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1
When Loki comes to the conclusion that death by mortification is imminent and inevitable, he walks right into what natives claim is the best ice-cream parlor in New York and orders the biggest and most excessive sundae Midgard has ever seen.
There is no way a human could eat all of it on their own, which is why everyone in the parlor watches Loki with mildly horrified expressions when he orders a second one. He ignores them and methodically works his way through what he considers to be his reward for exceptional incompetence. Usually, he's not a contender in that particular discipline, but he guesses that what they say about love is true - it really does bring out the worst in some people.
While he digs into cookies-and-cream, pistachio, stracciatella and who knows what else, he idly wonders if there is a way to leave Midgard without it being noticed. He can evade Heimdall's gaze without problems, but undoubtedly the Avengers - yes, even after weeks of being subjected to them, the name still makes him scoff - will notice his absence within a few hours, and ultimately that would lead to his idiot of a brother running home and snitching. Oh, he'd have good intentions, surely, and maybe it would be less snitching and more an attempt to find Loki by using the biggest power at his disposal - namely, Asgard. Either way, the result would be the same; Odin would know, and a flight attempt would put a very quick and unpleasant end to Loki making reparations here on Midgard.
The sundae comes with a few odd, tiny waffle thingies, and Loki absently dips the last one into the ice cream, feeling forlorn and idiotic. He doesn't like feeling idiotic. It doesn't suit him, and that is saying something because there aren't a lot of things that don't suit him. Except reddish tones. They make him look pallid.
And then someone sits down on the chair across from him, because apparently it is an unspoken rule of the universe that Loki must never be able to catch even the tiniest break. Loki is about to glare at them and maybe send them to the Antarctic with an impulsive burst of magic, but then he sees who it is and has to resist the urge to slide further down his seat. All the way under the table, if possible. Maybe into the ground?
"You have to stop stealing my credit cards," Stark says, taking off his sunglasses. He doesn't seem annoyed; his grin is blinding.
"I merely borrowed it," Loki says as dismissively as he knows how.
Stark snorts. "Yes, I know, you're great at borrowing stuff. Like when you borrowed Clint's armour and replaced it with a parrot onesie so that he'd have something to wear in the meantime, that was some expert borrowing right there."
"Yes," Loki agrees, still wishing for a hole to disappear into. Really, where is the Void when he needs it?
"Yes?" Stark echoes, raising a brow. "That's it? No backtalk? No complaining? Are you sick or something?"
"No." Loki buries his spoon in the ice cream and then stuffs his mouth, which almost causes his brain to freeze over. When his panic has been efficiently numbed by the cold, he adds, "I'm really not in the mood today, Stark."
"You were in an excellent mood this morning," Stark says, wriggling his brows, and it's not a justified innuendo. It's not. They just had breakfast together this morning. Completely coincidental. And inconsequential.
Yes.
Loki decides not to comment on the matter and simply gives Stark a dark look instead.
Stark looks right back at him, unimpressed. Then he looks at the mountain of ice cream between them. "It’s nice to know that you actually listen to me when I’m rambling. But, uh, when I told you about this place, I thought we could go together some time, it wasn’t a suggestion to steal my credit card - again - and go on your own.”
“Oh, of course,” Loki drawls. “Yes, I would so enjoy coming here with ‘the team’.”
Stark gives him an amused smile. “Right. So, is this because of what happened earlier? Are you eating wagon loads of ice cream because you're frustrated?"
"I'm eating wagon loads of ice cream because I like ice cream," Loki corrects, primly.
"Uh huh." Stark turns to the side, grinning. "Hey, Miss? Could we get a second spoon here? Thank you so much."
The waitress has been stealing subtle glances at them the whole time - Stark attracts attention everywhere he goes - and as soon as Stark talks to her, she blushes and nods and moves and gods, Loki hates everything about this. Most of all he hates that he really cannot blame her. They get a second spoon in record time.
