Wooing The Trickster. Chapter 12.

[teofse]

Title: Wooing The Trickster.
Author: Teofse
Rating: G
Pairing: Loki/Tony
Genre: Slash. Romance.
Word Count: 9036
Warnings: None. Unbetaed.
Disclaimer: Don't own these characters. No money is being made out of this fwork.

Summary: “Get ready to be swept off your feet, Loki of Asgard, because my fucking heart has finally found its match, and I'm afraid it's you.”

Wooing The Trickster. Chapter 12

 

Tony wasn't big into apologizing, or feeling guilt, for that matter. He wasn't big -or even small- into getting in touch with his inner angel. Was pretty certain that he'd never actually possessed a prickling conscience and found the idea of anyone listening to an annoyingly whiny little green bug ala Jiminy Cricket absolutely preposterous. That's why the very notion that he'd just spent the entire night tossing and turning restlessly in his bed, feeling increasingly stressed by the fact that he'd opened his big mouth and talked to Thor about his terrible brotherly skills without having OK-eyed it first with the Reindeer, should had made him laugh his head off. Only it didn't. It just brought home how fast his undeniable passion for the most messed up Bluebell in the entire universe was changing his former, stress-free, no-see, no-hear, no-talk-about-huge-messes-that-are-none-of-my-business approach to life.

His dizzying transformation into the kind of dude who would embrace every opportunity to make mushy romantic gestures, behaved like one of those weirdly protective nutters from a cheesy chick-flick and seemed to have developed an honest to goodness moral compass at the eleventh hour was crazy as hell, but it also was, unfortunately, the truth.

Thinking logically about it he'd come to the disheartening conclusion that his new -and frankly puzzling- personality transplant wasn't all that funny. It was a complete and utter disaster that was going to end up biting him in the ass and the worst part of it was that he didn't have any sort of previous experience to draw on when it came to figuring out a way out of the huge I've-just-put-my-foot-in-my-mouth hole he'd dug for himself while in the midst of what must have been some sort of inexplicable emotional meltdown.

He was Tony bloody Stark and the fact that he'd never bothered to develop so much as a single moral guideline meant that he'd never felt the need to bask in guilt before, so he had no idea of how to deal with it.

He'd always preferred the shrug carelessly, confess the-screw-up-in-as-fast-a-speech-as-humanly-possible and swear to fix it at-no-cost-to-you-so-what's-your-problem-pal? approach to the more conventional lower-your-head-in-shame-and-apologize-like-mad BS that everyone else liked to go for. He supposed he could give his usual technique a try but he couldn't see it working on a god who wanted effort, and he was fully aware that he'd overstepped every possible mark there was with his latest stunt. He shouldn't have allowed himself the pleasure of having it out with Thor behind Loki's back, but he'd done it anyway and now he was literally sweating with dread at the prospect of having to explain what he'd done to the Reindeer.

“This is going to be bad, J.A.R.V.I.S. This is going to be suck-balls bad. He's gonna go nuclear on me, isn't he? And then he's gonna pull the green-puff stunt and give me the dreaded cold-shoulder treatment for the next million years. I guess some futuristic Indiana Jones sort is gonna make a killing when he finally finds the mummified remains of the great Iron Man kneeling with supplicant meekness outside Loki's bedroom door.” He muttered dejectedly, giving up all pretense of being deeply asleep. It never fooled his A.I, anyway.

“I feel obliged to point out the highly likely possibility that someone will find your illustrious kneeling body long before it has the time to mummify. Your highly entertaining prediction seems a tad... implausible... to me, Sir. The tower isn't exactly a deserted island.”

“Not the point, sweet-chip. And my version has a certain romantic vibe to it I like better. Being dug out of my dusty grave of grief by a hunky Indiana Jones lookalike has to be better than getting dragged to the infirmary in a drunken heap of snot-clogged misery over my upcoming godfriend-less status by poor Bruce.

“I think you are being unnecessarily pessimistic, Sir. It must be the lack of sleep. You'll probably feel better after a few cups of coffee.” His A.I pointed out quietly as it went through the motions of rolling up the blinds, and increasing the light in the room with the briskness he often used to rouse him from a hangover.

“Pessimism is the name of the game when it comes to screwing up around Loki, Jeeves. He's never let me off lightly so far. Hell, he hasn't let off Thor lightly, and they'd been jabbing each other's buttons for thousands of years.” He whispered warily, pushing himself out of the bed and rushing towards the en-suite in order to drown his creation's pitying little 'Oh' with the familiar sound of half-hearted morning ablutions.

“Correct me if I'm wrong, Sir, but I thought 'effort' was the name of the game when it came to the younger Mr. Odinson.”

Tony's hand froze on the fluffy white towel he was drying his face with.
“He asked me to keep my mouth shut and I couldn't. Not even I can sell him the whopper that such epic failure actually translates to my best 'effort' at following simple directions, Jay.”

“He requested you refrain from telling his brother about the magical cuff his father put on him and you complied. As far as memory serves, and since I recorded and encrypted the entire conversation, it serves me very well indeed, Loki Odinson never demanded that you abstain from speaking with his brother altogether.”

“He never encouraged me to accuse him of being a shitty sibling or tell him about that warrior chick's bullying techniques, either. He told me all that stuff in confidence, buddy, and I went ahead and shoved it all down Thor's throat. I just hope that dumb idiot decided to sit somewhere quiet to think about his shortcomings instead of camping outside Loki's room, hoping for a confrontation. I swear I'm gonna strangle him with his own hair if he dares to upset Loki over the stuff I told him.”

“I'm afraid that the older Mr. Odinson has taken a different course altogether, Sir. He called for the Bifrost fifteen minutes after you left him on the terrace. I assume he's been in Asgard for the last six hours or so.”

