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In a cave, a man pokes at a fire that isn't an actual fire yet, just the beginnings of one. Sparks fly and smoke rises to the low ceiling, and the heat is almost impossible to bear.
"That's not enough," the other man in the cave says. He is younger, and his voice is sharp around the edges, but only because he prefers that sharpness over exhaustion.
"I know," the first man replies.
"It needs to be as hot as possible."
"I know."
The younger man closes his eyes. His chest aches. He needs this to work. It's the only way - their only chance. He already has the metal, now he just needs the flames.
"Let me try," he says.
Lightyears away, on another planet - in another world - there is a young god sitting in his rooms, buried in books. He hasn't turned a page in several long minutes, is just staring at the words in front of him, unseeing. Something is distracting him, but he needs awfully long to figure out what it is.
When he finally does, he looks up from his desk. His shaking hands feel oddly numb. He wrings them and stands up, swallowing thickly as he concentrates on the picture someone wants him to see. It appears in the middle of his study after a few seconds, flickering green and golden, fuelled by his magic.
He slowly walks around his desk, green eyes fixed on the man who is, without being aware of it, worshipping a god.
He is a mortal - a human. What the god is watching is happening in Midgard of all places, at this very moment. He sees that the human is half dead and refuses to accept it, and that he needs fire to survive. Fire to create. He doesn't know who the god is, not even that he is, but he grasps the meaning of him. He fits, somehow, into the picture Loki has of the universe - it's a picture of disorder and fire and reinvention, and what is happening in that Midgardian cage in this very moment is the manifestation of it all. Loki sees the human and very easily recognizes him as his.
That never happened before.
The god blesses the human's fire with but a thought and keeps watching, breathless. The human survives- and not only that, he uses the god's fire to create something, and that is a wonder in itself.
Loki keeps a close eye on his human from there on.
-
A few - Midgardian - years later, Loki sits in what he will later learn is called a jet , staring at one of the three humans that are accompanying him.
He recognizes the man as the one who was in that cave, but only vaguely. He lost sight of the mortal after he had fallen - he lost sight of everything after he'd fallen, including himself. (You can't look very far when you're stuck in the Void.) He still doesn't completely remember, but he knew when the human addressed him for the very first time. There was something achingly familiar about that voice, the tone, the armour. He felt warm for the first time in eternities, and then something like - not a spark, not really. Not electricity. No, this has nothing to do with lightning or thunder; this is Loki's, and Loki's alone.
"I'm not overly fond of what follows," he says, glancing up and then back at the (his) human. The unimportant man shakes his head and looks away, but his human holds Loki's gaze, unwavering, unimpressed. He understood that it was a warning, but he's still wary. Fair enough.
His eyes are brown. Loki forgot about that.
Thunder descends upon them, then, and Loki has a slightly frustrating time with it before he sees his human again. His ears are good enough that he hears it, "Then don't take my stuff," and he is, quite frankly, stunned.
They put him in a glass cage that wasn't made for him. He paces in there - back and forth, in circles, his steps measured and slow. His thoughts are widely scattered and disjointed; he fails to find the beginning or the end of an idea sometimes. He is left with the sparse remains, spends his time in the cage prodding the pieces, trying to make sense of them.
He doesn't choose the tower because it's the most suited, or just for the flair of it. He chooses it because STARK is written on it in big and bold letters, and because it was designed by a mind that is, in a way, his. His favourite.
Stark , Loki thinks, when he sees the red and gold armour reflecting the sun. Ah. Yes.
He remembers now. A little bit more, at least. He heard the name before; the hawk told him. He survives everything, they say. It didn't mean anything to Loki then - he neither recognized the name nor the story when he spoke to the hawk - but it means everything to him now. He is not sure why. His steps are not entirely his own, there is always the chance that his ruined thoughts aren't, either, and nothing makes a lot of sense. He does know, though, that this tiny planet will be protected, that he won't win, no matter who the scepter touches, and that Anthony Edward Stark must not be harmed.
