roba della coppa del nonno
Apr. 30th, 2012 10:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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literenSPN, Dean/Cas, PG, 409w
When Dean gets back with their breakfast, Cas is still under the covers. Dean grins as he closes the door behind him. He's moving quietly, trying not to wake him up, but when Dean drops the paper bag on the other half of the bed Cas opens his eyes.
"Good morning, Dean," Cas says, his voice still a little rough from sleep. He rubs his eyes with the palm of his hand, and Dean leans forward and kisses him, morning breath be damned.
"Good morning," Dean agrees when he manages to back away, because it is a good morning. He grins again. "I got you breakfast."
Cas smiles back, stifling a yawn. "Thank you, I'm starving."
He tries to get up, but Dean stops him. "Dude, you can't get out of bed, it would ruin the whole purpose of bringing you breakfast in bed."
Cas looks at him, his perplexity accentuated by the fact that right now he's sporting the worst case of bed head ever. "But Dean, we decided that we weren't going to eat food in bed any more after that accident with the cupcakes and the pixies. And because, like Sam explained to me, it is the hallmark of a 'slob'," he added. The quotation gesture is somewhat ruined by the fact that one of his arms is firmly wrapped around Dean's waist.
"Sam is a neat freak and should mind his own business," Dean says, fondly. He can't help himself, he has to reach out and run his fingers through his hair, just because now he can. "It's okay just this time."
He's ended up almost sitting in Castiel's lap, so he scoots back and reaches out one arm to grab the paper bag. When he opens it, the aroma of coffee and freshly-baked pastries fills the air. "There's chocolate croissant and cream croissant, I didn't know which one you'd like so I got you both."
"Cream would be nice, thank you," Cas says. He takes the croissant from Dean and smiles when their fingers brush together. Dean watches him as he bites into the croissant.
Cas is smiling so much that Dean feels like he should apologize. Breakfast in bed should be a tray piled with homemade pancakes with hearts drawn on it with maple syrup and a bunch of tiny flowers in a tiny glass on one side, or something like that.
"I like it," Cas says.
Dean wipes a smudge of cream from the corner of Cas's mouth. "I'm glad," he says, soft.
SPN, Dean/Jo, PG, 425w
It's the end of the world and things are going, quite literally, to hell in a handbasket. Dean doesn't even act surprised when she shows up on Bobby's doorstep, after the first time you do it resurrection loses some of its oomph. He goes through the motions almost clinically, holy water and silver knife, before pulling her into a bone-crunching hug.
Jo stares at him dully, takes the beer that he offers her and doesn't drink it while she tells him all that she knows, which isn't much at all. "My mum?" she asks, at the end, almost as an afterthought, and Dean just makes a face and shakes his head.
Nobody knows who or what's behind all these random resurrections. Could be a deal went down with a crossroad demon somewhere, could be the angels trying to get the upper hand on Lucifer. Castiel's been cut off from his feathery pals for too long to know anything useful. Bobby's been poring over his books day and night for the past few months trying to find anything helpful. Sam and Dean have been following every lead they came across. They still have no idea what's going on.
There's rumors of a cult in Georgia, though, so that's where they're headed tomorrow, them and Bobby and Cas, and now Jo too. It feels like a fucking deja-vu, and when Cas points it out they decide to call it an early night and go to sleep. Jo takes the last spare bed, bumping Cas to the sofa, with Bobby complaining that his place is not a hotel and turning around quickly to wipe the hint of a tear from his eyes.
Dean takes a blanket and goes to sleep in the Impala. It's not too bad, he's slept in worse places and it's a warm April night. Beats having to share a bed with his brother, and that's for sure. He's just settled in and closed his eyes when he hears a knock on the window, and there's Jo on the other side of the glass, leaning down to look at him.
"Hey," he tells Jo. "Everything okay?"
Or at least that's the plan, because when he opens the door she puts one hand on the back of his head and kisses him, and all that comes out of Dean's mouth is "Mmmffffffffngh".
"Thought you didn't do last nights on Earth," Dean says after a long, long while.
She scoots a bit closer, settling in his lap. "I don't," she replies. "This is my first night on Earth, remember?"
