Title: All’s Fair in Love, War, and Movies
Prompt: “Enemies to Lovers”; Just Write! Trope Bingo
Challenge: To Every SeasonLayer Challenge – Alternate Spring
Pairings: Tony Stark/Loki Laufeyson
Warnings: mentions of addiction recovery/past drug and alcohol use; discussion on murder and character death (past); gratuitous use of ‘motherfucker’ and all related words; general assholery; author’s lack of knowledge about filming a movie, discussion of legal conservatorship as a method of abuse, addiction enabling, gaslighting, and other forms of abuse and control.
Word Count: 9874
Synopsis: Enemies clash over the Earth and dangerous relics that have been unearthed by SWORD; Tony Stark and Loki Laufeyson navigate in the wake.
Authors Note: Originally plotted for the Trope Bingo in 2020. Nearly everything I’ve plotted since the pandemic has an element of trope subversion, and this is no exception. It started as a cheeky take on the “Enemies to Lovers” trope, often taken too literally in fandom and fiction, with the ‘enemies’ part involving mass murder, rape and abuse — toxic behaviours no one should have in their history with an intimate partner. Somehow it became an introspection on fame, addiction, and finding comfort in unexpected places. Also, it is the only fic I’ve plotted since 2020 that I’ve completed. Since this happens to fit the Every Season challenge for characters outside the binary, I’ll take all the wins I can get. Tony Stark is bisexual (but not limited to strict definitions of gender orientation), and Loki is pansexual and demisexual. This is my headcanon for both, even when they are superheroes and alien gods instead of actors. AN2: There are references to the legal control of an adult and abuse thereof, addiction and mental illness. Some things are drawn or extrapolated from real-life situations; I didn’t realize how much of a particularly famous case had crept in until after I wrote it. Please note this is not RPF. This fic is about Tony Stark as an actor. AN3: Hildy is a reference to the character in His Girl Friday, not to 9-1-1 on Fox. Violet Spider is absolutely a reference to The Untamed.
“Pathetic,” the alien warlord drawled. “You think you can challenge me, you lowly creature? You will all kneel before me.”
“I mean, whatever floats your boat,” Iron Man replied flippantly. “I don’t judge, but that’s not my scene if you get me.”
The sneer faltered, and the alien’s gaunt, handsome face went slack. Unearthly ice-blue eyes narrowed at the human superhero. “What are you speaking of now, fool?”
Iron Man, or the man who wielded the Iron Man suit, shrugged and waved his hands. “This whole ‘kneel and submit’ fetish you’ve got going. Not really my jam, but as long as everyone is safe, sane, and consensual —”
A long-fingered hand seized his throat. Iron Man was lifted and slammed into the glass wall overlooking the ocean, pinned by merely that grip. While he wasn’t a big man by any means, the superhero was stocky and well-muscled for his size, necessary for his day job and the physical demands of flying the Iron Man suit. Despite the appearance of an attractive male in his thirties, this was an invader of alien origins.
“Cease your useless prattling,” he snarled, leaning in close. Pale skin and sharp features stood in stark relief. His eyes were nearly electric, and fanaticism shone as brightly as his irises. “All your foolish words and reckless heroism are meaningless. Whatever plans you have, whatever games you are playing to stall for time, are all for naught. I am Silvertongue, and I am burdened with glorious purpose.” He leaned in closer still, bare inches between his face and Iron Man’s, and his voice dropped from a snarl to a croon. “This universe is broken beyond repair, and only one has the vision to fix it. To save it.”
“You?” Iron Man asked, voice raspy from the grip on his throat.
Silvertongue smiled. It was oddly beautiful, despite the circumstances. “I am but a tool in the hands of one who will reshape the universe. All will come to understand the truth, or they will fall. Sacrifices for a new world.”
Beyond the glass of Iron Man’s seaside mansion, the ocean began to churn; a deep orange glow appeared beneath the waves. A beam of light shot up, piercing the sea and the sky; water surged and split apart as if by an invisible wall.
From the rent in the ocean, a small flying craft emerged. Then another, and another.
Silvertongue saw it over Iron Man’s shoulder. His smile vanished, leaving a blank face, still beautiful but emotionless. The sight was more disturbing than his anger.
“Now it begins,” he said as yet more of the alien ships emerged from the portal beneath the Pacific. “Salvation, in fire and blood.”
In the distance, an inhuman roar sounded. Silvertongue jerked back, and Iron Man laughed as the grip on his throat eased. “Excellent timing.” When Silvertongue blinked, he grinned. “What? You knew I was stalling. You might have an army and a ‘glorious purpose,’ but we’ve got a Berserker and everything on Earth to lose.”
“You will fail,” Silvertongue warned. It was almost gentle.
“Maybe,” Iron Man agreed in a similar tone, “but that won’t stop us from trying.”
“A pity, for you would make an exceptional general for my lord,” Silvertongue said. A knife appeared in one hand as if by magic.
“Hildy, now!” Iron Man shouted, and the Artificial Intelligence wired into every surface, circuit, and angle of his mansion came to life. The smart glass window at Iron Man’s back brightened rapidly as the smart glass activated, projecting a 10 000 lumen directly into Silvertongue’s face, the equivalent of looking directly at the sun.
The alien flinched, the knife aiming for Iron Man forgotten as he raised his arm to shield his eyes.
Three hundred pounds of titanium alloy erupted from the launch tunnel built in the floor, slamming into Silvertongue and knocking him back before enveloping its creator in gleaming metal —
— at least, that would happen once the effects were added.
Loki Laufeyson’s hand opened immediately, falling away from the throat of his scene partner and co-star, Tony Stark.
“Kneel and submit fetish?” Loki laughed. “You showy bastard, must you always ad-lib in the most tightly scripted scenes?”
Tony Stark grinned and stepped off the box he’d been standing on. “Yes, because you can keep up with me. If you want me to stop ad-libbing, stop being so good at it yourself.”
“You’re both motherfucking showoffs,” Director Nick Fury snapped out from his spot just off-set. “I’d curse you out for it, but it works. We’re keeping the lines — you!” he pointed to one of the countless people needed to film a movie, much less one of this scope and budget. “Go snag the script supervisor; I want them to see it. We should add some lines paralleling it in an earlier scene. One of the conversations on the SWORD submarine,” Fury added thoughtfully. “Hill?”
Maria Hill, the assistant director, made a note on her tablet as the assistant Fury had pointed at ducked away. “Noted. Another take?”
