[TWIG] Chapter 2/14: The coffee song

[terresdebrume]

TITLE: The way it goes
FANDOM: Marvel’s MCU
SERIES: Standing on tiptoes (1/3)
RATING: Teen and Up
PAIRING(S): FrostIron
CHARACTER(S): Loki, Tony Stark, Thor, Odin, Frigga, Farbauti, Laufey, cameos by multiple others.
GENRE: Alternate Universe (Ballet)
TRIGGER WARNING(S): None, although there is some mildly explicit description of violence in the first few chapters.
SUMMARY: Loki is a ballet dancer juggling between two (or three, or possibly four) different lives. Tony Stark is an engineer's son who goes into theatric props to piss his father off. Then they meet, and worlds collide.

STANDING ON TIPTOES ON LJ: [Series masterpost] Chapter 1


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Loki

Two or three nights after the first measuring session, Tony Stark comes back to the theatre with several sheets of paper rolled in his fist and the face of someone who just swallowed a lot of sour lemon.

“Bad day,” Loki says as he comes down from the stage, and it’s not really a question.

“Au contraire, mon cher,” Stark replies bitterly, “who doesn’t love to spend the day being told how much they suck, uh?”

Loki represses a sympathetic wince because, honestly, he so doesn’t want to go there, with anyone. Instead of commenting, he gestures for Tony to spread the sketches he brought on a nearby plank that’s used as a table for now.

“I’m impressed by your drawing skills,” he says with an eyebrow raised. “I almost expected stick figures.”

“Ha, fucking ha. Anybody ever told you how funny you’re not?”

“I’ll have you know, there are people who know me only as Silvertongue.”

“A very interesting nickname, if you ask me.”

“Not on the first date, Stark.”

“I thought it was Tony? And besides, it’s not our first date.”

“Because it isn’t a date at all.”

“Oh come on,” Tony insists (and Loki has to force his lips not to curve upward), “there’s low light, music, we’re both sweaty… looks like the end of a date to me.”

“Am I to assume your dates often include the presentation of… what is that?”

Loki pulls the sheet of paper away from Tony before the other man can make a grab for it, and he looks at the design with what he can only guess is a horrified expression.

“Nothing,” Tony says.

“I hope for your sake that you don’t intend to make this into an actual outfit, because I am warning you that I will not wear a helmet with goat horns!”

“It’s nothing, okay wasn’t supposed to be here, just give it back!”

But Loki, used to chasing the air for his possessions (who wouldn’t be, after a childhood spent with Thor and his friends?) escapes him once again and hops effortlessly on the stage, for once relishing the idea of being the youngest.

Half an hour later, they collapse on the stairs at the back of the theatre until Coulson, the choreograph, calls for Loki to stop behaving like a badly trained pup and get your ass down here, Laufeyson!

“See you next round,” Tony says cockily.

Tony

In Tony’s eyes, it starts with this: one morning, after yet another late business dinner with his father (and frankly, yuk) he simply forgets to wake up.

This leads to preparing for the outside world later than usual, which leads to popping at the coffee shop a good five hours later than usual, at about two, to be precise. Tony hasn’t taken time to shave, because he’s not going to the office today (he’s going to be lectured again anyways, he might as well indulge in a spontaneous holiday while he’s at it) and he kept to glasses instead of contacts for the same reasons.

The world is still blurry though, but he can’t quite decide if it is due to the remnants of saliva on the glass (thank you Jarvis) or to the pounding headache that is currently howling for caffeine between his temples.

Tony spots the tall figure in the queue before his vision has finished adjusting, and he produces his best non-caffeinated approximation of a smile as he approaches the dancer.

“Didn’t know pet wolves were back in fashion,” he says in his customary (sort of) morning economy of word (and soft voice. Wouldn’t want to upset that headache.)

“Starting a trend,” Loki replies in the same fashion, dark sunglasses hiding the superior half of his face. “Didn’t think you’d go for a pure breed.”

“Great Danes are as friendly as any bastards, I assure you,” Tony replies good-naturedly. “By the way, Jarvis, this is Loki and uh….”

“Fenrir.”

“Is he really a wolf then?”

“Utonagan dog. Looks the same, trains easier.”

Tony nods as though he were a great expert on dogs (when, in fact, Jarvis was more or less dumped on him a month ago and he’s been improvising his whole education ever since. He counts himself lucky that the dog seems to like him well enough to refrain from gnawing on every surface available, but he honestly doesn’t know what he’ll do when it grows more than it already has.)

