Note: chapter contains mature content.
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Take away sight and it's suddenly so much easier to turn the mind on to all the other senses. Touch: the satin sleep mask Loki found in the nightstand drawer sits as a gentle weight on Tony's eyelids, soft and cool. A ruffle of lace tickles the bridge of his nose. Smell: a tang of sweat in the air, warming on flushed skin, and the heady, sweet spice of amaretto. Sound: the intake of breath and the rustle of sheets that follow Loki's movement. A bottom-heavy glass bottle slides briefly against wood. A tiny splash, and then touch again: a thin, cold finger of liquid trickles down from just below the arc reactor to gather in the hollow of Tony's navel.
A sympathetic chill ripples down his spine as cool air whispers across his stomach.
"Do you suppose I might get drunk off of you?" Loki asks.
The sound of that silken voice comes from somewhere near Tony's waist a fragment of a second before the tip of Loki's slick tongue meets his skin, following the amaretto line. Tony's back arches at its electric touch. "Not...likely," he gasps. "Nobody gets wasted on amaretto, Loki. You'd have to drink more than that bottle holds."
"Mm. I may be able to do that..." Another ribbon of liqueur, this time on the inside of Tony's right elbow and down his forearm. Loki's lips catch it all. "I may be interested in discovering how this tastes on every inch of your skin. Here, for example..." The heat of his mouth moves farther up Tony's arm. "Here, I think I can detect a subtle hint of bitterness... perhaps the residue of soap from your shower. But over here..." His tongue slides over the curve of Tony's ribcage, tracking the flow of liquid that spills a little too liberally and drips onto the mattress. "The sour and salt of sweat. Then up here is a different sort of bitterness," he says at the place where Tony's jaw meets his ear. "And you smell of pine. A perfume?"
A spidery thrill skitters down Tony's neck. "Aftershave," he murmurs. Blindly, he turns his head, but Loki's already pulled away and his kiss catches only a wisp of hair.
His skin feels so hot. All over, burning in its exposure to the bedroom air. Everywhere explored by Loki's tongue blazes with need, and everywhere not yet explored... oh, it strains. And if he only slides his knee to the side, like a tiny hint...
Two of Loki's fingers take that hint and skim their way up his inner thigh. "Is there something you desire, Tony Stark?"
Desire. Yes, there's something he desires. His entire body is saturated with desire, begging for anything more than these ghostly caresses. But where to start? "Blindfold off." He rolls his hips toward Loki's hand, but already it's gone. "I want to be able to see you."
Loki sounds like he's smirking. "Lack of sight is the purpose of the game. Sight ruins the surprise of what I might decide to do to you next. If you could see, you would know I was about to..."
It's impossible not to feel a surge of anticipation at those words, tingling low in his body near the echo of Loki's touch. Those two fingers land again, this time on the outside of his knee, and quickly glide up to his waist. They walk their way back down in delicate steps to the ticklish place at the very top of his leg to draw circular patterns on skin already far too sensitive and taut with longing. Then two hands are on his waist, and Loki settles down next to him with a quiet 'hmm' that makes Tony's blood race and his throat go dry.
The first touch is only air. Loki's mouth is so close to Tony's skin he can feel it: warm breath, maybe the brush of a strand of hair, radiant heat from Loki's cheek. No more than a paper-thin gap between the two of them.
The second touch is hardly more. The soft edge of Loki's lip, barely there but enough to pull a stifled moan from his throat all the same.
Third touch: Tony's fists tighten around handfuls of sheets as Loki's tongue darts out from between his lips, now pursed for gentle little kisses.
Eight kisses, then Loki leans back. Blood pounds in Tony's ears, down his neck, to his heart, out to every extremity, hot and fast and hard and... fuck, he needs more. He needs so much more than just flowery kisses, and he doesn't even care how shameless he looks now. How desperate. He reaches down to grope at thin air, searching for Loki's hand or shoulder or hair or face, but finds nothing at all.
"Loki..." he groans.
Loki's voice is at the end of the bed. "Yes?"
"For fuck's sake you bastard, don't stop there!"
The answering 'mm-hmm' sounds a lot like a closed-mouth laugh. "I am not stopping here."
