Title: Take Me, Baby, or Leave Me

Pairing: Tony Stark x Loki

Chapter 1

Anthony Stark

We were barely two miles away from the strip club and I could already feel my skin crawling with the unbearable realization that I, Anthony Edward Stark, was currently on my way to place where men took off their clothes down to their skivvies for other men. And I'm sure that a few people are asking, "What in God's name made you want to ever do such a thing?" am I right? Well, there were only two things that could make me do something so disgusting: 1) I was in the middle of getting a very wealthy (not as wealthy as I, of course) client for my production, and 2) Pepper was dead set on not letting me skip out on such a "perfect opportunity." She insisted I go out with the man on a "men's night out" with him and a few of his employees. It was her mistake that she knew nothing of the gay bar.

I sure as hell didn't know about the strip club until just mere moments ago, when Mr. Aderholt mentioned it to his friends. I was shaking with the urge to throw myself out the nearest door in the limousine and rid myself of having to see men showing off their junk for cash. I thought women were the only ones who flashed their breasts for money and that gay bars were nothing but a myth. Apparently, I was horridly wrong.

About that door . . . I looked around the fat, giddy men buzzing with alcohol and managed to locate the nearest car door. In order for me to reach it and escape to my freedom, I would have had to have climbed over a drunk homosexual's lap and, more than likely, touch something absolutely revolting. If I tried to escape that way, it would probably be translated as me trying to seduce my way into the business deal, and I would rather not have to face Pepper with a failed attempt and a mortifying story to go along with this.

"Stark, what's with the gloomy look?" Aderholt slung a pudgy arm around my neck and nearly suffocated me when he pulled me suddenly close to his body. "I know you're quite the ladies man, but I'm sure you'd be a killer if you were to take those clothes off and shake whatever your money could buy you!" The men hollered, and I felt the unimaginable urge to stick a bullet between the man's eyes.

Aderholt released me and downed the rest of the bubbling champagne in his glass as the limo came to a stop. The men slung the bottoms of their glasses into the air to follow suit before their chauffeur pulled open the door to step out into the night air. I looked up to the sky and thanked whatever being allowed me to get out of a cramped limousine that smelled of bad alcohol and sweat. I also prayed that I wouldn't end up with a half-naked freak in my lap trying to score some cash. My cash was for beautiful, busty women trying to earn their way through medical school, and that was how it was going to remain.

The club was . . . Dear mother of God . . . The club was called "ASSets." I was pretty sure the "assets" they were talking about were not those that I normally thought of. The men all clapped each other's backs and sorted through the singles they had prepared in their wallets. One of them even offered me a handful of George Washingtons to hand out to the men, but I refused them promptly and reassured them that the bills would go straight for alcohol. The alcohol would be to drown the antagonizing memory of tonight, but that little detail I kept to myself.

Even two feet away from the door we could hear the loud thump thump thump of the song's beat that men were probably gyrating their hips to. Aderholt opened the door and released the Godawful pop music that was probably mixed by a young adolescent teen with a cheap computer program. I grimaced and paid the bald-headed bouncer twenty dollars for the entrance fee, and I felt the door shut behind me and seal my fate. I took a deep breath to relax myself and reopened my eyes to take in the scene before me.

Men were not the only regular attendees at the club. There were plenty of women sitting around the three stages they had that were currently occupied by men twirling themselves on brightly-shining poles and throwing their clothing at the women. I shivered and moved towards the bar to order myself something strong that would burn the hell out of my throat. If it made tears spring into my eyes, I would make it through the night.

The bartender had no shirt on, just a bow tie wrapped around his neck, and after ignoring a few of his advances, he gave up and went to cleaning a glass. The Jack Daniel's was nice going down my throat, and I took a seat as far away from the stage as I could. Aderholt and his buddies were sitting around one of the stages with a male dancer with long brown hair bending over to slip a dollar bill into his . . .

I jerked my eyes away from the scene. I did not want to know where he was going to keep that, and for how long, but I wished that the state would burn it before I managed to get my hands on it. The simple thought of touching a dollar that had been placed where no money should ever go . . .

I took another swallow of whiskey and relished in the intense burn that escalated as the drink moved further down my esophagus. I let out a breath and reminisced in the smoky aftertaste that still lingered in my taste buds. I sighed and closed my eyes, leaning my head back and just waiting for this damn trip to end so I could return home and sleep in bed. I would have to remember to inform J.A.R.V.I.S to cancel the wake-up call for the next morning. I would need a day off of work to recover from this nightmare.

