Wooing The Trickster. Chapter 4.

[teofse]

 

Title: Wooing The Trickster.

Author: Teofse

Rating: G

Pairing: Loki/Tony

Genre: Slash. Romance.

Word Count: 3409

Warnings: None. Unbetaed.

Disclaimer: Don't own these characters. No money is being made out of this work.

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 4.

 

Tony despised baddies with a penchant for attacking his beloved New York at obscenely early hours of Monday mornings even more than he despised Monday mornings themselves. He specially despised the kind of baddies who wore super-cool armors just like his own. And if they were rude enough to dare being the kind of goddamned techno-wizards who could grab Loki's elusive attention in under five seconds flat and, literally, make the god's lovely green eyes sparkle with exhilarated challenge on top of everything else, then all bets were off.

He'd blasted that cocky bastard sky high with a single shot of his new super-awesome repulsor technology (the same one he had developed specifically to defend himself against Thor's potentially hazardous protective big-brother tendencies, back when he still feared that the mighty god wouldn't be pleased by the news that he wanted to bang his younger sibling blind), so his attack had the same satisfying result that his extensive in-lab testing had promised.

What he -or any other Avenger, for that matter- couldn't have predicted in a million years was how very upset Loki had been about it all. He'd yelled at Tony non-stop for forty-five minutes straight. Called him a war-mongering brute, who wouldn't recognize diplomacy if it chewed his butt off, ignored every attempt made by good old-captain Rogers to calm him down, and magicked himself off the still slightly smoldering battlefield with that wispy little green puff of his that never failed to make Tony's usually laid-back feathers bristle with ruffled indignation.

“I hate it when you do that, Smurf! You need to man-up and stop running away like a pouting princess every time the world doesn't grant your wishes!” He screamed right into Loki's shocked face as soon as he'd tracked down his slippery beloved, after having spent the entire morning first cleaning up the mess left behind by their satisfyingly defeated enemy, and then being heartily congratulated by their terror inducing, one-eyed boss, in what must have been the single creepiest conversation he'd ever shared with director Fury.

His long-legged version of wickedly-hot alien wizard shot out of the sofa he'd been so comfortably curled into with one of those dusty tomes he tended to favor so fast that his long hair whirled around his beautiful pale face in one of those uber-sexy shampoo-ad moments, settling artfully back into place with that slightly tousled look that, coupled with the shocked widening of those long-lashed green eyes and the slow-bloom of the angry flush that was starting to take over those amazingly high cheekbones, managed to shatter Loki's usual look of prim formality in under two seconds.

“Look at you... You look like the wettest dream I've ever had come to life. I've been ready to strangle you for the last three hours and now all I want to do is stand here and... marvel... at your beauty.” He growled breathlessly, unable to focus on anything beyond the fact that he was here, in the presence of the one creature he wanted the most in all the universe, and he could name at least fifty six things that would be a hell of a lot more satisfying right now than shouting at the prat until his voice turned hoarse.

“You can't truly expect me to swoon over such obvious lie like some sort of vapid, medieval midgardian maiden. Your poetic nonsense isn't even poetic, Stark. If this is your idea of 'charming' I'd hate to see you on full on Neanderthal mode.” Loki scoffed and Tony literally saw red.

“Why must I be 'lying' just because I like you? Liking you isn't a bloody sin, Loki! You are hot. You are clever. You are sophisticated and sexy and artsy and so goddamned deep that I fear I'm going to drown before I even scratch the bottom of what makes you tick.” He barked, raising determined hands towards his bloody annoying crush with the hazy intention of shaking some sense into him.

“What do you think you are doing? Do not lay your hands on me or I'll rip those grabby paws clean off your wrist. I'm warning you, mortal!”

Tony froze in his tracks, more than a little bit turned on by the God's sexy bad-ass attitude, and tried hard to hide his cock's downright dirty thoughts behind a thick curtain of frustration:
“You had no trouble whatsoever accepting Creep-Von-Doom's not-so-subtle admiration. It's hardly fair that I get the far less friendly 'I'm-ripping-apart-the-loathsome-randy-mortal-for-daring-to-drool-over-me' treatment while he got the 'I'll-chat-you-up-with-my-sexy-godly-charms-instead-of-blasting-you-to-smithereens-with-my-awesome-magic-powers'.”

