Avengers, Loki/Tony Stark, NC-17
Title: Man of Intergalactic War
Pairing: Loki/Tony Stark
Summary: After Loki falls from Asgard, he ends up on Midgard and wants to find a way back. He ropes in Tony Stark to help.
Warnings: Explicit sexual content.
Author: blacktofade
Words: 6,493
Rating: NC-17
A/N: Written for Lyns, who is an extraordinarily good enabler and I love her for it. Apologies to Marvel for ruining their characters. This has not been beta'd, so feel free to point out mistakes/offer concrit.
Disclaimer: I am not associated with The Avengers or any of their affiliates. I don't mean any harm, this is all made up.
Loki wakes face down in sand, cold waves gently lapping against his right side. He must admit it’s all rather unexpected. The last thing he remembers is falling over the edge of the world and the terrible feeling that it would probably hurt if he were to eventually hit the ground. Apparently he has hit the ground and as he attempts to move he realises that it hurts a lot. Rolling onto his back, he coughs as the cool air burns his lungs. Staring up at the night sky is surprisingly less painful; it fills him with a need to return home, to finish what he’s started, but as he sits up feeling broken ribs shifting, he understands he has slightly more pressing issues.
With power still humming through his body, it’s easy to fix everything, healing the multiple bone fractures under his skin and wiping away the bruises marring his pale complexion. With a wave of his hand, his clothes dry and his hair sweeps itself back into place, away from his face. He glances back up, roving his eyes around for signs of anyone following him, but there’s nothing, just the faint glowing of stars he was once among.
How about that, he thinks as he begins to make his way inland, feet heavy in the deep sand. All that power and no way to get home.
He doesn’t need power, he needs technology and money to get him said technology. Or maybe just needs to find someone with both already at hand. It gets easier to walk as the ground levels off and turns to grass, but there’s the noise of buzzing, sounds of life, and that’s when he sees them walking down the street, not a hundred yards away: mortals.
He remembers the scent that blows through the breeze and realises he’s ended up on Midgard. In the blink of an eye, he changes into his Midgardian clothes and he knows no one will realise how out of place he truly is.
*
Coulson, he remembers, that was the man in charge of S.H.I.E.L.D’s interrogation of Thor not long ago. He need only locate the man and he will find all the answers he wants, he will know men in high places. Unfortunately for Loki, he finds Agent Coulson nursing a beer in some bar on a Friday night. The establishment is well below par for Loki’s standards, but the tacky neon signs outside do nothing to stop him pushing through the door and into the dinginess beyond. He sits only a few stools down from the man, ordering his own drink to blend in, before casually eavesdropping in on Coulson’s drunken attempts to flirt with a nearby woman.
She ends up dumping her drink in his lap and walks away with her friends. Loki quietly passes three or four napkins to him, offering a smile of condolence.
“She’s married with three children,” he says quietly, but Coulson doesn’t look up from where he’s wiping off his slacks.
“Yeah? Well so am I,” he sighs and Loki signals for another round of drinks for the two of them; humans are never satisfied, he thinks.
Coulson eventually gives up trying to dry himself off and instead holds out a hand - one that’s sticky with alcohol, which disgusts Loki, but he takes it anyway - nodding his thanks.
“I’m Phil,” he says.
“Loki.”
Coulson’s eyebrows shoot up, but Loki just offers a lopsided grin.
“My parents were fans of Norse mythology.”
Coulson shrugs as if to say well, what can you do? to which Loki tilts his beer before taking a swig of the flavourless liquid, setting it back down after.
“Can I be honest will you, Phil?” Loki asks and Coulson nods. “I’ve been looking for you.”
He laughs and lets his eyes run over Loki’s body.
“Sorry, I don’t swing that way.”
Loki ignores him as he says, “I know what you do, Agent Coulson.”
That sobers him up.
“What organisation are you a part of?” Coulson asks, voice low.
“None, I work alone. I am searching for someone who can help, someone with half a brain and enough money to get me what I desire.”
Apparently Coulson takes it as a joke because he laughs.
“You could have just said you were looking for Tony Stark from the beginning. I’m just guessing when I say this, but you might be disappointed because I’m sure he only goes for women, too. You’re welcome to try though.”
He draws a card from his coat pocket and hands it to Loki. It’s an address, one not too far from where they are.
“You have no idea,” Coulson continues light-heartedly, completely unaware of Loki’s intentions, “how many people have tried to get to him through me, but I’ll admit you’re the first man.”
Loki doesn’t say another word, just sets down a few crumpled notes on the bar - enough money to buy a round of drinks for everyone in the sleazy joint - and slides off the stool. Coulson watches him leave, an expression of confusion clearly etched onto his face, but he doesn’t call him back. As soon as Loki’s back outside, he vanishes into thin air, leaving no trace behind, before reappearing at the end of a gated driveway. He eyes the house number set in gaudy tiles and looks back down at the card still in his hand; it’s definitely the right place.
It’s all too easy to get inside, though he begins to understand just who he’s dealing with when the house starts addressing him when he slips through the front door.
“Sir, you are unauthorized to enter the premises; please depart before greater security measures are taken against you. If you - ”
With a flick of his hand he mutes the voice, but another starts up instead.
“Jarvis?”
Steady footsteps draw closer and eventually a casually dressed man rounds the corner, stopping abruptly when he notices Loki.
“Can I help you?” he asks, glancing about as though looking for an answer to his unasked question. “What happened to Jarvis?”
Loki has no idea what he’s talking about, but when the man walks over to a panel in the wall, fiddling with what looks like security code, he realises he’s talking about the voice from before. With a subtle move of his wrist, the house once more regains its voice.
“Sir,” it says, addressing the man, who Loki presumes is Tony Stark, “he has entered without permission.”
“I see that, Jarvis.” His dark eyes flicker over Loki and he folds his arms over his chest. “Want to do a little explaining, buddy?”
Loki lifts his chin and gets straight to the point.
“I’ve heard you’re someone who can help me, Mr Stark.”
“Business or pleasure? I’ll admit now that I’m willing to negotiate either.”
“I am Loki - ”
“Loki?” Stark interrupts, “That must have been a rough childhood. How many times a day were you beaten up?”
“I am the son of Laufey, Mr Stark, and I am not here to discuss what I would like you to do, I am here to demand that you do it.”
For a second, Stark’s eyes widen and he points rudely.
“Holy shit,” he says, “you’re him! You’re that guy from New Mexico, right? The one who tried to destroy that town over some hammer?”
That hadn’t been a part of Loki’s plan; he’d never expected anyone to truly recognise him. It’s then that he realises just how powerful the man in front of him is - not in a way that makes him feel threatened, but he understands he’s made the right choice to find him. His possibilities are endless now that he knows Stark has connections.
“You’re a long way from home, aren’t you?” Stark says, shooting him a sideways glance and Loki bristles at the words. “I guess the guys upstairs didn’t appreciate your spectacle, huh?”
“Mr Stark, I know you’re not a stupid man and I think it would suit us both if we dropped the small talk. I’m here because I have work for you to do.”
“You do understand that I don't negotiate with terrorists, right? That whole fighting for America thing I've got going on? Does the name Iron Man ring any bells?”
“I am not threatening the United States, Mr Stark, though I wouldn’t think twice before wiping it off the face of your planet if you happened to fail to meet my demands.”
“Sounds a lot like terrorism to me.”
“Terrorism is shooting first and asking later. I’m asking first, but willing to shoot later if necessary. I must find a way home, is that asking too much of you?”
It’s rhetorical, but Stark looks like he’s going to answer it anyway and that's about the time Loki snaps his fingers and seals Stark's mouth with magic. Stark scrabbles at his lips with trembling fingertips, a look of fear in his eyes - no, not fear, Loki reasons, Stark seems far too proud for that - intrigue is perhaps more fitting.