There's nothing Dean can say to that.
Avengers, un po' tutti, PG, 668w
One weekend, the Avengers go to the zoo. Coulson has spent all week planning the trip and arguing with Director Fury about how the kids need fresh air and sunlight, and how the Stark Tower isn't a suitable playground, and neither is the helicarrier. Fury argues that it might be dangerous, that they're trying to keep the Avengers' situation from the mass media, and that they might lose one of the kids in the crowd, what if that happens, Agent, you know I almost got a heart attack last time Barton played hide-and-seek.
In the end Coulson wins by using underhand tactics. "I've asked the director's authorization for a mission to the zoo," he tells the kids while he's collecting empty dishes at the end of Friday's dinner. Everyone starts clapping and yelling happily, even Thor, whom Fury is quite sure doesn't even know what a zoo is. Fury could still put his foot down and say no, but then he'd have to face a bunch of disappointed toddlers, and his training never prepared him for that.
They wake up bright and early on Sunday morning, because Fury reflects that if they're doing this they might as well do it properly, with a school bus and matching SHIELD sweatshirts for everyone and the kids walking in a two by two line, holding hands. Fury himself is in the front, looking like a sergeant major leading his troops, albeit troops that reach up to his knee and need their nose wiped on occasion. He buys a group ticket and scowls at the lady in the booth when she asks which school they're from.
Barton and Banner are in front of the others, because they're the two most likely to cause trouble and Fury wants to keep his eye on them. Banner looks at everything with wide eyes, pressing his face to the glass cages in the reptile house and gaping at the snakes, pulling on Fury's hand to get him to read the signs next to the enclosures, with the animals' names and habitats and whatnot. Barton gapes at the snakes too, and then pretends to shoot them with an imaginary bow and arrow. Fury isn't sure that this is normal kid behavior.
Potts and Romanoff look a lot more normal. They like the exotic birds best, and only the promise of an ice cream can lure them away from the parrots. There's a minor crisis when Potts asks for strawberry ice cream and Coulson has to intervene because according to SHIELD files she's allergic to strawberries, but everything is solved once Romanoff manages to persuade her that raspberry ice cream is just as good and as pink as strawberry ice cream. They carry on, trailing drops of half-melted ice cream behind them.
Thor and Loki follow, with Thor dribbling half of his huge chocolate ice cream on the front of his sweatshirt. Loki is so engrossed when he sees the penguins that he forgets to eat his own lemon ice cream, making it melt. Undaunted by the combination of flavors, Thor attempts to eat it for him, adding more stains to his clothes. Thor's favorite animals seems to be the polar bears, and he's sad when Fury denies him permission to climb into the enclosure to hug the big white teddy bears.
Rogers insisted on bringing his sketchbook and crayons with him. He declines the offer of an ice cream because he doesn't like cold food, but Stark offers him the wafer from his own ice cream and Rogers nibbles on that while he sits cross-legged in front of the giraffes' cage and draws them in bright yellow and brown splotches. Meanwhile he carries on a very serious conversation with Stark, in which he says how pretty giraffes are and Stark replies that he wants to build a robot giraffe.
Coulson brings up the rear, pushing baby Parker's pram and smiling peacefully while he watches Fury run after the kids, enjoying the closest thing he's had to a day off in the past few years.
Avengers, Thor/Loki, PG-13, 425w
"Enough lies, brother," Thor says. His voice is a quiet rumble, filling the whole room. "Show me who you truly are."
Loki's breath catches in his throat as Thor's fingers fumble with the fastenings of his clothes. The coat goes first, then the shirt slides off Loki's slender frame to pool around his sides. There's a rustle of sheets as Thor pushes him against the bed, and Loki wraps one arm around his brother's waist, pulling him down to lie on top of him, closing the distance between their mouths. Loki tastes like ice and pines, like metal and magic and sweat, and a little bit like Thor himself.