Around Loki and Tony, there was a flurry of activity. Grips, gaffers, makeup artists and more moved around the set and the actors, resetting the scene, moving set pieces, and adjusting costumes and makeup.
Loki, who’d done stage acting and fashion modelling before moving into film, stood in place and allowed it all to go on around him without complaint. Tony, who had grown up on movie sets before and behind the camera as the child of a screen legend and producer and a child star himself, did what he was told as well. Just with more commentary and humour.
“Don’t take that too far,” Tony told a prop assistant, pointing at the box he stood on during the scene. “I’ll need it again soon since they insist on casting me alongside a damned giant.”
“Your height, and inadequacies thereof, are not my fault Mr. Stark,” Loki said. “Accept your circumstances and move on.”
“I have! Why do you think I wear lifts?”
“Because every other cast member, including Pepper, has several inches on you?”
“Well, yes, but mostly because they make my ass look amazing.”
“Amen,” the costume assistant adjusting Loki’s faux leather armour said.
“See!” Tony pointed at Loki. “There are entire Tumblrs dedicated to my bubble-butt, and not a single one of them thinks I’m too short.”
“Did I say you were short?” Loki asked. Tony huffed. “Exactly. And please, never use the term ‘bubble-butt’ again.”
“If you are quite done,” Fury said, with admirable patience, “could we please shoot this scene again? The only ‘tumbles’ about anyone’s butts will involve slings if we keep wasting time.”
Tony and Loki made eye contact. “Director Fury, that’s not —”
“Stark, what exactly is it about my demeanour that makes you think I care?”
Tony studied the director, standing with his arms crossed and stance wide, like a captain on the deck of a ship. Nicholas Fury commanded a room in the dramatic leather trenchcoat he’d made iconic back in his acting days and before a serious injury had taken him behind the cameras instead of in front of them. Fury’s fondness for all black and leather, booming voice and willingness to cut loose with the cursing made him a legend in film. A legendary badass.
For fuck’s sake, the man’s biography was titled Stupid-Ass Decisions: My Life and Other Dumb Shit.
“Maybe something in your aura,” Tony said, to fuck with him.
“Motherfucker,” Fury sighed. “Reset to the moment Iron Man enters,” he told the room, then pointed at Tony. “You — be Mark Jarvis, the Indomitable Iron Man. Not Tony Stark, the irrepressible asshole.”
“Mark Jarvis is an asshole.”
“Yes, but he’s a different type of asshole. Stop being you for five minutes, be someone else.”
“Make that the subtitle of my biography,” Tony joked as he took his mark.
Tony Stark had been an actor since he was 4 years old; he was better at being other people than himself. He had a house full of accolades and an addiction problem to prove it.
They did three more takes with the ad-libbed lines before Fury was done with the scene. The director kicked Tony and Loki off the set at the final cut. “Get the fuck out of those costumes and ready for your next scenes. And eat a sandwich or something, or you’ll be useless to me later,” Fury said. “We’re filming the submarine interrogation scene this afternoon, and I need your heads in the game.”
“Aye, aye, Mon Capitaine,” Tony said, saluting like an asshole. Because he was.
“Motherfucker, get the fuck off my set.”
Tony grinned and got the fuck off the man’s set. Loki planting a hand between his shoulder blades and pushing him along probably contributed.
“You can stop pushing me now,” he said once they were off the set. A costume manager was waiting to usher them off to Wardrobe. Next to him was a redhead in a five thousand dollar suit. “We’re out of Fury’s range.”
“The Kyber Belt isn’t out of Fury’s range,” Loki said. “Much less any part of the lot where he’s directing a movie. For a man with one eye, he sees everything and hears more.”
“I mean, he was James Bond once.”
“He also kissed your mother.”
“In a movie!” Tony exclaimed, only pretending afront. He loved that movie, not just because the interracial cast had made heads explode worldwide when it was released. “Although it does lend a dose of absurdity to his favourite phrase.”
“Your entire life is absurd. Billionaire, playboy, actor, philanthropist.”
“Don’t forget the child star turned tragic orphan turned addict. The media certainly doesn’t.”
Loki made a face and gave Tony one last nudge in Natasha’s direction. “Perhaps I’m too European, but calling TMZ or, god forbid, the rags that pass as tabloids ‘the media’ gives them entirely too much credit.”
“That’s common sense, not European sensibilities,” the costume manager said. “Mr Stark, we’ll need you in fifteen minutes. Mr Laufeyson, if you’ll come with me now?”
Loki was led off to be stripped of his costume armour, leaving Tony to beam at the redheaded legal shark he’d been left with. “Natashalie! My favourite model-turned-lawyer! Come to kill me with paperwork and legalese?”
Natasha Romanova arched one perfect brow. “Stabbing you with my heel would be more efficient, though messier. I immensely regret ever being drunk enough to tell you about that name. Also, how many model-turned-lawyers could you know?”
He shrugged. “This is LA, and I grew up in Manhattan and Beverly Hills. What’s wrong with me knowing that your first US management company decided ‘Natasha’ sounded too foreign and had you working under the name ‘Natalie’ when you were sixteen? Except for the part where it happened. And you would never stab me with your Louboutins. Blood would ruin the leather.”
“I hate you. Come sign these papers so I can go back to work.”
Tony grinned at her amused exasperation. “You’re a lawyer for the company I own. Dealing with paperwork and me is literally your job.”
She rolled her eyes and stalked away, leaving him to follow her to a more private location. “I’d say you are the worst, but I was a fashion model from fourteen to twenty-seven, and on your worst day, you barely qualify as an annoyance in comparison.”
Tony followed in her wake. “I know. That’s why I hired you for Stark Productions — so I could watch you show all the would-be legal sharks and movie tycoons that they had nothing on how cut-throat the fashion and modelling industry is.”
She flicked her hair over her shoulder, but Tony saw the uptick of her lips. There was little that Natasha — so often seen as ‘just’ a model and a beautiful woman — liked better than an acknowledgement of her abilities. Except for making the people who dismissed her as a pretty face weep with fear and regret as she crushed them under the weight of legal precedence and stacks of contracts.
It took twenty minutes to review, sign, and notarize the documents, but Wardrobe had probably expected that. Tony generally tried not to be a diva — he’d had that phase at age 20, fueled by entitlement, grief, and a budding cocaine habit, all of which had been enabled by Obediah Stane — and he never fucked with people’s schedules on purpose. It bought him a lot more leeway when he did need a bit of extra time for business. The nature of that business certainly helped.
