Work Text:
It all started with an offhand comment.
Surprisingly, the comment itself didn’t come from Tony—but it was his reaction that ended up starting the whole mess. Not that it should be considered his fault, mind you, because Thor’s comment about how Loki should stop dressing as a witch – especially since Loki looked beyond good in that full black suit, thank-you-very-much – had definitely deserved some kind of comeback.
So really, the whole thing could be blamed on Thor—
Though perhaps shouting across the whole living room that Loki would look entirely mouth-watering in absolutely anything hadn’t been Tony’s best idea to date, but. He had to say something.
But, uh. It would seem that he managed to say slightly too much, since Loki got this kind of gleam in his eye, and he stepped across the room with a smirk on his lips and still looking unfairly gorgeous in that fucking suit so—how, exactly, was Tony supposed to be able to concentrate?
“You think so, do you?” Loki asked, his voice low.
And okay, Tony had to scramble a little – because yeah, so maybe he’d been staring at Loki’s ass whenever he thought Loki wasn’t looking for the past… well, far too long—but that didn’t mean that he wanted Loki to know about it.
It was fine, though. Fine. Because Tony is a genius at hiding the way he feels, and he hid the way he wanted to blush with a cocky grin and a playful quip.
“You and me both, sweet cheeks,” Tony replied, throwing in a wink for good measure—
And. Well. That was just about where everything fell apart.
Tony should have known better. He should have known, because he knew that Loki was not that much different from him—he knew that Loki liked a challenge and a game more than anything else.
“You’re saying that you look good in anything, as well?” Loki asked, arching a brow. “I am not entirely certain that I believe you on that one.”
“Wanna bet?” Tony asked, following through on the gambit because, what else could he do? Admit that it hadn’t been a joke, that he legitimately did think Loki looked good in anything because, well, because he just liked Loki? Nah. Not an option.
“I’d want you to prove it,” Loki replied.
“Oh yeah? What’ll the terms be?”
“Do you want to raise the stakes?”
“Well, what’re you thinking? We both know that playing for money would do nothing for either of us—”
“I was thinking a favour.” Loki’s lips pulled into a smirk which had Tony’s heart skipping half a beat. “Just the one, a favour which could be anything, and payable whenever. Within reason, of course.”
Within reason, huh?
Now, Tony’s not an idiot—he knew that making that kind of deal with someone like Loki was just asking for trouble. He really could end up asking for anything at all. But hey, you know what? The others might still look at Loki with suspicion now and then, but Tony had long since managed to get himself past that, and he trusted Loki more than enough to make a simple bet.
“You got yourself a deal,” Tony said, holding out his hand—
And when Loki’s fingers wrapped around his, he was sure it was his imagination, but… it felt less like a handshake, and more like they were just. Holding hands.
But of course, yeah, that wasn’t the case. No way. Tony was just. Projecting.
Stop being an idiot, Tony.
“I think you’re both just talk,” Clint called out, cutting through Tony’s thoughts and reminding him with a jolt that he and Loki were not the only two in the room. Oops. “You’d both better be willing to actually do this.”
Loki let go of Tony’s hand – he’d been holding it for a while, hadn’t he? That wasn’t just Tony’s imagination… was it? – and then his smirk turned into something sharp.
“I certainly have every intention of following through,” Loki said. “Anthony?”
“Of course.” Tony wasn’t exactly excited about this – he knew he looked good, but there was no freaking way he’d win something like this against Loki – but a challenge was a challenge, and the anticipatory smile that curved along his lips was certainly genuine. “How are we going to do it?”
—⋆—
For the record, Tony did not regret getting into this.
He’d already had fun just debating with the team on what the outfits were going to be, and Nat and Clint had already decided upon who was going to be on the judging panel. (It was the pair of them, and a reluctant Bruce. Steve had – in a rather disappointed tone, actually – stated that he had a meeting to attend to, and there wasn’t a single one of them who believed Thor was capable of being unbiased.)
And the outfits… Tony’d had his doubts when they’d first come up with this challenge, but now—he was almost looking forward to it. He had no qualms about wearing such a thing, and seeing Loki in one was going to be golden.
Even if that hadn’t been the case, the final decision was far better than the alternative. They had almost ended up with chicken-suits, but the vote had just fallen in favour of the final decision.
Tony had ordered the outfits online, express shipping, sparing no expense. He’d deliberated over the colours for a while, because he knew that Loki didn’t like wearing white—but Tony was familiar with the story of Swan Lake, and there was no way he could settle his conscience with putting Loki in the black.
So Tony would be wearing the darker outfit, and Loki would have the tutu in white. They would both have feathers in their hair and fine tulle around their waists.
And maybe they would both look ridiculous—but then again, maybe not. Tony was a firm believer of the fact that you truly could look good in anything, so long as you wore it with enough confidence.
(He might not look as good as Loki, but… that was a different matter entirely, wasn’t it?)
