Wooing The Trickster. Chapter 8.

[teofse]

Title: Wooing The Trickster.

Author: Teofse

Rating: G

Pairing: Loki/Tony

Genre: Slash. Romance.

Word Count: 5534

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 8.

 

Little, fiddly Hors d'oevres had never been Tony's thing. He liked the stuff well enough in a pinch, but it couldn't compare to pizza. Loki, on the other hand, was most definitely not a pizza man. He didn't like whiskey, or coffee for that matter. Thinking properly about it the Reindeer didn't like anything Tony himself liked and that was just... weird.

Now, looking at the uncharacteristically sparkling clean counter of his private kitchen, which he'd just had professionally disinfected four-times in the last six hours, because, seriously, the last time he'd used the thing someone's naked ass had been definitely parked in the middle of it, he searched high and low for the boulder of annoyance he should be feeling right now and could find no trace of it.

It looked like he had absolutely no qualms about the fact that he'd felt driven to remove all traces of his perfectly messy approach to genius from a place that was supposed to be his and his alone. His own little kingdom. His Sanctum Sanctorum. A Stark tailored haven where nobody's needs, likes and dislikes should have ever been allowed to matter. And yet they had. Loki's preferences had already changed something crucial about both this space and the man who owned it. They had given Tony's usually chaotic energy a sense of direction. A purpose beyond the mere miracle of existing. A goal to strive towards. Someone 'real' to fight for.

“Shit. I have it bad. I have it so bloody bad... I've just turned my perfectly stinky kitchen into the kind of place you could lick food off the floor and survive to tell the tale and that's just... a million shades of wrong. I'm doomed, Jeeves, abso-fucking-lutely doomed. That's what that sexy Reindeer has done to me.”

“For what it's worth I like the new kitchen decor. It's much more... hygienic.”

“Hygienic, pfft! Now you're sounding just like Pepper, sweet-chip. I bet she'd like this too. Christ! What am I gonna do when she cottons onto how easily Loki could convince me to do just about anything under the sun? I'll end up doing bloody yoga and sipping pureed cauliflower as soon as they team up, and they will. Pepper's gonna think of it eventually. OMG! I need a drink.”

“Is that wise, Sir? You mentioned earlier your reluctance to spoil your evening with, and I quote: 'more drunken-driven stupidity than Loki can bear so early on in the game.”

Tony looked towards the coffee table that he'd personally crammed full of as many outrageously fiddly finger foods as he'd had the patience to assemble together with his own obviously-meant-for-much-more-important-tasks-than-this two hands and, determinedly ignoring the lopsided state of most hopelessly mangled items, stared at the dismally alcohol-free selection he'd put on display with dawning horror: apple juice. Orange juice. Herbal tea. Bottled water... 'WTF? There's not even a beer in sight. I must have been out of my mind.'

His momentary thirst vanished when confronted with all those beverages from hell and he sighed the biggest put-upon sigh in his put-upon sigh repertoire. The one he'd always reserved specifically for Pepper's requests for him to attend boring fundraisers:

“You should have warned me, J.A.R.V.I.S. I'm pretty sure I programmed you to do so, and even if I was stupid enough to make that oversight, you still have the smarts to realize you were supposed to feel morally compelled to warn me about the possible demise of my Starkness.”

“Your Starkness? I'm afraid that doesn't make any sense, Sir.”

A self-deprecating smirk flitted through Tony's lips as he gestured with mounting panic towards the delicate-looking food resting so innocently upon gleaming silver trays.
“I'm talking about this, buddy. I can't understand what possessed you to let me fall for the kind of guy who drools over stuffy upper-lip royally things like tea and cream puffs.”

“Mr. Odinson also enjoys violin concertos, opera arias and anything written by William Shakespeare.”

A fond smile lit Tony's features at that and he shook his head from left to right, remembering Loki's first few months with the team. That had been an eye-opening experience for everyone involved.
“I hope you still got that full frontal shot of the horror in Clint's face the day he heard Loki singing along to Pavarotti for the first time saved around somewhere, Jarvs.”

“The entire exchange was recorded, encrypted and saved into your personal files within twenty seconds of it happening, Sir. Agent Barton has unsuccessfully attempted to search for it a few times, but has never managed to access it.”

Tony chuckled:
“That sneaky bastard. Make sure he keeps on failing to get his destructive, little paws on my blackmailing material, Wall-e. It'd be amusing to slip the video into the TV feed one of these days, just to see our little Robin Hood squirm like mad as he watches himself freak out over Loki's singing choices all over again.”