Stark Productions and the technical and special effects company Stark Solutions had been his father’s baby back when the man was still making weapons for the US military and was trying to get the interest of Maria Carbonelli Collins. Eventually, it eclipsed the old Stark Industries. By the time Tony was born, Howard Stark had sold off the assets of his first company and was all in on using his engineering chops to create new technology for film and television and funding the movies his wife wanted to make. Movies which defied Hollywood’s rigid codes about sex, gender, race, and sexuality.
Stark movies had broken laws, been banned, faced boycotts, and been subject to multiple Congressional hearings. Tony’s parents and their production company had been charged under obscenity laws nearly a dozen times, separately and together. At one point, the whole company had left Hollywood to escape the blacklisting everyone who worked for or with them faced. They’d been shunned by the Academy, and the FBI had investigated them along with civil rights leaders, union organizers, and gay activists.
The money they’d made from the groundbreaking movies was poured into new technology, legal fees, marketing and PR campaigns, and more movies that broke the Hays code.
The most recent documentary on Stark Productions and the woman behind it — Maria Carbonelli Collins, the Italian Hedy Lamar — argued that those movies and the company had advanced Hollywood and the social landscape by decades.
And, since they’d done so while also making obscene amounts of money, their success eventually turned the tide and brought the old morality code to a shattering end.
Because of that legacy, which most people in the film industry had benefited from indirectly, if not directly, Tony had often been given tremendous leeway. Sometimes to his detriment, as demonstrated by much of his twenties. There was poison in privilege that hurt even those who benefitted from it.
But these days, he was more careful of how he used that leeway and more grateful than resentful for the vast shadow his legacy cast across the movie landscape. And he tried to live up to his mother’s ideals — that everyone could, and should, be able to see themselves and their stories in movies — both as an actor and the primary shareholder, Chairman of the Board, and President of Stark Industry Productions.
The fact that he could trust the people he’d picked to run the company for him was a pleasant change.
“That should make Happy happy,” Tony said, signing the last line Natasha had marked.
“You aren’t as funny as you think,” she said, neatening the stack before sliding it into her file case. “I’ll get these back to Mr Hogan. Your assistant has updated your schedule as well. There’s an executive meeting next week — on Sunday, so it doesn’t conflict with the shooting schedule.”
Tony made a face but didn’t complain. He’d made Happy Hogan, a former stunt man who’d gotten his MBA after a career-ending injury, the CEO of Stark Productions once the previous one had been arrested for fraud, assault and drug trafficking. It meant Tony wasn’t involved in the day-to-day and instead could set the tone and have some oversight. But it still meant meetings.
“Have a good day saving the world from hot alien overlords, Mr Stark,” Natasha said as she went to leave.
“You think he’s hot!” Tony exclaimed.
Natasha rolled her eyes. “The whole world thinks he’s hot. Half the women I used to walk the runway with would commit human sacrifices for those cheekbones. Goodbye, Mr Stark.”
“Natashalie.” She flipped him off over her shoulder as she sauntered away.
Tony laughed, then rose to head to Wardrobe. Quickly. He was only a little late, but the costume department of any movie was intense. He preferred not to cross the people who saw him partly naked and had pins.
One hour, a trip to Wardrobe and makeup, and a coffee from Craft Services later, Tony was back on set with Loki. This time it was inside a submarine that functioned as SWORD’s mobile base, somewhere in the Pacific Ocean, after the Justice Guild had captured Silvertongue in Hong Kong. Loki, dressed in a more battered set of armour, was behind panels of reinforced glass, in a cell connected to a torpedo tube that would launch at the press of a button.
The makeup artist had made Loki look even gaunter, all the better to highlight the manic words he was scripted. Tony had a bruise on his cheek from the fight in Hong Kong.
Fury finished barking out lighting directions and studied the scene. He glared at Tony. “Are you wearing your lifts?”
Fury grunted. “You’re too low. Step up on the riser — Loki, move back two steps. Better,” he said, satisfied when they followed his directions.
“Next time, cast a shorter villain,” Tony snarked. “I know he was stolen from Asgard as a child and raised by a Fire Giant, but it’s not like he’s required to be an actual Viking.”
“Or a taller hero,” Loki drawled. “This one is lacking in something. Height, mainly.”
“I make up for it in other ways.”
He looked surprised. “Really? Where? Because it’s not in wit or good looks.”
“Fuck you. I’m witty, charming, and gorgeous,” Tony huffed. The makeup artist who’d stepped in for a touch-up chuckled.
“Ah, that’s right, the biggest thing about you is ego.”
“Motherfuckers, is this a movie set or a kindergarten? And do I look like a nursery teacher?”
Both Tony and Loki looked over at the annoyed director. Because he was an asshole, Tony looked the man up and down. “Well —”
Loki was also an asshole. “I’m not sure, director. How many garments with cartoon animal prints do you own?”
Fury sighed. “Never mind, all actors are overgrown children, making me a motherfucking nanny.”
“I mean, you’re an actor, too, Fury, so isn’t that the definition of the inmates running the asylum?”
“Fucking places, now,” Fury growled. “The sooner we start shooting this scene, the sooner I’m finished with you assholes.”
Places were taken. The set went quiet. In the silence, the snap of the clapboard echoed.
And Tony Stark became Mark Jarvis, the Indomitable Iron Man. Billionaire, superhero, leader of the Justice Guild.
“So, Silvertongue — can I call you Silvertongue? Or do you prefer Mr Tongue?” Hands in his pockets, Mark Jarvis circled the glass enclosure. Inside, the alien who’d invaded Earth and stolen the alien artifact SWORD was studying — nothing hinky there, certainly not — turned to keep him in sight. He was haggard, and while Mark wanted to think it was from their recent battle, he knew the alien had shown up looking like that. Complete with the smile that bordered on manic.
“Silvertongue is my name,” the alien answered.
“Great, introductions — so much more civilized than stealing things or plucking out eyeballs — ”
“The cosmic stone was not yours to begin with. And I only removed one.”
Mark pointed at him. “So completely not the point. So, Silvertongue. Is that a double entendre? Or some form of advertising?”
The aforementioned Silvertongue — which looked pink and very human-like to Mark’s eyes, but he hadn’t made a study as yet — frowned slightly. Mark was glad to see that brittle humour become something more honest, like confusion over sexual innuendo that probably didn’t translate to someone from another planet. “I was named for my ability to talk my enemies into their deaths at my and my master’s hands.”
Mark drew both his hands from his pockets and stopped circling. “Well, that’s a talent that is surely wasted. I can think of much better things to talk people into, involving more pleasurable activities.”
Silvertongue arched a brow. “Perhaps I enjoy killing people.”