"We've all butchered a press conference before, you know," Stark says, quietly, almost absent. His eyes are focused on the ice cream he's currently gathering up with the spoon. "Well, except Steve, because he's annoyingly flawless. And Nat, because she's Nat."
"I didn't butcher anything," Loki denies. His face heats up.
"Mh. You did butcher it a little." Stark gestures at Loki with his spoon. "You got all red in the face, just like now."
"I'm not - I did not get red in the -"
"And you spluttered and stuttered, just like now."
Loki glares at him and shoves more ice cream into his mouth to keep himself from talking.
"You caught yourself pretty quickly, though" Stark says, thoughtful. "Of course there'll be some headlines, anyway. Probably something involving your infamous silver tongue and why it stopped working when a cheeky journalist asked you about your sex life."
"She didn't actually ask about my sex life," Loki says, because he might as well resign himself to his fate. "I don't know why it should be anyone's business if I have found someone I'm interested in in this utter shithole you call Earth."
Stark laughs and has to cover his mouth with his hand because it's currently full with ice cream. "Maybe you should've said that. They'd have had a field day writing about you cursing in public for the first time, what with how slick and charming you are usually." He leans back, watching Loki closely. "Why did your silver tongue stop working, though?"
Because you were sitting right next to me, Loki thinks, quite bitterly, but saying that is not an option because - well, it just isn't an option. He's already made Stark suspicious, now he has to be careful not to make it worse.
"I'm used to speaking in public," he says, keeping his eyes on the sundae, "and to politics, to dealing with the… well, the press. I'm not used to being asked personal questions. That never mattered to anyone before."
Stark blinks. "Really? The Asgardians didn't want to know what their princes were up to?"
Loki shakes his head. "Prince, singular. They were interested in Thor's private life, of course. At times he couldn't even take five steps out of the palace without his fans trailing after him."
"Huh," Stark says. "But you -"
"I was the boring one," Loki says. "The bookworm. The liar. The magic user. They weren't interested in what I had to say because they knew I would choose my words too well, and they didn't follow me around because they knew I would never let them see anything I didn't want them to see."
"Ah. So they came up with unflattering headlines completely without your involvement, that's what you're saying."
"Yes."
"Well, that's fun."
"Very."
Stark hums. "I don't think the headlines will be unflattering this time, though. For them, your stammering was the best thing that could have happened, because it means that there is someone."
"There isn't anyone," Loki says, which is a very bold lie considering that the someone is sitting right across from him.
"Doesn't matter to them, really," Stark says, shrugging. His smirk is a little too knowing for Loki's taste. "They'll say it's adorable and, uh - romantic."
Loki scoffs. "Yes, naturally. Romantic. Half a year ago I invaded this planet."
"Yeah, and since then you managed to evolve from villain to tragic hero." Stark sounds amused. "Face it, Lokes, you're just Earth's type. Tall, dark, handsome and so on. Humans like mysterious, pretty men. Especially teenagers. And since that stunt you pulled last week?" He grins and lifts his shoulders. "Everyone who wipes the floor with Doom like that is an instant favorite. You're officially cooler than Clint now."
"Because that is so very difficult to achieve," Loki says dryly, and Stark laughs.
Loki shouldn't like hearing him laugh as much as he does, but it's so - it's so nice. Warm. It makes something in Loki's chest flutter happily, and gods, that's absurd. This whole situation is absurd.
A mortal. An Avenger. Loki always believed that he had good taste, but this makes him doubt it.
"It'll be fine," Stark says. "Later we can laugh about the headlines together, yeah?"
He licks ice cream off his lower lip, and Loki nearly drops his spoon.
This is a disaster.
2
It is not Loki’s fault.
Yes, fine, that’s a sentence he says very often, and usually it isn’t true, but this time it is. It’s not his fault. Nobody can choose who they are attracted to - there are hundreds of poor souls who are attracted to Thor for some reason, and even though Loki totally judges them, he doesn’t blame them. He doesn’t blame himself, either. Or well, at least he tries not to. It’s a little difficult not to blame himself when his brain stops working just because Stark smiled at him.
