Chapter Text
The thing was, was that you could only lock Loki and Tony up in the same (albeit very, very large) house before they either killed each other or become best friends. And since Thor would have been… upset had Loki been assassinated, and SHIELD would have been put off at the sudden loss of funding, mutual homicide was out. Which meant that the unlikely duo became BFFF’s.
(“And you know what the extra ‘F’ is for,” Tony had said with a wink. Loki hadn’t, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.)
Honestly, though, they had more or less needed each other. Loki was used to being surrounded by bold, courageous, moronic Asgardians. Tony was used to being the platinum spoon baby with daddy issues, an IQ that redefined “genius", and no verbal filter whatsoever. They had a physical need to be with someone, anyone, that could even try to understand them, and that had ended up as the reason they had ended up drunk off their asses swapping stories on why dads suck and mothers are the best inventions ever.
Naturally, the second other people noticed their friendship all hell broke loose. Yes, they are friends. No, they don’t want to conquer the world. No, they’re not sleeping together.
(One day, Loki would understand why Midgardians would rather focus on a potential celebrity couple than a possible apocalypse. He wasn’t quite sure this could happen at a point when he was sober, though.)
Anyways. Loki supposed he should be grateful for the sudden kinship with a man he threw out of a window (twice). Being isolated in Asgard was bad. Here, it was worse. And Tony blew all of it to hell. Together, they planned world domination and stole the last slices of pizza and covered for each other when a prank went awry. They ended up practically glued to each other, two polka-dot sheep in a black herd, misfits among misfits. And this was how Loki ended up being the one to drag Tony, half-asleep and drunk off his ass, up to his room.
It wasn’t unusual in and of itself. While Tony was not yet at the point of needing either intervention or electroshock therapy to curb his drinking, alcohol was as common in his work place as anything else. Tony had been rambling on about something Loki didn’t even pretend to understand when halfway through something about an internal heating… something, they had passed Steve in the hallway. Steve had looked at Tony, opened his mouth to say something, looked at Loki, closed his mouth, and then walked down the hallway, glancing back over his shoulder once at the lump that was Tony, half slumped against Loki, and then kept going. It was nothing special. In fact, it was downright mundane. But that was the first moment Loki started noticing thing instead of just seeing them. Things like the way Steve always saved Tony at least one of the glazed doughnuts Tony liked so much, fending off assassins and gods alike, things like the way Steve’s smiles were always just a tad bit wider for Tony, the way Steve hated reality shows with a passion and would refuse to be in the same room as a TV with one playing- except if Tony happened to be in the room as well.
Looking back, Loki supposed the way Steve would rather travel by way of a shitty grip on the mechanical suit piloted by Tony fucking Stark than a safer, more reliable mode of transport without the snark that really should have given it away.
So basically, Loki had come across some very desirous knowledge that he had no idea what to do with, because it’s one thing to know that Captain America, face of a nation and keeper of the Dream, was pining, pining like a tree, pining like a whole damn forest, for Tony Stark, the genius billionaire playboy philanthropist with daddy issues a mile wide and just as much armor inside as out. But knowing what to do with that information? That was a whole new problem.
It was times like this Loki had regrets about renouncing villainy, because knowing you could use the Iron Avenger as bait for Captain America was worth its weight in solid vibranium in the villain world. But now, he supposed, it was rather bad form to use your only friend as live bait, even if said friend would probably find the whole situation hilarious. So he did what he thought wonderful, perfect Thor who knew how to have friends would do in a situation like this.
“He likes you, you know,” Loki drawled, watching Steve walk up the stairs from Tony’s lab.
“Steve? Of course he likes me. I’m very likable,” Tony replied, not even looking up from the schematics of yet another suit. “Besides, Steve likes everyone. Well, everyone who doesn’t try to kill him. Hell, even some of the people that do. Even Fury, and who actually likes Fury?”
“You like Fury.”
“No, I like trying to drive Fury insane.” Tony lifted his head. “What brought this about?”
“Because Steve likes you.” Tony opened his mouth to talk. Loki cut him off. “No, I mean he likes you. He’s enamored. He wants a big, gay, all-American wedding with you and to adopt millions of orphans, and puppies, and orphan puppies, and to write “Steven Rogers-Stark” on his tax returns.”
Tony gaped a bit. Loki could practically feel his massive brain working. This was it. This was when he officially became Loki Laufeyson, god of mischief and trickery, and the man who finally got Captain America laid.
Then Tony snorted. “Funny, Loki. Real funny. Next you’ll be telling me Natasha wants to elope to West Virginia.”
Loki thought that there was something to be said about the way people could tell when he was lying a mile away, but the one time he told the truth no one believed him.
And while Tony Stark, who could see everything but the completely obvious, went back to his designs, Loki began to plot in earnest.