They talk. In the great schemes of things, it's a brief conversation, but Loki's head is clear during it. He knows the man he is talking to, how his mind works, how it feels when a new idea grips him tight and refuses to let go. He doesn't work with flames a lot anymore, but all his creations can be traced back to them, to that first blessed-by-a-god fire in a cave. Red and golden in the sun; that armour is Loki's. For Loki, even though the human still isn't aware of it.
For Loki.
A plan forms in his mind, a new plan, and executing it is easy - it takes but a thought, a push, and something snaps into place between them like it has been there for eons.
His human - Stark - doesn't have any words for a change when Loki approaches him, his fingers curling around the scepter so tightly that it hurts. Stark is still, wide-eyed, but the shock and confusion make room for something else impressively fast.
Loki knows the scepter won't work on him. It won't work because of the light in his mortal's chest, or maybe simply because Loki doesn't want it to work. His mind is getting hazy again. It all goes according to plan , he thinks, even when Stark insults him, even when he hauls him across the room. He's not sure which plan he is thinking about, but he knows that it's his . He also knows that Stark is prepared; there is fire in the metal around his wrists.
His fingers find their way around a very fragile throat, somehow, a heartbeat pulsing beneath his fingertips. For the briefest moment, he is distracted, too fascinated by the fire that runs through his mortal's veins, and the moment lasts long enough for Stark's eyes to widen.
It's understanding, then confusion and betrayal, all cramped into brown eyes and the fragment of a second. The sight makes Loki sick.
Throwing the human out of the window is more a reflex than a deliberate decision.
-
Loki is, once again, imprisoned in a cell that belongs to SHIELD. The game is getting old. But at least his head is clear now; the only voices that whisper and prod at him are his own.
They let him stay in the cell for several days - so he guesses, he quickly loses track of the time -, and he spends them lying awake on the metal cot with closed eyes, digging his way through the mess that was once a very clever and organized mind. He is indeed on his own now, neither the Other nor the Mad Titan himself can reach him anymore, but he can still feel traces of them here and there. They stomped through his very core and left their footprints; it won't be easy to get rid of them again. Maybe he'll never manage.
He is tired.
-
Two nights after the battle, Tony Stark sits in his tower and builds something he has never built before. It's something very simple and unspectacular, something he and every other human has seen and touched and used before, but when he flicks his thumb and a flame lights up before his eyes, something tugs and tears in Tony's chest.
"Well," he says flatly. "Damn."
In his cell, Loki flinches and sits up.
-
He comes to Loki, in the end.
Loki hears him before he sees him, and feels him before he hears him; he has watched Anthony Stark long enough to be aware of his presence when it nears. He remembers now.
When Stark approaches the glass that separates them, Loki is already on his feet and watching. That awful metal gag still covers his mouth and his hands are bound, but at least he can walk freely - two long steps in every direction, from the exact middle of the room -, and so he goes to see his human, to look at him properly.
He looks tired, is the first thing Loki sees. There are bags under those brown eyes, a bruise on his cheek, hard lines around a mouth that is more used to grinning widely, though not always sincerely.
He is brilliant, is the second thing Loki sees.
Loki raises a questioning brow. What can I do for you? That's the question he would ask if he could speak, and it would be a sincere offer. Stark probably wouldn't take it that way - or maybe he would; he is brilliant -, but that hardly matters.
"We don't have much time," Stark says, his tone even but sharp. "Ten minutes, tops. I made something for you."
Loki tilts his head to one side.
Stark slips his hand into the pocket of his pants and fishes something out of it - a small and thin block of metal. He keeps it between thumb and index finger, his eyes not leaving Loki's, not even for the briefest split of a second.
"Any idea what this is?"
Loki gives him a dry look and nods; of course he knows what it is. He felt it when Stark tried it out, just a few hours ago.
"I spent like five hours talking to our resident God of Thunder and Theatricals, and he told me that you gods get a kick out of being worshipped. And that sometimes, you pick a Favourite.”
Loki nods.
“He also said ‘god of mischief’ is just a nickname. That true?"
Loki nods.
Stark keeps staring at him. He looks like he doesn't understand. He looks like he wants to.
"You know why I'm here?"
Loki doesn't nod again. Stark is obviously not here to get on his knees and pray, but then again, Loki didn't expect that. He assumes that the mortal knows of their connection, at least to some extent. He felt betrayed by Loki when their conversation in the tower came to an end, and you don't feel betrayed by someone you don't recognize.
