bakerstreet | Companion to Royalty

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Companion to Royalty

Companion to Royalty Meme

There's one truth you must know of royalty: though power may lay in their hands, the crown is a cage. Whether you've always been noble, came into this position recently by complete surprise, or a simple person caught in the fray, you're realizing that leaders actually lead very little - even down to choosing who they spend their most intimate moments with. From eternal bonds of matrimonies to the distractions provided by courtesans, the people behind the throne make the rules. They cannot risk losing control of their most elevated and strategically placed pawn with a match gone wrong, which could create a domino effect and doom possibly thousands.

So, what part do you play in this game?

Lifetime Royal: This is what you've been raised to do.
Sudden Royal: You just learned of your position, which has been secret from you your entire life, or you unexpectedly inherited the job.
Spouse: You're to be married to nobility.
Concubine or Courtesan: For the royal, you're to be a sexual diversion.
Unaffiliated: You're either a lower-ranking noble or a peasant, but you're free from all the machinations of the shadowy cabal...for now.

How willing are you?

Completely Willing: Either you love the person you know you'll be matched with, or you're excited about the possibilities.
Wary: There's no choice in the matter for you, so you may as well approach this situation cautiously.
Unwilling: You didn't want to be matched up with someone. At all. Ever.

What path will you follow, once you're set upon it (there is, after all, little choice for the chosen ones)?

Prepared for This: Either you're a royal and have been one since birth, or you knew you'd marry or sexually entertain one.
Make Up for Lost Time: This life wasn't the one you lived until now, but times change. You're important or will be a companion to a very important person, like it or not.
A Sacrificial Token: Somewhere along the line, your people royally pissed off someone in a key position. So, in an attempt to smooth out relations, you've been given away as a gift to the highest power, either as a spouse for a political alliance or as a concubine or courtesan.
Pomp and Circumstance: All proper, this arrangement. You're to be married, as you've been promised to each other by your respective families. Consummation on the wedding night is key. Perhaps it's encouraged that the two of you act as if this is really a love match, to add insult to injury.
Genuine Love: Speaking of love matches, congratulations! You're one of the incredible few who gets to marry for love, so your lovemaking should be all the more enthused.
Only a Plaything: Heavy is the head who wears the crown, so you're expected to take on some side entertainment even if that's not your preference. Or you could be the courtesan...such a pretty, perfumed word for what the role really is...
Volunteered: You wanted this position, either of spouse or concubine. Your reasons are your own.
Cruel: You're powerful. You can do what you want to this person, a mere ant in comparison to you.
Forbidden: Even the most powerful can't have everything they want, such as someone who's promised to or with another; taking them for your own would create strife and destroy alliances, even to the point of tempting war.
Work Your Way Up: There's always a right tool for the job and you find no shame in using your own special tools to better your life.
Give Me an Heir: Whether you're legitimate or a concubine used as a surrogate, you must help in continuing the royal line.
Mutual Benefit: Both of you are comfortable with this arrangement because you're either compatible or it takes the pressure off of you otherwise.
Want to be More: Though you've been relegated to courtesan, you want to be there one and only spouse...no matter if that role is already filled or not.
Growing Affection: It may have started as all puppet strings and power plays, but now, you lo- care for them.
Loved Before: Before you became so important and powerful, before you became the focus of all the world, it seems, they were there with you. They were with you then, and you want them to be with you now. They ground you and they care about you for you.
Because You're Normal: They're outside of all the court's nonsense, and that's appealing to you. It's like a breath of fresh air.
WILDCARD

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The smile on Loki's twists a little wider, a little more genuine to match the spark of amusement in his eyes and it never stops being entertaining, these little games, seeing the way charm such as his own is received. Every world is different, of course, and Loki has slipped in and out of enough of them both in and outside of the nine realms to know that Asgardian culture is hardly considered typical for most who do not exist within it. Some will allow themselves to be taken by it if only because it's a novelty, the sweetest part of the dance these encounters begin with. Others--

He's seen plenty of variations over the years of others attempting to take it in stride. Some are better than others, of course, and Tony-- is certainly something else. It's not often anyone, Companion or not, chooses the path of overconfidence and the kind of informality that could easy be called offensive in less forgiving company. "Slick." Loki can almost imagine the horror slapped across the face of...just about anyone who knows him if they'd been present to hear it, stunned by the sheer gall of anyone to address one of the kingdom's princes as such. Oh, but this human is going to be fun. "Sixty five percent? Generous given what I know of her."