As I was taking a leisurely nap to escape the moment, I felt the cushion beside me dip down. My eyes shot open in the sudden realization that I might have someone sitting beside me, and I sat up and looked to my right where the dipping sensation had occurred. A pair of ice-blue irises met my brown and pale lips pulled into a light-hearted smirk. He was obviously one of the performers. He was wearing a dark green button-up shirt that was open in the front and black slacks that were unbuttoned and unzipped. A matching green poked out from the pants.

"My eyes are a little farther north, darling," he said above the music, using his finger to guide my eyes back up towards his. I hadn't even realized where my eyes had drifted. I cleared my throat as a hot blush crept upon my cheeks and hastily downed my drink. He laughed and ran hand over his smoothened hair. After making sure his hair was perfect, he proceeded to fix his feather boa. It was black, lighter than his hair, but who gives a damn about the color? A man was wearing a feather boa. Women were feather boas, not men. I was in utter shock.

I had a plethora of things I could have asked the man, but of all the things in my immense vocabulary, the only sentence I could manage to put together was, "Why the fuck are you wearing a feather boa?"

His dark eyebrow shot up at my inquiry, and I felt another hot flush reach my ears. He smirked and looked down at the feather boa, twirling a feather betwixt his fingers. He considered it for a few moments before releasing the feather and crossing his legs, leaning in towards me. We had to almost yell at each other in order to talk. And my mind was still trying to process the fact that I was conversing with a stripper in a gay bar.

"It adds a little extra effect to the costume," he replied simply, shrugging his slender shoulders. "And besides, the crowd loves it when I throw the boa out to them during the performance. I never get them back once they're gone, though. I cannot tell you how much money I spend on them alone." He winked at me. I shifted myself and managed to move a few centimeters away from him.

He looked over me with a skeptical eye and then stood. I closed my eyes and prayed that he would leave, but as I knew God would, he completely ignored me and I felt a sudden weight on my lap. An itchy, tickling sensation followed shortly, and when I opened my eyes, the man was suddenly in my face, barely inches away from mine. His eyes bore into mine and his lips were once again in their familiar smirk. The itching sensation was said feather boa wrapped around my neck and holding me in place in front of him.

"It's a few minutes too early for my shift," he said, leaning close to my ear so I would be able to hear him, "but I'm willing to dance for a newcomer. I won't even charge you for it. It'll be a free dance." He pulled away from my ear to look me straight in the eyes and smile. A soft hand touched my neck, thumb grazing the small stubble that had grown out from this morning's shave. "I have always had a preference for men with facial hair anyways. It's quite a turn-on."

I felt my blush creep down to my neck, and it seemed to melt down any words that tried to form in my throat. I took a deep, strained breath and let it out shakily. I shook my head and pushed a hand against his chest. His lips pursed tightly as he looked down at me and that eyebrow cocked again. Although his expression was questioning my actions, he didn't fight me when I pushed him away from my face. He was even kind enough to remove the feather boa from around my neck.

"I'm not into that," I shouted at him. The last word of my sentence was noticed by a few people because of the song change, and when they looked over to see what "that" was I could feel their harsh glares on me. Whether from anger or jealousy, I couldn't tell, but I still didn't appreciate the multiple glares. I decided to lower my voice from shouting, but I wanted him to still hear me. "I'm sorry, but I'm not gay, and I would prefer it if you kept your . . . well, uh, your self off of me."

He backed away and slid himself off of me. I nodded my thanks to him and downed what was left in my glass. My guest sat himself down beside me this time and crossed his legs again. I rolled my eyes and decided that I needed something stronger than whiskey. Maybe the bar had vodka strong enough to get me hammered and shitfaced before the green monster over here decided to steal me away for some personal enjoyment.

"Oh, it's almost time." I had barely heard the sentence as my little friend stood up and straightened out his shirt. He turned back to me, smirked, and leaned in close. "I hope you'll watch. From here is fine, if you want. The view of the stage here is probably better." He dipped in, placed a lips-lingering-too-long kiss on my cheek, and then sauntered over to the door leading backstage. I reacted a few seconds later than I should have by wiping away at my cheek.

