his glass again, but drinks it a more leisurely pace this time, savouring the feeling of the invigorating liquid sliding down his throat.
Unasked, his brain brings up the image of the god inhabiting his tower, and he grimaces, despite the alcohol already in his belly and the remainder awaiting him in the bottle on the table top. Loki's mood from earlier was a bit odd, but with a bit of luck he's gotten over it by now and stopped his pointless sulking.
Perhaps he should ask Jarvis what Loki is up to. If nothing else, it will make him feel slightly more at ease knowing the skulking god's whereabouts.
"Jarvis, where is Loki currently at?"
"He's in his room, sir."
"And what exactly is he doing in there? Learning how to dance mambo? Painting his nails? Plotting world domination?"
"Nothing, it would seem."
Nothing?
Somehow, that sounds even more suspicious.
And a part of him would be happy to let Loki stay in there, out of sight though perhaps not out of mind. The shower fantasy he indulged in a while ago is still far too fresh in his mind, and to top it off, he had a very wet dream last night featuring a green-eyed god wearing only what nature gave him, ending with Tony waking up in soaked underwear like a acne-riddled puberty victim.
The memory makes him wince, and with a quick swig, he empties his glass again to compensate for the unpleasant reminder.
And it's stupid, of course, the whole thing. Loki is crazy, which he proved quite aptly just the other day, and Tony must be even crazier for feeling any attraction to such a loony bin. It's like playing with fire, even though that fire seems to have burnt itself out after Loki's little outburst, leaving only ashes in its wake.
Oh well. It doesn't matter. It's not like Loki will ever know his embarrassing secret, at least, no matter how much of a moron Tony might feel about the whole thing.
In that respect, it's preferable not having to deal with the god, or be in his immediate presence. No point in being reminded of his own private indiscretions.
Still, he doesn't much fancy the idea of Loki sitting in his room doing what appears to be nothing. Idle hands and devil's plaything and all that. Or idle minds, in Loki's case.
Yawning, he glances towards his wristwatch. Almost ten, which equals the perfect time to sit down and watch a movie. It's become a sort of a habit for him lately, ever since Pepper decided to pack her bags after arriving at the realization that the things she at first found so endearing about him were now only irritations and nuisances. Although, to be fair, nuisances was a rather nice way to put it.
He still hasn't managed to channel the sudden appearance of all that Pepper-free time on his hands into a more productive endeavour, but that is fine for the time being. There are worse ways to waste your time than watching movies.
And he'll make Loki sit down and watch too, if nothing else than to take the god's mind off the bitter, vengeful grumbling that is sure to be going through his head. Nothing good will ever come out of it. His living room can certainly testify to that.
The thought makes him gulp down another drink. He hasn't really been counting them, but he's enjoying the soft lull of alcoholic dizziness that is starting to settle over his mind as he sets his glass down with a bang.
"Jarvis, tell Loki to go sit down in the living room. I'll be right there." So he slurs a little, but that's okay. Jarvis is used to interpreting drunken speech patterns after all his years in Tony's service.
"Yes, sir."
Loki is already there when Tony somewhat unsteadily enters, sitting at one corner of the couch with legs drawn up and arms resting on his knees.
And he might be mistaken in his drunkenness, but there is something in that demeanour that gives Tony pause. Because he really doesn't remember the god looking so resigned, so oddly… down beaten. Especially not when taking the whole little recent raging fit into account.
Loki only shifts his gaze towards Tony, but other than that, he makes no moves or other signs of acknowledging his presence. Though the eyes follow him cautiously and suspiciously as Tony moves across the room, like a predator tracking the movements of its prey. Or the other way around.
Always the paranoid type, our favourite god of mischief.
"So, Reindeer Games, any idea what kind of movie you wanna watch tonight?" he says as he seats himself on the other end of the couch. "How about "The 13th Warrior"? Should be right up your alley, with the whole Viking era thing." He grins. "Not to mention, the guys in the movie have almost as bad taste in clothing as you do. Though they're still a bit behind on the latest Asgardian fashion, seeing as how they all suffer from a pitiful lack of those funny helmets that seem to be so popular back where you come from."
No reaction. Oh well.
"Okay, so maybe fashion isn't your forte, but I'm sure you'd love a little trip down memory lane to the good old days when there were still people worshipping you guys. I mean, it's gotta be like almost a millennium since anyone here on Midgard cared about you and yours, right?"
Still nothing. No glint of ill-hidden irritation, no swell of anger, not even a twitching eyebrow.
