Author's note: Well, I hope you guys will enjoy this chapter. ^^

Loki tastes like wine and earth and desire, all merged into one powerful blend of exhilaration. It's like getting drunk, only better, and without the hangover too.

And if there will indeed be one pounding his head to pieces tomorrow, he couldn't care less. He is vaguely aware of hands in his hair, grabbing, stroking, pulling him closer, and he gives into them, unable to do anything else.

After an endless moment that is far too short, when Tony realizes that his lungs are screaming at him for air, he pulls away his mouth from Loki's, gasping, though not only because of a lack of oxygen. The eyes meeting his are glittering and dark with lust – and Tony has had enough partners in his life to recognize true, honest desire when he sees it. And it's all there, pooling in Loki's eyes to the point of overflowing. Desire for him.

The god's lips are parted, and Tony can see the tip of a tongue resting against lips wet from their shared kiss. Pulling his gaze away is impossible; he stares into the mesmerizing face unable to look elsewhere.

"You're beautiful," he breaths, hearing how inane the words are sounding before they have even left his lips, but Loki doesn't laugh. Instead, he smiles like it's a well-crafted compliment straight out of those skaldic poems his people favour and not something a fifteen year old love-struck kid would say on his first date.

"So are you, Tony," the god says in reply, reaching up a hand to let his fingers trail along Tony's cheek, his chin, and up his other cheek, and then back the way they came.

And he startles at that, because he seriously doesn't remember anyone ever calling him beautiful before. Good-looking, attractive, hot, a sexy beast, America's most desirable bachelor, and innumerous other things, yes, but never beautiful.

But the god is looking at him like he's admiring a painting, a work of art, as his fingers explore Tony's face. The tingles of the feather-light touches are sending shivers up his spine, and make his entire body shiver in imagination of the what pleasures would await him under those skilful fingers. Loki's eyes never leaves Tony's face, even though his eyelids snaps half-shut as Tony raises a hand to cup the god's cheek in turn.

Loki suddenly pushes into him, and they topple over on the couch, bodies pressed close. It's odd how it's possible to be so aware of someone else's presence, they way they smell, the heat radiating from their body, the sound of hastened breaths in their throat. In that moment, it is as if everything else around him has ceased existing, and the universe has been reduced to a swivel of black hair and a pair of green eyes and a sinfully slithering body. His thoughts and mind are gone, leaving only his five senses, filled to the brim with the impressions of the god beneath him.

And so, he pulls up the hem of Loki's shirt, plunging his hands beneath the cloth. He can hear the sharp intake of breath from the god as his palms make contact with the smooth skin, caressing it with long, eager strokes. A heartbeat later, Loki's hands reach down and pull the shirt of with one swift, forceful motion, and Tony thinks he hears the sound of a seam ripping.

Then the shirt is gone from his view to be replaced with a vast expanse of perfect, pale skin. The view is gorgeous, almost breathtaking. In awed fascination, his fingers run over the toned chest, callous thumb brushing over a nipple that stiffens in response to the touch.

He sits up, removing his own shirt, tossing the totally unnecessary thing to the floor, glad to be rid of it. Loki is looking up at him in his half-undressed state in a clear display of admiration, as he lifts a hand towards the arc reactor in Tony's chest, his lips parting.

Fingers brush over the metal, trailing along the edge. The light from the reactor reflects on Loki's fingers, making them look as if they're glowing with magic, blue and mysterious, like they belong to another world entirely. He never remembers his own fingers doing that whenever they touched the damn thing.

"You know," Loki says with a whisper, "I can feel this too. The power that runs through it, the way it's pulsating, the force field surrounding it."

"And how does is feel?" he asks, curious despite the question kind of ruining the moment. The stubborn scientist in him wants to know.

"Like magic," Loki answers with a quirk of his lips. Then he leans forward until his face is almost pressed into Tony's chest. A second later, his tongue flickers out as he licks over the reactor with slow, deliberate moves. And Tony just sits there, watching in fascination as Loki's tongue slithers across the glass and metal, eyes brimming with lust and desire, his lips occasionally brushing against the blank surface as he laps away.

And even if Tony can't feel a thing from it, it's still hot as hell. His cock gets hard just watching this display of the god of mischief licking his chest like he's the embodiment of wanton lust and sinful desire, his gaze eventually lifting to meet with Tony's again.

And damn, if the look in those eyes doesn't make him almost come on the spot before he's even gotten his pants off.

Loki returns his face to his chest, but this time he doesn't go for the arc reactor; instead his tongue seeks out a nipple, circling around it with slow movements. Tony hisses, and the tongue starts moving downwards, trailing across the muscles in his chest, teeth lightly nibbling as the mouth moves over heated skin, leaving a trail of steaming wetness in its wake.

