Author's note: And now for what a lot of readers have been asking for – Tony's POV on what happened in the last couple of chapters! ^^
Driving home in his Ferrari Maranello is usually a pleasant experience – a ridiculous number of horsepowers at his fingertips, Deep Purple blaring from his speakers, and hardly any traffic to slow him down as he races down the street. Even the media interview he just finished went smoothly, much as reporters tend to annoy him these days. All in all, he should be feeling splendidly.
And yet he isn't, because there is one disturbing thought that keeps intruding on his peace of mind.
It should have been a small thought, because it was only a small word. But it was also such an important word. And not in a good way.
It's strange, really, how a short utterance like that can hold so many implications and connotations and god knows what imbued in two simple syllables.
Just yesterday, Loki had called him master, and damn if that still isn't gnawing at him like a swarm of blood-thirsty gnats.
It's not exactly helping things that he remembers making a thoughtless, ill-considered jab a long time ago about Loki addressing him as such. Despite no longer being able to recall the specifics at this point, he can still safely say that it hadn't been funny at all. Just tasteless and tacky.
Of course, it's far from the first time he's ever made a tasteless and tacky comment, but his usual sexual innuendo-filled witticisms and sarcastic pointing out of other people's flaws and faults for sheer comedy value totally pales against this level of wrong. And the worst part is, back then he would no doubt have found it amusing if Loki actually had called him that. But now that the god finally has, there isn't the tiniest sliver of humour in it, nothing that could draw even the slightest of chuckles from him.
And who could ever have imagined that – Tony Stark finding a topic inappropriate to make jokes about. He'd thought there'd be a snowy or at least a slushy day in hell before that ever happened.
No, Loki calling him master was only disconcerting, not humorous at all.
Annoyed with himself, he stabs his finger against the forward button on the CD player a few times in rapid succession, a little harder than necessary, skipping a couple of tracks until he gets to a more aggressive and blaring song, having had it with the previous half-sappy semi-ballad. Satisfied with his new choice of music, he pushes the gas pedal a few notches closer to the floor, speedometer making a little hiccup.
It does nothing to improve his mood, though.
To be honest, that was about the last word he would have wanted to describe his relation to Loki. Even jailor or captor would have been preferable. And it makes him wonder, what is he in that regard, when it all comes down to it?
Master – no way. Jailor? Well, sort of, but he doesn't like the word. Keeper? Reformative correctional officer? Something else?
He doesn't really have an answer to that; all he knows is that it's not the M-word. That's just wrong on so many counts.
And that's when the second, even more difficult-to-answer question rears its head in his mind – what is it that he wants to be in relation to Loki? But perhaps he needs to be able to answer the first question before he can answer the second. Or maybe it's the other way around. He isn't sure.
Of course, he knows what one insistent part of him would like to be, but that's obviously not possible, so he might as well forget about it. It's not going to happen, he's known that ever since the first frame of his very much inappropriate imaginations regarding Loki materialized in his head, and it has only become even clearer since then.
But perhaps there's something else he could be, something between those extremes of master and what his headstrong nether regions would have voted for. The regions that like to picture the god in his full naked glory, hands trailing over his own body as his smile turns into something playfully seductive…
The traffic light ahead of him turns red after a long stretch of green, and he steps on the brakes, tires screeching as the Ferrari comes to a sudden halt. A second later, the wail of Jack Black's voice letting out a powerful 'well, baby, you just better forget it' from the speakers fills the interior of the car.
And Tony can't help the groan that escapes his lips. Enough with the signs from the universe already – he isn't going to go there – never planned to, never will, alright? So just knock it off. He knows he won't ever be anything more than that elusive something at best that he hasn't even managed to define yet, and it's not like he's going to try to change that, okay?
The light turns green again, and he stomps down sharply on the pedal, taking off with another screeching of burning rubber.
Yeah, something is fine, as long as it isn't the dreaded M-word.
As he takes the elevator up, the thoughts that have been swirling in his head during his drive home are still eating at him. And it's not just the memories of how Loki had called him master that keep resurfacing, but what happened the day before, when Loki had served him that cup of coffee, without being asked or prompted to.
And Tony's not stupid enough not to realize that the two are connected. Not so much to each other, perhaps, as to another occasion taking place shortly before. Namely, Loki getting to go outside for the first time since coming to his tower.
It's obvious – so ridiculously, disturbingly obvious – why he's been doing it. Clearly, Loki is under the impression that he has to earn the right of going outside, even if it means demeaning himself to behaving like how Asgard thinks a good little slave is supposed to.