Loki blinked, clearly disconcerted, and tried manfully to hide his increasing bewilderment at the twist their conversation was taking but such task was simply impossible. He gaped despite himself and blushed like a thoroughly scandalized schoolgirl who'd just caught her first glimpse of an unmistakably aroused male. His already widened green gaze turned the size of jumbo marbles as he struggled to come up with one of his witty retorts and came up with a pathetically strangled denial instead.
“I wasn't 'chatting' Victor up. I was trying to understand his motivations for fighting against us. He has only ever been interested in battling the Fantastic Four before, and I...”

“He was flirting with you, dude! He was putting on the charm, puffing up his chest like a mane-less lion and all but bragging about his ability to perform those parlor tricks of his, just to see you look at him as if he were bloody Merlin reincarnated!”

“For the love of the Norns, Victor did nothing of the sort, Stark! We were having a fairly friendly conversation for two people who are on opposite sides of a conflict, and I had almost succeeded in talking him out of continuing with that battle before you barged in where you weren't needed and destroyed the fruits of my efforts.”

“Victor, eh? Funny how you've known that Latvian douche-bag for all of thirty seconds and you, guys, are already on first name basis. We have been living together for two fucking years and I'm still bloody Stark to you.” Tony snarled, maddened beyond reason by the injustice of it all. He had fallen for the Reindeer before anyone else on Earth. He'd seen beauty within this walking time-bomb long before anyone -bar Thor- had stopped screaming the words 'murderous psychopath' in Fury's mostly deaf ear, and now that everything was fine and dandy, he wasn't willing to share his dark-haired diamond in the rough with anyone. Least of all a second rate wizard/inventor with a chip on his shoulder the size of his own ego, who had nothing over him except the fact that he could plant his metallic little rear on the throne of some obscure European country that nobody had even heard about before the guy showed up in their backyard.

“Don't be ridiculous! I use your last name as a sign of respect, just like I use the last name of every other member of the team.”

“What If I ask you to respect me a little less, then? You know I'm trying to charm you, sugarlips. I could do a lot with a substantial reduction of the prissy formality you insist on keeping around me.”

“That would be... improper.., Stark. Battle comrades are not meant to be friends outside the field, regardless of what Thor's attitude may have you believe. My brother's approach often leads him to throw a skirmish out of sentiment. He's surrendered more than once in order to save one of the Warriors Three or even the Lady Sif. Allowing one's shield brothers to make friendly overtures only leads to disaster.”

Tony blinked, shook his head as if to clear it, and then blinked again for good measure before looking back at Loki and coming to the awful conclusion that 'Nope. I didn't dream that one up. He definitely sounded like Fury's creepy twin, just now.'
“I can't believe you're spouting that stinky load of BS out loud in public, gorgeous.”

“It is not BS, as you so charmingly put it. It is the plain and simple truth. Fraternizing with fellow warriors is a tactical mistake.”

Tony chuckled mirthlessly under his breath and decided to come up close and personal to his ridiculously cute cold-hearted war-machine.
“I want into your pants either way, pumpkin, so I'd rather you start using my first name, if its all the same to you.”

“I assumed you had come to your senses about that. You haven't been bothering me with ridiculous tokens of affection lately, and...”

“I've retreated to arm myself with better weapons, since the ones I've used so far haven't been very effective.” Tony stated flatly, cutting down whatever dismissive thing his crush may have been about to say and deciding to go on the offensive while his Trickster struggled with the shock of his announcement: “Tell me, sweet-cheeks, do you like your men on the evil-tempered side of the spectrum or did Doom earn brownie points for having the complexion of a ripened avocado, and being obscenely fond of green-colored metal?”

Loki gave him the deathliest death-glare in his 'piss in your pants, dirtbag' death-glare arsenal and all but hissed with outraged disbelief:
“You think me so shallow that I'd allow myself to be charmed by a man just because he wears my colors? He wasn't wearing them to honor me. He must have a personal preference for that particular combination, just as you do for my brother's choice of red and gold.”

Tony faltered at that, frowning with dismayed self-disgust at his failure to spot that particular pitfall. Colors meant a lot to these guys, just like they did to all the stuffy medieval kings and queens of old. His alien wizard's mindset was closer Arthur's Merlin than his own, and he'd failed abysmally to understand that pretty simple fact. 'Fucking buggering hell on toast! I've been waxing poetic about loving this guy to the depths and breadths of the universe for weeks on end while wearing Thor's signature combo all along...'
“Loki, I...”