They tangle their legs together as they kiss, sliding together slowly, their eyes closed. Thor's hands are everywhere: tugging at a strand of Loki's hair, tracing his collarbone, drawing butterfly patterns on his hip, pushing down the hem of his trousers. Loki arches into the touches and digs his fingers into Thor's shoulders, a wordless encouragement, as his skin turns from pale to pink to flushed. There's welts and old bruises all over him, angry purple stains against milky white, and Thor's careful not to touch those. Instead he bows his head, placing a soft kiss over every mark.
When Thor looks up into his brother's face, his eyes are almost impossibly blue. Loki hauls him in for another long kiss, bracketing his face with his hands, holding him close. He tries to say something, but Thor hushes him and kisses him again, and again, and again, until they're both dizzy and their ragged breaths are the only sounds they can hear. Thor wraps his arms around Loki and holds him, rubs small circles on Loki's shoulders with his thumbs, smiles into his hair.
Loki buries his face in the crook of Thor's neck and waits for his heartbeat to slow down again, before sliding his hands under his brother's shirt, trailing his fingers along the smooth planes of his stomach. Thor makes an appreciative noise in the back of his throat and ducks his head to give Loki a quick peck on the lips before taking off his shirt, tossing it aside. Loki sprawls against the sheets and watches him with heavy-lidded eyes, his mouth red from kissing, his hair a mess.
"Brother," he murmurs, soft and pliant, raising one hand to entwine their fingers together, feeling Thor’s calluses under his palm, rubbing the pad of his thumb over Thor’s scraped knuckles. He pulls the two of them close again, skin against skin. There's no need for any other words.
ASOIAF, Jon/Robb, PG, 617w
"Black," Robb says, holding up the pair of jeans and inspecting them critically. "They're black."
"Thank you, Captain Obvious," Jon says, snatching them back and looking at the price tag. "I noticed."
Robb rolls his eyes. "All of your clothes are black," he replies, pointing at his brother. "Black jeans, black shirt, black hoodie..."
"So what? I like black." Jon shrugs and puts the jeans back on the shelf. "These are too large, help me look for a smaller size?"
"I'm just saying, it wouldn't hurt you to wear something with a little more colour for a change," Robb says, but he starts going through the pile of jeans anyway. They stand side by side for a while, elbows almost touching.
Jon is frowning. "So you want me to start dressing more like Loras Tyrell?" he asks after a while, glancing at his brother.
Robb swats him on the arm with a pair of jeans. "Don't be ridiculous, I never said that. Just that black is dull, and your arse would look great in these." He holds up some light blue jeans, making them dance in front of Jon's nose.
"My arse looks great in these jeans too," Jon replies with a smirk, pointing to the ones he's wearing now.
"I know," Robb says. Really, it should be illegal, the way Jon manages to look great no matter what he's wearing. He could probably put on those jeans that were three sizes too large for him, and still manage to look eminently shaggable.
The store's almost empty on that Sunday morning, so Robb leans forward to peck Jon on the lips, and once he's there he can't help but cop a feel with the hand that's not holding the jeans.
Jon blushes crimson and steps back, stumbling against a rack full of shirts. "Not here!" he almost shrieks.
Robb quirks his lips into a grin. "Sorry," he says, sounding everything but. "Just checking the size." He holds the jeans in front of Jon, using them as an excuse to edge closer and closer into his brother's personal space. Usually Jon wouldn't mind the intrusion, but they're in a public place, so he turns shy.
"Okay, okay, I'll try them on," he mumbles, snatching the jeans from Robb's hands and retreating towards the changing rooms at the other end of the store. Robb watches him go, appreciating the view of Jon's arse looking great in his jeans until a shelf hides his brother from view.
He browses the shirts section idly for a minute or so, until Jon calls for him. "Robb? They're still too big, could you grab me a smaller size?"
"Yes, my lord," Robb replies. It's easy to guess where's Jon, since all the other changing rooms are empty. He's about to hand him the jeans when he has a better idea and ducks into the changing room. Jon yelps when Robb bumps into him, pushing him back against the mirror. "Just making sure that these are a good fit," Robb says. "And I was wondering if you wore black boxers too, I'm glad to see you don't disappoint.
Jon starts to complain, but Robb shuts him up by kissing him, a peck that turns into a lingering kiss that turns into something open-mouthed and messy, with Jon grabbing a fistful of Robb's hair and holding him close.
