[AO3 Crosspost] Keep calm, and pretend you're Batman

[terresdebrume]

✗ TECHNICAL DETAILS

FANDOM: Marvel’s MCU
SERIES: The Dots Verse
RATING: Mature
WORDCOUNT: 2 199
PAIRING(S): FrostIron
CHARACTER(S): Loki, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers
GENRE: Alternate Universe (Blind!Loki)
TRIGGER WARNING(S): None
SUMMARY: Loki lets Tony give him a gift.
NOTE(S): You know, that little moment in Dots when Tony and Loki speaks about Loki’s bike and Tony has an ~idea? Well there it is. Along with something else. The title was the one I used while working on it, because it wasn’t supposed to end like that, but weirdly enough, I still feel like it fits.

THE DOTS VERSE ON LIVEJOURNAL: [Series Masterpost]


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Night.

Day.

Day.

Short burst of night, then day, and then night again, for longer this time, and Loki grunts.

“Tony, where are you taking me?”

“Not yet. C’mon we’re almost there, be patient.”

“Have you ever known me to be patient?” Loki echoes, hand still on Tony’s shoulder, and Tony chuckles, as unapologetic as ever. “You are an ass and I hate you,” Loki says, and Tony stops long enough to turn around, grab him by the waist and kiss him.

He smells of dust and sweat and that old spice deodorant he likes so much, and the faintest trace of a dog’s smell from when he petted the neighbor’s Pomeranian, the odor clinging to his hand as it traces the side of Loki’s jaw, thumb scraping at his chin while the other fingers spread on his throat as light as feathers. Tony’s lips are rough under his, and his skin tastes of salt and bar soap and a hint of beard, too, where Loki’s lips find his goatee.

Nearly a year, and the touch of it still makes him feel dizzy, still makes him want to kiss every inch he can reach and swallow Tony’s bones structure, print it in his lips and fingers like a photograph on paper, like it’s the last time he’s going to touch this handsome, beautiful, scarred mess that is his partner –they’ve only just started calling each other ‘partner’ instead of ‘boyfriend’ and the thought of it still sends shiver coursing through him.

“Loki,” Tony starts as Loki’s fingers find the wooden buttons of his shirt, start working on them with an ease that is entirely born of experience.

“You’re wearing the silk shirt,” he says, brushing his nose against the softer spot of Tony’s throat, just right of his Adam’s apple, “you never wear the silk shirt unless it’s important.”

He feels Tony’s breathing trembling under his lips, the move of his throat bumping against his nose when Tony swallows, the rising and falling of his chest under his hands as he breathes quicker, shallower. He feels the tickling of chest hair against his fingertips, the coolness of the shirt brushing against his knuckles where he reaches for a nipple and, finally, Tony’s hand on his hips, thumbs sneaking under his own t-shirt –cotton, plain and soft with ages- and fingers hooking in the waistband of his jeans –two knuckles against hi skin and it’s really, really far from enough.

“Loki, we’re in public,” Tony says again, once he stops smelling at Loki’s hair –he can feel his breath on his scalp, feel his hair move around his nose, feel the warmth of his lips hovering just there, and Loki abandons Tony’s throat, just long enough to says:

“If I can’t see them they can’t see me.”

Besides, he can feel the dampness of an underground place, smell the faint trace of gas fumes, hear the echoes of their voices off the wall –they’re in a parking of some sorts and unless he got his calendar messed up again, it’s ten am on a Sunday and therefore guaranteed peace.

“C’mon, Loki,” Tony insists, and Loki bites at the point where his clavicle meets his throat, one of his favorites, but he allows Tony to move away and relocate his hand on his shoulder. “We’re nearly there, and I promise you’ll like it.”

Loki follows him through the parking lot –at least he assumes it is one- and grins when he doesn’t feel the tell-tale shift of a shirt being buttoned back up. He is so getting laid this afternoon.

They walk for a minute, maybe even less than that, and then it’s day again, like the memory of linen you’ve left in the sun for too long –it’s a light that smells of dried grass and sleeveless tees and ice-cream, and then Steve chuckles.

