It took Tony the better part of two weeks to design and fit an exoskeleton arm brace that would fit over his injured shoulder and do the inventor's heavy lifting while his shoulder recovered, and for Loki, the damnable contraption couldn't have been finished sooner.

After working daily with the mortal in the lab, putting up with Tony's coffee-fueled binges and panic attacks, listening to the inventor's daily rant about Barton's hearing aid tech that had been destroyed in the battle but Barton still refused to allow Tony to design new ones, and lifting and welding various objects and devices as Tony barked orders to the god from the sidelines, Loki had learned more about caffeine overdoses and Midgardian technology than he ever truly desired to know.

But Bruce had been adamant. Tony's arm must remain in the sling for two weeks while the ligaments healed, and after that, for another two months Tony was not to lift anything heavier than his coffee mug or a pint of milk. And if anyone, Bruce had said, would be able to keep Tony from further injuring himself by ignoring the good doctor's orders, it was Loki.

The brace that Tony invented was nothing short of brilliant, of course. Not only did it provide the lift and torque needed while Tony's shoulder healed, but Tony had also managed to include within its programming a series of exercises designed to gently regain movement so that the mortal wouldn't need to actually attend additional physical therapy sessions. Now, every time Tony sat still for a few moments before one of his monitors or with his StarkTab, the shoulder brace whirred into action, gently stretching and running through the exercise movements with the precise level of strength and torque needed for that stage of his recovery. Bruce had rolled his eyes at that, to Loki's amusement, and mumbled something about how Stark did everything he could to avoid leaving the workshop, but Pepper had already had Stark Industries begin the process for patenting the concept and a scaled-down version of the device as a medical therapy tool.

Which was why, for once, Loki found himself alone in the penthouse, while Tony met with Stark Industries' intellectual property attorneys and marketing department to demonstrate the capabilities and concepts of his design, when Agent Hill called him in to SHIELD.

Steve went with him, because Tony was still angry over Fury's treatment of Loki the last time he had visited, and, Loki mused, because Steve was the official leader of the Avengers Initiative. Not that Steve seemed bothered, though.

"So the biometrics testing is really simple," Steve said on the short drive over. "I did it last week. They'll strap you into a fancy metal chair and then ask some questions. Some are clearly wrong to gage your responses, that sort of thing. Then they asked me some questions designed to bring about strong emotions too, just to see what your reaction is, so don't be surprised. Supposedly Nat was able to fool the monitors when they tested it, but she denies that. I'll be there the whole time, and they're not supposed to ask about… you know who."

Loki rolled his eyes. "You can call him by his name, he's not Voldemort."

"Really?" the Captain asked, "So is his name really 'The Other' then? Is that what everyone called him?"

"I wasn't exactly inclined to ask after The Other's formal name during my stay, Captain," Loki responded coolly as he stepped out of the car.

Steve shrugged, a dusting of red creeping across his cheeks, and Loki sighed as the Captain caught his shoulder as they entered SHIELD's headquarters. "No hard feelings?"

"None," confirmed Loki, and he turned to see Agent Hill approaching. She examined his shoes, which Loki had worn one red and one green converse in honor of the upcoming festivities the following day.

"Gentlemen, we're ready for you," she gestured to a corridor off the entry, with one lone guard in black seated in an alcove along the way. "The chair will measures your responses to a few non-sequential questions, gage your reactions. Well, with some modifications made for your different physiology, of course, but, fortunately, for now you're human enough."

"The good Captain has already explained," Loki interjected, as Hill waived him forward. The room was small, not much more than an oddly placed silver chair and several monitors, and barely enough room for Hill and the Captain to stand behind the screens. The chair itself looked like a slightly more demonical version of the chairs Loki had observed on the television where mortals sat to clean their teeth, with locking braces on each armrest and the headrest and edges that glowed in a cool blue not different from the color of Stark's reactor at night. The room was cooler than normal Midgardian climates, and Loki crossed his arms to ward off the cold as he stepped forward. "And this device… this is the test that even Agent Romanova could not lie to?" Loki asked.

"Whoever told you that, Loki?" Hill grinned, her teeth barred like a wolf. "We'll start with some general questions for a baseline. What is your full name?"

Loki hesitated. "On Midgard, I suppose my name on the paperwork is Loki Lyesmith, but I am formerly known as Loki Odinson."

"Please list your immediate family," Hill continued.

