Doors Open From Both Sides.

Tony/Loki. This fic begins with the 'Performance Issues' scene in Avengers and is hopefully soon going to develop into pure FrostIron fabulousness. Loki can't understand why Tony isn't susceptible to his mind control trick, and instead of throwing him out of the window, demands an explanation. Cue lots of dialogue/character development/description/angst, MAYBE culminating in a RELATIONSHIP! Ooh.

As you can see, I've taken some liberties with the setting – yes, Tony and Loki are having a version of 'THAT' conversation in the movie, but it's happening a little later now, the battle has already begun. Tony finds himself face to face with Loki after originally entering Stark Tower to pick up his suit.

This is the first fic I've written for about…..9 years, and I have no great master plan in mind, just going to go with it and let the muses do their job, if they'll oblige… I can imagine I'll be absolutely horrendous at writing smut, so forgive me for the crap quality before we even get there…please? This is just an experiment really, enjoying the writing for writings sake.

Any comments or reviews will be MOST welcome, and I will love you forever and squish you and make you endless cups of tea. Through the internet. And obviously try and make the upcoming chapters as amazing as I possibly can. Seriously though, if anyone reads this and likes it at all, I will be SO happy! (^.^)

Chapter 1. Performance Issues.

The noises of the battle were heavily muted by the thick plasma glass panels separating the penthouse of Stark Tower from the outside world, and were it not for the billowing clouds of ash and fire, multitude of Chitauri sleds flying past at breakneck speed and gaping hole torn into the sky that was sending pulsating waves of light and air turbulence over Manhattan, you could be forgiven in thinking that today was just another Tuesday. Just another normal, average, utterly ordinary Tuesday. A Tuesday which found Tony Stark leaning casually against the bar (his bar) pouring a measured amount of Scotch into a (rather too large) glass from a (rather too expensive) decanter, casually dressed in combats and a vintage Black Sabbath t-shirt and with the air of a person completely in control and at ease. The amber liquid sloshed over the ice and Tony inhaled it's warm, heady scent, smoky and rich. Taking a sip, he let the drink spike in his throat, burning on it's way down to his stomach.

Nothing was out of place.

Nothing appeared to indicate a full scale intergalactic war was going on not 30 feet from where Tony stood.

Nothing at all, except the 6ft tall demi-god loitering by the window, smirk upon his mouth, wild and triumphant look sparking in his eyes, dressed in more leather than you'd find in your average Texan tanner and clutching a sceptre that would have looked imposing enough without the glowing ball of crackling energy rippling at it's head, throbbing with the thrill of danger and emitting a low humming sound.

Of all the guests Tony Stark had entertained in his private quarters, this guy was the least welcome. At least in a sense. If he was in here, Tony reasoned quickly, he wasn't out there, killing people. Citizens. His friends. The other Avengers. If he was in here, the only immediate danger he posed was to Tony himself. And seen as Tony had absolutely no intention of letting Loki harm him, his home, or his team - heck, or even his world any more than he already had– Tony was definitely of the opinion that his situation, however bizarre and dangerous, was better than a lot of alternatives. A hell of a lot of alternatives. This quick confidence, direct, (if rash) reasoning, egoistical impudence and assured determination with which Tony Stark dove into almost every situation made him the perfect person (in his own opinion of course) for Loki to pick a one on one fight with. Or attempt to. Tony was already very clear in his mind that he was going to be the one doing the threatening. He took a second stiffening gulp of Scotch, plastered a carefully controlled, cool look on his face with only the slightest hint of a smirk to match Loki's, and strode out from behind the bar.

Loki turned round from surveying the chaos outside, the chaos he had started. With malice and amusement dancing in the reflection of his eyes, he faced Tony.

'What have I to fear?' His voice was silky smooth, antagonising, bursting with premature victory.

Tony's jaw clenched and he longed to punch the smug look off his opponents face. However, he didn't have the suit, and besides his plan was different. Loki, God of Mischief, lie-smith. The silver tongue. Tony had no hope of physically overpowering Loki when only dressed in his own skin, but in terms of his own tongue, however, his own wit and intellect – those he was confident were an even match. He fixed his gaze upon Loki, and adopted a casual, matter of fact tone, as if offering a suggestion of what Loki could eat for dinner as opposed to his downfall.

'The Avengers' he said, with a small shrug.

Loki's eyes narrowed, and the shadow of a questioning glace settled on his face.

'It's what we call ourselves' Tony explained, still in that carefully monitored, throwaway tone. 'Sort of like a team. 'Earths mightiest heroes' type of thing'.

At this, Loki snapped back to his favoured smirk. Moving towards Tony, his voice took on a measure of sardonic delight. ''Yes' he almost hissed, 'I've met them'.

Tony matched Loki's smirk and nodded his acquiescence. 'Yeah…' he took another sip of Scotch. 'Let's do a quick headcount here. Your brother, the demi-god –'

At the mention of Thor, Loki pursed his lips and gave a mini shudder; turning his gaze back to the chaos outside and gripping the sceptre more forcefully. His reaction didn't go unnoticed by Tony. Whilst Loki's eyes were averted, he reached for his connective bracelets nearby without breaking his speech, aware that Thor's name had potentially sparked off another moment of uncontrollable rage in his younger brother. He hadn't planned on using the suit, but then again, one couldn't have too many Plan B's when your opponent was Loki Laufeyson.

' – a supersoldier, living legend who kind of lives up to the legend, a man with breathtaking anger management issues, a couple of master assassins, and YOU –' Tony raised the inflection of his recounting, and pointed straight at Loki, who by now had turned back to surveying Tony, affront and anger replaced once more by that smug smirk – 'you've managed to piss off every single one of them'.