"You shouldn't be here," Jon hisses, despite the fact that he's breathing hard and he still has his fingers tangled into Robb's curls. "The salesgirl will notice."
"Afraid she'll ruin your pure and pristine reputation?" Robb replies with a chuckle. He plants one last kiss on Jon's lips, then presses the jeans into his hands. "Come on, see if those fit."
He counts it as a victory when Jon buys a pair that's not black.
Avengers, Loki & Tony, PG, 328w
"This is, out of a long series of bad ideas, the most horrifically bad idea of them all," Loki says.
Next to him, in the driver's seat, Tony snickers. "That's rich, coming from the guy who almost got himself blown up on multiple occasions."
The god of debatable headwear pouts, drumming his fingers on the dashboard, and doesn't reply.
"Come on, it's a good thing," Tony says, watching a couple of ladies cross the street in front of the car. "You get to show the world your redeemed self, think of it as a supervillain community work kind of thing."
"I hardly think that one... what was the word you used?"
"Meet and greet," Tony replies easily. "You meet with the rich and famous, you shake hands, get your photo taken, that kind of thing." He leans forward to straighten Loki's tie. "I hope you're photogenic."
Loki ignores the jibe. "I hardly think that is going to change people's minds and make them forget that only a few months ago I was trying to enslave their primitive world."
Tony laughs, no doubt disappointing Loki who was trying to rile him up. "Not if you talk like that, they won't. Just smile and nod. I think there'll be an open bar, that always helps." When Loki doesn't say anything, Tony keeps rambling. "You'll be like a phoenix, reborn from the ashes of its earlier assholery. Or possibly from the icicles. Kind of hard to have a phoenix from icicles, that was a bad metaphor."
"Stark..." Loki says.
"Look, you're not getting out of this," Tony replies, cutting him off. "Steve and Thor are away on a mission, Bruce isn't allowed to go out in public since the last paparazzi fiasco, and Pepper has a date." He makes a pained face. "Can you believe that? A date. I'm not going to suffer through this alone."
Loki rolls his eyes. "I was merely going to point out that you can go. The light on the semaphore turned green a while ago."
When Dean gets back with their breakfast, Cas is still under the covers. Dean grins as he closes the door behind him. He's moving quietly, trying not to wake him up, but when Dean drops the paper bag on the other half of the bed Cas opens his eyes.
"Good morning, Dean," Cas says, his voice still a little rough from sleep. He rubs his eyes with the palm of his hand, and Dean leans forward and kisses him, morning breath be damned.
"Good morning," Dean agrees when he manages to back away, because it is a good morning. He grins again. "I got you breakfast."
Cas smiles back, stifling a yawn. "Thank you, I'm starving."
He tries to get up, but Dean stops him. "Dude, you can't get out of bed, it would ruin the whole purpose of bringing you breakfast in bed."
Cas looks at him, his perplexity accentuated by the fact that right now he's sporting the worst case of bed head ever. "But Dean, we decided that we weren't going to eat food in bed any more after that accident with the cupcakes and the pixies. And because, like Sam explained to me, it is the hallmark of a 'slob'," he added. The quotation gesture is somewhat ruined by the fact that one of his arms is firmly wrapped around Dean's waist.
"Sam is a neat freak and should mind his own business," Dean says, fondly. He can't help himself, he has to reach out and run his fingers through his hair, just because now he can. "It's okay just this time."
He's ended up almost sitting in Castiel's lap, so he scoots back and reaches out one arm to grab the paper bag. When he opens it, the aroma of coffee and freshly-baked pastries fills the air. "There's chocolate croissant and cream croissant, I didn't know which one you'd like so I got you both."
"Cream would be nice, thank you," Cas says. He takes the croissant from Dean and smiles when their fingers brush together. Dean watches him as he bites into the croissant.
Cas is smiling so much that Dean feels like he should apologize. Breakfast in bed should be a tray piled with homemade pancakes with hearts drawn on it with maple syrup and a bunch of tiny flowers in a tiny glass on one side, or something like that.
"I like it," Cas says.
Dean wipes a smudge of cream from the corner of Cas's mouth. "I'm glad," he says, soft.