Tony and Loki both stay silent as they wait for the queue to move toward the counter, as the shop is apparently packed, and settle to watch their respective dogs size each other. Jarvis, adorable pup that he is, has apparently decided that a nap was in order, while Fenrir (who is a full grown animal) hovers restlessly around his master, occasionally stopping to nuzzle at Jarvis’ ribs, or sniff the hem of Tony’s pants, his tail curiously wagging the whole time.

Tony swallows a chuckle when he realizes that Loki and himself are acting in the exact opposite from their companions: while the dancer hasn’t moved a single muscle from his model-like posture (which, Tony might add, he manages to make look entirely natural, how unfair is that?) Mr. Stark junior has been tapping a steady rhythm on the floor and along his thigh.

Nobody seems to notice, however, and Loki graciously lets him step forward when it is finally their turn to order.

“Good morning Miss Potts, beacon of my day,” he says in his usual flirtatious tones. “You look even brighter than usual, did you do something with your hair?”

“What can I get you Mr. Stark,” Pepper asks, directing a roll of her eyes to the queue behind Tony (he doesn’t mind, she’s got to make the crowd keep their patience) and Tony smiles:

“So dismissive, didn’t you even miss me this morning?”

“I was too busy relishing an improvised holiday… which you just crashed, by the way. What can I get you?”

“My usual, with cheesecake and your number.”

“Phone numbers of the employees aren’t on the card, Mr. Stark. Are you sitting in today?”

“Yes, but I’m disappointed.”

“You’ll survive, Mr. Stark. Next please!”

Tony chuckles, invigorated as he is by a good (sort of) morning flirt and goes by the second counter to wait on his drink (Grande black coffee, extra strong).

“Hi,” he hears Pepper say when Loki steps up to the till, “Grande mocha, extra cream, extra sugar and sprinkles?”

“Sit-in with a brownie and the morning paper,” Loki agrees, and Tony turns back toward the till, where Fenrir’s tail is wagging happily as Pepper scratches his head.

“Didn’t know you were a regular,” Tony says when Loki joins him at the waiting counter.

“Obviously, we don’t live with the same hours.”

“Obviously,” Tony agrees as they both retrieve their beverages.

He follows Loki upstairs to a small stall he never saw (usually, when he sits-in, he stays at street level) and they sit next to a window with view on the park while Jarvis settles down at Tony’s feet and Fenrir sits next to Loki’s leg, looking around curiously.

“So, Tony continues after they’ve both taken a sip of their drinks and Loki had enough time to look at his newspaper properly, “this is breakfast to you?”

“Yes,” Loki answers, pushing his sunglasses up his nose to rest on his slicked-back hair. “I perform after the rehearsals so it’s better to have weird hours than lack sleep.”

“Ah, you’re the kind of guy who cares about his health a lot.”

“A dancer is essentially a professional sportsman. Of course we care about our health.”

“Hence the overly rich drink.”

“I have a fast metabolism, and I exercise more than enough to make up for it.”

Tony nods in concession, and asks:

“You said you performed. What kind of show?”

“Depends of the nights,” Loki shrugs. “Usually I just play. Some nights I sing, others I dance. I like to think of myself as a polyvalent artist.”

“I can imagine,” Tony says. “And where is it you do that?”

“Do you want to see it?” Loki asks, sounding almost surprised.

“Why not,” Tony shrugs. “Could be interest… Damnit Jarvis! Why is it every time you wake up you feel the need to pee on my shoes?!”

Across the table, Loki is chuckling into his drink, and Fenrir moves from his spot to nuzzle at Jarvis’ face, as though to console him from his master’s heated words.

It takes a while but eventually Tony manages to mostly empty his shoes, even though he knows now that he’ll have to go back home and change them.

“You should carry him,” Loki says later when they retrieve their respective jackets (and the leather really does suit him), “Great Dane pups don’t react well to over-exercising. Gives them joints problems.”

“Oh. Well.” Tony sighs and lifts and eyebrow at Jarvis: “You ruined my shoes already, what’s a shirt in comparison, right?”

“Just be happy it’s not solid,” Loki tells him, and Tony scrunches his nose.

They have to part ways when they come out of the shop, each having their own appointments (even though Tony is mostly planning to ignore his).

“So, about this show of yours?” Tony asks before Loki walks away.

“We’re in hiatus right now, but I’ll let you know when we pick it up if you want.”

“Great,” Tony approves. “See you tomorrow for the fitting then.”

Loki nods, with a slight curve to his lips, and then he jogs across the street, Fenrir dutifully following without even the slightest need to tug on his leash.

Later, when his father reaches the five-minutes mark (paragraph three, point b) on his reprimand for not showing up, Tony tunes out and thinks about the easy banter Loki and he managed to keep up during their whole breakfast-slash-lunch conversation.