One more kiss, on Tony's leg, just past where his outstretched hand can reach. Another one, higher, and Tony's fingertips brush Loki's tangled hair. A kiss on the other side, near Tony's hip, then higher again, and a lick at the residue of amaretto on his stomach. Tony's hand closes over the back of Loki's neck to spur him on. Two quick kisses below the center of Tony's ribcage, one on either side of the arc reactor. On the left side of his upper chest. On his shoulder. A series along his collarbone to his neck, up to his ear, his temple, and his eyes through the mask. Always moving upwards, until Loki's body is laid out flush against Tony's, covering him completely. Face to face at last.
Still separated by the stifling barrier of Loki's clothing.
"Why the hell are you still dressed?" Tony whispers.
"Because nobody has taken the time to undress me yet," Loki replies.
"If you sit up just a bit and give me about three seconds..."
Loki shakes his head, nose brushing Tony's as he does. "One thing first. One more sense for you to explore. This one has been neglected all night..."
This kiss isn't a ghost kiss. Not fleeting, not soft or light. This one is lips hard against lips, open-mouthed with the taste of amaretto like alcoholic marzipan. Tongues slip past teeth like it's impossible to be close enough. It is impossible. Tony's right hand holds Loki's neck; the left wraps around Loki's back, clinging and dragging him into a vise-like grip, but it's still not enough. Not what Tony wants. He wants...
He pushes up off the bed and rolls both of them over so that he's on top of Loki. And fuck, he doesn't want to let go of their embrace, but he has more important things to do. Without ever breaking the kiss, he slides his hands up to Loki's shirt collar and the button holding it closed.
"Time to get you out of this," he murmurs against Loki's lips.
"Do you want the blindfold off?"
Tony grins. "Loki, if you think I need to be able to see to undress somebody..."
Each button pops open easily, one by one, down the center of Loki's chest. Tony's mouth follows his hands as a wedge of waiting skin is exposed, all the way down to the waistband of Loki's pants. There's another button, which opens just as effortlessly, and a zipper. The pants slip so easily off Loki's hips and down his legs. Only one piece of clothing left. One thin layer of fabric. It's smooth as satin under Tony's hands and against his face, with the smallest wisp of a familiar scent. Nothing else in the world smells like that.
"Are you actually wearing silk boxer shorts?" he has to ask.
The mattress shifts like Loki's propping himself up on his elbows. "Yes. Why?"
"It's hilariously cliché. But... somehow really sexy at the same time. I guess that's why it became a cliché."
"I found them in the dresser."
"...Wait, you're wearing my silk boxer shorts?"
He has to pull off the blindfold at that and have a look. Finally look, at the flawless body spread out on the bed before him. All elegant limbs and tangling black hair and snowy skin flushed with just a touch of pink and the sheen of sweat. Tony's not usually the kind of guy to be stunned into silence, but fuck if this sight doesn't do the trick, hitting him hard after so long spent in darkness and deprivation. Whatever he thought he needed before? Yeah, he needs it ten times more now...
"What's the matter?" Loki asks through a wicked smile. "Has the power of my astonishing beauty stolen your voice?"
Well yes, but since it would be too embarrassing to admit it now that he's been mocked... He retaliates by sliding his hands up Loki's legs and over the silk shorts. With an undignified moan, Loki drops his head back and falls to the mattress. Bullseye.
The shorts are Tony's. He recognizes the pattern (dark red, faded gold elephant print) as something he bought in Thailand a couple years ago, because why the hell wouldn't you buy elephant-printed silk everything in Thailand? And it's hard to tell whether seeing his underwear on Loki is really weird or the hottest thing ever. Also watching his hand move against those underwear. Feeling Loki's reaction.
(Okay, yeah, it's the hottest thing ever.)
Loki's response is immediate: an inhaled gasp and an exhaled sigh before his hands fly down to the elastic waistband of the shorts, roughly trying to shove them out of the way.
Tony frees one of his own hands to swat Loki's away. "Quit that," he says. "You made me wear a blindfold for an hour. I make you keep the shorts on."
"That may... impede things..."
"I dunno... I think we're doing pretty good all considering."
