Tony isn't going to fuck the God of Lies. He isn't. It would be a terrible, awful, super-bad-wrong decision. Loki is a war criminal with a weird nose. He's bony, awkward, and unrepentant. Nothing redeeming about him.
But Tony is drunk at ten in the morning, so none of that really matters. Here's what does:
Loki stands in the middle of the UN assembly in a suit two sizes too small and hair four inches longer than it was two years ago. He looks like a scarecrow beside his brother, even though he towers over nearly every human in the room. Every time he speaks, the sentence starts with pardon my interruption and ends with if it pleases the Council.
In the twenty minutes since Tony walked in thirty minutes late, Loki has looked over his shoulder four times to check him out. Two of those four times their eyes met, and he felt like he was looking in a funhouse mirror. Himself, in another face. Tired, haunted, wondering what the fuck he's doing here. And although the thought of kissing anyone makes Tony throw up in his mouth, Loki's lips look like the most delicious thing he's seen since Pepper walked out a year ago.
Self control is not his virtue, so it's a damn good thing he's in public, on Avengers business, with breath that could wake the dead. Otherwise he'd have Loki's slacks around his ankles in the backseat of the Mercedes by now.
"Two o'clock, blue tie?" Steve says under his breath, and Tony shakes out of his stupor. Right, work. He's supposed to be working security, not ogling a psychopath. The media will have a field day if he's caught stumbling and leering.
Following Steve's direction, he checks out the potential threat. Short dude, kind of chubby and squinting at his phone. He activates the highly invasive and extremely illegal signal interceptor he finished programming this morning over whiskey glass number three. The guys' web page appears on Tony's sunglasses.
Facebook, ugh. Typical. Boring.
He shakes his head at Cap. "Stalking his grand kids."
Steve looks perturbed. Tony laughs internally, and realizes it wasn't as internal as he planned when Steve huffs and crosses his arms.
"Will you take this seriously?" he asks, and Tony doesn't bother answering. Classic Capsicle. Always on the job.
By the time he tunes back in to the proceedings it's Loki's turn to sign his amnesty agreement—and ain't that a treasure. Loki, invader of New York, is about to become a legal citizen of Earth because his brother went on strike. Unbelievable.
A murmur ripples through the assembly when Loki whips out a knife from nowhere. It's a little thing, maybe three inches long with a loop on the end for throwing. Tony doesn't notice at first, because the movement shifts Loki's weight to one leg, and that makes the too-small pants cup his ass like spandex. God, he really shouldn't be drunk right now, he's at least two seconds behind everyone else.
Fortunately Loki isn't looking to assassinate anyone. While every security guard and superhero aims their weapons, he draws the blade down his own thumb and presses the bloody finger to the contract. Because signing his name with a pen would just be too pedestrian.
The blade vanishes with a pop and Tony can't look away. As a scientist and a rabid consumer of made-for-TV movies he needs to know how that works. There has to be a logical explanation. Aliens don't just beam down on Einstein-Rosen bridges and casually break the laws of physics.
Then Loki sticks his thumb in his mouth to stop the bleeding and Tony doesn't give a shit about physics. He's transfixed by the play of thin lips on a long finger, and the distracted flick of Loki's eyes checking all the exits. It's a blend of habitual and anxious that Tony knows vividly, and when their eyes meet for the third time it feels charged. Like getting zapped by static electricity. Then Thor claps Loki on the shoulder and the moment's broken. Loki brushes off his brother's hand and disappears into the atrium.
Normally Happy hangs on to Tony's effects, but the UN's rules don't have exceptions for famous billionaires. The line for the coat check is so long he almost mistakes it for the women's bathroom. Leaving the damn jacket is an appealing option, but it's April and his car keys are in the pocket. Sighing, he pulls out his flask and resigns himself to handling at least three intrusive reporters while he waits.
Contestant number one walks up behind him in less than thirty seconds. Wonderful. She's pretty tall for a woman, slim with black hair.
"What's your number?" she asks, in a posh accent that ticks his radar. The atrium is loud, and he doesn't know what the fuck she's talking about. He has to lean in and shout to be heard.
"Don't you people have spies or hackers or something for that?" he says, and her nose wrinkles at his breath. Ah, great, he just indirectly told a reporter he's day drinking. Three guesses what tomorrow's tabloids are gonna be.
