Work Text:
Tony had always been good at reading people. It was a survival skill, something he’d sharpened young, back when he had to gauge his father’s moods before deciding if it was safe to speak. He learned to watch for the tightening of a mouth, the shift of weight between feet, the thousand little tells that people gave away without meaning to.
And Loki? Loki wasn’t easy to read, but he wasn’t impossible.
Not if you knew what to look for.
The jealousy came in shades. It wasn’t the obvious kind, the kind that made people lash out or stake a claim. Loki was too smart for that, too controlled. He didn’t sulk, didn’t make demands. If you weren’t paying attention, you might not even notice it at all.
But Tony noticed.
He saw it in the way Loki’s fingers curled against his palm, tension humming beneath the surface of his skin. In the way his gaze flicked, sharp as a scalpel, dissecting the space between Tony and whoever he was talking to. In the pauses, the silence stretching a fraction too long, charged and brittle.
Loki’s jealousy was precise, needle-thin, slipping under the skin rather than cutting deep.
And the worst part?
Tony understood it.
Maybe that was what made it hard to ignore—the fact that it made sense. It wasn’t petty, wasn’t childish. It was old, older than either of them, something bone-deep and instinctive. It was the hunger of someone who had always been left outside in the cold, watching through a window while everyone else sat by the fire.
And Tony knew that feeling.
He knew what it was like to press his hands against the glass and wonder why no one ever opened the door.
That was what made Loki’s jealousy dangerous. Not because it was possessive or angry, but because it was desperate.
And desperation could turn into anything.
*
The first time Tony really saw it—really, truly saw it—was at a party. Not one of his own this time, but some overblown affair in the city, the kind where the drinks were expensive and the people even more so. It was the sort of place Tony thrived in, all flashing lights and murmured conversations, the art of moving through a crowd like he belonged everywhere and nowhere at once.
Loki had come with him. Not because he wanted to, but because he didn’t trust Tony not to get into trouble if left alone. Not that Loki would ever admit that out loud.
Tony was talking to someone—a woman, dark-haired, elegant, sharp in a way that reminded him of broken glass. She was laughing, one hand light on his arm, and he was leaning into it, playing the part he always did. Easy charm, quick wit, nothing serious.
And then, just at the edge of his vision, he caught it.
Loki, watching.
Not openly. No, Loki never did anything that obvious. But Tony could feel it, the weight of his gaze, the slow coil of tension in the air. He turned his head slightly, just enough to confirm it—Loki, standing by the bar, fingers drumming against his glass, expression unreadable but eyes dark.
Not angry.
Not sulking.
Just... there.
Watching.
Waiting.
Tony turned back to the conversation, but the easy rhythm of it was gone. His mind was somewhere else, caught on the jagged edges of something he didn’t quite have a name for yet.
Later, when they left the party, Loki didn’t mention it.
But Tony could feel the shape of it between them, something unsaid pressing against his ribs.
And that was when he knew.
Loki wasn’t just jealous.
He was waiting—waiting to see if Tony would notice.
Waiting to see if Tony would leave him outside in the cold, too.
*
It wasn’t just parties.
Tony started noticing it everywhere.
Conversations in the hallway, the casual brush of an arm, the way people gravitated toward him. Tony had always been the kind of person who drew people in—it was part of who he was, part of what made him him. He didn’t even think about it.
But Loki thought about it.
Loki noticed.
And Tony noticed him noticing.
It wasn’t that Loki didn’t want him to talk to other people. That would have been simple. Manageable. But it wasn’t about control—it was about worth.
Loki didn’t ask Tony to stop. He didn’t demand attention.
But Tony could feel it anyway, the way Loki measured every interaction, weighing it like a scale he never quite trusted.
Who did Tony give his time to?
Who did Tony choose?
And when Tony turned back to Loki, did he do it because he wanted to?
Or just because he had to?
That was the real fear, the one curled under Loki’s ribs like a parasite.
Not that Tony would leave.
But that Tony would stay out of obligation.
