Chapter Text
Tony Stark is a simple man, despite his genius intellect and vast fortune. He enjoys tinkering with his inventions, a good glass of scotch, and spending time with those he cares about. At his core, he values personal freedom and the ability to make a difference in the world. Tony Stark works tirelessly from morning until midnight, driven by his desire to innovate and create. His lifestyle allows him to travel wherever he pleases, and his charisma and charm have led to many romantic encounters across the globe. His numerous romantic escapades have become so frequent that he's lost track of them, preferring to enjoy each as a fleeting connection without the complications of commitment. Tony refers to these encounters as "one night of adventure," a testament to his free-spirited approach to relationships. The funny thing was that he didn't have to try; people were naturally drawn to him and his intoxicating scent, which seemed to linger in the air long after he'd left. It was as if the universe conspired to ensure he never spent a night alone, providing him with endless opportunities for adventure.
Tony Stark knew he was a handsome man, and he wore his confidence like a perfectly tailored suit. His charm and charisma were as much a part of his identity as his genius and wealth, making him an irresistible force in any social setting. His deep, melodious voice could captivate a room, while his chocolate brown eyes seemed to hold secrets of the universe. Coupled with his thick, strong alpha scent, it was no wonder people were drawn to him like moths to a flame. He loved the attention but wasn't planning on making more friends. He already had his close-knit group that he cherished deeply, and he knew the value of quality over quantity when it came to relationships.
Tony Stark was a confident man, one who had often been labeled arrogant and an asshole, and they weren't wrong. Despite these labels, he remained unapologetically himself, embracing his flaws as much as his strengths. He understood that not everyone could handle his larger-than-life personality, but those who could were rewarded with unwavering loyalty and friendship. He was proud of who he was, openly admitting that he was easily aggravated and often in a foul mood. Yet, his loud mouth and sharp wit brought laughter to those around him, and even when a scowl appeared on his face, it was just part of his undeniable charm. He wasn't going to change his attitude for anyone; he was a Stark through and through. His fierce independence and unapologetic nature were as much a part of him as his name, and he wore both with pride.
He glanced up from his computer when he heard his flight being called, quickly shutting it and grabbing his phone. As he strode confidently towards the gate, he was among the first to board, naturally taking his place in first class. Settling into the plush seat, he leaned back with a satisfied smirk, ready for yet another adventure in the skies. He just hoped no one sat down next to him. He hated making small talk, especially when he wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone. After two whirlwind encounters the previous night and morning, he felt he'd had enough social interaction for the moment and preferred the solitude of the long flight. Perhaps when he landed, he'd head straight to a strip club or try his luck at a bar, seeking a one-night stand to cap off his trip. He relished the idea of letting loose and enjoying a night of carefree fun, far removed from the obligations that awaited him back home.
He put his stuff up and silenced his phone, but not before sending a quick message to his friends, letting them know he was on his way. With a sigh, he settled deeper into his seat, grateful for the prospect of uninterrupted peace. A few minutes later, he heard a rustle of movement and a person took the seat by the window. He held back a groan and instead rolled his eyes at his luck, hoping the new arrival would be just as uninterested in conversation as he was. Curiosity got the best of him, and Tony took a quick peek at his new neighbor. To his relief, the person was already absorbed in a book, which seemed to lower the probability of small talk significantly. He watched him for a moment, noting the shoulder-length black hair and milky skin. The man appeared tall from what Tony could discern, dressed casually in a forest green sweater paired with black jeans and regular van shoes.
Tony couldn't help but wonder how someone so young could afford a first-class ticket. Was he the heir to a wealthy family, or perhaps he had a benefactor willing to spoil him with luxury?. Once the plane took off and the flight attendant rolled the cart to him, he ordered whiskey, hoping it would help him relax during the boring flight. The flight attendant, who seemed to be in her early 20s, gave him a flirty smile before turning her attention to the guy next to him. The guy was so engrossed in his book, which seemed to hold thousands of chapters, that he didn't notice the flight attendant trying to get his attention. Tony did what anyone would do; he cleared his throat, which went dry when the man finally turned to look at him, then glanced at the flight attendant with a bemused expression.
