It's late in the afternoon. Sunlight filters in through the paneled windows of Tony Stark's mansion; a single ray bounces off the Empire State Building, onto the bar, then onto the two men who are lying in a sweat-soaked heap on the cream-colored rug below. One of the men, Tony himself, shifts a little, and his partner, Loki Laufeyson, runs a long, pale finger down his spine.
"JARVIS," Tony mumbles absently to his AI. "Dim the windows. It's too fucking stuffy in here."
He feels Loki's lips brush the back of his neck; the god's skin is surprisingly cool, and Tony presses against his touch automatically, rolling over, his arc reactor glowing softly between them. He opens his eyes and smiles a little, and Loki is momentarily startled at how the bright blue of his irises is flecked here and there with his natural brown color, an indication that the spell from the staff is starting to weaken against Tony's natural strength and stubborn nature. He will have to recharge him soon… because if he doesn't, Tony will wake up. And Loki will lose him.
He knows it's selfish to keep Tony to himself; Stark's already helped him take over most of Midgard in that Iron Man suit of his and Loki really doesn't need him anymore, but… it's nice to have a place to stay. Nice to have someone to come home to every evening. Nice to have intelligent conversations every once in a while. Even if that someone is a mortal man who, until he was compromised, described himself as a 'genius billionaire playboy philanthropist'.
If Loki's going to be fully honest with himself, it's just nice to have someone who will pay full attention to him and not go gossiping to other people later about how weird his hair looks or how annoying his voice is.
He will have to release Tony Stark eventually. That much is certain. And when he does, Tony will probably try to kill him for taking over his mind, and for imprisoning his friends, and for making all of the inhabitants of his home planet kneel like the subjugated weaklings Loki knows they truly are. There will be no more lazy afternoons like this, no more mornings waking up in his arms, no more breakfasts in his boxers, no more trips downtown to catch movies (and no more Tony saying it's 'cute' how Loki calls it the cinema). He'll even miss their fights—because sometimes Tony almost breaks the spell on his own, and they argue a lot when that happens, and then Loki has to fuck him until he's worn out and then breathe some regenerative spell into his ear to suspend reality for a while longer.
The sun catches them again. Tony shifts, bringing himself further into Loki's arms, and presses a kiss to the tip of the god's nose. "Love you, Shakespeare," he says, and that's another harmless side effect of the spear—the magic has Tony believing he's in love, and Loki… well. He's done nothing to dissuade him of the notion.
He smiles shakily, wondering why he feels tears pricking the backs of his eyes. "You too, Stark," he says, quietly, letting his vulnerable side slip for half a second before this man. He wonders if love can last outside of spells. He doesn't think so, not in this case. Mortality is just as much of a barrier as the spell, and when either wears off… Loki is going to lose Tony.
Yes, he'll have to release Stark one day soon, he thinks, bringing the man in for another kiss. But not today.