Out of pity.
And that? That was worse than being abandoned.
Because pity was just another way of saying you’re not enough.
Tony understood that too.
The first time they talked about it—really talked about it—it wasn’t planned. It wasn’t some dramatic confrontation, wasn’t some breaking point.
It was quiet.
Late.
Tony’s place, empty except for them, shadows stretching long against the walls. The kind of night where things slip out because there’s no one else around to stop them.
Loki was sitting on the couch, book in hand, but Tony knew he wasn’t reading. He could tell by the way Loki’s fingers were tense against the pages, how his shoulders weren’t quite relaxed.
Tony sat across from him, watching.
And then, finally, he said it.
“You know you don’t have to test me, right?”
Loki didn’t look up. “What are you talking about?”
Tony exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “This thing you do. Where you watch. Where you wait. Where you keep looking for the moment I prove you right.”
Loki’s jaw tightened. He didn’t speak.
Tony leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “You think I don’t see it, but I do. You’re not waiting for me to leave, Loki. You’re waiting for me to mean it when I stay.”
Silence.
Then, finally, Loki closed the book.
“I don’t know how not to,” he admitted.
His voice wasn’t sharp. It wasn’t cold.
It was quiet. Small, in a way Loki never was.
Tony nodded, slow. “I get that.”
He did. God, he did.
Loki looked at him then, really looked at him, and for once, there was nothing hidden in his expression. Just raw, aching understanding.
Tony swallowed. “You don’t have to earn it, you know.”
Loki’s mouth twitched—half a smile, half something else. “Don’t I?”
Tony didn’t answer right away.
Because he wasn’t sure he had the right one.
Tony didn’t say anything else that night. He let the silence settle between them, heavy but not uncomfortable. He knew when to push and when to let things breathe, and this? This was one of those moments where pressing too hard would only make Loki retreat.
So he let it sit.
Loki didn’t leave.
That, more than anything, told Tony what he needed to know.
*
It wasn’t that Tony didn’t care.
It wasn’t that he didn’t notice.
He just didn’t react the way most people would.
There were a lot of reasons for that. Some of them were simple—he was used to navigating complicated personalities, used to people who tested him, pushed at his boundaries just to see if they were real. When you grew up with someone like Howard Stark, you learned fast that love wasn’t always given freely.
You learned that trust wasn’t something you were owed.
It was something people made you prove.
Tony had spent his whole life proving himself to people who never intended to believe him in the first place.
So Loki’s jealousy, his quiet waiting, his sharp-edged uncertainty—it didn’t faze Tony the way it might have fazed someone else.
It just made sense.
The thing was, Loki had never been given a reason to trust that anyone would choose him. Not permanently. Not without condition. He had been raised in the shadow of another, never quite enough, always compared, always expected to fit into a mold that was never his to fill. Even after all of it—after Asgard, after the fall, after the things he had done and the things he had tried to undo—he still carried that weight.
Tony saw it.
Not just in the jealousy, but in the little things. The way Loki hesitated sometimes before reaching for him, the way he always measured the space between them like he wasn’t sure if it was still his to close.
The way he never said stay—not in words, not directly—but sometimes, when he thought Tony wasn’t looking, his fingers curled like he was stopping himself from holding on too tightly.
Like he was afraid of wanting too much.
And Tony?
Tony had been there.
He had spent years telling himself not to want too much. Not to ask for things he wasn’t sure he could have. Not to need.
So he got it.
He understood, in a way most people wouldn’t, and that was why he didn’t get angry. Why he didn’t pull away.
Because how could he blame Loki for being afraid of losing something he had never been allowed to believe he could keep?
*
There was a moment, once, that stuck with him.
They had been lying in bed—not talking, not touching, just existing in the same space. The kind of quiet that only happened when two people had learned how to let their guard down around each other.
Tony had been half-asleep when Loki’s voice cut through the stillness.
“You don’t flinch.”
It took Tony a second to process it, his mind sluggish from exhaustion. “What?”