“Maybe. Or maybe your ‘master’ does. Is that an official title? And is it a leader thing or a sex thing?”
“Your species is overly occupied by all things sexual,” Silvertongue said.
“You’re not wrong,” Mark conceded.
“He is more than a leader,” Silvertongue continued as if the interruption hadn’t occurred. He stalked forward, leaning towards the glass but not touching it. Commander Nerro, the head of SWORD, had explained what would happen if the cell’s wall was breached in explicit detail. “He is a visionary, a saviour.” Mark made a face. “He saved me from a retched, base existence of mere survival and gave me a purpose. He is the only father I have ever known.”
He sounded like a manipulative, psychotic cult leader to Mark. Nice to know that it wasn’t just humanity that gave rise to those kinds of monsters. “Sounds charming, very Jim Jones,” Mark said, not able to keep all the distaste he felt from his voice. “Forgive me, I’m not a parent unless you count artificial intelligence, but from the few good ones I’ve known, parents protect their kids from violence.” He waved a hand at the whole glass-cage-torpedo situation. “I don’t think sending someone, alone, into enemy territory to take on entire military organizations single-handedly is particularly good parenting.”
Silvertongue laughed. It was a soft, bitter thing. “I said he is my only parent, not that I am his only child. I am not alone and far from the favoured one.” He tilted his head, studying Mark with a glittering gaze. “Does that strike a nerve, Ironman? Your Sparrow was most forthcoming, with proper motivation, and had much to say about all of your associates. But you? Your whole life is laid out for all the world to see, it is not? Including the famous sibling rivalry between you and your wayward brother.”
Mark exhaled. “Oh, please, Silvertongue, enlighten me.”
Silvertongue grinned, manic and cruel. “Brothers born to a business empire — but you, the youngest, ignored and cast aside for the favoured heir, Gregory. He was always the sole heir to the business, the apple of your father’s eye no matter how much smarter you proved to be. Fighting your whole life for the acknowledgement that was his by a matter of birth. Only to get it all when your brother abandoned it to live on a mountain, contemplating his navel and the nature of his soul.
“How does it feel, Iron Man, to know that he might walk back into your life at any time and everything — your company, your legacy, and all your hard work — could be handed back to him?” Silvertongue loomed over Mark, despite the glass separating them, all sharp eyes and biting words falling from that clever tongue. “How does it feel to be a man with everything yet nothing?”
He stared into those insanely blue eyes, visibly shaken, and struck back. “You know exactly how it feels to be disposable, Silvertongue. Why don’t you tell me?”
A fist struck the glass between them, and Silvertongue sneered. “You know nothing, you ignorant, backwater ape,” he hissed, “but you will. You will know what it is to be part of something greater; to have a most glorious purpose.”
“I’d rather have an inglorious purpose that I choose for myself, and I think you would as well if you knew anything but your so-called parent’s mission and all the emo drama you’ve cultivated for yourself.”
“You know nothing.”
Mark laughed. If there was a touch of hysteria in it, there was no one but them to see it — and the entire SWORD command on the other side of the cameras. “If I know anything, it’s what a hostage looks like.”
The fist slammed into the glass earlier thumped the wall again; Silvertongue flattened his hand out; those long, elegant fingers spread out and trembled.
Tony exhaled sharply, letting his head hang forward as his shoulders unwound. He shook his hands out at his sides.
Loki stepped back, rolling his shoulders, and walked around the panel of curved plexiglass they’d been acting across. “Another take?”
Fury dropped his crossed arms and propped his hands on his hips. “No. I need to see the dailies, but I think that was it. Motherfucking one take,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Even with the fucking improvisation. Showy fuckers.”
“Love you too, Nicholas,” Tony said.
“Get off the set, asshole. I have a movie to shoot. I need you both at five to shoot the fight scene. Eat something and take a nap, both of you, because it’s going to take a lot more than one take to nail it down.”
Tony followed Loki off the set. Fury had already turned to Hill and the monitors to watch the footage. Tony knew they’d nailed the scene, but it was nice to hear the Fury thought so too.
They stopped out of the way of the bustling grips. “Going to join me?” Tony asked. “We can run some lines while we eat.”
Loki rolled his shoulders again. Even though it was leather and polyurethane, not metal, his costume was stiff and heavy. “That sounds perfect. Let me get out of this costume. I’ll meet you fifteen minutes.”
“Getting out of Wardrobe’s clutches in fifteen minutes seems like wishful thinking.”
“I save my wishes for more imaginative purposes,” Loki drawled, leaving Tony laughing as he walked away.
Tony also needed to shed his costume — the upcoming fight scene involved a completely different look, including parts of his character’s iconic armour, so he would need a full costume change before filming. And, since his makeup wouldn’t survive the next couple of hours, much less the nap he intended to take, there was no point in keeping it.
It took thirty minutes to completely wipe away all traces of Mark Jarvis, the Indomitable Iron Man. It might have gone quicker, but he’d chatted with Pepper while she had her makeup and the Violet Spider’s red curls retouched.
Sitting in a chair beside Pepper, surrounded by the scent of makeup, spirit gum, and hairspray while they were halfway into or out of character, was a touch of nostalgia. All they needed was James Rhodes in the seat next to them, and it would be just like their time in the indie scene together filming the movies that had made Pepper’s career, transformed Rhodey from a typecasted actor, and saved Tony’s life.
Five years later, they were helping anchor a billion-dollar movie franchise as superheroes and spies. Rhodey wasn’t in this particular film and was off in New Zealand on another movie, but his Colonel John Lindos, the Battlesuit pilot, was key to all the mainline Ironman movies.
“Knock ‘em dead, Pep,” Tony said as he rose to leave.
She smiled the Violet Spider’s enigmatic smile. “I’m an assassin. That’s what I do.”
“Goodbye, Mr Stark, that will be all.”
He mocked a bow. “As you command, Ms Potts.”
Maybe it was the time spent with Pepper or Loki’s wishful thinking, but by the time Tony entered his trailer, Loki was already inside. He was slouched down on the small sofa in jeans and a teeshirt, typing away on his cellphone, fully at home.
“One day, I will figure out how you get out of costume so quickly,” Tony said. “You were wearing polyurethane.”
“I’ll never reveal my secrets,” Loki snarked, not looking up from his phone. “Or maybe getting out of a custom-tailored costume with the help of two people is miles easier than getting dressed and undressed backstage of a fashion show in clothing that was made to a single size, with the help of stressed-out assistants, and having to do so in under 60 seconds. And then repeating the process up to fifteen times in a single week, multiple times a year.”