Loki can feel Tony's gaze, settling on him with unmistakable scrutiny that's too heavy to be as casual as Tony's tone may like to suggest. He can't help but wonder what Tony thinks he sees. He can't help but wonder how much of it may be close to the actual truth. "I suppose that means your fate is in my hands, hm? The Norns always did have a sense of humor." Not that would have all that much in the way of concern even if Tony didn't already seem so promising. A recommendation from Natasha wouldn't have come if she didn't have some idea it would be met with a certain measure of success. "Come. Allow me to show you the palace."

"She did say she liked you, so, probably closer to eighty seven." The only thing that keeps it from bumping up to ninety is that Loki isn't Clint. Why she's so fond of that particularly odd, grounded sort that can afford them through no means Tony can tell and never makes use of their time in the same way as other clients? He can kind of see. It's fun, being with Clint.

And it's 'fun', apparently, being with Loki. Though considering Natasha's definition of the same? It's hard to tell. But Tony can easily say he's somewhat charmed, stepping up to walk side by side with Loki, sliding his arm around his in the usual courtly companion embrace. When in doubt? Stick with the classics, at least until he knows where Loki's PDA comfort levels lie. "Fortunately for me you've got lovely hands. There are worse places to be, I'm sure."

Like. The Palace. Not that he lets it show how off step it makes him but-

Wait.

Gatekeeper, guards, casual grace, Natasha's sheer amusement, living in the palace and walking about like he owns the joint.

Distant memories of mythology start to tick through like frantic gears spinning to catch up with a spring overwound, overclocked and oh.. Fuck. Him.

"Did she? I'm flattered." It's easy to allow Tony's arm around his and allow his hand to sit sweetly over top of it, easy to fall into step with him as they walk. As though even in Heimdall's absence there aren't eyes on them from any number of guards stationed around and above them, as if each foot fall wouldn't bring them closer to the golden spires and gleaming splendor of a palace that sits in the middle of the realm like a jeweled beacon of strength and protection for those who serve it. It's...a lot, he knows, for those who aren't familiar with it, overwhelming for those who have no frame of reference to work inside of with rank and title this close to the top of the tower and-- perhaps it's unkind to let so many walk in blind until that moment of realization hits like being thrown into an ice bath, but.

But few would ever speak at length of Loki's abundant kindness. Certainly not where the opportunity for a little harmless fun could be had instead, and Tony comes up to speed even faster than Loki would have given him credit for. But he can see those gears in Tony's head working at maximum capacity, spinning until something seems to catch, and all Loki can do it smile when he asks with an innocence that should never be believed, "Is something the matter?"

"Sonovabitch." The deference the guards give and the name finally click into place. This isn't just some noble. This isn't just some well off man of means and taste. This is- "I don't know who's worse right now, you or Tasha."

Yet he doesn't pull away from Loki's side, incredulity bubbling over into bright laughter at the butter wouldn't melt utter sweet sincerity of Loki's gaze. It's a high, bright cackle, a giggle, startled out of him by the circumstance. This isn't just anyone, Natasha wasn't being kind at all, and he's already put his foot in it. But still-

"You- you little shit. You're Prince Loki. The crown prince. No one would tell me your status and she let me walk in blind-" He pulls off his sunglasses, flicking them shut with a twist of his wrist, tucking them into his breast pocket so he can wipe his eyes. Bright, glimmering with mirth he cants a grin up at his client, deeply pleased and only slightly mortified. "You're an ass. An absolute ass. You let me call you 'slick'. You were just going to walk me in with no warning, weren't you?"

It's a casual backhand, the smack of his hand against Loki's arm, almost going so far as to attempt a companionable jostle. "We are going to get along so well."

Tony's laugh is bright and and loud and genuine, seeming to light him up from head to toe as it pours out of him without reservation or even a hint of shame even for the few stares it draws. It's infectious and the feigned innocence of Loki's smile breaks to pieces for the grin that takes its place, curving wide at Loki's mouth as a laugh of his own rolls smoothly out of him. Had most found them in Tony's position Loki would expect apologies, careful sidesteps, excuses disguises as clever asides to pray they could remain in his good graces despite their initial embarrassing misstep. But this, these insults, the friendly slap of Tony's hand, the unabashed delight as Tony calls him out on the little game he'd been playing straight-faced? Few would dare.

