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It’s the Black Sabbath t-shirt. Anthony always talks about throwing it out because the fabric is getting thin and you can barely see the print anymore, but he never does. It’s his lazing-around-at-home shirt, his doesn’t-matter-if-I-get paint-on-it shirt. Coincidentally, it’s also the one he wore when they had their first proper conversation. Loki likes that it smells like the workshop no matter how often they wash it and the way Anthony looks wearing it, cozy and charming and a little rough around the edges. But it’s a part of Anthony by now, really, so all in all Loki is so used to seeing it that he doesn’t pay it a lot of attention.
Today, though, he cannot stop looking at it.
The weather is nice. Somewhere between spring and summer, cold in the shade, warm in the sun. They slept in and had a lengthy breakfast at lunchtime, and they’ll spend the rest of the day doing nothing on the wooden terrace that looks out on the lake. It’s not quite warm enough to go for a swim yet. For Anthony, anyway; Loki, more sensitive to heat for obvious reasons, is already considering it. Or was considering it before he got distracted.
Officially, he is reading. Unofficially, he is staring at Anthony out of the corner of his eye. Anthony is lying on his back, head resting on Loki’s thigh. His eyes are closed and he’s listening to something on headphones – either music or the podcast Peter and Ned started where they tell their twelve listeners about their favorite Lego models and science experiments. Loki stopped flinching inwardly at the sight of the scarred half of Anthony’s body months ago. You can get used to everything, even to the visual reminder of the time your husband nearly died because he just had to sacrifice himself for the universe.
Loki spends a fair share of his time ogling Anthony, so it shouldn’t be a surprise that he can’t yank his eyes away from him right now. If Anthony notices that he is being stared at, he doesn’t let it show. If he did notice, he would think it was just that, ogling. And it started off like that, certainly; Loki has been considering dragging Anthony back to bed for at least an hour or two. He likes how Anthony’s beard looks right now, because he hasn’t bothered trimming it today, so it is scrubbier than usual. His arms are bare, drawing attention to his muscles, and the shirt is just tight enough to show off his chest and stomach…
And this where Loki stopped his observation to do a double take. He’s still staring now, trying to figure out if he somehow missed something. The t-shirt in question was never particularly baggy; it always fit Anthony quite nicely, not counting the months after he came back from Titan. And it still fits him nicely, so nicely, in fact, that Loki can’t help but notice that it seems a little… tight. Around the middle. His hands are on his stomach, the fingers of his right hand fiddling with the metal fingertips of his left one. And below his hands, the fabric is definitely rucking up less than it used to. It’s not straining over Anthony’s stomach, not quite, but Loki is certain that Anthony fills it out better than he did before. And when did that happen, exactly? Loki sees Anthony naked just about every day, and he never noticed a difference. Has he been blind? Or just distracted?
Loki looks at Anthony’s arms again. The time Anthony spends in the workshop keeps them strong, but Loki thinks the muscles used to look a little firmer, more pronounced. Loki takes his book in his other hand so that he can slide the other one over Anthony’s chest – subtly, like he just wants to touch, which is not at all unusual. Anthony doesn’t even react. His chest feels the same as always, warm and solid, a steady heartbeat underneath Loki’s fingers when he lets them linger. Anthony’s hands are in the way, and Loki can hardly push them aside just so he can feel Anthony’s stomach, but his hands itch with the urge. When they first got together, Anthony’s stomach was flat and firm, abdominal muscles visible due to regular training and operating the Iron Man suit. Now that he is thinking about it, Loki doesn’t think Anthony looks like that anymore, but he never stopped and noticed.
Now, he can’t stop staring. He would think that he is just imagining things, but he can’t unsee it now. The way the fabric stretches over Anthony’s stomach just slightly; Loki wants to run his hands over it, pull up the shirt and touch Anthony’s skin where that familiar trail of dark hair leads down to his groin. Warm and alive and maybe, just maybe – softer?
Anthony grabs one of Loki’s hands and entwines their fingers, letting it rest on his own chest. Loki lets him, squeezes Anthony’s hand in return.
Anthony opens his eyes, squinting against the sunlight, and looks at Loki for a moment. He seems to come to the conclusion that everything is fine and closes his eyes again. Loki looks back at his book. His gaze keeps flickering back to Anthony’s stomach, though, and he turns the pages without reading a single paragraph.
*
In the evening, he realizes that he has been both blind and distracted, and no, he is not imagining things. Not at all.
Anthony is on top of him, Loki’s cock buried in him to the hilt. He’s leaning back, his hands on Loki’s thighs as he rolls his hips in those small but sharp movements he likes best in this position. Loki knows that his cock is pushing up against Anthony’s prostate just perfectly like this, can see it on Anthony’s face, eyes half closed and lips parted. A blush spreads from Anthony’s cheeks down his neck to his chest. His breaths are ragged, torn apart by gasps and the occasional whine that makes Loki’s cock throb inside of him. The fingernails of Tony’s left hand dig into Loki’s thigh and will surely leave marks; his other hand, the metal one, has long warmed up to the temperature of Loki’s body.
