|Momma's Gonna Buy You a Mockingbird
Author: Incendiarist PM
Five times Tony Stark complimented Death's appearance, and one time he returned the favour. /Fusion. TonyxLoki./Rated: Fiction T - English - Romance/Hurt/Comfort - Death & Iron Man/Tony S. - Words: 1,706 - Reviews: 13 - Favs: 34 - Follows: 6 - Published: 05-19-12 - Status: Complete - id: 8129583
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
So, er. It sort of evolved, and twisted around, and, okay, so a lot of the (norsekink) prompt is vaguely hinted at rather than stated, but still.
Momma's Gonna Buy You a Mockingbird
THERE'S NO JUSTICE. THERE'S JUST ME.
[the first time]
Tony called him cute.
Death didn't seem to have a response to this, more of a gaping and (though he'd never, ever admit it) a vague WHAT…? the word dropping into place like a heavy block of marble.
He was cute. With big green eyes so bright they almost glowed (and later he found out they actually did), sharp features, and longish black hair all slicked back, with a thick black robe (so black it looked as though it was woven of darkness itself, though Tony never actually asked if it was), he looked like Harry Potter, all grown up and kind of sexy.
And if Tony happened to say this aloud, well. Always good to be on friendly terms with your sort-of-coworker, right?
(And if they were a little too friendly, come on, he'd remind, I'm Tony Stark, and there wasn't any decent counterargument for that.)
[the second time]
Only a week after that, they'd had drinks (they refused to call it a date).
Lots of them.
More than either really wanted to admit, to themselves or (in Tony's case) to Pepper, who had already been on his back about the whole impending alcoholism thing, and was now going to be on his back about sleeping with Death, or rather, supplied his mind, Loki (and he had no idea which was better—anthropomorphic personification with a thing for cats, or Norse god of mischief with mental health concerns).
Loki/Death was not, apparently, a morning person, or maybe that was just because of the massive hangover he had (because when you're telling each-other about your fucked up childhoods, you've got to be really drunk), and oh dear God he was fucking adorable. His hair was mussed, and there was sleep crusted in his eyelashes, and when Tony told JARVIS to open the blinds, he moaned and rolled over. IT IS FAR TOO EARLY IN THE MORNING FOR IT TO BE EARLY IN THE MORNING.
Tony chuckled. "I've got JARVIS running the espresso machine right now. You'll be awake and sober and back to harvesting souls in no time."
URGH. THAT'D MEAN GETTING OUT OF BED. AN' I ONLY HAVE TO HARVEST TH'IMPORTANT ONES, 'NYWAY, he muttered, voice muffled by the pillow he'd put over his head.
Tony pulled the pillow away, thin, pale arms reaching out to grab it and failing in a mixture of a tired lack of co-ordination and simple weakness (Loki wasn't much of the athletic type, to the point that Tony was reminded of his father's excited ramblings about the oh-so-perfect Captain America and how dorky he'd looked before they'd administered the super-serum). He leaned over the god, half-dressed, and kissed him on the forehead (because he didn't trust himself to not escalate things otherwise, and he had a business meeting later). "You're adorable when you've just woken up, did you know that?"
Loki glared at him halfheartedly.
[the third time]
Loki's familiar green eyes shone in a softened face, the god's long hair pulled back in an elegant up-do. She (LOKI IS LOKI, she had explained, NO MATTER THE FORM) wore a rather... outdated costume, corset and full skirt and long sleeves, a sombre black—much more a mourning gown than a cocktail dress, but Pepper had held out over a dozen of those in the woman's size, and Loki had quite emphatically refused. Tony presumed it was a thing with Asgardian culture, but he didn't really care, besides. The lovely lady on his arm was, after all, drawing even more attention to them than he usually received.
Loki danced extremely well, and lead, despite how it might have looked to those around them, initiating turns and dips and things so naturally it seemed choreographed. And while Tony wasn't much of a dancer (he found it more an excuse to feel up his partner than anything else, and doing more than shuffling back and forth took away from the experience), he admittedly enjoyed it all the same.
After a few songs (Viennese waltz, quickstep, Argentine tango), they gravitated away from the dancing, picking up glasses of champagne.
"I have to say," said Tony, "I wasn't really expecting all this."
Loki seemed almost embarrassed, eyes downcast, and a light blush on her cheeks. DO YOU NOT LIKE IT?
(If anyone noticed something off about her voice, they didn't mention it.)
"Oh, no," said Tony quickly, "it's lovely. You're lovely. I'm just surprised you went to all this trouble, just for me."
NO TROUBLE AT ALL, replied Death, and kissed him.