But the woman's eyes don't light up and turn sharply observant like a reporter's would.
She purses her lips and asks, "Who in their right mind needs a spy to retrieve a coat?"
And then it clicks. Weird nose, thin lips, haughty accent.
"Loki?"
"Oh for the love of Höðr." she says, slipping her hand into his suit pocket and digging around. She pulls out a neon orange card.
It's probably a bad thing that he doesn't react at all to her invading his space. He could blame it on the alcohol, but the truth is he didn't feel threatened. It just wouldn't make sense for her to attack him now, surrounded by witnesses and after months of playing nice.
"Did you just ask me out?" he says, and she disappears. Poof, gone.
The crowd mills about, and he's momentarily baffled. He must be more hammered than he thought, if he's blacking out like that. Maybe he grabbed the wrong flask and he's drinking Thor's Vanir rum again. Dumbly, he pulls out his stash and sniffs. Smells like whiskey. He's about to put it back, but then he figures he ought to have a sip to double check. Just to be safe. Yeah, tastes like whiskey too. The container is nearly empty by now, and it's a damn good thing because Loki reappears while he's screwing on the cap and he almost showers her in booze. And his own Belstaff coat.
She holds it out for him, wearing a surly expression. "You ought to have this washed. I identified it by stench alone, once I found the right rack."
"Sure thing, princess." he says, taking it back and tossing it over his arm. "Do you look this way often?"
"Not when I have official business."
"What about when you don't?" he asks, genuinely curious.
Loki's nostrils flare, but her face is stoically blank. "My private life is none of your concern. And, no. I was not asking you out."
She pulls on her coat, a green and black leather monstrosity that hangs off her like a bathrobe. He supposes it would be hard to find clothes that fit when your height changes by eight inches on the fly.
"Shame." Tony says, shrugging, and uncaps the flask again. He'd consider sobering up if she was interested. But she's not, so he might as well.
Loki eyes the booze as he tips it back. Maybe it's her stiff posture, or the awkward stillness of her stance, but once he's done his eyes go right to the fidgeting hand at her side. A manicured nail picks at the scab on her thumb, the fresh cut inflamed and starting to bleed again. He slips the flask in his back pocket and points.
"You want a band-aid for that?"
"A what?"
Tony snorts. For some reason he expected Loki to be more worldly than Thor. Evidently not.
"A bandage? Medical attention?"
Loki sniffs, turning on her heel. "I'm perfectly fine, thank you."
"Let me know if you change your mind, I guess."
"I won't." she says, licking at the cut while she walks away in a coat that now fits just fine.
His eyes fixate on her mouth, and he's glad his family jewels tend not to work when he's four doubles into a fifth. Because that would be the weirdest, most unwelcome boner of his life.
Tony does get his coat dry cleaned, but not because Loki complained. He does it because she left a recording bug in the lapel and his dry cleaner is a chatty busybody. He likes the idea of Loki listening through twelve hours of Italian arguing just to get to the part where he says 'Hey, princess' and cuts the feed.
Two nights after that stunt he comes home tipsy from a press conference to find Loki leaning on his bar in a cocktail dress. She says she's here for a band-aid, but he can't seem to find the scratch, even when he takes all her clothes off and gives her a thorough check up. He fucks the God of Lies, and it's exactly as dangerous as advertised. Because she's freaky, and savage, and secretly shy, and as far as he's concerned that's everything a man could want.
But that's not what really matters, because there are a million ways for genius billionaires to get their rocks off. Here's what does:
Twenty-four hours after she talked her way into his bed, Loki shows up with buckshot in his sternum. Tony picks it out with a Kleenex and tweezers because Loki refuses to go to the lab. He doesn't ask what happened to the other guy.
Forty-eight hours later he has been fabricating for sixty hours straight. Loki breaks into the lab armed with hot wings from Buffalo and cold beer from Berlin. He tempts Tony back to the penthouse with petit fours from Paris and when he goes to drink his nightcap all of the flavors clash. So he stops at two shots and convinces Loki to tire him out instead.
