“You uh..ever think about having a baby? With me I mean.”
A quick, quiet, and stunned guffaw follows this abrupt question.
Loki’s laughter isn’t intended cruelly. He’s just startled, and, he must confess, delighted, that Tony Stark, Iron Man, Master “I’m Too Cool for Feelings,” hotrod and playboy extraordinaire, would ask him something that could so compromise his own dignity: his own image. They are both very vain creatures, after all.
“I must tell you, my love, that at any given moment I am happy to be a mother. I have four children already, and love each to the point of dying for their happiness. The question, I suppose,” and he draws nearer, melting into her female form--still taller than Tony, but by only a few centimeters, the face of the form that would bear the baby in question, “is whether you truly feel ready. For I’m a patient woman, and have no need of rushing you.”