“In the spirit of fairness I must point out that Agent Barton wasn't the only one freaked out by Mr. Odinson's peculiar taste, Sir.”

“No, he wasn't.” Tony agreed, easily recalling how convinced they had all been that the God of Mischief was taking the piss, going as far as to put up with what they'd assumed was a fake predilection for vintage stuff in an effort to make sure he tired of his game all the sooner. That all important 'sooner' had never arrived, though. Because Loki hadn't been faking it at all and, by the time he'd been around for a year, they'd been forced to acknowledge he wasn't trying to drive them up the wall with his ridiculous choices. No. The annoying bloody bastard actually loved all that pompous, old-fashioned stuff. His strong leaning towards fussily cut finger-foods such as broccoli florets, grapes and carrot sticks was also real, along with his deplorable fascination for fruit juices, vegetable shakes and all the other shiver-inducing healthy stuff that only honest to goodness nutters and cows would ever dare to eat. 'Or a Reindeer...'

Tony smirked mischievously at his own joke, pushing himself away from the kitchen's counter and walking nervously towards the coffee table. He drummed restless fingers on the top of his thigh and pursed his lips like a frumpy old spinster every time he caught himself checking his wristwatch impatiently.
“I can't believe I've dolled myself up like an eager tart for that sexy bastard and he's planning to stand me up.”

“I feel obliged to remind you that, since you tend to... pounce... on your partners while wearing prohibitively expensive tuxedos, a clean pair of ancient jeans and a smart polo shirt hardly qualify as 'dolling up', Sir.”

“I never wear the tuxedos for the pouncing, smart-chip. I wear them for whatever boring shindig Pepper has managed to drag me to and you know it. The conquests are just a side effect of my charming personality and tuxedo-related-sex-appeal.”

“You should have worn the tuxedo, then, since the infallibility of its 'sex-appeal' has been so extensively tested.”

Tony rolled his eyes, frustrated beyond belief by his cold-hearted A.I's unsympathetic attitude and checked his wrist watch for the tenth time in the last three seconds.
“I'll look like a right idiot if I show up wearing a Tux for a cozy movie date in my own apartment, Jeeves.”

“You could have always canceled the cozy date and used the opera tickets you bought for the occasion. I still can't understand why you felt the need to stray so far away from the plan that you, yourself, outlined. Those tickets were pretty hard to get. Any opera lover would have been ecstatic at your choice of venue for a third date.”

Tony huffed.
“Loki isn't just an opera lover. He's... complicated. He's more into peace and quiet than I ever realized and I get the feeling he'd choose a stay-at-home set up over a public appearance where he'll be expected to hang prettily from my arm and smile for the cameras any day of the week. He likes books about poetry and philosophy. He listens to classical music with that wide grin on his face. He's been lecturing poor Fury about relaxation techniques and his first approach to a fight is diplomacy. The man's a scholar not a rock star, buddy. He couldn't had been more different from Thor if he tried.”

“I still think he'd have loved the opera.”

“Well, I wasn't ready to risk it. I didn't spend the last two years jumping through every bloody hoop in the Nine Realms to get this guy's attention just to drop the ball at the last second. I've worked pretty hard to get this far and I have absolutely no intention of sharing 'my special moment' with a literal ton of gawkers, every member of the press who can make it to the place before we leave and an entire concert hall filled to the rafters with star-struck civilians. Plus the orchestra players, the technical crew, a whole bunch of fat singers and, last but not least, the pimple-faced parking valets.”

“That's unusually... possessive... of you, Sir.”

“So what? I feel possessive. I love the bastard, Ok? I built him a fucking flower, J.A.R.V.I.S! And why the hell isn't he here already? I'm freaking out something fierce about this date, and I've never freaked out over a date in my entire life.”

“My guess is that he isn't here because he still has fifteen minutes to spend before he's due to show up at your door. It is not Mr. Odinson's fault that you are running uncharacteristically ahead of schedule.”

“Jesus, Jarvs, couldn't you just have said 'chillax, Romeo' and saved me the roundabout lecture?”

“I'm trying to help.”

“And I'm not in the mood for help. I'm in the mood for Loki, so where the hell is he?”

“Your date is currently reading a book in his room. He is waiting for the clock to chime the hour so that he can teleport himself here. He's dressed pretty much like you are, although he's wearing a scarlet scarf around his neck. It is edged with a bold golden design and I've watched him dither over whether to wear it or not for well over an hour. I don't think he plans to 'ditch you', Sir. I think his decision to wear your colors is what most people would call effort, and you didn't have to wait two years for him to pick the right way to honor you, if I may say so myself.”