Maybe better than good. It's a wonderful thing, the sense of sight: being able to watch Loki in this state and see his eyes flutter closed and his mouth fall open. Watch his chest rise and fall with each rapid breath. Slowly losing control, second by second, with Tony all too eager to see him come undone. Breathing even faster now. Eyes squeezed shut.
"Look at me," Tony demands.
Loki opens his eyes, tilting his head enough for his sightline to meet Tony's. Smiling, Tony mimes one little kiss. A few more strokes... and a shudder overwhelms Loki's body as he loses control completely.
There's an intimate, fleshy smell of sweat that fills Tony's nose. The feel of Loki's trembling body under his hands, the sound of labored, uneven breathing, the sight of Loki's hand releasing its hold on the mattress and falling limply to the side... The taste of amaretto still lingering on his tongue. All those senses come together so perfectly. He gives himself a minute to appreciate the harmony of it all before crawling up to lie alongside Loki and press a quick kiss to his neck.
"Well..." he says. "Now I think my underwear can come off."
"Go ahead," Loki replies through a quiet laugh. "Undressing me is your responsibility."
"I will. In a second. But I'll get you do to something for me first."
"What?"
Tony's lips glide up to Loki's ear. "Roll over and lie on your front."
Loki follows the order without any complaint. Without a single word. Without even a blink of hesitation, he rolls over eagerly. And just as eagerly lifts his hips when Tony reaches down to pull off the silk shorts.
"Impatient, are we?" Tony asks.
"Only being helpful."
"Funny how you're always most helpful when the help works out in your favor..."
Or it could just as easily be Tony's favor. That milky-smooth back now on display is there for him. All for him. Every perfect part of it. He swallows the sudden lump in his throat, letting it slide and pulse down. Yeah. All for him...
The contrast of his tanned hands against Loki's pale skin is a beautiful thing to see. Almost mesmerizing, how dark Tony's fingers look as they caress their way up Loki's thighs, over his backside, following the length of his spine to his neck and then back down again. Tracing the raised lines of his ribs and the angles of his shoulder blades. All the contours of pliant skin and unyielding bone beneath his touch.
"What do you think everybody would say?" Tony asks.
"Everybody?"
"The Avengers. Romanoff. Rogers. Coulson. If they knew what we were up to..."
Loki laughs. "Do you want them to know?"
Tough question to answer. On the one hand, Tony's convinced it'd be impossible for anybody to consider Loki a threat to world peace if they could see him right now, in this state, and feel his impossibly soft skin. Like a harmless baby bunny. On the other hand...
"No," he says. "I don't want them to know. I don't want to share anything. This is just for me."
It's just for him. Just Loki now. Just Loki, there before him, ready and waiting. All for him to take. Slowly. Step by step. Caressing and... claiming. He has to close his eyes and bite down on his lip and just breathe. His arms shake at the buildup of need and the intoxicating sight of Loki beneath him, the feeling of slick pressure...
It's mechanics. Nothing more than biological mechanics. Moving parts in an engine working towards a purpose. Tony just needs to concentrate on the mechanics. Each piece, each action, the ultimate goal still far in the distance. Too hard and too fast and the parts wear out before their time, but under the right measure of control... Tony Stark has always been good at mechanics. Good and precise. Highly skilled when it comes to achieving the desired outcome.
One arm slides around Loki's side. His fingers glide under and up along the flat, muscled plane of Loki's chest, to his throat. Squeeze. Loki's blood pounds through his veins and his breath rushes like a river beneath the soft skin of his neck. He tilts his head back at the urging of Tony's hand. Not far. But far enough for a ragged kiss on the corner of his mouth as his muscles clench and he gasps for breath. And he tries to drop his head back down, hide his face in the pillow again, but what fun is that?
Tony keeps hold of his neck. No, better to see every grimace of pleasure... hear every begging moan, no matter how small...
...Even if that sight and those sounds drive Tony too close to the edge. There's a spring coiling up inside him. Part of the engine. Twisting tighter, building up energy, ready to fire. (But not yet, not yet, not yet, not yet!) His entire being is pulled too taut.
Loki moans again, though this time it sounds like frustration. "Tony Stark..."
"Yes?"
"Tony Stark, by the Nine Realms... if you don't... if you don't... nnn..."