“Mr Stark,” he begins, leaning in, keeping his voice low and deadly. “I am told you can give me what I want. Your refusal would be the worst and last decision of your life. If you value the existence of yourself and your country, as you seem to, I’d suggest saying yes and doing me the simple honour of handing over a little of your time and effort. Do so and I will leave this realm and you will never again see my face or hear of my name. I will take my fight elsewhere and allow you and your fellow mortals to die naturally in your beds years from now, passing from this life as peacefully as you tell yourselves you will to help you sleep at night. Think hard before you answer, Mr Stark.”
Stark’s eyes flicker in thought, but Loki knows he’s left him with only one option. He withdraws his magic from his body and Stark rubs his jaw lightly as though it aches.
“Time is money,” is all he says and Loki tilts his head.
“But you have more than enough of that, Mr Stark. I hardly see your need for it.”
At that, Stark grins.
“Then I’m sure we can work something out.”
“This is your answer?”
“Loki, son of Laufey, I think you knew what my answer would be before you even came to see me. You drive a hard bargain.”
Loki’s mouth curls upwards, but not in a smile, merely in bitterness of how long it has taken Stark to understand who holds the cards in their deal.
*
Stark works non-stop through the night, head bowed low over his desk, hands blurring as he rotates and adjusts a set of blueprints. Loki stands, arms folded, at the back of the room, watching each and every move he makes. Around three AM, Stark flicks on music, loud and chaotic in the room, and Loki takes to wandering around, roving eyes and hands across items in the workshop. He finds an award with Stark’s name on jammed under a plug, keeping it in the socket, but it’s gold and highly tacky, and he’s not at all surprised to find it where it is; perhaps Stark has some taste after all.
However, he thinks that before he finds the drawer filled to the brim with magazine cut-outs of half-naked women.
“Lonely?” he asks, finally getting Stark to look up from his work. He holds up a picture between two fingers of a busty brunette in a swimsuit three times too small for her; Stark smirks.
“Nope,” he says leaning back in his chair, legs splayed open. “That’s my collection of memories. Her name’s Karen, possibly Kaycee, and she happened to be very good at the splits.”
Loki drops the glossy photo back into the drawer and nudges it shut with his hip; he doesn’t need to hear any more. He pushes aside a pile of folders and seats himself on the desktop across from Stark, who follows his every move with a steady gaze. Eventually, Loki grows tired of the attention and meets Stark’s eyes.
His voice is low as he asks, “Is there something you need?”
Stark shrugs.
“I’m just trying to figure you out. S.H.I.E.L.D. has you listed as a wanted man, highly dangerous, it says.” He turns his computer monitor to Loki, letting him skim his eyes over the words. There’s a picture of his face in the corner and red font everywhere announcing Hazard! and Non-negotiable! and A public menace! He’s rather proud of the reputation he’s built for himself.
“And what do you think?”
“Beyond the incredible amount of father-issues? I think this is exactly what you’re looking for. You want to be noticed, you want to be powerful, and you’ll do anything to get that.”
Loki hums in the back of his throat and tips his head.
“Maybe you’re right; maybe you’re wrong, but this is not what I came here for. I do not need a therapist, I need an engineer.” He slips off the desk and strides towards Stark, peering closely at the plans in front of him. “Have you even started?”
Stark shoots him a look.
“I don't think you quite understand what you're asking of me, Loki,” Stark says, leaning forward with his elbows on the desk. “You need me to create a wormhole from one dimension to another and then find a way to send someone through it and have them come out the other end alive. If I'm honest it would be easier to ask for the meaning of life.”
“But you like the challenge don't you, Mr Stark.” Stark's mouth hangs open for a moment before clicking shut; he says nothing.
“I can give you time, though only a little, so I hope, for your sake, that your mind will serve you well in this endeavour.”
He switches off Stark’s computer screen, which still has Loki’s details on, with a snap of his fingers and strides to the doorway.
“I’ll make myself at home upstairs. I would highly advise against trying to leave or contact anyone besides me. You have two days.”
Stark’s faint protests are cut off as the door swings shut behind him.
*
It’s far too easy for him to find something to his satisfy appetite, even despite the multiple cartons of leftovers jammed inside Stark’s fridge. There are cheeses and meats and plenty of wines to choose from, which is enough for him. He eats until he is sated, his Midgardian clothes feeling minutely tighter around the waist. His head buzzes with the alcohol, but not enough to truly cloud his judgement, just enough that he ends up piling another plate full of food and makes his way downstairs.
Stark glances up as he enters the room. He’s stripped down to his undershirt and there’s a pair of safety goggles pushed up his forehead, pressing his hair into awkward angles.
“For me?” he asks, eyes lingering on the meats heaped on a thick slice of bread.
Loki just sets the plate down on an open patch of Stark’s desk and steps back. Stark wipes his fingers on his trousers before helping himself.
“Poisoned?” he asks, sniffing at it as though anticipating something foul smelling.
“Poisoned? You really misunderstand me, Mr Stark. I wouldn’t kill you until I got what I wanted. Why would I waste my time and effort otherwise?”
“Fair enough,” Stark replies after a pause, taking a large mouthful of sandwich hungrily.
“How far along are you?”
“Just enough that you won’t have a reason to harm me. Not yet, at least. While you’re down here, though, I’ll get you to give me a hand.”
“There’s a reason I’m asking you to do this, Mr Stark. If I could do it myself, I would.”
“It’s nothing big, I promise. Just - ” he pauses as he licks mustard off his thumb and pulls two pieces of metal towards him, “ - hold this like that and freeze. Not literally,” he quickly corrects himself. “Keep still is what I meant.”
Loki does as instructed, watching as Stark flicks his goggles back over his eyes and welds the objects together. Loki barely feels the warmth as Stark accidentally nudges against his fingers with the heated metal, but he knows anyone else would have burnt; he suddenly has the feeling Stark is testing him. He waits only long enough for the weld to hold everything together, then he lets go and leans in close.
“Whatever you’re planning, Mr Stark, you had better stop.” Stark looks genuinely confused, but Loki continues. “I will not warn you again.”
He leaves the room feeling much more sober than he entered it.
*
“It took me a while,” Stark announces as he strolls into the room, wiping his hands on a dirty rag, “but I accidentally found my way into the S.H.I.E.L.D database and, in a total random happenstance, found all the information I needed about travelling through dimensions. Apparently, your kind already has it figured out with something called a Bifrost.”
“They’re not my kind,” Loki growls out, “but, yes, the Bifrost is a way to travel from one realm to another.”
“Well, some gal by the name of Jane Foster has come up with some very interesting equations, which has lead to the creation of this.” He holds up a small, obviously home-made object that looks remarkably like a cassette tape with a button in the centre. “This is your ticket home and my ticket to rid myself of you. Good news, right?”
“Very. I have to admit, Mr Stark, I’m rather impressed. I have yet to meet another mortal with such skill.”
Stark sets it on the counter between them and nudges it towards Loki, who takes it and turns it, carefully inspecting every inch.
“You have tried it, I take it?”
“It'll work once, doesn't have enough power for more than that.”
Loki raises an eyebrow and sets the item down again.
“Do you think me stupid, Mr Stark? How do I know it'll work?”
Stark shrugs and moves to the kitchen sink to wash his hands.
“You don't,” he says above the noise of the tap.
Loki eyes him up, watching his expression and even as the master of trickery, he can't read him; he seems truthful but Loki has met many men before who have lied to his face, specifically ones who once called him son. He bows his head, neck curving gently.
“Thank you,” he says, “it makes my life much easier when people are willing. I will rest now and leave in the morning.”
Stark dries his hands then flops down into a chair looking exhausted. He mumbles something about a guestroom, then places his head upon the cool marble countertop, and promptly falls asleep. Loki watches him for a moment before leaving, taking the stairs back down to Stark’s workshop; he wants to double-check Stark’s work, but doesn’t truly know how to without actually using the wormhole device and wasting his possible one shot at leaving Midgard.