Loki let the grin slide across his face as his eyes narrowed, "Immediate family? None living."

Hill blinked in surprise at the screen, before she rolled her eyes, "Loki, please list those who would consider themselves your immediate family."

"Frigga and Thor," Loki said.

"What's the difference between an egg and a rock?" Hill said.

Loki's eyebrows shot up. "What an odd question. How would that help you determine a baseline?"

"Just answer the question," Hill ordered. "First thing that comes to mind."

"Very well," Loki drummed his fingers on the chair, his hands twitching as he momentarily forgot he couldn't cross his arms while secured in the wristlets. "I presume eggs are edible on Midgard as they are in Asgard, so the difference is that eggs are soft, not edible, and not easy to transport. However, eggs are vastly superior for throwing at palace guards if one does not wish to cause injury. If injury is one's objective, though, a rock is—"

"That's enough."

Loki chuckled, "Really, shouldn't I continue? Are you sure this is for a baseline?"

"You wash up on a deserted island alone, and sitting on the sand is a box. What is in that box?"

"A functional Iron Man suit so I could fly away from the island. Or better yet, Stark in an Iron Man suit so I wouldn't have to hunch my shoulders over inside that midget's suit myself."

Steve's surprised chuckle echoed across the room, and Hill shot an exasperated look in the super soldier's direction before she continued, "Have you ever had any contact with Victor Von Doom?"

"Victor von Doom, also known as Doctor Doom, yes?" Loki interrupted.

"Mr. Lie-Smith, please just answer the question. Have you ever had any contact with Victor von Doom?"

"If he is the creator of those moronic robots that continually come out to play in the city, then I've had contact with him," Loki spat. "That idiot sent one of his robotic monstrosities to the tower and attempted to bodily apprehend me, to study my seidr. Stark says he thinks himself as some sort of Midgardian sorcerer, which is a ridiculous notion considering you mortals don't have the internal structure to sustain magic. Doom is also responsible for the attack a few weeks ago that injured Stark. For these actions alone, Doom will suffer."

"Who's going to make him suffer, Loki? Last I checked the All-Father made you mortal for your extended Earth holiday," a voice from the back of the room demanded, and Loki grinned unexpectedly, and let his arms and shoulders relax against the uncomfortable metal chair.

"Why, Director Fury," Loki said, cocking his head to the side, "I didn't know you cared."

"Rogers, get out," demanded Fury as he strolled across the room.

"Uh. No?" Rogers said.

"Fine," Fury grinned, the skin behind his eye-patch tightening in a grotesque curve of scar tissue that reminded Loki of another one-eyed warrior. "But don't come crying to me when you learn something you didn't want to know about the Avengers' pet god."

"I see," Loki mused. "So now we get down to the real questions, Director?"

Steve looked nervous behind Hill, and Loki let the corner of his mouth slide up in the imitation of an amused smirk as Steve looked in his direction. Hill nodded once to Fury as she tapped out a command code on the computer.

"Norse mythology makes reference to Jörmungandr, the Midgard Serpent and supposed child of the giantess Angrboða and yourself. Does such a creature exist?" Hill asked.

Loki forced a laugh. "No. That's a tale that the Warriors Three made up one night when we were on Midgard in our youth. They were quite tipsy, if I remember."

He thought he saw the smallest uptick of Hill's lips in amusement, as she continued, but she didn't glance up from the readings on the screen before her. "And is the same true for the other two children of this supposed union, a wolf named Fenrir and a daughter named Hel?"

"Also false," Loki confirmed, and he couldn't help the grin that alighted on his face. "Are we going to discuss more of Norse mythology? Because I feel as though I should mention that the last time I was on Midgard before, well, this whole fiasco, I may have enjoyed a rather more creative license with events then."

"In other words, you were a child and you liked to tell stories," interrupted Hill, and this time Loki did see the grin forming on her carefully held composure.

"Yes, that would be accurate," he conceded.

"If Jörmungandr is not real, does that mean the concept of Ragnarök is likewise false?" Hill questioned.

"Every culture on Midgard has such a story," Loki explained. "Just the other day Tony mentioned how some Midgardian cultures believe the world might end when the Mayan calendar ended. Is it a surprise to learn that Asgard had such stories as well? These are children's stories, Agent."

"Have you ever been married before?" Hill asked.

Loki hesitated. His marriage had been political, and it obviously was not part of the legends if Hill didn't know enough to ask by name, but-

"Loki, have you ever been married before?"