“You don’t flinch,” Loki repeated, quieter this time. “When I am... like that.”
Tony turned his head, eyes barely open. “Like what?”
A pause.
“Watching.”
Tony was more awake now, blinking the sleep out of his eyes, but Loki wasn’t looking at him. His gaze was distant, fixed on the ceiling.
“I’ve seen how people react,” Loki said after a moment. “When I look too long. When I listen without speaking. It unsettles them.” A slow inhale. “They think it means I am waiting to strike.”
Tony let that sit for a second before answering. “Yeah, well. I don’t scare easy.”
Loki huffed, but there was no real amusement in it. “That is not the same thing.”
Tony shifted onto his side, propping himself up on an elbow. “I don’t flinch because I know the difference between someone who’s watching to judge and someone who’s watching to learn.”
Loki’s brow furrowed, like he wasn’t sure what to do with that.
Tony gave him a small, tired smile. “You’re not waiting to strike, Reindeer Games. You’re just waiting to understand.”
Silence.
Then, finally, Loki turned his head, meeting Tony’s gaze in the dark.
There was something in his expression—something fragile and sharp, something Tony didn’t try to name.
He didn’t need to.
He just reached out, slow, deliberate, giving Loki the chance to move away if he wanted to.
Loki didn’t.
*
Tony had spent his whole life being too much.
Too loud, too reckless, too much of a handful. He had never been good at being quiet, never been the kind of person who fit neatly into a box. He overwhelmed people.
Loki, though.
Loki wasn’t overwhelmed.
If anything, Loki was one of the few people who never asked Tony to be less than he was.
He just watched.
Just waited.
And Tony had never had that before.
Never had someone who wanted to understand him instead of just handling him.
Maybe that was why he didn’t mind the jealousy.
Because it wasn’t about control.
It wasn’t about possession.
It was about understanding.
It was about a man who had never been chosen, who had never been kept, trying to believe—for the first time—that maybe this time, he didn’t have to fight to hold on.
That maybe this time, he wasn’t just something to be survived.
*
Loki didn’t say it, but Tony could feel it.
The shift.
It was subtle—just the smallest change in how Loki watched him, in the way his silences stretched a little longer, in the way he seemed tense without ever quite giving himself away.
It had been building for days.
Tony knew the signs.
The way Loki’s gaze lingered on him when he thought Tony wasn’t looking, the way he turned sharp and distant when Tony spoke to someone else for too long. It wasn’t the kind of jealousy that burned hot—it wasn’t loud, wasn’t demanding—but it was there.
And Tony knew better than to ignore it.
So when Loki didn’t come to bed that night, Tony wasn’t surprised.
He found him where he always did—by the window, perched on the edge of the couch, one leg drawn up, eyes distant.
He looked like a man bracing for a war that hadn’t come yet.
Tony didn’t say anything at first. Just walked over, slow and deliberate, and poured himself a drink. He took a sip, exhaled, and finally said, “You wanna tell me what’s going on in that labyrinth you call a brain, or should I start guessing?”
Loki’s lips pressed into a thin line.
“I am fine,” he said.
Tony snorted. “Yeah. Okay. Try again.”
Loki didn’t look at him.
That was the real tell.
Because Loki always looked at him. Always watched, always measured, always studied him with that sharp-edged attention that made Tony feel like he was being peeled apart layer by layer.
So when he didn’t—when his eyes stayed fixed somewhere just past Tony’s shoulder—Tony knew it wasn’t just jealousy anymore.
It was something worse.
Something deeper.
Tony set his glass down with a quiet clink. “Okay,” he said, low, steady. “So, we’re doing this the hard way.”
Loki’s fingers flexed against his knee, tension winding through his frame like a bowstring pulled too tight.
Tony didn’t move closer. Not yet.
Instead, he leaned against the table, crossing his arms, keeping his voice light. “Let me take a stab at it,” he said. “You’ve been waiting. Watching. Measuring the distance. And the longer you do it, the more you convince yourself that the distance is growing.”
