Author's note: So, Tony apparently liked wearing-new-clothes!Loki, let's see what he thinks about sleeping!Loki… ;)

When he walks into the living room, about to plonk himself down on the couch to watch his latest DVD purchase, he finds it already occupied by a sleeping god of mischief.

His lips curl slightly upward at the sight. Seems like Loki has sort of developed a thing for sleeping on his couch.

And even thought he should know better, he can't resist the opportunity to remain standing there and admire the work of art that is the Norse god, while trying to soothe his guilty conscience with the notion that a sleeping Loki won't be disturbed by his creepy staring.

As if moving by their own volition, his eyes go up to track every line of that handsome face, the black hair framing his features, the slightly parted lips, the high cheek bones, and the smooth skin. Unable to stop himself, his gaze travels downwards, over the pale column of his neck, the lean arms sticking out of the black T-shirt, the toned chest and stomach that he knows are hidden under that cloth. And that's where he finally stops, for his own sanity's sake. No point in tempting himself any further than this with things he can't have.

So instead, he lets his eyes travel back the way they came, until they're once more resting on the relaxed, symmetric features of Loki's face, a strand of hair falling over his forehead and fluttering slightly for each breath he takes. Thankfully, the bruises are as good as gone now, only a slight discoloration on his cheek and at one corner of his mouth still remains.

At that, he feels a heated sting of anger at the Einherjer guards that were the cause of all that. He'd be more than happy to have a private talk with each and every one of them while in his Iron Man suit. He'd sure teach them a much-needed lesson or two.

As he stands there, his mind going into gory details about what he would have liked to do with those guards, Loki starts to twist and turn under his scrutiny, apparently having a bad dream. It's only some slight twisting of limbs at first, but when it escalates into jerky, distressed movements. Tony decides he'd better step in. After all, he would sure have wanted someone to do that for him after his stint in Afghanistan and all the dreams that haunted him in the long nights following, bringing their own special brand of fear and terror designed just for him.

The memory of what happened last time he tried to wake the sleeping god up is still fresh on his mind, though, as is the lightening-fast acquaintance he had made with the floor. But at least this time he's prepared and on the alert in case Loki should try another inverted double suplex on him.

So he bridges the short distance to the couch with a few quick steps, bending down to gently grab hold of Loki's shoulders and shake him awake.

"Hey, Reindeer Games, time to wake up," he says in a sing-song-voice to the body stirring in his grip.

Again, he's back in the dungeons. A part of him thinks that is strange, because that's not right and he shouldn't be here, but the stone walls surrounding him speak their clear language, as do the glum light, the stale smell, and the drafty chill penetrating his too-thin clothing to nibble at his skin.

There are three guards in his cell, obviously bored and having decided to pass the time with taunting and jeering, some of it manifesting itself in a more physical way. They do that with prisoners sometimes, but most often with him. Perhaps his sharp tongue is the cause of their preferences, or maybe it's the inherent fun in tormenting a fallen prince, or perhaps they're driven by the primal, primitive anger that a traitor calls forth. He doesn't know, and it doesn't matter.

One of them, a man bulging with both fat and muscles, is holding his chains in a firm grip, effectively pinning his arms and preventing movement. He's the leader of the little group as the other two are too stupid to do much on their own; they just go along, standing around grinning dumbly, occasionally giving him a sharp jab to his ribs, or a punch to his gut, or a kick to his shins. But for the most part, they hover in the background where they eagerly watch as their brave and fearless leader runs the show, sometimes laughing or shouting their support.

The breath of the main guard – Reidar, the only one of their names he's bothered to learn – is foul on his face, smelling like rotten meet and mildew as he draws himself up, pressing in closer and pinning Loki between his own body and the jagged rocks of the wall. He squirms, flashing his teeth in a wordless growl of anger, but Reidar's grip on the chains effectively stops him from slipping loose. Instead, his struggles are rewarded with a fist to his midsection that would have caused him to double up and fall over, choking and spluttering, if Reidar hadn't been holding him upright.

Another tug of the chains, and the ugly face is only an inch away from his own, yellow teeth bared in an ugly grin. "Perhaps they won't execute you after all. Maybe you'll get sentenced to imprisonment instead," Reidar hisses as he leans in further, and the foul gust of air from his mouth makes Loki want to gag and retch. "Then you'll be ours." He laughs, the sharp sound echoing hollowly between the slippery walls of the cell. "And we could have some real fun with you, huh?"