"I mean, when was the last time anyone sacrificed a goat in your honour? Or hamster, or butterfly, or bilgesnipe or whatever animal species constitute your offering of choice?"
Loki still makes no reply. It doesn't seem like he's listening at all to Tony, like he's lost in his own world and thoughts. Like the whole flipping out ordeal was so strenuous that it robbed him of all vestiges of godly alien energy.
And for some reason, that makes Tony want to grab the god by the shoulders and shake him until his teeth rattle, to make him snap out of this… apathy. Suddenly, he finds himself almost missing the old Loki and his snark. Well, missing might not be the word of the day, but it would be preferable to this resigned, apathetic figure who is nothing like the confident god he once faced off here at Stark Tower. As much as the god's bluster had irked him back then, at least it would be more fun to trade wits with the old Loki who still had bite to him as opposed to this listless creature lounging in his couch.
Yeah, the god clearly needs something else to occupy his brain for a while. A movie should do him good.
Getting up from the couch, legs almost steady, he pops the disc from the "13th Warrior" box into the player, and then takes the opportunity to lie down on the couch and sprawl languidly over most of the cushions, seeing as how Loki seems content to keep to his corner.
"Alright, Bambi, you stay put here until the movie's over," he orders, just in case the god should decide he'd rather saunter off somewhere else and destroy other parts of Tony's property. You never know with gods of mischief, after all.
He's lying on his back on the bed, staring up into the ceiling. In the dim glow seeping in through his window from the night lights illuminating the city outside, the contours of the sparse furniture lining the walls are clearly visible despite the lateness of the hour. To his eyes, the nightly brightness is oddly jarring after having spent so much time in a dark dungeon where the only source of light was the flicker of sputtering, sooty torches sending strange shadows dancing on the murky stone floor. Waiting for sleep to claim him only makes him more restless, however, and he can't help but wonder whether Tony is still sleeping or has awaken by now.
The man was clearly inebriated when he entered the living room. Loki wasn't sure whether that was a good or a bad thing compared to a more sober state, but he decided that with his luck, it was probably the latter. But then again, drunkenness might bring with it certain… performance issues, as the man had once quipped, that could stave things off for another night.
However, it never came to that as the man dozed off a good half an hour before the movie was over, head tipping precariously to the side a few times, then bouncing back up again, before finally coming to rest at an awry angle against the puffy couch cushion behind him. Leaving Loki, for all intents and purposes, alone with the spectacle unfolding on the big screen, listening to the soft breaths from only a few feet away occasionally turn into deep snores.
Most of all, he wanted to sneak out and head back to his room, leaving Tony to his own devices, with his mouth hanging half open and one arm slung over the edge of the couch. It was tempting, oh so tempting.
But Tony had ordered him to stay put and watch this sorry excuse for a 'movie' and would not be pleased to wake up and find out that his slave had ignored those instructions and strolled off somewhere else.
So he waited impatiently for the movie to end or for Tony to wake up, whichever came first.
As it turned out, the end credits did.
And that's when he slowly and carefully got up from the couch, careful not to disturb the snoring lump to his right, and on silent feet slipped back to his own room. At least Tony can't blame him for leaving once the movie was over. He'd issued no specific orders as to Loki's actions beyond that point.
And since then, he's been tossing around on his bed, nervously awaiting the sound of Jarvis once more calling on him, to go tend to Tony's… needs, such as they may be.
That's what he'd been sure would happen a few hours earlier when Jarvis' voice rang out from the ceiling, politely informing him that Mr Stark wanted to see him. So he'd ambled out with an icy knot in his stomach, steeling himself for the worst.
But what awaited him was another movie, making him wonder if that's all the man ever does for amusement, apart from fiddling around with the plethora of technical apparatuses and devices down in his workshop.
There were none of the expected overtures from Tony's general direction, which he found confusing, but perhaps the man was still too intoxicated for such.
Perhaps after the movie, then.
But Tony fell asleep in his drunken stupor, and whatever additional plans he had for his slave didn't come to fruition. Even now, knowing that it's only a false pretence of security as Tony can call on him anytime he desires, simply being out of Tony's sight and reach makes him feel marginally safer. A tiny comfort, but that's about as good as he's going to get.
There isn't a relaxing position to be had on the bed tonight; it is as if someone has snuck into his room and stuffed the mattress full with pinecones while he was stuck in front of the screen with the moving pictures. He turns, coming to rest at his side with his back away from the window.
It's still not comfortable, but at least the light bothers him less that way.
Oh my, still no resolution… It will come, though, I promise!
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