Loki can’t speak. He wants to, because Anthony deserves to hear how utterly beautiful he is like this. But Loki’s tongue refuses to work, and he is too busy staring at Anthony and keeping his hold on Anthony’s hips without restricting his movements. And his hips, oh. A little more padded than they used to be, Loki thinks, matching the pudge under his navel – not big, but there, definitely there. A little further up, Loki can still see Anthony’s muscles tense and shift as he moves, but he looks softer now. Loki is panting himself, own stomach clenching; he grabs Anthony’s hips tighter and stares at the way the flesh gives under his fingers. His own orgasm catches him by surprise even as he thrusts up into Anthony on instinct, grip of his hands tightening even more.
Anthony curses under his breath, hips coming to a staggering halt. His eyes are wide as he stares down at Loki, the pleasure in them clear. “Did you just –”
Loki tries to catch his breath and fails. “I’m sorry, I –”
Anthony huffs out a laugh. The right corner of his mouth still refuses to play along sometimes, so his grins are always a little crooked. Loki’s heart swells a little, seeing that.
“It’s okay,” Anthony says and leans forward to kiss Loki, slow and deep.
Loki flips them over and pulls out now that he is softening, but he makes it up to Anthony by taking his already leaking cock down his throat and push three fingers into him to keep him from feeling empty. If he can keep his other hand on Anthony’s hip and dig into the flesh, that’s just a plus.
*
Loki comes to the conclusion that the change must have happened so slowly that it simply escaped his notice. He is paying attention now, though, and he sees various things. Most of which make him want to pull Anthony close and never let go.
Anthony hasn’t bought any new clothes yet, but Loki isn’t sure how much of that is just pride. A few shirts and pants are too tight. (Loki likes it very much when Anthony wears them.) There is a bit of softness along his jaw that makes his beard look even better, somehow. Loki catches himself staring at Anthony’s ass even more often than before, trying to figure out if it actually is a little bigger or if he’s just hallucinating. At any rate, there definitely is more flesh on his thighs; Loki notices this the first time when he bends Anthony over the kitchen table.
“Not that I’m complaining,” Anthony says idly one morning, “but you’re awfully handsy these days.”
Loki decides to be shameless and gives Anthony’s ass a squeeze for good measure. Anthony laughs and stands up on tiptoes to take his favorite coffee mug out of the cupboard. Loki leans in and kisses his cheek, then his neck. He slips his hand into the back of Anthony’s sweatpants.
“No, seriously,” Anthony says, even as he presses back against Loki’s hand. “What’s up with that?”
“With what, darling?”
“Don’t play dumb.”
Loki smirks and presses his lips to Anthony’s cheek again. “Do you mind?”
“Like I said, not complaining.” Anthony gives Loki a look, somewhere between teasing and thoughtful. “Just – any reason? Did someone slip you aphrodisiacs while I wasn’t looking?”
“I don’t appreciate the implication that I need aphrodisiacs to enjoy touching you.”
Anthony rolls his eyes and looks away to pour coffee into the mug. His eyes are clouded with the bitterness that still overcomes him sometimes. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Is it not?”
Anthony scowls, which makes Loki think that, yes, maybe that was exactly what Anthony meant. Loki takes his hand out of Anthony’s pants and wraps his arms around him instead, resting his chin on Anthony’s shoulder.
“You’re lovely,” he says, voice soft. “I want to touch you. I will stop if you don’t enjoy it.”
“No, I do.” Anthony sighs, leaning back against him. “It’s just.”
“I know.”
They have breakfast in silence. After, Loki bends Anthony over the kitchen table again, because he needs to get another look at those thighs, and also he knows that he can shut off Anthony’s brain quite effectively by pinning Anthony’s hands to his back and fucking him hard enough to bruise. It seems to have worked, because after, when Loki wipes them down with a kitchen towel, the bitterness is gone from Anthony’s eyes.
*
Anthony doesn’t avoid mirrors anymore, and he doesn’t mind when Loki runs his hands over the scars – there are patches at the side of his head where hair will never grow again, and his beard isn’t as symmetrical as it used to be for the same reason. He has been making jokes about his metal arm since he built it, but by now his smile reaches his eyes when he talks about it. The scarred skin tends to chafe, and Anthony always lets Loki put lotion on the parts he can reach – that would have been unimaginable in the beginning, when Anthony wouldn’t even let Loki see him without clothes on.
“A little further down,” Anthony says over his shoulder. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, bent forward slightly so that Loki can take care of his back.
Loki smiles and lets his hand wander lower, carefully scratching the scars on the right side of Anthony’s back. “Here?”
Anthony grunts in affirmation.
“Are you in pain, darling?”
“No, it just itches. Dunno.” Anthony rolls his shoulders back. “It’s better now.”
