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“Avengers. We’ve got a disturbance down in Midtown. Sending you information and location now,” Fury’s voice crackles over the speakers at the SHIELD headquarters. The two current occupants have polar opposite responses to the announcement. On the one hand, Steve Rogers sits up straighter in his chair, ears pricked. Tony Stark, meanwhile, slides and slouches further down in his, scowling with displeasure.
“We’re not the police, we’ve got better stuff to do than deal with disturbances,” Tony tells the speaker, futilely.
“Like Fruit Pirate?”
“Ninja. And who’s got the high score, Rogers?”
Steve huffs out a breath before jumping energetically up from the table.
“It’s clearly important if we’re being called on; we should go. Avengers, assemb-“
Tony winces.
“If it’s just us two on duty I think we can just say “Let’s go”.”
“Shut up, Stark.”
“Let’s go.”
They’re suited up and out the door in five, down eight blocks in ten. At the eleventh, the pair is greeted by a sudden, ominous crack of thunder in the night sky directly overhead. Mere seconds later their favourite demi-god is keeping step between them as easily and casually as to suggest that the man had simply dismounted a bus or stepped up from the subway.
“This disturbance is an ill omen.”
“And hello to you,” Tony says solemnly, earning himself a Norse glower.
“My father’s punishments are limited in number,” the demi-god continues theatrically, “He banishes. He cuts ranks and takes away titles. He removes powers. Occasionally there are unusual punishments involving goats and horses.”
Apparently unable to resist, Tony pipes up.
“Do I wanna know about those?”
Thor’s expression turns stormier still.
“You do not, my friend.”
“But you saying that makes me think I d-.”
“You. Do not. My friend,” an ominous silence falls. After a full-body shudder Thor continues, “He banished my brother, as he did me. He treats us alike. I believe…”
“You think he banished Loki to Earth, too?” Steve guesses, evidently hoping to be corrected.
“I believe so. I only pray that my brother has learned as I did the error of his ways. I pray this is not he-“
With each block passed, Thor gives voice to a fear.
“Perhaps he has succumbed to a life of immorality.”
Which soon becomes:
“Perhaps he has become a petty criminal.”
This in turn escalates to:
“Perhaps he is the leader of a criminal gang of ruffians dealing in thievery and deceit.”
Which finally becomes:
“It is possible he is a lord of crime, enslaving and ensnaring innocents in evil machinations and trecherous schemes.”
Tony rather regrets that they have reached their destination, wanting to know what, exactly, trumps crime-lord-overseeing-evil-machinations in Thor’s opinion. The question is quickly displaced by the scene before them, however. Crowds, easily a block long, are queuing up to a building that practically throbs with pounding music.
“What is this place?” Thor asks, the question apparently on Steve’s lips too, although the look of wide eyed, dawning realisation tells Tony that the soldier puts two and two together before the god does.
“It’s, uh, a gay bar.”
“A – gay - bar,” Thor pronounces each word separately and meditatively, “A tavern where men do make merry, feast and talk of their day’s conquests?”
“Yeah, in a manner of speaking,” Tony agrees, “And no, not at all in the way you’re thinking. It’s definitely this place. Come on guys.”
The doorman makes no effort to argue as they head inside, blatantly disregarding the dress code. The club is heaving with bodies, forcing the trio to huddle closer to keep from being separated.
To one side of Tony, there comes the polite strain of Steve’s voice as he speaks to a patron: “While I respect and defend your right as an American citizen to live and love the way you wish, I would really appreciate it if you could remove your hand from my ass, sir.”
To the other side, Tony hears Thor muttering adamantly.
“It cannot be he,” several men nearby are making suggestive comments involving the words “hammer”, “hammering” and “shaft”, “What business would he have here?”
Tony pushes up his helmet front – because of the heat, he’d insist, not because he’s been largely overlooked in favour of Buff McSuperSoldier and Studly von Deityman.
“Well-“ he starts in answer, only to be shoved further along into the melee by Thor.
It takes the six-foot-some demi-god clearing the crowds with his width and breadth to discover, at the very centre of the riot, that it is, indeed, “he”. Admittedly, the pale, dark haired man looks rather different. For one, he hadn’t been wearing black skinny fit jeans and an equally slim fit forest green shirt last time he had been on Earth. The ridiculous helmet is nowhere to be seen, either, which made it rather easier for the man to grip at his hair with one hand as he swayed to the pounding music. And then, of course, there was the gyrating against various, obviously besotted men. That, too, was undeniably different.
