Work Text:
In a world full of temporary things,
You are a perpetual feeling.
1—
On Asgard
Carding his hands through his lover’s untamed hair, Loki felt peace as he had never known it before. Anthony hummed contently, wiggling around in Loki’s lap, trying to find a better place to read his letters, asking for new weapons or whether his hand was still available for marriage.
Loki squinted at the letters, attempting to quelch the kindling of jealousy in his heart. It had been made clear to him, loud and excessive so, that Anthony considered himself as his. Lover. Partner. Criminal. His miscreant. Perhaps his conscience too, when Loki forgot where he’d put his, as he was disregarded once more by his father and his brother, and turmoil brought him to an edge he didn’t wish to tumble off.
They were both shy of eight hundred years. Old enough to know that there was more to life than drinking until your head hammered in the next morning, but young enough to realise that it didn’t hurt too much either to enjoy feasts and hunts.
“You stopped,” Anthony stated, simple.
“It is nothing,” Loki replied, not wishing to trouble his love with unfounded worries and his thoughts. They had the weekend for themselves. No Thor. No duties. The only matter they had to take care of was to acquire substance when they were done in bed, so Loki could lure his lover deeper into his arms, unwilling to ever let go of him. His feelings for Anthony run deep. He knew the same couldn’t be said yet for the man who squinted at him, before blessing him with his beatific smile that showed off his white teeth, the pink gums, and the dimples in his cheeks.
“Pondering the future,” he relented as his lover quirked an eyebrow.
“The future.” Anthony heaved a sigh. Put down his letters and looked up at him, a smile playing on the corners of his mouth. “Can’t it wait while we enjoy the weekend?” He added a salacious wink, his hand raising up to fiddle with the hem of Loki’s collar. The message was clear.
“Indeed, I have been wondering when I would get to bend you over the table,” Loki fibbed, laughing.
Anthony nodded sincerely. “Ah yes. That’s a thought I’ll allow.”
Time passed. Slow, as it was tradition for Asgard and her people. Odin’s beard turned white like the snow, Frigga’s smile became softer around the edges as her boys apparently grew up, shedding youth’s immaturity like snakes. A new skin, still the same patterns.
Loki would never dare to claim Thor was in any way wise.
He was gullible. Naïve. Easy to direct if one had got familiar with his temper and the tantrums he loved to throw. Always hidden, so that their parents would be none the wiser as the time neared and one of them would be named heir.
Anthony sat in his forge, content to make new blades. Fit another shoe to a horse. Banter with a customer, press his mouth to Loki’s when they retired to bed together, never growing too tall as that he couldn’t fit under Loki’s chin anymore as they wrapped the furs around their bodies, eyes closed in bliss.
Though their peace shattered when Odin announced his decision, planning to put the crown atop Thor’s head.
On one hand, Loki wasn’t surprised. It had been clear to him for a long time that his role would be the one of an advisor; his tongue sharp and more settled in reality than Thor could ever hope to achieve. While Thor had friends who praised and fawned all over him, let his ego swell until Asgard surely would bend her knee one day beneath its heavy weight, Loki had Anthony’s sceptic glances when he went too far. He was grateful that his lover was also his best friend, not hesitating a second to call him stupid when Loki deserved it.
But on the other hand, the decision hurt. It made Loki wonder if all his efforts had been for naught, to prove himself to father that he was wiser. That he was the one with the calm head, the steady hand on a sword though he preferred knives and his seiðr. Thor, who was ready to slay their allies in Vanaheim if they were a day too late with their payments. Thor, who believed wholeheartedly that any disagreement had to be settled with violence.
It didn’t exactly shatter something in Loki. But something changed inside of him, and he wasn’t sure how he was to repair it. Why repair, when it was clear as the night that he was the only one who could stop Asgard from being run into ruin? He was maybe a thousand years old, but he had no desire to spend the next centuries in battles because Thor hadn’t known better, hadn’t listened to Loki’s counsel once.
What Loki craved was to go to court, to best others there, to flyte with other Æsir until they were both spent. To return to his chambers, join Anthony in the bath and press a kiss to his nape, just under the ear where he liked it so. He planned to ask soon if he was inclined to entwine their souls together, make it official that no other could step between them anymore. That they were more than a prolonged shield brothers affair.
