Author's ramble
1. I have a thing for pumpkin spice lattes.
2. I have a thing for Loki teleporting Tony places without warning.
3. I have a thing for Loki being intrigued by the arc reactor.
4. I hope you enjoy. :D
Tony lounges at the flimsy table outside of his favorite coffee shop with his tablet. It's not even 6am, and even though the rising sun is already hidden by a thick blanket of grey clouds, he keeps his baseball cap and sunglasses on. He doesn't usually mind being flanked by the masses when he goes out in public, but he hasn't slept in 52 hours and all he wants is a damned pumpkin spice latte without the gossip columns picking up the story and giving Clint more ammo.
He's about halfway through the hot drink and his morning reading when someone sits across from him. Tony doesn't even need to look up from his tablet. The hair on his forearms and the back of his neck stand on end. Only one person's presence ever gets that kind of reaction.
"We've got to stop meeting this way," he tells the God of Mischief, dragging his finger across the tablet's screen.
"You prefer our other method of meeting?" Loki asks curiously.
Tony glances up. Loki studies him like a cat, head cocked to the side. He's dressed in casual clothing, a dark peacoat over a green shirt. His hair is tied back at the nape of his neck, but strands still escape and curl along his cheeks and jaw. So unassuming and normal, and if he's honest with himself, Tony enjoys the mind fuck of trying to coalesce the two images of Loki in his head. He can't say he doesn't enjoy the view, either. Loki may have headspace like a bag of cats, as Bruce likes to say, but he's pretty damned attractive when he isn't splattered with blood, draped in leather, and trying to rip Tony's head off.
Tony takes off his sunglasses to rub his eyes, because fuck, he's tired, and fuck, he needs to stop letting his downstairs brain do too much thinking. "I can't say I do considering you're usually trying to shoot me out of the sky."
Loki's lips curve so slightly Tony almost misses it. "Then you should not complain, Stark."
"Touché," Tony replies and takes another sip of his latte.
"I do understand your concern," Loki says, drumming his fingers against the table top. "It would be problematic, would it not, if your Avengers came to know of our little liaison?"
Tony shrugs. Loki started appearing in places he shouldn't months ago— Tony's home office, Avengers headquarters, his goddamned bedroom; thank god he hasn't managed to get into the workshop yet— and he's come to a conclusion that Loki is just playing with him like a cat played with a mouse, but thankfully he's Tony Stark and he doesn't give that much of a shit. "Something tells me they wouldn't be all that surprised."
"You like to flirt with danger. It's problematic, considering your mortal status."
Tony arches an eyebrow. "Are you threatening me?"
Loki's smile is languid and slow. "Always."
Tony looks back down at his tablet. "All this sexy talk so early in the morning is bad for my heart."
"Which one?" Loki asks. "You have yet to tell me what the metal heart in your chest does."
Tony rolls his eyes. Loki saw the reactor one night when he teleported right into Tony's bedroom, and he has been gently (and sometimes not so gently) demanding to know what it is ever since. "I'll tell you what it does when you let me scan you doing all of your hocus pocus bullshit."
"That," Loki says quietly, "will never happen as long as we are enemies."
Tony meets Loki's eyes, his smile falling away. "This doesn't feel like enemies."
"Perhaps not," Loki admits.
Tony grins. "You trying to tell me you're ready to join the good guys?"
"Absolutely not," Loki scoffs.
"Then quit bothering me," Tony says, and adds, "And for fuck's sake, stop watching me sleep," before he goes back to reading.
He's jarred from his thoughts when Loki stretches out, his impossibly long legs brushing against Tony's.
"Are you lonely or something?" Tony asks, peering at the god with a raised brow.
"You seem tired," Loki responds, snagging Tony's drink with deft fingers. He takes a sip and then licks his lips— Tony tries not to blanch, because the part that's all trouble and bad decisions is painfully attracted to the god. Loki, oblivious to his struggle— or completely aware of it because he is an asshole— wrinkles his nose. "This is very sweet."
"Yeah, I know. Give it back. It's the only thing keeping me awake right now." Tony snatches the cup back, careful to avoid grazing Loki's fingers with his own.
"So testy," Loki says, lips curved into an evil smile.
Tony rolls his eyes and chugs down the rest of his coffee— it was getting cold, anyway— and then grabs his tablet as he stands. "As fun as it always is seeing you, I need sleep as of, like, yesterday."
"Shall I take you back to your tower?" Loki asks, and before Tony can say no, that he has his car parked around the corner, Loki is on his feet and reaching for Tony.
Well, he does manage a spluttered "no" before Loki's cold fingers sneak up his sleeve and curl around his wrist.
The feeling is sudden, enough that it punches him in the gut. He feels like he's in a vacuum. He inhales, because he blew his air supply the second Loki touched him, but his lungs remain empty and they stay that way, almost like there's nothing to breathe, and panic sets in fast, pounding behind his arc reactor like horse hooves. He reaches up to claw at his throat with one hand, because the other is weighted down, and he thinks he's about to pass out when the vacuum suddenly releases him and he stumbles forward, air gushing around him so violently he can't help buts swallow it down hungrily and greedily.