Tony's eyes almost popped out of his face. “He's done what?” He growled, one third appalled, one third vexed and the last third reluctantly impressed by the thunderer's sheer commitment to the cause. “Oh, for fuck's sake! Tell me it's not raining, precious. I really want to hear all about the lovely spring weather outlook we're predicting for today, so hit me with it, pal.”

“I'm afraid I can't do that, Sir. Although today's weather outlook was for a warm and sunny day, the truth is that it has been raining steadily for about four hours now.”

Tony's throat dried unpleasantly at the news and his hands trembled as he grabbed the first pair of dirty trousers he could find and pulled them on with a speed that bellied his doomed attempt at sounding calm and collected:
“That's... unfortunate. Has there been any thunder at all?”

“Plenty. Too much, in fact. Most newscasts are currently broadcasting the news that the city seems to be at the center of an unusual amount of thunderstorm activity.”

Tony's gut churned and his heart dropped all the way down to his toes even as he reached for the least smelly t-shirt from the small mountain that was steadily building at the foot of his bed and pulled it on with increasingly anxious determination to get out of here and down to wherever Loki was before all hell broke lose.

“How long has this been going on?”

“Around two hours.”

“Two hours. Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity Fuck! Why the hell didn't you warn me? It's not like I was doing anything productive, anyway.”

“The older Mr. Odinson was gone and you had no way of following him. I didn't see any tactical advantage in encouraging you to worry about a situation you could do nothing about while you were both physically and emotionally exhausted. Allowing you to rest seemed the most helpful course of action.”

A strange mix of pride and fondness rose within Tony's thundering heart upon hearing his A.I's rather touching explanation and he wondered once again how in the world had he managed to create such a sensible and well adjusted engineering miracle when he, himself, was the text-book definition of emotional disaster.
“There's no practical advantage to be found anywhere in this damned mess, unless you think I could get away with rolling with the situation as it is. I mean Thor goes back home all the time, doesn't he? He could have gone there just for kicks. We've got no way of knowing what's happening in Asgard, but I'd bet serious money on daddy dearest refusing to spill the beans. That'd put him in the dog house with both his kids and the lady of the house, too, and that's something he'd want to avoid at all costs so his gatekeeper/spy/peeping Tom extraordinaire isn't gonna sing for Thor, either. I could get away with keeping quiet about the quaint heart-to-heart I had with Thunderpants, as long as I don't rush into a premature confession.”

“That is a reasonable assumption. It could definitely work.”

“But then I'll be in even more trouble when Loki finds out, and he will. There are too many variables in this situation to get a proper hold of it and If I lie to him now, even if its only by omission, the Reindeer will never trust me again.”

“Then confess, Sir. Confess it all. Some say it's good the soul.”

“Loki is going to go nuts when he finds out what I did an oh, god... Thor is gonna be as frustrated as all fuck when nobody tells him anything. I mean he's not even on the planet and we're getting all this rain... He'll flood the entire bloody city if he goes into the kind of temper tantrum they are always reminiscing about and it'll be my fault, J.A.R.V.I.S. I shouldn't have opened my mouth. I should have walked out of the terrace and forced Megabiceps to grow the pair he needs to fix his Loki-shaped problems by himself.” Tony muttered unhappily, pulling an agitated hand through the worst bed-hair he'd sported in more than a month before taking the deepest breath he could manage, hoping to steady his nerves.

“The older Mr. Odinson wouldn't have let you walk away, even if you tried to. You did nothing wrong, Sir. ”

“That's not true. I could have sent him packing. Told him a white lie. Asked you to get the Blueberry to aid me when everything else failed. Trust me, Loki is gonna consider all of that and then some before going supernova. He'll know I stayed because I was dying to get my Mr. fix-it paws all over that messy baggage of theirs. He'll know I was trying to help and he'll be mortified. He hates being rescued more than anything because he's no damsel in distress and the mere suspicion that I see him in that light is going to tear his pride to shreds.”

“He may be no damsel in distress but he's no lone wolf, either. Taking care of one's beloved is a sign of commitment and that's clearly what he wants. Proper, genuine, commitment is what all his requests about putting effort ultimately boil down to. He asked you to keep quiet about his latest punishment and you did. Your conversation with his brother had nothing to do with the cursed bracelet his father forced him to wear. That has to count for something.”

“Only one way to find out, then. Where is he, Wall-E? He can't have missed the weird rain if it's as bad as you say, so... Gosh! Tell me he didn't call for the Bifrost to go back up there, too. That'd be all kinds of fucked up.”

“One moment, Sir. I haven't been keeping tabs on him, since I assumed you were unlikely to demand current knowledge of his location while in the process of faking sleep.”

“Ha. Bloody ha. That's so not hilarious, budd.”

“That's... odd.”

Tony's gut jolted unpleasantly.
“What's odd and how bad is this particular 'odd' in a scale from totally disastrous to merely weird? Tell me what the fuck is he doing, J.A.R.V.I.S! Where the hell is he?”

“He's in the laundry room, of all places. Seems quite busy fondling a t-shirt of yours.”

“What?” Tony was so shocked that he froze en-route to the door. “He's fondling my shirts? That's so hot. OMG! I can't believe that sexy thing is hugging my clothes like some sort of bashful teen. Scratch that. I can actually believe it. Gosh, that's so fucking adorable that I just have to go down there and snog the poor bastard to death. Keep the rest of the team out of my way, buddy. I've never had a hot date in a laundry room before but I think this one is gonna be epic.”

“I'm afraid it's also going to be canceled, Sir.”