Tony was momentarily speechless, captivated by the man's striking green eyes that seemed to shimmer like emeralds under the cabin lights. His long, dark eyelashes framed those mesmerizing eyes perfectly, casting delicate shadows on his cheeks. Tony also noticed the man's full, natural lips, which curved slightly in a polite smile as he finally acknowledged the flight attendant's presence. Tony had learned the difference between "natural" and natural. Then he smelled it—his scent. It wasn't flowery or sweet like he was used to; it was calming and minty. He had to fight the urge to lean closer and breathe it in, trying to maintain his composure.
The man politely said, "No thank you," and a small smile appeared on his face as he went back to his book. Tony raised an eyebrow, surprised by the lack of recognition or flirty response. He was used to people fawning over him, recognizing him instantly as Tony Stark. Instead, the man remained engrossed in his book, seemingly unfazed by the presence of the famous billionaire.
Tony decided to test the man's focus again, leaning slightly towards him and asking, "What are you reading?"
"John Grisham," the man replied without glancing up from his book. Tony chuckled, admitting, "I'll be honest, I'm more of a magazine guy. Unless it's got my face or a flashy car on the cover, I rarely pick up a book." Tony frowned when he didn't receive a reply, just a nod of the head, so he decided to ask, "Which book are you reading by Grisham?"
"The Rainmaker," the man replied, trying to keep his tone polite despite Tony's persistent questioning. Tony nodded, pretending to be interested, even though he was more fascinated by the man's growing impatience as he gave him a small glance.
The man's gaze shifted back to the damn book, dismissing Tony with an indifference he wasn't accustomed to. For the first time, Tony Stark felt as though he'd been brushed off like a mere fly, leaving him both amused and slightly irked. He fought the urge to tell him, "Do you know who I am? I am Tony fucking Stark," but decided against it. He was used to being acknowledged or called handsome by the public, and this unexpected indifference intrigued him more than it annoyed him. There was always some woman batting her eyelashes, offering flirty smiles, and asking him to accompany them for a night or a threesome. The men were no different; they approached him with lust in their eyes, and Tony, being Tony, didn't care who he spent the night with. As Barton once said, "ass was ass," and Tony lived by that philosophy, embracing the attention with his usual nonchalance. Tony turned his head back to the slick small TV in front of him, his ears burning. He wasn't going to lie—he was shocked by the absence of attention and the novelty of being ignored.
He needed to get attention one way or another. The flight attendant came back around, asking softly in his ear if he needed any further assistance. He glanced at the black-haired passenger by the window and back to the flight attendant. While he pondered his options, the guy turned towards them with a small smile "I'm sorry to interrupt your conversation, but can I get a pillow and a blanket? I noticed that I don't have one here," his voice was smooth and polite but straight to the point. Tony noticed the annoyed look thrown his way from the flight attendant. Without thinking, he said, "Here, take mine."
"Oh no, it's okay," the guy replied, but Tony's jaw twitched at being denied again. "I don't need it," Tony insisted, pushing the pillow and blanket towards him. The guy gave a soft smile, and Tony felt a strange flutter in his stomach—what did Pepper call it, butterflies?
Tony wished the blanket carried his scent, imagining the dark-haired man wrapped in it, surrounded by traces of him. He side-glanced at the flight attendant, who seemed to mistake his gesture for a refusal, as she huffed and turned on her heels.
The man licked his lips nervously and said, "Oh shit, she looks upset. I didn't mean to interfere, I'm sorry." He gave Tony an apologetic look, and Tony realized the dark-haired guy had misunderstood the situation, assuming there was something going on between him and the flight attendant. "No, it's not like that," Tony replied, trying to clarify. The man raised an eyebrow as Tony said, "She was being flirty, and she shouldn't have disrespected you like that." The man's expression softened, and he chuckled, "Ah, got it. Well, I guess misunderstandings happen at 30,000 feet."
"Yeah," Tony said, offering a small smile of his own. The man shrugged it off, "She looked like she really wanted your attention. Sorry, I won't interrupt again." Another soft smile followed, making Tony's stomach flip. oh fuck no no no. He needed no; he wanted this conversation to continue. Besides he was the one who was making the small talks before the man could returned to his book he blurted out
"Anthony Edward Stark, but you can call me Tony," he introduced, trying to mask the excitement in his voice. The man glanced up from his book, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Loki. Nice to meet you, Tony Stark." To the bloody fucking hell, his name sounded so good coming out of Loki's mouth, and Tony's mind suddenly turned dirty, imagining all the ways he wanted to hear that voice again. He wondered if Loki's voice would be low and sultry, or if it would rise with urgency, each syllable of his name dripping with desire. Tony couldn't help but imagine how much better his name would sound in the heat of the moment, whispering against his skin.
