arvensis5:

horns-of-mischief:

So some time ago I drew Loki with an undercut, but didn’t like the result and today I finally sat and redid him a little.

Here’s the result!

He arrived sometime after midnight.

Well. Probably closer to 3 AM, if Tony was being honest with himself. Which he wasn’t generally in the habit of doing. But when the inventor bothered to look up, when Jarvis turned down his music, when his coffee cup had finally runneth dry, there he was.

Loki.

Except…. Not Loki. He looked different, now. Thor said something about him dying, then not dying, then being redeemed, blah blah blah, Tony hadn’t paid attention.

Bad idea. Terrible. Horrible idea. Because now? The God of Mischief looked more like the God of Fucking Your Shit Up.

“Uh,” Tony flipped off his welding mask. Nope. Tall dark and strangely handsome was still there, standing in the dark corner of the workshop. And wasn’t there a light overhead? Why the fuck was he standing in the dark anyway? “I, ah, don’t remember ordering any entertainment for the evening.”

Loki chuckled. It sounded ruthless, and Tony’s eyes trailed down the god’s torso, for the first time realizing that the god wasn’t wearing a shirt beneath the leather biker jacket.  That should not be so goddamn sexy.  Megalomaniac super-villain and all.  “And yet, here I am.”

“Yeah, about that—“ Stark reached casually across his desk for one of his tablets, and the metal wristband beside it. “Wait, are your eyes actually glowing?”

“All the better to see you with, my dear,” Loki purred. And frankly, it was unnerving, because no one should rock skinny jeans and an undercut like that, much less a fucking honest to god space alien.

“Creepy,” Tony twisted on the first bracelet. At least he’d have some fire-power. “What are you doing here? And rocking a seriously punk hairstyle, I might add. I didn’t know Asgard did punk, really.”

Loki huffed a sound somewhere between amused and exasperated. He stepped out from the corner, but the darkness followed him; light bent around his form like a half-whirlpool’s dark circles across the surface of a pool. “You owe me a drink, mortal.”

“Sorry, no alcohol in the workshop,” Tony backed slowly towards the door. Or, worse case scenario, the panic button that Pepper had insisted he install. Because obviously Jarvis was incapacitated or something would have happened by now. “Come back during regular business hours. Every other Thursday, between two and three PM. Excluding Thursdays.” 

“Cute,” Loki smirked, “but I’m afraid I’m busy on Thursdays.”

“Oh? That’s a shame,” Tony’s fingers glanced over the button. He pushed. Hard. “Because I really am very important.  And busy. Very, very busy.”

Nothing happened.

“I can see that,” Loki chuckled, and this time when Tony looked up the god seemed to be a lot closer to him. Much too close. “But your servant is silent, and your Avengers are all asleep. So, now that we’re alone,” Loki waved his hands in a complicated pattern, and green light massed in his palms, “are you ready to make some magic, Stark?”

Yes. Well. Ummmm. I think I need some air.

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