“There is no despair so absolute as that which comes with the first moments of our first great sorrow, when we have not yet known what it is to have suffered and be healed, to have despaired and have recovered hope.”
-George Eliot
Tony had been immortal fifty four years when Pepper died of cancer.
He’d stayed at her bedside for weeks on end, sleeping even less than he was eating and drinking even more than he ever had.
Natasha and Clint had been killed on a mission gone awry over forty years ago.
Steve was off somewhere in Brooklyn, but they’d stopped talking years go.
Thor was never around; he was the King of Asgard now- he was too busy to visit much.
Bruce had gone back to India; “simpler way of life,” he’d said.
Happy had died three years earlier, leaving Pepper heartbroken.
Tony had done as much as he could to help.
Rhodey died in Afghanistan nearly fifty years ago.
That was the only other time Tony could remember crying as hard as he had with Pepper.
He’d held her hand and promised her everything would be alright; pressed his lips to her temple and pretended he didn’t hear the flat line.
A week after her death, and he hadn’t eaten anything solid.
He drank at least two bottles a day, but he could never drink enough to get drunk; the golden apples side effects had ensured that.
He was in the lab now, tinkering with one of his suits, a nice bottle of Scotch sitting on the table beside him, just begging for him to drown himself in it.
Maybe he would.
He didn’t hear Loki come down, but he knew he was there; felt those eyes burning into his back.
“Can I help you?” he asked, pretending not to hear the roughness in his own voice.
“Darling…” Loki said softly, and Tony felt cool hands settle on his shoulders.
He shrugged them off.
“Let me help you.” The voice was even softer now; Tony turned in his seat to face the god, meeting his gaze for all of five seconds before finding himself unable to look any longer- Loki’s eyes were so, so sad.
“I don’t need help.” His voice cracked.
“Please,” Loki whispered, pressing his forehead against Tony’s and resting his hands on either side of the inventor’s face. “Let me take care of you…” The anguish in Loki’s voice was enough to do it; Tony nodded and the god let out a breath before kissing him softly and slowly and oh, it broke Tony’s heart.
He didn’t know Loki had teleported them to their bedroom until Tony’s back touched the bed and the god crawled on top of him, peppering his neck with gentle kisses as his nimble fingers found the hem of Tony’s shirt and pulled; the god leaned back just enough so that he could get Tony’s shirt from his body, before it was discarded carelessly on the floor.
Cool fingers moved across his abdomen, tracing the muscles there, ghosting over his sides while Loki’s lips sought out the circular scar where the arc reactor used to be and kissed the center of it gently.
Tony didn’t realize he was crying until those same lips moved to his eyes and kissed the tears away.
Loki kissed him then, like he was the most important thing in the world.
It only made him cry harder.
“Ek elska þik,” Loki murmured against his lips and Tony didn’t know what it meant but he couldn’t bring himself to care; not when the god was working the inventor’s jeans off his hips and throwing them in the pile as well, his boxers soon following.
Loki didn’t bother with his clothes; he simply waved a hand and they were gone, likely going in the same pile Tony’s were in.
Loki kissed a path down Tony’s jaw and bit gently on his collar bone before sucking a mark there, where it could be hidden easily or shown if he wanted it to be.
He wasn’t sure what he wanted anymore.
He didn’t know when Loki slicked himself and he didn’t care; he sobbed when the god pushed into him and arched his back, meeting the gentle thrusts with messy ones of his own.
Loki bowed over him, forearms bracketing either side of Tony’s head, keeping a slow and gentle pace, gazing into the inventor’s eyes with dark emerald ones, thumbs gently stroking away the tears streaking Tony’s face.
The god’s head dipped, forehead pressing to Tony’s, the tips of their noses touching.
There was nothing between them; their bodies pressed flush together and they breathed the same air.
Loki smelled like snow and winter and dying leaves and Tony inhaled deeply, closing his eyes, focusing until there was nothing but the god; his smell mixed with sweat, his cock thrusting slowly in and out of Tony, his body pressed against Tony’s, his hair falling around his face like some dark halo and creating a curtain around the inventor’s head until there was only Loki.
One of Loki’s hands moved down and curled around Tony’s cock, moving in time to their shared thrusts.
Moans were falling from his lips and his tears had slowed until he could see Loki and not just his blurry shadow.
When he came, it didn’t rush up on him.
It was a slow trek to the top, where he fell over the edge and spiraled downward with a cry of Loki’s name.
The god followed soon after, and Tony felt warmth fill him as Loki came, marking him; claiming him as his own.
“Thank you,” Tony whispered, letting his eyes fall closed as Loki kissed him once more; soft and chaste and perfect, letting Tony know he would be okay.
Loki didn’t speak, but then, he didn’t need to.
The god pulled out and moved them up to the pillows and tugged Tony until his head rested on Loki’s chest and the god’s arms were wrapped securely around him.
The blankets were pulled up around his shoulders, but he didn’t notice.
Tony slept peacefully for the first time he had in years.