“Nope, it won't. I don't care who has decided to throw a spanner in my awesome laundry-room date plans, but you're gonna have to get rid of them, posthaste. I'm not available for anyone. And that means No. One. At. All. I know how much you like to pull that old 'there are exceptions to every rule' trick on me, but that's not happening this time. Nobody gets to me. Or him. No exceptions. I mean it, Jay.”

“That is not it, Sir. Young Mr. Odinson is no longer in the laundry room and I can't find him anywhere else.”

“You can't find him? What do you mean you can't find him? How the hell did you lose him? It's not as if he could have disappeared into thin... oh!”

“He teleported suddenly. I can no longer pinpoint his whereabouts. I'm sorry.”

“It's not your fault, of course. That vanishing trick of his is so fucking maddening that...” A brisk knock on the bedroom door cut Tony's words mid-sentence and he growled with frustration. “Oh, for heaven's sake! I swear I'm gonna lose it if it turns out that's Pepper, coming to torture me with her endless pile of unsigned documents at bloody whatever-time-it-is in the morning. This is turning into the worst day, ever. Find the Reindeer, Awesome-O. Find him while I get rid of the million-contracts' nutter waiting for me out there because, now that I've pictured Loki sniffing my t-shirts like a fluffy shy kitten, there's no way I'll get any work done until I've rumpled him a bit.”

“Actually, Sir...” Renewed knocking drowned the rest of his A.I's reply, but Tony had little trouble imagining what it had been as soon as Loki's voice reached him, loud and clear, from the other side of the door:

“Anthony? Are you there? Will you allow me entry into your chambers? I wish to speak with you.”

The wave of pure elation that rose from the tip of Tony's toes to the top of the bed-hair that decorated his head upon hearing those words sent his already overactive imagination straight into the arms of one amazingly hot fantasy after another, threatening to turn his knees to jelly.
“He's here.  He's actually here, Jeeves! I can't believe he's gathered enough courage to knock on bedroom without any pushing on my part. Make sure no one disturbs us. Remember: no exceptions. This is going to be awesome!”

Tony was so excited at the prospect of welcoming Loki into his 'lair' that he didn't even register his A.I's response, busy as he was rushing towards the door. He stopped there for a second, though, and tried to smooth his mad hair with a few distracted pats here and there only to give up the task for a lost cause as abruptly as he'd decided to try it. He turned the doorknob and opened the door so fast that his poor Reindeer took a startled step backwards and blinked at him, wide-eyed.

“Hey, gorgeous! Of course you can come in. I'm dying to speak with you, too.” Tony welcomed him, raking his slender form like a hungry tiger and winking at him saucily enough to bring the most adorable of blushes to those usually pale cheeks as soon as he spotted the object his crush was carrying in his hand. “Is that a t-shirt of mine, Peaches? I hope you love the smell.”

Loki blinked, appearing both unnerved and thoroughly disconcerted by Tony's feral smile. He frowned down at the bundled gray cloth he was holding, studying it with the kind of intensity Newton must have directed towards the pesky apple that bashed him on the head before answering quietly:
“It doesn't smell of anything. I mean it's clean, I just picked it from the laundry.”

Tony's enthusiasm dimmed ever so slightly, derailed by that straightforward admission of clothes-related theft. The Blueberry's words carried a disappointing lack in the flirty-reference-to-his-manly-aroma department that rubbed him the wrong way for the second it took his mind to analyze Loki's disconcertingly unenthusiastic words before understanding clicked in.
“Is that your way of telling me that the only thing attacking your nostrils right now is the uninspiring whiff of soap?”

“Er... I suppose. I'm sure the quality of your soap is outstanding, Anthony. I wasn't trying to cast aspersions on your washing habits, but...”

“Don't you worry about that, gorgeous. I get it. That t-shirt is way too clean and you want something a bit more... lived in. There are like five more on the pile next to my bed and they all reek like mad, I promise. Go right ahead and pick the one you like best. I can't wait to watch you rub it all over your face until you purr like a kitten.”

“What on Midgard are you going on about?” His brand new, heavenly boyfriend gaped at him like a fish out of the water, voicing that pretty little protest in a strangled tone that brimmed with Oscar-worthy shock. Tony's foolish heart literally melted as he watched his crush flounder in the doorway like a startled fluffy rabbit who couldn't help but blush all the way to the cute tips of his ears, while directing such a thoroughly scandalized look his way that Tony couldn't help but giggle, feeling delightfully wicked in an I'm-planning-to-corrupt-your-little-vanilla-world-with-my-oh-so-shocking-sexual-depravities way.

“It's OK, Buttercup. There's no reason to get flustered over the fact that you've got an uber-cute sweaty-shirt sniffing fetish. I'm not mad at you or anything. I'm delighted. DELIGHTED. Not to mention horny as hell. Kinkiness is cool. Kinkiness is awesome. I'm a kinky fucker myself, so... yeah. This is totally wicked.”

“I don't underst...”

“Please tell me you're gonna let me watch. You seriously have to let me watch you get it on with one of my t-shirts because that's so bloody hot, babe. I don't know how you came up with this idea but it's awesome. Abso-fucking-lutely awesome with a cherry on the top. And whipped cream. And sprinkles. And maybe one of those pretty hand-held sparkles stuck at the very top, just to keep things interesting.”

“Hand-held sparklers? Sprinkles? Anthony—Tony, you are not making any sense.”

“That's because you're still being shy about all this, Peaches. There's no need for that, though. You shouldn't go around trying to hide this kind of stuff. If this is what makes you tick then this is what makes you tick. You've got nothing to be ashamed of, I swear. I wouldn't mind taking a whiff or two of your manly essence myself. Actually who am I kidding? I'll probably self-combust within sniffing distance of a piece of your clothing and I've never self-combusted in such a novel way before, so I'm all for it, Bluebell. Let's play drown-your-senses-in-your-beau's-scent together, shall we? I bet the lovely sweater you're wearing smells like all my dreams come true.”