“Thor said there’s some kind of bond,” Stark says. “Between you and me. That you put it there. And I won't pretend to understand how that works, because I sure as hell don't - and I hate that, by the way, I really fucking do - but I do understand this." He takes another step toward the glass, toward Loki , and looks up at him as if there is not a single ounce of fear in his body. "The bond goes both ways. If I’m bound to you, you are bound to me. And that makes it my right to keep you here on Earth and make you pay for the things you did to me and my planet. Am I right?"
Loki narrows his eyes, and nods.
"Awesome. I guess that's still the better outcome for you, what with Odin sitting on his throne up there. He kinda wants your head, you know."
Loki dismisses that with a half-shouldered shrug. Odin wanting to have his head does not scare him any longer.
Stark looks at him for a moment, then raises his brows. "So? You okay with staying here for the time being?"
Loki blinks, unimpressed, and briefly looks around his cell.
"Not here here. At my house."
Perfect.
Loki raises his hand and touches his finger to the glass, pointing right at his human's glowing heart. He can see its shimmer through Stark's shirt.
Stark looks down at Loki's finger, then meets his eyes again. "Yes," he says. "With me."
Loki nods.
-
They take a jet. Stark freed Loki from his cell, and from the shackles and the metal gag. He gave him clothes - simple but well made, clearly expensive, and most importantly they do not reek of Thanos. It’s a relief to be out of his armour for the first time in months - or years? Loki isn’t sure. He doesn’t tell Stark that without the shackles, he can access his seiðr and could have conjured clothes for himself if he had wanted to. Stark is clever, he knows what the shackles were for and must have figured it out himself. Loki quite likes wearing clothes Stark gave him, although he also feels naked sitting across from him wearing thin fabric and black jeans of all things.
But Stark won’t harm him. Loki knows that, can tell by the way Stark looks at him. Loki is a riddle Stark wants to solve, and Stark will keep him safe until he’s solved it. And perhaps even after that.
They are in the air for a few hours. Stark is working on a laptop, the quick and steady click click click of the keys a calming song to listen to. Loki watches him and doesn’t try to be subtle. Now and then Stark looks up and meets his gaze, and his mouth twitches a little as if he wants to smirk. Loki hasn’t felt this at ease in a very long time. He hasn’t been this tired in a very long time, either, but he does not sleep.
Instead, he listens to Stark’s typing and feels him create something. It’s a pleasant buzz in Loki’s core, and he wonders if Stark feels something similar. He wonders if Stark notices. When Loki concentrates, he can get a glimpse of what Stark sees - not with his eyes, but with his mind. A long row of numbers, swirling and slotting into the right places with ease. Ideas fueled by the urge to create, to make better. Stark enjoys making things better. After everything he’s done, he considers it his duty.
Loki gives him a nudge. A blessing, just a small one, barely more than a god saying I am with you to their Favourite.
Stark’s hands still and he looks up again, stares at Loki. Loki holds his gaze and lets himself smile. Stark frowns, but he doesn’t say anything. There is a slight flush in his cheeks, and he swallows.
Loki has never had a Favourite before. People don’t pray to him often, and of the few ones who did he’s never found anyone interesting enough to form a bond with them. But he has witnessed what such a bond can be like, has seen mortals fall to their knees at the mere sight of their gods, has heard their awed voices whispering their thanks.
Stark doesn’t do that. Maybe he never will. Loki doesn’t mind. He keeps watching when Stark turns back to his work, typing even faster than before.
-
It’s a nice house. Nothing against the palace, of course, but Loki never wants to set foot in there again, anyway, and everything in Stark’s house screams his name. Loki adores it as soon as he sees it for the first time.
“We’ll stay here until my tower is fixed,” Stark says, leading the way up the stairs. “And then - I don’t know. I guess I’m an Avenger now, whatever that means, exactly. When it's time, you can come with me back to New York or stay here.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“You don’t have to decide that yet.”
“I’ll come with you.”
Stark snorts. “Okay. Well, for the time being you can recover here in peace. SHIELD won’t bother us, Thor and I made sure of that.”