"If I don't what?" Tony asks. "What happened to sexuality as a fine art? Expectation and denial?"
But his voice is too breathy, too rough, and full of hitches. He's straining to stay in control. Holding everything together by a single, fraying cord that's getting weaker by the second. They can't keep this up much longer. He knows it. Loki knows it. Every cell in both their bodies knows it.
To hell with fine art.
He squeezes his hand around Loki's throat. No more time for elegance or pretense, it's all just crude fucking now. Feeling the spring wind tighter, feeling Loki writhe and tense. Mercilessly pushing both of them closer. Again. And again. Reckless need building inside. Blazing to life.
"I..." Is all Loki has time to say before a wordless moan boils up from inside. Spine arched, head thrown back, one hand reaches up to grasp at the headboard and-
Oh God, the sight of him!
Tony lets himself go. Lets everything uncoil, lets the cord snap, lets the convulsion of blinding white heat rip through him. Searing pleasure in currents that roll down his legs and up to his skull, through every bone, shaking him from head to toe. On and on in waves. Shocks and aftershocks. Until he's utterly drained, muscles bled dry of every speck of strength, and he collapses. Face pressed into damp, matted black hair.
"...Loki..."
Loki's the one who eventually disentangles them. He moves gently to the side, unhooking arms and legs and hands clawed with desire, until they're two separate people once more. Tony watches him through hazy eyes as he sits up and wipes sweat from his face, raking it back into his hair.
He's so beautiful. So beautiful. Skin flushed and glistening with exertion and hair a mess of curls. His shoulders, still heaving with untamed breath, hunch over as his head droops forward. The smooth line of his shoulder standing as a dark silhouette against the nightstand lamp.
Beautiful. Tony's hand reaches up, maybe of its own accord, and the backs of his fingers stroke down the length of Loki's arm.
It takes nothing further for a small smile to quirk its way across Loki's half-shadowed lips. He switches off the lamp and, in darkness, carefully settles down into a waiting embrace. One arm around Tony's waist. Tony's arm curling up around his back. His breath against Tony's ear.
Perfect and beautiful.
ooo
Usually Tony's the big spoon. That's just how things work out when he actually spends the whole night with somebody: he wakes up with a warm body in his arms and his dick pressed up against the curve of an inviting ass. He will admit, however, that there's something to be said for being in the opposite position. And if he weren't hungry enough to make his stomach feel like it's trying to digest itself, he might be tempted to take advantage of the situation. Or, you know, definitely take advantage of the situation.
Instead he slips quietly out from between the sheets, careful not to let any of his movements wake Loki, who still looks infuriatingly beautiful with his tangled hair and softly parted lips and thick, black eyelashes resting on cheeks still touched with a hint of pink. Maybe breakfast in bed? Yeah. Absolutely breakfast in bed. He pulls on a pair of clean shorts and heads for the kitchen.
This breakfast plan would be a lot easier if he had some Toaster Strudels or that bacon you just have to put in the microwave. Instead, the fridge is full of vegetables and vegetables and more vegetables and a family pack of striploin steak and vegetables and two cartons of eggs. So he can cook up some eggs or... No, that's about all. Eggs it is. Maybe steak afterwards if the eggs turn out okay and he starts to feel more ambitious.
Two pots, three pans, and eighteen eggs later, breakfast is done. Not the most impressive breakfast in the world, just eggs and coffee and some weird organic pineapple-guava juice that Loki must've wanted, and his presentation on a Grand Canyon souvenir tray leaves something to be desired, but it's food. He balances the tray precariously on one hand to make his way back to the bedroom.
"Loki?"
Loki's head rises up from the pillow instantaneously. And whatever reaction Tony was expecting – a smile, a smirk, a snarky comment? – this isn't it. It's the blank look again. The mask. The complete shutout of any emotion. And now there's a sinking feeling in Tony's gut because, shit, what's gone wrong now to fuck up what could've been a real nice morning?
"Uh," he says, and clears his throat. "I... made breakfast?"
And Loki answers with a continued blank stare. "You..."
"Eggs," says Tony, setting the tray down on the bed. "We got some hard-boiled eggs, and scrambled eggs, and fried eggs that turned into scrambled eggs. And this bowl is raw eggs because... I didn't know what you'd like."
