disclaimer: i do not own marvel
Chapter 18
There were countless instances in which Loki's life could have been described as bad, not to mention devastating, excruciating, and, of course, horrible. He had lived for ages in the shadows of others. Their eyes had betrayed the surging hate they felt toward him, hate that was poorly hidden under a thin veneer of false kindness, ever so visible to the God of Lies. He had been tormented, haunted, and punished, sometimes for days or weeks, every now and then, for mere seconds that seemed to last for ages.
Never before had any torture he endured tasted so sweet as this maddening heat. It lay on the surface of his being, veiled and waiting, prowling until appropriate prey came into its sights, so that it could launch a devastating assault upon the body, letting him know who truly had control. Lust was not to be taunted, let that be known. Once it had its cruel sights set on someone, it refused to be removed from the dark corridors of the mind, not until it had had its wanton way with the spoils its sights were set on claiming.
Loki feared this all-consuming want. He loathed the slow but obvious desire spreading its way inside him. He wanted to cover his ears and close his eyes, to hide from its beckoning voice and sight. Yet at the same time, he craved it, needed it to take over his body, if only to tell himself the hopeless lie that it was not really his doing, that lust was to blame for the desire he felt for Anthony Stark. This thought had been haunting the limits of sanity all day long. It interfered with the efficiency with which he normally worked. It reduced his ancient, knowledge-filled brain to a mere shadow, a warm puddle of grey matter and nothing more. It was wondrous that he had managed to get all of his work done, and on time, in spite of everything, especially given the fact that he was currently arranging furnished rooms for people who had been hunting him since they day he set foot on Midgard - enemies of the former Number One Threat to the nation, the heroes that "saved" Midgard from his rule.
Yet here he sat, staring at perfectly arranged floor plans, printed out so that the movers knew where to assemble and place the furniture. At least he did not have to share a bedroom on this floor with any of them, he had made sure of that. There was no lack of space in the top floors of Stark Tower. Each of those supposed heroes had their own spot. One floor below this, near the gym that was installed half a year ago, were the rooms designated to Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton. There was a small, often unused lab on the floor below. It needed no saying that it was going to be fully equipped by the end of tomorrow; anything for one of Stark's best "science" buddies, who was nothing but a mindless, uncontrollable beast if angered. Bruce Banner would share that floor with Thor, whose room had conveniently-placed windows that could slide open like doors. If one considered the settings of these rooms, looking at their arrangements and the well thought out plans for their placement, it was as if Stark had deliberately rebuilt them just to suit the needs of each Avenger.
If this was true, then Loki had been doomed since the day he signed the contract with Pepper.
Living this one human life, a mere breath of air compared to the otherwise endless ages, a slow death-sentence of growing older and wasting away - this could prove to be harder than immortality. All these emotions eating and clawing at his heart, striving for attention, they left him stranded, confused, like a newborn babe experiencing the world for a first time. None of these over-active human feelings had left him as devastated as the pure relentlessness of craving for touch, to feel bare skin tremble beneath the palms of his hand, to make it shiver in utter delight, to have another being scream his name loudly in the throes of passion. Loki envisioned warm, brown eyes looking up at him, an expression of ecstasy in them, begging for release.
What a horribly wonderful mistress imagination was, giving him what he most hated only to make him need it more every passing day. To think that these Midgardians lived with it, a thing so utterly normal they never considered it cruel. Loki clenched his fists together in tangible frustration, torn between his brain and his body telling him completely different things. It had been so long ago that someone had wanted him or even looked at him with something in their eyes other than pity or hate. It had been even longer since Loki himself had wanted another, had looked at a man or women with passion hot in his blood. Now that he did once more, it left him bereft of all senses but one.
Loki had taken to bed early, willing himself to sleep. Tossing and turning in discomfort as these thoughts raced in his mind, sleep was too distant to actually catch. He had not seen Stark around dinner. The man had been oddly absent since that morning. Could the engineer possibly regret his course of action? No, that was out of the question, the heated look in those brown eyes told Loki otherwise. Then what was it? Why had he not seen Stark all day?
Why am I even asking myself this? Loki, you fool, when did you fall to such depths?