To imagine, waking up one day and Anthony’s clothes being gone. The scent of iron no longer to be found in his rooms, that the smile he’d grown to adore so much, would no longer be directed at him, the mischievous glimmer in these soulful eyes not for Loki to savour anymore— The bed cold, the furs too broad and too hot for one. Gloomy silence, in his chambers.
All these thoughts ruminated around in Loki’s head as he prepared to betray his brother and rob him of his greatest day. Only for a little while though. Not forever. Only until he’d learned three lessons or a dozen more, when their parents had come to their senses.
His hands shook as he struggled to find a pathway to Jötunheim.
But it had to be done, crumbs had to be strewn for his plan to come to fulfilment.
And when it was done, when the danger of Thor being king had been thwarted, and Loki paid his respect and lent Thor his shoulder to let his manly tears fall on it, then he would find Anthony. Ask him for his hand. Beg for forgiveness for his latest, cold behaviour. It was the last he ever wanted to do, but his commitment to treason made him wary, see dangers when there were none, and questioned every word spoken in his direction.
“You are a paranoid bastard,” Anthony had told him, anger in his voice. “Do you really think I would sneak after you just because you are gone for days without telling me where you go?”
“No.”
“And you don’t even blush when you lie into my face.” Anthony sneered. “If you are bored of my company, have the balls to tell me that.”
“I am not—”
“Is there someone else?” Anthony asked, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Someone you enjoy fucking me? Is it that?”
“Never,” Loki swore fervently, stepping forward carefully. He knew his behaviour was out of control, he was unpleasant most of the days because he had to make dealings with Jötnar, may the Norns shit on their heads and let their skin dry under the sun.
“Anthony,” he tried again. “I am dealing with—” Oh could he trust his love with his secret? To live with, and die with the fact that he committed treason against their king, and everything Anthony stood for?
Similar to Loki, a hot and fervent passion for Asgard run in Anthony’s blood. They had grown up here, taken their first steps on Asgard’s roads, made their first friends and loves here, found each other and after a drink too many, heaved dry over the drunken bridge that led over the ocean.
“It is something I have to see done,” Loki said roughly. “But it is over soon and I will return to you once more as the man you know. But be assured, there is nobody else.”
Anthony squinted at him. “I was starting to suspect your horse with how often you go on a ride lately. If you have a craving for horse cock, I will judge, Loki.”
In response, Loki gawked. Shook his head. “No. No.”
“Good, because I am too young to be a father.” Anthony rolled his eyes once before he became serious again. “You promise that this has an end? I’m—” he fiddled with his shirt once, twice before he looked back up to Loki. “There is only so much that I’m willing to bear, Loki. As much as I love you.”
Love, Loki’s traitorous mind whispered and he had in mind to propose to Anthony just right here and there. But the timing would be terrible and he’d only go down in history as the spurned lover who could not read signs.
“I promise,” he replied fervently, stepped forward and took Anthony in his arms.
He still fit into them splendidly, not an inch too tall, nor two too small.
Loki believed in his words. He believed in the common sense of his parents.
But he was— mistaken about many, many things.
While the Jötnar did attempt to get into the Vault, interrupted the coronation and saved Asgard (somewhat) from ruin, it didn’t end there. Thor was in the now void feast room, tossed a table, apples spilled over the floor and pouted oh so mighty. Loki didn’t have to do much, merely said a few consoling words, perhaps they were littered with a promise of retribution but if that was the case, then nobody had to know except for him and the Norns.
On Jötunheim, his hand turned blue when a Jötun grabbed him. Odin shared a painful truth with him. This time, something actually did shatter in Loki and Thor was banished too.
This was not what he had wanted. Though Gungnir felt like she belonged in his hands, the spear solid under his grip and it was the first real thing Loki felt since everything had spiraled out of control, chaos calling them all under and if Ragnarök came next, then Loki would be too tired to find an ounce of surprise in his bones.
He was king. He had to lead. Odin was asleep.
Anthony stared at him from the floor, kneeling to him in submission and unlike Thor’s friends, Loki had the feeling that he meant it. Though there was something in Anthony’s stiff behaviour, that had Loki worried. Later, he promised himself. Later there would be time to address such troubles for now he had to console an exiled brother and bring peace to Asgard once more.