He coughs, eyes watering and lungs still screaming. There are still fingers linked through his— when the hell had that happened?— and Tony follows the lengthy limb to its owner as tears mingle with his eyelashes.
"I should have warned you," Loki says gently, though he's very obviously fighting back a grin, "to take a deep breath."
"You're such a colossal dick," Tony wheezes.
Loki throws his head back and laughs.
Tony hates, absolutely hates, how much the gleeful sound of the God of Mischief laughing affects him.
"You are strange, Tony Stark," Loki muses, his pale face tinged ever-so-slightly pink, and slowly disentangles his fingers from Tony's.
Tony snorts and scrubs a hand over his face. "That's rich," he replies, happy that his voice is only slightly raspy, "coming from our very own insane Asgardian."
"Insane, indeed," Loki muses, the smile falling from his lips as he studies Tony with the intensity Tony studies machinery.
Tony understands that look. It's the look he gets when he wants to take something apart to see what makes it tick.
"Are you gonna, I don't know, stick around and watch me sleep again?"
"Oh, Stark," Loki purrs, pressing a hand to his chest in mock surprise. "What will your Avengers think?"
"I've told you before, I don't know if they'd be that surprised," Tony mumbles, and shrugs off his jacket, tossing it over his chair. "I do have a reputation."
"Ah, yes, I am aware of it."
They stare at each other for a few moments, and then Tony pulls his shirt over his head. He grins when Loki's gaze drops to his naked chest. "See something you like?"
Loki is on him before he finishes the final syllable, and his lips are cold but his tongue is hot. Tony opens his mouth at the same time as he slips his hands underneath the god's layers of clothing until he finds skin as sleek and cold as marble. Loki groans against him and strips off his own jacket while Tony draws his nails across the god's hipbones.
"You taste like spice," Loki whispers against him before he bites down on Tony's lower lip and sucks.
Tony doesn't think he's ever going to be able to get a pumpkin spice latte again without also getting a hard-on.
They stumble towards the bed and Tony allows Loki to push him back, the god's teeth scraping his lip in a deliciously painful way before they part and Tony hits the mattress. He pushes himself up onto his elbows and watches Loki begin to undo the buttons of his shirt. Inch by inch, he reveals pale, perfect skin and lean muscle.
"I didn't expect you to be a tease," Tony says, licking his lips, as Loki lingers on the final button, one shoulder sliding down his arm.
"I didn't expect you to respond to my advances," Loki murmurs.
"Really?" Tony laughs. "With my reputation, you think I'd say no?"
Loki makes an amused sound, but there's a thoughtful tilt to his mouth. "You may be promiscuous, but I know even you would think twice before endangering your Avengers and your world. And I am nothing but dangerous."
"You trying to tell me I have something to be afraid of?"
"Do you not fear me?" Loki asks seriously and undoes the final button. The shirt falls to the floor. "I could be here to kill you and steal the metal heart from your chest."
This isn't dirty talk, not really, but it's turning Tony on nonetheless, and he isn't sure yet if he should be disgusted with himself. "So you are trying to tell me you're here to kill me? I'm confused."
"Why would I admit such an intention if it were true? I am the God of Mischief, Tony Stark. I would play with you as a cat does a mouse." Loki steps forward and brings one knee onto the bed, then places his hands on either side of Tony's thighs. The other knee makes its way to bed, too, and then Loki is positioned above him.
"You may be playing with me, but I don't think you'll kill me," Tony says breathily and sits up, forcing Loki to rear back until he's kneeling between Tony's legs, his hands draped across Tony's thighs. Tony reaches forward. Loki stiffens, his eyes following Tony's hand, but Tony just smiles as he pulls the tie from Loki's hair. He twirls one of the dark locks around his fingers. "I don't think you want that. God, you have great hair for an alien."
Loki licks his lips and leans into the touch. "How could a mortal man like you know what I might want?"
"We're a little bit alike," Tony says and shakes his head when Loki barks out a disbelieving laugh. "Hear me out. We might function on different planes, and we make and break things differently, but you're as hungry as I am for more, and if I feel this stagnant and alone after forty years of living with this want, then I can't even imagine what a thousand years or more would turn me into."
Loki's hands fly up to Tony's face without warning. He presses his cold palms against Tony's heated cheeks, nails biting into skin. Tony doesn't breathe. The pressure is almost painful, like the god's either trying to keep him there, terrified he'll disappear, or smash him to pieces.
After a moment of tense silence, Loki exhales, then he leans forward until his lips ghost over Tony's. "I want to tear you apart," he breathes, and his voice is raw, the emotion just barely contained.
Tony leans forward the remainder of the way and nips at Loki's bottom lip. "So do it," he says.
Loki does. And it's quite possibly the best sex of Tony's life.