Perhaps he should have said something already when Loki set that cup of coffee down before him. But he didn't, because there had been nothing wrong with the act in itself. After all, he's had plenty of other people voluntarily getting him coffee many times before – MIT classmates during those long hours of working in the lab, friends and colleagues… Pepper. Just like he's done the same thing for them on other occasions. And it's never been anything else than a simple gesture of helpfulness, the kind of little favours you do for people around you, never something to give him pause in any way.
Until Loki did it.
Then again, what should he have said as the cup was set down before him? Don't ever serve me coffee? It wasn't as if the act as such was degrading or humiliating or slave-like – it's something that happens in offices and homes across America everyday, after all. No, instead it was the situation and their relative positions that made it disconcerting, but that's nothing he can change, no matter how much he would want to.
So he had found no immediate way to articulate what made it wrong – at least none that Loki would be likely to understand – so he had played it safe and just made a flippant quip, letting it lie at that.
But now that the master deal has come up, something a lot more disturbing than being served coffee, he needs to have a talk with Loki. This really can't continue, or he shudders to think where all this might eventually end up.
When the elevator doors open and he walks out into the living room, Loki is sitting on a chair by the window, reading a book. The god looks up briefly as he enters, and then returns to his reading material.
Well, he supposes he should be thankful for that, at least – that Loki isn't showing any signs of being afraid of him anymore, not taking his presence as a reason for concern or wariness. Whatever else is wrong with the situation, he's still feeling secure enough to immerse himself in a book around Tony, not finding it necessary to keep his attention on Tony and what he might be up to.
"Come over here, will you" he says to the reading god. "I want to talk with you for a bit."
The words have barely made it out of his mouth before Loki puts the book down on the table and gets up from his chair, walking up to where Tony is standing and sitting down on the couch. Just like that. Without hesitation, without protesting, without dawdling, without even finishing reading the sentence he was probably in the middle of, Loki just obeys.
It's disconcerting, disturbing, and many other things as well, how… compliant Loki is being, with this unquestioned following of orders and acquiescing obedience. It unsettles him and makes his skin crawl.
And as he pulls out a chair in front of Loki and straddles it, he realizes that he doesn't really know how to express what his problem is or how to explain that he doesn't care for this slave-like behaviour.
Yeah, what is he supposed to say, really? Don't obey? Of course, he still wants and expects Loki to abide by the rules around here and not make any trouble. He can't pretend that he doesn't want Loki to follow instructions, because Tony has still been charged with keeping him confined and under supervision, and a recalcitrant god is going to make that a lot harder. But he doesn't want this robotic obedience or this desperate clamouring to get into his good graces because Loki believes it's required if he is to be allowed outside again.
But the difference is not something he really knows how to clothe into words, and perhaps it's not something that can be put into words. Maybe Loki will simply have to learn that difference along the way, having had Tony to lay out the foundation for him.
So he draws a deep breath, trying to get started and at least say something.
"Yeah, so, about that going outside thing…" he begins, and then trails off as he isn't sure how to continue.
At those words, he can see Loki immediately tensing up and a crease of worry appearing between his eyebrows. And he can read all too clearly in that concerned face what Loki is fearing is coming next – yeah, I've decided to withdraw the favour. There will be no more going outside, just so you know.
Damn, he should have thought it through how to say this before sitting down with the god for a talk.
"Just to make sure there aren't any misunderstandings here, I wanted to point out that you don't have to earn it or anything. It comes with the package, as long as you don't do anything out there that's blatantly stupid enough for me to consider revoking the privilege," he says and then winces at the word 'privilege'. That's not what it's supposed to come off like, as if it's a reward granted for proper displays of servitude.
"I mean, it's not actually a privilege," he quickly amends, "just something you'll have here regardless. This is America, and even convicts are allowed time outside, so that means that you will be too. Got that?"
And Loki looks so confused, so lost at those words that Tony just wants to reach out a hand to that face and…
But he doesn't, of course.
And just like Tony already knew that Loki would do, the god nods in reply. Whether he has truly understood it yet is another matter, of course, but somehow he has the feeling that there is very little that additional words can do right now. Whatever understanding might still be lacking regarding this is best gained by Loki eventually realizing it on his own as he makes what Tony has said reconcile with reality.
At least the words should have taken away the main incitement for Loki to behave like this. It might not be perfect, but it's a start, at least.
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