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It was on Saturday afternoon that Tony Stark was discovered to be missing from the Avengers Tower. To understand why this would be a cause for concern, one must first understand Tony’s Friday-night drinking routine (a routine that was perhaps the only predictable aspect of Stark’s devil-may-care lifestyle).
It went a little something like this; at around eight on Fridays, the billionaire would head out to this one particularly notorious nightclub. A club which happened to have a strict No-Avenger policy that only Stark’s cash seemed to be able to circumvent. He’d be out, drinking and partying well into the next morning, stumbling back to the tower at roughly four a.m.
Then, he’d drag himself out of bed at around noon to have the sane man’s lunch as his breakfast. He’d get through the rest of the day with several painkillers washed down with three cups of coffee, and… well, that was usually as far as you could predict.
Anyway. To the problem at hand.
It was three in the afternoon, none of the team members had seen Tony anywhere in the Tower, and the data that they’d wrung out of JARVIS revealed that he hadn’t made it back to the tower at all.
Sure, it wasn’t the Avengers’ responsibility to collect their perpetually wayward team member, but Fury had insisted. It was surprisingly bad press for an Avenger to be discovered passed-out-drunk in an alleyway.
(Even if that Avenger was Tony Stark.)
So, the team was firing up the computer to get a fix on the signal from his tracking chip. Yes, Tony had a tracking chip – it was somewhere up his ass. Natasha had gleefully implanted it after discovering him unconscious in the Tower elevator – it had been her revenge for that one time he had CHUGGED a bottle of her precious Russian Vodka.
(Sweet, SWEET revenge.)
Ah. There was the location fix now.
Good news, the co-ordinates were familiar to the team – very familiar. Bad news, they were the co-ordinates of the villain Loki’s last known lair.
Cue one freak-out and one cross-state Quinjet ride, as the team flew in a blind panic to save their distressingly human companion from Loki’s evil clutches.
---
What the Avengers didn’t know was that Tony was decidedly NOT in need of any saving.
Explanation time (again).
The nightclub that he frequented, “Doom Disco”, was a haunt for supervillains from all walks of life, provided that they enjoyed a good party. Why was a HERO allowed in, you may well ask? Simple. His lover was a villain, and one of the most respected villains to frequent the club. His lover was Loki Laufeyson.
Friday nights were their special time together, the only time that the couple could get away in relative secrecy to drink, dance, and go a few long rounds in the VIP “love nest”.
(Well, it wasn’t the only time they spent together – Loki’s wealth of disguises meant that they would often meet and become intimate in the most unlikely of places. Still, they both much preferred his original form.)
Last night had been much the same as the dozens that had come before it; only, Loki had been particularly stressed, and particularly horny. Hence, and earth-shattering TEN rounds in the VIP room, and Tony discovering that somewhere around the ninth round with a god, mortal legs cease to function.
Forget limping – he had been literally unable to stand. So, Loki had hoisted him up, poured a glass of scotch down his throat for good measure, and suggested that they spend the night at the lair.
Tony, drunk off his ass and completely exhausted, may have considered this to be a good idea. More importantly, he may have agreed. Hence, the couple was in the trickster’s lair, tangled in the sheets of his king-sized bed and sleeping so soundly that even the hounds of Helhiem might not have been able to wake them.
So yeah. The billionaire didn’t need rescuing. The team didn’t know that. And, in about five minutes, both parties would have a SERIOUS problem on their hands.
---
The impressive-looking door to Loki’s mountainside lair was made from solid cold-forged iron, but a couple of swings of Mjolnir crumpled it into a useless wreck that was easily tossed aside. The team was barging in, right through the front door, because when a team member was in danger, the plan of attack was always simply to ATTACK.
They had expected a tad more resistance, perhaps of the pesky magical variety.
They had not expected to find a pair of black leather loafers on the rug behind the door; loafers that were glaring at the team with EXTREME annoyance.
A pointed cough echoed through the cavernous space, and with dawning horror, the Avengers realized that it had been one of the shoes that had coughed.
“And just who might you be?” The left loafer inquired.
“Okay,” Clint muttered disbelievingly, his face a mirror of Steve’s confusion. “Hallucinogen trap. We should have checked for a hallucinogen trap.”