With magic, he easily pulls up the history of Stark’s computer, and just as Stark said, the S.H.I.E.L.D database is one of the first things to pop up onto the screen. There are bits of technology scattered about various worktops; Loki doesn’t know what most of it is, but he can smell the stench of soldered metal and an element he can’t quite decipher. It wouldn’t surprise him if Stark has come up with another new element - he’s taken the liberty of researching Stark’s background in all the free time he’s had and it’s certainly something.
There’s no true evidence that Stark has in fact created what he demanded, all he has is Stark’s word, which he hates more than anything, but he will admit that it’s better than nothing.
He restores the computer to its previous settings and is about to switch the lights off when his eyes fall once more to the drawer which he explored earlier, the one filled with pictures of women. The drawer below it has a lock and when he tries to open it, it doesn’t shift. It’s simple enough to open it with a breath of magic and he’s met with the blank stare of a man. Dozens of men, in fact. Whereas the one above was filled with women, this one is filled with men. Loki cannot help but huff a laugh, his amusement truly piqued.
Turns out, he thinks, that Tony Stark isn’t just a womaniser.
He shuts the drawer with a clang without bothering to lock it again and snaps the lights off with a click of his fingers.
When he finds himself once more in the kitchen, Stark is no longer slumped over the counter; Loki reasons that he’s finally made his way to his own bedroom, which he knows - from exploration - is down the hall and to the left. It only takes him a moment to gather his thoughts and even less time to put them into action.
*
Loki stands in the doorway to Stark's bedroom, the only light illuminating the space is the gentle glow of Stark's chest. It only takes a moment of standing there for Stark to wake and notice him. He blinks, his expression one of clear confusion, but Loki just tilts his head.
“I realised I had not kept to my end of our bargain.”
“And what was that? Did we decide on something or are you just taking the initiative? I don't know if that whole conscience thing suits a man of intergalactic war.”
“I may not always tell the truth, but I am always an honest man. A deal is a deal and even I can keep my word.”
“Are you going to reimburse me then?”
“No, we decided you had no need for money, so I was probably doing you a favour by giving you an excuse to spend it. I have decided to pay you through means I am sure you will understand.”
Sitting up on his elbows, Stark watches as he slinks into the room, bare feet quiet upon the wooden floor. He makes it to the side of the bed before Stark's eyes widen in realisation as he takes in Loki’s naked form. It's all too easy for him to kneel upon the mattress, his weight shifting Stark closer to him as he slips a thigh over Stark's waist, straddling him. Stark presses one palm flat upon his chest, pushing Loki away, but it doesn't take much strength for him for lean forward, overpowering him and holding his face inches from Stark's own.
“I thought this was what you wanted, Mr Stark. You won’t accept money, so what’s left to give?”
The sheets shift under Loki’s legs, his movements tugging them down Stark’s bare chest, revealing that which keeps him alive. It brightens the room, casting a glow over Stark’s sun-browned body and glaring into Loki’s eyes. He places one hand over it, blocking all but a few of the rays emanating from within and waits for Stark to argue against what he’s doing with greater fervour. Instead, Stark curls a hand around Loki’s side, thumb gently brushing over his hip.
“Tony,” he says. “Mr Stark is far too formal if we’re going to do this, which I’ll have you know is a terrible idea and possibly prostitution, but have you looked at yourself recently, because I can’t say no to that.”
The reputation Stark - no, Tony, because that’s what the man wants - has earned for himself is completely, one hundred percent true. Loki definitely expected at least a little more argument before finally getting his way, though he’s rather pleased to not have to work so hard for once in his life. He’s not exactly one to owe others; if he can do it himself, he will, and the quicker he can divest himself of his debt, the better. He will sleep with Tony Stark and be done with it.
Tony’s strong hands stroke up his thighs, pressing warmth against his cool skin and Loki rocks down onto him.
“Tell me what you want and you shall have it. You may have me as either female or male, whichever you fancy.”
“Can I have both?”
“If you wish it,” he replies, but Tony shakes his head and smirks.
“This is fine. More than fine, actually.”
“I shall only ask this once and you are one of few who will ever hear the words: how do you want me?”
Tony’s hands falter, stopping so that his thumbs fit against the V of Loki’s groin. Even in the dim light, Loki can see Tony’s eyes glaze over as he thinks and he wonders which dark fantasies are playing in his mind at that moment. Tony exhales slowly and seems to come back to himself.
“Just like this,” he says, voice even with a hint of command. “So I can watch you.”
Loki nods once and sweeps the sheets back with a shift of his hips and a wave of his hand. Tony is hot and hard, pressing into the back of his right thigh, dabbing sticky wetness against his skin.
“It’s far too hot for clothes in this weather,” Tony confesses, as though it matters, as though Loki cares.
“Just makes it easier.”
He lets Tony frot against his body, allowing him to take every inch of pleasure he can glean, and it’s with an unyielding grip that he takes a hold of Tony’s wrist and brings his hand up to his mouth. Even with a body of ice, Loki knows his mouth is hot, just warm enough to send another trickle of want down Tony’s spine; he knows because Tony bucks below him, lips parts and eyes following each and every move Loki makes. He flicks his tongue across Tony’s fingertips and they press further between his lips at the feeling.
Tony lets out a hiss as Loki digs his teeth into his knuckles, but it’s one of anything but pain, and when Tony pulls his fingers free, they shine with more than just saliva. A swipe of Loki’s tongue heals the wounds before Tony has time to complain and with a whispered word he slicks them with oil.
He keeps their eyes locked and one hand on Tony’s shoulder as he raises himself onto his knees, giving Tony all the space he needs.
“Can’t you use magic to do this?”
“Would you prefer me to?”
Tony lets out half a laugh as he says, “Hell no,” dropping his hand low and letting his fingers nudge against Loki’s entrance. “I was just curious.”
When Tony’s fingertip breaches him, it’s anything but gentle, pressing deeper with an expertise Loki doesn’t want to think about. He holds himself steady as Tony prepares him the way he wants, using techniques Loki has never experienced, in a way that makes his hips cant unexpectedly, his own arousal hanging heavy between his legs. By the time Tony is finished, Loki’s dripping pre-come onto his stomach, his dignity barely intact as he pushes down onto four of Tony’s fingers.
“I think you’re ready,” Tony jokes, his other hand tugging at Loki’s cock, sliding his foreskin back and forth, until it finally hooks behind the head and stays of its own accord as Loki finally hardens completely.
Remaining on his knees, Loki watches as Tony strokes himself back to full arousal.
“Grab a thing,” he gestures vaguely and Loki has a hard time understanding what he means. “A condom; top drawer.”
Loki leans over and rummages through the mess. He finds one box announcing Ribbed for her pleasure! and another less gaudy package. He throws the latter one at Tony and lets him sort it out; Loki is unfamiliar with Midgardian contraceptives and would rather leave it in the hands of someone more qualified.
It only takes seconds for Tony to slide one onto his cock, the rest of the packet tossed back towards the general direction of the nightstand; whether it makes it there or not, Loki doesn’t pay attention long enough to find out, he’s too focussed on the way Tony spreads the leftover oil on his fingers down his length, slicking it just enough that the head rubs smoothly across Loki’s skin each time he rocks down. With one hand clamped on Loki’s waist, he holds the base of his cock with the other and gently presses the tip inside Loki; Loki shifts minutely at the feeling, but Tony makes it difficult to concentrate as his thumb rubs circles in the hollow of his hip. Eventually, he arches his back and lowers himself down, taking the pace into his own hands, while Tony reclines back, an unadulterated look of want on his face.
“Good?”
“Yep,” Tony responds in a clipped tone, as though he can’t quite make his brain come up with more than that.
He sinks down until the entire length of Tony’s cock rests inside him, twitching each time Loki unconsciously squeezes around him. He waits, letting himself adjust to the size, until his own cock aches with need at the feeling of being filled, then he draws himself back up onto his knees before slamming back down.