Loki took a wary step backwards, all widened eyes, gaping mouth and utterly bewildered expression. He looked so thoroughly shocked that it didn't take a genius of Tony's caliber to arrive at the cock-deflating conclusion that t-shirt sniffing hadn't been his crush's ultimate goal when he'd decided to raid the laundry room for a garment of his. Abject disappointment surged through his fiercely aroused body, leaving him with the most distressing case of egg in the face he'd experienced since he'd left his teens behind.

Sexy times with his beloved wasn't in his near future, by the look of things. He seemed to have jumped to enthusiastic conclusions where Loki was concerned, as usual, and now was going to end up paying the price in the form of a very unwelcome bout of the blue-balls syndrome. 'Oh, man... what a miserable morning. I shouldn't have bothered to get out of bed if all I'm getting today is this kind of fucked-up shit.'

“You're not going to sniff me, are you?” He finally managed to ask, trying hard to mask the crushing disappointment that was coursing through his veins along with the knowledge that he'd obviously read whatever was going on here wrong. “That's a goddamned shame, Cupcake. I'd have loved to plant my nose all over that posh sweater of yours, that's for sure. I'd have loved to plant my nose all over you, period.”

“I... That's—No. I'm not going to sniff you, Anthony, and I wasn't expecting your strange desire to sniff me, either.” Loki answered in a small, startled tone while shifting from left to right with that heart-melting self-consciousness that never failed to charm the bloody pants out of Tony. He looked ready to bolt at a moment's notice but was thankfully staying put for the time being, despite his clear discomfort with the giant pickle that Tony's dirty, dirty, mind had conjured out of thin air and dropped atop his unsuspecting head without any warning. “Why would you even entertain the frankly disturbing notion that I planned to smell your clothes? The very idea of rubbing anyone's dirty laundry over my face sounds positively gruesome.”

Tony chuckled weakly at that, wondering if he'd get away with claiming that shirt-sniffing was some sort of midgardian wooing tradition that Loki knew nothing about. It'd be interesting to see if the Bluebell was open-minded enough to embrace a practice he clearly found weird and disturbing, just to make him happy.

He was so keen on getting close and personal with Loki's soft looking sweater that he seriously considered lying through his teeth to get there for the blessed second it took the annoyingly pious, winged, Iron-mini-man who lived atop his right shoulder to remind him that he'd be in enough trouble once he gathered the courage to confess his midnight one-on-one with Thor as it was, so he'd better be on the level about the whole sniffing thing, if he still wanted to have a godfriend after that giant pile of smelly dust finally settled.

'Oh, what a whiny little shit you are, goody-goody Iron-mini-man! I much prefer your naughty counterpart.' He grumbled under his breath before opening his mouth and waving goodbye to his newly minted scent-the-Reindeer-until-you explode-in-a-giant-shower-of-come fantasies.
“It's not gruesome at all, Frosty. It's unusual, I'll give you that, but it's also sexy and interesting in a hot and playful sort of way. It was also the first thing that came to mind when I saw you carrying a shirt of mine around. What are you doing with it, by the way?”

“I wanted to ask if you'd be willing to wear it.”

Tony frowned.
“I wear it all the time, Honey-bun. It's mine, remember? I don't know how this works up there, in the clouds, but we, mortals, don't despise our clothes on principle.”

“I meant to ask if you'd wear it right now. I... It's important, Anthony.”

Now it was Tony's turn to look and feel disturbingly clueless. He stared at the shirt Loki's hands were clutching for a good five minutes, trying to figure out what the hell was so special about it without any success whatsoever. It was just a shirt like any other: faded gray and ratty around the edges, permanently stained with the random spots of old grease that gave it the most reliable seal of this-sad-looking-garment-belongs-to-Tony-Stark there was.
“Why would you ask such a thing? You've never cared that much for what I wear, as far as I can tell, and trust me: I've tried to impress you with a pair of tight pants or a super-posh tuxedo more times than I can count, so I know exactly what I'm talking about.” He said finally only to end up even more intrigued by Loki's cryptic response:

“I'd rather not answer that until you wear it. I've done something to it. Something that may or may not work. Something that won't harm you, I swear. I need you to trust me for a second. I... Please, Anthony.”

Tony hated those last two words -and the patently insecure little tone they'd been whispered with- with the kind of passion he often reserved for badly designed tech. A muscle on the left side of his jaw started twitching so unpleasantly that he felt like growling at the first Asgardian asshole he could find. Only there were no Asgardian assholes handy nearby, and yelling at his current companion wouldn't work because he was neither an asshole nor a true Asgardian when it came right down to it. He was Loki, just Loki: gorgeous, messed up and apparently in desperate need of something that Tony had no intention of denying him.
“Give it to me then, Sunshine. I'll have it on faster than you can say cheese.”

“Please, allow me.” Loki whispered, smiling at him so brightly that Tony's entire world shrunk to the size of that beautiful smile with his next blink. His breath caught and his knees wobbled so much it was embarrassing. He used to be a fucking playboy, for goodness sake! He was doomed. Utterly doomed, and he didn't even care. In fact he was so charmed, enchanted and abso-fuking-lutely enslaved by that bone-meltingly sweet smile that it took him an entire minute to notice that he now sported the t-shirt Loki had been carrying while the one he'd been wearing laid, perfectly folded, atop his rumpled bed.