Loki hums and puts a little more salve on Anthony’s back just to be certain. It doesn’t do more than soothe the skin at this point, but there is not much else they can do. When he is done, Loki moves closer to Anthony and wraps his arms around him, one hand finding its way to Anthony’s stomach immediately. It’s been a few weeks, and as far as Loki can tell, Anthony hasn’t been growing more, but the softness seems to be there to stay for now. Loki is glad for it.
Anthony takes Loki’s hand and pushes it away. Gently, but still.
Loki frowns. “Is something wrong?”
“No.”
Loki pulls back a little, moving his hands to Anthony’s shoulders. “Forgive me for being not at all convinced.”
“You keep touching me,” Anthony says, like that is some sort of problem.
Remembering their conversation about him being handsy a few days ago, Loki takes his hands away from Anthony altogether. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“You –” Anthony sighs and turns around, pulling one of his legs onto the bed. “It’s not that, of course you can – you know, touch. I don’t mind.”
Loki raises a brow. “It seems like you do.”
“I don’t,” Anthony repeats, stubborn. Then he winces and shrugs, reaching down to pick up his shirt from the ground. “It’s just, I know – I’ve gained a pound or two. I’ll take up running or something.”
Loki’s brain nearly becomes tangled in a knot trying to make sense of that sentence. He should probably say something clever and soothing, given that Anthony is clearly uncomfortable, but all he comes up with is, “Running?”
“Yeah,” Anthony says. “I guess I just haven’t been moving enough, now that I’m not in the suit all the time anymore. Or my age is finally catching up with me. Unfair, right?”
He chuckles, but it falls flat; his heart isn’t it.
Loki touches him again, because he can’t not. He strokes up Anthony’s back, careful, in case Anthony gives him a sign he would rather not be touched right now. He doesn’t. “You have been healing.”
Anthony huffs. “So? It’s still – I don’t know.”
“I think it’s perfect.” Loki kisses Anthony’s shoulder, the scarred one. “I like the way it looks on you.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Not at all. It suits you.” Loki runs a hand through Anthony’s hair – graying at his left temple, a development that has been stretching over the last few years, and Loki is still enamored with it. It’s proof that his mortal survived another year, just like the wrinkles around his eyes. The thought makes him swallow.
“You don’t mind that I’m getting fat?” Anthony asks, joking again. It falls flat, again.
Joke or not, it’s a ridiculous notion, as far as Loki is concerned. He can understand feeling uncertain about one’s looks, but about this? He figures it’s one more point in which their cultures differ – there is a reason everyone in Asgard thought Volstagg was incredibly attractive while viewing Loki as not much more than a dark-haired, beardless twig.
“No,” Loki says. “I do not.”
Anthony sighs. “This is the point where you’re supposed to tell me that I’m not getting fat.”
“Where would be the point in that?” Loki shuffles forward on his knees a little more, so that his thighs are pressed against Anthony’s back and he can slide his hands down Anthony’s chest to his stomach. “You have gained weight. I think it’s lovely. I will always think you are lovely as long as you are safe and healthy and – and here.”
It’s the way his voice cracks on the last word that betrays him. It’s barely even there, he knows it’s going to happen the fragment of a second before it does and manages to hide it under putting more emphasis on the word, but Anthony knows him. Inside out.
He turns around and looks at Loki, his good eye flickering back and forth to take in all details of Loki’s expression. Anthony’s face softens, then, and he pushes Loki back onto the bed and lies down on top of him. Another human might find it stifling, but to Loki, Anthony’s weight is nothing but comfort.
“I’m here,” he says, resting his head on Loki’s shoulder. “I’m fine. I’ll stay.”
“I know,” Loki says, and he does. But the Norns seemed so inclined to prove him wrong in the past that sometimes, he doubts. He swallows again, trying to get rid of the tightness in his throat. “When you came back from Titan – when I saw you after months of waiting, hoping, you – you were half your weight. Less than. After your snap, when you finally woke up, you were so weak –”
He cuts himself off and curls his arms around Anthony’s middle as tightly as he can, burying his face in Anthony’s hair. He takes a breath. His fingers press into the new softness around Anthony’s hips and lower back. So safe that he can eat whenever he is hungry, so healthy that they can cook and eat together, miles away from the nearest hospital bed. What more can he ask for?
“I mean, I’m fine with it as long as you don’t mind,” Anthony says softly, reaching up to play with Loki’s hair. “I’ve been worried you would.”
Loki laughs, the sound a little wet. “I haven’t been able to keep my hands off you ever since I noticed.”
“Wait, that’s why? Are you serious?”
“Completely.”
“Huh.” Anthony pauses. “Guess I’m still hot, then.”
“Well, you’re adequate, I suppose. For a mortal.”
Anthony yanks at his hair. “Ass.”
“Mh, do that again.”
Anthony’s laugh is bright, the best thing Loki has ever heard.