Tony and Steve – after remembering how to breathe- shoot Thor sidelong glances. The Thunder God appeared to be throttling Mjölnir with one hand. None of the trio could vouch for how long they stood in silence, though Rihanna (and Loki) had time enough to inform the club that chains and whips excited them several times over. Eventually, the trio speak up in unison though it is Thor’s voice, booming even in comparison to the pounding bass of the pop music, that wins out.
“BROTHER!”
Loki’s cocktail glass of something a vicious shade of green pauses midway to his mouth. The man, delighted, pinpoints his brother in the crowd in an instance. Casually pushing one admirer away with a hand to the chest (the man took the derisive touch as a badge of honour), the ex-god sidles over to the trio, hips not quite stopping their swaying as he comes to stand before the group.
“Gentlemen,” Loki calls over the music, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Steve comes to his senses with a visible jolt.
“Uh, SHIELD heard about a disturbance down here. Just checking everyone’s okay.”
“This… this place is madness,” Thor insists hoarsely, eyes wide. Loki licks cocktail from his lips, quirking an idle eyebrow at Thor.
“Is it?”
Any retort of Thor’s is apparently derailed as he tracks a trickle of sweat down the length of his brother’s neck. In his bid to look anyway but between the pair, Tony’s eyes light upon the bar menu. He instantly perks up.
“Aw nice, it’s two for one on cocktails tonight.”
“We’re not drinking on duty,” Steve insists.
“Hey, I didn’t offer you one, get your own.”
“It is wonderful,” Loki beams in apparent agreement with Tony, putting the group in mind of his old megalomaniac ways, the expression showing off far too many pearly whites for a friendly smile, “Brother, they are welcoming and kind. They worship one they call the “Mother Monster”.”
The three Avengers look horrified, baffled and utterly baffled respectively.
“And they buy me such delightful trinkets. To think, I wasted time trying to enslave these creatures when I could have entranced them all along,” Loki punctuates his point by raising a wrist to show off a gleaming Rolex. Tony flips his helmet down momentarily, petulantly pulling it back up to confirm in a mutter “That model’s not even out yet.”
“But, didn’t your father take away your powers?” Steve frowns.
Loki darts a quick glance about for eavesdroppers, fingers still toying with the dial of his watch.
“I was the God of Lying. It’s not so much a power as a skill,” the man trails off to study Tony’s suit with friendly interest, glancing at the man’s chest plates, “Red really brings out your eyes, Mr Stark.”
“Thanks! I thought about blue bu-hey wait.”
Loki’s cocktail glass tilts fractionally in Tony’s direction in a “like so” gesture.
“So um, you have these men in a-“ as Steve trails off, Tony’s smirk grows. The soldier’s scowl charts the growth of the billionaire’s smirk until a sort of arms race develops, each expression hitching in size until Steve snaps.
“What?”
“Say it.”
“I don’t need to, you clearly get the idea.”
“Really wanna hear you say it.”
“It’s not necessary, Stark.”
“My life would be greatly improved if you di-“
“Men,” Thor barks. Steve loses an inch in height in deference, starting over with a fleeting, miniature final scowl at Tony.
“…So, Loki, you have these men… whipped into a sexual frenzy,” Tony mouths the words in a blissful echo, “Without any magic?”
“Correct,” Loki agrees, “I was alone and friendless without my powers. I had nowhere to turn. Roaming the streets one night, I heard hypnotic music. I saw smiling faces. I stepped into a club much like this one and… well,” his smile grows to “Wannabe Emperor of the Nine Realms” width once more, “The rest is history. Were you aware, Thor, that my accent is reminiscent of that of the Midgardian region of Britain? Apparently this is most pleasing to a great many of my admirers.”
“Right,” Steve wilts further. Turning, the soldier gives the other Avengers a baffled look, “I really don’t know what we can do here. Loki just, um, try to… keep the noise down.”
“Tone down the sexual frenzy,” Tony agrees, landing himself a little shield to the stomach for his efforts.
“Of course,” Loki says solemnly. Whatever that means. The Avengers turn to leave – Thor taking an impressive numbers of steps backwards before succumbing to the need to face the right way. Steve and Tony share another “Norse gods, seriously”, look.
They’re halfway back to base before anyone speaks again. Naturally, it’s Tony who has the first word.
“So, ah, you think coming out of the closet’s gonna snap Daddy out of his naptime?”
“Shut up Stark,” comes the joint reply.