He worked himself to his bones. It was better to be awake than to give in to sleep and ponder the latest revelations. Family secrets, he scoffed mournfully in his head. Heimdall detested his skin, probably always had and as Loki watched Heimdall, frozen to ice, his blade mere inches from Loki’s throat, he could understand why. These times, Loki wasn’t sure if he liked himself an inch better than he liked the blue vermin.
Anthony lounged in the throne, a leg carelessly thrown over an armrest, eating grapes as he watched Loki come in.
The picture was quite lovely. If there was any time to be had, Loki would commission an artist to keep this image immortal.
As he came nearer, Anthony got up from the throne. Not a single word left his lips. But he was one of the people who could never stay silent, even when angered and wishing he could stay silent.
“Figured I’d try to take a look at you here, your majesty,” Anthony began, his voice cold, “since we are so busy that you can’t even stand to find me anymore when I am injured in the healing wing.”
Shock drained all colour from Loki’s face. “Are you inju—”
“I was.” Anthony put the graves down on the plate. “Thanks for the well-wishes, they were amazing. Had to think them up as you didn’t have time to show up, not even to get me back home. Not that I could find you in your chambers either but as a king, we are quite busy now, are we not?” The smile had too many teeth.
“Anthony, I am so sorry,” Loki asseverated. He looked his lover up and down, but found no scratch nor scar on his lovely skin. “Odin fell into the Odinsleep,” he told him as if that made anything better. It didn’t, not much.
“I know.” Anthony shrugged. “I searched for your mother when I couldn’t seem to find you. She was with him and told me what had transpired.”
Oh. Cold fear shook Loki to the core. Did that mean that Anthony was aware of the monster hiding under his false skin? Could he see the blue that was begging to be let on the surface, the red glint in Loki’s green eyes? Did he wonder whether the man he’d shared the bed with, was even real at all or all just a fancy pretense?
Loki surely did.
“See ya around.” Anthony clapped his shoulder on his way out as Loki stood there, still like a statue, his life flashing before his eyes.
He had to show Anthony he was an Ás.
It was the only thought he had in his head. The realms were under his fingertips and he— if all monsters were gone, then nobody could measure him to them. Then he would be Loki, and if nobody else knew, nobody would think of the Jötnar at some point, as any more than just old tales same as they did with the Dark Elves already.
Yes. He would prove himself.
With that, Loki went to work again, throwing himself into his plans with renewed vigour.
But in the end, it was unfortunate timing.
Wasn’t it that every so often with Loki?
Anthony was there when Thor accused him. When Thor fought him, spilled every little secret Loki had kept close to his heart, and Anthony heard it all. Accused him of every crime possible and made short work of his attempt to save Asgard.
He didn’t have to say anything. His disappointment hurt more than anything else could and as he turned his back on him, leaving to pack his things, Loki presumed with a numb heart, he saw no reason anymore to hold off the monster inside him.
But even the monster wasn’t enough to feed him with enough strength to hold onto Thor’s arm. He hurt enough.
And perhaps, the abyss would have a need for him.
2—
On Midgard
He was alone. Alone, but never so alone that his thoughts were his only.
It didn’t matter, as nobody took notice.
Nobody knew him on Midgard and it felt nice to see the Midgardians fall under his knife, some under his thrall.
But he had use now. Purpose.
He had been taught it was better not to think. Everything had been handed to him, he only had to hand over the realm, a pretty trinket, and the staff when he was finished.
Midgard could burn for all that Loki cared. Nothing on this realm held anything of importance to him. There were only rats, rats and vermin, as it crawled around everywhere, and Loki walked. Nothing had to remind him of Asgard.
The Avengers, as his thrall had told him, were an idea but nothing more. They were born to squabble and Loki thrived in causing discord. He would test their mettle. Have some fun. Maybe kill some. Possibly sacrifice them to the Titan and his courtship. Maybe someone else would find happiness with love, though Loki would rather refer to it as a curse. It made one blind to faults, to what went on around them, content with happiness as though there wasn’t more to life than that. Take his grandfather, for example. The Ás one. He raided, plundered, and stole and killed. Everybody praised him. There’d been offspring. He kept on doing as he wished, multiplying his reputation.
For the next step in his plan, he visited a town in another country.
The idea was quick. Get an eye, open a door for his thrall. Let himself be captured, make them feel superior when all they did was following his plan, and in the last act of wonderful terror, destroy everything.