Seventy-two hours after that Thor shows up to give him a piece of his mind. Tony shoves Loki into Bruce's biomaterials freezer and when he lets him out Loki's as blue as a smurf. Two pints of ice cream later, it occurs to him that Loki could have teleported to the penthouse and he'd never have known.
Ninety hours later they celebrate their nine day anniversary like they've been together nine years because neither of them can believe they made it this long. It starts as a joke, and ends with the two of them making out in a shrub in Staten Island hiding from the paparazzi. After downing eighteen bottles of vodka Loki drunkenly names her breasts Asmund and Astrid, and Tony tells himself not to get attached.
One hundred and two hours after that he stops counting because it's been two weeks, and that calls for a new unit of measure.
All those things go right. They connect, they laugh, and occasionally bicker. It's unreal. Like a cheesy romcom with a perplexing amount of gore. Here's what goes wrong:
Loki comes and goes whenever he pleases and shows up injured half the time. He never says where he's been and he laughs when Tony gets concerned. One day he comes home with cigarette burns on his arm and claims he was just curious. They don't talk about it.
They do the nasty in varying states of inebriation, and one time Tony forgets to use a rubber. He asks Loki if they need a pregnancy test and finds out she has three kids imprisoned on three planets. They don't talk about it.
They have sex in the lab with the door unlocked and on the balcony with helicopters flying overhead. They try everything once and Loki runs to the toilet to puke halfway through giving him the best blowjob of his life. They don't talk about it.
Loki insists on silk sheets and gourmet food. She demands Tony's complete attention at all times, and asserts her independence anytime it's in question. But when they fuck his only guidelines are the tension in her spine and the varying looks of wonder and fear on her face. Once her panties hit the floor she never, ever says no.
And that scares the fuck out of him.
By the time he's halfway through the Prose Edda, Tony draws up plans for an intergalactic field trip. It's an exercise in getting ahead of himself, because they haven't talked about the godlings since their pregnancy scare three weeks ago. Unfortunately, he's not that great at turning his brain off. Between worrying about alien invaders and worrying about his worrying, it's a nice change of pace.
He builds himself an EVA suit in a couple days and takes it for a spin in the company pool. Then he makes one for Loki just because he feels like it. Next he tackles light speed travel and Loki's smart enough to know something's up. He corners Tony in the shower that night and even a round of wall sex doesn't distract him. So Tony sits him down on the floor beside the bed and brushes out his hair. It feels like holding a cracked snow globe and watching the white dots settle. Like admiring a tender, beautiful thing and knowing one more shake will shatter it.
"Which kid do you want to get first?" Tony asks, working at a tangle.
Loki pulls his knees to his chest and hides his face in the gap. Expecting a fight or at least a disarming insult, Tony braces himself for the worst.
What comes is a near silent murmur.
"Hela." Loki whispers. "I want Hela."
Looking back on it, Tony's kind of embarrassed it took him so long to notice. It should have been pretty obvious, but this involves Loki so of course it's a huge fucking ordeal. What tips him off isn't one particular thing. Actually it's a whole lot of things all pretending to be one thing.
See Tony's gone a couple rounds with Loki at this point, and had a long career of dodgy bedroom choices before that. He's picked up some wisdom along the way. Number one, it's always the quiet ones. Number two, don't bang the fans. But the rule that changes everything is number three, find The Spot.
Sliding his finger in nice and slow, he takes his time for once because the cap on the lube is stuck. Pressing in a little deeper, he rubs a smooth circle just to keep Loki busy and then his whole body from his bony shoulders to his square little butt melts. Right into the mattress. Face down, ass up kind of melts.
He lets out a breathy whine in a pitch he normally only achieves while wearing boobs and stilettos, and hey, there's an idea. Smokey eyes, jangling bracelets, perfectly good hole right there, but Tony scissoring his fingers in the backdoor anyway. Fuck how did he not notice this sooner? How were there handjobs and facials and fucking high school crap when this guy liked getting fucked that much. No offense to handjobs. Or facials.
One thing is really killing him right now though, even when he's kneeling over Loki's thighs and taking him apart with a goddamn finger, one thing is totally blindsiding him. They've done this three times before and he never noticed.
Realizing he never actually got the lube open, Tony fumbles with it, gets everything a little bit wetter, and Loki actually hums. He hums into the comforter and soaks up the feeling, his muscles clenching and loosening and blowing Tony's mind. Red flag. Abort, abort.
