Author's note: Avert your eyes, people!
Once again, he's sitting in Tony's workshop as the man runs his tests, from the looks of it making at least some kind of progress. It's been a long day, and the analyses have been numerous and drawn out, but Loki isn't complaining. He enjoys watching the man work, as another part of him is fantasizing about them doing something far more interesting than sitting here surrounded by monitors and beeping instruments and technical equipment.
He's tempted, then, to suggest to Tony that they take a little break and do things of a more exciting nature, but he doesn't want to disturb Tony's laser-like concentration on his work, so he decides that such a proposal is better left for later, once they're finished for today.
In the meantime, he lets his mind play freely, makes it conjure its own erotic fantasies and daydreams as Tony fiddles with the bracelets and types away on his keyboard, humming to himself and occasionally offering some brief comment or humorous quip. It isn't difficult to feed those imaginations when the man is so close to him, providing him with all kinds of alluring mental images.
The picture of Tony sitting in the bath in Asgard, naked and wet, resurfaces, and his inner eye delights in the image, taking in every detail and revelling in the memory – the muscles playing beneath the skin, the chiselled arms, the attractive profile, the unruly hair. He wants to touch them all, feel them under his fingers as they eagerly explore the well-toned body.
The only thing marring the memory is how it ended, with Tony forcefully removing his hand, telling him to leave. But since he understands why – Loki's unrestrained actions had been a grave breach against Tony's Midgardian sense of appropriate public conduct – he can deal with that. At least the man will surely be fully amenable next time Loki approaches him, now that they're alone without the risk of prying eyes watching them. Or perhaps Tony will actually be the one to initiate things, though Loki doubts it, given how the man has been so utterly drawn in by his new workshop project that he's been focusing all his time and his attention on it, to the exclusion of all else.
Impatiently, he hopes that today's testing will be finished soon. His crotch is starting to strain beneath the desk, and he's itching for release.
So he decides to ask, carefully, without hinting at the reason for his question since he doesn't want to disrupt Tony's focus on his work too much.
"Are there still a lot of tests left to run today?"
Tony looks up from his monitor, looking almost surprised that there is someone else in the room with him.
"Huh?" He blinks, half confused. Then: "Oh. No, not that many. Actually-" He glances at his wristwatch, and then darts up from his seat like it just caught fire. "Damn, I'm late for the inauguration ceremony at Town Hall! And I'm supposed to make a speech there… fuck!"
Disgruntled, he quickly dismantles the test equipment and pulls out a few cables, groaning to himself. "Got a little too caught up in things there. I'm afraid we have to cut this short and pick up where we left off tomorrow, because I won't be back until late tonight."
"I see," Loki says, swallowing down his disappointment as Tony rushes out of the workshop with a quick 'see you later', leaving him alone with the plethora of machines and technical devices.
Well, that's a shame. He had been hoping they could have rounded the testing session off in another way entirely.
His groin is still straining uncomfortably against the front of his pants, refusing to accept that the object of his desire is suddenly out of both sight and reach, and probably halfway out of the building at this point, judging by the speed with which Tony took off.
He sighs, restlessly drumming his fingers against the table top. Looks like he'll have no choice but to take matters into his own hands, then, much as he would have preferred some assistance.
A few minutes later, he is back in his room, sinking down on the bed with his back propped up against the wall, head brimming with images of Tony in all sorts of compromising positions. Not wasting any time, he unbuckles his pants, pulling them down to his ankles, and then takes himself in hand. Giving the shaft an experimental first languid stroke, he exhales through parted lips at the pleasurable feeling the touch ignites.
He strokes again, a bit harder, leaning his head back as he indulges in the sensation. Then he closes his eyes, imagining that the hand wrapped around his length isn't his own, but Tony's. The man is there, sitting next to him, touching him, his breath hot on Loki's face.
Whimsically, he can't help but wonder if Jarvis is watching him. The concept is strange and gives him pause for a few seconds, even if he knows that the creation isn't really sentient or even alive. Doesn't Tony feel like he's under constant surveillance with Jarvis recording everything he does, observing him like an invisible but all-seeing eye?
Then again, maybe it's not so different from Asgard, after all, with Heimdall the Watchman keeping a look-out on the Nine realms, fully able to turn his gaze anywhere he wants to, at any time. Of course, Heimdall doesn't speak of what he sees to anyone but the King of Asgard, and he never hints or alludes to anyone what he might have spotted them doing. The things he sees are meant for the Allfather's ears alone.
Besides, after so many centuries of being all-seeing, the charms of spying in on people's private affairs are bound to have worn off long ago.