"Once," He said plainly. "It was political. Arranged."

"Did the union produce any offspring?"

"Yes."

"How many children from that union, and where do they now reside now?"

Loki stared at his fingertips, white and smooth. The edge of his index finger skimmed the armrest and he fought the urge to curl his hands into fists, to let the sadness overwhelm him as he thought about his sons. Blue upon blue waivered, but did not press forward, and Loki let the sterile environment and smells of SHIELD's office wash away his memories from that day.

"I do not wish to discuss this matter, Agent," he said, and he struggled to maintain his façade as Steve whispering angrily to Fury and Hill, before Fury made a dismissive gesture and stepped forward to watch the monitor results.

"SHIELD has released you to the custody of the Avengers, the All-Father agreed to permit you to serve probation for your acts against Earth but you could have served probation on Asgard instead. What are you still doing here?" Fury asked.

"I wish Earth no harm," Loki said carefully.

"Oh really? Then what are you still doing here? You know your old buddies are going to come looking for you."

"Director," Rogers started, but Loki waved a hand dismissively.

"I have no intention to return to the hands of Thanos or The Other, ever. But I believe you've already understood that their attack on Midgard was not my doing, nor was it within my power to prevent it. Nor will disposing of me prevent their return here."

Fury stood to pace in the tight space of the room, and Loki tracked his movements. The man was unpredictable, Loki thought, with tight lines and angry jerking steps that belayed the underlying grace and power of his form.

"What is your relationship with Anthony Stark?" Hill continued.

Loki rolled his eyes. "Truly?"

"Answer the question, Real Power, otherwise our deal is off," Fury snarled.

"It's complicated," Loki gnawed on his lower lip. "Tony is a good friend, more than a friend. He, ah, understands me."

"Just a friend?" Fury taunted. "Do you actually love him? Care about him at all?"

Loki bit back a growl. "I'd think that would be private even from SHIELD, Director."

"Not private if my consultant is somehow being manipulated." Fury retorted.

"With all due respect, sir, Tony is not being manipu-"

"Stay out of this, Rogers!" Fury snapped.

"What would you like me to say, Director? Yes, as your media claims, I am with Earth's most eligible bachelor."

"Are you having sexual relations with Stark?"

Loki smirked again. "Define sexual relations."

"It's not a trick question, Lie-Smith."

"What would you like me to say?" Loki jeered, before he licked his lips, "Do you want me to say that Stark is very talented with his mouth? That he has quite a sharp tongue? Would those answers satisfy that itch you have, Director Fury?"

"Are you fucking him?" Fury leaned forward, letting his fists rest on the table as he leveled a glare at Loki. It might have been intimidating, but Loki remembered with sudden clarity the man's attempts to interrogate him when he was held in the glass box, when he had done nothing but tease the god with his captivity, but had never hurt him when he was SHIELD's prisoner.

"I'm not sure how that's any of your concern, Director Fury," Steve said, and Loki was amused to note that the super soldier's cheeks and ears were flushed.

"Rogers, I have a right to know just how far my consultant, for my organization, that defends my planet, has gone with the alien bastard who last led an invading force against my planet," Fury needled. "And if Real Power wants asylum on my planet, he will play by my rules."

"Fine. We are together sexually, if you must know," Loki snorted, as he made a show of studying his fingernails. "Is that a problem, Director?"

But Fury leaned back and barked a laugh. "Together sexually, you say. What is this, middle school? You mean to tell me that you haven't actually fucked around with Stark, after sleeping in his bed for how long? Stark, the man who has had so many one-night stands that even SHIELD cannot track them all down, and he won't even touch you?"

Loki blanched. "What?"

Fury waved him away. "We're done here. Bye Real Power, it was fun."

Loki watched in confusion as the man strolled from the room, his coat billowing behind him as Hill came forward to disengage the armbands and other monitoring devices. Was there a reason that mortals—that Pepper and Fury and Barton—kept asking after this? Maybe sex meant more on Midgard than in Asgard, and Loki's chest constricted painfully at the thought, maybe without sex on Midgard, a mortal's affections could not be gaged properly? That without it—

And Tony had said that he wasn't supposed to touch Loki, hadn't he? Wasn't that what he said? Or that he wasn't supposed to be with Loki instead? His stomach clenched painfully, as though one of the dark elves' poisons had wormed inside and cemented his insides together, burning through the sensitive flesh like it were nothing of consequence.