Confession time. Might as well do it now, because he's having a fucking revelation with his finger up a Norse god's anus, and if that isn't the time to set the record straight then there isn't gonna be one. Hell, if this was really happening, they might as well build the big wood box around his California king, because Tony's suddenly ready to get a lot of things off his chest.
The first being that he is completely in over his head. He's never been in a relationship that lasted longer than a Brita filter, and he's definitely never been in one where his partner didn't tell him that the happy button in his ass made him smile like a third grader with a popsicle.
Because goddamn, Loki is loving this. He is having his cake and his ice cream and his cookie dough, and he is eating it in the cold dark crevice where he hides all his embarrassing, unwanted parts. Which is so not okay. Ice Smurf Loki used to live there until Tony locked him in a freezer and ate ice cream off his tits, and Lady Parts Loki did too until Tony, uh, well.
Point is, they have fucked up down and sideways over the last month in all three of Loki's fun flavors. Literally checked every box, all the way down the Kinsey scale and back up. All the tabs into all the slots. And yet Loki isn't telling him stuff.
Hell, he doesn't even really care about the big stuff because he's a fucking realist. If Loki wants to spend his free time poking dragons and shooting spitballs Tony knows he'll be the last person to hear about it, and he's okay with that. But when it comes to breakfast cereal and skinny jeans and sex positions he really, really wants to know.
All this time Tony thought they were having fun together, and he's starting to think Loki was just along for the ride. Literally.
"If you think any louder, Stark, I will have to silence you from the inside out." Loki growls, which would be threatening except that he's saying it with his eyes closed and his lips kind of pink and puffy from him chewing on them. Trying to keep himself quiet and not give anything away.
Also, Stark. Yeah, ok, no more slacking off. Time to turn Stark into Anthony, Anthony into Tony, and if he is really good, Tony into yes yes yes. Sure he's kind of having a crisis, but that's no excuse to ruin Loki's night.
Without really thinking about it, he slides a second finger in next to the first and hooks them, pulls Loki up by the butt until he's really fucking exposed and lets his tongue do the talking. If his favorite bag of cats wants to be difficult, well, Tony can work with that. He licks Loki around his half buried fingers, sloppy and wet in the way that he knows feels awesome and gives him a little drag of teeth over his balls because Loki's a sucker for pants-shitting terror.
Tony's pretty sure Loki is on to him because the delicious moans stop, and that's a real buzz kill. This facet of Loki he's very familiar with, fucking everyone is. It's the part of him that needs everyone in the room to acknowledge that Loki is a strong, independent demigod who don't need no man. Or petty human things like emotions and mani-pedis. Whatever. Loki has issues, and Tony has his award-winning tongue. He's pretty sure he can outmaneuver one fucking inferiority complex.
Slowly, very slowly he pulls out his fingers and starts really giving the man a show, licks turning into sucks and probing, deep pushes that open him up but don't satisfy, don't go all the way in or twist his guts like he wants. Tony learned this move first hand in college from an honest to god sex therapist, and he's never been more grateful to a shrink than when Loki's whole body starts quivering and pressing into his face.
God of Mischief his ass, Loki is fire and brimstone all the way down. He's still trying to hold back, but that just turns his moans into desperate, throaty pants that warm Tony's cold dead heart.
Eventually he has to catch a breath, so he comes away sucking out a loud, wet slurp that echoes off the walls and makes Loki sneer in disgust. He fucking loves that expression. It's so real. So Loki. Vile mortal, why must you be so gauche, your manner is beneath me, begone. The sneer migrates downward into a pout and Tony realizes he's smiling. Probably a loopy, dumb sex smile. He could blame it on a lack of air.
Loki huffs and looks at the bedside lamp, which means he's feeling things and doesn't want Tony to notice. Things like vulnerable and maybe a little nervous. He can understand that. They haven't done this before, with the slow and the careful and the eye contact.
It's kind of exhilarating. Also terrifying. But definitely better than fucking like bunnies because they're bored. Maybe a little less good than the shoving into walls and scraping nails down his back sex, but a real close second. Maybe even a tie. Loki tweaks his nipples and rolls his hips in the air next to Tony's face in what can only be a demand for more. So ok, maybe better than barbarian wall sex. Jury's still out.
