Chapter Text
Loki hated the idea of parties. The suffocating banquets he was forced to attend back in Asgard almost looked tolerable compared to Tony Stark’s celebratory shindigs.
Nevertheless, he was grateful to the fact that barely anyone approached or noticed him, quite similar to the way it was back home.
Which was why he was able to slip away from the deck easily, up the stairs to the common room, sparing one last glance at the loud crowd and his oblivious brother.
He was making a beeline for the elevator when he heard it.
“Loki!”
Loki frowned at the unfamiliar voice and chose to ignore it, slightly increasing his pace instead. His finger was inches away from the biometric scanner that opens the elevator when the man called out again.
“I’ve been searching for you all night, you gagootz!”
His face grimaced at the new Midgardian word added to his vocabulary. From the tone, he obviously knew it was far from respectful. He finally turned around to stare daggers at the culprit, fresh Asgardian curses at the tip of his tongue.
It was a thirty-something-year-old man, with slightly greying hair, wearing tortoise-shell glasses and a long-sleeved white polo shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He stared a few feet to the left of Loki, grinning widely. His arms were stretched out to the ground in front of him, as though waiting to pick up a child.
A black greyhound whizzed past Loki, leaping into the man’s arms, nuzzling into the sport coat he held. Loki pieced it both together, and couldn’t help but think it aloud, because it puzzled him greatly.
“Your dog is named Loki.”
The man looked up, confused, for he had not noticed another person in the room until then.
“So?”
“Why?”
The mortal looked at him funnily, as if he was asked a stupid question, but then chose to answer anyway. “Bit of a mythology buff. He’s the God of Mischief, isn’t it?” He scratched the dog’s head affectionately, slowly standing upright. “And this one’s a cheeky rascal.”
“Ah.”
Loki’s face held the ghost of a smile as he turned around to face the closed elevator doors, back to his initial plan of bolting to his quarters. He heard the man’s footsteps creep closer to him, followed by the dog’s paws.
“I’m David, by the way, Tony’s cousin.” He held his hand out for a handshake.
Loki debated whether to risk scaring the man, who, he now noticed, had a captivating pair of dark brown eyes. David stood as tall as him, but was broader in frame. Loki gingerly shook his hand, nonetheless, the warmth of the other man’s skin almost shocking.
“I am Loki of Asgard—though I imagine that means rather less to you now.”
David’s eyes widened. “Oh,” was all he said.
There we go, not so friendly now, are we? Loki mentally commented. He retreated to the elevator when he was stopped again.
“I thought you went back home? To Asgard, I mean?”
“The Allfather cast me out,” Loki replied, without turning back to face him. “A befitting punishment, honestly.” He could’ve stopped right there, but he didn’t, strangely finding comfort with the unfamiliar man and his dog. “The treatment I would’ve received in prison would be far superior than the ridiculousness I’m subjected to, living with surprisingly one of the wealthiest men of your realm. And don’t even get me started on the literature, Norns, your cousin’s pathetic collection makes me miss the sex sigils from Asgardian brothels.” Loki paused, surprised at his own outburst. He hadn’t rambled like that to anyone except his mother, and that was at least a year ago.
He felt his face slightly heat up with embarrassment and was grateful that he was facing the closed doors of the elevator, cursing it for taking aeons to open.
David chuckled. “Yeah, that stronzo’s known for his impeccable collection. I assure you it doesn’t run in the family though, if you, erm, ever need a read, I’ve got a bit of a library. Tons of cultural stuff, even Norse literature that you’d probably like.”
He replayed the words in his head. Surely, I didn’t hear him right. He had invaded this mortal’s hometown and almost forced his kind into submission less than a year ago, and there he was, offering to lend him his books. He must be an idiot? Loki slightly turned in his direction, and his tone gave away his suspicion.
“Really?”
“I don’t guarantee it to be as good as your prison library, man,” he quickly replied, smiling and raising his hands in defense. “But I’ve got a feeling you’d enjoy it. You could come by sometime.”
“Davey, my man!”
Loki silently groaned as the doors to the elevator opened to reveal a drunk Stark and a tired Bruce.
“What’re you doing with this guy,” Tony’s words slurred as he jabbed a finger in Loki’s direction. “He fucking burned down your trattoria.”
Loki winced at those words, despite not knowing what trattoria meant, he hoped it wasn’t the same as house. He silently stepped into the elevator, the same time Tony stumbled out and slung an arm around his much taller cousin, steering him in the direction of the party deck.
“Tony, how many fucking shots—” David stopped himself as Tony proudly held out all ten of his fingers.
“Jesus.”
“That’s 10 in the past hour,” added Bruce. “God knows how many he’s had the whole night.”
David flashed Loki an apologetic glance and held his free hand up as goodbye as the doors closed between them.
Despite waiting a long time for this moment of sweet solitude, Loki felt slightly lonely as he looked at David’s retreating figure, his drunk brother and his dog on either side of him. The soft chocolate-colored eyes— that remained devoid of any traces of fear or unease while talking to him— and his use of strange vocabulary were burned in memory.