"Brandon. Yes. Brandon would know what to do. He always did. It was all meant for Brandon. You, Winterfell, everything. He was born to be a King’s Hand and a father to queens. I never asked for this cup to pass to me."
So, in some far off alternate universe, Tony managed to get the suit on before resorting to insulting Loki’s manhood and getting thrown headfirst out his own window. Resulting in the two of them spending a solid fifteen minutes just beating the crap out of each other instead. Which ended in sort of a tie, with both of them all but knocked out on the floor, side by side.
Then, Loki got up on one elbow, to stare down at Tony’s face, his visor already torn off the helmet.
"What?" Tony almost immediatly wished he’d kept his mouth shut, because talking made Loki start staring at his lips instead.
"I have the strangest urge", Loki mumbled, "to kiss you."
Tony’s turn to stare at the bruised, scratched and bloody face above him.
"That’s not just strange. That’s just all shades of wrong, weird and completely messed up. Actually."
Loki shifted his gaze from Tony’s lips, and suddenly their eyes met.