The next few minutes are kind of a blur, mostly because he's busy eating ass like ice cream, but also because his dick contains half the blood in his body and that's not a lot of oxygen for the rest of him. Somewhere in there three fingers happen and the moans come back, and if he's got a cocky black smile on his face, well it's not like Loki can see it.
All those fingers don't leave much room for Tony's mouth, and Loki's dick is making some really persuasive arguments for why it should be next when Loki goes stiff in his arms. His first thought is "Shit, did I make him come?" which is ridiculous because, hello, he's staring right at Loki's jewels and they are definitely not skeet shooting, but that just raises more questions.
Raising his head, he finds his man right where he left him, face half hidden under ridiculous romance novel hair and staring creepily at the bedside lamp likes its gonna pull out a knife and stab him.
"Lokes?" he says, and damn, is that his voice? He sounds like the human version of coffee grounds. "Hey, Bambi, up here."
His partner's eyes slide over to him, and Tony's balls shrivel up a little. That's the taking-over-your-planet look, and he's not sure if it's a bad thing that his first instinct is to throw his forearm across Loki's back and hold him down but that's what he does.
He's on top of Loki before he really thinks about it, and he's pressing his lips behind Loki's ear and biting. He's whispering stupid shit about how he's got him and snaking his arm around his waist where the prickly short hairs grow in a line down his belly. The strangest part of the whole thing is that it fucking works. One minute Loki is about to bolt, maybe go rob a bank or something, and then Tony's in his face and he just stops.
So Tony keeps going. It's the only answer he's ever got with Loki and it's worked so far. It's not like he can very well teleport after him and drag him home. So Tony always acts fast, carries on through whatever is happening and hopes the god is curious enough to stay and see how it ends. Or trusting enough, if that's really what they're doing right now.
Loki starts breathing hard and measured in the way he claims is magical meditation but that Tony is ninety percent sure is Loki holding back tears. He can't know because Loki never actually cries, but he's mostly almost sure.
They are definitely treading on Not Good territory but nobody's said Mjolnir yet, so Tony nudges Loki and flips them over. He arranges Loki so he's sitting on Tony's cash and prizes and goes for old faithful. The most fail proof of Loki's hot spots are his adorable little dime nipples, and he hums when Tony sucks on them. Loki squirms on his dick, looking down his lashes all coy like he doesn't know what he's doing and just like that they're back in business. God bless America.
They kill some time grinding, running hands over arms and chests and making stupid gooey eye contact. They kiss, too. Practically suck each others souls out. Tony wonders if they've been taken over by pod people, which is when he thinks fuck it and worms his fingers back inside Loki.
If this was hot before, doing it with Loki towering over him is on another fucking scale. Three fingers go in like butter, so he puts the pinky in just because. Style points? Whatever, he's got more important things to think about like Loki leaning indulgently back on Tony's legs and rocking, rocking, rocking on his hand.
Madly, he wonders what Loki would do if he just stuck his whole fucking fist in there. Bitch, probably. Then moan. Shit, yeah, not today. He's too far gone. Bring on the main event. He's losing brain cells here.
Dick in the ass. Slick, hot, incredible. Somehow still tight, what the actual fuck. Loki really is just a beast. He's speaking alien, can't even fuck himself right because he's so gone. Tony doesn't mind, he's so hard he's literally seeing white lights and it's cool. He is totally cool so long as Loki keeps circling his hips, keeps bouncing on his cock like — oh yeah, fuck yeah like that.
Loki's eyes slide shut on the first thrust but he keeps trying to look at Tony, eyes wide but head falling back every time he hits his spot just right. His hands are clawing at whatever's in reach. They scrabble from Tony's butt to his knees to the rumpled sheets, and finally up to the hair by his ears where they just cling.
It changes the angle and Loki seriously, actually shouts. Not like porno movie shouts, but like Norse god riding into battle, yippee-kai-ye mother fuckers kind of shouts, which must break some kind of seal because then he can't stop. He's moaning after every single thrust in that sexy, helpless falsetto voice and whispering alphabet soup alien words.