Still. Fact is, it is not Loki’s fault that Tony Stark is the most attractive person Loki has ever even seen. Let alone talked to. Or fought alongside of. Or thrown out of a window. Gods, he threw him out of a window; there is now way Stark will ever even think about - things.
Loki, however, thinks about many things as he watches Stark saunter into the room, dressed in a dark suit that looks far too good on him. Most of those things have something to do with Loki’s rather insistent desire to get Stark out of that suit, but a few also play with the idea to leave it on and… no. Loki should not be thinking about this in public. What is he, three-hundred? This is embarrassing.
“Loki?”
Oh, right. Conversation.
Loki yanks his eyes away from Stark and looks at Banner, who seems a little nervous. That’s not unusual, he always seems nervous, and maybe it’s less nervousness right now and more… confusion? Amusement? It’s hard to tell; Loki still doesn’t manage to look Banner directly in the eye. He is always somewhat scared to see a flicker of green in them. He’s not sure why they are talking at all, but Banner approached him, and Loki wouldn’t be surprised if the quiet, awkward man felt just as lost here as Loki does.
“Yes,” he says, then realizes that Banner might have asked him a question. “I’m sorry, you were saying?”
“Nothing much,” Banner says, and yes, now he is definitely amused. Fantastic.
Loki clears his throat. He doesn’t remember what they were talking about before Stark appeared. Where is Stark, anyway? Loki would very much like to go and look for him, because the only reason he is at this preposterous Avengers party at all is because Stark convinced him to go. He might as well demand from Stark that he make the evening pleasant, for example by taking off his jacket and rolling up his shirt sleeves. Loki does like looking at Stark’s arms.
Gods.
Loki looks into his almost empty glass. It’s his third. He thinks. “What is in this, exactly?”
“I’m not sure,” Banner says. “I only know that Thor gives it out to everyone who’s not, you know. Quite human.”
Loki is going to strangle his brother, then. That’s decided.
“I think I’ve had enough of this,” Loki announced, flatly. He pushes his glass into Banner’s hand. “Good night.”
“Good night,” Banner replies and sniffs at the rest of Loki’s drink, making a face.
Loki leaves him standing there and makes his way through the party guests. He would skywalk to his and Thor's floor, but he is actually a little dizzy, and he doesn’t want to accidentally end up in some nook of Midgard that is even worse than this one. He is about to reach the elevators when he hears steps behind himself, and the saddest thing is that he immediately recognizes them. Or what person they belong to, rather.
That’s sad because it shows how completely hopeless Loki is.
“You’re not leaving already, are you?”
Loki stops. The Norns probably hate him. No, they definitely hate him. Still, he turns around and looks at Stark, because of course it’s Stark, and then Loki can’t speak for a moment because, really. Why does Stark always smile at him? It’s practically sabotage.
“Actually,” Loki gets out finally, just one or two seconds too late, “I am, yes. This event is much duller than you made it sound.”
“Yeah, duh,” Stark says, stopping right in front of Loki. “That’s because I was late. Things are always dull when I'm not there.”
He's right. His grin is crooked, and he’s not wearing a tie. The first two buttons of his shirt are open. The urge to open the rest of them as well makes Loki’s fingers itch.
He clears his throat. “Why were you late?”
“I was working,” Stark says, which explains everything. “Actually I didn't want to come at all, but then I remembered I’d made you promise to come, so - hey, do you want a drink? I still owe you one, don’t I?”
“Yes,” Loki says, the word slipping out without his permission. He immediately tries to pedal back, “You do, but I’m afraid I’ve already had a few -”
“Oh, come on,” Stark interrupts him, and then he does the impossible. He grabs Loki’s wrist and pulls him back into the direction of the party. “I know even the best whiskey I can offer is like orange juice for you guys. Just one, okay? Then I can tell you what I’ve been working on.”
