Author's note: If you don't like sticky syrupy-sweet stuff, you should probably skip this chapter. I'm serious. ;)
The equipment that Tony's been preparing has now been all set up and a substantial part of the day spent getting ready for, and then running, the first few tests. Though, to be fair, the test session mostly just consisted of various sorts of calibrations, Tony mumbling to himself as he turned a knob here or flipped a switch there, or making some other kind of adjustment. But there was at least a sliver of progress made, even though everything was still very much in the early stages, and the session had been finished off with Tony expressing steadfast confidence that the results he was hoping for would eventually see the light of day.
And now they're lounging on the couch in the living room, getting a well-deserved break, Tony with his laptop, and Loki with a book in his hands.
It's been a long day and he's starting to feel pretty tired. Tony's sleeping schedule is not quite similar to his own, and even though the man seems to have no problems working late into the night and even well into the morning hours, Loki is more used to the Asgardian practice of going to bed early and rising at dawn with the first rays of the sun.
He yawns, rereading the last sentence again since the words seem to be moving of their own accord across the page. The prospect of getting some sleep is getting increasingly alluring and he supposes he should just call it a day and head off to bed, but the couch is feeling unusually comfortable, so instead he puts the book down on the tabletop and curls up into the corner, head resting on the cushion. Just a few minutes, then he'll go back to his room for some sleep.
It doesn't take long before he starts dozing off, the world around him slowly drifting away to the sound of Tony clacking away on his keyboard, until he's soundly asleep.
However, his sleep is anything but restful. Perhaps it's the recent visit to Asgard that's been triggering those memories from his time spent in the dungeons as he awaited his trial; he doesn't know – all he's aware of is his dreaming mind being filled with scenes of those prison guards stopping by his cell to kick and punch at him, while hissing ominous threats of much worse to come. Detailed description of what they'll do to him, should his sentence be imprisonment.
He wakes up with a cry on his lips, his body shivering and cold sweat covering his skin. Tony is there, right next to him, concern shining out of those brown eyes as they're boring into his.
"Hey, are you alright?" the man asks, a hand lightly gripping Loki's arm.
He's not sure what to say to that, but he's glad that Tony is there.
Damn, the god is paler than an anaemic ghost and shivering worse than a blob of Jell-O during an earthquake. Whatever he's been dreaming, it must have been really shitty stuff.
"So, uh, it's okay," he tries as Loki offers no response to his question, not really knowing what else to say at that shell-shocked look on the god's face. "It was just a nightmare," he adds dumbly, then realizing with a sting of concern that this is not the first time he's caught Loki in the throes of bad dreams. Recurring nightmares is something he's unfortunately all too familiar with on a personal level, so he knows full well that there might be more to them than that.
"You know, sometimes it helps to… talk about it," he offers, wincing inwardly while trying to keep a straight face. He sure as heck isn't a qualified therapist or shrink and isn't good at handling stuff like this. But Loki has no one else than him, of course, so he will have to make do.
At first, he doesn't think that Loki is going to say anything on the subject; experiences resulting in nightmares tend to be pretty personal, after all.
But suddenly, as if a faucet has been turned on, the words are flowing forth like water as Loki is telling him about the guards tormenting him as he awaited his sentence in the dungeons, how they would amuse themselves with beating and hurting him. And then, as these pleasures started to wear old, they decided to spice them up by threatening to do things of another nature entirely. Horrible things, that luckily never came to fruition as Loki got carted off to Midgard instead, but the memories of the fear and desperation still linger.
While Tony can even now vividly recall the dark bruises marring Loki's body as the god first came to his tower, he'd never known about the appalling threats, and it makes him really fucking angry, enough to want to smash whatever object happens to be the closest into tiny little pieces. But even more than that, he just wants to comfort the god, because he's looking so impossibly lost and vulnerable like Tony can't even believe it.
There was a time when he wouldn't have even dreamed of doing this, but something inside of him is telling him that at this point, Loki won't take it for anything else than what it's meant to be.
So he scoots over the short distance separating them so that he ends up right next to Loki. After only a second of hesitation, he leans over and wraps his arms around the god, pulling him close into a comforting embrace, hands on Loki's back. Because despite what Tony might have pretended and whatever prideful facades he had wanted to uphold back then, he knows that he sure would have liked someone to do this for him all those nights when he woke up drenched in a cold sweat after coming home from Afghanistan.
"It's alright," he mumbles, not really knowing what to say, but feeling he should probably say something, no matter how daft and inane. "You're safe here."