The mention of his brother makes Loki’s shoulders tighten. He can imagine what Thor said and did to get SHIELD to play along; the bond between a god and their Favourite is sacrosanct. Odin probably knows of it by now. Loki sighs. “I don’t need to recover.”
Another snort. “Yeah, sure.”
He shows Loki his room, introduces him to JARVIS, tells him just to ask if he needs anything. And then Stark leaves him alone and Loki sits down on his new bed and takes a few minutes to breathe.
-
Loki makes his way down the stairs, all the way down, and he comes to stand in front of a glass door, frowning. A panel on the side asks him to enter a code he doesn't know, and he's about to skywalk onto the other side of the glass when there is a faint clicking noise and a disembodied voice saying, "You're welcome to join Sir if you wish, Loki."
"Thank you, JARVIS," Loki says and opens the door.
He enters a room he knows, even though he has never been here before. He doesn't know what most of the things are called, but all of them are familiar. His study at home looked the same, a mess of plans and struggles, hopes stacked in piles in every corner, power scribbled down in every empty space.
Stark sits on the floor, surrounded by blue lights, a half full mug of coffee within reach. He looks up when Loki comes in.
"You should be sleeping," he says.
"I should," Loki agrees.
"But can't?"
A whirring noise distracts Loki from replying. Something comes over to him, a creature made of metal, electricity and a sixteen year old boy's wish to please his father. Loki didn't know Stark yet back then, but he wishes he had, and the reason surprises him. In the past few months he was so busy trying to keep himself alive that he has forgotten what it's like to want to keep another person safe and happy.
"Hello," he greets the creature, who looks up at him and beeps in response. "Dum-E, isn't it?"
"How do you know that?"
"You have worked on him before." Loki offers his hand to the creature as if to greet an animal. Dum-E doesn’t sniff at his hand, of course, instead he tugs at Loki’s clothes with his claws, inspecting him. Loki has to smile. “He’s quite the wonder, isn’t he?”
“Dum-E, leave him alone,” Stark says, and the creature beeps and wanders off. “I haven’t worked on him since New York.”
“No?”
Stark flicks his wrist and the blue lights in front of him disappear. “Don’t play dumb. It doesn’t suit you.”
Loki holds his gaze, but finds himself at a loss for words. Stark looks angry, and Loki is surprised by how much he hates it, hates the way Stark looks at him, his mouth a grim line, eyes cold and hard.
“You’ve been watching me,” Stark says, and it’s not a question. “Before we met.”
“Yes.”
“Why? Did you - what, plan this entire disaster, start to finish?”
Loki almost laughs. “No. No, not at all. I had completely forgotten about you before I saw you again, I’m afraid. I had other things to think about.”
“Things like what?”
“Like convincing my torture to use ice instead of fire. Like sweet-talking my captor into making me his pawn.” Loki takes a few slow steps toward Stark. “You know what it’s like.”
Stark reaches for the coffee mug. “Do I?”
“Yes. You thought about similar things in that cave, did you not?”
Stark’s hand pauses mid-air, the mug close to his lips. He doesn’t look shocked, but at least the anger slowly fades from his eyes. He takes a sip. “I never thought about becoming someone’s pawn.”
“You took other desperate measures.” Loki tilts his head. “I’m sorry about your friend. I would have helped, but we are not allowed to interfere to such an extent.”
“No worries, Princess. That makes total sense.”
The dry tone makes Loki smirk. “You’ll understand. In time.”
“I’d rather understand right the fuck now, to be honest,” Stark says, putting the mug back on the floor. “So, you watched me. In that cave.”
“I met you the day you started forging your armour.”
“Right. And you thought I’d make a shiny new plaything, is that it? Is that all you guys do up there - playing with us poor little humans like we’re Barbie dolls?”
Loki doesn’t know what Barbie means. He hopes it’s nothing important. “It’s hardly a game. Or at least it never was for me.”
“You’re still not explaining anything, Prancer. I’m gonna give you five minutes, if I’m still confused as hell by then, I’ll squeeze you into a cardboard box and ship you back to Godland.”