“You magicked this on me...” He whispered in awe, trembling right hand raising to touch the soft cloth of the garment he was wearing, just to check it was real.

“I forgot to ask your permission. I'm sorry. I hope you weren't offended.”

Tony's amber-colored eyes settled upon his Smurf's apologetic features, drinking them in one by one.
“I must confess I'm slightly disappointed that you didn't give me the chance to dazzle you with the awesome six pack I've been developing just for you, gorgeous, but hey I'm sure I'll find a good excuse to flash you sooner or later. Unless you're willing to let me get away with something lame like: I need you to check my freckles, of course. Actually I think you should go for that one, right now, Muffin. You've got no idea what you're missing. I've never been much of a gym nut, but I figured early on that my perfectly ordinary abs wouldn't impress a guy who grew up surrounded by Conan wannabees, so I've been working out like mad and I've gotten awesomely fit. My chest is nothing like Thor's, of course, but... Ah, shit. I can't believe I forgot to... Er— hey, babe, now that we are talking about Thor, I should probably go ahead and tell you that I...”

“It worked, Anthony. It worked!” Loki cut him off mid-sentence, looking so inexplicably delighted that Tony stopped trying to confess his dirty deed in the I-had-it-out-with-your-big-brother department and stared around in confusion, searching for anything out of the ordinary without any luck whatsoever.

“What worked?”

“The shirt. Blessed Norns, I can't believe it worked!”

Loki's laughter sounded like relief, joy, hope and a thousand similar things that his usually wary Reindeer never expressed lightly. 'You look happy' Tony thought, marveling at the beauty he beheld. His lips curved upwards, blooming with their own delighted smile in instinctive response to his crush's elation, and he became uncomfortably aware of his mushy desire to stay trapped in this wonderful instant for all eternity, basking in the warmth of Loki's rare joy for as long as he possibly could.
“I'm glad that whatever it is worked, Pumpkin. Anything that can put you in such good mood has my most heartfelt approval.”

“Heimdall can no longer see you. I've found a way to render the Allfather's curse pointless.”

Tony's entire frame jolted forwards, hands flying up to grab Loki's shoulders in an effort to anchor himself in a world that had suddenly become a hell of a lot brighter, lighter, better.
“You broke the bracelet? That's amazing, Loki!”

“No. No. Breaking the king's curse is impossible, but I found a way to bypass it.”

A big part of the brightness that had come out of nowhere to improve Tony's day dulled at that moment. He tried his best not to let his abject disappointment show, but he could still feel it coat the back of his throat with unbearable bitterness.

He supposed Loki's achievement was great indeed, since his inability to cast that particular spell on him had been at the very root of the Reindeer's bone-deep misery when it came to the dammed cuff, but Tony's issues with Odin's punishment had nothing to do with his godfriend's inability to shield him from the heavenly peeping Tom's eyes. He couldn't care any less who the fuck wanted to watch him love -and be loved by- the most amazingly gifted, sexiest, funniest, sweetest alien-sorcerer to ever walk on two mindbogglingly long legs. What he wanted was to return Loki's freedom and cast away those shackles that hurt his skin with the unnatural heat they gave off and his mind with the indisputable shadow of paternal betrayal.

“How did you bypass it, gorgeous? I thought you said it couldn't be done.” He asked dazedly, trying to figure out the eventual prize his clever prince would end up paying for this single act of defiance. His heart clenched when Loki smiled beatifically at him, shaking his right arm free of Tony's hold to press a long-fingered hand right in the middle of his chest in a motion that allowed his elegant digits to dig delicately into the t-shirt's ratty gray cloth.

“It was you, Anthony. I'd have never even thought of rebelling against the king's justice, if it hadn't been for you. I've been seeking Odin's approval for so long that I've taught myself the shameful art of mindless submission when it comes to him. I've accepted his every punishment, tried to meet his every expectation and attempted to conform with his every design for my future. I've been his faithful slave for as long as I can remember.”

“Loki...” Tony's gut twisted into painful knots upon hearing that shamed admission. His stupid eyes started burning like a pair of wimpy motherfuckers as he stared at his Bluebell's distressed features, and his throat constricted unhelpfully at the worst possible moment, rendering him unable to force out the words that were burning the tip of his tongue with what he suspected was the pure and simple truth: love makes slaves of all of us and Loki's father must have felt equally desperate to earn his son's admiration plenty of times. There was affection there, and plenty of it, if the man/god/mighty-cyclops' dogged determination to 'protect' his youngest child from Tony's 'evil clutches' was anything to go by.

“I found your reluctance to accept the presence of the bracelet inspiring. Your relentless search for a way to break me out of it, despite the fact that there's pretty little you can do, reminded me of the first truth I ever learned about you: you are a warrior through and through. You fight to the death in every single battle, putting everything you've got to give at risk, no matter what the odds.”

Tony squirmed from left to right, reacting to that unexpected praise with uncharacteristic bashfulness.
“Cut it out, you, Charmer. You're gonna make me blush like an idiot and I only like red on my suits. Crimson cheeks are so Victorian.”

“I'm sorry if my explanation unnerves you, but you must listen to it, for I know you well enough to realize that you'll only condone my strategy when you fully understand it.”

“What does that mean, exactly? I'm getting a really bad vibe about this, Peaches, and I don't like having bad vibes when I've just watched you lock horns with your father in a blasted magical duel.”

Tony didn't like one single bit how twitchy Loki became then. His green eyes skittered away, looking everywhere but at him for a full minute before he took a deep breath and squared his shoulders in a way that reminded Tony of the cap's little mirror ritual before donning up his suit every time they were called to join one gigantic fray or other.
“You must understand that this is important to me. This is a choice I'm making of my own free will and with full understanding of the consequences. I'm not asking you to help me or defend me or protect me. I don't need saving, Anthony. All I'm asking is for you to respect this choice.”