He wanted to forget and dull his heightened senses. The ex-deity rose from his bed, pacing around in his room like a caged animal, before he ultimately decided to trade the expanses of his quarters for the living room. If he was to be stuck on this forsaken place as a Midgardian, living out his small breath of life, then he might as well choose the traditional way, for both Midgardians and Asgardians, it would seem, of getting over everything around him. Loki had not received his offered drink from Stark before, so long ago, so he figured he might as well take it now.
"Sir, it seems that dinner has been prepared."
A loud clang of metal on metal resounded and Tony did not even look up from his work. "Not now, Jarvis, I'm on a roll." The stubborn engineer was so engrossed in his work that hunger had not even touched his fully occupied brain for a second. Only incessant creativity combined with passionate brilliance filled him now. His only option was to lose himself in work, or possibly explode. So Jarvis' first call was ignored.
The second call was almost not ignored.
"Sir, you have gone without food for over twelve hours. It's past ten and you need to replenish," called out Jarvis, sounding almost like a stern mother hen.
Tony considered it. He certainly was hungry enough to eat a horse, but he would have to eat alone, a prospect he really did not look forward to anymore. Knowing how Locke liked his sleep, the other man would have retired to his own room by now, probably still in a state of perplexed anger, confusion or want. More likely? A dangerous mix of all three. He had loved seeing that deliriously yearning look on the man's face this morning. His daydreams had held no comparison to the reality at all. This is why Tony decided that, for now, he would vent out his frustration by working. He would crash down sooner or later when his body decided it could go on no longer.
The third call could not be ignored. It was so utterly confusing that at first he could nothing but blink in disbelief.
"Sir, Locke has opened your Macallan Single Malt Whiskey."
Am I hearing this wrong? "Could you repeat that, Jarvis?"
"I need to correct myself?"
"You can't be wrong, Jarvis; you're never wrong." Tony said, mildly perplexed, yet still highly interested in the A.I.'s words.
"How kind of you to tell me I am never wrong. This has been recorded for future use."
"Just tell me what is going on up there?" Tony had already crept out from under the car's frame. He removed the safety goggles and stored the large welder, if tossing it somewhere on the table could be called storing.
"Currently, Locke is drinking your Macallan Single Malt Whiskey. The one that is over sixty years old."
Well I'll be damned, the man actually drinks. Wait a minute...what? "You mean to tell me, that for no apparent reason at all, Locke has opened one of the most rare whiskeys in the world. Not to mention expensive, not that I care about expensive, but this I have to see." With that, all ideas of work were thrown out the window, because for the love of God, he could not imagine Locke drinking. It was as absurd as Locke smiling with joy. Which he almost had done. Once.
It was darker than normal, the dimmed lights only illuminated the base contours of the spacious living room, casting heavy shadows. The city's lights shone brightly through the windows, providing enough light to see his assistant's brooding figure standing beside the bar. Tony's nearing presence was not acknowledged. Locke just stood there with an already empty glass, a few drops on the edge betraying it had been full just short moments ago. Tony grabbed the heavy tumbler from the cabinet for himself. He decided that they both should enjoy this luxurious drink and that the man ignoring him so fervently could use another shot of the rich, honey-coloured liquid.
Tony never asked. He just refilled his assistant's drink without a word coming from his normally rather loud mouth. A head sporting disheveled bed hair turned around, dark blue eyes looking at him, glazed over with the same emotion they had emitted this morning, only strengthened by the quickly emptied glass of alcohol. "Thought you could use another."
He was wrong. He rarely was wrong, but still, he was wrong now. This drink had done nothing for him. Loki had seen men laugh and express childlike joy because of these poisonous liquids. He had seen them forget each domain in the Nine Realms. Some merely grew tired and fell asleep. All forgot their troubles for a moment. Perhaps it was always him who was meant to be the unlucky one. The newly-filled glass was emptied with eagerness, the golden drink burning slowly down his throat. Loki waited patiently, but nothing happened until he turned around to face the illuminated cityscape.
His feet were unwilling and his vision was clouded over. He caught himself on the edge of the bar in his dizziness. Now he understood why Volstagg always ended up falling from his chair after a enough pints of mead. This whiskey was strong and heavy in flavor, more than the mead they drank on daily basis, mead he never drank because it muddied the senses. A familiar sound announced the worst possible outcome for this evening - Anthony Stark had decided to emerge from his workshop.