He knew right then and there he would be rejected before he murmured a word. He decided to wait and let it be for now. Instead, he took a deep breath, composed himself, and resolved to make a mental list of questions to ask Loki later, ensuring he wouldn't sound like a fool in front of him.
- "So, Loki, what brings you on this flight?"
- "Do you travel often, or is this a special occasion?"
- "Have you read any good books lately that you'd recommend?"
- "What's your favorite place you've visited so far?"
He wanted to facepalm; these questions sounded stupid. What would Barton do in his situation? He was good at charming people, just like him, but this time it was different. For the first time, he found himself at a loss for words, and nothing like this had ever happened to him before. He tried to think of something else as he once again listed the questions he wanted to ask. "Do you live here, or are you just visiting? What do you do for a living?" He felt a bit flustered, wondering if he should risk asking something more daring, like "Do you like rough sex?" or "Do you spit or swallow?" He rolled his eyes, wishing his friend Barton was there to help break the ice or steer the conversation in a more comfortable direction. Barton always had a knack for knowing what to say and how to lighten the mood, which was exactly what he needed at that moment.
Stark suppressed the urge to snap at the flight attendant who brushed against him each time she passed by, her scent nowhere near as incredible as the one that had bewitched him. He couldn't quite place the source, but it was intoxicating, drawing him in and making it hard to focus on anything else. Loki finally closed the book and put it away in his backpack. The black-haired boy put on an AirPod and wrapped himself in the blanket. He must have felt the staring because he turned and gave Tony another smile when their eyes met, that damn smile that was killing him just like those mesmerizing green eyes. The intoxicating scent that had been driving him crazy seemed to envelop him even more, leaving Tony breathless and captivated.
"Do you live here in the city?" Tony blurted out, immediately regretting his lack of subtlety. He could almost hear Barton laughing at him, as if his friend were right there, shaking his head at Tony's inability to keep his cool. Loki nodded as he clicked his tongue. "I do. Do you?" he replied, his eyes glinting with mischief. Tony, taken aback by the question, nodded slowly, trying to regain his composure. He cleared his throat, attempting to sound nonchalant. "Yeah, we have a family business here," he replied. "It's been in the city for generations." Loki made an appreciative sound, as if understanding something profound. "Ahh," he said, leaning in with curiosity. "What do you work in, then?"
"Well," Tony began, a hint of pride in his voice, "we're in the tech industry. We design and manufacture cutting-edge technology products, everything from advanced AI systems to clean energy solutions. It's a lot of work, but it's rewarding. We also own a couple of buildings downtown where we house our main offices and research labs. It's great to have our operations centralized, and the city has been a fantastic place for innovation and growth. The company's name is Stark Industries, and it's renowned for its innovative contributions to both technology and sustainable energy.” He realized he was rambling and could almost hear Barton and Bruce laughing at him in his head for trying too hard to impress. Tony cleared his throat, trying to dial back his enthusiasm, and added, "Anyway, it's just a job, really."
Loki nodded with a casual interest that caught Tony off guard. Tony's face went blank for a moment before he regained his composure. "Anyway, what about you?" he asked, eager to shift the focus. He braced himself for Loki's response, convinced that the nonchalance had to come from someone accustomed to immense wealth. There was no way someone could be so unimpressed by his fucking family name or the fact that his family owned entire fucking buildings unless they were from a similarly affluent background.
Loki shrugged, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "I'm actually working on getting my degree in literature," he replied, as if discussing something as trivial as the weather.