[the fourth time]
WHY DO YOU LIKE ME? asked Loki one night, over drinks.
"Er," said Tony (unexpected question was unexpected, and he mentally smacked himself for using internet slang), "well, you're great in bed. And pretty." He shrugged. "I'm shallow."
NO YOU AREN'T.
A sigh. "You're interesting." He took a sip of his drink. "I mean, how often is it you get to be in a relationship with a Norse god? With Death? You're just as fucked up as I am, probably more, and it's nice to be able to commiserate. And you aren't really a good guy, which I like. Goody-two-shoes get on my nerves."
YOU SHOULD MEET MY BROTHER, smirked Loki.
[the fifth time]
It was hardly the quintessential Perfect Relationship; they had failings, arguments which sometimes escalated into fights, and those fights were impressively large in scale.
When Loki asked Tony to tell the Avengers about them, Tony chickened out. He'd been seen as a playboy for years, after all, and he liked that reputation; if it suddenly came out that the women (and men) on his arm were a single shapeshifter god (and one who was thought dead, atop that), then that reputation would be gone.
He was kind of scared, too, of what his teammates might think.
And they argued. That argument somehow turned into Loki having some "harmless fun" involving a new Ice Age. (Tony made a mental note to explain to him that mortals are a bit more delicate than gods, see, and they don't do well in environments in the negative degrees Celsius.)
The Avengers, of course, got involved. Thor was ecstatic to see his lost brother, and hugged him so tightly Tony was sure there would be broken ribs. Everyone else, however, was a bit more concerned with the end of the world and the mischief god's less-than-stellar reputation. He was dangerous.
And that was how he ended up in a bulletproof-glass cell built for a giant green rage monster on a flying aircraft carrier, bereft of magic thanks to some mystical handcuffs Thor had lying around (Tony didn't really want to know).
How he ended up staring blankly at some low-level techie who'd never done anything to deserve it with glowing red eyes.
Tony was... somewhat surprised at the blue skin, marked with lines which made no sense to him. Surprised by how, when he touched the glass, it clouded instantly, frosted over like winter.
Surprised by how it was kind of cool (and the pun was unintended).
"So, that's how you normally look?" he asked.
Loki, hunched over, looking utterly miserable, muttered YES.
(There were questioning glances at his voice.)
"Well, what's wrong with that?"
WHAT'S WRONG WITH THAT? He gave a harsh laugh. I'M A MONSTER.
"No you aren't," said Tony. "You're Loki. No matter the form, you're always Loki. You told me that."
I LIED, replied Death. I'M THE GOD OF LIES, REMEMBER? LOKI LIESMITH, LOKI SILVERTONGUE, LOKI THE DECEIVER. I LIE, AND I AM A LIE. I AM JOTÜNN, AM LAUFEYJARSON.
"You're you, and that's all that matters, Loki."
(And they've all gathered then, watching the spectacle, unsure of what's going on.)
I AM AN ABOMINATION. THE BLOOD OF JOTÜNHEIMR FLOWS IN MY VEINS, AND NO MATTER WHAT FORM I TAKE, IT WILL NOT HIDE THE TRUTH. I WILL ALWAYS BE JOTÜNN, ALWAYS WORTHY ONLY OF CONTEMPT, OF LOATHING, OF DISGUST. If Loki was even aware of the others, Tony would be surprised. Loki didn't talk like that, not unless he'd had more than a few drinks. His inferiority complex was deep-set, and well hidden. Tony found it utterly amazing that he was so free with his speech now.
"I don't think you're disgusting."
Loki's head snapped up, and eyes the colour of blood bore into him. YOU DON'T?
"I don't," agreed Tony. "I think you're beautiful."
(He ignored the shocked responses of SHIELD for the tiny smile Loki wore.)
[and then that one other time]
The relationship between the Avengers and Loki was somewhat strained (he did almost destroy the world), but he helped them occasionally, and usually at least deigned not actively hinder them. A magically enhanced Iron Man was a very helpful Iron Man, and it was always a good thing to have Death on your side.
The battle had been difficult. Had destroyed most of New York City—again. They were bruised and bleeding, and Tony Stark was in a metal death trap, bent unnaturally.
Loki simply waved a hand and the suit disappeared, cradling the limp form. He closed his eyes, almost in mourning, and the Avengers kept an unblinking gaze on the two, fearing for their billionaire's life.
He pulled an hourglass out of his carrier bag. It had only a few grains left, and the teams' collective breaths caught in their throats.
Death turned over the hourglass.
(Their conversation later:
"Why did you save me?"
YOU LOOKED BEAUTIFUL.)