His brain soon started replaying the scene of that morning, ever so slowly and with excrutiating clarity. Touches were felt as if they were happening this very instant, mixing dangerously with the alcohol burning a pathway through his body. His thoughts about inebriation had been wrong; his pain hadn't been reduced to a dull ache in the background as it should have been. Everything felt vibrantly more alive right now. It was exiting, thrilling, and dangerounsly uncontrollable. It scared the hell out of him to feel and still he longed for more, just thinking was no longer enough. He heard glass tinkling softly as more of the whiskey was being poured. Even though he had not requested it, his drink was full again. Loki's turned his head and slowly devoured each and every inch of Anthony Stark's form with his eyes before zeroing in on those autumn brown eyes. Resolve was settling and had taken root deep down inside him. If he was to be doomed, then he might as well have his ending sweet and covered in sweat.
"Thought you could use another..." Tony said quietly, gazing at the shadows playing on Locke's face. They made it seem more angular, regal even. If he did not know, with absolute certainty, that this man in front of him was very real and very human, he might have made the mistake of calling him Loki. But these eyes were blue, not verdant green, and those shadows only played tricks with the things he wanted.
Loki brought the cold glass to his lips, reducing the refilled drink by a substantial portion. Tony was close, close enough for Loki to let the other man's scent fill his nostrils, a curious mixture of oil, coffee, sweat, and a hint of musk. It drew him toward the edge and falling was only a matter of time. "Do me one favor, Anthony Stark," Loki said, moving at an excruciatingly slow pace. He moistened his bottom lip with a slip of his tongue before he spoke once again, knowing that he held the undivided attention of his employer now. "Remember, in the morning, that I still hate you."
Tony had no response and he gave no promise. In fact, he did not manage to utter a single word before a hungry, skilled mouth covered his with desperate abandon. He knew that every touch, sound, smell, or taste would be worth engraving in his mind. Two strong hands settled on his hips, pushing him against the bar while a fierce tongue demanded entrance to the cavern of his mouth. Tony gave in so easily, letting Locke raid his mouth like a starved man and drawing a low moan from him.
That rough sound vibrated through their bodies sending shudders to their cores. Loki discovered he liked the taste of the infuriating bastard, Anthony Stark, who was giving himself over to his assistant as if it was the most natural thing. His trickster tongue now played a torturous game, twisting and turning relentlessly, not giving the other a chance of mercy or a shot at fighting back. The calloused hand of a worker slid around his neck, clawing at his hair in feral pleasure. Loki squeezed the the other man's waist at this, stifling a groan of his own. He pulled back from Anthony's wanton mouth, slowly sucking the engineer's tongue as he left. His pale hands crept up the body in front of him, lifting the edges of the oil-smeared wife beater that Stark was wearing. The other man shivered at the caress of his cold hands as the night's air brushed naked flesh. The shirt was lifted over the man's head and thrown uncaring to the side.
Tony hissed lightly as that same venomous mouth that had been toying with his was now kissing and sucking the expanse of his neck. A hand was placed on his back, the other trailing a curious finger along the edges of the arc reactor. His movements had made the robe Locke was wearing come undone, revealing parts of his pale, sculpted chest. Tony let his free hand move to pull on the binding that was barely holding the garment together, letting it fall open. His eyes gleamed as they roamed over the definitively male body in front of him in lustful appreciation. Never before had he thought that a man's touch could send him into madness like this. Never before had he ever envisioned himself doing this. But God, he wanted it so badly right now. The firm hand on the small of his back pulled their bodies together; a wicked mouth nipped at his collarbone, tasting his skin as if it was to be savoured.
Loki was pleased with the wriggling mess he was making out off the engineer. His own desire flared every time he made Anthony gasp for breath. Those delicious almost silent moans were not enough. Loki wanted, needed more. He craved to hear the most embarrassing noises, to hear Anthony Stark scream underneath him. His hips pressed teasingly against the other man, making their needs rise further with the maddening friction.