Shoes. Talking shoes.
“We are very much not hallucinations, I’ll have you know!” The right shoe exclaimed indignantly. “We are the doormen to the esteemed Lord Loki.”
It was the esteemed Captain Rogers who was the first to be able to pick his jaw up off of the floor and formulate a partially coherent response.
“We’re the Avengers,” he explained. “We’re here for our teammate, Tony Stark. You might know where he is?” Yes, he was being polite to the sentient loafers – his mother would have been very proud.
“Anthony Stark?” One loafer scoffed. “To keep such disreputable company? Surely you jest!”
“Oh hush, Leonard,” the other reprimanded. “Do as you’ve been asked, and fetch him.”
The Avengers gawked openly as the shoes began to squabble.
“Our Lord won’t be pleased about this!” The shoe that was apparently named Leonard fretted.
“Oh, must I do everything myself?” The other asked impatiently.
“Yes, James. You must. I, for one, do not wish to be on the receiving end of a foul mood.”
“Fine,” the James-shoe huffed. “I’ll do it. For your ungrateful sake.” With that, the loafer hopped three feet down the richly-carpeted stone hallway, before vanishing in a puff of green smoke.
The Avengers were still gawking, some of them open-mouthed.
“Excuse the lack of professionalism.” Leonard seemed sheepish. “The Lord’s temper has been short as of late, and we are loathe to interrupt him while he is at rest.”
“Well, it IS three-thirty-eight in the afternoon. Typically, that’s visiting hours.” Bruce was matter of fact, though still characteristically timid.
“Ah, I’m afraid that he and Anthony returned quite late into the morning; they left instructions that their rest was not to be disturbed.”
“Wait, wait, wait. THEIR rest?” Clint asked, confused and trying not to jump to the most perverted conclusion. “You’re telling me that Iron Dork and Loki are together, in what might be a bedroom?”
“My brother is lying with friend Stark?!” Thor’s enraged exclamation made everyone wince at the sheer volume, even Leonard.
Natasha laid a restraining hand on the thunder god’s bicep. “That is almost certainly not what he meant. What we DO know is that Tony and the criminal are in the same room. This could be a hostage situation.”
Steve made a noise of agreement. “Um, Leonard, was it? Will you take us to him?” He asked, as polite as ever. Even with his incredible naivety, he knew that James wouldn’t be coming back.
The loafer somehow managed to shake its non-existent head. No.
Clint grumbled something obscene in Russian and nocked an arrow to his bowstring. Leveling it at the shoe, he glared at it witheringly. “Let’s try this again.” He snapped, thoroughly sick of arguing with Armani leather. “Take us to that criminal bastard, or you’re going to become my new quiver.”
The shoe hesitated.
Natasha drew a knife, flipping it deliberately from hand to hand.
The shoe gulped audibly. “Right this way, sirs and madame.” Leonard hopped off down the long hallway with the team filing along behind him, alert for potential threats.
This could be a trap, or a trick. After all, they were dealing with LOKI. Then again, this could just be an ordinary walking, talking shoe, leading them into the completely ordinary depths of an ordinary villainous lair.
---
The hallway ended at a juncture which branched off into three rooms, and it wasn’t hard to tell which one poor ol’ James was in. It was clearly the one with the green-painted door, the one that all the vicious arguing was coming from.
“-but my Lord! They are within the walls! Would it not be wise?” That was James’s whiney voice.
“Wise?” The answering voice was irate and exhausted, but still clearly Loki’s. “You dare to tell me what you think is WISE, servant?”
Yup. Loki’s very ticked-off voice.
It was then that the Avengers heard a groan that was all too familiar. It was the same pained groan that they heard each and every time Tony was hungover, a sound intended to win sympathy… and yet, it seemed somehow rawer this time, and genuinely injured.
The team stiffened, the spies dropping into combat stances. Their companion was in pain.
“My Lord!” The shoe was protesting. “You must relinquish him, lest they destroy our stronghold!”
“Do not presume to tell me what I “must” do. Get out, wretch, and leave us to ourselves!”
“My Lord!”