Tony gaped at the nearest camera he could find with the kind of befuddled expression he was pretty sure his devious creation was secretly delighting in recording for posterity, but his dazed brain couldn't concentrate on J.A.R.V.I.S' underhanded scheming right now.
“Let me get this straight, A.W.E.S.O.M.E-O, Loki: black on green and silver Loki, Sexy-Long-Legs extraordinaire himself, is wearing red and gold? He's willingly wearing his brother's colors, just because I favor them... That's huge, isn't it, buddy? That's not cheap, movie-date material. He's gonna show up here and see me in this crappy get up with nothing but mangled carrot sticks and other what's-their-name disgusting healthy snacks for a meal and think I'm having him on. He's gonna be totally furious with how little 'effort' I've put into this date and then he's gonna do that green-smokey-puff thing he does so well and disappear on me. Isn't he?”

“That depends on whether I think the crappy get up and the mangled carrot sticks are the easy way out for you or not, Anthony.”

Tony jumped a mile high and whirled towards the doorway in quick succession, blushing like a starstruck schoolgirl even as his widened brown gaze zeroed on the red and gold colored scarf looped casually around his alien wizard's swan-like neck.
“Loki, I'm sorry. I'm so bloody sorry. You look—OMG. Oh, My. Fucking. God! I can't believe you're wearing my colors while I... I look like shit and my cooking skills suck, even though I didn't cook at all. Just cut every piece of healthy stuff I could find in Brucie's fridge and arranged it on the platters to make it look artistic. But it just looks like a bomb detonated all over the food, instead.”

Loki walked towards him hesitantly and stopped just shy of the coffee table, staring down at the silver trays Tony had spent veritable hours preparing to the best of his ability with strangely somber eyes.
“There is no need to fret so. The food looks... a bit like your desk, I think. It's all various mismatched pieces clumped together to form something that oozes that unique Tony-Stark brand of messy charm that only you can do. Your clothes may not be the most elegant I've seen you in, but they suit the peaceful setting you've created and I... I like them.”

“But you put so much thought into your outfit, Loki, and I—I...”

“I wasn't trying to imply anything heavy with my choice of attire. It was just that I realized that, although you share your tower with all and sundry, your private apartment has always been off limits to everyone. I wanted to do something to acknowledge how very grateful I am for the trust you're placing upon me, Anthony, and now I am the one who is sorry. I wanted to honor you in this small way, and ended up ruining our date before it had begun. I apologize for my ill-timed gesture and I—I can make this scarf disappear right now, if you so desire.” Loki offered, lowering his beautiful green eyes towards the floor in a gesture that looked so shy, so hurt and utterly uncertain that Tony couldn't bear the thought that he'd managed to make this gorgeous, sensitive creature feel rejected for even a second.

“Don't do that, muffin, please. I like that scarf something fierce. I like it so much that I'm thinking of starting up a petition to have it permanently glued to your neck. How many signatures do you reckon it'll take to make the request reach Fury's ears? It'd be awesome to see his eyeball explode with the stress of it all when he's telling me off.”

Loki chuckled weakly and blushed as bright red as the scarf around his neck.
“You don't have to lie to protect my feelings. I don't know what I was thinking... I should have realized you'd overreact to my actions, but they didn't seem like such a big a deal to me at the time. I've never had an official suitor before, Anthony. I'm more used to fucking in the spur of the moment or as part of cloak and dagger political seduction. This straightforward... dating... you've dragged me into is uncharted territory for me. I'm not really sure how to behave around you and that's why I'm making such stupid mistakes. ”

Tony gulped so hard he felt the back of his throat ache with it and wouldn't had been able to hold back the trembling hand he lifted to grab hold of the few wispy locks that framed his prince's gorgeous face if his life had depended on it. He smiled tremulously into those wary green eyes and looped the midnight colored hair he'd just captured behind a slowly reddening ear with a tenderness that frightened him.
“So this is the blind leading the one-eyed... Oh, shit!, kill me fast now. Because I've just likened one of us to dear old Fury and, since I'm pretty sure I can't pull the pirate look to save my ass, that means I'm in luuuurve with the sorcerer version of captain Hook.”

Loki spluttered with indignation.
“That's just... No. Absolutely not, Anthony. I may be able to do justice to the frock coat, the velvet vest, mid-calf breeches and even the lace jabots, but I draw the line at the ghastly curly wig and thin, pretentious mustache.”