“Maybe it’s magic, maybe it’s experience,” Tony mused as he retrieved two bottles of water from the mini-fridge. The coffee pot was already brewing, the scent of his own fresh-ground beans filling the small space. Tony had drunk much worse than Craft Services coffee, but he was still a coffee snob. Since he could afford the best, he bought the best and kept his trailer fully stocked.
“There’s food on the way,” Loki said, taking the bottle while he continued to frown at his phone. “I ordered for you. No complaints.”
He chuckled. “You know what I like well enough.” Tony dropped down on the other end of the couch. Due to the size, there wasn’t much room between them, but he still turned to lean against the armrest and pulled out his own phone to check it. There were multiple messages from his agent, his assistants — personal and the company one — and a string of texts from Rhodey bitching about everything and nothing. “Who are you texting like you could slay them with the strength of your ire and the speed of your keystrokes?”
Loki huffed. “My idiot of a brother.”
Tony lowered his phone and stared at Loki and his furious typing. “Your brother.”
“Yes.” Loki frowned at his screen, which chimed with an incoming text. Then he glowered and went back to typing.
“Your brother, the crown prince of Norway.”
Loki looked up and gave Tony a bitchy glare. “I only have one brother, and his being a prince doesn’t make him less of an idiot.”
Tony shook his head and went back to his own texting. “Your life is something else, Loki, and that’s coming from me. I’ll never get over a royal actor. You’re a reverse Grace Kelly, but with higher cheekbones.”
“I’m not royalty,” Loki drawled. “Americans, honestly. I’m a cousin by marriage and adopted — that makes me barely qualify for the aristocracy.”
“You grew up in a palace,” Tony reminded him.
“So did you, just an American version of one. Or do I need to remind you how many articles and architectural magazines your childhood homes were featured in?”
Tony made a face, remembering various camera crews and the extensive cleaning and staging that had always preceded them. He understood it now, but as a kid, he’d only been frustrated when his various toys and construction projects were packed away from sight. “No.”
Loki eyed him over the top of his phone. “You are more of a prince than I am, darling. The American tycoon and the actress he married and built an empire for. Didn’t they call your mother the Italian Hedy Lamar?”
“Yes, but Hedy was an inventor, and Mom was a mathematician,” Tony said. “Not that the distinction seemed to matter much to the media of the times — smart women all being equal and equally exotic. Like a zoo exhibit. But they did like to play up how they both lied about their age for their first roles, escaped from fascist Europe, and how they both married weapons manufacturers. Although Hedy spied on and divorced her ironmonger husband. Mom only married Dad when he left weapon design to finance movies.”
“That only makes the story better,” Loki pointed out. “The novelty of a man changing his life and career for a woman rather than the other way around. And then there were the movies they made — films no one in the US dared with actors no one else would hire. And the ever-present rumours, later proven true, that while Howard Stark brought all the technical genius that transformed the industry, Maria made most of the production choices. No wonder they wrote books and multiple movies on the story, not to mention all the documentaries.”
“Yup,” Tony said with an obnoxious ‘pop.’ “And I smoked, drank, and snorted that legacy up my nose.”
His phone was snatched out of his hand and tossed aside. Loki pointed one long, elegant finger in his face before Tony could voice his outrage. “Hush. You were a child actor, and we all know the odds of those issues under those circumstances. And then, when your parents died, Stane directly benefitted from being incapacitated and in a diminished capacity, so instead of helping you, he only enabled and encouraged your addictions.”
Tony tried to shrug away the sense of his skin crawling that always occurred when Obediah Stane came up. “That’s one way of putting his complete legal and financial control of the company, the estate, and me.”
Loki made a low noise of disgust. “Do not remind me of that travesty of a legal conservatorship. The fact that he had complete control of your finances but provided you money for drugs is ample proof it was just court-mandated abuse. You got sober despite your circumstances, Tony, won back your independence and took control of your family business. All of that would have been more than impressive — but you also made a comeback on the screen. Winning an Oscar in the process was just showing off,” Loki added with a smile and a shake of his head.
The Academy Award for Supporting actor he’d won for that movie, his first real movie role in five years, was the one Tony was most proud of. The film had been small, and so had the budget. But he’d stayed clean through the whole film, thanks partly to Rhodey and Pepper, who had been cast in the same movie.
“And now I’m a superhero,” Tony snarked. “Even though the damned villain stole the show the moment he appeared on the screen.”
Loki rolled his eyes, but he looked pleased as well. A role that started as a single scene early in the franchise had shot Loki to popularity and acclaim in Holywood. Now, a not-insignificant portion of the storyline — and the fanbase — was anchored by Loki and his portrayal of Silvertongue.
“Americans are overly interested in royalty and anything royalty-adjacent, as you demonstrated earlier,” he said.
“Pretty sure it was your cheekbones that won them over, actually. And your legs,” Tony added, waving a hand to indicate Loki’s general … everything. “Or just ‘cause you’re pretty.”
“As if you have room to talk in that regard, you ridiculous man,” Loki muttered.
Tony grinned, but the knock on the trailer door saved Loki from his response. He rose to retrieve the sandwiches Loki had ordered, locking the door afterwards.
When he turned back, Loki had set his phone next to Tony’s and watched him with an intense gaze. As much punch as Silvertongue’s electric blue contacts had, Tony preferred Loki’s green eyes.
“Hungry?” Tony teased, shaking the bag of sandwiches.
“Not for food,” Loki said.
Tony dropped the bag on the nearest surface, then slid astride Loki’s thighs. “Oh?”
Loki cupped his ass and tugged him closer, lifting his hips to grind them together. “As if you don’t know, you foolish creature.”
Tony laughed breathlessly and gripped Loki’s shoulders for leverage as he ground down. Now that there was no further chance of interruption, his control unravelled. “You’re lucky that your costume hides any potential boner,” Tony complained. “I was worried I would ruin the damned shot the first time you held my throat and leaned in like you were going to take a bite, looking dangerous and desperate. Either with an obvious erection or by dropping a line while trying to think unsexy thoughts to avoid one.”
Loki’s eyes darkened; he licked his lips. “I know.” He lifted his hand and cradled Tony’s neck. His thumb stroked over the pulse point. “I could feel your heartbeat under my hand; it was racing.” Loki grinned, his trademark expression. “It only wound up Silvertongue, by the way. He was torn between snapping your neck or biting it.”
Tony laughed breathlessly and arched his throat into Loki’s hand. “Yeah, I buy that. He’s definitely looking for a fight in bed. Unlike you, who likes to wallow in his pleasures.”