“ENOUGH!” Loki’s tone was shrill and furious, far from his usually impeccable composure. (As Thor would tell you, calm was scary, but angry was downright terrifying.)
A flash of green light was visible through the gap beneath the door, a sudden burst of radiance that lasted only an instant. The smell of charred skin filled the air, and that familiar moan sounded again, more loudly than before.
The Avengers acted in an instant, startled into motion.
They burst into the room, batting aside the door as if it were made from paper, ready to strike down Loki at a moment’s notice. (Bruce hung well back and restrained the frantic Leonard in his arms.)
It was go time.
… only, it wasn’t.
The Avengers paused, taking in the sight before them.
There was a scorch mark on the rug, and chunks of charred black leather scattered across the floor. No blood, no torture implements; no indication of anything except the gruesome fate of a talkative shoe.
It was Thor that was the first to tear his eyes away from the desiccated corpse of James. Loki had occasionally had outbursts like this as a child, and back then, the targets of his frustration had been living Asgardians. So, this was nothing special.
What Thor saw, though, was something that he would be wishing that he hadn’t seen for years to come.
Loki was glaring tiredly out at them from where he lay amid a tangle of blankets on a king-sized bed. Cuddled closely against his chest, head nestled in the crook of his pale neck, was the team’s missing companion – Tony Stark.
(And, judging by the fact that they both seemed to be half-asleep, this most certainly WASN’T a hostage situation.)
“Anthony Stark!” The thunder god roared furiously, not sure if he should be more angry with his teammate for defiling his brother, or his brother for tricking his teammate into it.
“Tony?” Steve echoed disbelievingly.
“Tony?!” Clint exclaimed.
“Tony!” Natasha reprimanded.
Bruce just stayed quiet, taking deep breaths and clutching Leonard a tad more tightly. The Other Guy was rumbling beneath the surface, irritated by this distressing turn of events, and the last thing that this situation needed was a cameo from the Hulk.
“Guh.” That was Tony’s eloquent response as he stared blearily at them for a moment, before tucking his head back against Loki’s collarbone.
The afternoon sun was downright blinding to his bloodshot eyes. He was hungover, dead tired, and all this yelling REALLY wasn’t helping his headache.
Loki responded to this renewed contact by trailing cool fingertips across his lover’s forehead, in a patient and surprisingly fond caress.
“Four idiot mortals, and my idiot adoptive brother,” Loki sighed, glaring at the team as if they were merely stains on the fabric of existence. “A thrilling proposition for a Saturday of combat, but my dear mortal and I would much prefer to rest.”
A mutter from Tony of ‘not a mortal anymore, Lokes’. (Bruce filed this comment away for future inquiry.)
The Avengers, recovering from their second stunned shock of the afternoon, finally got their act together.
“Loki,” Steve declared. “It isn’t important what you may or may not want.”
“Yeah. We’re going to beat the Hell out of you until you put a stop to whatever mumbo-jumbo you’ve got on Tin-Can Man.” Clint seemed just a tad too enthusiastic about the prospect of seriously harming the trickster.
“Stand and fight like a man, brother!” Thor hefted Mjolnir threateningly.
“Oh, for the love of macho posturing.” Loki grumbled, still stroking Tony’s disheveled hair.
He waved a hand in the direction of the team, and with the gesture came the sensation of a deep chill creeping up the limbs of the five Avengers, freezing them in place. They were beyond horrified – the God of Mischief was apparently capable of immobilizing their entire team in less than ten seconds.
Turning his attention back to his lover, Loki smirked. “Your “friends” have come to fetch you, it seems.”
“Ngh. Tell them to go away.” Tony groaned, nuzzling closer to the trickster.
Five jaws would have dropped, if they hadn’t been frozen shut.
“I believe that they might object,” the god observed coolly. “Perhaps a remedy for now and a promise for later?”
(There was something explicitly sensual about the way that he drew out the word “promise”, the two syllables laden with hints of forbidden pleasures.)
“…fine.” Stark agreed reluctantly, voice muffled against Loki’s body.
Loki sat up gingerly, dragging his lover up into a similar position, to an answering cacophony of muttered complaints. A flourish of his hand caused a delicate glass of viscous red liquid to appear between his fingertips – he handed this glass to Tony, who downed the contents in one motion, as one might take a Jell-O shot.