And yet Tony does without even blinking, speaking as if this isn't their first meeting, treating Loki with all the familiarity only an old friend would think could ever be allowed, and-- it's refreshing in more ways than Loki could ever have guessed. In a world of perpetual deference where so pitifully few would risk stepping out of bounds even when no disrespect is intended, where so few are curious or interesting or brilliant in broad, wild, lively strokes, of course this man at his side with his beautiful grin and the sparkle in his deep, lovely eyes that only promises trouble would be nothing less than intensely and immediately intriguing. Loki has no doubts that Tony is right; if this says anything it's that this match has already been one well made.

"I once had a Companion who missed every sign until we happened to cross paths with my father. Suffice to say that she wasn't nearly so amused " Perhaps it says too many things about him, few of them flattering, that even now the memory of her slow dawning horror flares amusement bright in his eyes, curving his smile wider. "But--" And he takes that hand that had playfully struck out at him to raise to his mouth, his turn to brush a chaste kiss against Tony's knuckles, soft and lingering as Loki's eyes never leave Tony's. "Perhaps you will be able to find it in your heart to allow me the opportunity to make up for such abhorrent cruelty on my part."

"You." He points, fuck decorum, if he's doing this he's doing this his way since clearly that's what Natasha had in mind. He punts aside every reservation or consideration for 'nobility' in the moment and instead treats Loki like he would one of his regulars, one of his boys. "Are a bad, bad man. And my memory isn't as good as I thought it was if I'm genuinely surprised at this. Loki- Mischief, right? Trickster, magician, son of Odin, silvertongue- now I remember all of this after you let me put my foot in it."

Easy as anything he turns his hand, tracing the angle of Loki's jaw, brows lifted and grin wide, bright, and without reservation. This? This is going to be fun. "Well-"

The suit works, sort of. It works anywhere else but this is Asgard and Skurge hadn't cared a lick as long as he was kind but. Court is Court. If he can't act the part he ought to at least look the part. "You could take me to a tailor's. I'm sorry I didn't hit up my local Ren Fest for appropriate attire but I'm sure I'll manage to fit in."

"I prefer the term 'sorcerer'." Teasing, easy, playful, and the flickering amusement on Loki's face only flares brighter for those fingers against his skin as he tilts his face into the touch. His reputation occasionally precedes him in it's various incarnations. Inside the eight of the nine realms they preside over it's one that rarely changes--proud and haughty, sharp-tongued and sharp-witted both and seldom the prince most would care to cross. For as formidable as Thor likes to play, for as loud and aggressive and quick to rile into a fight as his brother is, it's never been a secret which of them has always been more forgiving.

But Midgard has an unreliable memory, one that easily allows itself to be taken by lore and legend and myth, and what the Earth knows of Asgard, of those who reside within it, is...varied, to say the least. Far from truth in almost every case, outdated and rife with fabrications, and and ground so deeply into its core that not even the advancements of its technology paving the way to the cosmos could truly shake them off. It rarely comes up from those who have limited contact with humans or their planet, but of the Midgardians who have come to spend their time here at his invitation--well. It is always interesting to see who believes what.

"And here you struck me as a man who would live for the opportunity to stir up the latest fashion craze." He certainly carries himself with the right amount on confidence for it, and that has always been a trait Loki could find himself able to appreciate. "But I suppose it is the least I could do. If you're fortunate they may even have time for you." As if the palace tailors hasn't already been notified their services would likely be required for their new guest. Asgardian dress is often in a league of its own, after all, something that the realm is vain enough as a whole to pride itself on, and it's never been lost on Loki the comfort of blending in if one were to choose to. It's not even close to the first time that they would be asked to help clothe one of Loki's Companions and, he suspects, it will hardly be the last.

The palace is big and bold and sprawling, a maze of golden columns and corridors that Loki navigates with the ease of someone who has mapped its secrets ten times over to commit them to memory long before now, and it takes less time than one may guess to find themselves at the open doorway of the tailors domain. Short notice or not, it does mean the busy flurry of demands for new garments has largely come and gone with the banquet looming so close on the horizon and the workshop is largely empty of all save the tailors who come to greet Loki with warm regard before those sharp, glitteringly curious eyes set themselves on Tony with the question of the day: and what have we here?.

Loki considers Tony at his side, and the smile the cuts across his mouth is nothing but trouble for someone. "He'll give you all the direction you require. He was quite confident about his ability to find something suitable."