For the briefest of moments, Loki wished for Thor's presence; the bulky idiot had always understood social graces on Asgard better than Loki, Thor could tell Loki what was expected on Midgard. Could tell Loki that he was overthinking things, that no such rules existed. Didn't Thor have his own mortal, the woman that he'd met in London with Tony; is that why she was still so attached to the blond oaf? But no, her dark-haired friend had said they'd not consummated their relationship either, so that must mean that this was not as important on Midgard as—

Steve touched his shoulder, and Loki looked up to realize that Hill had already left and his hands were tingling and tinted almost blue. He closed his fingers into tight fists.

"Tell me Captain," Loki sniffed, "this is the second time recently that someone has demanded to know what form my relationship with Stark takes. Is this a, ah, 'thing' on Midgard?"

"I dunno," Rogers sighed. "I'm just as lost as you, Loki. Back in my day, no one would even ask. Unless they were anglin' for a punch."

"I confess, Fury's line of questioning makes me… uneasy. And the worst part," Loki began, "is that Fury was right. Tony hasn't— We aren't— Why won't he touch me? Perhaps I am as monstrous as—"

"Hey, that's not true. You know that," Rogers interjected.

"But Tony said, he said, he wasn't supposed to touch me—" Loki's voice sounded high-pitched and stressed even to his own ears. "Why?"

"Ask Tony," Rogers said, and the gentle pressure on his shoulder tightened. "I'm sure he didn't mean it like that. Was he even sober?"

Loki blinked, and thought about it. "No."

"Exactly," Rogers glared at the door that Fury had left through. "Fury's trying to upset you. Maybe for the test? Don't let him."

Loki sighed, but stood and squared his shoulders. "Are we free to depart now? I wish to return to the penthouse and the company of more predictable mortals."

Steve chuckled, but Loki could tell the man was uncomfortable as he guided Loki out from SHIELD's offices. Hill wasn't anywhere to be found as the two quickly made their way past security and into a waiting taxi outside.


Tony found him later on the balcony, seated on one of the fancy outdoor chairs that the billionaire had insisted on procuring when he discovered how much Loki liked to sit outside, a green blanket wrapped around his shoulders and his hair whipped in wild tangles by the cold December winds. Without a word, Tony used his prosthetic-enhanced arm to pull Loki up from the chair and guided the half-frozen Frost Giant inside.

"Damn it, Lokes," Tony cursed as he pulled the taller man towards the couch, and Loki absently noticed that two steaming mugs sat on the coffee table, one with his tea and the second smelling strongly of Tony's favorite coffee. "If you're going to sit outside in December, at least change to your Jotun form. Shit, your skin is freezing."

"The cold never bothered me," Loki tried to pull away, but Tony rested his arm across the god's shoulders and pulled him down into the couch with his enhanced strength. Loki relented, and the mortal sank against the cushions beside him.

"Yeah, yeah. Listen," Tony's fingers from his good arm drummed nervously on his knee. "Steve came by my workshop. So… Uh. We gotta talk, Snowflake."

Loki closed his eyes and let his chin fall forward, his tangled hair curtaining around his face in a dark wave. Several hours of sulking on the balcony had done nothing to assuage his worries, no, instead he'd thought of every single gesture, every touch, and every moment with the mortal he'd come to find the presence of so comforting. And nothing added up, to Loki, nothing made sense. But now, he wanted to talk. Mortification burned in his chest and he inhaled sharply, letting the comforting smells wash over him, memorizing them, sinking into the smell of Tony's coffee, of his warmth and the feeling of his body lined so close to Loki's, where his hip and knee and thigh touched the god's own leg. Memorizing that gentle pressure, because nothing good ever came from your lover asking to talk.

"Fuck, this has not gotten easier," Tony muttered, and Loki peeked around his tangled waves to see the anxious turn of Tony's muddy brown eyes as the mortal stared at the windows, the last edges of the day reflected like a rain-dirtied mirror, and Loki felt the first of what would surely be many tears slip down his cheek.

"Thing is, I sorta fucked this up, Lokes," Tony said, and the smaller man's leg fidgeted, his knee bouncing up and down in a anxious twitch. It seemed to Loki like Stark wanted to be anywhere else, anywhere but the penthouse couch with Loki.

"It's fine," Loki whispered. "I can move to one of the other floors, there are plenty of rooms."