“Kneel before me,” Loki bade the mortals who had long forgotten how to worship their gods. Brains smaller and dumber than it should be feasibly possible, but they had enough grips left inside their heads to do as he asked. He smiled. Carried on as planned, bidding time for the heroes to appear as he entertained himself.
A brief battle with one of them. Loki was so secure of his win, so confident—
The blast took him by surprise.
“Make your move, Reindeer Games.”
He raised his hands in a show of surrender as his thrall had taught him.
“Good move.”
The man in armour. At least, he’d had his fight now and they could proceed. Why the hurry, Loki wasn’t sure but there was more carnage to sew. More damage. More everything, that helped him to ignore the aching hollowness inside of him. For all his great words, Loki longed. He hated.
He missed him.
The Avengers seemingly had called it a day. Carrying on as usual as they got him to their vessel of choice, bringing him to the Beast. Oh, it was lovely to see them doing exactly as planned.
The only surprise was Thor. But Loki took the break for his back to recover from the fall, and then Iron Man and Thor sorted it out between them as Loki did nothing but watch.
He felt someone’s gaze burning in his back when he was escorted back to their plane, as he learned from the conversation between Thor and Iron Man. He watched the Avengers, listened to them. Thor was his brother and seeing him again for the first time in… years–what was time but dust between your fingers?–made him want to smash his face into a pie.
Shake him until he told Loki where he was, and why he wasn’t with Thor. With a dry chuckle Loki realised he must have been right. That being a monster had been the last and final thread for Anthony, and decided there was no good in him, not enough to stay—
He paced restlessly in his cage.
All he touched, was doomed to ruin. It was better if he wasn’t in the picture anymore. Seeing how Thor had thrived in his absence, not looking a day more mature but yet, more obedient than ever to Odin—
Steps were coming his way.
Loki stopped in his pacing, listening intently.
The door slid open with a soft hiss. The steps were too heavy for it to be the spy but too light for Thor. The Odin-duplicate, then? He doubted it was the beast.
“Long time no see, Loki.”
His innards froze as he recognised the voice.
“What, you can’t even turn around to say hello back to me?”
“Maybe I don’t wish to see your face again,” Loki said to the glass wall that held him here.
“Aw, and I took extra care to style my hair, since you made sure you are rocking this whole sleeked back thing with yours,” Anthony mocked behind him. “Turn around, asshole.”
Loki did. Not because he was told to but because he needed to see. Just, to make sure this wasn’t another temptation created by The Other, to see if he was still so weak and an embarrassment they’d found tumbling through space.
It was Anthony. Truly. Wholly. Beautiful.
His hair was longer, now. Styled to appear more Midgardian, the beard actually trimmed well and into a different shape. Clothes that only were found here. But it was still the same smirk on these lips that Loki knew better than his own, the same hard-glinting eyes and the same relaxed posture. Only the anger, that was new.
“You,” he breathed.
“Me,” Anthony confirmed, pulling a device out of his pockets. Tapped it a few times, put it back. “They’re not listening in, now.”
Loki didn’t know what to say. Gazed. Got his fill, relearned how Anthony looked. What had changed. He cringed, feeling weak. Feeling The Other’s curiosity awoken, a faint stirring somewhere in the back of his mind but he couldn’t pay heed to him.
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” Anthony eventually said. His voice, shaken, though well-masked but Loki knew him better than the books in his private library. “Not after Thor told me you were— gone.”
Loki sneered, overcome by anger all of a sudden. “How convenient for you it must have been,” he spat. “To be rid of your monstrous lover so quick, not needing an explanation. And see what you have done whilst I was gone—” He cocked his head to the side. “You became a hero to these ants.”
“Better than their sworn enemy,” Anthony replied evenly. He shrugged. “I don’t have to explain myself to you, Loki. I was told of your death and I left too.” A deep breath.
His words stung in Loki’s heart. Not a word of that he searched for me. Cried. It was as if he was speaking to another Thor, who claimed Asgard had mourned him while they surely had continued as if nothing had happened, because why would the loss of a runt mean anything to anyone? Not even his lover had stayed. Didn’t wish to explain himself either. Didn’t ask. Merely presumed and carried on.
“Midgard is my home now,” Anthony continued softly, “I can’t let you have it.”
“I see.”
“No, I don’t think you do.” His arch-enemy spoke with a gentleness Loki didn’t wish to hear. Rather, he would have him scream obscenities at him. Yell at him. Curse him. Hate him. Leave him again.