“OMG! What have you done? What the fuck have you done?”

“Watching you bang your head day after day against the Allfather's will made me realize that I have never defied him.”

“Oh, no. Oh, shit, no. Tell me you didn't do what I think you've done, Loki.”

“Listen to me, please: I've never been a true warrior because I always give up too soon. I've never fought to the last breath in all my years. Never spent my last resource on a single battlefield. I've never fought to the death, never burned with passionate conviction in the justice of my cause because I've never believed in anything. All my battles have been fought for the benefit of others, waged to achieve someone else's designs. I've been a soldier without a cause all along. An uninspired cog doing its uninspiring part for the good of the Realm Eternal. The only thing I've ever wanted to do in battle was win and survive. That's why I invariably end up running to safety whenever things turn ugly. I've retreated, hidden and even surrendered plenty of times, just to ensure I'd live long enough to fight another day. But now I finally understand what the Allfather and his son have been telling me all these years: there is no worth in running away. Surviving is important and winning even more so, but second-hand victory is shameful.”

“I hope you realize that's a giant heap of stinking BS, Baby-doll. Living to fight another day is what clever people do. There's no glory in dying like an heroic idiot for no reason whatsoever. I'm all for the tactical-retreat approach myself and, it pains me to admit this, it really does, so don't make me repeat it too often, but I think you're romanticizing the infamous Stark stubbornness too much.”

“No.”

“Loki...”

“Wisdom has never bought me respect. Knowledge very rarely trumps true courage. And courage doesn't take unjust punishments meekly. I may have never been a true warrior before now but I've finally decided to be one. This is my defiance, Anthony. This is my choice. I've finally realized that, even if some parts of the person I believed myself to be were nothing but lies, that alone can not negate who I really am. My truths have remained unchanged because the lies about my parentage were never, ever, mine.

“I've never been Loki Laufeyson and I've never been Thor's equal. But I've always been Loki of Asgard. And Loki of Asgard is a wordsmith and a trickster and the greatest living sorcerer in the Nine Realms. He is the kind of man who fights with words and tricks and... loopholes. The kind who'll find a window to crawl in when all the doors are closed. He's a warlock who knows that not all magic can be defeated head on. That some spells must be rendered pointless by their own small print first, thus weakening the power that feeds them.”

Tony laughed at that unexpectedly irreverent comparison and pulled his newborn fearless warrior into his room, closing the door behind him and guiding him towards the small, stylish couch that usually sat in solitary splendor under his bedroom's large windows.
“What's the cuff's small print, then? I can't wait to hear all about the handy loophole the-cyclops-of-doom forgot about.”

Loki seemed to relax, allowing himself to laugh with honest delight before seating primly on the edge of the couch and explaining further:
“Magic is not like your science, Anthony. Magic is not... sentient. It doesn't have the ability to learn. It can't adapt to change, make extrapolations or even compare two slightly different situations in order to decide whether they are similar in spirit or not. Magic can not behave like your J.A.R.V.I.S does, because magic doesn't create works of art. It only creates tools.”

“So you're saying that your mumbo-jumbo mojo is stupid at heart. It needs specific instructions and it can not deviate a single inch from them, that about right, Precious?”

“Yes. The mark of a great sorcerer doesn't lie in the amount of power he can wield but in his ability to block as many loopholes as possible when he's crafting a spell. This means that curses cast hastily are more vulnerable to magical manipulation than those that had been carefully designed.”

“I see... Your dad was angry and unprepared. He never planned to curse you. He just wanted to bully you into compliance and he lost the plot when you told him where to shove it. He just waved his infuriated, magic fingers and voila: that awful cuff was sitting on your wrist like the creepiest birthday present, ever. Yeah?”

“I wouldn't have put it that bluntly, but yes: the Allfather's goal was to shackle my ability to cast the cloaking spell upon you and he designed his curse accordingly, but he didn't think it through. He was too hasty. Too blinded by his desire to obtain that one boon to bother curtailing my access to that particular spell when it comes to casting it over myself or others. I can even cast it on inanimate objects, Anthony, and these objects can be imbued with other spells. Spells that can literally turn them into a fine tuned talisman than can transfer the magic they carry to whoever owns them and even replicate it on each and every object their owner cares to touch while carrying it around, creating an infinite number of other objects, all of them tuned to transfer the original spell.”

“OMG! You turned my t-shirt into a talisman. I'm literally wearing your magic... That's so hot.”

Loki smiled with undisguised tenderness and lifted a hesitant hand to fiddle with the very tips of Tony's messy bangs in a rare show of affection that made the billionaire's breath hitch.
“You have such a one track mind. It's rather flattering.”

“It's called attraction, babe. Or desire, if you feel bold enough. There's no flattery involved.”

Clearly embarrassed green eyes focused on him, blinking owlishly as the tips of their owner's ears reddened so charmingly that Tony's hopelessly besotted heart melted on the spot.
“I must confess I wasn't expecting you to be quite so... enthusiastic... about the idea of letting me set foot inside your chambers. We've been taking things so slowly that I assumed you'd be more reluctant to welcome me here.”

Tony laughed at the insanity of that assumption and reached across the couch's sleek cushions to grab his crush's long-fingered hand in a gesture of reassurance.
“We're not going slowly for my benefit, Sweetheart. We're going slowly because I don't want to rush you. I'm never reluctant to welcome you, Buttercup. You're allowed everywhere in my life. Anywhere. Any time. All you've got to do is barge in.”