At his words, Loki's grin widened, and he took another step forward. Shooting a wink at Tony (and boy, did that sassy little shit get on Tony's nerves just then) he spoke softly, clearly revelling in the success of his powers of manipulation. 'That was the plan'.

'Not a great plan'. Tony hit back. His anger, and (although he would barely admit it to himself) his unease was growing. Loki was deranged, dangerous, mad as a box of cats, as Banner had so eloquently put it back on the helicarrier. Every minute felt like the countdown to an atomic bomb detonation. Tony knew his only power was his words, he had to keep talking, to keep Loki talking, keep him from doing something which Tony, minus his suit, could never hope to counteract. Making sure his voice remained steady, unworried, breezy even, he continued 'When they come, and they will, they'll come for you'.

OK, a threat. A threat masked in soft, overly assured words, but a threat all the same. Tony wondered whether he had made a bad call. Luckily the affection and belief Tony had in his fellow Avengers was able to seamlessly transfer itself to his voice, so even if he wasn't altogether confident in his plan, he knew he sounded it. Loki was a cocky little shit, but Tony had never been beaten at that game, before, and he fancied his chances even against the God of Lies.

Loki recognised the threat at once and his face changed accordingly. Losing the grin, his eyes and voice took on an ice like quality.

'I have an army' he spat.

Dodging the shards of venom in Loki's words, Tony's reply sounded positively cheery.

'We have a hulk'.

'Oh, but I thought the beast had wandered off?' Loki's smooth, teasing tone, had returned, causing Tony's hackles to rise.

'You're missing the point'. Tony could feel his impatience start to show in his voice. Abandoning all attempts at a clever, witty retort, he instead chose to hit Loki with pleas. Pleas of sorts, masquerading as mere discussion. If he couldn't directly threaten Loki, he had to try and make Loki see reason. He tried not to think of the word that came with that thought. Desperation. No. All was not lost. They had barely exchanged 10 sentences. Loki was not going to win this one.

'There is no throne' he rushed. 'There is no version of this where you come out on top. Maybe your army wins, maybe it's too much for us, but it's all on you. Because if we can't protect the Earth, you can be damn well sure we'll avenge it'.

Tony kept his gaze steady, willing the forced conviction in his voice to penetrate whatever the hell it was that was going round Loki's head. Loki seemed agitated, fiddling at the sceptre, stepping from one foot to the other. Seemingly coming to a decision in his mind, that grin broke onto his face again, and his eyes narrowed with vindication. He stepped even closer towards Tony, so there was only a few feet of air remaining between them. Focusing his startling blue eyes on Tony's gaze, he lowered his voice further than before, and brought the sceptre up to Tony's chest level, blade pointing straight at the arc reactor in the centre.

'And how will your friends have time to spare to fight me, when they're so busy fighting you?' Loki's voice was almost breathy, excited, impatient. Tony had a split second of panic, frozen to the spot by the power radiated by both Loki and the sceptre, fearful of making any sudden movement, before Loki grabbed his upper arm in a vice like grip. Painfully aware of the shock of cold emanating from the god's fingers, Tony opened his mouth to protest – shout – anything, he hadn't quite decided yet – when Loki brought the tip of the sceptre down upon the arc reactor, bright blue light pulsating down the length of it, wisps of energy snaking their way around Tony's torso, that hum of power meeting the low, barely audible drone of the arc reactor itself. Tony had barely any time to wonder what the fuck would happen now - he had heard of Loki controlling people with his sceptre-to-the-heart trick, and seen as his heart was protected from fatal shards of metal threatening to penetrate at any minute by a magnetic power source plugged into his chest, he doubted that adding pure energy, magic and evil intention was ever going to have a good result – before the wisps curled away like smoke, the humming stopped, and Loki released his arm as if he had been burned, shock, confusion and anger written all over his face. He let the sceptre fall back to his side and quick as a flash reached out for Tony again, this time grabbing him by the neck and pulling him forward painfully, so that Tony practically crashed into his shoulder.

'This usually works' he snarled into Tony's ear through gritted teeth. 'Man of Iron, you tell me – I could sense it – you have heart – but what more – what magic lives in your chest – what denies my power so?'

Tony could barely breathe, Loki's hands were pressing down harder and harder into his throat, he'd lost his balance when Loki yanked him towards him, and his mind was whirling with what had just happened – or not happened, and this, apparently, given Loki's reaction, was the crucial point. The only point that Tony had left. His curveball, as it were, his final chance. Loki had lost control- well no, technically speaking, he just hadn't been able to gain it – and for Tony to have any hope of surviving the god's anger, he knew he had to play on this unexpected confusion. Pique the Asgardians curiosity enough to stall him from using his brute strength or any alternative magic shit to turn Tony into a pile of pulp. Struggling for breath, Tony choked out the first words that came into his head.

'Performance- issues – you – know – cough - one out of five- not bad- cough – I can't- if you'd just –' His knees crippled and his vision blurred, his words were cut off and replaced by shallow gasping.

Seriously, he thought as he nearly passed out. After all that. Sarcasm. His life was at stake, and his according to his brain, his fight or flight response was to try and get witty with the God of Lies, no less. An extremely pissed off, murderous, batshit crazy God of Lies with superhuman strength and a magic stick. If there was a single time when Tony Stark wished his huge mouth and even huger ego would piss the fuck off when he was trying to talk, it was now.

By the way Loki tightened his already impossibly solid grip upon his throat and practically spat pure rage into Tony's face, dragging the smaller man to his feet again, he wasn't impressed with Tony's choice of words either.

Fuck.

Not sure how frequent updates will be, relying on those pesky muses as I said above…aiming for a chapter every other day though, until it's done – and no, I have no idea when that might be either!

Again, any reviews are SO SO WELCOME