The tongue reaches his stomach, and a breath hitches in Tony's throat. Loki's hands are moving over his sides, caressing, touching, hot on his skin like burning ember. It is as if electricity is tingling up and down his body, and all from some simple touches. If he hadn't known better, he'd say the god was still full of all his fairy magic.

"You have a god of sex up there in Asgard?" he asks, voice throaty in his ears. "Because if you don't, I'd nominate you for the title."

Loki stops and grins at him, chin still resting on his stomach. "No, but we do have a goddess of love. And I hear she's worthy of her title," he says with crocked grin, a hand lazily trailing over Tony's side.

He pulls the god up and on top of him, burying his face in the crook of Loki's neck, for a moment content to only breathe in the husky smell of him. He smells like sex and desire and wanton lust. So Tony nuzzles the soft skin, inhaling deeply, enjoying the way the god's body tenses above his and the little squeak escaping his lips.

A moment later, they're kissing again, a greedy meeting of lips and tongues, exploring, teasing, tasting. And Loki tastes just as good as he smells. So Tony sticks his tongue even deeper inside the wet heat, pushing harder as the god's tongue similarly pushes into him. His arms wrap around the lean frame already pressed close to him, pulling Loki even tighter as his hands move over the arching back.

As their lips unlock, Loki is panting like he's just run a marathon and the colour in his eyes seems to have deepened several shades, from gleaming emerald into the dark hues of a pine forest. One of Tony's hands reaches up to rake through Loki's hair, about to pull him in for another kiss, but then stopping. Maybe it's a stupid question, but…

"You think Heimdall might be watching?" And fuck, wouldn't that be the weirdest shit ever, having a thousands of years old god watching him having sex with another thousands of years old god.

Loki laughs, and it's like summer breezes and silver and rustling leaves all in one. "Then let him. He always was a sex-starved old pervert anyway."

"You think he would report it to the Allfather?" Best to ask, because he really doesn't want any form of… incident, after all.

Another laugh. "He would not. Should Heimdall happen to lay his eyes on us, he will be most content to watch, I assure you." He pulls Tony in for another kiss, laughter still on his lips.

Then a hand trails down to the front of his pants, giving the growing bulge a light, teasing squeeze. Reflexively, Tony bucks upwards and into the body sitting in his lap, straddling him.

Oh yes.

Fingers are fumbling at his belt, and the faint click as it unbuckles is strangely beautiful. The buttons are next; one by one, they are undone to release him from the straining confines that are his pants. It's almost unreal, that this is truly happening, that Loki is doing this to him, all wanton and willing…

And he's so fucking hard that he can't help but bucking into that hand that's removing his clothes, desperate for the promised touch of those long-fingered hands. Somehow, he still manages to lie down on his back and lift his ass as his jeans are slid off, to be followed by his underwear.

Loki's eyes are locked onto his, not leaving his face for a second, like they're drinking in the sight as it contorts with pleasure, confining it to memory. And the hand that wraps itself around his cock is even better than he remembers from that one time in the Asgardian baths. He grinds against it before Loki has barely even closed his fingers around him, knowing he's acting like a virgin teenager, but not caring in the slightest.

The first, slow stroke is languid and sensual, drawing a breathy moan from his lips. Then the hand lets go to let a finger move along the length of his shaft, from the hilt and all the way to the tip, then teasing as it caresses light circles around the head.

It's torture, beautiful torture, and just about as he can't take it anymore, the hand closes in a firm grip around his cock again and starts moving with hard, decisive strokes. And it feels so good.

"Ahh…" he moans, hands gripping the couch beneath him. "Loki…"

"I take it you like that, then?" Loki says huskily as he looks up from his ministrations, amusement twinkling in his eyes.

"Damn, where did you get so good at this?" he pants, not really expecting an answer, but getting one anyway.

"I'm two thousands years old, give or take a century or two. You tend to pick up on a thing or two after having lived so long," the god whispers seductively.

Fuck, that's so hot.

And Loki is sitting there still with his pants on, which isn't acceptable at all. So he pushes himself up into a half-sitting position, hands eagerly grabbing for the waistline of the god's sweatpants. He's distinctively grateful he isn't wearing jeans; he isn't sure his hands would have been able to handle obstacles like buttons and zippers in their current unsteady state.

Loki lifts his hips as Tony shimmies his pants and underwear down with one decisive motion, revealing a hard, already glistening erection. Not wasting any more precious time, Tony's hand reaches out for the glorious sight, revelling in the feel of hot, soft skin as his hand closes around the thick shaft.