The Avengers collectively cursed the stupidity of their comrade to accept and then actually DRINK something offered to him by a supervillain. The billionaire, on the other hand, was positively thrilled with his choice, as the concoction sapped the pain and exhaustion from his body and mind.
Loki conjured and drank an identical concoction.
“Damn, Frosty,” Tony grinned gratefully, as the god delicately swallowed the last of his drink. “There had better be a good reason that you’ve never given me one of these before.”
“Simple – I despise your tendency to call me “Frosty”.” Was the mischief-maker’s smirking response.
“Now,” the god continued, rising naked from the bed and helping his equally-naked lover up with him. “I intend to leave before Helhiem itself breaks loose. You may wish to stay, though frankly I could not understand WHY.”
The Avengers were getting a thoroughly unwelcome eyeful of two (gorgeous) nude men right now, frozen as they were with their eyes wide open. (One of the team members, though, might have secretly been enjoying the show.)
“You know I have to stay,” Tony replied unenthusiastically. “Can’t elope just yet. Thor would kill me, and the rest of them would take turns mutilating my corpse.”
“Ah, someday soon.” There was a note of fondness in Loki’s ambiguous statement.
With another flourish of magic (did that god to ANYTHING by hand?), the trickster caused both men’s clothing from the previous night to reappear on their bodies.
Tony was now clad in chino pants and a partially-buttoned silk shirt, and Loki wore tight leather leggings and a vest. Club clothes, sure, but since when had either man given an actual fuck?
“See you again soon, Lokes?” Tony asked, something dangerously demanding in his eyes.
In lieu of an answer, the trickster leaned forwards and captured the other man’s lips in a firm and lingering kiss. Several long moments passed as their lips remained locked, as arms twined around waists and fingers ruffled dark hair. The billionaire was unable to resist rocking forwards against the god’s groin, overcome by the simple passion of kissing Loki.
(Yes, Iron Man was a slut, and yes, it made Clint nauseous.)
“I presume that this answers your question,” Loki grinned slyly, as the couple finally pulled apart for breath.
Tony nodded mutely, grinning right back.
Stretching in such a way that his vest rode up and exposed his pale and perfect abdomen, the trickster smiled a genuinely satisfied smile, even as the billionaire licked his lips lecherously. In his opinion, it should have been illegal for anyone to be that insanely HOT.
“God, I love you,” Tony chuckled.
“And I you.”
In that moment, the realization struck the team like a brick upside the head. This wasn’t mind control. These men were lovers, had been lovers for a good long time; and neither man was ashamed of it.
That would explain the extended drought of Tony’s one-night-stands – here Steve had been thinking that their companion had finally grown a set of moral values.
“Now,” Loki continued. “Since a pleasant dinner is clearly out of the question, here; a treat to cool you off.”
(A pointed look at the playboy’s stirring groin. Loki had established early on that he would be the only one to give Stark his release – the billionaire was even forbidden to pleasure himself.)
A whirl of gold engulfed his hands, and the trickster suddenly held a bowl of caramel ice-cream and a golden spoon. Tony wasted no time snatching up the bowl like a greedy child and taking a generous spoonful – sex always made him hungry.
“Could you be any more perfect?” The billionaire mused, savoring the delectable flavor of the frozen dessert as it calmed his arousal.
“Perfection is absolute, Anthony.” Was the deity’s smug response, as he leaned over to lick the traces of sweetness from his lover’s lips.
A pause, in which a few of the trapped Avengers would be retching if they could. As the pause lingered on, both men surveyed the frozen statues of Tony’s teammates.
“You know, Lokes, this just feels mean.” Stark’s sentiment was guilty, but his tone was amused.
“Well, out of sight, out of mind,” the god replied cryptically.
Both men were suddenly gone from the room, in an unceremonious teleportation. The team could feel the frost receding from their muscles, and they stretched their limbs gingerly as the panic set in once more.
Tony might be a supervillain’s lover, but, pending Fury’s wrath, he was still a member of the team. A member who was now missing, damn it. Again.
