Author's note: So, I guess this chapter will give us the answer as to whether Tony will manage to cut down on his Loki-time or not… ^^

Again, he finds himself in bed playing another round of Hnefatafl with Tony. He can't help but reflect on the strangeness of how this has turned into normalcy now, a slave sitting here playing a board game with his master, almost as if they're equals. Who would ever have heard of such in Asgard?

It is clear that his opponent is losing again, but the man has still managed to hold his own for an impressive amount of time. Even though Tony has yet to win a single game, or even come close to a draw, he is very persistent. And he's a fast learner to boot. Loki can't remember ever having faced off with a player who has managed to master the underlying strategy as quickly as Tony, or who keeps improving so consistently.

He enjoys the distraction; it's the perfect alleviation of the tedium that inevitably comes with spending most of his time bored in bed. After all, the provided reading material can only offer so much entertainment, and especially the magazines are strange and foreign to him, even if he's starting to familiarize himself with certain concepts and recognize them from previous encounters.

So given the circumstances, it should not be strange that he's looking forward to having Tony coming over to sit at his bedside for another game.

Though, there is another thought, a stranger one, that is starting to creep up on him, namely the realization that it's not only the games as such, but Tony's company that he's looking forward to. Which is of course utterly bizarre, because what slave would want to spend more time in the presence of his master than necessary?

Well, perhaps slaves with masters like Tony.

He pushes the thought away, instead trying to focus on the game at hand.

A very long and very annoying strand of hair keeps falling into his face, and, absentmindedly, he tucks the offending thing back behind his ear for what must be at least the hundredth time today. He hasn't had his hair cut since before getting thrown into the dungeons in Asgard, and by now it has grown quite a bit longer than what he's used to.

"Hey, you're kind of starting to sport that infamous hippie look," Tony suddenly throws out, apparently noticing his hand movement. "I'd say it's time we got you a haircut, or what do you think?" he continues, almost making it sound as if Loki is actually having a choice in the matter.

"If you wish," Loki answers mechanically while contemplating his next move. He could easily bring the game to an end within ten moves, but he could also opt to give Tony an opening so that he has a chance to get back on track. By now, the man should be skilled enough to know how to take advantage of it. Even though victory is already within his grasp, it would actually be more satisfying to prolong the game instead.

"No," Tony interrupts his thoughts, the word a note sharper than his previous casualness. "I asked what you want." At that, Loki raises his gaze from the board to look at Tony who quirks an eyebrow at him. "Your hair, your decision."

He is silent for a few heartbeats before answering, slowly nodding. "Then yes. I would like it cut."

Five minutes later, Tony's hands are in his hair, scissors snipping away. And it feels nice, finally getting it back to its usual, more manageable length. Though, he realizes, not quite as nice as the feeling of Tony's fingers combing through the long strands as he cuts and trims.

After a little while, Tony steps back to admire his handiwork, tilting his head to the side and smacking his lips. "Well, it might not be the best haircut in history, but at least you don't look like Rapunzel anymore," he says with a grin, eyes smiling.

It's odd how he's never noticed the playfulness in those eyes before. And as they regard him with that look still playing in them, it makes something even odder flutter in his chest.

Later, when Tony has left, he finds himself missing not only the fingers in his hair, but also the man at his bedside.

His recent resolution to stop spending so much time with Loki disintegrated before he could even set it into action. It just proved impossible to stay away like he had intended. And if someone would ask him just what it is that keeps drawing him to Loki's bedside, he would have no proper answer to offer them. Probably not even a certified, licensed shrink would be able to make sense out of the entwined jumble of weird emotions in his head.

Of course, it's stupid of him to feel encouraged by the fact that Loki seems to appreciate his visits, obviously enjoys their games of Hnefatafl – that Tony has lost miserably every time, so far – and looks like he isn't too annoyed by Tony's incessant ramblings about Midgardian stuff that makes little sense to an alien god. It's not like Loki has anything better to do to pass time, after all. Heck, if he was in Loki's position, even a visit from Justin Hammer would have been a welcome distraction.