Loki shuddered delicately and a veritable army of small goosebumps bloomed all over the skin of the hand Tony held. His sorcerer's swan-like throat contracted as he swallowed and the expression in his eyes turned fierce and overwhelmed as he exhaled the most delicate of soft sighs, looking for all intents and purposes like a thirsty man who'd just been offered the hugest cup of crystalline water in existence.

“That's a very generous offer, Anthony. I—er... Thank you.”

The shocking primness of that polite little answer made Tony laugh out loud. His gaze softened to delighted amber, his callused thumb rubbed back and forth across the delicate skin of his alien-wizard's palm and he reduced the meager amount of distance that separated them with a single ass-wiggle across posh upholstery.
“There's no need to thank me, Peaches. I'm the one who wins the greatest prize around here with my cunning and generous offer, you see? I get you. All of you. While you get only me.”

Contrary to what he was expecting, his daring declaration didn't spook Loki. The asgardian didn't break contact. Didn't bolt upright. He smiled that utterly brilliant, sunny smile of his instead and laughed with delight. Lovely green eyes twinkled with amusement, stealing Tony's breath anew without any effort whatsoever. He had never seen his mercurial crush look quite so carefree. He had never seen him so calm and content. So close to being... happy.
“Now I know there's trickery afoot. Tell me, kind sir: who are you, and what have you done with the real -and rarely ever modest- Tony Stark?”

“Ouch! You're judging me too harshly, Sunshine. I can be modest under the right conditions.” Tony mock-pouted, breaking into a gleeful smile when he was rewarded by a small peck to the lips and a wickedly sexy whisper:

“And what conditions would that be, my dear Anthony? I find myself thoroughly intrigued.”

Tony blinked coquettishly and batted his eyelashes with gusto, biting his bottom lip harshly in order to stop himself from bursting into the elated frenzy of giggles that was bubbling up the back of his throat like fine champagne.
“What's in it for me, if I answer? I'm a very powerful midgardian hero, you know? Can't go around disclosing my weaknesses to everyone who asks without proper... incentive.” He flirted shamelessly, hoping to keep the sexy banter they'd got going for as long as he possibly could. It was so rare to see Loki relaxed and willing to step out of his comfort zone to flirt back that Tony's heart had been pounding with a dizzying mixture of arousal and sheer pride since the moment he realized that his usually shy god was actually trying to tease him.

“I could grant you a single boon to reward your honest answer. I'm a very skilled sorcerer, Anthony. I could probably provide you with whatever you desire.”

Tony's breath caught as those unexpected words short-circuited his mind, bombarding it with image after image of pure, wicked temptation. He could do so much with an offer like that, if he wanted one thing only. But he wanted more than that. He wanted everything. And he'd never get everything out of skittish, suspicious, emotionally fragile Loki if he tried to settle for less.
“You've done that already, gorgeous.” He finally whispered and could have kissed himself with triumphant glee when Loki's green eyes widened in shock.

“I have?” His god questioned with confusion, turning that dark-haired head towards one side in order to study Tony's matter of fact expression with endearing self-consciousness.

“Of course you have. You are everything I desire, Loki. And you're already here, sitting beside me of your own free will. You even made an anti-peeping Tom talisman just for me, while I... oh, fuck. Ispokewithyourbrotherandcalledhimanidiotbehindyourback.”

Loki gaped at him, clearly startled by the abrupt end to their banter and leaned back a little, frowning with disconcertion.
“I'm sorry. I couldn't quite catch that last sentence.”

Tony gulped with growing dread and ran suddenly sweaty palms all over his messy bed-hair before forcing the words out again.
“I spoke with Thor last night. I didn't tell him anything about the cuff, so you don't have to worry about that, but we got into an argument and I... I may have shouted at him a bit and called him an idiot.”

Loki studied his contrite expression for a full minute before bursting into peals of slightly malicious laughter.
“Is that what this awful rain is all about? That must have been some argument, Anthony. I haven't seen Thor put on this sort of display since he lost the last round of the Mighty Hunter's Games to Udger Jiarson twelve hundred years ago. When I woke up to all this thunder I assumed he'd fallen out of grace with the lady Jane. What did the two of you quarrel about: your failure to order enough pop-tarts for breakfast? The fact that one of you must change the color of your outfit for fear of confusing the masses? No. No. I think I've got it. You fought about...”

“You. We argued about you, Loki.”

The Reindeer's mirth disappeared so fast Tony got whiplash.
“You. Argued. About. Me.”

“I'm sorry, Lokes. I really am. He caught me railing at the sky like a great, angsting dumbass and called me on it. Said he'd heard me shout your name once or twice in the middle of my rant and wanted to know what was going on.”

Loki turned ash-gray in the blink of an eye.
“But you said you hadn't told him anything about the cuff.”

“I told him other things, Pumpkin. He was worried about you, said he'd noticed you were unhappy and wanted to put the fear of Thor into whoever had dared to upset you. I told him to take his hammer back home and start swinging it around with gusto because I had it on good authority that all your problems come with a giant made-in-Asgard label.”

“You told Thor to... Why would you do such a thing? Why would you hurt my brother so?” The smurf asked, sounding so heartbreakingly betrayed that Tony's gut churned with regret.

“Because he was criticizing you without having all the facts. He had glued all his clues in the wrong place and was reaching the kind of conclusion that drove him to claim that your refusal to have lunch with your mother in the wake of a fight with your dad made you unworthy of her affection. I flipped, OK? I know it was dumb of me, but I couldn't help it. Everybody knows how much you love your mom, for goodness sake! Thor shouldn't have said something like that in front of me. He should have known something was wrong the moment you passed on the chance to see her, and the fact that he didn't drove me crazy with frustration. I had to point it out, Bluebell. I just... had to.”