“Sir,” JARVIS said. “Mr Liesmith is waiting.”
Right. Well, it seemed that it was time for the show. Tony painted his lips with his trademarked cocky grin, then he pointed his toes as he pranced to the elevator and out into the living room—
Loki took one look at Tony’s black tutu—and then he curled his lips. “I see you decided to give yourself the better colour,” he drawled.
“I thought you said that you would look good in anything,” Tony teased—though he couldn’t help running his gaze over Loki’s body. The tutu really had been a good choice, because Loki’s shoulders were bare and on display, while his legs were covered in nothing but stockings.
“Oh, no, Anthony,” Loki replied, and his voice was low, as if he had noticed Tony’s look over. “It was you who said that.”
Tony looked back up in time to see Loki lift his hand, fingers dancing with seiðr—and then the white tutu darkened, the white turning to black, the silver trimmings gleaming gold, and the feathers bleeding into a deep green. Tony clenched his jaw, and he tried not to stare even more than he already was—
Something which became a little easier when Loki redirected his magic, and that green seiðr curled through the air toward Tony.
Tony frowned and prepared a complaint, half expecting his dark coloured tutu would turn magenta – but instead, the shining black trimmings on his tutu turned the same gold as Loki’s, and the black feathers turned red while the rest of the outfit remained a deep obsidian.
Oh. They matched, now—
“There,” Loki said. “Now, the playing field is even.”
“Of course it isn’t,” Tony replied. “If it were even, you’d have to be wearing my face as well.”
Loki snorted at that—and then, to Tony’s surprise, he raised his arms over his head and stepped into what looked like a fucking plié.
“If you want to win,” Loki taunted, “then you are going to have to try a lot harder than that.”
Now, that? That was a challenge.
Tony smirked as he rose to it, lifting his own arms in the air and preparing for what felt like it might just be a fight to the death—
“JARVIS,” he said. “Drop my needle.”
JARVIS, as always, did more than deliver—for what followed was recognisably Swan Lake, only it was played with the kind of instruments that would normally be crashing through the speakers of Tony’s workshop, electric guitars and drums rather than violins.
And, okay. So Tony had never done ballet before, but he’d taken enough dancing classes in his youth to be able to survive SI executive functions that he could keep his movements agile, not tripping over his feet as he lifted a leg and executed a pretty fair spin. Loki, though—well, it was clear he hadn’t ever done ballet either, other than perhaps seeing a few moves on the TV, but… fuck, Tony could hardly keep his eyes off him. He danced the same way that he fought, twisting through the air with perfect grace—
Tony grinned, and moved to follow.
They definitely were not dancing ballet, not even close. But that didn’t matter, because… god, Tony was dancing with Loki. What started as them trying to one up each other morphed into something else, the pair of them coming closer together before stepping away, fingers brushing over arms and waists. Tony couldn’t stop smiling, his heart racing fast—and when the music came to a close, they paused with Loki’s hands on Tony’s hips and Tony’s arms looped over Loki’s bare shoulders, their breaths little more than pants and their gazes locked together.
They stayed there for several moments, the living room going quiet. Perhaps Tony should have stepped away, or perhaps he should have felt a little more uncomfortable, given the intimacy of the way they were standing. But… he didn’t think he had ever felt more comfortable in another person’s arms.
“So, who won?” Loki breathed, ducking his head slightly—their lips not touching, but getting close enough that Tony felt the ghost of a kiss.
“I think we both did,” Tony replied, arching his neck and lifting his chin —
“Neither of you won,” Clint called out. “You both look terrible—”
“Actually,” Loki said, his voice uncharacteristically soft as he brushed his fingers over Tony’s cheek and then threading them into Tony’s hair. “I think Anthony looks good in anything.”
Natasha let out a laugh, and the sound Clint made was close to strangled, but—
Tony didn’t care. All that mattered was the way that Loki’s lips felt against his as he leaned down for a kiss, warm and soft and fierce as their kiss deepened with a groan.
Fuck yes, Tony looked good in anything. They both did—
And the tutus meant that when Tony tightened his grip around Loki’s shoulders and pulled him closer, there was barely anything between them.
They only broke apart when Tony needed a breath, their faces still close enough that noses brushed over cheeks, and Tony’s lips caressed Loki’s skin as he spoke.
“So if we both won, then who gets the favour?” he asked.
Loki smiled as he leaned back so that their gazes met.
“I was planning on using it to ask you to buy me dinner,” Loki said. “But since we both won… would you like to have dinner with me regardless?”
Tony grinned. “I would love to,” he said. “And in that case– I think my favour will be to ask you to wear your gorgeous black suit.”
And as Loki leaned back down for another kiss, he whispered—“Deal.”
Then their lips crashed together once more, neither caring that the tulle of their tutus was bunched between them—as they were focused only on the way that their lips danced to the tune of their newfound delight.