all I hear is bla bla bla
It’s not every night that he ends up in the middle of the bed; Thor wedging himself to his back like the larger god is trying to absorb him, Tony with his nose pressed against his throat, beard tickling his collarbones with each breath.
It’s normally the mortals place, and rightfully so. Anthony would never admit it but his best sleep comes when wedged between them, even shadowed dreams are respectful of the power of Odin’s sons.
There’s some sort of harmony at those times too. Three individual beings pressed together into one form that ranges from darkness to light. Tony, their perfect balance in the middle.
The mortal binding them together again as brothers and lovers, his calloused hands more adhesive than any substance known in all the nine realms.
This though, this balance disturbed is wrong. This is comfort he has neither earned nor deserves.
“You are thinking to hard little brother.” Thor's voice normally so loud it wakes the dead is respectfully quiet for the sleeping engineer.
He hums softly in agreement, calloused mortal hands twitch against his side, the barest brush of wakefulness before Tony relaxes once more and Loki allows himself to breath.
Heaving out a sigh he shifts slowly, removing Anthony’s hand from his hip, if only he can detangle his arm from were it‘s pillowing the mortal's head. “The night terrors will awaken him soon if he is not between us. I should move.”
“So that your’s can awaken him instead?” Thor asks, thick fingers brushing his hair off his neck with a gentle sweep. Lips brush against his ear warming his body with a wicked flick of tongue.
He’s not so lulled into lust not to notice the comment though.
“I do not-” he hisses in a tone too loud for the confined spaces of the bed. Holding his breath again as Tony shifts in his arms, hand returning to his hip and trapping him once more.
Collecting himself he sucks in and out a heavy breath. “I do not have such dreams.”
“Your silver tongue is turning lead, Brother.” Thor’s voice rumbles in his ear, the bed dipping behind him as the thunder god sits up slowly, gentle lips brushing over his bare shoulders as the sheets slip. “Your dreams wake us as often as Anthony’s.”
Twisting suddenly he sits up, the mortal's slumber forgotten in his rush of heat and anger. “If they disturb you so then I will lay elsewhere, Brother.” He hisses, venom dripping from his words as he scoots from his brother's thumbing arms.
“Loki, that is not what I was implying!”
“Loki?”
It’s not Thor's sputtering that stops him though; it’s the way Tony sits up with confusion and exhaustion clouding his brilliant eyes. The man looking so childish, full of innocence and perfection as he rubs his face and scratches his hair.
“Who’s sleeping were?” he slurs, sleep still dulling his sword sharp mind.
“Loki is being foolish.”
He bristles at his brother's words, letting out a scathing hiss and sliding himself to the edge of the bed. The cold bare floor against his feet is a chilling reminder of the warmth provided by his lovers that he’s loosing.
It is not like he has any control of the demons that chase him in his sleep.
“Don’t. Stop. Just- let me wake up.” Tony groans, Loki doesn’t look to him but he doesn’t need to, the ruffle of sheets is all the sign he needs, tensing just a moment before the mortal's hand sets on his bare back. “What happened?”
Loki tilts his head back, gazing up to the dark ceiling above them. “How oft do I wake you?”
“Well, you’ve been known to wake me in some pretty creative ways; you’ve got to be a little more specific than that.” Tony sighs, his forehead resting between his tense shoulders, warm breath tickling a hot stripe down his spine.
“How often do I wake you in the mist of dreams?”
Tony’s head tilts side to side in a shake and the bed dips and shifts as Thor daringly moves closer.
“Oh. Those times.” There’s a movement as Anthony shrugs, arms coming around his sides holding and squeezing like a snake. It’s not constricting though. It’s warm and loving. “I don’t tend to remember those times. Just kind of take it all in stride.” There’s a hard huff of breath against his skin as Tony sighs. “Just like you do with mine.”
He grits his teeth till he’s sure they’ll crack, swallowing past the lump in his throat called emotions.
“You are mortal.”
“Weak, limited life span, flesh and bone and soul bound by nothing but thread. Yep.” Tony says, his voice oddly light considering how familiar he is with his own mortality. “So what, because I’m drowning in the sand of my hourglass means its okay for me to have PTSD? Because that’s bullshit.”
“Thor-”
“Thor hides it better. Everyone who’s ever seen blood and battle is haunted by it. Period.” Tony intones. “Right big boy?”
“Aye brother. I am not free of my own monsters. I simply hold them in. It is a burden I bear most willingly for both of you to feel safe.”
Closing his eyes tight he dips his chin down till it rests against his chest, Anthony’s arms give a weak squeeze before relaxing.
“We’re all broken, sweetheart. No one’s prefect. And fuck-you very much for thinking just because I’m mortal means I get to have all the problems.” Tony chuckles against his back, index finger stabbing him in the belly.
“Can we get back to bed now? I’ve got an eight o’clock and Pepper’s going to kill me if I fall asleep through this one.” Tony detangles himself and scoots back to the head of the bed, patting the blankets like he’s calling a practically stubborn cat.
Tilting his head to the side he looks to Thor, his brother looks hopeful but has centuries of time to know to give his brother space when it’s needed.
Anthony pats the bed again, awake now. “Come on Happy Wanderer. Get that tight ass over here.”
The grin that splits Thor's face matches his own.
Crawling slowly across the bed and back into the waiting hands of his mortal, callused hands that hold the three of them together.
Weak and mortal and stronger than anything that has ever existed.