“I was wondering what was taking you so long. Obviously, I shouldn’t have worried.”

Loki grins and lets his hand sneak to Tony’s neck, enjoying the feeling of short hair against the right side of his palm, silk brushing against his little finger, Tony’s head shifting position to accommodate him better, and he rubs semis circles into the soft skin, thumb going back and forth in a motion that has been their ‘safe word’ almost from the beginning.

“It’s not my fault my partner is a horny teenager in disguise,” Tony protests with a pout in his voice, and Loki laughs all the harder for the heat he feels creeping under his hand. Oh, yes, this is going to be a most pleasant afternoon.

“Whatever,” Steve chuckles, and there’s a fondness in his tone for the word ‘partner’ like using it makes Tony and Loki that much cuter. “I got a gift to deliver so come here, Loki.”

“Is my gift Steve naked with a ribbon over his intima—”

Tony’s tongue tastes of licorice, coffee and saliva in a combination Loki has come to recognize and identify as home, and it doesn’t even bother him to be cut short because, to be honest, that was exactly the desired effect anyway.

“Shut up,” Tony says when they separate, and his breath tickles where it hits Loki’s upper lip, “and go get your present.”

Loki lets himself be pushed toward Steve, until said man grabs one of his hands and brings it down to—Loki’s elbow hits Tony’s chest when he jerks his hand back, and he can hear his own blood running in his ears for a moment as he forces himself to calm down, brings his breathing back to normal.

“Is everything okay?” Steve asks, and he sounds like he’s frowning, so Loki shakes his head.

“Sorry,” he says, voice back in control, “It’s weird to have my hand shoved to what I can only assume are your nether regions –or very close to it, at the very least.”

“Oh, no! Nonono,” Steve protests, and Loki feels the wind from where he’s shaking his hands to deny the idea, “no, it’s—I’m on Sleipnir!”

It takes a moment for Loki to register the meaning of Steve’s words, but his hands haven’t waited for him and very soon he’s feeling the cool metal of his old motorbike under his fingers, traces the pure lines with the great care you owe to memories of times long gone, and he feels his throat tighten, his eyes going moist as Tony’s head comes to rest on his shoulder, his arms a warm anchor around his waist.

“Aren’t you going to hop on?” he asks, and Loki tilts his head to let the fan of his breath cover more of his neck, because he really, really wishes he could just teleport back to bed right now, looking like a horny teenager be damned.

But in the end he does get on the bike, and it’s overwhelming in itself to feel it between his legs, feel it sway every time he or Steve make a move, and he has to grab Steve’s waist to steady himself.

“Now, honey,” Tony starts, and Loki scoffs, because he can hear the smirk in that voice, loud and clear, “Don’t forget your helmet.” He plops said helmet on Loki’s head –he’s back to his usual hair now, and he can almost feel the shape of curls squishing against his scalp, before Tony continues: “And don’t you dare pop a boner while you’re on here.”

Steve squeals in front of him, and Loki snorts.

It takes him longer than it should to remember where to put his feet –he wasn’t often a passenger- but once he does it feels terrifying and elating at the same time: he hasn’t even been on a motorbike for more than a decade now, and the feel of it coming alive when Steve kicks the gas on is absolutely amazing. He relishes the hum of the engine, the pulse of his blood in his fingers, the smell of leather from Steve’s jacket, the taste of adventure in the back of his throat, and the ache of his grin where it pulls at his face.

Then Steve makes them go forward, very slowly, and Loki nearly chokes on his excitement when he feels the lurch that means they’re stabilized by speed alone rather than Steve’s legwork.

Night. Day. Night. Day. Night. Day.

“You okay?” Steve asks, and Loki laughs, thinks he should have anticipated the radio, then says:

“Yes. Go faster?”

“Okay. Get ready for a left turn.”