“Thor's thoughtlessness doesn't stem from malice but from genuine naivety. You shouldn't have allowed it to offend you.”

“That's no excuse for his blindness and you know it. I understand that you're too afraid of what he'll choose to make the call I made, but somebody had to make it because watching the two of you quarrel like toddlers over all the stupid crap in the universe while avoiding the big issues is getting on everybody's nerves.”

“That's not your decision to make.”

“Well you were never going to make it and he couldn't, because he behaves like such a clueless idiot around you that its not even funny, Buttercup! He was worried sick about you, but he didn't even think of talking to you like any sane adult would have done. He came to me instead. And then had the actual gall to whine on and on about how you refuse to join him and his friends just to spite him. He even mentioned how much that chick who hates your guts is salivating at the idea of fighting you and I lost it, babe. I lost it so bad that I called her a bitch and him a shitty brother.”

Loki gaped at him, going from seething anger to absolutely appalled in a single heartbeat.
“You called the Lady Sif a bitch in my brother's presence and lived to tell the tale?”

“I think the idea that she'd been trying to humiliate you all along during your so called 'duels' distracted him long enough to make him forget whatever revenge he'd planned.”

“I told you that in confidence. You had no right to whisper such things in Thor's ear.”

Tony saw red despite his every intention to stay calm and collected to the bitter end, so instead of being cool and rational about the mess he'd made and take Loki's understandable displeasure on the chin like the good, apologetic boyfriend he was trying so hard to be, he ended up jumping out of the couch to pace in front of it like a caged lion and growling with rising vexation:
“I have all the right in the world to stick my oar in this awful pile of shit, if I want to! You may have finally decided to become a warrior, but I swear on my suit's reactor that you'll only become the fucking Lone Ranger over my dead body, do you hear me? You are not alone, Loki. You have me. And I am here. And let's get this one straight while we're at it: I'm not here because I forced you to accept this thing between us. I'm here because you let me in. You chose to accept my affection. You chose to become mine and that's exactly what you are. You're mine, Bluebell. Mine to keep. Mine to protect. Mine to worry about. You're mine, period. And everybody knows that I'll scratch the eyes out of every bastard who even thinks of trying to mess with MY STUFF!”

Loki looked absolutely thunderstruck. He'd turned as pale as a ghost and appeared to have lost his ability to speak. His green eyes were tear-bright and widened almost to capacity, flashing with a strange and complex mixture of feverish longing and inexplicable anger. He looked sick to his very bones, ravaged by blooming shame, stubborn pride and a hunger so profound that it was making him shiver from the top of his dark head to his boot-encased toes.
“I have never been anybody's before. It's rather frightening.” He muttered at last with a wobbly little tone that instantly deflated Tony's outrage, piercing it with the skilled accuracy of the accomplished knife-thrower Thor often claimed Loki to be.

“I've never been anyone's either. You're not the only one who is frightened out of his mind.”

“But I'm the only one of us who just made a choice the other may never forgive. You want to keep me safe, Anthony, and I... I robbed you of that chance five minutes ago.”

Tony frowned.
“What does that even mean? You're right here, perfectly safe and sound, right in front of me, Sweetpea.”

“I am here, and I may be safe for now, but I'm definitely not sound.” His Reindeer countered, waving his elegant fingers over his lower arm and canceling the spell he'd been using to hide Odin's blasted bracelet from him. Tony's heart froze mid-beat as soon as his horrified eyes settled on the reddened skin that surrounded Loki's wrist. His sorcerer's forearm looked swollen, blistered and raw in a way that reminded Tony of third-degree burns while that fucking golden cuff kept on glowing faintly, emitting some sort of mist that encircled Loki's skin from wrist to elbow, searing it wherever it touched.

“What the hell is that? What is happening to you? Why is that blasted thing still managing to hurt you when you said you found a way to render your dad's spell useless?”

“I also said that this was my choice and that I was aware of the consequences. These, my dear Anthony, are the consequences. Every sorcerer worth that name programs a deterrent into his spells, just a little something meant to discourage their intended victim from attempting to reverse their curse. The Allfather's deterrent of choice has always been pain. It's terribly predictable, if you ask me, but extremely effective.”

Tony's first instinct was to yank his t-shirt off as fast as he could, see if his rejection of the Smurf's clever talisman could settle the bracelet's backlash. He wanted to go back to yesterday and find a way to convince the gorgeous pain in the ass he so loved to leave the breaking of the cuff to him. But he realized almost at once that neither of those options had a single hope of working, because Loki may be many things indeed, but hasty wasn't one of them. He was one of the best strategists Tony had ever met and that meant that he'd probably blocked his spell's every loophole trice over before setting in motion what was literally the equivalent to flipping his father the bird. 

Helplessness rose within him like a tidal wave, making him dizzy with angry frustration as he was forced to stand there and listen to the fucking owner of his heart talk about how he'd 'chosen' to let himself be so horribly hurt like it was no big deal.
“Why? What's the point of putting yourself through all this pain for such little benefit? You're a Frost Giant and that thing is burning you, Loki. Burning you! I can't understand why you'd do something like this when you know that I don't care if the peeping Tom watches me or not.”

“I've answered that question already. This isn't about you. This is only about me. This is about the kind of man I used to be and the one I want to become. It doesn't matter whether it bothers you or not that Heimdall can see you, because it bothers me. I've grown tired of indulging Odin's whims and I'm no longer prepared to surrender. I want to defy the king of Asgard over this. I want to fight for my right to cast that spell on you with everything I've got. I want to be a warrior, Anthony. I just... I want to be a warrior when it comes to us."

Chapter 13

Chapter 11

 

TBC