“I know you have another ace up your sleeve, Loki. It wouldn’t be you if that wasn’t the case—”
Oh, he knew him so well. May it be his downfall, Loki cursed inside his mind, clutching at every ounce of madness he harboured in his chest and directing him at the man in front of him.
“I won’t let you win,” Anthony told him. “But I’m offering you the chance now to tell me what is going on and I will let you go, or—”
“I don’t need your pathetic offering!” Loki revelled in the man’s flinch. “Begone before I leave this cage and tear off every limb on your body.”
His heart cracked. Bravado was one thing but to threaten the person who Loki had thought to spend all his life’s evenings with? He was despicable.
Anthony clapped his hands. “You made your bed, honey. Again, I might add.” He turned, the sight of his back achingly familiar to Loki. But before he crossed the threshold, he stopped, turned around a last time and Norns, Loki was weak in his knees, considering begging for the man to open the cage and capture him in his arms once more.
“Sure you don’t want to tell me anything?”
Loki shook his head.
Anthony heaved a sigh. Then he left.
The encounter changed everything for Loki. Not for the best, he would tell himself as his heart was beating against his ribcage. But he— perhaps, he had a chance to make it up to Anthony, prove anew he was not a monster even when all signs indicated that he was. Lose the battle. Hand Midgard over to him. Almost fully functional, with only a few scratches and a minimal death toll.
That would please him surely, no?
The truth was, Loki didn’t care for fame if he could find warmth in brown eyes again. Playing the monster was fun but he had got a taste of happiness before and he craved to have it again.
If Anthony had found peace here, Loki would give it to him. Make sure he would never forget. Make sure he never forgot about Loki. Maybe— Find mercy in his hardened heart and search him out.
Losing on purpose wasn’t something Loki had done often. Victories made his blood flow faster. But Anthony—
For him.
Their banter was quick and sharp, as usual. Enjoyable to the fullest.
Yet, Loki couldn’t deny himself the pleasure and toss Anthony out of the window of his home. It was insulting, that the other had already found a new one and was so at ease here. Nothing indicated he missed Loki, nothing here resembled Asgard, not even a simple cup was from home. Tony Stark was a man, loved and hated by Midgards equally but he’d risen to the top faster than midgardianly possible and become one of their finest.
If Loki wasn’t so hurt, he’d be proud of him.
Instead, he basked in the broken connection between him and The Other when the Beast cracked his spine.
“If it’s all the same to you,” Loki rasped as he tried to get up from the stairs, his back lamenting that he had to move already, “I’ll have that drink now.”
Let us share our stories now that I have given you peace, Loki begged silently.
To his delight, Anthony smirked.
But that was all.
Sobering. Really.
3—
Asgard’s Dungeon
For the first time in ages, Loki was left well and truly alone to his devices. Nobody was forced to share his cell with him, for he surely would have rammed their head into the floor repeatedly until their skull was split open and the white finally besmirched with another colour. He could sort his thoughts, made sense of what had transpired and happened to him. Regret all the possibilities he could have had, mourn for the best thing that had been in his life.
He hoped Anthony was doing well on Midgard.
He hoped he choked on his fine beverages that he’d piled up in his penthouse.
If Loki could turn back time, he would slap himself for his behaviour before Thor had been crowned. Talked some sense into himself and if that didn’t work, toss himself into the dark sea, maybe acquiring Heimdall’s help to make sure he would never be found.
Frigga shared the news with him, seldom did she let slip a word of Anthony. He lived here and there, mainly on Asgard because this place, Frigga had said, it hurt too much still and maybe Midgard now did that too for how torn he was. She’d given him a pointed glance.
He’d stared back, not one to be cowed in his own prison cell.
But he was alone, and loneliness didn’t suit him well in the long run. His temper grew foul, his words heated, and his patience was but a silken thread about to snap any second now. They fought.
And like many before her, Frigga left.
She did not return.
Strangers visited him, interrupting him in his daily reading routine. They did not let him out but this time, Loki felt a tickle of mischief, sending the enemy to the stairs that would lead him out of prison and towards the palace.
Hours later, and the cells fuller than Loki had ever seen them before, he received another visitor.
“We seem to happen like this fairly often,” he remarked dryly as he faced Anthony. His face was ashen. “Tell me, does it please you to see me here, caged like—”
“Please stop,” Anthony begged quietly. “And listen to me.”
