![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Title: Secrets
Author: Evandar
Fandom: Avengers
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Romance
Pairing: Tony/Loki
Warnings: Implied Alcohol Abuse, PTSD
Disclaimer: I do not own Avengers and I am making no profit from this story.
Summary: Ironman's identity is secret, but that doesn't stop him from joining in the fight in New York where he comes into contact with the Jotun Loki.
AN: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
mcu_aufest, filling prompts of AU - Loki Grew up on Jotunheimr, AU - Ironman's Identity is Secret, and AU - Characters Met Differently
The last thing he remembers is space. The Chitauri ship exploding into burning fragments amongst a sea of stars and the breath faltering in his lungs. He remembers thinking this is it, then and wondering how Pepper will cope with his disappearance. Tony Stark’s disappearance. She’ll probably check every ditch, brothel and science lab from Malibu to Madagascar before she gives him up for lost.
He doesn’t expect to wake up, but he does. He wakes up to cool air on his face and red eyes set into a blue face hovering above his own, a curtain of hair surrounding them. Loki. One of the alien guys – the pretty sorcerer with the swirly green magic and the ice. He panics automatically, moving to sit up. His face is uncovered, and while Loki probably has no idea who he is, he’s pretty sure there’s a fleet of news crews in helicopters flying over Manhattan with long-range zoom on their cameras.
“Welcome back,” Loki says quietly. His words send cold breath fanning over Tony’s lips; he smells of winter. When he moves, Tony notices that he’s shielding him, hiding his face from any bystanders before his mask is lowered over his face once more, clicking and hissing into place.
“Thanks,” he replies.
…
His actual input on the battle will go unremarked. At least, Tony Stark’s will. Ironman is praised to the heights for his daring feat of bravery - stupidity, Tony thinks, whenever he wakes up gasping for air – along with the other Avengers, but Tony Stark is considered almost a non-entity. Almost, because it was his tower that Amora set the Tesseract up on; almost, because it’s his money fuelling a lot of the rebuilding schemes.
He smiles for those few cameras that turn to him, and makes speeches about heroes and responsibilities and how so much is owed to so few, and he hates himself for it. He drinks more than he should, as always, and locks himself away with his machines for days on end, only coming out to sign paperwork and sometimes eat.
Until, that is, his peace is shattered by JARVIS announcing he has a visitor. “In the living room, sir. He appears to be Loki Laufeyjarson.”
Blue and red and “welcome back” flash lightning fast through his mind, and Tony lowers his wrench and heads for the door without even thinking about it. He’s part way there when he realises he hasn’t showered in about a fortnight and that he looks like a wreck and smells worse, and he makes a cursory attempt in the lift to flatten his hair and wipe the grease off his hands.
Loki, standing in the centre of his living room, alien and beautiful and perfect, blinks at the sight of him.
“That bad, huh?” Tony asks. “Would you like a drink?”
…
He first meets Loki while flying over New York, spotting him easily amongst the Chitauri; the green of his magic swirling around his fingers and ice cracking as it spreads over glass and steel and concrete. JARVIS hacks him into the transmitter network and he speaks up. His voice is, as always, scrambled but that doesn’t stop him from making a sarcastic comment that he won’t remember later – something about the cavalry – and earning himself a rejoinder from a blue guy breaking the laws of physics.
The snark breaks up the fighting. He gets tips on how to kill space whales. He’s – for the first time since he designed the suit – got company. Good company.
He thinks he kind of likes it.
…
Loki crosses his legs. They’re long, slender, shapely legs, and if Tony was any better presented – or prepared – right now, then he would be all over that. Loki’s legs are bare. He’s wearing a kind of skirt-thing that’s ankle-length but slashed open all the way to the hip, and it bares a lot of blue skin and swirling markings. Tony kind of wants to follow them with his tongue; he drinks instead.
Part of him wishes that he’d never put the suit on and joined the fight; another, currently more prominent, part wishes that he could have that kind of camaraderie again.
Loki uncrosses his legs and crosses them again. Tony wishes the skirt-thing was shorter so that he could see if Loki was pulling a Sharon Stone. He clears his throat and pours them both another drink.
“Thanks,” he says, “for not telling anyone my identity.”
Loki smiles and nods. His tumbler frosts over when he picks it up, and Tony wants to ask if that’s a natural reaction or if Loki’s making it do that – he’s just not sure if doing so would be a good idea. He doesn’t want to offend the only person who knows his secret identity.
“Everyone has secrets, Mr Stark,” he says.
“Tony,” Tony corrects automatically. Then, “everyone?”
Loki’s smile widens, showing just a hint of pointed teeth. “Everyone.”
Tony wants to dissect him. He wants to know what kind of habitat gives someone sharp teeth and cryokinesis. He wants to understand the swirls of green light he saw, and the patterns on Loki’s skin. He wants to see if they flush with colour when he’s kissed; when he’s fucking. He wants to see what colour Loki’s blood is and to taste it on his tongue; taste ice and whiskey in Loki’s mouth; suck his cock into his mouth and taste that too. He wants Loki to ride him – his long legs thrown either side of Tony’s hips and his back arching to take him in; hands clenching and fluttering on his shoulders, holding on tight. He wants Loki, enough to give him anything – even the hidden arc reactor that powers his heart.
He wants – no, needs to sleep. Fucking hell.
“Director Fury of SHIELD wants us to get to know our team members,” Loki says after a while, “as if we are all going to stay here. As if we can. But, of all our team, the only one I want to know is you.” His smile turns wicked. “You’re far more interesting,” he says, gaze fixed on the faint circle of blue light shining under Tony’s shirt. “You’re so breakable, Mr Stark, and I like fragile things.”