Stark’s fingers are calloused and warm around his wrist, and Loki is incapable of resistance. Because he keeps being incapable of resistance, one drink turns into quite a few more. It gets late. Around them, the other guests leave, one after the other, and Stark takes off his jacket and rolls up his shirt sleeves before he shows Loki that the grand piano isn’t just there for show. Loki can't look away from Stark's fingers.
No, it's not his fault. It's not exactly bad luck, either.
Loki isn't sure what it is.
3
The next morning - well, early afternoon - is unusually quiet, because everyone except Loki and Banner is hungover. Thor managed to convince Rogers to try an Asgardian drinking game, which was a mistake on both sides, and Romanoff and Barton may be the best spies in Midgard, but they are also very mortal, and Loki is sure that they are acutely aware of that this morning.
Banner is cooking for them. Loki stops in the doorway, hesitant. He doesn't particularly enjoy being in the kitchen they share - not out of necessity, since they all have a small kitchen on their respective floors as well - even when Stark is there, and that he is not there right now makes Loki's trip here pointless.
"Ugh," Barton mutters. His forehead seems to be glued to the table. "Is that Loki?"
"Yes," Romanoff says.
"Is he hungover?"
"No," Loki says, although not anymore would be more appropriate. Magic makes a lot of things easier.
Barton groans again. "That's so unfair."
"Brother," Thor says, eyes wide and hopeful.
"No."
"But -"
“I won’t heal you,” Loki cuts him off, finally crossing the room to look at what Banner is making. “It would be a waste of magic.”
He never claimed that he isn't a little bit of a hypocrite.
Thor huffs and glares at him, but Loki is very practiced in ignoring that. He looks at the breakfast Banner is preparing - scrambled eggs and bacon - and idly wonders what to do with himself now. He really should get into the habit of asking JARVIS where his creator is without just marching into rooms hoping to find him there.
"Tony's in the workshop," Banner says quietly, his calm gaze fixed on the eggs he's shoving around in the pan. "He's probably just as hungover as the rest of them, but somehow that never stops him from working. I guess he should eat something, though."
Loki stares at him. "So?"
Banner glances at him quickly, smiling, and then he takes two plates out of the cupboard. "Could you take this down to him? Otherwise he won't eat anything all day."
"Why would I -"
"Thank you," Banner says, already pushing the two now full plates at Loki's chest so that he has to grab them both. "Very kind of you."
Loki narrows his eyes. Banner raises a brow. Loki would like to either say something clever that would put an end to this whole affair or simply drop the plates and leave the kitchen, but -
But Stark does like eggs and bacon for breakfast. Loki knows that. It's horribly embarrassing that he knows that, and that he is still standing here like an imbecile with the plates in his hand, shocked into immobility.
"What's going on?" Barton asks, his voice still muffled.
"Bruce is playing matchmaker," Romanoff explains.
"Oh."
Rogers seems confused. "Matchmaker? You mean - oh."
"Yes," Romanoff confirms. "Oh."
"Loki?" Thor asks, in the tone of voice that directly translates to wait, why didn't I know about this until now?
"Sorry," Banner says, but he doesn't sound very apologetic. His eyes crinkle with amusement. "We won't say a word to him."
Romanoff snorts and mutters something in her mother tongue that Loki doesn't quite catch. Barton giggles like a hungover madman.
Gods, this problem is just getting worse and worse and worse.
4
He does bring the plates down to the workshop, though. It would be stupid not to, because for one, Stark does need to eat every now and then, and also Loki -
Well, he just likes being in Stark's workshop very much. Which has nothing to do with Stark himself, of course. Nothing at all.
Loki has to wait in the elevator for a moment while JARVIS informs Stark of Loki's presence, but it takes just a few seconds until the doors open and Loki can enter Stark's sanctuary. Several floors in the tower are designated for laboratoriums, and Loki has thoroughly explored most of them because he is bored and curious by nature, but none of them can take it up with Stark's workshop.
It's a mess. There are dozens of tables, all covered in so much stuff that you can barely see the surfaces, and tools and materials and blueprints everywhere. Loki can spot four empty coffee mugs after taking just a few steps into the workshop. He can hear the mixer; DUM-E must be working on his smoothie making skills again.
