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The bottle crashed to the floor as the inventor’s hand quivered – a sign that he was not going to be drinking any more tonight. The alcohol still burned in his throat, he had downed two bottles that night. A low whine escaped his throat as he dropped his head onto the table, waiting for it to come. Waiting for him to come…
He first came two weeks after the big battle. Tony was wasted and the hookers were gone, along with his wallet and one of the vases. It was not like he cared, because all he could think of was the splitting headache that made his eyes water. That was the first time he saw Loki after his big defeat. He was sure he was hallucinating, as those things often happened to him. He blinked a few times, trying to clear his vision, but his eyes were not lying to him. There he was, the God of Mischief, in his bedroom.
His green eyes were glistening and his face, pale as ever, looked curious. He remembered through the foggy haze of alcohol and dizziness, how the god had marched up to his bed, cocking his head and sitting down on it, looking down at the mortal. Tony remembered being too drunk for fear and worry, too exasperated to do anything but stare and wonder how the fuck he had drunk himself to the state of hallucinating of an Asgardian god.
The first night, from what he remembered, all he did was watch him. The emerald eyes just followed his actions, his brows furrowed as if trying to understand how Tony worked. How he functioned. Tony himself didn’t like being looked at like that, and he was about to tell him that, but he was so tired, so fucking tired. So he fell asleep, unsure if he was going ever going to wake up after such a strange visit.
Only he did, and when he woke, he saw no traces of the trickster anywhere. The bed sheets were not creased where he sat, and no matter how hard he squinted he could not see the footmarks leading from the door to his bed. But he could swear that it was real because it felt real, and Tony Stark, out of all people, knew the difference between a drunken hallucination and reality.
The second time Tony got drunk enough for Loki to appear again was on purpose. He was in the living room, watching TV – rather looking at it, since none of the ‘breaking news’ quite registered in his mind – when he decided that well, fuck it, why not. He walked over to his bar – notice the absence of ‘mini’ since nothing of Tony’s was mini – and grabbed his favorite brand of whiskey, carrying it back to the couch. He looked down at it doubtfully for a moment before popping it open and downing it quickly, ignoring the burning sensation in his throat. For once, Tony Stark was not drinking for pleasure; he was drinking to get drunk.
Two more bottles later Tony finally threw the half finished carafe away, feeling absolutely wasted, his mind slow and his vision blurry. He blinked slowly, looking around the room, and in one of those blinks, his eyes opened to see the prankster standing by the window of his living room, his arms folded behind him, his head once again cocked as he studied him.
Tony’s lips twisted in a satisfied smirk, for once feeling like he had manipulated the god into coming, only it really felt like the other had manipulated him into drinking. He pushed the thought away, shaking his head slightly to sober up, only to feel even tipsier. “I knew it,” he slurred, trying to get up to greet the guest, but only plopping back down, earning a soft, mocking chuckle from the god of lies.
His steps were soft and quiet as he approached him on the couch, and his icy fingers trailed down the side of his face, and his touch steadied him a little. “Stop moving, Stark,” he commanded, a little frown on his face as Tony tried to get up again, “I said stop,” he said again, the volume not changing but somehow, his voice sounded much more serious, much more controlling. And so Tony did stop, his breath hitching in his throat, his hands dropping limp by his sides. “Good boy,” the other smirked, the green pupils dancing in the dim lighting of the room.
As much as Tony wanted to, he didn’t remember anything after the last two words. He would have liked to think that what followed was some hot, mind-blowing sex, but that was only a fantasy. A very vivid one, too.
From that day on, Tony spent his evenings getting drunk, just for those few minutes that he would remember later on in the morning, just to know that the god visited him once again. Whether it was a hallucination, or not. Tony had tried searching for clues after every single night, determined to find something that will tell him that it was not in fact a fantasy, but the actuality.