"You made breakfast," Loki says softly.
"Yeah. Like I said, I know how to cook eggs at least... two different ways. And coffee and juice."
Loki's blank look doesn't change. None of this is helping at all, and Tony's bad feeling (Anxiety? Dread?) only grows worse with each passing second. Fuck. Shoving that bad feeling aside won't do either of them any favors.
"Okay," he says crossing his arms over his chest. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing is wrong," Loki answers in a neat little lie.
"Cut the BS. Considering the vast quantities of bodily fluids we recently exchanged, I think I deserve for you to at least consider letting the truth out. Okay? Okay. So why don't you just tell me what's wrong. Do you regret what happened last night?"
"Do you?"
Bastard can never answer a straight question. "I asked you first."
The blank stare gives away nothing as Loki grabs one of the raw eggs, cracks it against the edge of the tray, and throws it back like a shot.
"I hope you know that's disgusting," says Tony, which Loki answers with a narrow-eyed scowl. Good. Finally something other than blank. Now they're getting somewhere. He picks up a hard-boiled egg as Loki goes for another raw. Or, an egg he thought was hard-boiled, until a half-cooked mess starts to seep out into his hand when he cracks the shell...
"Aw, shit. Okay. Remember when I said I knew how to cook eggs two different ways? That was an optimistic exaggeration. I only know how to make scrambled eggs. Here, you can have this one."
Silently nodding, Loki reaches out, though instead of taking the egg, his fingers close around Tony's wrist. He draws Tony's hand up to his mouth.
Interesting how things can go from ominous and awkward to turned on as all fuck in the span of... let's see, a quarter of a second, if that? Also interesting how Loki licking failed breakfast slime from Tony's hand can be so elegantly erotic. But that's how it goes. So.
"I am deeply mentally conflicted right now," says Tony.
Loki looks up. "Why is that?"
"Well, um. You're being strange and distant and refusing to talk to me, but you're okay with literally eating out of my hand?"
"Yes."
Loki's tongue is way too effective a distraction, tracing the shape of Tony's thumb before skimming down to his wrist. Its touch sends shivers down the length of his arm. Incredibly potent, hair-stand-on-end shivers.
"Goddamnit you're even better at this than I am," he murmurs.
"Better than what?" asks Loki with one more little lick.
"The masterful ability to steer away from awkward conversations by way of sex. That's kind of my deal. You know, to spare myself the whole business of discussing what we're doing and what's going to happen now. Avoiding the part where we pretend to be stunned when we realize each of us had completely different intentions last night. You told me a while back that you've had this conversation a few times before, and so have I, but I'm usually the one in your position being prickly and difficult and trying to seduce my way out of- Okay, stop that!"
He jerks his hand away as Loki tries to bite down on his fingertip. "Your bizarrely sexy antics aren't going to work on me! I mean, okay, they are, but I'm not going to let them. Yet. We are going to talk about this first, and you are going to participate. It's going to be the most painful and slow and misguided conversation in the history of time because you're forcing me to be the instigating partner here, which is..." Oh, fuck it. Watching Loki's coolly blank face stare back at him isn't doing anything to make the whole idea of actually trying to talk this through any less ridiculous. "You know what? Never mind. I don't want to have this conversation, you clearly don't either, we're the worst goddamn people in the world to talk about feelings and shit, so I vote we stick our heads in the sand and tell ourselves everything is fine. Agreed?"
"Agreed," answers Loki.
"Agreed," Tony repeats one more time while scooping up a plate of scrambled eggs, because saying things out loud makes them easier to believe, doesn't it? Sweeping complex problems under the bedroom rug is as good a way as any to get rid of them. And Loki is one big problem. One big, hazardously attractive problem of the kind Tony doesn't need and shouldn't want. Shouldn't. Seriously, he shouldn't. Shouldn't want that and shouldn't have done that. Not in anybody's book would that be a good idea. He fucked S.H.I.E.L.D.'s public enemy number one. He fucked a megalomaniacal, murderous warlord from outer space. Probably one of the top three items on his list of things never to do. Definitely covered by the general rule of 'do not touch Loki under any circumstances, ever'. And he did it.