"What?" Tony turned, his enhanced arm tightening almost imperceptibly around Loki's shoulders. "What are you saying? Lo-Lo, I don't want-"

"You don't want me, Stark, that much is obvious." Loki pulled away from Tony's embrace, careful not to strain the mortal's injured arm but with enough force to avoid the pull of the metal apparatus as he stood. "You don't have to say it, Stark."

The shadows stretched out along the floor, and Loki felt his heart beat in time with the thickness of the air, stagnant and black, and Loki stood suddenly. Tony's left hand fastened around his wrist, the exoskeleton structure of his temporary prosthetic curled in smooth metal around his wrist against Loki's pulse points, and beneath the metal running the length of Tony's fingers he felt the mortal's flesh press firmly into his wrist.

"Let go," Loki growled.

Tony blinked, then swiped at his eyes with his free hand, and Loki was surprised to see tears when Tony's hand moved. "Loki. Why would you think that? What—" Stark choked back a sob. "What have I done?"

"Not 'supposed' to," mimicked Loki in an ugly tone. "Back in the tent, you said you weren't 'supposed to' be with me. Why? Because I'm the monster that invaded earth? The nightmare of Asgard? It's enough to kiss and tell with monsters, I know, but—"

Tony made a strangled-sounding noise that dissolved into a giggle, and Loki let out a frustrated shout as he wrenched his arm free from Tony's grasp. His lungs constricted, it was all black and gray and red pounding against his skull, and Loki screamed his rage as he reached out and and flipped the glass coffee table across the room. The glass top shattered along with the coffee mugs, flinging broken fragments and liquid in all directions. In the corner of his eye he could see Stark raising his arms to cover his face from a shower of fragments as the mortal cursed, and Loki wondered at the detachment he felt, the fact that his anger had numbed everything else, that his regret felt so far away at that moment. It was like watching one of the mortal world's moving pictures, vested in the characters but impossible to move, to care beyond watching and observing.

Stark continued to giggle hysterically, and Loki's shoulders shook with anger.

"It's not amusing, you ant!" the god shouted, as he heaved a great breath and his long fingers curled tightly against his palms. "Tell me Stark, are you mocking me, too? Do you call Fury and laugh about how the poor misguided monster you've adopted in your tower thinks he is wanted, when you have supposedly had more lovers than SHIELD can locate and won't—" his voice cracked, and Loki inhaled shakily, "wont even touch me? When you aren't 'supposed to' touch me?"

Stark stood, and Loki watched as the genius clenched his jaw so tightly that Loki was sure his teeth would crack. The god's eyes fell closed, defeated. This was it. As Tony's coffee soaked into the cushions of the couch, the dark leather dappled with wet spots, Loki felt the physical weight in his chest, and he exhaled. It was over. It had never begun. It was surely over now, regardless.

He jerked in surprise as arms encircled his chest, one clad in a metal framework, and the arms tugged Loki forward until the gap between his body and Stark's had disappeared entirely. He felt the mortal shudder against is chest and Loki bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, as Tony's right hand snaked up to tangle in Loki's hair and pulled the god's head down to rest against the shorter man's forehead.

"Stark," he whispered. "Let me go."

"Shut up," Tony growled, "Shut up, you fucking idiot."

Loki swallowed, and shivered against the warmth of Tony's embrace, the cold finally leaching from his skin as Tony held him pressed to his chest. The arc reactor was a firm smooth surface through Loki's shirt, cold against even his chilled skin, and the lip of the device bit uncomfortably into the taller man's ribs.

"Did you know," the genius's voice was muffled against Loki's shoulder, "that there's a science behind the length of a hug? Statistically, a hug must be at least twenty seconds long for it to be effective."

"I don't understand," Loki muttered, as his arms came to rest loosely around Stark's shoulders. Tears streaked down his face.

"Of course you don't. You're from the mumbo-jumbo land of magic, not science. But scientists have found that in order to benefit from a hug—elevated serotonin levels, lower blood pressure, there's more but I can't remember them all—the hug needs to last at least twenty seconds. That is, for humans. I'm going to go ahead and guess—not scientific yet, since we haven't done a bunch of experiments, but I'm going to go ahead and guess that for ex-prince Asgardians who are actually Jotuns, it needs to be at least a full minute-long hug to experience the same physio-chemical reactions. Maybe longer. We'll experiment. Write up a huge scientific paper that we'll publish on Asgard. Are there even peer review journals on Asgard?"