But the idea that Jarvis might be watching him won't let him go. So he imagines that the AI creation is recording what he's doing, and then showing the footage to Tony as he returns home. Or, even better, sending it directly to Tony, to one of his portable technical devices that enable him to watch the proceedings as they happen.
The thought makes his groin twitch, and he groans as he slides himself down the wall, into a half-lying, half-sitting position. His hand clamps a bit tighter, increasing the sweet pressure.
He imagines Tony, wherever he is at the moment, watching in satisfaction as Loki touches himself. Maybe even reaching down to touch himself in response.
And really, he would like to have seen that. So he pictures it in his mind – Tony sitting there half-naked, just like him, hand wrapped around his own shaft, eyes squinted shut and face contorted in pleasure. The image is mesmerizing, beautiful, even, and he licks his lips as his fingers stroke over his head, squeezing insistently.
Though he has never seen Tony in a situation like this, he can picture the man being someone to indulge fully in his own desires, someone who'd give in to them without putting up even an inkling of resistance. Neither holding back nor allowing himself to be held back. Just letting himself be guided by pure, unadulterated lust, without shame or false modesty marring the moment or his enjoyment of it.
So he watches with his inner eye as Tony pleasures himself, his hand moving in forceful, rhythmic tugs over his own length. At first, the man's eyes are closed, but then he suddenly opens them, staring straight into Loki's, the raw desire pooling in them hitting him with full force.
Groaning, he bucks upward, pushing into his own hand. With a strenuous effort, he slows the pace down a little, desperately wanting to draw this out. The fantasy is too alluring, too pleasurable to end so soon, despite the insistences of his eager body.
Then, Tony is sitting in the chair next to his bed, watching him, telling him exactly where and how he wants Loki to touch himself.
And he does, spreading his legs for Tony's benefit, arching his back and bucking, allowing the man a full view of his body as he works away at it, teasing, prodding, and exploring. Trying to take things slowly, despite the burning desire that's building up in his lower stomach.
And Tony tells him that he looks fucking hot like that, and that the display is making his own cock so hard that he could come any goddamn second from merely watching.
His hand tightens its grip as it starts to move at a faster pace, the touch sending waves of pleasure through his body. And it feels so good, the way it's spreading through his being, reaching into his very essence, as he looks into those brown eyes that are gazing hungrily at his body, drinking in every movement and facial expression.
Then the mental image shifts, and he finds himself lying on his back on the bed, Tony hovering above him on all fours, hands splayed on either side of Loki's shoulders and knees nudging his thighs. He's wearing those black leather pants he had worn that one time in Asgard, but nothing else, the big bulge at the front impossible to miss.
Tony reaches out a hand to cup Loki's face, thumb trailing over his cheek. "Tell me Loki," he says, voice dark and husky. "Tell me what you want."
And he tells him – in exquisite detail – how he wants Tony naked, how he wants Tony's hands to touch every inch of his body, how he wants to feel Tony inside of him.
And the man grants him his every wish, until, finally, Loki is on his hands and knees, Tony behind him, pushing inside. A whimper escapes his lips as the man's length enters him and then turns into a throaty moan as Tony starts moving, thrusting in and out of him with hard, fast strokes.
Kicking off the pants still nestled around his ankles, he lets his other hand move down to grab hold of his balls, squeezing them softly in his palm. He imagines Tony's hand reaching around to close around his shaft, stroking just as hard and fast as he is thrusting.
He slides further down the wall still, hips bucking, a glistening film of sweat covering his body. The fantasy is so wonderful and feels so tantalizingly real.
Then, he's lying on his back, legs over Tony's shoulders, ankles locked behind the man's neck. Tony's face is only inches away from his, and he growls as he pushes himself in all the way to the hilt, sending spasms of pleasure through his body. It feels so good, and he's not far from climaxing, but struggles to hold it off for a little while longer, as he pictures Tony thrusting again and again, forcefully, but tirelessly.
His hand is moving faster now; he's almost there and the pressure beneath is growing unbearable. So he tightens his grip, imagining Tony spending himself inside of him, head thrown back as his release washes over him. A few more tugs, and he is there too, crying out as he comes, warm fluid spilling all over his stomach as his body shudders and trembles.
For a while, he just lies there, panting heavily. It takes several minutes before his breath has returned to normal speed, and then he closes his eyes and lets his head sink back into the pillow, imagining a hand softly stroking his hair.
Well, I guess Tony isn't the only one who's well-versed in the noble art of self-love. ;)
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