As he starts to stroke the god, Loki's head lolls backwards and he hisses, almost like a cat. The animalistic sound is tantalizingly erotic, and his hand rubs harder, feeling the shaft swell under his ministrations. He could probably come from this alone, rubbing the god's cock while watching him writhe in pleasure.

But Loki has other ideas. Before Tony can finish him off, the god pushes him off, though it looks like it takes a monumental effort for him to do that. "Lie down, Tony," he says instead, two hands pressing down on his shoulders.

And Tony obeys, unable to deny those hands anything.

Loki is towering above him, moving a leg over his body so he can straddle him. A hand grabs his hip, and another his cock. A second later, Loki's head is bent down over him and a tongue is swirling over his head, lapping at the glistening wetness already leaking out.

It's like his entire groin has been ignited with dancing fire. Unable to control himself, he grabs hold of Loki's head and hair with both hands, pressing him down. Loki willingly obliges and takes all of Tony into his mouth, greedily sucking on the shaft as he lets him slide in, impossibly deep. The simultaneous press of a tongue along his length is almost too much, as the god sucks him with an intensity like he's waited his entire life to do just this one thing on Tony's couch.

He would have asked Loki if this is where his epithet Silvertongue comes from, if it hadn't been for the realization that it's probably one of the oldest jokes in Asgard, and the fact that he doesn't think he would be able to get anything out of his mouth other than wordless groans right now.

He's almost there, only a little bit more… and Loki pulls Tony out of his mouth to look up at him, lips wet and open and fucking sexy.

"I wouldn't mind continuing, but I'd rather have you finish… elsewise," he says in a voice that makes Tony's breath constrict and his cock harden like there's no tomorrow.

Oh yes.

He has to swallow before he's able to speak, and then it's only with an effort he manages to get the words out. "Just let me get… some lube. I have it… right over here."

Tony is nothing but prepared when it comes to such important matters as sex, and it's not the first time his couch has been used for similar encounters, so in the lowermost drawer right behind them there is a little jar waiting to be used for happy occasions. He takes it out, and unscrews the lid, fumbling slightly. Loki is already looking at him expectantly, legs spread, as Tony sits down on the couch again.

His fingers wisp around in the jar of lube, coating his fingers with a generous amount of gooey stuff. Then he leans over the god, one hand splayed next to him for support. Fingers slick, he rubs against Loki's opening, carefully slipping a finger inside. He is rewarded with a moan and a bucking of hips. Slowly, he caresses the god, preparing him, and then slips another finger in. Loki positively mewls as the second finger enters him, and Tony slides them even deeper inside, all the way up to his knuckles. With a patience that his cock isn't feeling, he moves his fingers around, coating the bucking and hissing god.

"That's fine," Loki finally breathes. "Just… enter me."

And damn, he doesn't need any further encouragement than that. Quickly smearing another slab of lube over his straining cock and spreading it across the shaft with three hasty strokes, he kneels between the god's wantonly spread legs, and pushes his hands under the taut buttocks, lifting Loki's hips upwards. Panting, he positions himself at Loki's opening, pushing as gently as he can though his cock is screaming at him to just plunge in.

Loki gives way as he enters, tight heat enveloping him. And it's glorious.

Unable to hold himself for a moment longer, he draws back, pushing in again, being rewarded with a sinful shudder from the body beneath. Loki's legs are on his shoulders, rubbing against his skin and pressing against him. Again, he withdraws and then enters the god all the way to the hilt, and sets up a slow pace that quickens as his breath works up to speed.

Loki is moaning inarticulately beneath him; Tony isn't sure if it's Old Norse or some other foreign language altogether or just gibberish, but it doesn't matter. The sounds of it just make him harder, fuelling him to move faster in and out of the god mewling on his couch.

And Loki is so fucking tight, squeezing him like a vise. He increases his pace as one of his hands reaches down to wrap around the straining erection rubbing against his stomach, stroking up and down with rapid tugs.

For a blissful moment that might have lasted only seconds or maybe an eternity, the entire world is reduced to black hair and pale skin and tight heat wrapped around him. He closes his eyes as his release draws near. With an almost feral growl, he pushes in deeper, and the legs over his shoulders tighten in response. He strokes the twitching shaft in his hand harder as an explosion of pleasure and heady bliss comes over him in a swirling maelstrom. He is vaguely aware of Loki screaming and spilling in his hand moments before his own release washes over him, sweeping his awareness of everything else away as waves of pleasure come rolling over him, his entire body shuddering.

Then, it is over. He collapses on top of the pale body beneath where he remains for several long moments, only barely noticing the hand that reaches up to rake through his hair with gentle fingers.

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