Pepper was getting more and more worried with each of Tony’s orders for new bottles, thinking that depression was the only possible explanation for the other’s actions. And perhaps it was depression. Perhaps Tony was so fucking miserable he got drunk every night for a few minutes of hallucinations that he then spent the whole day thinking about.
And now there Tony was, sitting in his lab, the unfinished sixth suit laying in pieces before him, waiting to be assembled while it’s creator was barely awake in front of it. But Tony knew he had to stay awake in order to see the god, he knew he could not fall asleep.
And just like that, Loki appeared. His hair was slicked back, and his eyes looked a little sadder than usual, but in his drunken state, Tony could not have noticed. “Stark,” he greeted him quietly, nodding once.
“Is this the real life…” Tony sung one of his favorite Queen songs, the lyrics coming out in a slur, “Or is it just fantasy…” he continued, hiccupping a few times. The chanting of the alcoholic drew a small chuckle from Loki’s lips, but the smile never reached his eyes. Tony noticed the odd behavior, and tried to stand up to walk to the god, only to crumple to the ground, his knees unable to hold him up.
Loki rolled his eyes and lowered himself onto the ground next to him, sitting down onto the floor and leaning against the tall table, looking down at the inventor. “Stark,” he sighed, the name rolling off his tongue smoothly. Tony grumbled in response, trying to open his eyes enough to see the god’s expression. The other only rolled his eyes and pressed a finger to his forehead, whispering a few short spells to sober him up just enough for him to stay awake for a little longer.
“Stark,” Loki started again and this time the response that came from the other was more audible, a clear ‘Yes’. “Stark, I’m alone,” he continued, his voice soft but still distinct, “My brother is currently trying to hunt me down, to send me back so they can punish me,” he whispered, poking Tony’s side to keep him awake, “Tony,” he called, for once using his name, “Listen, or I will fucking kill you,” he sneered, the empty threat hanging in the air. “He wants to torture me again, and so do the Chitauri,”
Tony looked up at him, unsure of what he should say or how he should act. This night was in no means alike any other. Any dialogue they had ever had before were simply dirty jokes and snarky remarks. But this was so much different, and Tony was unsure of how to react. So he didn’t, simply staring at Loki and knotting his eyebrows. When the god stopped talking Tony hummed for him to continue, too weak to say anything.
“I- I have nowhere to be anymore, Tony,” the frost giant whispered and shifted so that he was lying down next to Tony, facing him, the green eyes studying his expression. He pulled him closer and planted a kiss on his lips, something he had done so many times before, something only he ever remembered the morning after.
Tony was as surprised as he could be in his half-awake state but leaned into the kiss, wrapping his arms around Loki and pulling him closer, moaning quietly, the noise sounding more like a grunt.
Loki smiled at his taste; he tasted of alcohol and Tony, a flavor he had tasted so many times he was accustomed to it, it felt like home. He wrapped his own arms around the mortal to press his body against him; biting on his lower lip to pull it away as his tongue invaded his mouth, drawing a satisfying grunt from Tony.
After a while he pulled away, in spite of the soft protesting from the other. He stilled, looking into the amber eyes and sighing softly. “Tony, Tony, Tony,” he clicked his tongue mockingly, shaking his head, his gaze unusually soft. “You’re not going to remember anything when you wake up,” he whispered, tracing patterns on his stubble, liking the prickly feeling against his finger.
“Why-“ Tony rasped, frowning at the god. He liked this, and from the fact that Loki came back every day, he concluded that the god liked it, too. “We don’t even have to fuck if you don’t want to,” he grumbled, ignoring how the words sounded like the absolute last thing that Tony Stark would say.