Tony mutters nonsense, his fingers pinching at Loki’s skin as he attempts to hold on, to try to control Loki’s movements, but Loki knows who’s in charge now and it isn’t some Midgardian with a penchant for vigilante missions. He rocks his hips as Tony slips in and out of him, his fingernails biting into the skin of Tony’s shoulder with each movement, anchoring himself down.
Tony’s eyes are open, watching everything he does as though searching for answers and it is just when Loki is about to ask if there is a problem that Tony blurts out, “What’s your plan?”
Loki pauses, Tony’s cock buried halfway inside him, and stares down at him.
“I mean, you said you wanted to go home, but why?”
Loki knows the way he drags himself slowly up will be torturous enough to end their discussion alone, but he lets Tony slip out of him as he leans forward, their faces almost touching.
“Let us agree that it is none of your business.”
Tony’s throat clicks when he swallows, his adam’s apple bobbing under taut skin.
“Gotcha,” he whispers and Loki shoots him a fake, sickly smile in response before reaching back for Tony’s cock, slipping it back inside him. Tony should now know better than to ask questions and it seems to do the trick as Tony keeps his mouth shut, excepting to pant and plead and encourage Loki faster, deeper, harder.
Tony begins to buck upwards, meeting Loki’s movements somewhere in the middle in a rush of skin, interrupting the easy rhythm Loki has created. He allows it as it is seems to be what Tony wants. Loki spreads his knees further apart, letting Tony slide deeper inside of him and Tony’s thrusts become fast and erratic, his breathing turning harsh and unsteady.
“Can I - can I - ” Tony starts and Loki wonders what inane question he will ask now, but Tony continues with breaths that are only just words. “Can I kiss you?”
Loki’s a little stunned that he hadn’t thought to do so earlier. He knows kissing is more of a Midgardian practise, but he should have realised it could have been something Tony wanted.
Without speaking, he dips his head low, lips gently grazing Tony’s own, teasing his mouth open. A hand slips behind Loki’s head and Tony holds him down, slipping his tongue between his lips. Loki doesn’t think much of the act until Tony nips suddenly at his skin. He can taste blood on his tongue and when he pulls back sharply, Tony’s mouth is red with it. With a swipe of his finger, he heals his lip and leans down again, letting Tony lick him open once more.
Tony moans into his mouth, the vibrations tickling his tongue, and breathes heavily through his nose. Words slip between his lips and it takes him a moment to realise Tony is softly repeating his name. Fingers rake down Loki’s chest, thumbs rubbing across his nipples raising them into hardened peaks; he curls into the touch and breaks free from Tony’s lips.
“How do you feel about magic?” Loki asks and Tony stares for a moment before replying.
“Depends what it’s used for.”
Loki waves his fingers above the skin of Tony’s chest muttering a few quiet words and the reaction is instantaneous.
“Oh god,” Tony says, head tipping back and eyes falling shut. “Feels like - feels - ”
“A thousand tongues?”
“Yeah, that’s it,” he gasps out, his whole body arching off the bed, lifting Loki up. Loki rides it out, rising and falling with Tony’s movements, holding his shoulder tightly to keep from tipping backwards. “I can’t - ” Tony exhales, fingers gripping the bed below.
“Then don’t.”
Loki shifts his hips, altering the angle as he continues to move, letting Tony slide in and out of him at a quickened pace.
“Loki,” Tony practically whines, his voice hitching, hands moving from the sheets to Loki’s sides, gripping hard with bruising force. Loki can feel the exact moment that every muscle in Tony’s body contracts as his orgasm washes over him and he wants to follow suit, but he knows Tony’s pleasure comes first in this debt collection. He lets Tony thrust up into him a few more times until he finally collapses back, his body thrumming with energy. He quickly removes the magic trailing across Tony’s skin and watches him breathing heavy underneath, a truly sated expression on his face. Loki attempts to slip off Tony’s body, but Tony holds onto him, keeping him in place.
“I don’t think so,” he says between breaths. “You don’t get away that light.”
His hand curls around Loki’s cock, stroking hard and fast, giving Loki no time to complain before he’s arching back, a groan clogging his throat as he comes silently across Tony’s chest.
“That was easy,” Tony laughs and Loki stares down at him, his eyes dark.
“I’ve heard that said often about you, Mr Stark.”
Tony laughs and pats Loki on the buttocks gently.
“I think you’ve ruined me for life,” he murmurs as Loki pulls himself off his softening cock. “How can anyone else live up to a god in the sack?”
“You’ll survive”
“What happens in the love shack, stays in the love shack, right?”
“We are completely unalike in that aspect, Mr Stark. I do not announce my conquest and therefore do not have the reputation of sleeping with everyone I meet.”
“Yes, you sleep with anything, instead. How many children have you had? One of each flavour?”
Loki thinks briefly about breaking Tony’s neck and leaving, but he wants to keep a low profile and that will only exacerbate things.
“Goodbye, Mr Stark. Let’s hope for your sake that your invention works.”
In an instant he’s clean and dressed and vanishing from sight, finally leaving Tony’s bedroom.
*
The sea breeze is cool in the early hours of the morning as it whirls around Tony’s balcony. Far below he can see waves crashing against the cliff, spraying white foam high into the air, shooting the thick scent of salt straight up to where Loki stands. He pulls the small device from his pocket and holds it out to once more inspect. Nothing has changed overnight and he’s still in the unknown as to whether it will work or not.
He takes a breath then pushes the button, waiting for something, anything to happen; nothing does. He thinks about raining plagues down upon the world with a sleight of his hand, but instead, he cracks the air with his magic and finds himself with a handful of Stark’s hair as he struggles at his side, bare knees dragging and grazing across the concrete floor.
“Mr Stark, I have reason to believe you’ve sold me a lemon.”
“My mistake,” he grits out between clenched teeth. “Could I at least get some pants here? That wind is ruining my well-earned name.”
“You did that yourself, Mr Stark. Now, if I recall correctly, I said I would destroy the United States for not cooperating with me, which is precisely what I intend on doing.”
He raises his hand and it’s then that another voice sounds from behind him.
“Don’t move, or I’ll shoot.”
Loki ignores them, turning around, dragging Tony with him.
“Agent Coulson? How’s the wife and kids? Safe, I hope.”
“I’ll do it.”
“If you were going to, you would have done it already.”
Coulson fires a shot, scratching it over Loki’s shoulder, just enough to rip through his outer coat, but not far enough down to touch his skin.
“I won’t say it again.”
“Hi, Phil,” Tony begins, conversationally. “Sorry for being so underdressed; you know how it goes.”
Coulson tilts his head as if to say he knows exactly how it goes, especially when it comes to Tony.
“I thought it had been too quiet around here lately, so I came to check on you. Jarvis told me everything. Everything, even the things I didn’t want to know.”
“Not my finest hour, I’ll admit, but it was definitely an hour. My god, he has some stamina and a few dirty tricks up his sleeves.”
Loki tightens his fingers in Tony’s hair, tipping his head back further, prompting him to close both hands around Loki’s wrist and tug.
“Ow,” he deadpans. “That hurts a little.”
Loki’s grip doesn’t loosen, but he glances down at the man at his side and wonders if it’s really worth it. He lets out a sigh and looks between the two mortals, watching as Coulson reaches the hand without the gun into his pocket, pulling out a pair of handcuffs.
“Those’ll hold him,” Tony says facetiously. “You do realise he’s the God of Mischief, don’t you?”
Loki’s heard enough. There are always other options, he thinks, Tony just happened to be the easiest at the time, now he’s just a hassle. With a flick of his wrist, he binds them both with thick rope, ignoring the clatter of Coulson’s gun as it falls to the ground. He crouches at Tony’s side and leans in close, making sure he can hear him above the noise of the ocean.
“If I see you again, Mr Stark, I will make you wish you were never born.” He presses his hand to Tony’s bare hip and watches as he writhes and swears; when he pulls his palm away, there’s an image of a snake branded onto his skin, the mark red and irritated.
“Mr Stark, Agent Coulson,” he says, nodding in farewell as he stands and blinks himself out of existence, far far away from the Californian coast.