Tony blinked in surprise, his mind racing to comprehend the unexpected revelation. "What the fuck?" he thought, struggling to reconcile the image of this unassuming literature student with the aloof demeanor that suggested a life of luxury. Tony composed himself and said, "You look young." Loki chuckled, "I'm 25, so not really young." A soft laugh escaped him. "But I am one of the youngest students in my class for a reason.” Tony rubbed his forehead. " Fucking hell," he thought. Loki didn't look like he was 25; he looked like he was 15 or 18. He looked good—better than good. Fuck, better than anything Tony had seen in a long time. His youthful appearance made him seem innocent, as if life hadn't yet touched him with its harsher lessons. It was a rare kind of purity that seemed untouched by time or experience, leaving Tony momentarily captivated by the contrast between looks and reality.
Swallowing back his saliva, Tony managed to say, "I'm 35." He gave the black-haired boy a soft smile, finding his laugh so heartwarming, like the warmth of summer days spent lounging in the sun. Loki chuckled, "You should smile more. You have a nice smile." It was such a nice compliment that Tony felt his cheeks flush slightly, a rare occurrence for him. He couldn't help but wonder if Loki's charm was just as ageless as his appearance. This time it felt genuine. Unlike the hollow flattery he was accustomed to, Loki's words carried an unexpected warmth that made Tony pause. It was as if, in that moment, Loki saw something in him that he hadn't even recognized in himself. "Th-thank you," he said, his voice shaking slightly. He frowned, realizing with a mix of annoyance and disbelief that he had just fucking stuttered.
Loki offered a soft smile in response, saying, "You're welcome, Tony." He then closed his captivating eyes, a sense of calm washing over his features as he settled into sleep, facing Tony with an unexpected vulnerability.
He couldn't stop staring. This was his opportunity to memorize every single detail of Loki's face, tracing the elegant curve of his jaw and the gentle rise and fall of his chest. He even found himself leaning slightly closer, trying to catch a hint of Loki's scent, a mix of something minty and earthy that made his heart race.
Loki slept throughout the whole flight, much to Tony's disappointment. He had hoped to continue their conversation, to dig deeper into the enigma that was Loki. However, Tony did manage to engrave every detail of Loki's face in his mind, committing the contours and expressions to memory as the plane soared through the sky. Finally, the announcement came that they would be landing in an hour, and Loki's green eyes fluttered open. Tony felt a spark of excitement as Loki stretched and glanced around, their eyes meeting briefly. "Did I miss anything interesting?" Loki asked with a teasing smirk, as if aware of Tony's watchful gaze. Tony chuckled, "No, just the announcement that we'll be landing soon." He leaned back in his seat, still captivated by Loki's presence.”
Loki stretched again and let out a yawn. "I must have been more tired than I thought," he admitted with a shy smile before turning to gaze out the window. "I can't believe how beautiful the sight is from up here," he murmured, taking in the vast expanse below. Tony couldn't agree more, though his eyes weren't on the view outside. "Yeah, it's pretty breathtaking," he replied, his gaze lingering on Loki's serene expression rather than the world beneath them.
Before Tony knew it, everything was a blur. Time flew by so fast that he didn't even realize until they landed, and it was time to say goodbye. They walked out together, heading to the baggage claim where Tony helped Loki retrieve his bag. Now, standing outside the airport, Tony felt an unexpected heaviness in his chest as they prepared to part ways. Tony rolled his eyes, annoyed that for once the driver was there on time. Usually, he was ready to bolt the moment he stepped outside, but now, with one foot out the door and the other reluctant to follow, he didn't want to leave. He found himself wanting to know more, craving more time with Loki, and the thought of parting ways felt unexpectedly difficult.
"Mr. Stark, thank you for keeping me company and helping me," Loki said with a beautiful smile that made Tony's heart race. Tony waved his hand dismissively, trying to play it cool. "Please don't call me that—Mr. Stark is my father," Tony replied with a smirk, attempting to mask the warmth spreading through him. "Just Tony is fine." Loki nodded and extended his hand for a handshake, but Tony surprised him by lifting it and placing a gentle kiss on the back. Loki let out a laugh, his eyes twinkling with amusement. Tony couldn't help but notice how soft and warm Loki's hand felt in his grasp. "You're very welcome, Loki," he replied, his voice deeper than he intended. With a casual wave goodbye, Tony watched as Loki disappeared from view, leaving him alone with his thoughts.
For the first time, Tony was at a loss for words, utterly bewitched by someone so captivating. He stood there, replaying the moment in his mind, wondering how someone so beautiful could have such an effect on him.