Being dressed comes as part of the package. Save for a particularly frustrating contract (made under false pretenses) with The Sovereign? Tony rolls with it as well as any Companion can be possibly expected to; with a wink and a smile and posing, preening for his client's appreciation Getting all dolled up isn't usually what he does; most of his clients are more salt of the earth types and appreciate whatever he chooses to wear. Bruce had once decked him out in a sari for a long winding walk through the rainforest, it'd been lovely, but his regulars? Didn't go through the trouble.

And he hasn't accepted contracts outside of that small circle for some time but he remembers how to do this. widespread arms, a cocky grin because he knows, he knows he's a tailor's dream in most worlds. Slim and compact and all proper proportions, easy to dress, most colors suit him, most styles he can carry off without batting a lash. But Asgard-

They dress gods here. Kings. These are the royal fucking tailors and there is, despite his grin, a momentary hesitation before he gathers himself to prepare for whatever Loki wants him wearing...

Up until it's suddenly his call.

"Well shit." Another one of those laughs twists out of him, high and easy as he combs a hand through his own hair. "You are- You are a terrible, terrible person; can you believe him? Calling me here with zero notice and throwing me to the wolves. I'm wounded. I'm heartbroken-"

And there's a perfect prop, a chaise just to the left of the platform of where clients are dressed. With precious little regard for the lines of his suit Tony swans over and flings himself down, all carefully crafted, graceful dramatics. Back of hand to his forehead, eyes wide and dark and doelike, the softest, sweetest of pouts on his lips. "I have nothing to wear. It's cruelty is what it is."

Some refuse anything less than total control over what their Companions would wear in their company, he knows. Some would already have the attire laid out with little regard to the person wearing it, ready for a final final fit and already planned through with both accessories and the schedule on which they were to wear what if the engagement was meant to last beyond a single night. From the Companions he's spoken to, from those who have been willing to speak to him candidly, it's the sort of behavior that's met with mixed opinion. He imagines it would be easier in some ways to allow it with clients in higher circles, accepting fine garments at no cost to their own pocket that neatly resolve the issue of blending in appropriately with whichever culture they're temporarily inside of, but--

It leaves a poor taste in his mouth, the idea of treating those who would come to share his time as little more than objects to touch and dress and arrange as he sees fit. He's been accused of ungracious behavior in the past, of allowing his tongue to grow too sharp, of making a mockery of those who he should know better than to bait, of manipulating people and situations to his best gain, but he does not take out these contracts simply to find himself with a new toy to amuse himself with until he grows bored. If he offers the opportunity to his Companions to choose clothing of what is expected with Asgard, he's never meant it as more than a gift of convenience, an easy kindness for the men and women who come to stay with him so it's one less thing to concern themselves with upon their arrival. If there have been any complaints about his approach to it, he's never heard tell of them.

And now here is this man in all the lovely laughter Loki keeps winning out of him and the playful accusations spilling from his lips, all dramatic comedy that could never do anything but be a delight to witness as he throws himself upon that chaise with all the easy grace of someone well inside their element for the shamelessly absurd, and Loki has to bite down on his own tongue to keep his laughter at bay.

"What a terrible weight it must be to bear," he says as draws closer, leaning over the back of that chaise to smile down at the ludicrous man before him, and thinks that it should be a sin to be both so handsome and so charmingly ridiculous. Eyes like those could fell entire realms if Tony wished them to and Loki suspects that he knows it. "to be presented with the very best tailors Asgard has to offer to be at your beck and call to craft you whatever you may wish."

Loki's eyes linger on that pout, struck already by the nearly irresistible urge to kiss it off Tony's mouth. He reaches instead, his thumb teasing over the lush line of Tony's lips, long fingers and a slender palm sliding along his jaw to cradle it sweetly. "It will be a wonder if you can find the strength to survive such a tremendous toll."

Almost got a laugh with that, Tony makes a mental note that appropriately timed dramatics are amusing to Loki for future reference. For the few days he's here, of course, there's no way he'll get a call back if Loki's used to Natasha. So why not have a little fun with this? He continues to post and sigh and act terribly put upon, all liquid eyes and soft lips as Loki makes his way over. How he'd ever thought Loki anything less than a prince is kind of ridiculous now that he's paying attention to how he moves.

Light steps like a dancer, leading with the shoulders and chin. All poise and regal presence with a startling fluidity that comes from practice or some kind of fight training. This is Asgard, land of the warrior space vikings so. Not that surprising.