But looking at that megalomaniacal space warlord? The one who's sitting there naked save for a haphazardly placed sheet over his lower half, downing raw eggs like they're jello shots? The one who, just eight hours ago, was sticky with sweat and writhing in this very bed, losing himself in pleasure as Tony explored every glorious secret of his body?
Only the world's biggest asshole would regret even a second of it.
Tony sets his scrambled egg plate aside. They're rubbery and taste like crap anyway. "Just so you know," he says to Loki, "I don't regret it. I'm not sorry it happened, and I wouldn't change a thing. I've regretted a lot of choices I've made in this area in the past, but... not this one. Who knows why. I guess I felt pretty good last night. And even this morning. Which isn't how it usually works out, I'll give you that. And then I tried to make breakfast, and son of a bitch, you do regret it, don't you? Is that why you're being so weird?"
This time there's not even any blank stare to tell him Loki's paying attention. Now he only gets falsely-interested-in-the-not-hard-boiled-eggs lack of eye contact.
"Well, if so, there's nothing I can do about that," he continues. "But if you're being weird because you don't know where I stand and can't ask because you're as emotionally demonstrative as a turtle and showing even a tiny speck of humanity would shatter your omnipotent godly bastard image? There you go. You now know what I think. And it'd be really nice if you could tell me where you're at, or at least give me a clue by eating more uncooked egg out of my hand, because even though that should've been gross it was actually really, really hot. I don't know why. There must be something wrong with me."
"No."
Loki's word is so quiet Tony barely hears it over the background hum of air conditioning. "...What did you say?"
"I said 'no'. And please stop talking."
"Believe me I'd like to, but I can't," says Tony. "Your eerie silence makes me uncomfortable. When I get uncomfortable, I talk. Somebody who may or may not have had an eye patch once accused me of trying to take control of situations by constantly yammering on, and I'll admit that idea has merit because everybody always listens to the loudest jackass in the room. And wait, what did you mean by 'no'?"
"I meant no, there's nothing wrong with you," says Loki. His eyes flick up to meet Tony's. Maybe a bit less than blank this time. Maybe softer and almost open. (Not quite. Just almost.) "So please stop talking. And come over here."
The twist in Tony's stomach could be good or bad. Loki's words could be good or bad. Why it so impossible to judge things with him? "Is that a... good 'come over here' or...?"
It's possible that Loki's reaction starts off as the first half-second of a scowl. Force of habit, maybe. It's possible he wants to say something snarky. Something like, 'Tony Stark, if I have to ask you to come over here again I will drag you by your ears since you seem unable to listen with them and they might as well be put to use.' It's also possible he wants to ignore the whole goddamn, misguided conversation, turn away, and never think about it again. Three very real possibilities, and fragments of each play across his face through a long, silent pause.
"...Yes," he finally allows, wetting his lips with the tip of his tongue and inhaling and exhaling a shaky breath before speaking, as if a kind-hearted 'yes' in the strange realm of Loki's mind is a fickle word that demands ritual appeasement. "It would be..."
Tony's already crawling across the bed at 'yes', and doesn't stop until he and Loki are nose to nose with very little space between them. "Good how?"
Both of Loki's hands reach up to cup Tony's face and lead him in for a kiss that's neither as soft nor as innocent as he was expecting. He can't help but gasp in surprise as Loki's mouth possessively covers his own, biting down and sucking on his lower lip.
"I guess this means we're okay now?" he breathes, feeling Loki's teeth against his skin.
"Mm," Loki hums in reply.
"Are you done being weird about things?"
"Are you done talking?"
Tony pulls back just enough to look Loki in the eye. "Not quite. I'm deeply mentally conflicted again."
"Why?"
"Because you're infuriating as fuck and go from hot to cold and back again in the space of minutes. No: seconds. You're a secretive asshole, I never know what you're thinking, you never want me to know what you're thinking... It drives me crazy. I spend a lot of time actively talking myself out of punching you in the face, and the biggest reason I don't punch you in the face is because I know I'd break my hand before dealing you any damage. But at the same time..."
His tongue finds Loki's, probing and teasing as their lips move against each other's in one more intoxicating kiss.
"...None of that seems too important. And I don't care."