Stark is sitting on the floor, eyes fixed on the holograms in front of him; he is tapping and swiping and looking more enthralling than he has any right to look, but then again, that's nothing new. But gods, Loki loves seeing him like this, with his hair unkempt and messy, the look in his wide eyes energetic, almost mad, hands moving so quickly that they can barely be followed. He is chaotic, and a little - sometimes a lot - out of control, and he is brilliance personified.
Loki might be slightly addicted to watching him.
"What's so special about that spot you're standing in, huh?"
Loki's gaze snaps away from Stark's arms to his face, to the smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth and the side-eyed glance he's giving Loki. Oh gods, he's being obvious again, isn't he? This, all this stupid standing around and gaping at this odd, annoyingly exciting man, is the reason the entire world seems to know that Loki -
Ugh.
"Nothing," Loki says. Except for the nice view. Yes. No.
He clears his throat.
"Banner asked me to bring this down to you," he says, lifting the plates he is still holding, and goes to set them down on one of Stark's desks. "I would like to eat here as well, if you don't mind - everyone upstairs is hungover and miserable."
Stark is still smirking to himself, but the better part of his attention has returned to his work. "Usually you like it when they're miserable."
Usually they can't see right through me. "Well, there are exceptions to every rule, aren't there?"
"Sure," Stark says, and after a moment he stands up and walks over to the table to reach for his plate. "I like being alone here. That's a rule of mine."
Loki, who was about to sit down on Stark's chair and sulk about the entirety of his current situation, stops moving altogether. Norns, of course; what is he even doing here? Yes, he's been in the workshop before, many times, in fact, but he thinks this might be the first time he came down here without an invitation. Idiotic.
"I can go, of course," he said, fighting down a quite impressive wave of disappointment. His voice sounds bitter, anyway. "I shouldn't have -"
"You're the exception to that rule," Stark tells him, winking. (He shouldn't be allowed to wink.) He takes his plate and turns to go back to his project. "Well, not the only exception, but at the moment the most important one, I guess. You're not hungover, are you?"
"Not anymore," Loki allows with a small smirk. "Are you?"
Stark shrugs. "It's not bad enough to stop me from working."
Loki thinks about offering to heal him - of his hand on Stark's forehead, his thankful smile. That wouldn't be a waste of magic at all. Loki is about to actually suggest it, but Stark is faster.
"Hey, I made something for you."
Loki's brain is not working as smoothly as it usually does. Maybe it's not working at all, because the only thing he comes up with is, "You what?"
Yes. Very eloquent indeed.
"Doom did a number on your armour, remember?"
Loki blinks slowly. "Yes."
"You've been bitching about it."
"Yes," Loki says again, and then, frowning, "On second thought, no. I do not bitch."
Stark rolls his eyes and speaks around a mouthful of bacon, "You totally do, but that's not the point right now. Point is - JARVIS, show him the point, come on."
The AI complies silently - something flickers into existence in the air in front of Loki, and he stares at it dumbly for a moment. When he realizes that he should stop trying to impersonate a goldfish, he looks past the holograph at Stark.
"You designed this?"
"I designed it," Stark says, shoveling scrambled eggs into his mouth. "And I made it too, finished it just last evening." He pauses, then puts his plate on the floor and waves his hand. The holograph disappears and Stark wanders off to another corner of the workshop. "Here, come on."
Loki follows him without even really thinking about it. Last evening, it echoes in his thoughts; That is why Stark was late to the party, then. Loki isn't sure what to make of that. He isn't sure what to make of the armour Stark designed, either - oh, it's gorgeous, of course, that's not the problem. Stark put it on a dummy, and at the first glance Loki sees lots of black leather and green and golden details, as expected. It doesn't look all too Asgardian, it also - and thankfully - doesn't look as abhorrent as the SHIELD uniforms or, Norns forbid, the dear Captain's star-spangled suit. No, it looked like… well, like Loki. Sharp and dark, satisfying Loki's ever present need for both style and drama. There is a helmet with horns, too, and Loki has to admit that it looks better than the one he already owns.