Hoping to earn a proper laugh- or perhaps a wider smile- Tony peers up to Loki and outright bats his lashes. It's ridiculous, he knows it's ridiculous, but that seems to be the order of the day and he doesn't mind playing the pretty fool if it keeps the mood high. Subtly licking his lips (and in turn, Loki's thumb in an almost careless gesture that's calculated to be alluring without being obscene as they are with company) Tony lets the pout smooth away, leaning into the hand on his jaw. "I suppose I'm able to cope. If!"

And he holds up a hand of his own, reaching out to carefully pinch Loki's chin. It's an odd gesture, one done of affection, a slip of himself- something his mother used to do for him. "If I get a kiss when I'm done."

This man is going to spell nothing but trouble for him, Loki thinks as that wicked tongue catches his thumb and sends heat ricocheting down his spine to bloom heady and thick in the pit of his stomach. Companions flirt, of course. Everyone has their own brand of it, their own tricks and charms and innuendos to slide oh so subtly under the line of propriety in the hopes of finding the right mark with him, and Tony--

Tony doesn't just cross that line, but sets fire to it along the way. The theatre, the dramatics, the sinful flick of his tongue and the way he bats those long, full lashes without even an ounce of shame and demands for a kiss as if this is simply what one does in the presence of royalty, as if this is what one does to a prince they've only just met.

He laughs. Of course he laughs, warm and pleased and only a little surprised for this ridiculous man having the gall to reach up and pinch his chin in a gesture that speaks of a familiarity they don't have, and Loki catches his wrist easily in hand to brush his lips over those wandering fingertips in the ghost of a kiss. "So demanding already of riches yet unearned." Decorum would already insist this toes too close to a few unspoken lines Loki should know better than to tease up against, but does with a smile all the same. "But perhaps I can find it within myself to part with a kiss for the trouble I'm asking that you endure."

"I am demanding. And greedy, you'll notice. Just going to slap that disclaimer on the night right now so you aren't surprised." Companions are to be perfectly poised and remarkable in every possible way. Tony can, has, played that game. He's played it well. But you change the game depending on the players and setting and Asgard? Is made for decadence. Loki? Needs someone to yank his chain a little- considering the fact this is Big Brother's Big Day and he can kind of get a vibe that Loki needs desperately some kind of distraction (why else call for a Companion, honestly)? He figures this is the best play.

Make himself fun but flawed. Pretty but ridiculous- which is a game he doesn't handle often if only because it slides so close to the truth. Too much of him is never good in a contract but-

One off. No worries.

"But I can promise you I'll earn every rich you see fit to grant, darling." A little early for endearments, but why waste time with small talk when he can throw himself headfirst into being Loki's lover? That's why he's here. That's what Loki wants. Warming up to that- pff. Inefficient. Promise of a kiss in hand he stands from the sofa, offering Loki a sly wink on his way to the raised dias in the center. Stripping as he goes (like it's normal, like this is nothing new to him (It is and it isn't) like it's only him and Loki in the room) Tony stands as directed and starts up an immediate patter with the tailors- in Italian. They'll understand him anyway, Allspeak, but if you're going to discuss fashion in some kind of royal chamber? Italian. Calls for asymmetry and crimson are made- inquiries about the shade of gold Loki's wearing, the shade of green, how much skin is too much- Tony's got them fetching and holding up bolts of fabric to his skin in short order.

And he finds himself far too delighted to worry about whether or not this'll be what Loki wants. He loosed Tony on the tailors- on his head be it.

Demanding and greedy and carrying with him enough brazen confidence, enough golden charm, that it's attractive more than it's obnoxious. So many step cautiously with him even when there are few illusions of what these sort of contracts normally entail and-- sometimes it's appreciated, that pseudo-courting period inside the first few hours of meeting full of careful flirting and respectful conversation while they attempt to find the right footing with him. Sometimes it's a familiar comfort to have the time and space to warm to those who would come share his company.

And other times it's an act that's tedious and chafing, but one that Loki allows for the sake of necessity. There aren't many who would consider being careless with their clients without reason, certainly not clients who sit in higher circles as high as the one Loki knows he occupies, but for those who do, who can find that particular formula for success...the benefits can far outweigh the risk. Natasha managed it, with her whip-sharp wit and uncanny way of seeing right through Loki in a way that had been more of a delightful surprise than the surest way to raise his hackles against her as he might have guessed. He'd favored her almost immediately for it, but as they do like to say when Thor isn't around to prove it wrong out of spite, lightning rarely strikes the same way twice.

