PROMPT: Any (Steve? Rhodey? Bucky? Pepper? BETHANY CABE? all the Avengers?)/ Tony Stark where Tony has a praise kink and he loves to be praised in bed and loves the warm and soft words
Bonus point if it's a 5 + 1 with 5 times Tony's sex partners (or sex partner) didn't realize he had a praise kink and 1 time one did
and- well, this is my one and only prompt because I like the idea so much. Pretty please?
poured some wine; now it's two o' clock.
( one. )
Human bodies are fragile things, bending easily under the pressure of an open palm. Thumbs go tight to hips, nails dug in hard at the skin, leaving behind traces that would not have been there, had the skin belonged to one with more endurance, more finesse, more outright divinity. Loki clucks his tongue, and the mortal man shudders underneath him. In expectancy, maybe, but maybe even something more. He felt the pulse of life under his touch, the groan of the back against his front; body shaking, shuddering, weak.
Unbearably weak.
Loki could snap him into two pieces, if he wanted to. At this point, in this state of being, the metal man might have even thanked him. Long fingers wander, along fleshier hips, over slight chest, past a perked nipple. Squeezing then, there, enjoying the kickback of Tony Stark's body as it responds, which rolled back onto him with a controlled, thin sigh.
"How pathetic," He says, in a tone as dry as dead leaves and just as cumbersome, given the push of Tony's body further into the mattress underneath them both.
Loki's hands went everywhere besides where they were most wanted. They traced the outskirts of Tony's need. It was his own personal way of drawing these dalliances of theirs out, of making them last only so long as Loki still held interest. And he did, mayhaps, hold more interest with Tony Stark than he may have had with any ' love ' of his before or after the first throw into the bedroom. An unadmitted thing, tucked between the flickering grin of Loki's teeth, which existed with him only in permanence.
The springs creak as Tony moves again, and Loki's fingers prod, press, enter at the corners of his lips. His hips twist, eliciting a noise that Loki would have rather heard strangled out of him. Impatient, Loki's hips jerk, and Stark makes the noise once more. Much to the pleasure of Loki's sharpened, knife side grin.
"Had I known only how easy it would be to have you kneel for me, I would have pressed this sooner. My folly, perhaps."
"Folly," Stark parrots. "That's a word for it."
Long fingers stitch themselves along the scalp, pushing Stark further into the bed, with an exaggerated, almost sarcastic oomph. Loki had no words to respond at that moment, so he settled with the more vivid version of action by collapsing against the form of Tony Stark. The pace returns, a reminder - not a casual one - of where Stark stood here, and where he would only ever, always, be: beneath, below, at the nadir.
"You think yourself above - "
"Know," Tony corrects, through teeth and supercilious smile. "Just so we're clear."
What Loki gives him as retribution has Stark grunting. He does not spare the rod, as they say on Earth; Stark is unworthy of it. Unworthy of a great many things, which is as much the state of humanity as it is the general being that Stark is: which Loki wishes he could completely and entirely despise. But for all that Tony Stark is, he is interesting. Intriguing in ways the others aren't. Not so quickly picked apart, with a tongue that breaks on itself, as leaden as it was.
Loki traces thin lips along the nape of Stark's neck. Eyes closed, this time - nearly spent. Insatiable, still, but just as Tony Stark defined his own unworthiness, so too did Loki have his own definitions. It was the void that skirted him; the void that brought him here, in this bed, on these sheets, with promised drinks on the nightstand.
"You ache for my touch," Loki says. It didn't have to be a question. It was obvious. Tony felt every breath as it came from Loki against his skin. Could feel, in that breath, all the things that Loki so desired at the moment. The whim of God as it existed now - breathed out into purpose and bedroom existence. It was a creepy thing. It crawled along his skin like a trail of ants.
"Thought that was what we were doing," Tony replies. "Or is this an elaborate hug, a la Asgardian modesty?"
Finally, after emitting a chuckle, Loki's hands went where they were most wanted: Tony's cock. Stark sighs, buried further into the mattress, arm under mouth. Loki's hands dragged at the foreskin, thumb and fingernail playing at the sensitivity there, lingering at the very head.
"Without your armor," Loki reminds. "You're nothing; nothing but this."
Tony, though silently inclined to agree, did not respond to that. Not with a snarky, quizzically egotistical comment. Not even with a whimper. Loki dragged down to the base, the pace of his own hips slowing to an infuriating crawl.
"Weak, braced to do anything that I implore. A prisoner to your own base desires. Pathetic."
"Oh. You got me."
The next thrust came harder than the last.
"And yet," Loki continues, undeterred by Tony. "You have proven yourself a better bed partner than I could have believed of someone so arrogant. So considerate, so willing to be where you belong."
He froze up at that, then eased, hoping that Loki wouldn't notice. Loki did notice. One couldn't try to hide movements such as those from him, as perceptive as he had always been - but Loki chalked it up to the context of the situation. To the context of how tight Tony Stark felt down there, which was a sure sign of the things to come.
"Yeah, well," Tony said, strained, concerned, eyebrows drawn taut. "You know me - I'm a real god pleaser."