"You are an artist," Loki says after a long while. He reaches for the leather, smiling at tge feel of it. "Did you do this by hand?"
"Some of it, yeah."
"It must have taken… quite some time."
Stark shrugs. "Worth it, though. You're smiling."
Loki doesn't know what to say to that. Eventually, he manages, "I suppose you are making something for the others, too."
Stark just looks at him for a moment, expression blank, but then he sighs and nods. "Actually, yeah, I am. Well, I mean to. They need to look cooler, you know, otherwise I can't let myself be seen with them. You don't have to wear it if you don't like it."
"I like it," Loki says at once. Faster than he should have, probably. "Very much. I - well."
"You're stuttering again."
"I am not."
"Now you're blushing again, too." Stark pats Loki's arm. "Don't worry, it's cute. Try it on, let's see if I need to make some changes."
Loki has never been this thankful for his magic. He unironically believes that if he had to change clothes manually in front of Stark, he would simply die on the spot.
5
"You didn't need to do that."
They are walking to the elevators, still in earshot of the team's voices. Loki is always the first to leave the room after a team meeting, and by now Stark has taken to joining him. He hasn't invited Loki to the workshop yet, but Loki is sure that will happen at some point in the next few minutes.
Stark looks at him, eyebrow raised. He seems tired, as always. "Do what?"
"Side with me," Loki says, watching him closely. "You always side with me in arguments."
"Not always."
"But mostly always."
"That's because you're mostly always right," Stark says. He loosens his tie; Loki is momentarily distracted watching his hands. "Also Steve never agrees with you, and I like disagreeing with Steve, so -" He shrugs, and grins. "You want to come down to the shop? I've had an idea involving those pocket dimensions of yours -"
"Yes," Loki says, as always jumping at the chance to join Stark in his tinkering. "Gladly."
They ride up to the penthouse first because Stark wants to change, and while Loki stands in the living room waiting for him, he silently and helplessly wonders if this is it, then. According to his sentence, he will stay here for the next few years, and it seems likely that he will spend the better part of those years with Stark. Because he likes spending time with Stark much, much more than he should and Stark doesn't seem to hate it, and Loki doesn't have it in him to stay away. To be alone, or to spend time with Thor instead. (Absolutely not.) But well, he can be with Stark without wanting to be with him. Probably. Eventually. This hopeless infatuation has to fade at some point, hasn't it? And until then, since doing his best to ignore it is the only option, Loki doesn't really have another choice.
And that means, yes, at least for now, this is it. His own floor in one of the highest buildings in the city, his brother close by, the dreadful obligation to assist the Avengers - or be one of them, as Stark always insists - and eventual freedom on the horizon as long as he plays by the rules.
And a friend, it seems.
"You ready? Or do you want a drink first?"
Loki opens his mouth to say that they could go to the workshop directly, but what comes out is, "A drink would be nice, yes."
Yes, because that means more time with Stark. With an inward sigh, Loki buries the remains of his self-control in a little box and puts it on the top shelf in a back corner of his mind. It seems like it doesn't want to jump into action, anyway.
They sit at the bar, Stark pours them a drink, and they talk. Well, mostly it's Stark who talks; for some reason Loki doesn't manage more than a few words to fill the pauses, now and then a question, anything to make Stark keep talking.
This should be enough. And it is, certainly - more than enough, in fact, and more than Loki ever expected to have. He had lots of acquaintances in Asgard, many people to pass the time with if it couldn't be avoided, but no sincere connections - nobody he really enjoyed listening to.
And, gods, he so enjoys listening to Stark. They move from the bar to the sofa and from a bottle of wine to, well, another bottle of wine, and Stark presses his thigh against Loki's - without thought, surely - and Stark talks, and smiles, and talks some more.