Loki raises a brow, but Stark just keeps looking at him, unbothered, so Loki sighs and relents. “You know nearly everything you need to know. You said it yourself - the bond goes both ways.”
“Okay, great, but I’ve still got a million questions about that bond thing. Starting with, what the hell is it? Why did you do it? How will it affect me, is it reversible, are you going to get on my nerves a lot in the future, how can I get on your nerves as much as possible, why can’t I have a perfectly normal Saturday afternoon like everybody else?”
Oh, but Loki likes the rapidfire way words come out of Stark’s mouth. He’ll keep Loki busy, that much is certain. He goes to Stark and sits down on the floor across from him.
Stark watches him, eyes narrowed. “Four minutes.”
“Very well,” Loki says. He takes a breath. “A bond as we have it is a connection between a god and their Favourite follower, an ancient and sacred way to make sure they can stay together as long as they wish. A god may have many worshippers, but only a single bond. I chose you as my Favourite because you are my favourite, and because I knew you would be too curious to leave me in that cell, and because Odin is not allowed to keep us away from each other, which means that either he has to let me stay here with you or take you to Asgard as well when he takes me. The latter would mean making Midgard his enemy, given that you are rather popular on this planet and have allies that would surely lend you their assistance, so it is rather unlikely that he will take us both. As long as the bond is intact, you will not die of natural causes, and you should have a vague idea of where I am and how I am doing at any given time. You can draw on my power if I let you, and I will protect you against everything and everyone, no matter the cost. Our bond is not reversible, but we may part from each other should we wish to do so. I assume we’ll both get on each other’s nerves quite a lot in the next centuries, so I’d suggest we make our peace with that as soon as possible. As to why you can’t have a perfectly normal Saturday afternoon, I’m not sure, but it might have something to do with your own curiosity and utter inability to stay out of trouble.”
Stark stares at him.
Loki clears his throat. “Was that all?”
“You know,” Stark says slowly. He sounds like he is thinking very hard. “Okay. Just to make sure I got this right, I can leave you if I want to. I can kick you out.”
“Yes.”
“And if I don’t want to stay with you, Odin can take you to Asgard and cut off your pretty head.”
“Yes, and thank you.”
“So you’re royally fucked if I don’t play along.”
“Precisely,” Loki says, plucking a lint from his pants. “What you said earlier today is also true. You may demand I make reparations for what I did to you and your planet. And for defenestrating you. My apologies for that, it will not happen again.”
Stark shakes his head. He wipes a hand over his face. “Right, okay. I need a drink. You want one?”
Loki looks at him, surprised.
“What?” Stark snorts and gets up. “There’s only so much magical bullshit I can deal with while being completely fucking sober. You’ll explain this in much greater detail as soon as I’ve got a scotch in me.”
He walks off and returns soon after with two glasses. Loki hasn’t moved an inch. Stark stops next to him and offers him a glass, raising a brow.
Loki takes it slowly. Carefully. “Does that mean you’re willing to play along?”
“It means I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt,” Stark corrects. He sits down again. “Because I haven’t felt this good since that cave, and I don’t know where you were before you started your wanna-be conqueror act, but I know it was a dark place and I want to make sure I never have to go there.” He falls silent for a moment, looking into his glass. When he continues, there’s no bravado left in his voice. “Or you.”
“Me?”
“I don’t want you to go back. I want you to be safe.” He gives Loki a crooked grin before he raises the glass to his lips to take a sip. “Weird, right?”
“Not nearly as weird as you think,” Loki says, softly. He wants Stark to be safe, too, more than anything. “The bond goes both ways.”
Stark doesn’t say anything to that. They drink, and they talk, and eventually Stark goes back to work. He should sleep, but he’s almost vibrating out of his skin, Loki can tell, so he lets him work. Loki himself hasn’t slept in ages, either, and when Stark points him to the sofa in one corner of the workshop, Loki doesn’t protest. He curls up on his side there, and falls asleep to the sound of Stark’s tinkering.
When he wakes up, he’s surprised to find that someone threw a blanket over him.