When Tony wakes up, it's already dark. He fell asleep wrapped around a lithe body, but he's alone now. Not surprised, he thinks as he sits up and blearily rubs his eyes. He was shocked that Loki stayed in the first place once they were both sweaty, spent, and sore. He hadn't pegged the god for the cuddling type, but Loki had wrapped his arms around Tony like he was in the middle of the ocean holding onto the only flotation device around. Tony isn't the cuddling type, either, but he did the same, enjoying the way the god twitched when Tony's roughened fingertips traced his skin.
"Jarv, what time is it?" he asks on a yawn.
"It is six-thirty in the evening, Sir," the AI responds.
"Wow." Tony stretches and then lays back on the bed with a sigh. "I haven't slept that long in a while. When did Loki leave?"
"Leave, Sir?"
Tony stiffens. "Yes, leave. You know, exit the premises."
"He is still here, Sir."
Tony sits up and looks around. "What is that supposed to mean, Jarv? Here where?"
"Mr. Laufeyson is currently in your workshop."
Tony bolts out of bed and starts looking for his pants. "Why the fuck would you let him in there, JARVIS? Seriously, what were you thinking?"
"I believe I was thinking about as much as you were, Sir, when you stopped having me log his appearances in the tower," JARVIS replies, and then adds, "I was made in your image after all."
"I'm going to fry your servers," Tony hisses and makes his way for the door while buttoning his pasts. He takes the elevator down to his workshop and wonders if he should have suited up, but it's too late now. He inputs his code and allows the scanner to read his fingerprint. The doors slide open.
Loki stands in the middle of the workshop, shirtless and with his dark hair spread across his shoulders. He isn't touching anything, and he glances back at Tony to offer a toothy grin when he enters the room.
"You slept quite soundly," the god says, his eyes traveling down Tony's body. "I thought I would wait for you here."
Tony shakes his head. "No, that isn't going to work. What game are you playing?"
Loki turns towards him, eyebrows drawn and face perfectly blank. "You think I am here for some nefarious reason?"
"Absolutely yes," Tony says without hesitation.
"I see." Loki smiles, but it's forced. "I was merely preparing to deliver on my part of our bargain."
"What bargain?"
Loki's jaw twitches as he clenches his teeth.
"Loki, what bargain? We didn't agree to anything."
Loki signs. "We did, and I carried out my portion of the deal a bit out of order."
"What the fuck are you talking about?" Tony demands, voice raising.
Loki sticks his chin out. "I may have deigned to discover the working of the metal in your chest while you slept."
Tony's eyes widen and he takes a step forward. "You what?"
"I did you no harm. I was merely curious." Loki shrugs, looks down at his nails, then glances up at Tony from beneath his lashes. "There are shards of metal in your chest. Iron Man you are, indeed. The metal heart stops them for burrowing into your arteries, doe it not? I am still learning the functionality of Midgardian technology."
Tony's stomach feels like it's dropped somewhere in the vicinity of his ankles. He places a hand over his chest out of habit, and watches Loki's eyes follow it. The anger bubbles up and explodes before he can contain himself. "I didn't want you to know," he snarls, and has the pleasure of seeing Loki's eyes widen. "I didn't offer that to you. That was not part of what that was. You didn't have the right."
"You did ask me to tear you apart," Loki says, remaining calm, but there's an edge to his voice now.
"How dare you—"
"Mr. Laufeyson," JARVIS interrupts. "The scanner is ready, as you requested."
Tony looks up, still fuming, and demands with a growl, "What the fuck? What scanner?"
"The scanner you created to study Mjolnir, Sir," JARVIS supplies.
"Wait, what?" Tony asks. "Why?"
Loki stands up straighter, pulling his shoulders back. "Did you not say you would tell me about your metal heart only if I allowed you to scan me? I am only preparing to follow up on my part of the bargain."
Tony blinks. "What?"
"Well, perhaps the order is not quite what you wanted," Loki admits with flourish of his hand and a roll of his eyes. "The end result, how(ever, is the same."
"Are you saying," Tony says and walks forward slowly, "that you're going to allow me to scan you and study your magic?"
Loki narrows his eyes. "That is exactly what I've just said. I will not repeat myself. Do not toy with me, Stark."
"But god, I want to toy with you," Tony murmurs and reaches out when he's close enough to cup Loki's face and drag the callused pad of his thumb across the god's lower lip. "I really want to."
Loki's grin is slow and predatory. Tony thinks he could get used to it.
Upstairs, Clint sorts through some newspapers and magazines. He nearly spits out his drink when he comes across a glossy cover featuring their very own Tony Stark trying to hide behind a pair of sunglasses and a baseball cap. He's holding a coffee cup, and Clint is ready to bet his life that it's one of the hisptery, pumpkiny drinks Tony always secretly pines for when he notices that Tony isn't alone in the photo. And he recognizes the face of his companion. Clint always recognizes faces that have tried to kill him.
"What the fuck kind of coffee break is that," he says and stares at the cover. Then he tosses it aside with a disgruntled snort and mutters, "I'm not even surprised. That asshole."