Tony laughed at the mental image and felt himself relax for the first time since his crush had entered the room. Amused brown eyes raked the lovely features before him and the breath caught in his chest as he attempted, and easily managed, to picture it covered in roguish stubble.
“I don't know about the mustache, but I'd pay to see you sporting a five o'clock shadow. I'd bet it looks even more awesome on you than it does on me, and I have it on good authority that my five o'clock is the bee's knees.”

Loki looked at him askance.
“Competition... I'd have thought you wouldn't be comfortable with that sort of conflict between us. Why would you wish to engage in such petty rivalry when you claim to desire romantic togetherness?”

The engineer pushed himself up on his tiptoes and leaned abruptly forwards, catching the back of Loki's head with his callused hands in a move that literally oozed ruffled indignation.
“Whoever taught you you can't challenge those you love was a bastard of the first order and a damned idiot to boot. Competition is the bread and butter of growth. I can handle your being better at magic and strategy and even bloody poetry than I'll ever be. I can handle it because I'm proud of your abilities, your interests and all of your achievements. I'm fucking proud of you, buttercup, and I sincerely hope that somewhere, deep inside, you're at least a little bit proud of me, too.”

Loki's green eyes were as wide as saucers and, even though the smile that curled his mouth upwards wasn't quite up to his usual playful standard, he lifted his own hands up and framed Tony's face with his long fingers, mirroring the hold the engineer had on him for long enough to whisper a mere breath away from his lips:
“If I had the power to live all my life in the same instant, I would choose this one, Anthony. You will never understand how remarkable you are, because in order to do so you would have had to spend two thousand years living among ruffians cloaked in bejeweled gowns and warriors whose idea of honor lies not in preserving lives, but in taking them as violently as possible. I could never wish for your soul to be so tainted, for that would have destroyed the beautiful man you've become.”

“Loki...”

“Yes. Of course. I'm... sorry. I know this kind of serious talk makes you uncomfortable, my silly mortal. So I'm going to heed your plea for emotional levity and smile at whatever nonsense you spout next. I just... I wish I had found you earlier. I wish it was possible for me to remember the first time I ever saw you without feeling ashamed of the monster I was back then.”

Tony's heart clenched with pain at the horrible self-hatred he could hear in Loki's voice. He could see it in his eyes too. Felt it trying to choke the budding hope for a better future out of his Reindeer's dreams like a clinging vine wraps it's deadly tendrils onto an early blooming bush.
“I've been a monster too, cupcake. I've got innocent blood on my hands and I did it all for money, which is far more cold-hearted a reason to destroy so much humanity than whatever it is that pushed you over the edge, so don't you dare beat yourself up over a past that's been done and dusted for ages. The only Avenger without any claim to shame is good ol' Rogers, and even he will be tainted by the pesky motherfucker, if he fights for long enough.”

Loki swallowed uncomfortably and let go of Tony's face, taking a wobbly step backwards in a motion that screamed self-defense. Bruised looking green eyes skittered around the room, as if searching for an anchor, until they finally found it in the rows of silver trays with their cargo of mangled vegetables that waited silently on the table.
“Carrots... I love carrots.” He said shakily, bending down to pick a roughly cut orange stick with the kind of white-knuckled desperation that spoke of heavy locks clamping tightly shut for the rest of eternity.

Tony wanted to protest, tell him to stop playing his own role, since he couldn't pull it off properly, and demand to know what was wrong, but he couldn't force his crush to share his demons when he looked so fragile. He stared unblinkingly at Loki, watching him nibble his snack ever so daintily and suddenly realized that he hadn't done anything to show his reeling God that he wasn't planning to stay around only for the good times. Fun... he'd offered sushi and fun so far, but he wanted so much more than that. He wanted everything, really. And he had every intention of remaining glued to his seat for the entire performance, if possible. He wanted to witness the beautiful and the ugly. The remarkable, the unspeakable and even the plainly mundane.

“Maybe you should lay off the bunny cigars for a bit, pumpkin. I mean, there are a whole lot of other stuff that won't mess quite as much with your manly image. You know what they say about them, don't you, babe? A carrot a day keeps the PMS at bay. That's why Nat likes them so much, I think.”

Loki blinked and lowered his half-eaten carrot very slowly.
“PMS—That's the... womanly... affliction, isn't it?”