-
They spend their days in the workshop. Stark is still wary, and his tongue is sharp enough to stun even Loki sometimes, but his curiosity gets the better of him, just like Loki hoped it would. True to his word, Stark has a million questions about everything, from the bond over Loki's magic to the World Tree, and Loki answers every single one of them. He quickly picks up on how Stark uses his workshop and takes to using it in the same way, although the data and images he procures are emerald green, not blue. They talk and they tinker and they argue, and in between their conversations, Stark is on the phone and makes a fool out of everyone who even dares to suggest that taking Loki in wasn't the wisest course of action.
Stark knows that himself.
Thor comes by once, twice, but eventually, he leaves them be. Even he isn't so stupid as to interfere with a bond; the Norns wouldn't like that at all. Several times, Stark drags Loki back to New York and orders him to repair this or that with magic, or take a look at something the Chitauri left behind, or once - and this is Loki's Favourite - threaten that tedious man called Fury into leaving them alone. Loki does it all without complaint. Well, mostly. They complain a lot, the both of them. Their arguments have long turned into banter.
Loki wants to stay.
-
"I can tell when you do that, you know."
Loki hums, low in his throat, and puts a hand on the desk in front of them. He's looking over Anthony's shoulder, practically trapping him on his chair between Loki's body and the desk, and Loki wants him closer still.
"I think you need to fix something here," he says, pointing at a spot on the screen. "It's not quite right, is it?"
"I'll deal with it in a second," Anthony says. "Did you hear what I said?"
Loki turns his head to look at him and finds Anthony already staring at him. There's no annoyance in his eyes, only a knowing look that says, very clearly, that he isn't buying Loki's innocent act. Loki never thought that he would like someone being able to see through him so easily, but somehow, he does.
"I did hear, yes," he says. "Does it bother you, then?"
"Uh, well, it's weird. You don't have to keep doing it."
"It was just a small blessing, pet."
"Not your pet," Anthony says, but Loki has been calling him pet for a few weeks now, and by now the complaint sounds like an afterthought. "I don't need your mojo to get my work done, alright? I mean it's nice that you want to help and all, thanks for that and hallelujah or whatever, but I can do it on my own."
"You don't have to."
"Huh?"
"You don't have to do it on your own." Loki puts his hand on Anthony's shoulder. "I am here. I'm aware you don't need my help, and your thoughts and ideas are all still yours, and yours alone. I don't give them to you."
"But you're in my head." Before Loki can say anything, Anthony glares and adds, "No, I know you are. You know about half of my ideas before I tell you about them."
"And you know about mine," Loki reminds him. He looks at Anthony for a while, thinking. "There is a difference between doing something yourself and doing something on your own. I simply keep you company, in a way."
"Okay, sure, but your company feels like -" Anthony's gaze flits to Loki's mouth. He swallows. "I don't know. Like caffeine when I haven't slept in two days."
Loki can't keep from grinning. "Is that a problem?"
"No." Anthony sighs and turns back to the computer. "I guess not."
Loki runs a careful hand through Anthony's hair. The strands are soft between his fingers, and all Loki wants is to touch more of him - all of him. Anthony lets out a soft, barely audible noise of surprise, but he doesn't move away. Loki lightly scratches Anthony's scalp and feels something warm and sweet echo through their bond.
"It's nice, isn't it?" he murmurs. "To know that you're not alone?"
Loki hears it himself, the desperate tone hidden somewhere in his voice, and he can tell right away that Anthony heard it, too. His eyes soften. He leans into Loki's touch and prays. He doesn't, will never do it like many others would, there are no hymns or ardent praises, no terrified awe, no blind deference. He thinks about Loki like he thinks about his work, like he is something solid and real and imperfect, but cherished nonetheless. Something he can take apart and put back together with careful, nimble hands. There is a staggering amount of affection, the desire to protect, and Loki could listen to him for centuries.
"I'm not used to it," Anthony says softly. "That's all."
"I'll let you work," he says, and if his voice cracks a little, well. He's not used to not being alone, either.
He leans down to kiss Anthony's cheek - the first time, but not the last, he hopes - and goes to the sofa to pick up his book.
-
They sleep in separate rooms. If they sleep at all, that is. Loki has one of several guest rooms in the mansion, and he often lies awake and listens to the sea. He waits, and waits, and waits, and in another room Anthony tosses and turns and waits as well.