Yeah, Tony decides, Loki likes to get fucked alright. Not likes as in, yeah i like cheeseburgers, everybody likes cheeseburgers, and not likes as in, sure we can get pineapple pizza I don't care. Nah, screw all that bullshit pedestrian kind of liking stuff that other people do. Loki likes this like fuck yeah deeper bigger please. Which is huge because they've done some of that, or at least gotten kind of adjacent to it, but now that he's fucked the bullshit out of Loki the truth's written all over his face.
He doesn't care about the cock in his ass, it's just a need like hunger or thirst or sleep. He wants intensity, contact. He wants the slow stretch and the fingers pulling his insides out and the arm holding his back to Tony's chest like he'll never let go.
Loki's heard bullshit promises from everyone he loves for a couple thousand years, and he doesn't buy that crap anymore. But this? Bodies fused, nerves firing wild and hips grinding, two genius minds reduced to panting and sweaty limbs? Loki believes this. It's maybe the only part of Loki that somebody else hasn't scuffed up before Tony got the chance to touch it. And he loves it. Shit, he'll admit it. It's fucking incredible. A gift. A sliver of Loki that's been guarded like some dirty, ugly thing. Kept on ice for a couple millenia just for him. Jesus fuck he's in love.
Jumbled like that, they crash into their orgasms greedily. Loki's still with him, but it's not about Tony when he comes, which is awesome. Loki's doing it for himself, writhing and hungry, and damn near vicious in the way he jerks his hand over his dick, chasing chasing.
He's tensing, vice like, and Tony doesn't last five seconds once Loki starts trying to come in earnest. He pushes deeper and that's it, he's gone. Good night sweet prince. Chorus of angels. The body around him twitches, legs squeezing around his hips, and Loki comes all over him.
Tony grins. Definitely a dumb sex smile this time, no chance at all it's not. Maybe it's lazy not lending a hand or anything, but Tony pats himself on the back for managing to line up their lips and stick the landing. It's not really a kiss, they're just breathing each other's air. Even so, there's some kind of magic in it. Loki folds over on him. First a head on his shoulder, then a shoulder between his arm and his ribs, then he's smothered in musky, sated Asgardian.
He's about to laugh when Loki sits up and uses a sheet to clean them. A sheet. Like, without magic.
Tony fucking glows. Tries to keep his face straight while his ego soaks up the lizard-brain, caveman I-Tarzan-You-Jane flush of masculine conquest. Because he just fucked Loki so good that the most powerful sorcerer on Asgard is too tired to banish his own come.
Loki drops the soiled sheet on the floor and settles himself against Tony's side. He lays his head on Tony's shoulder and slings an arm over the reactor scar like it's not weird or unsightly. Once he's comfortable he glances up, reading Tony's expression, and slaps him clean across the face. Tony laughs, uncontrollably.
"Don't gloat, Stark. It is not such a feat to shove a stick in an ant hill and wiggle it around."
"We're doing that again."
Loki slides his foot under Tony's ankle and scratches long toes through his leg hair. Sniffs.
"Well I would be a poor companion if I did not oblige." he says.
"Oh so that's what that was. Obliging." Tony mumbles.
"Naturally."
"Totally just humoring me."
"Sleep, imbecile, or I shall make you." Loki whispers into Tony's neck.
"Sure." Tony says, drifting off. Not certain whether he obeyed or Loki really did tranq him.
Loki waits until he's certain Tony is asleep, and the peaceful look dissolves. He sits up, extracting himself carefully from Tony's arms and crawling to sit at the edge of the bed.
"Damn you, Stark." he whispers, looking over his shoulder, toes tapping anxiously on the concrete floor. For a very long couple of minutes Loki chews his thumbnail to the quick and rocks slightly while he thinks, staring at his own feet.
Walking around the bed he cracks open Tony's cell phone with a little knife summoned from nowhere and removes the bug in the receiver. Reassembles the device and turns it on. Logs in to Tony's bank account and deletes the transfer of funds he scheduled while Tony was in the shower that morning. Loki looks at his mark's sleeping form and his eyes go soft, expression nervous.
He returns to bed, the covers still warm where his body dented the mattress at Tony's side. He lays down, shuts his eyes, and prays for more time. Thanos is coming, but Loki cannot make himself to run. Not from this, but when he has Stark.