He shudders as the hands on his shoulders painfully dig into his skin, once more trying to get out of that grip, and once more failing.

Reidar is only amused by his struggles. "Just you wait," he mocks. "We'll have such a great time together, little prince."

The fear and terror in his chest is like a trapped, vicious animal, thrashing wildly against its confines. It's threatening to take hold of him, to spread into his entire being, pulling him under in its madness.

He wakes with a cry on his lips and fear and horror pulsating in his chest. For a while, he's not sure where he is, but the shadows of the dungeon are still clouding his head. Strangely enough, there are gentle hands on his shoulders, and there certainly were none of those in the dungeons to alleviate his fears. Nor anywhere else, not since he was a small child and his mother would be at his bedside to wrap her arms around him as he awoke in fright from his nightmares.

And now that this long-forgotten comfort is unexpectedly there, he doesn't want it to go away. The sudden desire takes hold of him, and in pure instinct he digs his fingers into the warm fabric in front of him, burying his face in it. It's not until he's fully awake a few seconds later that he realizes what he's doing, and in horrified shock lets go of Tony's shirt.

Blinking in surprise, he looks down at the god suddenly clinging to his shirt like a starved leech, only to then quickly let go as if he's burned himself on the fabric, a look on his face that would best be described as utterly aghast.

Okay, so this is totally embarrassing. Totally.

"Uh, you seemed to be having a nightmare, so I thought…" he trails off, hoping his admission isn't going to make the god drawn his own inferences about Tony having stood there watching him sleep like a fucking creep.

However, Loki only looks embarrassed, and frankly, Tony is feeling pretty damn awkward himself, so he desperately gropes around for something to say, something that will break the weird mood.

Something, something, anything…

At first his brain draws several blanks, so in the end he just grabs onto the first thing that comes to mind.

"So, uh, you think Thor will be coming back soon with a decision from your daddy?" he manages. Perhaps not the most appropriate thing he could have said, but anything is better than this total weirdness.

Apparently, Loki must think so as well because he quickly plays along without blinking, pretending as if nothing out of the ordinary has just happened. Unperturbed to a fault, he merely answers the question as if it were a total natural thing to ask in this situation.

"I'm surprised it's taken this long, given that the answer to his request will be a 'no'. Of course, Thor has always been stubborn, though it's not going to change anything. Not this time. No one is going to want me back there, so nothing is going to change. The sentence will not be mitigated. I am sure of this."

And he gets the distinct impression that Loki is rambling, but he makes no attempt to interrupt the flow of words. Obviously he's just as eager as Tony to put the recent bout of embarrassed awkwardness behind them.

"What makes you so sure?" he asks.

"I'm a frost giant," Loki answers without hesitation. "And that is reason enough for the Council to let my… banishment to Midgard stand. They won't be wanting a monster back into their midst."

"Aren't you being a little too hard on yourself?" Tony says, wincing at the words. "At least Odin wouldn't care about your heritage; he was the one who took you in, wasn't he?"

Loki is silent for a while before speaking again. This time he doesn't look at Tony, but at the wall behind him. "It makes no difference. I always was a disappointment to Odin anyway," he says, voice a few shades more subdued than usual.

And that comment awakens something within Tony and stirs those needle-sharp memories inside of him that he has long wanted to forget about. "What do you mean?" he asks, perhaps a bit more forcefully than intended.

So maybe it's Loki's desire to dissolve the weird atmosphere still lingering, or perhaps there's another reason entirely, but suddenly he breaks out into a long account of how he's always been considered lacking for showing little aptitude for martial pursuits, for not being a bold and strong warrior, for not being more like Thor.

And for reasons he's not entirely sure himself, once Loki's words have finally run out, he suddenly hears his own voice talking about his always trying to impress his father and failing, the feeling of never living up to expectations, of never being good enough, of always standing in the shadow of someone else he never even met.

And Loki listens with rapt attention, his eyes looking a little wider than usual.

They go to bed late that night, and when sleep finally comes to him, he dreams of black caves and red-and-gold suits, and green eyes staring into his.

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