He was definitely not like other gay men I'd met. He wasn't fat, his voice wasn't pitched up to that of a prepubescent girl, and he didn't flip his wrist out like men who were, what was the term, "camp gay"? I was pretty sure that was it. He was confident, almost flawless, and if he were to switch his unbuttoned shirt and pants (and burn that damned feather boa) with an Armani designer suit, he could pass for a respectable gentleman. He already had the slicked-back hair down.

The music came to a close and the stage was cleared of men stripped down to decorative underwear and the lights dimmed until the entire place was pitch-dark. I couldn't even see the bar to go and fetch myself another drink to get myself through the night. I set my glass down on the cushion beside me. The entire crowd went silent as the man in charge of the music grabbed his microphone. "Are you ladies and gentlemen ready for tonight's main event? You know you love him, you know you want him! Please give a warm welcome to your favorite God of Mischief, LOKI!"

The crowd around the stage went crazy. Women shrieked at the tops of their lungs, men cried out and hollered, still retaining what little masculinity that they managed to hold on to. Once the money started flying, I was pretty sure that the masculinity would disappear.

When Loki stepped on stage, I realized that he was the person who had offered me a free lap dance not even five minutes ago. He walked out onto the stage with a single spotlight brightly shining on him. His eyes seemed to turn feral as he bent down on one knee and run one hand gently from his neck to the waistband of his pants. The girls screamed again, and a hand reached out to hand him money. Loki smiled and bent down on all fours. He reached down and nipped the dollar from the woman's hands with his teeth, giving her a sexy grin. She gasped and began fanning herself as Loki's payment disappeared beneath his speedo.

Even though the display was atrocious, seeing this man twist himself into positions that were impossible for normal human anatomy, I found myself suddenly entranced by his performance. I couldn't seem to tear my eyes away, even when his shirt was lost and his pants disappeared. He was left in his underwear and the feather boa, which I was surprised to see that he had kept, given his earlier statement of throwing it to the audience. My eyes were all over him as he latched onto a pole, slung his slender right leg around it, and then bent his neck back and allowed the rest of his body to follow. He released the pole so that his legs were the only support and bent his arms beneath his head. His arms worked as support against the floor to keep him from grinding his head against the stage. The word "flexible" was a serious understatement.

I watched as he accepted another dollar bill and made it disappear. Loki pulled himself back up and bent down, crawling forward for Aderholt's money. I shook my head and looked away, ignoring the rest of his hypnotic performance. If I watched it for too long, I would get distracted and wouldn't be able to tear my eyes away from him. The curves of his body, the way his throat dipped down into his collar bone . . . Somehow, it was so much sexier than seeing Pepper in a black lingerie ensemble. And I'm pretty sure that if I were to find him in my kitchen with nothing but an apron on . . .

Whoa, Tony, back it up. What the fuck are you doing?

I rubbed my hands over my eyes and squinted through the darkness to find the bar. After my eyes had adjusted to the lack of light, I managed to find it only to see that the bartender was too preoccupied with Loki's dancing to pay attention to his customers. I rolled my eyes and nibbled on the ice left in my cup as Loki finished up his performance. The crowd went wild as the song ended and Loki gathered his clothing and strutted off stage.

He was still wearing that damned feather boa.

"That Loki is amazing," Aderholt said, fanning himself once we were finally freed from the bar and out in the cold night air. I checked my watch. Three in the damn morning. I commanded J.A.R.V.I.S to postpone everything for the day after because I would need a day of rest and alcohol to recover from this nightmare. Aderholt and his friends seemed to have enjoyed themselves enough to open their wallets to Loki and the other dancers. They were positively broke for the night.

"He is definitely the sexist man I have ever seen. And he's single; can you believe that? How come he hasn't been snatched up yet?" One of his associates grinned. "Maybe we could stay for twenty more minutes. It wouldn't take me long to convince him, what with my skills."

"You couldn't convince a dog to shit on carpet," I growled, and the man looked at me sourly.

"Gentlemen, please." Aderholt walked between us and held out sausage-like fingers towards each of us. "Do not fight. We are all tired and cranky, that I do understand. Stark, we shall drop you off first. Although, I do wonder why it is you did not bring your suit with you tonight."

"I am not Iron Man when I do company business," was my reply, and I kept it at that.

"Damn, I'd definitely love to see you get in that suit and strip to some nice music." One of the men grinned at me and I balled my fist tightly to resist the urge to punch the man out. Keep calm and do some extra practice rounds later to work off the anger.