But still, his brain is as happy as ever to provide him with the usual fantasies, letting the forbidden scenes play out in his mind. The ones that begin with Loki, a wicked smile playing on his lips and wanton lust shining in his eyes, grabbing the collar of Tony's shirt to pull his face close for a heated kiss brimming with wanting and needing.

And that treacherous, headstrong brain doesn't seem to care in the slightest that there's no way that Loki would even be able to do the filthy and shameful things that follow with that busted rib of his. To say nothing of how the god would never in a million years actually be willing to do them. Not with him, anyway.

And that's when he pushes the thoughts aside, relegating them to some dark corner of his mind.

Yeah, perhaps he should just leave well alone rather than keep running to Loki's bedside like this, he ponders to himself as he's making his way down to his workshop. If nothing else, he still has other matters to take care of, his prototype suit as well as other projects to work on. The god doesn't need his frequent visits, even if he doesn't seem adverse to them.

Then again, he has to admit that none of those other projects are quite as appealing to attend to as Loki is. Though, he should know better. At the end of the day, he's doing nothing but pointlessly fuelling his own addiction to those mesmerizing green eyes, an addiction that will have to remain but fleeting fancies and private fantasies.

And really, it would be better to let things lie. Nothing will ever come out of it, of course. That part has already been made abundantly clear.

It's ridiculous that he can't just let go of it. He's Tony Stark. There's an ocean of women and at least a middle-sized lake of men out there that would throw their clothes off on the spot if he asked them to, eager for the chance to trade body fluids with one of America's most desirable bachelors.

Not like Loki, for whom the idea of suicide seemed an about as equally appealing prospect. Well, perhaps that was not the only reason for that incident with the knife, but still.

The knowledge is like a painful pinprick inside of him. Okay, so he has been turned down a few times before, though never in such uncertain terms. And never by someone who has exerted such a compelling and powerful attraction on him.

He's fully aware that he needs to watch his steps here. The ground he's treading is one littered with mines, and he could easily set one off if he isn't careful. He remembers all too well what happened last time the god thought that he was about to do things he wasn't about to. Thought that Tony would take advantage of the situation.

Of course, it's not like he's actually going to do anything. But perhaps it's still unwise to feed his… infatuation like this.

So every time, he promises himself that he will not stay and dawdle at the god's bedside. Sure, he'll still dutifully see to his 'patient' and make sure everything is in order, but nothing more than that. Once he's checked on him, delivered his breakfast or whatever reading material he thinks the god might take enough interest in to stave off the boredom, he will leave Loki to his own devices and go invest his time in something productive, something that will actually result in a real outcome rather than remaining a hollow and meaningless daydream.

Yes, that's what he thinks, every time his feet steer him into the direction of the makeshift hospital ward armed with whatever excuse he has for going there this time around.

But seeing Loki lying on the bed, bruised and bandaged, makes all those intentions fly right out the window. Because there is something about that broken god that irresistibly draws him in.

Then again, perhaps it's not so strange. Being an engineer and all, he does have an affinity for fixing broken things.

It's late in the night, but sleep won't come to him. His ribcage is throbbing, as are some of his other injuries.

Though, it's not the dull pain that's keeping him awake. He's gotten used to that already, and the worst of it subsided after the first few days anyway.

No, it's the memory of those gentle hands combing through his hair that won't leave his mind, that keeps interfering with his attempts to get some sleep.

Turning restlessly between the sheets, he rakes a hand through his hair, its somewhat shorter length a strange, unaccustomed feeling between his fingers. Even though it should count as an insignificant trifle for someone in his position, he's still glad that Tony never had his hair shaved off, despite it being a common practice in Asgard, a way for masters to mark their slaves as such, to make their station obvious and unmistakable in a society where most everyone wears their hair long.

A part of him is still taken aback that Tony offered him a choice about whether to have his hair cut or not. Slaves on Asgard wouldn't be entitled to any say in how to look or dress; their appearance is for their masters to decide.

But then again, Tony isn't like any master on Asgard that he has ever encountered.

And he's very, very glad for that.

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