Loki shifted his grip to the back of Tony’s neck and drew him down. Tony groaned when his throat was nipped. Gently, of course — his costume didn’t cover his throat.
“I don’t know,” Loki murmured, kissing the underside of Tony’s jaw. “Desperate grudge sex with a brilliant enemy could be fun as an experiment.”
Aroused, a little frustrated, and rarely patient, Tony pinned Loki back against the sofa by his shoulders and took his mouth in a searing kiss. When he finally drew back, Loki looked wrecked. Much better.
“It sounds messy and likely to leave bruises. Grudge sex,” Tony clarified when Loki looked confused. “Not that I’m not willing to play that game, but you should hold on to the thought until after filming is done and we’re no longer at the mercy of wardrobe and makeup.”
“I’ll make a note of it,” Loki drawled. “Siri —”
Tony huffed and began popping open the buttons on Loki’s shirt. “No voyeurs in the bedroom. Besides, I know you disabled that maladapted spyware out of Jobs’ dystopian fantasies.”
Loki sat up to shrug off his shirt, then helped Tony strip off his own teeshirt. “You have degrees in robotics and computer sciences and invest money and your own research into AI development,” he said.
“Yes, which is why I know Jobs is a hack.”
Loki bent down and licked Tony’s nipple. “Didn’t someone offer you the Jobs role in a biopic?”
“Do not remind me if you want to get laid this year. Just thinking about it is enough to make my dick invert.”
“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” Loki shifted, gripped Tony’s ass, and stood up.
Tony swore and held on. “Oh, fuck you and your Viking genetics.” He groaned when Loki took a step. “This is entirely too hot to be permitted.”
There were only a few steps to the bed tucked away in the back of the trailer. “That’s rather the point, darling.” Loki dropped Tony on the bed and began stripping his remaining clothes.
Once he stopped bouncing, Tony did the same. Fortunately, getting out of jeans wasn’t complicated, so he could watch Loki as he shimmied out of his pants.
Loki might not have the bulk or the blonde looks associated with Vikings — his adopted brother had both in spades according to all the pictures Tony had seen — but he was all wiry strength and long limbs. Bruising stood out, stark against his pale skin, on his hips from the stunt harness. More bruises and scrapes were on his shin and knees from a fall on set the other day. Tony sympathized; his ribs and thighs were a little tender from his own harness, and there was an imprint on his chest where the hexagonal fusion reactor had gotten jammed.
“Have you finished your inspection of my person?” Loki drawled.
Tony grinned and pointedly looked at Loki’s cock. “Yup. Come on, Silvertongue. Unless you’ve changed your mind about conquering me.”
“That was wretched,” Loki grumbled, climbing on the bed and shoving Tony on his back. “I keep telling you to read your scripted lines and stop ad-libbing them.”
Tony spread his legs so Loki could settle between them, his full weight pressing Tony into the mattress. “You could shut me up with your dick.”
“If dick shut you up, you’d have been mute these last few months.” Loki dug the lube out from under the pillow, where they’d left it last time, and used those long fingers to slick both their dicks.
Tony’s head fell back, and he arched into Loki’s tight grip and the slick slide of their cocks together. There wasn’t time for penetration, not with a long and intense scene left to film and the dailies to go over. They still needed a nap and food, but this was enough for now.
Besides, it would only increase the anticipation to hold off until later.
Loki pressed his face into Tony’s neck as he worked them both. Tony got a hand between them, gathered some of the lube on his stomach, and then used those fingers to find the sweet spot behind Loki’s balls.
Loki moaned. “Do that again, and you’ll be coming on your own.”
Being the asshole he was, Tony used his other hand to grip Loki’s ass so he could grind up against the man while he rubbed that spot.
“You are insufferable,” Loki ground out. He sat up, hooked one hand under Tony’s thigh, pressed his leg up and back, and ground down.
The angle, combined with the slick heat, the tension they’d been building on and off the set all day, and it being Loki, had Tony coming in short order. High from orgasm, Tony fumbled to help Loki.
Loki dropped his forehead onto Tony’s sternum and shifted his grip, using his own hand to wrap Tony’s around his dick. He came across Tony’s stomach in a few strokes, silent except for a soft, broken gasp.
As charming as it might have sounded for them to fall asleep immediately, still entangled in each other, practicalities demanded otherwise. The amount of lube and bodily fluids smeared on them — mostly Tony, but lube got tacky when it dried, and no one wanted that behind their balls — demanded they get up. Between the two of them, they summoned enough coordination to clean up.
The wet wipes Tony had taken to stocking up on helped in that regard.
Basic hygiene accomplished, they even managed to eat their sandwiches — standing up, naked — and drink an entire bottle of water each before collapsing on the bed.
Hey, it might have taken Tony until his forties, but he could adult with the best of them. Sometimes, he even managed it without paying people to help him.
With their various appetites dealt with, at least temporarily, they curled up on the bed together. Tony had even remembered to find his phone and was setting an alarm as Loki draped himself over Tony’s back.
“We have about two weeks before filming wraps up,” Tony said. “And then there are at least two months before we have to think about any interviews for the film. Any plans? I know you’ve got a few projects in the works.”
Loki hummed against Tony’s shoulder. “Milan fashion week is coming, and I’m walking for Hogan. He was the first designer to feature me back when I got my start, and if I’m going to use my status to help out anyone, I’d rather it be him.”
“He made the suit you wore to the Oscars last year, right? The green and gold brocade?” Tony dropped his phone by the bed and wriggled back, getting comfortable. “It stood out in the sea of black and blue suits.”
“Menswear at awards shows is often sadly lacking,” Loki complained. “What’s the point in having a background in modelling and theatre if I’m not going to make the most of those connections? Most Americans will just write off my peculiar fashion choices as being ‘European.’”
“Sadly true, on all counts. But at least they don’t try to find euphemisms for ‘gay as a rainbow’ when describing your style.”
Loki chuckled. “You wore red leather trousers and heels, darling. You’re lucky that foolish reporter’s head didn’t explode. Besides, you’re bisexual, not gay.”
“A distinction rarely noted by the general media.” Tony gave up and turned over to face Loki. For his part, the man waited until Tony had stopped moving and then arranged himself. “Pretty sure there are still people who refer to my bisexuality as a phase.”