Loki stopped abruptly, sensing that something truly had to be amiss for Anthony to be—
“In the attack earlier today,” Anthony began and as he continued, Loki saw white as he swayed on his spot. The news of Frigga’s death hit him hard. But his knees did not buckle under his weight.
“I’m sorry,” Anthony concluded. He sounded like he needed to have a hot both, Loki realised and he stared at him through the golden shimmer of the cell’s ward, swallowing heavily. A bath, a kiss, a distraction before they joined the funeral to bid the Queen farewell and sent her off to the stars.
Not a word managed to pass Loki’s lips.
“I’m— I couldn’t convince Odin to let you attend the funeral,” Anthony continued and he sounded distraught. Helpless. “He said you were too much of a risk. I don’t think— I can’t remember seeing him so furious before, Loki. He was about to send you off with her, I needed to stop, but I—”
“Be still,” Loki ordered him, calmer than he felt. His face tingled. “Thank you for the news.”
“Yeah, of course.” Anthony laughed, though it rang hollow. “Somebody should tell you, I figured. You were her son.”
I was her lie, Loki screamed silently. “You can leave.”
“Right. Need anything?” Anthony continued, bless his heart and his soul.
Loki shook his head, close to breaking down. Not all things had to be shared. The distance between them was too big to allow that.
He cried in silence. Raged as he destroyed the few possessions he had in his cell before eventually, he collapsed against the wall.
Then, his fourth visitor came.
4—
From afar, in the Avengers’ Tower
On Hliðsjalf Loki saw everything.
He saw as Thor brought Anthony the news of his heroic death.
He watched him stare emptily at the screens in his house before he turned the lights off in it.
The next day as the lights turned on again, Anthony was gone.
Loki did not look for him.
Too cowardly to see if Anthony mourned for him. Too weak to see him if he did because then he would leave the throne and never return.
He turned his look towards Asgard’s plights.
How had she been neglected.
5—
Somewhere, far, far away
After Thor had discovered his ruse, some yelling, some drinking, and Odin’s inconveniently timed death, Loki fled the scene.
He had his fill of Asgard, of the people, of everything. Even Thor annoyed him albeit he hadn’t seen him for years. But he had seen Anthony, given a little account of that he knew he was alive but had to go— The Avengers assumed, he’d left in the search for the Beast. Thor knew better.
Loki didn’t know what to feel.
On his rare days off, when he travelled to a place where his face wasn’t known, he’d searched for solace in the arms of others. Told his story, earned a few well-meant pieces of advice but there was little to be done about anything when he heard no whisper where Anthony was.
The universe was vast, the realms plenty, the people infinite.
Loki regretted he hadn’t told Anthony he was alive.
Maybe wisdom truly did come with age but he knew he might have missed his chance when he’d chosen to stay on Asgard, not leaving for Midgard immediately as soon as the chains had been off his hands. But Asgard had needed him, nobody else could have taken care of her. Loki had acknowledged on the throne that soon, the blood of Odin would rule no longer; the glorious days behind them all. There were no heirs. There was no other relative. Their family was fractured into many shards, too painful to pick them all up and knit them back together. Melancholy didn’t suit him but there was little distraction on a realm that refused to shake off the dust it had collected, content to wither away in its glory and fame.
He took a swing from his tankard, emptied it, slammed it back on the table.
No time to dwell on what was; Loki cast his eye around the room.
He did that every time he was out. The likelihood that he found Anthony here was slim but better to have some hope than none.
There—
His heart stumbled as he saw brown hair tips on a short man. The stature could be about right, it had been a few years after all. Loki’s heart was beating to his throat. He prayed that he was right.
The man turned, the third eye in the middle of his forehead the first give away that this wasn’t his Anthony. Forcing his gaze back to his now refilled tankard, Loki took another mighty sip.
One day he would see him again and not just in the silhouette of a stranger.
+1
The Smithy
Thor stormed into his rooms, unwilling to knock. The door flung open with a loud bang as it hit the wall.
“Brother, hurry!”
“Unfortunately, I am busy,” Loki drawled as he turned the page in his book.
“I promise you are not,” Thor told him tore the book from his hand. “Now. Get up. Come, come—”
He took hold of Loki’s hands, pulled him up from his couch and forced him after him, not caring that Loki stumbled over his legs as he tried to match Thor’s speed, surprised by the enthusiasm to get him out of his rooms.