Pairing: Loki/Tony Stark
Summary: After Loki falls from Asgard, he ends up on Midgard and wants to find a way back. He ropes in Tony Stark to help.
Warnings: Explicit sexual content.
Author: blacktofade
Words: 6,493
Rating: NC-17
A/N: Written for Lyns, who is an extraordinarily good enabler and I love her for it. Apologies to Marvel for ruining their characters. This has not been beta'd, so feel free to point out mistakes/offer concrit.
Disclaimer: I am not associated with The Avengers or any of their affiliates. I don't mean any harm, this is all made up.
Loki wakes face down in sand, cold waves gently lapping against his right side. He must admit it’s all rather unexpected. The last thing he remembers is falling over the edge of the world and the terrible feeling that it would probably hurt if he were to eventually hit the ground. Apparently he has hit the ground and as he attempts to move he realises that it hurts a lot. Rolling onto his back, he coughs as the cool air burns his lungs. Staring up at the night sky is surprisingly less painful; it fills him with a need to return home, to finish what he’s started, but as he sits up feeling broken ribs shifting, he understands he has slightly more pressing issues.
With power still humming through his body, it’s easy to fix everything, healing the multiple bone fractures under his skin and wiping away the bruises marring his pale complexion. With a wave of his hand, his clothes dry and his hair sweeps itself back into place, away from his face. He glances back up, roving his eyes around for signs of anyone following him, but there’s nothing, just the faint glowing of stars he was once among.
How about that, he thinks as he begins to make his way inland, feet heavy in the deep sand. All that power and no way to get home.
He doesn’t need power, he needs technology and money to get him said technology. Or maybe just needs to find someone with both already at hand. It gets easier to walk as the ground levels off and turns to grass, but there’s the noise of buzzing, sounds of life, and that’s when he sees them walking down the street, not a hundred yards away: mortals.
He remembers the scent that blows through the breeze and realises he’s ended up on Midgard. In the blink of an eye, he changes into his Midgardian clothes and he knows no one will realise how out of place he truly is.
*
Coulson, he remembers, that was the man in charge of S.H.I.E.L.D’s interrogation of Thor not long ago. He need only locate the man and he will find all the answers he wants, he will know men in high places. Unfortunately for Loki, he finds Agent Coulson nursing a beer in some bar on a Friday night. The establishment is well below par for Loki’s standards, but the tacky neon signs outside do nothing to stop him pushing through the door and into the dinginess beyond. He sits only a few stools down from the man, ordering his own drink to blend in, before casually eavesdropping in on Coulson’s drunken attempts to flirt with a nearby woman.
She ends up dumping her drink in his lap and walks away with her friends. Loki quietly passes three or four napkins to him, offering a smile of condolence.
“She’s married with three children,” he says quietly, but Coulson doesn’t look up from where he’s wiping off his slacks.
“Yeah? Well so am I,” he sighs and Loki signals for another round of drinks for the two of them; humans are never satisfied, he thinks.
Coulson eventually gives up trying to dry himself off and instead holds out a hand - one that’s sticky with alcohol, which disgusts Loki, but he takes it anyway - nodding his thanks.
“I’m Phil,” he says.
“Loki.”
Coulson’s eyebrows shoot up, but Loki just offers a lopsided grin.
“My parents were fans of Norse mythology.”
Coulson shrugs as if to say well, what can you do? to which Loki tilts his beer before taking a swig of the flavourless liquid, setting it back down after.
“Can I be honest will you, Phil?” Loki asks and Coulson nods. “I’ve been looking for you.”
He laughs and lets his eyes run over Loki’s body.
“Sorry, I don’t swing that way.”
Loki ignores him as he says, “I know what you do, Agent Coulson.”
That sobers him up.
“What organisation are you a part of?” Coulson asks, voice low.
“None, I work alone. I am searching for someone who can help, someone with half a brain and enough money to get me what I desire.”
Apparently Coulson takes it as a joke because he laughs.
“You could have just said you were looking for Tony Stark from the beginning. I’m just guessing when I say this, but you might be disappointed because I’m sure he only goes for women, too. You’re welcome to try though.”
He draws a card from his coat pocket and hands it to Loki. It’s an address, one not too far from where they are.
“You have no idea,” Coulson continues light-heartedly, completely unaware of Loki’s intentions, “how many people have tried to get to him through me, but I’ll admit you’re the first man.”
Loki doesn’t say another word, just sets down a few crumpled notes on the bar - enough money to buy a round of drinks for everyone in the sleazy joint - and slides off the stool. Coulson watches him leave, an expression of confusion clearly etched onto his face, but he doesn’t call him back. As soon as Loki’s back outside, he vanishes into thin air, leaving no trace behind, before reappearing at the end of a gated driveway. He eyes the house number set in gaudy tiles and looks back down at the card still in his hand; it’s definitely the right place.
It’s all too easy to get inside, though he begins to understand just who he’s dealing with when the house starts addressing him when he slips through the front door.
“Sir, you are unauthorized to enter the premises; please depart before greater security measures are taken against you. If you - ”
With a flick of his hand he mutes the voice, but another starts up instead.
“Jarvis?”
Steady footsteps draw closer and eventually a casually dressed man rounds the corner, stopping abruptly when he notices Loki.
“Can I help you?” he asks, glancing about as though looking for an answer to his unasked question. “What happened to Jarvis?”
Loki has no idea what he’s talking about, but when the man walks over to a panel in the wall, fiddling with what looks like security code, he realises he’s talking about the voice from before. With a subtle move of his wrist, the house once more regains its voice.
“Sir,” it says, addressing the man, who Loki presumes is Tony Stark, “he has entered without permission.”
“I see that, Jarvis.” His dark eyes flicker over Loki and he folds his arms over his chest. “Want to do a little explaining, buddy?”
Loki lifts his chin and gets straight to the point.
“I’ve heard you’re someone who can help me, Mr Stark.”
“Business or pleasure? I’ll admit now that I’m willing to negotiate either.”
“I am Loki - ”
“Loki?” Stark interrupts, “That must have been a rough childhood. How many times a day were you beaten up?”
“I am the son of Laufey, Mr Stark, and I am not here to discuss what I would like you to do, I am here to demand that you do it.”
For a second, Stark’s eyes widen and he points rudely.
“Holy shit,” he says, “you’re him! You’re that guy from New Mexico, right? The one who tried to destroy that town over some hammer?”
That hadn’t been a part of Loki’s plan; he’d never expected anyone to truly recognise him. It’s then that he realises just how powerful the man in front of him is - not in a way that makes him feel threatened, but he understands he’s made the right choice to find him. His possibilities are endless now that he knows Stark has connections.
“You’re a long way from home, aren’t you?” Stark says, shooting him a sideways glance and Loki bristles at the words. “I guess the guys upstairs didn’t appreciate your spectacle, huh?”
“Mr Stark, I know you’re not a stupid man and I think it would suit us both if we dropped the small talk. I’m here because I have work for you to do.”
“You do understand that I don't negotiate with terrorists, right? That whole fighting for America thing I've got going on? Does the name Iron Man ring any bells?”
“I am not threatening the United States, Mr Stark, though I wouldn’t think twice before wiping it off the face of your planet if you happened to fail to meet my demands.”
“Sounds a lot like terrorism to me.”
“Terrorism is shooting first and asking later. I’m asking first, but willing to shoot later if necessary. I must find a way home, is that asking too much of you?”
It’s rhetorical, but Stark looks like he’s going to answer it anyway and that's about the time Loki snaps his fingers and seals Stark's mouth with magic. Stark scrabbles at his lips with trembling fingertips, a look of fear in his eyes - no, not fear, Loki reasons, Stark seems far too proud for that - intrigue is perhaps more fitting.