“Some people think the earth is flat. Speaking of idiots —” Tony laughed “— I should visit my brother and parents before I get a reminder of filial duty. Or worse, before Thor takes it in his thick skull to visit.” Loki huffed and drew the covers up to their waists. “I’ve not got the patience for the media storm that would create, nor the room in my apartment. If you have complaints about my stature —”
“I’ve seen pictures.” He’d spend a couple of long nights internet stalking Loki. Among the treasure trove of late 90s interviews, photoshoots, and clips of him dressed in Shakespearean costumes, Tony had found plenty about the royal family of Norway. Thor came across as the centre of a Venn diagram of Vikings, frat bros, and golden retrievers. “He must keep half the tailors in Norway busy, adjusting things to fit those shoulders.”
Loki glared at him. “Do not ogle my brother. It’s weird.”
Tony laughed. “He’s pretty but not my type. Besides, I prefer legs to shoulders when it comes to men.” He patted Loki’s ass.
Loki huffed but looked pleased. “After that, I have another film. Shooting starts in about 9 weeks, and it’s on location in Vancouver, but filming should only take about four weeks. They should be done with me in time for the media rounds to start for this movie.” He propped his head up on one hand and studied Tony. “What about you?”
“Interviews and media for the release of Arsene Lupine, Thief of Shadows, including the London premiere,” Tony began listing his schedule. “Then the Korean and American premieres seven and ten days later. I’m also doing voice work for a Pixelate movie, but that should only take a week or two. I’ve got a few magazine interviews, including Vogue, before the start of the promotion cycle for this film, and then we’ll start filming the next Commander America movie. And somewhere in there, I need to find time to complete designs for a couple of special effects projects with Stark Productions.”
“Busy as always,” Loki remarked, still watching him.
Tony wet his lips. “Idle hands and all. But I’ve got some time after filming wraps without anything scheduled — just script reviews and those technical designs. I was planning on spending the time in Malibu since my workshop is there. But sometimes a change of scenery is good for recharging. Europe might be nice,” he added lightly.
“I certainly think so,” Loki murmured. “Milan is particularly lovely.”
“I’ve heard that.”
Loki smiled, a soft and lovely thing. “Have you indeed? Norway is quite beautiful as well, at least in the summer.” He traced an idle pattern across Tony’s chest.
Tony exhaled as those long fingers danced over his nipple, then the surgery scars that marred his sternum. They were faded, relics of the accident that had killed his parents. What had been seen as a tragic equipment failure on a movie set until Obediah Stane’s arrest had revealed his part in sabotaging the set rigging.
“The view is usually pretty good from a palace,” Tony finally replied as Loki’s fingertips moved on.
“As if that monument to modernist architecture and engineering you call a house in Malibu doesn’t qualify as a palace.”
“And the view is great,” Tony said brightly. “Might be too much sun for your Viking complexion, though,” he added, running his own fingers up Loki’s pale arm.
Loki pinched his side, making Tony squirm and flail briefly. “I’ve been to your house, and my pale Viking complexion tolerated it well enough.”
“I remember. It was a great party. The after-party was great, too.” Tony waggled his eyebrows.
“Ridiculous man,” Loki spluttered. “‘After-party’? Is that what we’re calling a sex marathon now? Based on the duration and level of difficulty, it probably qualified for ultra-marathon status.”
“It was a great weekend,” Tony agreed.
“Three days is not a weekend. And it was in the middle of the week!”
“‘Weekend’ is a state of mind,” Tony countered. “But, speaking of sex on the beach —”
Loki dropped his head and hid his face against Tony’s shoulder. “We weren’t.”
“I was, and you were thinking about it.”
“I certainly was not.”
“Not even the part where we —”
Loki pressed one long finger against Tony’s lips and narrowed his eyes. “If you ever want me to do that thing with my mouth again, you will desist immediately.”
Tony eyed his lover. He looked pretty serious. “The thing? With your tongue and the vibrator?” he asked.
Since Tony did, in fact, want him to do that thing again, and as often as was physically possible, he was quick to change the subject or at least return to the original one. “So, since we both have a bit of time after filming wraps, I was thinking that you might want to come to Malibu for a visit. A week. Or two,” he continued, well aware he was rambling. “Like a vacation. The house is private along with the beach.” Something they had taken advantage of once and Tony refrained from mentioning; see above about the thing with the tongue.
Loki continued to say nothing, watching Tony ramble from behind his finger. “Or not, no pressure if you aren’t —” Tony stopped talking when Loki’s finger tapped his lips. A thumb on his chin adjusted Tony’s head to the correct angle, and Loki kissed him.
Tony relaxed. Not completely, he was still a mess of a human being, but at least he wasn’t spinning himself into orbit anymore.
“The way your brain works,” Loki said. “You’re always racing ahead, anticipating the next step. I really must start thinking ahead if I’m ever to be the one to surprise you.” Tony opened his mouth. “Outside of bed, that is.” And closed it again.
Loki released his face and slid his hand back into Tony’s hair to pet him. “I had thought to invite you to Milan, perhaps ahead of fashion week rather than after. The build-up is so busy there’s a kind of privacy in the chaos, with too many famous people in one place for the media to track any one person.”
“‘Thought’ is past tense,” Tony said, relaxing further as those long fingers stroked his scalp.
“And if that part went well,” Loki continued, ignoring Tony’s interruption, “I might have tried to persuade you to let me show you my home.”
“Still past tense,” Tony muttered. “You mean Norway, right?”
“Plans must be adjusted when dealing with a genius,” Loki explained. “I made a home in London and now in California, but yes, Norway will always be home. Idiot brothers included,” he added with a sigh.
Tony licked his lips. “We might be able to fly under the radar in Malibu or Milan, but the media will definitely notice us together in Norway. I don’t care how different the media is in Europe.”
“Not that different, certainly. Is that a problem?” Loki asked as his hand stopped moving.
“We’ve lived our lives in front of the cameras,” Tony began, feeling his way. Loki’s gaze was intense, and the still fingers in his hair felt tense. “For good, or for bad. We’re used to being watched, but that makes privacy all the more valuable for the lack of it. If the media catches on to us, there could be backlash. Mostly on you since there’s very little I haven’t already done to my reputation, and you’re a major sensation.”
“So are you, darling.”
Tony rolled his eyes. “Scandals always are. You’re also a heartthrob and leading man material; a relationship with a man could impact that. Even if you explain that you’re pansexual if you’re involved with a man, people will ignore every other aspect of your orientation. You’ll also get dragged into my mess, Loki. Even a hint of a relationship always brings my past into the conversation.”