The wait isn't endless, thankfully.
Loki knows that Anthony will come to him as soon as Anthony makes the decision. Not much later, the door to Loki's room opens slowly, quietly. Anthony is in loose pants and a t-shirt that's illuminated by the device in his chest, a dim blue light spilling into the room.
Loki sits up in bed, waiting. He holds his breath. Anthony hesitates for a moment longer, but then -
"I can't sleep," he mutters, annoyed, and shuffles into the room.
Loki holds out a hand, and without further ado Anthony climbs into Loki's bed. He takes Loki's hand, stays on his knees next to him. His calloused fingers curl around Loki's and don't let them go. He lets out a breath.
"It's strange," he whispers. "I feel like I know you."
Loki smiles. "You do. I've been living with you for a few months."
"No, I -" Anthony reaches out with his other hand and cups Loki's face. "Not like that. More like - like everything's finally right, now that you're here."
Loki turns his head to kiss Anthony's palm. "Yes."
"Yes?" Anthony laughs, brief and quiet. "Just yes?"
"Yes," Loki says again.
"It's nonsense, though, right? I wasn't -" Anthony cuts himself off. His hand moves down to Loki's chest, grasping his shirt. "You weren't - waiting. For me. Before you saw me. It could have been someone else, right?"
Loki studies Anthony's face in the near darkness. It's the first time Loki sees fear on his face, actual fear, and he doesn't like it.
"This is - you are - the only one that I will ever have," Loki says, slowly. "Do you think I could have chosen anyone else?"
Anthony's grip on Loki's shirt tightens. "I don't want you to choose someone else."
Loki shakes his head and grabs Anthony by his hips to pull him close. "I won't."
"You can't."
"I wouldn't want to even if I could." Loki sighs and presses his lips to Anthony's forehead. "It's you. I knew it would be you as soon as I saw you."
Anthony kisses him, then. He's eager and hungry, and Loki melts against him. He doesn't protest when Anthony pushes him onto his shoulders and straddles his hips. Anthony is already hard, Loki can feel it, and it has him breathless and wanting, reaching for Anthony's hips to pull him closer against him.
"Oh, no," Anthony says, his voice so low it's almost a growl. He grabs Loki's wrists and pins them to the bed on either side of Loki's head. He's out of breath, but that doesn't seem to stop him from glaring down at Loki. "No. I've been - you turned my whole fucking life upside down, do you know that? Do you have any idea?"
Loki could easily free his hands out of the mortal's grip, but he doesn't. Not yet. Maybe not ever. He smirks. "I like to believe I changed it for the better. You were terribly lonely, after all."
"Yes, right, you did this out of the sheer goodness of your heart," Anthony drawls. "Bullshit. You did it to save your ass. And that's fine, no hard feelings, I get it, but this - this is mine, too. You're mine."
"Yes."
"Yes, and I won't fucking let you - wait. What?"
Loki arches a brow. "You're right, pet. I am yours. Both ways, remember?" He wriggles his hands, but still makes no move to free them. "What will you do to me, now that you have me?"
Anthony lets go of his hand to take hold of his chin, his fingers pressing almost painfully against Loki's jaw. He's praying again, filled with so much want and possessiveness that Loki's breath catches in his throat.
"This isn't a game," Anthony says, calm and cold. "I'm with you, but you've got to earn it. You won't make plans without me. You won't keep secrets from me. You won't leave me behind. Because if you do, I'll make you regret it. You know I will."
"Yes, love," Loki says, and he means it, he does.
"Yes." Anthony's voice sounds dark and pleased, but the touch of his hand softens. "That's right. Now keep your hands where they are. I've been wanting to suck you off for weeks."
Loki has to laugh, but he does keep his hands where they are.
-
"You're praying again," Loki murmurs later, stroking Anthony's hair.
"I'm not."
"Yes. You're thinking about me."
Anthony sighs and buries his face in the crook of Loki's neck. "I'm always thinking about you."
"I know. A lovely form of worship, coming from a mind like yours."
"Yeah, yeah, hallowed be your name. Go to sleep."
Loki smiles.