“Mr Stark,” he begins, leaning in, keeping his voice low and deadly. “I am told you can give me what I want. Your refusal would be the worst and last decision of your life. If you value the existence of yourself and your country, as you seem to, I’d suggest saying yes and doing me the simple honour of handing over a little of your time and effort. Do so and I will leave this realm and you will never again see my face or hear of my name. I will take my fight elsewhere and allow you and your fellow mortals to die naturally in your beds years from now, passing from this life as peacefully as you tell yourselves you will to help you sleep at night. Think hard before you answer, Mr Stark.”
Stark’s eyes flicker in thought, but Loki knows he’s left him with only one option. He withdraws his magic from his body and Stark rubs his jaw lightly as though it aches.
“Time is money,” is all he says and Loki tilts his head.
“But you have more than enough of that, Mr Stark. I hardly see your need for it.”
At that, Stark grins.
“Then I’m sure we can work something out.”
“This is your answer?”
“Loki, son of Laufey, I think you knew what my answer would be before you even came to see me. You drive a hard bargain.”
Loki’s mouth curls upwards, but not in a smile, merely in bitterness of how long it has taken Stark to understand who holds the cards in their deal.
*
Stark works non-stop through the night, head bowed low over his desk, hands blurring as he rotates and adjusts a set of blueprints. Loki stands, arms folded, at the back of the room, watching each and every move he makes. Around three AM, Stark flicks on music, loud and chaotic in the room, and Loki takes to wandering around, roving eyes and hands across items in the workshop. He finds an award with Stark’s name on jammed under a plug, keeping it in the socket, but it’s gold and highly tacky, and he’s not at all surprised to find it where it is; perhaps Stark has some taste after all.
However, he thinks that before he finds the drawer filled to the brim with magazine cut-outs of half-naked women.
“Lonely?” he asks, finally getting Stark to look up from his work. He holds up a picture between two fingers of a busty brunette in a swimsuit three times too small for her; Stark smirks.
“Nope,” he says leaning back in his chair, legs splayed open. “That’s my collection of memories. Her name’s Karen, possibly Kaycee, and she happened to be very good at the splits.”
Loki drops the glossy photo back into the drawer and nudges it shut with his hip; he doesn’t need to hear any more. He pushes aside a pile of folders and seats himself on the desktop across from Stark, who follows his every move with a steady gaze. Eventually, Loki grows tired of the attention and meets Stark’s eyes.
His voice is low as he asks, “Is there something you need?”
Stark shrugs.
“I’m just trying to figure you out. S.H.I.E.L.D. has you listed as a wanted man, highly dangerous, it says.” He turns his computer monitor to Loki, letting him skim his eyes over the words. There’s a picture of his face in the corner and red font everywhere announcing Hazard! and Non-negotiable! and A public menace! He’s rather proud of the reputation he’s built for himself.
“And what do you think?”
“Beyond the incredible amount of father-issues? I think this is exactly what you’re looking for. You want to be noticed, you want to be powerful, and you’ll do anything to get that.”
Loki hums in the back of his throat and tips his head.
“Maybe you’re right; maybe you’re wrong, but this is not what I came here for. I do not need a therapist, I need an engineer.” He slips off the desk and strides towards Stark, peering closely at the plans in front of him. “Have you even started?”
Stark shoots him a look.
“I don't think you quite understand what you're asking of me, Loki,” Stark says, leaning forward with his elbows on the desk. “You need me to create a wormhole from one dimension to another and then find a way to send someone through it and have them come out the other end alive. If I'm honest it would be easier to ask for the meaning of life.”
“But you like the challenge don't you, Mr Stark.” Stark's mouth hangs open for a moment before clicking shut; he says nothing.
“I can give you time, though only a little, so I hope, for your sake, that your mind will serve you well in this endeavour.”
He switches off Stark’s computer screen, which still has Loki’s details on, with a snap of his fingers and strides to the doorway.
“I’ll make myself at home upstairs. I would highly advise against trying to leave or contact anyone besides me. You have two days.”
Stark’s faint protests are cut off as the door swings shut behind him.
*
It’s far too easy for him to find something to his satisfy appetite, even despite the multiple cartons of leftovers jammed inside Stark’s fridge. There are cheeses and meats and plenty of wines to choose from, which is enough for him. He eats until he is sated, his Midgardian clothes feeling minutely tighter around the waist. His head buzzes with the alcohol, but not enough to truly cloud his judgement, just enough that he ends up piling another plate full of food and makes his way downstairs.
Stark glances up as he enters the room. He’s stripped down to his undershirt and there’s a pair of safety goggles pushed up his forehead, pressing his hair into awkward angles.
“For me?” he asks, eyes lingering on the meats heaped on a thick slice of bread.
Loki just sets the plate down on an open patch of Stark’s desk and steps back. Stark wipes his fingers on his trousers before helping himself.
“Poisoned?” he asks, sniffing at it as though anticipating something foul smelling.
“Poisoned? You really misunderstand me, Mr Stark. I wouldn’t kill you until I got what I wanted. Why would I waste my time and effort otherwise?”
“Fair enough,” Stark replies after a pause, taking a large mouthful of sandwich hungrily.
“How far along are you?”
“Just enough that you won’t have a reason to harm me. Not yet, at least. While you’re down here, though, I’ll get you to give me a hand.”
“There’s a reason I’m asking you to do this, Mr Stark. If I could do it myself, I would.”
“It’s nothing big, I promise. Just - ” he pauses as he licks mustard off his thumb and pulls two pieces of metal towards him, “ - hold this like that and freeze. Not literally,” he quickly corrects himself. “Keep still is what I meant.”
Loki does as instructed, watching as Stark flicks his goggles back over his eyes and welds the objects together. Loki barely feels the warmth as Stark accidentally nudges against his fingers with the heated metal, but he knows anyone else would have burnt; he suddenly has the feeling Stark is testing him. He waits only long enough for the weld to hold everything together, then he lets go and leans in close.
“Whatever you’re planning, Mr Stark, you had better stop.” Stark looks genuinely confused, but Loki continues. “I will not warn you again.”
He leaves the room feeling much more sober than he entered it.
*
“It took me a while,” Stark announces as he strolls into the room, wiping his hands on a dirty rag, “but I accidentally found my way into the S.H.I.E.L.D database and, in a total random happenstance, found all the information I needed about travelling through dimensions. Apparently, your kind already has it figured out with something called a Bifrost.”
“They’re not my kind,” Loki growls out, “but, yes, the Bifrost is a way to travel from one realm to another.”
“Well, some gal by the name of Jane Foster has come up with some very interesting equations, which has lead to the creation of this.” He holds up a small, obviously home-made object that looks remarkably like a cassette tape with a button in the centre. “This is your ticket home and my ticket to rid myself of you. Good news, right?”
“Very. I have to admit, Mr Stark, I’m rather impressed. I have yet to meet another mortal with such skill.”
Stark sets it on the counter between them and nudges it towards Loki, who takes it and turns it, carefully inspecting every inch.
“You have tried it, I take it?”
“It'll work once, doesn't have enough power for more than that.”
Loki raises an eyebrow and sets the item down again.
“Do you think me stupid, Mr Stark? How do I know it'll work?”
Stark shrugs and moves to the kitchen sink to wash his hands.
“You don't,” he says above the noise of the tap.
Loki eyes him up, watching his expression and even as the master of trickery, he can't read him; he seems truthful but Loki has met many men before who have lied to his face, specifically ones who once called him son. He bows his head, neck curving gently.
“Thank you,” he says, “it makes my life much easier when people are willing. I will rest now and leave in the morning.”
Stark dries his hands then flops down into a chair looking exhausted. He mumbles something about a guestroom, then places his head upon the cool marble countertop, and promptly falls asleep. Loki watches him for a moment before leaving, taking the stairs back down to Stark’s workshop; he wants to double-check Stark’s work, but doesn’t truly know how to without actually using the wormhole device and wasting his possible one shot at leaving Midgard.