“You are also a heartthrob and a leading man. Yes,” he insisted before Tony could argue. “And don’t try that tired line about being past your prime. In a world where thirty-year-olds play teenagers, the idea that people in their forties and fifties can’t play romantic leads is tired and belongs in the era of Hollywood your parents dismantled. Besides, the only story people love more than a fall from grace is a redemption story, and yours is certainly that.”
“Ugh.” Tony made a face.
“You’ll have to live with it, darling. And as for becoming publicly involved with you — I told you I’m demisexual as well as pansexual, Anthony, and we’ve been sleeping together for three months. What did you think that meant?”
Loki was looking at him in that way that said he could see past Tony’s masks and deflections straight into the patchwork of issues, ego, and shaky self-esteem resulting from a lifetime in the spotlight. “I was trying really hard not to think about what it meant,” he said with far too much sincerity. “Thinking too much about how people feel about me doesn’t always go wrong, but historically it has led to some epic spirals and self-sabotage.”
Loki cupped his cheek and pressed a tender kiss to his temple. Tony’s breath caught at the affection in the gesture. “Two things, darling. You need to see your therapist as soon as filming is done, and I’ve not slept with someone more than twice that I wasn’t deeply emotionally invested in.”
Tony exhaled. “Fine, yes, agreed. Also, I want stories.”
“Modelling is a business full of young, attractive people who are used to treating the human body as a tool. The amount of sex going on behind the scenes could put the Olympics to shame.” Loki smirked. “Now, as to people knowing about us and the potential results, I excel at ignoring stupid questions or answering them so that the one asking only realizes they were insulted an hour later.”
Happy to set aside the emotional revelations for something lighter, Tony grinned. “My favourite interview you’ve ever done was when that idiot from the Daily Bugle asked if your modelling had given you an eating disorder, and you would only answer their questions in Norwegian after that. Petty is a great look on you.”
Loki smirked. “Everything looks good on me, and I have an entire portfolio dedicated to terrible fashion designs to prove it. My favourite interview is the one where one of the cameras died, and you disassembled it to find and repair the problem through the rest of the questions.”
It was also one of Tony’s favourites, even though he’d given the reporter far more time than was scheduled. It was the first round of major interviews he’d done after getting his legal independence back, and having something to do with his hands had kept his anxiety levels manageable.
“Smart is sexy,” was all he said.
“Indeed. I like your Malibu house, ridiculous as it is. I’d like it more if I spent a week or two there. It’s a lovely view,” Loki said, staring into Tony’s eyes.
‘Deeply emotionally invested in’ sounded a lot like ‘in love with.’ That might make this the first relationship where his partner was equally invested since he was 20. Tony was going to think about that later. After filming was done, he’d caught up on food and sleep, and he’d seen his therapist a few times.
“Spared no expense,” Tony quipped. Just to make Loki roll his eyes. “The best view is from the master bedroom, so you’ll get the full experience.”
“Is that what we’re calling it?”
“I haven’t been to Milan in years,” Tony added.
“Well, I’m quite familiar with the city, so you’d be in good hands.”
“They are very, very good hands.” Tony ran his fingers over the back of Loki’s hand. Inhaled. “If the media will find out, I’d rather it’s on our terms. How’d you like to be my date for the premiere?”
“You usually take Pepper Potts.”
“We look good together, I can keep my hands to myself, and she’s great at deflecting stupid questions and people trying to hand me things like alcoholic drinks. But she’s getting pretty serious with Happy lately, so she’s got her own date.”
Loki turned his hand under Tony’s and linked their fingers. “I can’t tell you how infuriating it is that people try to lure you into drinking despite your hard-fought sobriety. Fortunately, in addition to years of modelling giving me ample experience playing eye- and arm candy, I also excel at passive aggression. And vindictive pettiness, but that’s more of a personality trait than a learned skill.”
“Going to defend my virtue and my sobriety?”
“I’ll defend your sobriety and suck your cock in the limo.”
“On the way back to the hotel, or on the way there?” Tony asked, amused and turned on.
Loki grinned. “I’ll surprise you. My brother is getting married later this year.”
“What does Norway’s crown prince have to do with you sucking my dick?”
Loki pinched Tony. “Never speak of my brother and your dick in the same sentence again. You’ll give me a complex.”
Tony rubbed his side. “Noted. Also, ouch.”
“You deserved it.” But Loki smoothed his hand over the spot. “As I was saying, without any interruptions, my brother is getting married this year.”
“Dr Jane Foster, right? She’s an astrophysicist. The Norwegian royal family doesn’t get nearly the kind of media attention the British one does over here, but that’s made some headlines.”
“We’re entirely too normal for the kind of royal gossip the Brits generate, right down to having real jobs. Case in point, Dr Foster met Thor when she came to work for the Royal Observatory, where she will continue to work once they marry. That said, their wedding will be something of an event, and I can’t go alone.”
Tony said nothing about Loki’s use of ‘we’ despite his habitual denial of royal status. “Did you just invite me to attend a royal wedding? As your date, no less?”
“Is that a problem?”
“Other than the issue of how I’m going to show that up —”
“I’m sure you’ll find a suitably obnoxious way, darling.”
“— I don’t own a suitable hat.”
“Well,” Loki said with a chuckle, “we will be going to Milan. I’m sure you could pick one up there.”
“True. And I have a connection to several rather famous designers.” Tony yawned abruptly. “I planned on a nap, not an emotional rollercoaster. Why are healthy adult relationships exhausting?”
“It’s all the wretched honesty.” Loki arranged them both — meaning he moved Tony until they were satisfied with Tony’s position as the little spoon — and checked the phone. “We’ve still got an hour and a bit for a nap.”
Tony settled back into Loki’s chest. “Good. Once we finish filming your attempt to stab with an alien pike and go over the dailies with Fury, we can leave for the night. I want to fuck you in a proper bed.”
Loki sighed. “Yes, well, if you insist. I will owe you that much after attempting to impale you for a dozen takes.” He ran a hand down Tony’s chest and drew the blankets higher. “Go to sleep.”
Tony caught his hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “Fine, if you insist. Stay,” he said, already drifting.
There was a low chuckle against his ear, rumbling against his back. “If you insist, darling,” Loki murmured and cuddled closer as they both slept.
3 thoughts on “All’s Fair in Love, War, and Movies”
That was awesome and fun and delightfully subversive.
Thor came across as the centre of a Venn diagram of Vikings, frat bros, and golden retrievers.
Best. Line. Ever. Also, truest thing ever said about Thor.
This was great. I read it instead of working, and I’m not even sorry. Thanks!
I love this changed universe and how the people are diferent and still themselves.