"Sure, Watts. And when hell freezes over, we can have a picnic, too." I gave him a sour glare and he just laughed and hiccupped, leaning against the limousine to keep himself from falling over onto his face. I watched his hand slide against the waxed surface and waited for him to fall, but that never came as the drunkard managed to get both hands on the vehicle.

"Excuse me? Is he all right?"

The voice was light and curious. I turned around to answer, "Hopefully not," when I stopped and the words were locked in my throat, despite my open mouth to release them. Loki looked at me curiously, his lips twitching with the urge to smile. His voice sounded so different from when he was inside. Maybe because we didn't have to yell at each other to keep a conversation. I was just glad that he was clothed rather than leaving himself exposed to the cold air.

Aderholt and his friends were shell-shocked to see the famous stripper, God of Mischief, Loki, talking to them without his hands down his pants. The dollar bills were nowhere to be seen, and I didn't want to know where he put them.

Aderholt and his friends all swallowed and tried to fix their appearances. Aderholt slicked back his own hair, cleared his throat as best he could, and held out his hand. Loki's brow arched perfectly again as he looked down at the pudgy mass. He then reached out his own slender fingers and took Aderholt's hand. After snatching his hand, Aderholt put it to his lips and gave it a sloppy kiss. Loki smiled icily at him and proceeded to discreetly wipe the kiss off of his knuckles on his pants.

I watched with humor as the men gushed and acted like a bunch of fangirls around their favorite celebrity. Loki seemed uncomfortable with their fawning and shifted his weight several times as he thanked them and tried to speak to them by opening his mouth and uttering a syllable. That failed, and he sighed. Being nice to the fans was a pain in the ass.

Deciding that the best alternative was to ignore them, Loki turned away and focused his attention on me. I couldn't hold back the surprised look on my face as he smiled at me, and the others looked entirely shocked. I didn't like the sudden gain of attention but cleared my throat and accepted it.

"I never got your name when we were conversing," he stated simply, playing with a feather that had come loose and fallen off of his accessory. That was the dumbest excuse for him to use to come out and follow me to the car. It made it even worse that I had to talk to him in front of the others.

"There was a reason for that, and it's simply the fact that I am not into gay men." I made sure my tone was sharp, but he didn't seem to care. The laugh that slipped out of his throat just showed that I was nothing but a laughingstock to him.

"Well, I find it quite unfair. You've got mine, but I don't seem to have yours."

"Oh, him? You don't want to talk to Stark…"

Loki acknowledged one of the other men and shot him a cold and sinister glare. He stopped talking the second Loki scowled and then his expression softened toward me. I made a mental note to let the man who let my name slip have a nice knuckle-sandwich to chew on on his way home from the bar.

"Stark, is it?" Loki asked. "I'm guess that it's a surname. It would make for a strange given name." My glower was apparently very humorous because he began to chuckle. I didn't find it funny in the slightest.

"My name is Anthony Stark," I replied simply. "I am the CEO of Stark Industries." I shrugged. "In case the surname wasn't clue enough for you."

"I'd gathered." He smirked and then walked closer. He was inches apart from me, respecting my personal space. I must have finally gotten it through his thick skull that men held no interesting prospects for me. "Mr. Stark, you are the first person who hasn't fawned over me because of my looks or because I'm willing to take my clothes off for a few hand-outs."

"I don't find it respectable."

"Right, because being a billionaire playboy is the most respectable job one could ever find."

"I believe there's a 'philanthropist' adjective you're missing in there."

"My point being, Mr. Stark, is that I find you intriguing. You haven't been drooling on the concrete because I've approached you. I like that about you." He smiled, reached up, and removed the feather boa from his shoulders. He then looped it about my neck and adjusted it so that the ends met up evenly. That was when he pulled himself close to me, leaning up so that our noses brushed.

"I look forward to seeing you again."

He placed another kiss on my cheek and then walked confidently back into the club. The bouncer even held the door open for him, glancing back to watch him walk inside. I spent a few moments trying to recreate the scene in my head and see what I did wrong, and I realized that I had done pretty much everything wrong, starting with leaving the house this evening.

I ignored the demands and questions about Loki's and my conversation and slipped into the limousine to hurry the trip home so that I could throw myself into my bed and hopefully wake up to realize that this entire night had been nothing but an alcohol-driven nightmare.