Loki’s jaw tensed.
“But it’s not, is it?” Tony continued, tilting his head. “It’s just in your head. That little whisper telling you that all this—” he gestured loosely between them “—is temporary. That I’ll get bored. That I’ll leave. That you’re losing something, even though you haven’t lost a damn thing.”
Loki’s hands curled into fists.
There it was.
Tony exhaled slowly. “It’s not real, Loki.”
Loki’s eyes snapped to him then, sharp and cold.
“Do not tell me what is real,” he said, voice quiet but dangerous.
Tony didn’t flinch.
Didn’t waver.
Just held Loki’s gaze, steady and unwavering, because he knew the real fight wasn’t between them.
It was between Loki and himself.
“Alright,” Tony said, inclining his head slightly. “Then you tell me what’s real.”
Loki’s jaw was tight enough to crack.
Silence stretched.
Then, finally—so quietly it was almost a whisper:
“I have seen this before.”
Tony didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.
Loki’s hands flexed against his thighs, his expression carved from stone.
“I have watched it play out. I have seen what happens when you are not enough. When you are only wanted until something better, something easier, comes along.” His voice was hollow. “I have spent my life watching him be chosen. Watching myself be overlooked. I have watched trust shatter. Watched it turn to ice, to scorn, to—”
He cut himself off, jaw clenching so hard Tony almost expected to hear teeth crack.
Tony’s throat was tight.
Because he knew what Loki wasn’t saying.
He knew who he was talking about.
This wasn’t just about jealousy. It wasn’t about some petty fear of Tony straying.
This was about Thor.
This was about a lifetime of standing in the background while someone else took center stage. About learning, over and over, that no matter how much you gave, it would never be enough.
Tony exhaled slowly, pushing off the table.
Loki stiffened.
Tony didn’t reach for him. Didn’t try to touch him.
Instead, he sat down in the chair across from him, leaned forward, and rested his forearms on his knees.
“Loki,” he said, voice quieter now. “I am not Thor.”
Loki’s throat worked.
Tony watched the flicker of conflict in his eyes, the war being waged behind them.
“You’re not a second choice,” Tony said. “You’re not an afterthought. You’re not—” he exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “You are not waiting to be replaced, alright? Not with me.”
Loki’s fingers twitched, something brittle flickering across his expression.
Tony let out a breath. “I know how hard that is to believe. I know you expect me to leave. But I need you to understand something.” He leaned in, just slightly. “I don’t stay because I have to. I don’t stay because I’m supposed to. I stay because I choose to.”
Loki’s eyes darkened.
“That is the difference between us,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “You choose.”
Tony frowned slightly. “Yeah. That’s kind of the point—”
“I never had a choice,” Loki cut in, voice sharp, bitter. “Not in how I was seen. Not in how I was measured.” His throat bobbed. “I have never been given the chance to choose.”
Tony’s breath hitched.
Because—yeah.
Yeah, that was it, wasn’t it?
Loki had spent his entire life being decided for. Being told what he was. Being shaped into something that was never his to begin with.
And now—now Tony was telling him that he had a choice.
That he was worth choosing.
And that? That was terrifying.
Tony exhaled. “You have a choice now.”
Loki’s gaze snapped to his.
Tony didn’t look away. “You can choose to believe me.”
Silence.
Long, stretching, full of too much unsaid.
Then, finally—Loki’s fingers uncurled, slow and deliberate.
And Tony knew, right then, that Loki wasn’t there yet.
Not completely.
Not entirely.
But he wanted to be.
And that?
That was enough.
For now.
*
It was small at first.
The changes.
Barely perceptible if Tony hadn’t been looking for them. But he was looking—watching, the same way Loki always watched him.
And it was there.
In the way Loki’s fingers didn’t curl into fists when Tony spoke too long with someone else. In the way his gaze no longer cut sharp and assessing when Tony walked into a room filled with people.
It wasn’t gone, of course.
Not entirely.