“Oh, no, no,” Loki laughed, shaking his head, “We do fuck, Tony,” he smiled, pressing another kiss to his lips and then pulling back before the other could embrace him again, “That’s not why I cant stay, and you can’t remember this,” he murmured, pressing his lips together in sincere regret. “They’re going to find me,” he said simply, chewing on the inside of his cheek, “They’re going to find me, Tony,”
“Stay with me,” Tony grumbled, struggling to keep his eyes open, fighting for a few more minutes in the presence of the god, “Please- don’t leave me, stay with me,” he rasped, his fingernails digging into the leathery armor, “Tower- big- enough space-“ he groaned, his sentences shredded into small words. “Don’t wanna- alone- not again,” he whispered, pulling Loki closer again.
Loki closed his eyes and shook his head, not liking the amount of regret he was feeling for leaving the pathetic mortal. “I wouldn’t if I didn’t have to,” he said, and realized that the words were honest. He would live forever just to come to Tony every night, just for those few minutes. He loved every second he spent with the man, even though they were short, and Tony was barely able to get a word out without passing out. “But I have to,” he sighed, and seeing how quickly Tony’s eyes were closing again, Loki found himself wishing that he wouldn’t fall asleep just yet, that they would still have a few more moments together before the alcohol got to him.
“Loki-“ Tony breathed before his eyes closed and he surrender into the dreamy haze fogging his mind, his breathing growing even and soft, his mind and facial features relaxing noticeably.
“Tony no-“ Loki whispered but it was too late, the Man of Iron was peacefully asleep, his nostrils flaring barely visibly as he breathed. Loki leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. He gritted his teeth as he fought the desire to just stay there next to him, even if it did mean endangering them both. “Fuck you, Tony,” he sighed, shaking his head, “Look at what you’ve done to me-“ he whispered, biting down on his lower lip, cursing the mortal he loved as he slept soundly.
But finally he stood up, towering over the inventor on the floor. The god sighed quietly and looked down at his hands, watching the blue creep back into his skin as he let his aesir mask fade away. He couldn’t stop himself as he crouched and picked up one of the shards of the clear glass from the broken bottle. He held it in his hands and watched as the breathtakingly beautiful ancient runes and markings appeared on it. He needed to leave something behind. At least something. Because deep inside, Loki feared that if he left without leaving anything behind, he would be forgotten.
Once the shard of glass was covered with the patterns he placed it gently on the table, and couldn’t help himself as he lowered once again to press his lips against Tony’s for another tender, slow kiss. A final one. When he pulled back again, his hand leaving the soft hair, he felt unnaturally empty. He slowly vanished, surrendering to the darkness, his eyes locked on the inventor until he disappeared completely.
When Tony woke up in the morning, he remembered nothing but the emerald eyes and the smooth skin, the slicked black hair and elegant fingers. But in his heart he knew that more happened; much, much more, things he could not recall but knew happened. He got up off the ground, his head once again hurting badly but a sparkle caught his eye. He turned around, his gaze falling onto the table and the small shrapnel upon it that was covered in magnificent decorations, ones no man could ever design. And he knew right then that this was the sign that it was all real. That Loki’s nightly visit were more than a hallucination, so much more. He clutched the piece of glass to his heart and walked to his bedroom, knowing that he had a few hours to sleep before the night arrived again, holding the broken piece of a whiskey bottle that meant so much to him as he slept.
But when Tony Stark woke up and ran down to the bar, eager to get drunk, he found that no matter how much he drank and how hard he tried, he could not get himself wasted enough for the god to appear. He passed out alone that night, for once since Loki had first appeared. He lied in a pool of his own bile, his stomach not agreeing with the amount of alcohol he had swallowed.
He tried again the next night. And the next. Convinced that the trickster did not appear because he was not drunk enough. Tony found himself wishing that it was a hallucination, because then, at least he could know that he could bring him back.
But Loki never appeared. And there was no one Tony could tell. Thor was back in Asgard. The Avengers would never understand. And he was alone. Sometimes, he would get drunk and stare at the shard of glass, studying the runes as if any moment now, the realization would dawn upon him and he would learn how to read the ancient language, and that would somehow lead him to the god again. To his god. The only one he believed in.
But he never did.
And Loki never came.