SPN, Dean/Jo, PG, 425w
It's the end of the world and things are going, quite literally, to hell in a handbasket. Dean doesn't even act surprised when she shows up on Bobby's doorstep, after the first time you do it resurrection loses some of its oomph. He goes through the motions almost clinically, holy water and silver knife, before pulling her into a bone-crunching hug.
Jo stares at him dully, takes the beer that he offers her and doesn't drink it while she tells him all that she knows, which isn't much at all. "My mum?" she asks, at the end, almost as an afterthought, and Dean just makes a face and shakes his head.
Nobody knows who or what's behind all these random resurrections. Could be a deal went down with a crossroad demon somewhere, could be the angels trying to get the upper hand on Lucifer. Castiel's been cut off from his feathery pals for too long to know anything useful. Bobby's been poring over his books day and night for the past few months trying to find anything helpful. Sam and Dean have been following every lead they came across. They still have no idea what's going on.
There's rumors of a cult in Georgia, though, so that's where they're headed tomorrow, them and Bobby and Cas, and now Jo too. It feels like a fucking deja-vu, and when Cas points it out they decide to call it an early night and go to sleep. Jo takes the last spare bed, bumping Cas to the sofa, with Bobby complaining that his place is not a hotel and turning around quickly to wipe the hint of a tear from his eyes.
Dean takes a blanket and goes to sleep in the Impala. It's not too bad, he's slept in worse places and it's a warm April night. Beats having to share a bed with his brother, and that's for sure. He's just settled in and closed his eyes when he hears a knock on the window, and there's Jo on the other side of the glass, leaning down to look at him.
"Hey," he tells Jo. "Everything okay?"
Or at least that's the plan, because when he opens the door she puts one hand on the back of his head and kisses him, and all that comes out of Dean's mouth is "Mmmffffffffngh".
"Thought you didn't do last nights on Earth," Dean says after a long, long while.
She scoots a bit closer, settling in his lap. "I don't," she replies. "This is my first night on Earth, remember?"
There's nothing Dean can say to that.
Avengers, un po' tutti, PG, 668w
One weekend, the Avengers go to the zoo. Coulson has spent all week planning the trip and arguing with Director Fury about how the kids need fresh air and sunlight, and how the Stark Tower isn't a suitable playground, and neither is the helicarrier. Fury argues that it might be dangerous, that they're trying to keep the Avengers' situation from the mass media, and that they might lose one of the kids in the crowd, what if that happens, Agent, you know I almost got a heart attack last time Barton played hide-and-seek.
In the end Coulson wins by using underhand tactics. "I've asked the director's authorization for a mission to the zoo," he tells the kids while he's collecting empty dishes at the end of Friday's dinner. Everyone starts clapping and yelling happily, even Thor, whom Fury is quite sure doesn't even know what a zoo is. Fury could still put his foot down and say no, but then he'd have to face a bunch of disappointed toddlers, and his training never prepared him for that.
They wake up bright and early on Sunday morning, because Fury reflects that if they're doing this they might as well do it properly, with a school bus and matching SHIELD sweatshirts for everyone and the kids walking in a two by two line, holding hands. Fury himself is in the front, looking like a sergeant major leading his troops, albeit troops that reach up to his knee and need their nose wiped on occasion. He buys a group ticket and scowls at the lady in the booth when she asks which school they're from.
Barton and Banner are in front of the others, because they're the two most likely to cause trouble and Fury wants to keep his eye on them. Banner looks at everything with wide eyes, pressing his face to the glass cages in the reptile house and gaping at the snakes, pulling on Fury's hand to get him to read the signs next to the enclosures, with the animals' names and habitats and whatnot. Barton gapes at the snakes too, and then pretends to shoot them with an imaginary bow and arrow. Fury isn't sure that this is normal kid behavior.
Potts and Romanoff look a lot more normal. They like the exotic birds best, and only the promise of an ice cream can lure them away from the parrots. There's a minor crisis when Potts asks for strawberry ice cream and Coulson has to intervene because according to SHIELD files she's allergic to strawberries, but everything is solved once Romanoff manages to persuade her that raspberry ice cream is just as good and as pink as strawberry ice cream. They carry on, trailing drops of half-melted ice cream behind them.