Author: Evandar
Fandom: Avengers
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Romance
Pairing: Tony/Loki
Warnings: Implied Alcohol Abuse, PTSD
Disclaimer: I do not own Avengers and I am making no profit from this story.
Summary: Ironman's identity is secret, but that doesn't stop him from joining in the fight in New York where he comes into contact with the Jotun Loki.
AN: Written for
mcu_aufest, filling prompts of AU - Loki Grew up on Jotunheimr, AU - Ironman's Identity is Secret, and AU - Characters Met DifferentlyThe last thing he remembers is space. The Chitauri ship exploding into burning fragments amongst a sea of stars and the breath faltering in his lungs. He remembers thinking this is it, then and wondering how Pepper will cope with his disappearance. Tony Stark’s disappearance. She’ll probably check every ditch, brothel and science lab from Malibu to Madagascar before she gives him up for lost.
He doesn’t expect to wake up, but he does. He wakes up to cool air on his face and red eyes set into a blue face hovering above his own, a curtain of hair surrounding them. Loki. One of the alien guys – the pretty sorcerer with the swirly green magic and the ice. He panics automatically, moving to sit up. His face is uncovered, and while Loki probably has no idea who he is, he’s pretty sure there’s a fleet of news crews in helicopters flying over Manhattan with long-range zoom on their cameras.
“Welcome back,” Loki says quietly. His words send cold breath fanning over Tony’s lips; he smells of winter. When he moves, Tony notices that he’s shielding him, hiding his face from any bystanders before his mask is lowered over his face once more, clicking and hissing into place.
“Thanks,” he replies.
…
His actual input on the battle will go unremarked. At least, Tony Stark’s will. Ironman is praised to the heights for his daring feat of bravery - stupidity, Tony thinks, whenever he wakes up gasping for air – along with the other Avengers, but Tony Stark is considered almost a non-entity. Almost, because it was his tower that Amora set the Tesseract up on; almost, because it’s his money fuelling a lot of the rebuilding schemes.
He smiles for those few cameras that turn to him, and makes speeches about heroes and responsibilities and how so much is owed to so few, and he hates himself for it. He drinks more than he should, as always, and locks himself away with his machines for days on end, only coming out to sign paperwork and sometimes eat.
Until, that is, his peace is shattered by JARVIS announcing he has a visitor. “In the living room, sir. He appears to be Loki Laufeyjarson.”
Blue and red and “welcome back” flash lightning fast through his mind, and Tony lowers his wrench and heads for the door without even thinking about it. He’s part way there when he realises he hasn’t showered in about a fortnight and that he looks like a wreck and smells worse, and he makes a cursory attempt in the lift to flatten his hair and wipe the grease off his hands.
Loki, standing in the centre of his living room, alien and beautiful and perfect, blinks at the sight of him.
“That bad, huh?” Tony asks. “Would you like a drink?”
…
He first meets Loki while flying over New York, spotting him easily amongst the Chitauri; the green of his magic swirling around his fingers and ice cracking as it spreads over glass and steel and concrete. JARVIS hacks him into the transmitter network and he speaks up. His voice is, as always, scrambled but that doesn’t stop him from making a sarcastic comment that he won’t remember later – something about the cavalry – and earning himself a rejoinder from a blue guy breaking the laws of physics.
The snark breaks up the fighting. He gets tips on how to kill space whales. He’s – for the first time since he designed the suit – got company. Good company.
He thinks he kind of likes it.
…
Loki crosses his legs. They’re long, slender, shapely legs, and if Tony was any better presented – or prepared – right now, then he would be all over that. Loki’s legs are bare. He’s wearing a kind of skirt-thing that’s ankle-length but slashed open all the way to the hip, and it bares a lot of blue skin and swirling markings. Tony kind of wants to follow them with his tongue; he drinks instead.
Part of him wishes that he’d never put the suit on and joined the fight; another, currently more prominent, part wishes that he could have that kind of camaraderie again.
Loki uncrosses his legs and crosses them again. Tony wishes the skirt-thing was shorter so that he could see if Loki was pulling a Sharon Stone. He clears his throat and pours them both another drink.
“Thanks,” he says, “for not telling anyone my identity.”
Loki smiles and nods. His tumbler frosts over when he picks it up, and Tony wants to ask if that’s a natural reaction or if Loki’s making it do that – he’s just not sure if doing so would be a good idea. He doesn’t want to offend the only person who knows his secret identity.
“Everyone has secrets, Mr Stark,” he says.
“Tony,” Tony corrects automatically. Then, “everyone?”
Loki’s smile widens, showing just a hint of pointed teeth. “Everyone.”
Tony wants to dissect him. He wants to know what kind of habitat gives someone sharp teeth and cryokinesis. He wants to understand the swirls of green light he saw, and the patterns on Loki’s skin. He wants to see if they flush with colour when he’s kissed; when he’s fucking. He wants to see what colour Loki’s blood is and to taste it on his tongue; taste ice and whiskey in Loki’s mouth; suck his cock into his mouth and taste that too. He wants Loki to ride him – his long legs thrown either side of Tony’s hips and his back arching to take him in; hands clenching and fluttering on his shoulders, holding on tight. He wants Loki, enough to give him anything – even the hidden arc reactor that powers his heart.
He wants – no, needs to sleep. Fucking hell.
“Director Fury of SHIELD wants us to get to know our team members,” Loki says after a while, “as if we are all going to stay here. As if we can. But, of all our team, the only one I want to know is you.” His smile turns wicked. “You’re far more interesting,” he says, gaze fixed on the faint circle of blue light shining under Tony’s shirt. “You’re so breakable, Mr Stark, and I like fragile things.”