"I have no idea what you are talking about, Stark," Loki sighed, his cheek resting against the side of Tony's head, and the god inhaled the smell of Tony's shampoo, of his cologne and aftershave. The fingers in his hair uncurled slightly, and Loki lifted his head to see Tony's warm chocolate eyes studying him. There were identical tear tracks down Tony's cheeks.

"I'm sorry," the mortal continued. "I should have explained earlier. It was something I read, something about when suicide survivors should begin a new relationship after an attempt. I mean, you've been sex on two legs since you first strutted across my living room floor and I've had it bad ever since, even before we got that bad mojo out of your head. I didn't—" Tony looked away, "I didn't want to rush you. You're gorgeous and scary brilliant, and I honestly stalled on finishing this stupid arm brace because I liked having you around the workshop more often, without working on something fucking scary or depressing like the HERB Finder. But I keep expecting that any minute now you're going to wake up and figure out what a fuck-up I am. No joke, Lokes, I'm a fuck-up. I can't keep plants alive, much less relationships. Ask anyone. I practically paid my last girlfriend to stick around while I got the guts to ask her out, and I ended up giving her my whole damn company to run anyway."

Loki let out a watery chuckle, his arms tightening around Tony's shoulders. "I should think Potts would injure you for saying that, Stark."

Tony sucked in a quick breath. "Oh, fuck. She would, and probably with a spoon too. Let's never tell her I said that. Seriously, never ever."

"Agreed," Loki whispered against Tony's hair, and he closed his eyes.

"See? I'm terrible with people," Tony muttered into Loki's shoulder, before warm lips trailed across his neck in a slow line, hesitating between each kiss, and Loki shivered against the gentle pressure.

"We good?" Tony whispered as he trailed kisses along Loki's jaw line. "You get that I want you here, right?"

Loki turned to catch Tony's mouth against his own. It was perfect, perfect and warm and cleansing, and Loki twined his arms more tightly around Tony's shoulders, one hand reaching up to brush through the inventor's hair, feeling the bristling-soft texture of the mortal's goatee against his fingers as he directed the angle of the kiss. And Loki kissed him, reveling in the warmth as the inventor matched his pace, unhurried and gentle, teasing the mortal's lips with darts of his tongue and teeth, as Tony pulled him towards their bed. The god whimpered at the taste of Tony as their tongues met finally, slightly salty and rich, roasted coffee and something spicier competing across his lips.

Tony's knees gave way against the mattress and he held on to the god's shoulders, pulling Loki down until the god fell forward with him. Loki groaned into the kiss, Tony's warmth pressing firmly into him as he straddled Tony's lap. Loki sighed as Tony deepened the kiss, and Loki felt his own answering arousal as calloused and metal-tipped hands slipped beneath his shirt and across his chest. He unbuttoned the first few buttons of Tony's shirt, for once grateful that the injury had forced the mortal out of his usual worn-out t-shirts.

Tony gasped, breaking the kiss as the genius reached with one hand for the clasp on Loki's jeans. "So I'm sorta still injured here, Snowflake, you're gonna have to do all the work this time. You don't mind, do you?"

Loki pulled back to gaze at Tony. His lips were red and swollen, and his back arched off the bed as Loki's fingers skimmed across the bulge straining against his jeans. But Tony's amber eyes were wide and curious, and watching Loki with such an intensity that the god didn't know what to do. He felt exposed, as though he had been taken apart on the metal table in the workshop and analyzed by the holographic projector, and his insides were displayed in wide-screen precision with Tony's 3-D mapping tools. As though the genius had run a hand over every surface of his soul and mapped the contours and edges.

"You want me to enter you?" he whispered, awed.

Tony lifted his hips as Loki tugged at his grease-covered jeans. "Yeah, sure. We can take turns later if that's what you prefer, either way," Tony grinned and wagged his eyebrows. "That is, if you don't mind deigning to have sex with a mere mortal? Always time to change your mind, Lokes. No pressure."

Loki rolled his eyes as he ignored the fear he saw in Tony's expression, the painfully obvious hope in Stark's eyes as he waited for Loki to reject him. What a mess, the god thought as he licked a perfect stripe down the mortal's abdomen. His lips lazily took the mortal in his mouth and he hollowed out his cheeks, reveling in the surprised yelp before he licked the length of Tony's cock and reached for the nightstand drawer.

"I think I'll manage, Stark."