Thor and Loki follow, with Thor dribbling half of his huge chocolate ice cream on the front of his sweatshirt. Loki is so engrossed when he sees the penguins that he forgets to eat his own lemon ice cream, making it melt. Undaunted by the combination of flavors, Thor attempts to eat it for him, adding more stains to his clothes. Thor's favorite animals seems to be the polar bears, and he's sad when Fury denies him permission to climb into the enclosure to hug the big white teddy bears.
Rogers insisted on bringing his sketchbook and crayons with him. He declines the offer of an ice cream because he doesn't like cold food, but Stark offers him the wafer from his own ice cream and Rogers nibbles on that while he sits cross-legged in front of the giraffes' cage and draws them in bright yellow and brown splotches. Meanwhile he carries on a very serious conversation with Stark, in which he says how pretty giraffes are and Stark replies that he wants to build a robot giraffe.
Coulson brings up the rear, pushing baby Parker's pram and smiling peacefully while he watches Fury run after the kids, enjoying the closest thing he's had to a day off in the past few years.
Avengers, Thor/Loki, PG-13, 425w
"Enough lies, brother," Thor says. His voice is a quiet rumble, filling the whole room. "Show me who you truly are."
Loki's breath catches in his throat as Thor's fingers fumble with the fastenings of his clothes. The coat goes first, then the shirt slides off Loki's slender frame to pool around his sides. There's a rustle of sheets as Thor pushes him against the bed, and Loki wraps one arm around his brother's waist, pulling him down to lie on top of him, closing the distance between their mouths. Loki tastes like ice and pines, like metal and magic and sweat, and a little bit like Thor himself.
They tangle their legs together as they kiss, sliding together slowly, their eyes closed. Thor's hands are everywhere: tugging at a strand of Loki's hair, tracing his collarbone, drawing butterfly patterns on his hip, pushing down the hem of his trousers. Loki arches into the touches and digs his fingers into Thor's shoulders, a wordless encouragement, as his skin turns from pale to pink to flushed. There's welts and old bruises all over him, angry purple stains against milky white, and Thor's careful not to touch those. Instead he bows his head, placing a soft kiss over every mark.
When Thor looks up into his brother's face, his eyes are almost impossibly blue. Loki hauls him in for another long kiss, bracketing his face with his hands, holding him close. He tries to say something, but Thor hushes him and kisses him again, and again, and again, until they're both dizzy and their ragged breaths are the only sounds they can hear. Thor wraps his arms around Loki and holds him, rubs small circles on Loki's shoulders with his thumbs, smiles into his hair.
Loki buries his face in the crook of Thor's neck and waits for his heartbeat to slow down again, before sliding his hands under his brother's shirt, trailing his fingers along the smooth planes of his stomach. Thor makes an appreciative noise in the back of his throat and ducks his head to give Loki a quick peck on the lips before taking off his shirt, tossing it aside. Loki sprawls against the sheets and watches him with heavy-lidded eyes, his mouth red from kissing, his hair a mess.
"Brother," he murmurs, soft and pliant, raising one hand to entwine their fingers together, feeling Thor’s calluses under his palm, rubbing the pad of his thumb over Thor’s scraped knuckles. He pulls the two of them close again, skin against skin. There's no need for any other words.
ASOIAF, Jon/Robb, PG, 617w
"Black," Robb says, holding up the pair of jeans and inspecting them critically. "They're black."
"Thank you, Captain Obvious," Jon says, snatching them back and looking at the price tag. "I noticed."
Robb rolls his eyes. "All of your clothes are black," he replies, pointing at his brother. "Black jeans, black shirt, black hoodie..."
"So what? I like black." Jon shrugs and puts the jeans back on the shelf. "These are too large, help me look for a smaller size?"
"I'm just saying, it wouldn't hurt you to wear something with a little more colour for a change," Robb says, but he starts going through the pile of jeans anyway. They stand side by side for a while, elbows almost touching.
Jon is frowning. "So you want me to start dressing more like Loras Tyrell?" he asks after a while, glancing at his brother.