Or so he thought until he watched Tony strip his way to the center of the room as though it's his own. It's absurd, it's entirely ridiculous, and Loki tracks every movement like nothing in this world could force him to tear his eyes away from the treat being dangled so shamelessly in front of him while he circles the chaise for the best seat to enjoy the show he's about to receive. Bulk and brawn had never suited Loki's tastes as well as the sleek slope of Tony's back and the trim line of his waist do, and there's no sense in pretending that his eyes aren't roaming without hesitation or restraint when Tony has offered himself up to be admired like this. He's terribly beautiful, this man, every inch of that sun-kissed skin bared to Loki taken like a treat, and it's almost a shame that he should have to share it with anyone else for the first time.

Not that the tailors have the time to concern themselves with much else outside of the tasks Tony sets them to. This isn't the first time, it seems, that he's put a team through their paces to have the results he wanted produced. "You favor red." It's not really a question so much as an observation. "It suits you far better than it suits my brother."

"You mean Big, Blond, and Boring?" Tony rolls his eyes- he's heard a few things. Companions aren't often called for the royal family of Asgard but the little he's heard of Thor? No fun. No fun whatsoever. "Some people when they put on red? It wears them."

Whereas Tony- when the first doublet comes out for pinning, fitting. An asymmetrical cut that's pinned at his left hip rather than buttoned down the center, fitted at the shoulders and waist. Made of swaths of crimson slashed through with gold and cheeky peeks of emerald here and there- at the throat, at the cuffs of his wrists. Lining the collar and cuffs, Loki's colors right against his skin in a playful note of sure, he's wearing the one, but he's meant for the other. The tailors found that amusing enough to humor him. The question is will Loki like the touch?

Trousers in a dark supple leather near painted on- just on this side of potential obscenity again, all for Loki's appreciation, though a tailor does murmur a quiet question RE the heel of the requested boots. "Look at him-"

Tony flicks his fingers at Loki. "I need to come up to his chin at least, a heeled boot will help. Trust me."

His lips twitch, the smile at his lips tugging that little bit wider for the casual disrespect towards his brother. Thor's opinion of Companions hasn't always been a favorable one, though he learned early to be careful of the way he spoke of Loki's guests while in his presence. From what Loki had been able to glean from those Companions willing to be a little more honest in their opinion of Asgard's royal family, most had been far less impressed by Thor than Thor had been by them.

Which only makes their visits that much sweeter, if he were caught being honest, but he's never asked them to come simply to rub his brother's nose in it.

No, this has always been for him, for his pleasure, for his time to be spent with those who are happy to provide the distraction he's looking for.

And, as he watches Tony be fitted into a doublet favoring the same asymmetrical Loki prefers in deep crimsons and golds, as he catches sight of those little flares of greens-- his greens-- Loki can't help but think that he'll be more than up to that task.

He makes such a handsome line like this, bathed in rich fabrics, in a style that has no right to suit him so well, and Loki's have a hungry edge as he drinks in every inch of him. "To say nothing of the way they will accentuate certain....assets." It's sinful the way those trousers are all but painted onto him and there's no way to help the way Loki's eyes drift and linger. "You have fine taste."

Tony's grin takes a sharper cast, mischief bright in his eyes as he turns just enough to cock one hip, giving Loki an even better view. So he's a flirtatious sort, a saucy lover. It seems to suit. Especially with how Loki's leaning into the flirtations and endearments. "Don't forget the cape. I need something to flourish dramatically when I bow to...everyone. Pretty sure everyone here gets a bow."

A beat.

"Except- Fandral? One of your brother's friends." Nat may have slipped him a few words on the sly. "Apparently teasing him is hilarious."

Loki takes it back. He's not entirely sure trouble is a strong enough word to cover the creature in front of him.

"Hogun would care not either way. Volstagg would sooner laugh for a bow than find offense in the absence of one. The good Lady Sif, on the other hand--" His smirk widens and he lifts one shoulder in a shrug. "It's hard to say."

Loki wasn't the only one who could be accused of an occasionally mercurial nature, though something tells him that Tony will have few problems finding a way to find her favor if he decided he would like it. Fandral, on the other hand--

"Fandral is more likely to die of an absence of attention before he'll find his end at an enemy's blade." His eyes sweep Tony again, slowly like has all the time in the world, before his eyes find Tony's again. "He'll be undoubtedly desperate for yours."