“I find it really offensive that you'd dare to accuse me of attempting to overpower an enemy through sexual wiles. I am no harlot, Stark. I wouldn't know the first thing about seducing an opponent if my life depended on it. I was trained as a warrior, not a courtesan, and I deeply resent the implication that I would...”

“OK! I messed up, I admit it. But you were Ohhing and Ahhing over that slick-tongued upstart's barely refined costume and wizarding mumbo-jumbo tricks with enough aplomb to fool me. I'm sure you fooled him, too.”

“That's preposterous.”

“He conjured you a fucking flower: A. Flower, Loki! And you accepted it with a smile on your face, despite the fact that it was an ugly brown color and hopelessly lopsided. You chopped off my goddamned imported Brazilian orchids without hesitating even once, but sighed over that appalling little lump as if it were the Holy Grail itself!”

“He made it himself. Poured a part of his being into creating a small token just for me. He didn't do it out of lust, he did it out of respect for a mediator who may have succeeded in reasoning with him if you hadn't intervened. You, on the other hand, don't put effort into anything. You just barge in wherever you please and bulldoze away the obstacles you can't throw money at. What was there to make your flowers worthy, eh, Stark? I'd bet you even had your J.A.R.V.I.S arrange for them to be delivered.”

Tony stumbled back a step, right hand palming his forehead hard in a thoroughly flustered gesture of unequivocal understanding.
“That's why you've scorned all my gifts... You're a bloody attention diva!”

“I'm most certainly nothing of the sort. I am a god: A. God, Stark!, and I know everything there is to know about the kind of people who use their wealth to pave their way towards one bedroom door after another.” The Smurf spat so resentfully that Tony took another cautious step backwards.

“I'm not going to apologize for being stinking rich, peaches. I have wealth and I like to use it. That doesn't mean I'm as shallow as you're trying to paint me.”

“I've seen nothing to support such lofty claim.” Loki huffed, looking so adorably pompous that Tony had to stuff his grabby paws into the back pockets of his tattered black jeans, least he jumped that difficult son of a bitch and smooched him to death.

“When have you given me the chance to do anything besides running after you and bang my head against the thick wall of disbelief you keep holding between us like a protective shield? You were talking to Victor Bloody Von Doom for five whole minutes. That's 98.6% longer than the last ten conversations we've shared put together, cupcake!”

Loki looked so thunderstruck that, for a second or two, Tony wondered if he'd managed to fry that clever and analytical mind with the simple power of an old-fashioned, jealousy-fueled, hissy fit. Then those shocked green eyes fluttered up and down slowly, giving the god the appearance of a very confused and heart-meltingly adorable little owlet.
“You are jealous. You didn't blast Victor away because you were acting like the trigger-happy buffoon who usually follows my brother. No. You ruined a potentially successful diplomatic effort because you are truly in love with me...”

“Finally, dude! I thought you were never going to see the light. I hope you're not expecting a cookie for arriving at the right conclusion, because I literally spelled this out for you ages ago, and I'm not into rewarding slow coaches.”

Loki frowned, looking right at him with a very unsettling mixture of perplexed wonder and avid curiosity.
“Why? Why have you spent the last few weeks trying to convince me that your crazy avowals of affection are genuine only to start jesting as soon as I do so? Does it not please you that I'm finally willing to believe that you may have developed some sort of misguided... admiration... towards me?”

“It's not misguided and it's not admiration. It's LOVE, you, idiot! Come on, don't give me that look. I know you've heard the name of the emotion before. Your parents are married, aren't they? And Thor has this really weird Tarzan thing going on with our sweet and lovely Jane.”

“My mother and brother are lovable people, despite how often their foolish hearts forces them to gravitate towards the flawed. They both love me, after all.”

“You. Are. Not. Flawed, for fuck's sake!” Tony growled, utterly exasperated by now, and wondered if this is how Pepper had been feeling every day of the last two decades or so. He should send her a basket of fruit, -not strawberries, though- if that was the case. It was a miracle he'd survived for so long with all his body parts attached, if his increasingly strong desire to grab the Smurf's handsome head and bash it against the nearest wall until it stopped talking nonsense was anything at all like the murderous ire he must have awakened within the saintly heart of that poor woman during his most stubborn self-destructive episodes.