Night, day, night, day, night, day, and Loki feels the wind on his face, feels the punch of it rushing into his lungs while he keeps on grinning. He feels warm despite the changing temperatures, and with Steve’s guiding, it’s easy to fall back in the balance of things, leaning sideways when he needs to, his grip firm but not anxious on Steve’s jacket and oh, this feels great.

“Wanna do something funnier?” Steve asks, and Loki laughs:

“Oh yes!”

“Steve!” Tony’s voice says in their radio, “what the hell do you have in mind?”

Nightdaynightdaynightdaynight-turn right and—day.

Loki laughs, loud and unrestrained for once, earlier hesitations totally forgotten as he throws his head back and enjoys the sensation. There’s the warmth of summer on his face and the cold wind of a fast ride biting at his arms, and then there’s the rush of traffic around him and the vibration of a motor under him and Steve’s chest going in and out with laughter and it smells like hot asphalt and I hope you’re enjoying the ride because I’m going to kill both of you when you get back!

Loki hoots, and lets himself get lost in the moment.

{ooo}

Steve accompanies him back to their apartment door on the third floor –they take the stairs, because Loki doesn’t like elevators, even though they make things easier. Then they say their goodbyes, and Steve disappears from earshot just as Tony opens the door and starts grumping:

“Honestly, was it really necessary to disappear for a whole afternoon? I mean I can take you being sexually frustrating in the middle of the day and all but this is—”

Loki closes his eyes.

Night.

He doesn’t even let Tony finish his sentence before he kisses him, inhaling the scent of his skin even as his tongue maps the details of Tony’s mouth once more, hands fisting at the lapels of his shirt, still unbuttoned from earlier –of course Tony was expecting this, the bastard.

Tony tugs on Loki’s T-shirt, but he refuses to be moved, and he ends up pressed against the door, cool metal soothing the heat of a sunburn where his elbows rest against it, his hands quickly unfastening the last buttons of Tony’s shirt. Loki pushes the shirt open, caresses Tony’s torso, rediscover the dips of his ribcage with his hands and the lines of his throat with his tongue, rejoicing on the hum of Tony’s pleased sigh against his lips.

They slide to the ground, and Loki spreads out over Tony, peppering kisses on his brow, the straight line of his nose, the sides of his mouth, where expression lines are starting to take.

“Loki—”

“Thank you,” Loki cuts in, readjusting his position so he’s straddling Tony’s waist, hands tracing the path of chest hair, splaying out on his ribs to allow his thumbs to caress his partner’s nipples. “Thank you,” he says as he bends to nip at that spot Tony likes, between his right ear and his jaw, and sure enough, there’s the hot feel of a pleasured sigh, hands grabbing at Loki’s waist to bring him closer, and his own breathing itches when their erections brush together through their jeans. “Thank you,” Loki repeats, slowly tracing down Tony’s torso and following the scattered line of hair to his navel.

He pause there, knowing that this is one of Tony’s surprisingly sensitive spots, and he isn’t surprised when Tony sighs again, deeper and shakier, his hands coming to rest in Loki’s hair whiles unfastens Tony’s jeans and pushes them down, pulling his cock free, and Tony’s hand make him raise his head again.

“Can you—ah—can you open your eyes?”

Loki smiles, always a bit surprised by Tony’s attachment to his eyes, but he complies and it’s day again as his hand plunges inside Tony’s boxer and start working on his erection, a smile still on his face.

“Loki—ah—Loki… Marry me?” Tony asks, and Loki’s jaw drops along with his hand, entirely taken aback by the question.

“What?”

“Marry me,” Tony repeats, and Loki finds his face again, traces it with his fingers like it’s the first time he does it, like he hasn’t learned this face a thousand times with his fingertips –and in a way he hasn’t, because a face is ever-changing and there is always something new about it.

Loki traces the bridge of Tony’s nose, the shape of his goatee, of his mouth, his lips, and he lets out a breath that feels wet in his throat before he kisses Tony again, soft and loving, pouring everything he feels but can’t put into words in that one gesture, before he says:

“Yes.”