With magic, he easily pulls up the history of Stark’s computer, and just as Stark said, the S.H.I.E.L.D database is one of the first things to pop up onto the screen. There are bits of technology scattered about various worktops; Loki doesn’t know what most of it is, but he can smell the stench of soldered metal and an element he can’t quite decipher. It wouldn’t surprise him if Stark has come up with another new element - he’s taken the liberty of researching Stark’s background in all the free time he’s had and it’s certainly something.
There’s no true evidence that Stark has in fact created what he demanded, all he has is Stark’s word, which he hates more than anything, but he will admit that it’s better than nothing.
He restores the computer to its previous settings and is about to switch the lights off when his eyes fall once more to the drawer which he explored earlier, the one filled with pictures of women. The drawer below it has a lock and when he tries to open it, it doesn’t shift. It’s simple enough to open it with a breath of magic and he’s met with the blank stare of a man. Dozens of men, in fact. Whereas the one above was filled with women, this one is filled with men. Loki cannot help but huff a laugh, his amusement truly piqued.
Turns out, he thinks, that Tony Stark isn’t just a womaniser.
He shuts the drawer with a clang without bothering to lock it again and snaps the lights off with a click of his fingers.
When he finds himself once more in the kitchen, Stark is no longer slumped over the counter; Loki reasons that he’s finally made his way to his own bedroom, which he knows - from exploration - is down the hall and to the left. It only takes him a moment to gather his thoughts and even less time to put them into action.
*
Loki stands in the doorway to Stark's bedroom, the only light illuminating the space is the gentle glow of Stark's chest. It only takes a moment of standing there for Stark to wake and notice him. He blinks, his expression one of clear confusion, but Loki just tilts his head.
“I realised I had not kept to my end of our bargain.”
“And what was that? Did we decide on something or are you just taking the initiative? I don't know if that whole conscience thing suits a man of intergalactic war.”
“I may not always tell the truth, but I am always an honest man. A deal is a deal and even I can keep my word.”
“Are you going to reimburse me then?”
“No, we decided you had no need for money, so I was probably doing you a favour by giving you an excuse to spend it. I have decided to pay you through means I am sure you will understand.”
Sitting up on his elbows, Stark watches as he slinks into the room, bare feet quiet upon the wooden floor. He makes it to the side of the bed before Stark's eyes widen in realisation as he takes in Loki’s naked form. It's all too easy for him to kneel upon the mattress, his weight shifting Stark closer to him as he slips a thigh over Stark's waist, straddling him. Stark presses one palm flat upon his chest, pushing Loki away, but it doesn't take much strength for him for lean forward, overpowering him and holding his face inches from Stark's own.
“I thought this was what you wanted, Mr Stark. You won’t accept money, so what’s left to give?”
The sheets shift under Loki’s legs, his movements tugging them down Stark’s bare chest, revealing that which keeps him alive. It brightens the room, casting a glow over Stark’s sun-browned body and glaring into Loki’s eyes. He places one hand over it, blocking all but a few of the rays emanating from within and waits for Stark to argue against what he’s doing with greater fervour. Instead, Stark curls a hand around Loki’s side, thumb gently brushing over his hip.
“Tony,” he says. “Mr Stark is far too formal if we’re going to do this, which I’ll have you know is a terrible idea and possibly prostitution, but have you looked at yourself recently, because I can’t say no to that.”
The reputation Stark - no, Tony, because that’s what the man wants - has earned for himself is completely, one hundred percent true. Loki definitely expected at least a little more argument before finally getting his way, though he’s rather pleased to not have to work so hard for once in his life. He’s not exactly one to owe others; if he can do it himself, he will, and the quicker he can divest himself of his debt, the better. He will sleep with Tony Stark and be done with it.
Tony’s strong hands stroke up his thighs, pressing warmth against his cool skin and Loki rocks down onto him.
“Tell me what you want and you shall have it. You may have me as either female or male, whichever you fancy.”
“Can I have both?”
“If you wish it,” he replies, but Tony shakes his head and smirks.
“This is fine. More than fine, actually.”
“I shall only ask this once and you are one of few who will ever hear the words: how do you want me?”
Tony’s hands falter, stopping so that his thumbs fit against the V of Loki’s groin. Even in the dim light, Loki can see Tony’s eyes glaze over as he thinks and he wonders which dark fantasies are playing in his mind at that moment. Tony exhales slowly and seems to come back to himself.
“Just like this,” he says, voice even with a hint of command. “So I can watch you.”
Loki nods once and sweeps the sheets back with a shift of his hips and a wave of his hand. Tony is hot and hard, pressing into the back of his right thigh, dabbing sticky wetness against his skin.
“It’s far too hot for clothes in this weather,” Tony confesses, as though it matters, as though Loki cares.
“Just makes it easier.”
He lets Tony frot against his body, allowing him to take every inch of pleasure he can glean, and it’s with an unyielding grip that he takes a hold of Tony’s wrist and brings his hand up to his mouth. Even with a body of ice, Loki knows his mouth is hot, just warm enough to send another trickle of want down Tony’s spine; he knows because Tony bucks below him, lips parts and eyes following each and every move Loki makes. He flicks his tongue across Tony’s fingertips and they press further between his lips at the feeling.
Tony lets out a hiss as Loki digs his teeth into his knuckles, but it’s one of anything but pain, and when Tony pulls his fingers free, they shine with more than just saliva. A swipe of Loki’s tongue heals the wounds before Tony has time to complain and with a whispered word he slicks them with oil.
He keeps their eyes locked and one hand on Tony’s shoulder as he raises himself onto his knees, giving Tony all the space he needs.
“Can’t you use magic to do this?”
“Would you prefer me to?”
Tony lets out half a laugh as he says, “Hell no,” dropping his hand low and letting his fingers nudge against Loki’s entrance. “I was just curious.”
When Tony’s fingertip breaches him, it’s anything but gentle, pressing deeper with an expertise Loki doesn’t want to think about. He holds himself steady as Tony prepares him the way he wants, using techniques Loki has never experienced, in a way that makes his hips cant unexpectedly, his own arousal hanging heavy between his legs. By the time Tony is finished, Loki’s dripping pre-come onto his stomach, his dignity barely intact as he pushes down onto four of Tony’s fingers.
“I think you’re ready,” Tony jokes, his other hand tugging at Loki’s cock, sliding his foreskin back and forth, until it finally hooks behind the head and stays of its own accord as Loki finally hardens completely.
Remaining on his knees, Loki watches as Tony strokes himself back to full arousal.
“Grab a thing,” he gestures vaguely and Loki has a hard time understanding what he means. “A condom; top drawer.”
Loki leans over and rummages through the mess. He finds one box announcing Ribbed for her pleasure! and another less gaudy package. He throws the latter one at Tony and lets him sort it out; Loki is unfamiliar with Midgardian contraceptives and would rather leave it in the hands of someone more qualified.
It only takes seconds for Tony to slide one onto his cock, the rest of the packet tossed back towards the general direction of the nightstand; whether it makes it there or not, Loki doesn’t pay attention long enough to find out, he’s too focussed on the way Tony spreads the leftover oil on his fingers down his length, slicking it just enough that the head rubs smoothly across Loki’s skin each time he rocks down. With one hand clamped on Loki’s waist, he holds the base of his cock with the other and gently presses the tip inside Loki; Loki shifts minutely at the feeling, but Tony makes it difficult to concentrate as his thumb rubs circles in the hollow of his hip. Eventually, he arches his back and lowers himself down, taking the pace into his own hands, while Tony reclines back, an unadulterated look of want on his face.
“Good?”
“Yep,” Tony responds in a clipped tone, as though he can’t quite make his brain come up with more than that.
He sinks down until the entire length of Tony’s cock rests inside him, twitching each time Loki unconsciously squeezes around him. He waits, letting himself adjust to the size, until his own cock aches with need at the feeling of being filled, then he draws himself back up onto his knees before slamming back down.
