Loki studies the young Coptic Trickster, irked by her presumptuous invasion of his personal space, with an air of icy hauteur.
He would dismiss her on the spot but for his abiding respect for her father, Anubis, and any other death god, for many times death has brushed its fingers over Loki’s skin, but mercifully not taken a stranglehold.
“I will see what I can do,” is all he commits to, holding unnaturally still; the frozen stature is the learned byproduct of a lifetime of being safer when unobtrusive while family members raged their displeasure at each other; and, more recently, being the direct victim of war prisoner abuse. Layla may or may not know that Loki shares these experiences with Tony Stark, whom she seems to have already met under catastrophic circumstances. Loki is not about to ask her.
“You have my thanks,” Layla nods, at first seeming more than willing to simply leave it at just that. But ever her Father’s daughter, she rarely leaves even the smallest debt unpaid, so it’s with a hint of reluctance that she adds, “And my favour in return, should you find yourself in need.”
Calculating golden eyes study the other god for a moment before she notes, “And please, I know your reputation for being the Liesmith, but if you know my Father, you know my family’s penchant for Truth. There will be no tricks from me to get out of such so long as you are honest with me in return. My only motivation is the protection and wellbeing of a child. As I am certain you can understand.”
“Ahhh. An offer to sweeten the pot?”
Loki breathes a laugh, soft and wry.
“You are well-trained in the art of trickery, Jackal’s Child.”
It would have been better for Layla had she closed the conversation on this note; however she proceeds, and the God of Mischief lofts a dark eyebrow.
“That sounded like it evolved from quid pro quo to a genuine threat. Careful, youngling, you catch flies with honey, and there is no need to flex your muscles at a senior god. Nor have I need to lie when both our motives are assuredly pure. Tis a weapon, lying, and weapons are only needed in defense, if one is wise. Weapons also remain well-whet when not used in excess. I do not wish for my lover to be long troubled. I will put his mind at ease, I promise you.”
The smile that follows could slice a diamond; it decisively claims the argument closed.
Loki’s expression is beatifically innocent as he lifts his gaze from the laptop monitor which sports a tiny sticker of an ouroboros.
“Oh, what? Whatever did I do?” he chimes, saccharinely.
Tony tries, he really does, to look stern and not give in to the soft, innocent look, but damn it all, it’s as bad as when Peter starts throwing around those soft brown puppy eyes of his. He almost always caves to them, and he’s sure they’re both aware of it – Loki most certainly so, though Peter does seem to be learning it as well.
With an exasperated sigh, he sits next to his lover, leaning in to press an affectionate kiss to his jaw. “You’re as bad as Peter with those looks. Fine, just don’t get caught. Or get me put on yet another watchlist. That’s the last thing I need while trying to get the Accords nullified.”
With another kiss, closer to the corner of the god’s mouth, he murmurs quietly, “Or is this just your way of trying to make sure I provide you with more ‘suitable distractions’?”
“How dare you impugn my honor by suggesting that I, I, ever have ulterior motives?” Loki purrs.
He turns and snatches a kiss from the corner of Tony’s mouth, a sharp bite to mark his territory over the lips from which such witticisms spew.
“Act like that and I’ll hack one of your powerful friends and then force you to choose between them and me, incorrigible brat that I am, but nobody you have ever known is more beautiful, so you see, you’re at an impasse. Make love to me this instant, and I shall consider abandoning my allegedly wicked ways.”
[Text] Why are you talking like a Gen-Z Version of the Beach Boys? I’ve seen all the memes, genius. I’m already on a tier of computer hacking that can embezzle from Trump and that Amazon fellow and turn them on each other for a lark. Thank Stark for that.
[Text] Thor you’re hilarious but eventually someone consequential will notice it is raining ONLY on me.
[Text] Maybe your friend the white Genghis Khan cosplayer from the Dungeons and Dragons convention will scold you. And I can then appropriately eviscerate him with REAL magic.
[Text] I came out here to have a good time and I’m honestly feeling so attacked right now.
[Text] I don’t know what is more amusing. Your displeasure:
[text] Or the image of you furiously typing said displeasure one thumb at a time on a cellphone.
Loki’s lip quirks. He averts his gaze to the cauldron. He sniffs, and turns, and walks to his steadily growing bookshelf, and leafs through the spines of the tomes like each is an old lover.
He bares his back to Tony intentionally. And most carefully, he modulates his tone, to be cool and wry and vaguely disdainful, yet the gesture itself, and the motives, cannot be mistaken, when he speaks again:
“It is a scrying spell. A permanent one. It will tell me when any suit of armor that you wear, a residue of which I have placed into the potion, is in peril.”
He conceals his smile well, while leafing through the text, for ideas on binding agents, to make good on his word that the spell is permanent.
“I thought it fitting. Creatures that I summoned on behalf of our mutual enemy have been the stuff of your nightmares for many years. Now I shall remedy that, and be cause for you to feel safer.”
He turns toward Tony, then, with a far darker expression.
“No one is ever going to reach into your chest and pull out your life force again. I made you a vow. You are my friend and I will extinguish those who threaten you.”
Tony listens in rapt attention as Loki explains the purpose of the spell, his eyes widening in shock at the overwhelming implications of what he’s being told. He already knew Loki had his back, but this… Thiswas something else entirely.
It wasn’t just the god having his back. It wasn’t just his promised protection. It wasn’t even the safety, or the peace of mind made possible. It was all of it, and the intensity of all of it, leaving no room for doubts.
His breath hitches, tears welling in his eyes as he stares at Loki’s back. He doesn’t even have words to express how much of a reliefit is to know he’s not on his own. Even with his friends, most of them are only human, just like himself, and to know what Loki was giving to him was as overwhelmingly terrifying as it was gratifying to know his friend truly cared.
But when the god turns to face him, his words become too much for Tony in that moment, and without thought he closes the distance between them, wrapping his arms tightly around Loki’s waist as a sob escapes him, so overcome with relief there’s little else he can do.
It takes him several moments before he can even manage to choke out a quiet, “Thank you,” his complete and utter relief nearly palpable as he all but clings to the Trickster as if his very life depends on it. “I… Just…” Another hiccupped sob escapes him as he practically buries himself into the other’s chest, managing another painfully desperate, “Thank you.”
“Oh, ehm, I. Well.”
Loki initially stiffens when Tony collapses into him. He is among the most skilled of silvertongues, capable of felling a foe or exalting a friend, brother, or ally with words alone, but oh, gestures of affection render him a stammering flustered fool. He has always coped with this particular shortcoming with illusions, with jests, with outright self-concealment, but obnoxious, gunslinging, outspoken Tony Stark is another story entirely.
Loki pats him awkwardly on the back; after a time, accustomed to bursts of tenderness from his elder, infinitely more extraverted brother, Loki settles into the embrace.
“There, there. No, no, shh. I know. I know what you have endured. I know firsthand.”
Ebony Maw, the Black Order, the Chitauri, the Other and Thanos, they were Loki’s Afghanistan. They were Loki’s Obadiah Stane. And Thor was, and is, Loki’s Ho Yinsen: Loki’s Avengers. Loki’s whole population of earth. The people he desperately tries to protect, better and better as time passes, in the wake of his own nightmares. Loki knows.
icyxmischief 