“If you're talking about the one that turns usually perfectly lovely ladies into terrifying ogres then: yep, that's the one. I managed to program a projection of Pepper's cycle into J.A.R.V.I.S' memory ages ago. I've been avoiding her like the plague when she's on the war path for years.”

Loki looked absolutely aghast.
“You must be joking.”

“Nope. It's true. I live in fear of my PA's hormonal mood swings. There's no shame in recognizing the truth, bluebell. Any half-witted man with a healthy self-preservation instinct should have taken this page out of my book decades ago.”

“The Lady Natasha would have ripped your head off, if she'd heard that, and I simply can't imagine what the Lady Sif would have done if you'd ever dared to imply in her presence that she's naturally inclined to behave less fiercely at certain times of the month.”

“I take it this Lady Sif is the scary looking chick who sometimes accompanies your brother down from home?” Tony asked, settling down on the couch and patting the cushion beside him, in the hope of encouraging Loki to copy his example. His crush's wary green eyes followed the gesture, but the man himself frowned down at the carrot he still held between thumb and forefinger, clearly ambivalent about the wisdom of sitting quite so closely.

“Yes. She's been one of Thor's faithful companions since childhood.”

“Only Thor's? I'd have thought your brother's childhood friends would be yours, too. Didn't you all grow up together?”

“My brother's friends are like my brother himself. They have little time for anyone who isn't interested in learning a hundred ways to kill an enemy before breakfast. There was a time when they may have not liked me much, but decided to tolerate my presence for Thor's sake. The lady Sif remained the only exception to that arrangement. She despises me. She has always done so.”

“Most women do, blueberry. You have fabulous hair.” Tony shrugged and grabbed a broccoli floret, popped it into his mouth without a single grimace and chewed it as little as possible before swallowing it down like a bad medicine. 'Gosh! I hope there's something else out there -other than even more herbs- that this guy is willing to eat, or I'm gonna turn into one of those suckers who hides packets of greasy chips in little drawers and stuffs his mouth while 'the boss' is away.'

Loki gaped at him, blinking in utter confusion, and swayed ever so slightly closer to the couch, which was the only thing that mattered to Tony at this point. “What does my hair have to do with anything?” his poor crush asked, and the engineer could have jumped for joy at being so handily given the opportunity to hammer his advantage so far down his skittish kitten's unsuspecting gullet that the poor thing would end up collapsing next to him in order to recover from the sudden attack of the vapors he was about to give him.

“Your hair has everything to do with it, buttercup. That and your eyelashes. Look at them... there are so long and so fucking black that I'm surprised you still have them. Women must have been plotting ways to pluck them off your face for as long as you've been alive, because, trust me on this, there isn't a lady on Earth who wouldn't kill you for them.”

“That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard.”

“Nah! It's the plain and simple truth. Look at you, gorgeous: You. Are. A. Fucking. Dreamboat. On. Wheels, man. Seriously, you're so hot you're radioactive and this Sif chick hates you, just like they all do, because you have all that creamy skin that practically begs men to touch it and she doesn't. You have a smile that's on the right side of sinful, a pair of feet made to be worshiped from sunup to sundown and your eyes... don't even get me started about your eyes, because then we'd be stuck here talking about how awesome they are until someone digs our mummified bodies off this couch in a thousand years or so.”

Loki looked so startled that Tony was sure he'd topple like a house of cards if he so much as blew in his direction, but instead of collapsing on the couch, as planned, his frustrating reindeer straightened to his full height as if drawing a shield to cover some obvious weakness he couldn't bear to expose, and looked dazedly into the shadowy darkness that lurked beyond the corridor.
“I lack the kind of... musculature... others often find desirable.” He offered after a second in a voice that was so small, Tony had to strain to hear it. “I am too slender and too pale. I've never been able to inspire mindless lust in anyone, so far. I'm... not even ugly in the eyes of my people, because even the ugly are strong, Anthony. Even the ugly have golden skin under the scars they've won in battle. Even the ugly could break my fragile little body like a winter-dry twig, if I ever played by their rules. If I didn't cheat with magic.”

Tony's gut started churning with indignation half way through that fat pile of BS, but that wasn't what was bothering him the most about it all. No. What bothered him the most was the way his crush had become as stiff as a board from head to toes. The way his voice had all but flattened into an emotionless monotone that spoke of intense self-control. Loki looked like a shadow of himself. Like an echo or a wisp or a... front... that had been put together way too hastily. He looked like most men who are emotionally retreating often look: cold and detached and filled with a carelessness that could only be skin deep.
“That's nonsense, babe. You told me the other day you've had loads of lovers. No crazy, bloodthirsty warrior would get it up for a guy they don't really fancy. Isn't homosexuality a bit of a taboo among you lot?”