Tony still caught the flickers of hesitation, the brief clench of his jaw, the split-second pause before Loki reminded himself that there was no battle to be fought here.
But it was better.
And that?
That meant everything.
Tony didn’t mention it.
Didn’t draw attention to it.
Loki was a wild thing when it came to progress—skittish, prone to retreat if he thought he was being studied too closely. If Tony pushed, if he praised, Loki would snarl, deny it, build walls higher than before.
So Tony waited.
Let the changes happen at their own pace.
Until, three days later, Loki made a choice.
Not a small one.
Not an unconscious one.
A real one.
And Tony almost missed it.
It was at a party—one of those big, stupid Stark Industries events that Tony hated but had to show up to because someone had to shake hands and look like they still gave a damn about stock prices.
Loki had come, which was a miracle in itself.
Normally, Tony had to bargain, had to promise something in exchange—because Loki didn’t do crowds, didn’t do small talk, didn’t do rooms filled with people he neither liked nor trusted.
But this time, he’d come without argument.
And Tony had thought that was the biggest surprise of the night.
He was wrong.
Because it happened an hour in.
Tony had stepped away—just for a moment, just long enough to deal with some CEO who wanted to talk defense contracts.
And when he turned back, his stomach dropped.
Because someone was talking to Loki.
And not just someone.
It was Romanoff.
Which, under normal circumstances, wouldn’t have meant anything. Natasha wasn’t a threat—Tony knew that, Loki knew that—but there was something about the way she was speaking to him, something about the way he was standing, that sent warning signals blaring in Tony’s head.
Not because it was bad.
But because it was different.
Loki was listening.
Really listening.
Not just tolerating, not just standing there with that detached, condescending air he usually adopted when forced to engage with others.
His expression wasn’t closed off. His arms weren’t crossed. He wasn’t watching the room like he was waiting for something to go wrong.
He was here.
Present.
And then—then it happened.
Tony saw it before he fully processed it.
Loki said something, and Natasha smirked.
She said something back.
And Loki—
Loki laughed.
Not a sharp, bitter thing. Not the cruel, knowing sound he used when he was tearing someone apart with words alone.
A real laugh.
Quiet. Low. But genuine.
And Tony froze.
Because it was so unexpected, so impossible, that for a second, he wasn’t sure it had even happened.
Loki.
Laughing.
At a party.
With someone other than Tony.
Something tight in Tony’s chest uncoiled. Because this? This wasn’t just about jealousy. This wasn’t just about Loki trusting him.
This was about Loki choosing—choosing to let go, choosing to believe, choosing to exist in a space that had once felt too dangerous to even consider.
And damn it if that didn’t mean more than anything.
Tony didn’t interrupt.
Didn’t make his presence known.
Instead, he turned back to his conversation, smiling vaguely at the man still talking at him.
But he kept watching, just out of the corner of his eye.
Just enough to see the moment Loki chose again.
Because Natasha touched his wrist—just a light brush, barely anything.
And Loki didn’t flinch.
Didn’t stiffen.
Didn’t pull away.
He let it happen.
And if Tony hadn’t already been in love with him, he would’ve fallen right then.
*
The party ended late.
Tony was exhausted by the time they made it back, stripping off his tie and tossing it onto the nearest chair.
Loki was quiet behind him.
Not in the bad way.
Not in the way that meant he was thinking too much, retreating into himself.
No.
This was different. This was contemplative.
Tony poured himself a drink, leaning against the bar. Loki stood near the window, gaze distant but calm. For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Then—
“I saw you.”
Loki’s voice was quiet.
Tony tilted his head. “Yeah?”
Loki turned, slowly.
“You were watching me.”
Tony didn’t deny it. “I was.”
Loki studied him. There was something unreadable in his expression.
Then, finally, he said, “I laughed.”
Tony’s lips twitched. “Yeah, you did.”
Loki’s gaze didn’t waver.
“I did not expect that.”
Tony took a sip of his drink, then set it down.
“I know,” he said.