"I've heard it's best to compliment her more on her form than her figure. Which shouldn't be difficult, I've seen a few of her weapon demonstrations. Not going to lie- when I got the ping for a contract on Asgard? I thought it would be her." And he didn't mind the idea at all. "Or Fandrall. Though-"

And he does laugh here, slipping into the boots as the Tailors drape the cape across his shoulders- only for him to adjust it in the asymmetrical style, over one shoulder, under the other. "He did put in a bid for me a few months back. I was too far out to make the trip. He offered the Bifrost but-"

Tony shakes his head, turning once on the dias now that he was dressed in full. "I like having my own space in which to work. Ignoring him will be quite enjoyable this evening."

"She's been a warrior long before she was ever a lady proper even when we were young."

He can't say he's surprised that any Companion who would know of Sif would hope to come at her invitation, but that Fandral the Dashing had been denied his Companion of choice only to show up at Loki's own request?

He was raised to be above taking so much pleasure in this sort of petty spite, but it comes all the same with the wicked promise off Tony's lips. Whether Natasha had warned Tony of those Loki favored and those he did not, whether she gave him this suggestion-- it means far less than the gall of Tony to take what he may or may not have learned from her and use it to his advantage like this.

"My, my." He stands as Tony turns to face him, unfolding with his usual fluid to step towards Tony. People have said that Loki has always seemed to prowl more than simply walk and it's not far from the truth here as he crosses the short distance between them. Their height difference is neatly combated by the combined powers of the raised platform and Tony's boots, bringing those lovely amber flecked dark eyes nearly level with his own, and Loki smiles. "Someone does wish to earn their kiss."

Companions talk shop, on occasion. Who treats them well, who doesn't. Who makes their job easier, who tries to trip them up. Fandral's name came up in a nebulous light- charming but entitled, frustratingly dense but well meaning. Mislead. Setting him straight may be something he'd have to handle, Natasha has her own means of dealing with men like that and Tony? Doesn't have the patience to play nice.

Besides. When you're with someone of a higher social strata? You get more leeway. And you can't get all that much higher than the crown Prince. He'll be taking advantage of every perk that comes part and parcel of being his plus one to the festivities.

There's one last instruction in Italian for a few more of similar cut and style, one for a sheer robe fore a more intimate setting- and Tony turns the full of his attention to Loki as he slinks across the floor. He's not one often to fluster but this is...not intimidating, but delightfully sensual. This? This is going to be fun. He angles his head just so, peering at Loki through the shade of his lashes, lips soft and warm and openly inviting as he licks them once again. "Well. I believe in working hard to earn the best reward."

If it's a few waves Tony is looking to cause, the wiggle room to take the allowances he pleases where he couldn't otherwise, he's certainly taken the right contract. Even on his best days trouble seems to find Loki-- or, more accurately, he finds ways to coax it into being by his own hand-- and the events to follow Tony's arrival are unlikely to prove to be any sort of exception. Certainly not when Tony himself seems more than happy to be a handful on his own without any sort of encouragement.

He'll have to remember to send Natasha something in way of a thank you for recommending Tony to him. One doesn't require the ability to see into the future to know that a match already brimming with so much promise can only lead to everything Loki had hoped it might.

And, oh, but is he a sight like this, soft and inviting and unbearably tempting, offering himself up like a treat waiting to be devoured. Companions are always good at what they do. None last long in such a profession if they aren't, but there's good and then there's the level those like Natasha dominate, the level that Tony is clearly more than enough to join her on, because Loki has few doubts a man like this could have whoever he wanted eating out of the palm of his hand before they even realized it.

Loki looks past him only long enough to nod once at the tailors, the final seal to have Tony's requests carried out as he'd given them, before his gaze is Tony's once more, watching him as if he's the only thing in the room worth his attention. It's not at all far from the truth and for as rarely as Loki indulgences in more public displays of intimacy even with his most favored, he doesn't hesitate now. One hand finding home around the slim line of Tony's hip, his other along the handsome cut of his jaw that's been begging for Loki's attention since Loki had first laid eyes on him, and kiss when it comes, slow as it begins, is far from chaste when Loki licks in past Tony's teeth as though trying to savor every inch of him that he can taste. It's languid and heady, a tease and a promise both, a moment lost in time to silken heat of Tony's mouth and the warmth of his skin, the spiced tang of his scent filing up Loki's nose, when it breaks there's hardly a scant inch between them left to find as he murmurs, "a reward that well lives up to expectation, I should hope."