“What is the matter, Thor?” he tried but to no avail.
They raced through the hallways, their steps loud on the marble floors as they aimed for the exit. The heavy, golden doors to the palace were open, the sun shone in the blue sky. The Einherjar stood guard next to the heavy doors, watching silently but Loki got the feeling, they were grinning.
The Einherjar knowing things never bode anything well for anybody. Particularly not for Loki.
“Unhand me!” Loki demanded, reaching the end of his limits as he was dragged around like a dog through town.
“Only if you swear by mother that you won’t flee.” Thor made him swear him.
“Fine,” Loki bit out. “I shall walk with you.”
His gut clenched as he realised where Thor was leading him to. It had been— quite a while since he’d indulged himself and visited what used to be Anthony’s forge. The rooms had been cleared out tidily of anything that had been of any worth, but the smell of Anthony had still lingered there. Loki still saw him using the anvil, hammering on the hot blade, sweat beads running down his back. His tongue used to stick out between his teeth when he concentrated.
Going back there had hurt the first two times.
It got better with time, as Loki realised that sometimes, things came to an end. He still treasured the memories of the time he’d had with Tony but everything had gone terribly amiss, he was not innocent in their anti-climactic ending either. If the Norns willed it so, their paths would intervene once more.
If not, then surely, they could catch up in Valhalla before the last battle began.
But—
Smoke rose from the chimney of the forge.
Could it be—?
Loki’s steps quickened and he passed Thor in his sudden hurry. He had to know, he had to—
He tore the door open, barged in without looking left and right. Cast his eyes around. Somewhere, there had to—
“Fancy meeting you here,” Anthony said, arms full of tools Loki didn’t know the name of. “Was wondering if I should meet you in the palace but I wanted to set everything back up here first.”
“I came as fast as I could,” Loki breathed, not quite believing his eyes.
There was a new kind of energy in Anthony. The eyes twinkled, the coldness was gone, instead— he smiled.
“Liar,” Anthony said fondly. “If Thor hadn’t forced you here, you would be in our rooms and still read, wouldn’t you?”
“Ah.” Loki smiled as he stepped forward, almost in trance. “Perhaps. But now that I am here before the customer has arrived to sweep you away in a sea of orders, I feel like I can say I got here first.”
Anthony hummed in agreement. “You look great,” he said warmly as they gazed at each other. Taking in the changes. Assessed the other.
Loki wanted nothing more than to kiss that stupid face.
“As do you.”
“Flatterer.” Anthony shook his head, turned around and dropped the weapons to the ground in a loud clirr. “So I know it’s been a while since we last met, and we both went our ways for a little while—”
“I tried finding you—”
“I know, Thor told me.” Anthony cut a grimace. “I was somewhere. No idea. Helped some people out who wanted to form a kind of Avengers-group thing in space. Got drunk. Mourned you once more, learned of your survival, sorted my head out.”
“You were busy, then.”
“You have no idea.” Anthony spread his arms. “So. New old home. What do you think of it so far? Like it?”
“A bit spartan,” Loki answered truthfully. “Your life in Midgard?” he inquired politely, though his insides burned to know.
“Dead.” A shrug. “You know how it is. People die. I couldn’t stay there any longer. Signed my things over to the friends I made. Gotta visit Pep and Rhodey sometime soon though. Been a few years now.”
Loki nodded, the fire inside him sated. “You’re planning to stay longer then?”
“Yeah.” Anthony cleared his throat. “There’s someone here, who I have business with. Weird fellow, that one. Plays dead every once in a while. Rather fucks things up than talk to his partner.”
Warmth spread through Loki. “I think he might happen to have business with you too.”
“Oh, does he now?” Anthony winked at him. “Make sure to tell him the first way of making contact is to kiss me. So I know it’s him after all these years. Maybe he got a new haircut. Or a tattoo. Who knows these days—"
He stopped with a breathless noise when Loki stepped forward, pulling Anthony in his arms. They still slot together as they’d done the first day, and he pulled him tighter against him as soon as he felt him go soft and didn’t resist the hug.
“That’s good too,” Anthony said muffled into his tunic.
“Yeah,” Loki said and closed his eyes, putting his chin atop Anthony’s head as he’d always done. “It is.”