Loki was silent for a long moment. Then, finally—
“I did not choose before,” he admitted, voice low. “Not truly. I have wanted to, but… I did not know how.” His fingers flexed. “Tonight… I chose.”
Tony exhaled slowly.
Stepped forward.
Loki didn’t move as Tony reached out, tracing his fingers lightly along his wrist.
It wasn’t about comfort. It wasn’t about reassurance. It was about this. This moment. This understanding.
This thing that Loki had done—not because Tony asked, not because he felt he had to, but because he wanted to.
Because he had let himself believe.
And Tony wasn’t about to let that go unrecognized.
“You did,” he murmured.
Loki’s throat worked.
Then, finally—he turned his hand, just slightly.
Just enough to let Tony’s fingers slip between his.
And that?
That was the real victory. Not the laughter. Not the conversation. Not the party.
This. The willingness to stay. The willingness to hold on. Tony curled his fingers around Loki’s, squeezing just once. And Loki— Loki squeezed back.
*
It was late.
Or early.
Time blurred in the dim light, the city outside a quiet hum beneath the walls of the penthouse.
Loki hadn’t moved in a while.
Neither had Tony.
They weren’t asleep, but they weren’t really talking, either. The space between them wasn’t empty—it was full, heavy with everything unsaid, everything understood.
Tony’s fingers traced slow, lazy lines along Loki’s spine. He wasn’t thinking about it, not consciously, but it was the kind of touch that spoke louder than words. The kind of touch that didn’t ask, didn’t take, didn’t need. It just was.
And Loki—Loki let him. That was the miracle. That he let himself be touched without bracing for the worst.
That he didn’t tense, didn’t flinch.
It had taken so long to get here.
So long for Loki to believe in this without waiting for the ground to fall out from under him.
And Tony knew—he knew there were still cracks beneath the surface, wounds too deep to vanish entirely. He wasn’t naïve.
But right now?
Right now, Loki was here.
And he was staying.
Tony exhaled, shifting just enough to prop himself up on one elbow. The sheets tangled around them, warmth lingering where their bodies had pressed together for hours, skin against skin, breath against breath.
Loki’s gaze was half-lidded, but not with exhaustion.
Something else. Something softer.
Tony didn’t say anything.
Didn’t break the moment with words that weren’t necessary.
Instead, he reached out, tucking a loose strand of Loki’s hair behind his ear. His fingers lingered, brushing the sharp cut of his jaw, the curve of his throat.
Loki’s eyes flickered, watching him.
And then—
He turned his head, just slightly.
Just enough to press a kiss against Tony’s palm.
Tony went still. Because that? That was new.
Loki had always taken when it came to touch. Always reached first, always controlled the pace, the pressure, the moment. Not in a way that was demanding, but in a way that said I need this to be my choice, my decision.
And Tony had never fought that. Had never wanted to fight it. But this—this small, quiet thing—
This was Loki giving.
Offering something without being asked, without being pushed.
Tony swallowed, fingers curling against Loki’s cheek.
Loki didn’t pull away. Didn’t look away. He held it. Like he meant it.
And maybe that was the real difference.
The real shift.
Not just the jealousy fading, not just the trust settling, but this. The understanding that he didn’t have to fight for his place anymore.
That Tony wasn’t going anywhere.
Not in a day. Not in a month. Not in a lifetime.
The tension between them wasn’t the sharp, aching kind anymore.
It was thick, yes—charged, yes—but not with doubt. Not with hesitation. With weight. With knowing.
Loki’s fingers curled into the fabric of the sheets, but he didn’t grip like he was bracing himself.
He just held on. And Tony let him. For a long time, neither of them moved.
Then—
Loki shifted.
Slow. Deliberate.
Turned just enough to press his forehead against Tony’s, breath warm between them. His fingers found Tony’s wrist, tracing absent patterns against his pulse.
And Tony let his eyes slip shut.
Let the moment settle.
There were no walls left between them.
Not now. Not ever. And that? That was everything.