Robb swats him on the arm with a pair of jeans. "Don't be ridiculous, I never said that. Just that black is dull, and your arse would look great in these." He holds up some light blue jeans, making them dance in front of Jon's nose.
"My arse looks great in these jeans too," Jon replies with a smirk, pointing to the ones he's wearing now.
"I know," Robb says. Really, it should be illegal, the way Jon manages to look great no matter what he's wearing. He could probably put on those jeans that were three sizes too large for him, and still manage to look eminently shaggable.
The store's almost empty on that Sunday morning, so Robb leans forward to peck Jon on the lips, and once he's there he can't help but cop a feel with the hand that's not holding the jeans.
Jon blushes crimson and steps back, stumbling against a rack full of shirts. "Not here!" he almost shrieks.
Robb quirks his lips into a grin. "Sorry," he says, sounding everything but. "Just checking the size." He holds the jeans in front of Jon, using them as an excuse to edge closer and closer into his brother's personal space. Usually Jon wouldn't mind the intrusion, but they're in a public place, so he turns shy.
"Okay, okay, I'll try them on," he mumbles, snatching the jeans from Robb's hands and retreating towards the changing rooms at the other end of the store. Robb watches him go, appreciating the view of Jon's arse looking great in his jeans until a shelf hides his brother from view.
He browses the shirts section idly for a minute or so, until Jon calls for him. "Robb? They're still too big, could you grab me a smaller size?"
"Yes, my lord," Robb replies. It's easy to guess where's Jon, since all the other changing rooms are empty. He's about to hand him the jeans when he has a better idea and ducks into the changing room. Jon yelps when Robb bumps into him, pushing him back against the mirror. "Just making sure that these are a good fit," Robb says. "And I was wondering if you wore black boxers too, I'm glad to see you don't disappoint.
Jon starts to complain, but Robb shuts him up by kissing him, a peck that turns into a lingering kiss that turns into something open-mouthed and messy, with Jon grabbing a fistful of Robb's hair and holding him close.
"You shouldn't be here," Jon hisses, despite the fact that he's breathing hard and he still has his fingers tangled into Robb's curls. "The salesgirl will notice."
"Afraid she'll ruin your pure and pristine reputation?" Robb replies with a chuckle. He plants one last kiss on Jon's lips, then presses the jeans into his hands. "Come on, see if those fit."
He counts it as a victory when Jon buys a pair that's not black.
Avengers, Loki & Tony, PG, 328w
"This is, out of a long series of bad ideas, the most horrifically bad idea of them all," Loki says.
Next to him, in the driver's seat, Tony snickers. "That's rich, coming from the guy who almost got himself blown up on multiple occasions."
The god of debatable headwear pouts, drumming his fingers on the dashboard, and doesn't reply.
"Come on, it's a good thing," Tony says, watching a couple of ladies cross the street in front of the car. "You get to show the world your redeemed self, think of it as a supervillain community work kind of thing."
"I hardly think that one... what was the word you used?"
"Meet and greet," Tony replies easily. "You meet with the rich and famous, you shake hands, get your photo taken, that kind of thing." He leans forward to straighten Loki's tie. "I hope you're photogenic."
Loki ignores the jibe. "I hardly think that is going to change people's minds and make them forget that only a few months ago I was trying to enslave their primitive world."
Tony laughs, no doubt disappointing Loki who was trying to rile him up. "Not if you talk like that, they won't. Just smile and nod. I think there'll be an open bar, that always helps." When Loki doesn't say anything, Tony keeps rambling. "You'll be like a phoenix, reborn from the ashes of its earlier assholery. Or possibly from the icicles. Kind of hard to have a phoenix from icicles, that was a bad metaphor."
"Stark..." Loki says.
"Look, you're not getting out of this," Tony replies, cutting him off. "Steve and Thor are away on a mission, Bruce isn't allowed to go out in public since the last paparazzi fiasco, and Pepper has a date." He makes a pained face. "Can you believe that? A date. I'm not going to suffer through this alone."
Loki rolls his eyes. "I was merely going to point out that you can go. The light on the semaphore turned green a while ago."