"Fuck!" Tony cursed, feeling Locke's grin forming, his hot, ragged breath brushing his skin. That sinful mouth moved to his ear and a feeling of déjà vu presented itself in the back of his lust-addled brain. His assistant's burning tongue trailed along the shell his ear, making the hairs of his skin rise in anticipation. Tony rolled his hips, wanting to feel that earlier friction, and a whimper escaped his mouth as he found nothing but air.
A tremulous, velvet voice whispered in his ear, making his earlier thoughts come to life. "Perhaps, if you begged and kneeled for me Stark, I would consider this...request of yours."
Every fiber in Tony's being was sending out warning signals but those were made obsolete because Tony couldn't even focus enough to breathe properly. Icy blue opals bore down on him, daring him to give in, to submit. As if I have a choice left. Tony Stark dropped to his knees before the man that tormented his thoughts, undoing his own trousers as he hit the carpet.
Certainly, Tony had to be doing something right from the get go, judging by the audible gasp he heard from Locke when he hesitantly licked along the length of the man's cock with the flat of his tongue. Whatever actions he performed came from years of experience being on the other end. He merely tried to mimic the movements he enjoyed himself, wanting to draw more of those lovely noises from his rather well-endowed assistant. Enjoying the fact that he currently seemed to have the upper hand, he held the base steady with his hand while swirling his tongue around the tip, a trick that had always sent him reeling to the edges of insanity.
These enthusiastic attentions had Loki throwing back his head and moaning aloud, involuntarily thrusting into Stark's very warm mouth. He could end himself in that welcoming cavern, especially given the ardor Stark was showing. Loki had his hands buried in short, soft hair, its owner languidly repeating the same sucking action that was driving him wild. Gradually, Loki was losing control. If this pace continued then his only option would be to grip the man's head roughly and ride out his lust between those shameless lips.
"Stark." There was no immediate reaction. The engineer's head still bobbed on his rigid cock as defiant eyes looked up at him with expectancy. Loki knew what the other wanted to hear. A name. His name. "Aaann..." Loki moaned softly as that teasing tongue worked wonders. "Anthony..."
Tony gave his assistant's length one more leisurely lick before he withdrew and looked up. "Nice to know you finally learned my name, although I'd rather be called Tony," he said, voice rough and thick with desire.
"Cease your prattle," Loki growled, pulling Tony upright. "I am granting your request." Reddened lips were on his again and Loki delved into that mouth for all it was worth, tasting the other man who now carried a hint of a different flavor - himself. With a shrug, the robe slid off his shoulders, falling in a heap on the ground beneath his feet. The ex-god squeezed Stark's rock-hard arousal through the fabric of his jeans, then slid into the opened fly to palm the hot flesh. Soon the pants dropped to the floor entirely, leaving naught but two bare bodies drowning in a sea of lascivious pleasure.
Tony was a wordless mess of hot, smoldering flesh ready to be conquered. Locke loomed over him, demanding hands curling over his ass as long, slender fingers trailed along the cleft of his backside, evident in their want. A skilled mouth nibbled on the sensitive spots of his neck while he rolled his hips to rub their arousals together. Their surroundings slowly started to make sense. Tony had been in this very same position plenty of times before, though never as the passive party. He knew where Locke was leading him to as he was shoved against the back of the bar. Tony's hands fumbled, trying to pry open a slide door of the bar behind him. A finger circling around the tight, untried entrance to his body made him slightly anxious as Tony quickly found what he was looking for. Being a known playboy had its advantages. "Wait!" he gasped.
Loki hissed. "Do not tell me what to do, Anthony. It is far too late for that." Wicked hands moved from the engineer's ass to reach around and grip his length firmly.
"I...hnnnnnnn." Tony never finished his last coherent thought, moaning as he pressed a small bottle of lube against Locke's chest, conveying his message while his previously ignored sex got all the attention it could possibly desire. Thankfully, the not-so-subtle hint was taken. After Locke had coated his fingers with a seemingly adequate volume of the cold slick, the bottle was shoved back into his hands and that exploring digit returned to its point of origin, burying itself deep into Tony's tight hole. The engineer bit his lip at the foreign sensation inside him. Soon, another determined finger was added, trying to stretch him open for what was to come.