Tony mutters nonsense, his fingers pinching at Loki’s skin as he attempts to hold on, to try to control Loki’s movements, but Loki knows who’s in charge now and it isn’t some Midgardian with a penchant for vigilante missions. He rocks his hips as Tony slips in and out of him, his fingernails biting into the skin of Tony’s shoulder with each movement, anchoring himself down.
Tony’s eyes are open, watching everything he does as though searching for answers and it is just when Loki is about to ask if there is a problem that Tony blurts out, “What’s your plan?”
Loki pauses, Tony’s cock buried halfway inside him, and stares down at him.
“I mean, you said you wanted to go home, but why?”
Loki knows the way he drags himself slowly up will be torturous enough to end their discussion alone, but he lets Tony slip out of him as he leans forward, their faces almost touching.
“Let us agree that it is none of your business.”
Tony’s throat clicks when he swallows, his adam’s apple bobbing under taut skin.
“Gotcha,” he whispers and Loki shoots him a fake, sickly smile in response before reaching back for Tony’s cock, slipping it back inside him. Tony should now know better than to ask questions and it seems to do the trick as Tony keeps his mouth shut, excepting to pant and plead and encourage Loki faster, deeper, harder.
Tony begins to buck upwards, meeting Loki’s movements somewhere in the middle in a rush of skin, interrupting the easy rhythm Loki has created. He allows it as it is seems to be what Tony wants. Loki spreads his knees further apart, letting Tony slide deeper inside of him and Tony’s thrusts become fast and erratic, his breathing turning harsh and unsteady.
“Can I - can I - ” Tony starts and Loki wonders what inane question he will ask now, but Tony continues with breaths that are only just words. “Can I kiss you?”
Loki’s a little stunned that he hadn’t thought to do so earlier. He knows kissing is more of a Midgardian practise, but he should have realised it could have been something Tony wanted.
Without speaking, he dips his head low, lips gently grazing Tony’s own, teasing his mouth open. A hand slips behind Loki’s head and Tony holds him down, slipping his tongue between his lips. Loki doesn’t think much of the act until Tony nips suddenly at his skin. He can taste blood on his tongue and when he pulls back sharply, Tony’s mouth is red with it. With a swipe of his finger, he heals his lip and leans down again, letting Tony lick him open once more.
Tony moans into his mouth, the vibrations tickling his tongue, and breathes heavily through his nose. Words slip between his lips and it takes him a moment to realise Tony is softly repeating his name. Fingers rake down Loki’s chest, thumbs rubbing across his nipples raising them into hardened peaks; he curls into the touch and breaks free from Tony’s lips.
“How do you feel about magic?” Loki asks and Tony stares for a moment before replying.
“Depends what it’s used for.”
Loki waves his fingers above the skin of Tony’s chest muttering a few quiet words and the reaction is instantaneous.
“Oh god,” Tony says, head tipping back and eyes falling shut. “Feels like - feels - ”
“A thousand tongues?”
“Yeah, that’s it,” he gasps out, his whole body arching off the bed, lifting Loki up. Loki rides it out, rising and falling with Tony’s movements, holding his shoulder tightly to keep from tipping backwards. “I can’t - ” Tony exhales, fingers gripping the bed below.
“Then don’t.”
Loki shifts his hips, altering the angle as he continues to move, letting Tony slide in and out of him at a quickened pace.
“Loki,” Tony practically whines, his voice hitching, hands moving from the sheets to Loki’s sides, gripping hard with bruising force. Loki can feel the exact moment that every muscle in Tony’s body contracts as his orgasm washes over him and he wants to follow suit, but he knows Tony’s pleasure comes first in this debt collection. He lets Tony thrust up into him a few more times until he finally collapses back, his body thrumming with energy. He quickly removes the magic trailing across Tony’s skin and watches him breathing heavy underneath, a truly sated expression on his face. Loki attempts to slip off Tony’s body, but Tony holds onto him, keeping him in place.
“I don’t think so,” he says between breaths. “You don’t get away that light.”
His hand curls around Loki’s cock, stroking hard and fast, giving Loki no time to complain before he’s arching back, a groan clogging his throat as he comes silently across Tony’s chest.
“That was easy,” Tony laughs and Loki stares down at him, his eyes dark.
“I’ve heard that said often about you, Mr Stark.”
Tony laughs and pats Loki on the buttocks gently.
“I think you’ve ruined me for life,” he murmurs as Loki pulls himself off his softening cock. “How can anyone else live up to a god in the sack?”
“You’ll survive”
“What happens in the love shack, stays in the love shack, right?”
“We are completely unalike in that aspect, Mr Stark. I do not announce my conquest and therefore do not have the reputation of sleeping with everyone I meet.”
“Yes, you sleep with anything, instead. How many children have you had? One of each flavour?”
Loki thinks briefly about breaking Tony’s neck and leaving, but he wants to keep a low profile and that will only exacerbate things.
“Goodbye, Mr Stark. Let’s hope for your sake that your invention works.”
In an instant he’s clean and dressed and vanishing from sight, finally leaving Tony’s bedroom.
*
The sea breeze is cool in the early hours of the morning as it whirls around Tony’s balcony. Far below he can see waves crashing against the cliff, spraying white foam high into the air, shooting the thick scent of salt straight up to where Loki stands. He pulls the small device from his pocket and holds it out to once more inspect. Nothing has changed overnight and he’s still in the unknown as to whether it will work or not.
He takes a breath then pushes the button, waiting for something, anything to happen; nothing does. He thinks about raining plagues down upon the world with a sleight of his hand, but instead, he cracks the air with his magic and finds himself with a handful of Stark’s hair as he struggles at his side, bare knees dragging and grazing across the concrete floor.
“Mr Stark, I have reason to believe you’ve sold me a lemon.”
“My mistake,” he grits out between clenched teeth. “Could I at least get some pants here? That wind is ruining my well-earned name.”
“You did that yourself, Mr Stark. Now, if I recall correctly, I said I would destroy the United States for not cooperating with me, which is precisely what I intend on doing.”
He raises his hand and it’s then that another voice sounds from behind him.
“Don’t move, or I’ll shoot.”
Loki ignores them, turning around, dragging Tony with him.
“Agent Coulson? How’s the wife and kids? Safe, I hope.”
“I’ll do it.”
“If you were going to, you would have done it already.”
Coulson fires a shot, scratching it over Loki’s shoulder, just enough to rip through his outer coat, but not far enough down to touch his skin.
“I won’t say it again.”
“Hi, Phil,” Tony begins, conversationally. “Sorry for being so underdressed; you know how it goes.”
Coulson tilts his head as if to say he knows exactly how it goes, especially when it comes to Tony.
“I thought it had been too quiet around here lately, so I came to check on you. Jarvis told me everything. Everything, even the things I didn’t want to know.”
“Not my finest hour, I’ll admit, but it was definitely an hour. My god, he has some stamina and a few dirty tricks up his sleeves.”
Loki tightens his fingers in Tony’s hair, tipping his head back further, prompting him to close both hands around Loki’s wrist and tug.
“Ow,” he deadpans. “That hurts a little.”
Loki’s grip doesn’t loosen, but he glances down at the man at his side and wonders if it’s really worth it. He lets out a sigh and looks between the two mortals, watching as Coulson reaches the hand without the gun into his pocket, pulling out a pair of handcuffs.
“Those’ll hold him,” Tony says facetiously. “You do realise he’s the God of Mischief, don’t you?”
Loki’s heard enough. There are always other options, he thinks, Tony just happened to be the easiest at the time, now he’s just a hassle. With a flick of his wrist, he binds them both with thick rope, ignoring the clatter of Coulson’s gun as it falls to the ground. He crouches at Tony’s side and leans in close, making sure he can hear him above the noise of the ocean.
“If I see you again, Mr Stark, I will make you wish you were never born.” He presses his hand to Tony’s bare hip and watches as he writhes and swears; when he pulls his palm away, there’s an image of a snake branded onto his skin, the mark red and irritated.
“Mr Stark, Agent Coulson,” he says, nodding in farewell as he stands and blinks himself out of existence, far far away from the Californian coast.