(And, as Thor would point out, his wayward sibling was also missing.)
A rumble shook the lair, the first in a series of shockwaves. Natasha cursed in Russian – of course the trickster would leave them with a trap.
“Are you thinking-” Steve began.
“Of running?” Clint asked sarcastically. “YES!”
Five Avengers made a beeline down the lengthy corridor towards the exit, as chunks of stone began to rain down from the ceiling around them. Bruce barely even noticed that Leonard had at some point vanished from his arms.
Tony was missing, but right now that took a backseat to the team saving their own skins.
---
The team tumbled out of the lair in a heap of limbs, having positively thrown themselves through the arched doorway – the structure was almost entirely collapsed by this point, and it spoke for the prevalence of small miracles that not even Bruce had been injured in the escape.
It was as they stood and untangled themselves that they noticed the genius billionaire watching them with amusement. Tony was leaning against a nearby pine tree, smirking between spoonfuls of caramel ice-cream.
The team was speechless. They had flown across an entire state to save his sorry ass, and yet they had ended up being the only ones in any actual danger.
It was a toss-up as to whether Thor or Clint was more furious right about now. The Hawk loathed being anyone’s source of amusement, and the thunder god was still hung up on the whole “you ravished my brother” thing.
The other Avengers were still in various stages of disbelief.
As usual, it was Steve (Captain Composure) who recovered first. He walked over to Tony, and laid a heavy hand on the billionaire’s shoulder.
“Why, Tony?” He asked solemnly, looking for all the world like a particularly disappointed kicked puppy.
“Why?” The playboy echoed incredulously. “Because he’s ice-cold deliciousness. Just like – mmm – this ice-cream.” Yes, he was smirking as he said it.
Steve flushed scarlet. Even with his old-fashioned views on relationships and romance, he couldn’t disagree that Loki was the most attractive supervillain that the Avengers had ever faced.
“I suppose it was just a matter of time,” Natasha sighed, stepping forwards to join a mortified Steve. “So, how long has this been going on? The Director will be interested to know.”(She was also pretty interested for her own sake).
“Ever since that fiasco at the chocolate factory. So, one year, five months, three weeks and six days.” Tony replied casually. As if he could forget the exact length of time that he’d been with the most amazing creature in existence.
Five jaws dropped, again. Five minds tried (and failed) to block out the mental image of the billionaire and Loki having sex in a pool of melted chocolate.
“Man,” Clint whistled. “You are going to be in some DEEP shit.”
“Why would I be, Cupid?” Stark feigned nonchalant ignorance.
“Because we’re going to te-ell.” Clint sing-songed, with all the maturity of a fourth grader who had just caught his classroom rival stealing chalk.
“No,” Tony said simply, an unsettlingly devious and Loki-like glint in his eye. “You won’t.”
“Why would we not, Stark?” Thor boomed – he’d dropped the “friend” prefix at some point along the line.
“Two words,” the billionaire smirked, pointing to his feet, which were clad in VERY familiar-looking Armani loafers. “Talking shoes.”
Bruce groaned with repressed frustration.
Well, fuck.
---
When the team returned to Manhattan, it was to find that they were locked out of their Tower; there was a note reading “catch me if you can” taped to the front door.
Tony actually laughed – such taunts were rare from the trickster, but they NEVER got old. Besides, it meant that said trickster was finally in a decent mood again. (Yay for Stark stress-relief!)
The billionaire didn’t show the team the second note, which was addressed to him specifically.
Call it a conspiratory love note, because it told him exactly where he could find the gorgeous god tonight, as well as making it explicitly clear what his pleasurable reward would be for showing up (preferably with a bouquet of roses).
Yup, definitely in a better mood – the promise, as promised.
To say that the billionaire was in a suspiciously good mood for the rest of the weekend was an understatement.
---
The Avengers never did tell Director Fury.
However, they also never stopped trying (and failing) to expose the relationship at every humiliating opportunity. It eventually became like a sort of twisted game, a game of “Get Stark Kicked off the Team”.
However, Tony and Loki were in love, and they were always one step ahead.
Their secret was kept quite marvelously indeed, and it was all thanks to a pair of truly excellent shoes.
FIN