Tony used the rest of the bottle of lube to coat Locke's thick sex, making the taller man hum with satisfaction as he left a trail of swift kisses on Tony's bare flesh. Feeling Locke's growing frustration, Tony tried to brace himself as those fingers scissored a last time, the impatience and need palpable. He was turned around to face the bar more forcefully than he would have preferred as the cool, slick head of Locke's arousal settled itself against his slightly loosened pucker. Nothing could have prepared him for the moment Locke surged forward, burying himself in one ruthless motion. Tony let out a hiss of pain and tensed up.
Those tightening muscles were absolutely maddening for Loki, almost uncomfortable. "Relax, Stark."
"That's easy for you to say!" Tony hissed out at the burning sensation. "You get to do the easy part...it hurts like hell." He still tried to relax.
"You have never?" Realization sank in for Loki: Tony Stark had never been intimate with another man. It was strange for a person as overly flirtatious as the irritating engineer to have no experience in this. "Ignorant fool, don't think I'll spare you now." He shifted within the tight confines of the clenching body.
"I asked for this myself. Just start moving, you cold bastard!" Tony said, biting back another hiss as Locke retreated and rocked back into him. True to his word, his assistant did not spare him, but soon enough the pain dulled. Other sensations were mingling with it, making it far more thrilling with each thrust. Before long, Tony was panting and sweating as their bodies collided, a powerful push nudging a certain sensitive spot. Tony succumbed to mad pleasure as spots clouded his vision, crying out, "Mooo...rree... FUCK!"
Loki willingly complied, adding a little bit of extra force to his already hard, fast rhythm. Hands pinned Tony's hips, trying to stop the engineer from moving too much. His hungry mouth sucked on the skin of the shorter man's shoulder desperately, causing wanton, shameless screams and moans to pour out of Anthony Stark's mouth, sounds that made Loki moan in response. The unmerciful pace continued, their bodies colliding in shameless, burning bliss, reduced to nothing more than rutting, debauched creatures.
A powerful flash of white crossed his vision, sending Tony over the edge. " LO...aaaaaaah!"
The voice crying out his name, combined with a twitching sheath around him, unmade Loki, and he came in an explosion of reckless passion. Both of them waited, panting, gasping out for desperately needed air, riding out the last tremors of their orgasms. The ex-god lay heavily against the body he had pinned to the counter. Spent and satisfied, yet extremely tired, Loki wanted nothing more than to sleep now. Before he had any actual say in the matter, his body made the choice for him, and he dozed off, his forehead resting on Tony's shoulder.
Tony turned around and let the half-concious body of Locke lean against him. They were both emptied, wrung out, and in desperate need of sleep. Somewhere along the way, Tony decided that he might as well drag both of them to the nearest bedroom. A shower could wait till the next day since a soft bed was far more beckoning and inviting. Both of them crawled beneath the covers on their own accord, Locke drowsily shifting against his still warm back. A heavy arm slung around him, pinning Tony down into the position of the little spoon, something he could handle for the time being. Not like he had many options.
"Hey Locke?"
Loki was only half aware of a question being asked. "Hmmmmm?"
"Great sex."
Loki only hummed in reply.
"I'm not sorry to have almost hit you with my car. At all." It had been so long since he had last felt this drained and fulfilled, he had not even minded showing his arc reactor, a sight not many have ever seen. Even fewer had spent a night in the same bed with him after he had gotten what he wanted. "Anything you're not sorry for, Locke?" Like screwing my brains out?
"...Hmmmm yeah.." It was a hazy and slow, but an answer nontheless. "I am not sorry I defenestrated you," the reply mumbled by a half-asleep, unaware Loki.
Tony raised his eyebrow at the strange choice of words. Who even spoke like that these days except people quoting Shakespeare? Slowly, the feeling of danger he had been having for days came rearing its ugly head. Locke had never thrown him out of a window so why would he...?
big thanks goes out to Swordmisstress and Wampus Dragon for being the betas for this chapter!
It was the hardest thing i had to write so far, no pun intended.
Never in my life had i expected to get so many positive reactions from you lovely readers.
The amount of reviews, followers and favoriters had my mind in a twist.
Especially considering this was me nonchalantly trying to improve my English in the beginning.
Thinking that it was going to be a short story, boy i was wrong :p
Silly old me.
I would like to thank each and everyone for you for taking the time to read.
Feel free to leave a tasty review, those things are my brains dinner.