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When Tony comes home he finds Loki curled (inasmuch as is physically possible, that is) in the corner of the L-shaped sofa, staring balefully into the direction of the kitchen. This, Tony knows from experience, is because the food is in the kitchen and thus way too far away in Loki's opinion, especially since due to the pregnancy, Loki shouldn't use magic. He'd explained it to Tony once or twice, it was very complicated – during early pregnancy it could actually harm the child, and in the later stages it could activate the child's magic and nobody wants to have a magical newborn on their hands – but the result is the same; Loki's life has become a lot more inconvenient. And he is not happy about it.
In the past, Loki's sulking would probably have annoyed Tony at one point, especially after eight months of it, but it's like the pregnancy flipped some sort of switch in him and turned him into a complete and utter sap. He might have suspected magic, if Loki's inability to perform any weren't the root of the problem – which means that the wave of fluffy feelings that overcomes him at the sight of Loki, heavy with their child and pouting, is entirely him. Which is sort of embarrassing, but Tony has had a while to get used to it, and as a result has stopped trying to fight it.
So he lets himself curl around Loki and pepper his face with kisses until Loki can't possibly maintain his scowl any longer, helpless under the onslaught of Tony's affection. He smiles, reluctant and yet unable to hold back, and curls his fingers in Tony's shirt, leans towards him, tilts his face up in a wordless offer. Knowing exactly what Loki wants, Tony kisses him on the lips, lingering this time, opening his mouth a little when Loki flicks his tongue out, more of a tease than anything. By the time they pull apart both of them are slightly out of breath, cheeks flushed, and there's no trace of the frown left on Loki's face.
"Hey," Tony says belatedly, voice soft in a way that would be embarrassing if they weren't alone. "How are you? Want me to get you anything?"
"Good," Loki says, one hand curled around his belly in a, Tony knows, wholly subconscious move. "But I would be better with ice cream?" He turns his big, hopeful eyes on Tony, even though he knows Tony would get him anything even if he demanded it in the snottiest tone imaginable (it has happened, Tony's resigned by this point to how utterly defenseless he is against Loki pregnant with their child).
With a laugh Tony leans in for another short kiss before getting up to collect the ice cream, getting a bottle of water and some grapes as well because no matter his short outbursts of cravings for high-sugar content, Loki's most persistent craving has been fresh fruit. Lucky, really, because they're good for him.
Loki happily receives the ice cream and immediately starts spooning it, eyelids fluttering blissfully at the first taste. It's sort of obscene but lately Loki has reacted somewhat allergically towards any sort of sexual advance, so Tony has learned to push the desire down and settle with staring at Loki like a besotted fool. Can't be anything else, really, with how little he minds that he's not getting any and that his role lately has mainly been the provider of foot and back rubs.
Speaking of… "How are your ankles?"
"Dainty and Victorian," Loki replies around the spoon, which is the sort of not-funny joke that somehow gets repeated for years and nobody knows why. It had started when Loki had first put his feet in Tony's lap in front of the others and Tony had started rubbing his ankles; Clint had made some cracks about that being indecent, if they lived in Victorian England it would be akin to having sex in front of the guests. Nevermind that Tony had actually walked in on him and Natasha going at it in the kitchen once.
Patting his thighs he sits back a little. "Come on then."
The smile Loki gives him is incredibly sweet, and maybe Loki is as besotted as Tony is, which either makes it less or infinitely more embarrassing; luckily they manage to keep it to a minimum when they're not alone. Though no amount of audience would keep Tony from helping to relieve Loki of some of his aches if necessary. It's not really embarrassing though, is it? They're expecting, they're supposed to be horribly kitschy and besotted. Tony is pretty sure that pregnancy gives them some sort of leeway on that front – it should, anyway, because it's mostly at fault. And he's sticking to that.
Loki sighs and leans back, eyes closing as Tony immediately finds all the best spots with an expertise born of practice. The tub of ice cream rests momentarily forgotten on the top of his belly, but Loki will remember its existence soon; at the latest when his fingers get too cold. He'll shiver and blink his eyes open, stare at the ice cream with a near pout and then put it aside, pull his feet out of Tony's lap and sit up a little. When Tony scoots closer again Loki will lean against him and ruthlessly put his cold fingers under his shirt to warm them up. And Tony will shiver and complain but let him, and maybe he'll wrap an arm around his back and nuzzle his temple, settle his other hand on Loki's belly, where their child is resting, and maybe Tony never thought he'd want anything like this – a family, a real family with a partner and a child – but that doesn't change that he does, that he can hardly wait.