Until he eventually runs out of things to say. It becomes quiet, and Loki realizes that the sky outside has turned dark. He looks out of the big windows for a moment, but he can feel Stark's eyes on him, too observant for Loki's liking.
"Loki?"
Loki glances at him, then into his empty glass. "Yes."
"What's wrong?"
It's a sincere question. A very simple one, too, and still impossible to answer. Loki shakes his head. "Nothing."
Stark leans forward to set his glass aside. He lifts the wine bottle, questioning, but Loki shakes his head. Stark doesn't pour more into his own glass, either, instead he leans back again and put his feet on the edge of the table.
"You can talk to me, you know," he says. His casual tone doesn't manage to hide the underlying warmth. "If there is something wrong."
Yes, Loki thinks, this should be enough. So very few people have ever been concerned about him - it would be foolish to wish for more. Things never end well when Loki wishes for more than he is given.
"We are friends, aren't we?" he asks, anyway, because - he doesn't know why, really. A desire for reassurance, perhaps.
Stark sighs, but it doesn't sound annoyed. Perhaps a little resigned. Nevertheless, he sounds absolutely sincere when he says, "Yeah, Loki. Of course we are."
Loki wants to touch him. To grab him and pull him close, and kiss him, and take him to bed, and wake up next to him in the morning.
But no, this has to be enough.
Loki smiles. "Would you like to watch a movie?"
+1
Loki wakes up to the sound of Anthony's voice. Anthony's very loud and angry voice. Why is Anthony angry? Loki doesn't like it when Anthony is angry.
Gods, his head hurts.
He opens his eyes. The ceiling is very white. He blinks, and after a moment props himself up in his elbows, frowning at his surroundings. He doesn't know how he got here, let alone where here is, exactly.
A door opens and slams against the wall so hard that Loki believes the sound alone just smashed his brain to pieces. He makes a pained noise and is about to complain when he sees that it is Anthony who just marched in the room, fury personified.
"Why the fuck did you do that?" he asks - read: shouts - and Loki blinks at him stupidly for a very long moment.
Thor pokes his head into the room. "I'm sorry, brother, I couldn't keep him from -"
"Shut up, Thor," Anthony snaps and turns around to slam the door right into Thor's face.
Loki just watches, nonplussed.
"So?" Anthony says, turning back to him, his voice sharp. "Anything you want to say in your defense or are you just going to keep staring at me like an idiot?"
"I," Loki rasps, "I feel like I should point out that I am in a considerable amount of pain."
"You're in a considerable amount of trouble, that's all." Anthony walks up to the bed Loki is lying in and glares down at him as if he wants to bash his head in. "I had everything under control."
"You were fighting against about two dozen HYDRA worms on your own."
"So?"
"They were shooting at you."
"So?" Anthony repeats, getting louder again. "People can shoot at me all they want when I'm in the suit, but you -"
"My armour is bullet proof as well," Loki interrupts. "You of all people should know that."
"Yes, well, the stuff I made for you is pretty useless when you take it off to throw it at some asshole's head."
"Did you think the horns were just for decoration? I -"
"It's a fucking helmet, Loki. It belongs on your fucking head."
Loki sits up, which takes some effort because yes, his head really does hurt, and gives Anthony a miffed look. "It was effective."
Anthony stares at him for a moment, then he says, "I'll effectively throw you into the Hudson if you ever do something like that again."
"Don't be ridiculous."
"I'm not being ridiculous, I mean it. You don't get to take a bullet for me, alright? I don't want you to."
"Yes, I'm beginning to understand that," Loki says flatly. "I am fine, by the way, thank you so very much for asking."
Anthony's glare melts, and after a moment he sighs and sits down on the edge of the bed. He is still wearing his undersuit, and Loki notices that he is holding his left shoulder a little awkwardly; somehow Anthony never manages to come out of a fight completely unscarthed.
"Are you alright?" Loki asks, concerned.
"Am I alright?" Anthony echoes. "Are you serious?"