Loki is still as a statue at first. Then a pair of arms, slowly and hesitantly at first, snake upwards to wrap themselves around Tony's neck, pulling him tight.
The strong arms encircling him bring with them feelings of comfort and safety, so he greedily leans into the embrace as it becomes clear to him how much he's yearned for these things.
He doesn't want to let go – doesn't want Tony to let go – so he pulls the man tighter as his heartbeat slows down and his shivering limbs relax once more. The warmth and closeness of Tony's body is like oil on troubled water, like solid ground during an earthquake.
They sit there for a while, wrapped in each other. The intimate embrace is making the disturbing memories melt like ice in the sun, until it feels like they're only distant fragments that the erosion of time will soon turn into nothing but dust.
Maybe it's weakness taking a firm and unrelenting grip of him, and maybe he should be ashamed of himself for acting like this, to openly display such neediness and patheticness. But he can't find it within him to care about any such. When it all comes down to it, Tony already knows his embarrassing weaknesses and insecurities; he's told the man of the disgraceful things eating at him for so long – his frost giant heritage, his being considered argr, his failure to live up to Asgard's expectations – and yet Tony hasn't turned his back or mocked him. He's seen Loki at his worst, and has still responded with acceptance.
And as he sits there in that frozen moment, revelling in the closeness, he can tell that his emotions are slowly starting to shift into another territory. Imperceptibly at first, but it gets more and more impossible to ignore as the moment draws on.
He isn't sure whether it's the warm patches of skin against his, the smell of the man's cologne, or the stubble scratching his cheek that constitutes the prime driving force for his thoughts, but he finds himself eagerly hoping that the hands on his back are about to do something more than simply resting there. That they will start roaming over his body, inch their way beneath his clothes, touch him in a far more intimate way than they currently are.
Coupled with those desires comes the wondering what Tony is thinking of right now; surely his mind must be heading down the same path as Loki's own. After their time together in the Asgardian baths, Tony obviously knows at this point that his own desire is fully reciprocated, and being here in his tower, shielded from the public eye, he will have no reason to let himself be held back by his Midgardian notions that all and any sexual displays of affection must take place in private, like he had last time.
It would be the ideal opportunity, now that they're so close already. The perfect occasion to let things progress naturally from here. So he inches a little bit closer, his forehead resting at the crook of Tony's neck as he's breathing in the pleasant smell of the man, certain that Tony won't be able to resist for much longer.
But the hands still do nothing of the sort that he's hoping for them to do; they just remain innocently resting on his back.
As a very vivid image of Tony taking him right there on the couch starts to unfold in his head, he's just about to take matters into his own hands and offer the little push necessary for things to start moving. Let his teasing fingers start exploring Tony's body, or perhaps pull the man in for a kiss. The specifics don't matter, as long as it's something that will inevitably turn the picture in his mind into glorious reality instead of letting it remain an enticing wish.
But in the end, he doesn't, because he realizes then that Tony's unspoken decision is right – this isn't the time for it. And he wants his first time with Tony to be… special. He doesn't want the moment to be marred with lingering memories of bad dreams, of dark dungeons and brutal guards and terrible threats. It deserves better than that.
No, it can wait. After all, they'll have plenty of time for intimacy later on; none of it has to happen here and now.
So he resists the temptation, deciding to hold it off for some other, more appropriate time, knowing it will be for the better.
And that's when he reluctantly lets go of the man whose arms are still embracing him, as he feels his previously calming heartbeat once more starting to speed up, though for entirely different reasons than before.
At that, Tony lets go too, pulling back a little as they disentangle themselves from each other. "You alright?" he asks, face slightly flushed but his eyes not leaving Loki's for a second.
He nods. "I'm fine. Dreams are only dreams, after all."
"Perhaps. But what's causing them might not be something that should just be ignored like that, though," Tony counters, apparently not willing to let the subject go quite yet.
"Nothing can change the past," he says in reply, giving a shrug.
"No, nothing can," Tony agrees. "But there's still something that can make it easier to deal with. I found that out myself after being a prisoner in Afghanistan."
And even though Barton has already told him bits and pieces of that, during a time that now seems very far away, hearing Tony elaborate on it in his own words – the imprisonment, the torture, the constant fear, the nightmares that followed – is another thing entirely. He never realized he could relate to it so much, and it makes him ache inside that Tony had to go through all of that.
Much later, as the harrowing story reaches its conclusion, Loki is silent for a while.
"And… what made it all easier?" he finally asks, unable to resist the temptation. Because he still wants to know.
Tony offers him the hint of a smile, cocking his head. "Something we both just did – simply talking about it."
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