“There is no shame in bedding men in Asgard, as long as you are not the Argr, Stark, and I... I was always the Argr. I was always the one on my hands and knees, servicing those brutes for the fleeting pleasure of orgasm. That's how I lured the ones who didn't seek me out for political reasons into my furs. It would have been far less shameful if I'd begged them to let me touch them, or paid them to do so.”

“I take it this... Argr thing... means you were the one who bottomed?” Tony asked when he found the strength to speak and the small nod he received as confirmation brought a lump the size of China to his already constricted throat. The way he was feeling right now he could have climbed his way to Asgard's golden gates fueled by nothing but the blind fury that was rising through his body like a goddamned tsunami and set all those bastards on fire, but that wouldn't help Loki in the slightest. That wouldn't help him feel any less ashamed or chip away his conviction that he was physically unappealing. “So you lied to me, hot stuff. Your cock is still a virgin, after all.”

Loki burst out in mirthless laughter and finally looked back at him with eyes that had become far too tear-bright and wounded for Tony's comfort.
“You have a one-track mind, my dear Anthony. I don't know yet if that's a true fault or a virtue.”

“Well... I know that's no way to answer a simple enough question, Loki, so let me ask it again: have you or have you not ever plunged your prick into an asshole?”

“I have not.” Loki whispered and the silence that followed was so thick they could have cut it in half with a lettuce leaf. “Nobody would have let someone with my... shortcomings... touch them in that manner.”

“You don't have any shortcomings, peaches.”

“Please, don't lie to me.”

“I'M NOT LYING TO YOU, DAMMIT!” Tony cringed as soon as he heard himself screech like a deranged maniac, but Loki, that contrary bastard, smiled sunnily at him and relaxed enough to finally slump on the couch like a rag doll. He sighed loudly and closed those green eyes of his for a second or two, shoulders losing their painful rigidity even as his face went from utterly pale flawlessness to the most adorable embarrassed blush Tony had ever seen.

“You are a marvelous healing balm for my battered ego, Anthony, and I thank you for your passionate defense of my supposed charms, but it's no use. Do not forget that I have lived now for centuries surrounded by a race who worships beauty in all it's forms. Why, my mother herself is the most breathtaking creature under Yggdrasil's shade.”

“Pfft! No offense, Reindeer, but your mother's an old bird and all her admirers have a foot in their graves already. We are talking next generation sex god here, and let me tell you right now that if you so much as dare to drop your brother's name anywhere into this conversation I'm gonna club you with your own horned helmet.”

“But...”

“No buts. No begging. No paying any bloody bastard to let you do to them what they're dying to do to you, babe. Get it into your thick head that these are barbarians of the first order, they wouldn't have been able to woo a sexy, sophisticated guy like you even if you'd written them a guide. But they wanted you alright, trust me on this. They wanted you with every breath they took. They wanted you so much they were willing to sell you all that stinking BS about you being too slender to fuck them, just to have a go at your sweet ass.”

“That can't be...”

“Of course it can. They wanted you then and they want you right now. My guess is they'll never stop wanting you because they've got a thousand versions of Thor up there, but there's only one of you, Lokes. That's it. That's the real crux of it, Reindeer. There is only one of you and it was easy enough for them to use your uniqueness to convince you of your physical failings. But the truth is very different, buttercup. The truth is that you're so fucking hot they'd been lusting after you since you left childhood behind. They may be brutes, but they are not blind. And if what you said is true and they have a thing for beauty, then I'm telling you that none of those motherfuckers would have been able to push the memory of you out of their heads even if they tried hammering it out with Thor's own hammer.”

Loki smiled beatifically then and gazed up into his face with open gratitude.
“I like the picture you paint. It would serve them right to be haunted by memories of me even as they lay in the furs of those they claimed to be worthier.”

“I'm glad they were all idiots, though. Their failure to gain your affection left you free to shower all your loveliness over me instead, sweet pea.”

Loki giggled under his breath and caught his hand delicately, holding onto it for a brief moment before squeezing it once, almost as if to check he was real.
“And I am glad to be in possession of the kind of loveliness you wish to be showered with, Anthony, for I'm growing fond of the idea of allowing my meager blessings to rain solely upon you, my wondrous mortal.”

TBC

Chapter 9

(Chapter 7)