You have to know how to make yourself appealing- not only on a physical level, but a conversational and emotional level. There are so many degrees to what they are taught and fine tuning their lessons to suit every client perfectly takes some time. Tony usually needs about an hour to pin down exactly what it is any given client wants of him but Loki? It's been riding on his intuition. A little mischief, a little sentiment, a lot of flirtatious comedy. But this? Maybe he wants someone demure- or someone that only plays at it. Until the kiss he's not quite sure.

But oh- he's thorough. Slow and easy, cradling him close like they're longstanding lovers and Tony takes that as leave to let his hands fall where they will; one slipping up to curl in Loki's hair, the other resting feather light against his shoulder. A little delicate, a little demure, but the slow glide of his tongue against Loki's is anything but. He yields sweetly, easily, shivering a little (and not even having to fake that) under the slow burn of Loki's attention.

The tight leather trousers may have been a poor choice, he thinks, or they might be if self control wasn't also one of his hard won lessons.

No act to list after Loki, eyes half lidded, breath quickened, when he pulls away. Not as much as it ought to be but Tony's always put more of himself into the mix than he should. He lets his fingers curl and play in Loki's hair, daring for that much more as he tilts his head to the side, considering. "Mmmm, you know what? I'm not sure. I'm going to need more than one kiss to judge. A single point of data does not a satisfactory result make."

He did say he was greedy, didn't he? Greedy and beautiful and it's no wonder at all how he can get away with it like this, his fingers shaking little shivers down Loki's spine as they play through his hair, the heat of him sinking in tantalizingly through Loki's clothes as he leans in, and the only focus Loki cares to have on is the lush inviting line of Tony's mouth.

It's never a guarantee that a client and a Companion will suit each other. Their training is extensive, he knows, and they're shapeshifters of their own making, forever tailoring themselves to fit whatever it is they need to be, but sometimes it still isn't enough. Sometimes there isn't any training in the world that can make up for the slide and lock of natural compatibility, of an instantaneous connection that flows without effort.

And, sometimes, even that cannot compare to those that catch and consume like an ember to tinder. Tony burns, slow and deep like a warning, like a flame Loki can't help but want to reach for and grasp, and so he does. His hand sliding from Tony's hip to the small of his back, fitting like it belongs, drawing him closer as if there's any more room between them to see disappear, and he laughs in a sweet, soft curl of a sound as his lips glances over Tony's in a bare tease of another kiss, lingering at the corner of his mouth. "Does patience, I wonder, help or hinder your very important research?"

"Patience is a variable I haven't included just yet. I need a stable baseline for my control before we start getting crazy." off the cuff and without batting a lash- only the barest hint of tension in his shoulders because that? That's all him. Companions don't speak in science, don't flirt in mathematical equations or physics demonstrations, don't build with grease under their nails and callouses on their palms. That's a scrap of The Engineer, The Mechanic-

Not The Lover. The Courtier, The Flirtatious Cad. None of what he usually lays out and for a moment he wonders if it'll please Loki or if it'll jar him out of the moment. Which would be a shame, it's a lovely moment. All slow burning promise, the potential of their desire waiting and ready on the dias.

The chaise is close enough and it'd take nothing at all to coax Loki into a quick tumble, he thinks. He wants. They want. But-

Patience.

Loki's eyes narrow a fraction, in consideration and nothing like displeasure, corners of his mouth twitching upward. Flirting is part of the package, of course. An old dance that Loki has always been fond of of relearning the steps to with a new partner, and for all that it comes in a never ending spectrum of flavors and amalgamations, speaking in formulas rarely finds itself in rotation.

Not that Loki has any complaints now when it's a flicker of something fresh, of something intriguing and curious that Loki is suddenly very interested in seeing more of. Companions are far from unintelligent, but this kind of play requires a specific palette to please. It doesn't surprise him that it wouldn't come up often but, oh, if this doesn't hold all the potential of being a treat. "But of course. How else could you trust your solution?" This thumb sweeps in a soft arc along Tony's cheek, his eyes glittering with amusement. "And the variables you're working inside currently?"

Tony could distract him away, if he wanted. He's clever enough for it, reckless in a way that suits Loki's more shameless nature, and knowing better than to indulge in semi-public indiscretions with the tailors only a few rooms away, with the risk of anyone walking through their workspace doorway to catch them, means so little with want this hot in his veins, but. "Desire multiplied by curiosity. Risk compounded by need, boundaries canceled by shameless want. What does this formula of yours look like thus far?"

Companion to Royalty

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