“If you say so.” Loki mumbled, turning towards his abandoned sofa and the book resting upon it, even as he shrugged those wide shoulders of his in the kind of dismissive little gesture that pretty much implied he believed Tony's opinion to be the least important thing in the entire universe.

“Make it official, J.A.R.V.I.S, Tony Stark's least favorite villain of all time is Victor-Bloody-Von-Doom and his number one pick for least flawed screwball in the nine realms is one Loki Odinson, AKA Sexy Silvertongue the First.” He barked determinedly, directing his patented I-know-you-want-to-smash-my-toothy-grin-into-the-back-of-my-throat look at his companion's scowling face and feeling only very slightly satisfied by the fact that he'd put a pin on the God's obvious attempt to cut their frustrating little discussion short for the time being.

“I grow tired of your games, Stark. Your so-called affection does not give you leeway to ridicule my life's truths. I do not ridicule yours, regardless of how easily it would be for me to do so.”

Tony crossed his muscled biceps across his equally muscled chest and puffed up as much as he possibly could, proudly displaying his hard-won six pack like a peacock on the prowl, and hoping to high heaven that the Reindeer would be at least a little bit impressed by the results of the obscene amount of hours he'd been clocking in the gym.
“What will it take for you to look me in the eye and stop seeing a headstrong mortal trying to play with your heart for shits and giggles? What do I do when my flowers can't make you smile, my chocolates remain unopened, my dinner invitations fall on deaf ears and the hardest confession I've ever voiced out loud doesn't move you a single inch? How do I prove to the Trickster himself the truth he's too blind to see, Loki?”

“I am not blind, just a bit wiser than you are. Your conviction in your feelings does you credit, but it doesn't make them any more real than straightforward infatuation. This is all a passing fancy for you, Stark. You see me as something new. Something challenging. Something you have never had before and therefore must experience. I was once naïve enough to fall for such short-lived regard. It is glorious while it lasts, but vanishes distressingly quickly. I don't have time for things that come and go.”

Tony swallowed his discomfort with the decidedly serious turn the conversation had just taken and girded his loins to run his trembling knuckles over the silky skin of his Reindeer's left cheekbone. Startled green eyes focused on his own, looking oddly vulnerable, despite their owner's vocal claim to life-hardened wisdom.
“I've never been one to come and go. I'm Tony fucking Stark, Loki. If I wanted to leave I wouldn't be standing here. I've never been shy about saying 'no' to things and people I don't care about. That's what keeps treasures like Pepper, Happy and good-ol' Rhodey near me, man. I may rarely stick around for anyone but, when I do, there's no power on this Earth that will forcibly remove me. I was once naïve enough to believe love wasn't for the likes of me, either. But I was wrong. And so are you, sweetheart.”

Loki closed his eyes tightly, turning his head far enough away for Tony's caressing knuckles to lose contact with his cheek before asking him point blank:
“What If I don't want to do this, Stark? Would you respect that? Would you... give up, then?”

Tony's pounding heart ached with unspeakable sorrow. His chocolate-brown eyes settled over his beautiful Asgardian, attempting to brand his image into the soul he'd never thought he had before it started howling inside him like a clawing, dying demon. It took him three painfully obvious attempts to force down the lump that had lodged itself bang in the middle of his parched throat in order to whisper softly into the silence:
“I will go down with your ship, Captain Silvertongue. But I can do so without bothering you about it. I can...”

“Must you always speak in code? I don't own a single ship, Anthony.”

Tony's idiotic eyes started playing girly tricks on him then. They burned like a pair of wimpy motherfuckers and somehow managed to make his manly voice sound choked when he whispered in response:
“That's alright, buttercup. I can build your ship for you, if you let me. I'm not sure you've heard this before, but I happen to be real handy with a soldering gun.”

His alien wizard chuckled awkwardly and shook his head from left to right, clearly wondering what the hell could he do with a nutter like him. Somber green eyes looked at him sternly, taking in whatever emotions were plastered over his face and reading them like a book or a map. Like a wordless avowal of Tony knew not what.
“Effort, Anthony. That is the only thing that will ever make you worthy. Effort is the language of the gods. The one thing that often forces them to notice you and reward you with your heart's greatest desire. Effort is the key that opens every door, but you must use it wisely, for it could gain you things you are not truly ready for.”

TBC...

( Chapter 5 )

( Chapter 3 )