"Your shoulder -"
"There's a hole in your head."
"It's just a scratch," Loki says. "It will be fine in a few hours."
"The bullet got stuck in your skull."
"Well, I have a very thick skull."
"Yeah, no shit," Anthony sighs. He looks at Loki, concern visible in his eyes. "Why did you do it?"
"You would have been shot otherwise."
"Another dent in my suit, nothing more. You knew that."
Loki can't hold his gaze. He doesn't know what to say, because of course Anthony is right, of course Loki knows, theoretically, that Anthony's suit protects him from bullets. But still -
He swallows. "I didn't know anything at all at that moment, I'm afraid. There was nothing else I could have done." He glances at Anthony, and then looks away from him, aware that his face is heating up. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. Please don't feel indebted to me now, I would never -" He clears his throat. "All I wanted was to keep you safe. Forgive me if I was - out of line."
Anthony just stares at him for the longest time. Then, "You're such an idiot sometimes."
Loki frowns at him, about to protest, but then Anthony leans forward, and his hand is on Loki's cheek and his mouth is on Loki's, and Loki is still dimly wondering what the everloving Hel is going on when Anthony pulls back.
"You don't get to take a fucking bullet for me," Anthony says, looking Loki straight in the eye, "because people I love aren't allowed to even consider dying for me. Clear?"
Loki stares. "No," he says finally. "Not - not really."
Anthony stares back at him, and then he blinks, and then he frowns. "Wait."
"I -"
"You didn't know? Oh my god."
"I didn't - what are you - why did you just -"
"Shut up," Anthony tells him. "Jesus Christ, Loki, don't tell me you really didn't notice. I've been flirting with you since - god, I don't even know."
"Flirting?" Loki repeats blankly. "You never flirted with me."
Anthony bristles. "I invited you on like a million dates," he says, exasperated. "Ice cream, remember - you just went alone, which - anyway. And then the party, and I don't know how often I asked you to come down to the shop, and I made you new armour, and -"
"But you - you were just being friendly." Loki's voice sounds faint in his own ears. "Which I appreciate, I do, but -"
"I wasn't being friendly," Anthony cuts him off. "I was trying to get in your pants." He pauses. "Well, not just that, but - you know. Anyway."
"You -" Loki stops and gapes at him, feeling like a goldfish once again. "You are interested in me?"
"I'd say we're interested in each other," Anthony drawls. "You haven't been hiding it well, you know."
"I -"
"I think the whole tower knows by now."
Lovely. "Why did you never -"
"Say anything?" Anthony says. By now he doesn't look angry at all anymore, which is a relief, although the teasing amusement in his eyes isn't much better. "Eventually I figured you ignored my attempts for who knows what reason, and then I got a bit scared you'd run off if I made it even more obvious or - I don't want you to run off, you're not going to do that, are you? I'm totally willing to just keep everything the way it was, we don't have to -"
"Can I kiss you?"
Anthony stops. He blinks at Loki and blushes just slightly, and Loki is thoroughly satisfied that he isn't the only one with a red face for a change. After a second, Anthony nods, and Loki leans in again to kiss him. It's soft, and chaste, and all Loki can handle at the moment because anything more heated would probably make him pass out.
"You okay?" Anthony murmurs, a little breathless, when Loki pulls back.
"Yes," he says. It's true, although he feels a little like he is dreaming. "Yes. I am now."
"Your head?" Anthony lifts his hand to Loki's forehead to brush his hair back and inspect the gash at his temple. "It looks better already."
"I told you, it will be fine."
Anthony smiles briefly. "I guess I should let you get some sleep. Thor's going to cut my head off if I don't -"
Loki wraps his hand around Anthony’s wrist and shakes his head. "Stay. Please."
"Oh." Anthony's smile returns. "Yes, sure."
He does stay, and Loki is quite awestruck when he realizes that, apart from the unspeakable relief and the budding happiness that his feelings are not unrequited, being with Anthony doesn't feel much different now than it did before.
But then again, maybe that's the whole point.