because apparently I do that now. (hella, darling, I love you, but your url is oddly appropriate right about now)
His arms are warm, but they make Tony feel as if they’re made of cold steel.
There have been many instances in Tony’s life where a little voice in the back of his mind is nagging, chattering, screaming at him that what he’s doing is wrong.
The most recent few instances have usually been to do with the Iron Man suit - announcing on national TV that he is Iron Man might have been satisfying in the moment, but the shit-storm that had descended after (not to mention disapproving looks from both Pepper and the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent… Carlton? Coulson?) had almost killed his buzz.
It was an adrenaline rush.
His entire life he’d been chasing this feeling, and he’d thought, when he’d discovered that his Mk-II armour could fly so beautifully, that he’d found it. Then, as that rush had worn off somewhat, he’d flown himself to the Middle East in the Mk III and taken out a large chunk of an international terrorist group.
Of course, then he’d had a few days of unintentional adrenaline rush during which one of his oldest friends tried (and very nearly succeeded) to kill him.
Not even six months later, having upgraded his armour and, in his own words, ‘privatised world peace’, he had discovered that the very device embedded in his chest to keep him alive was, in fact killing him. That was another kind of adrenaline rush entirely, and perhaps explained the idiotic things he’d done during those few tumultuous weeks.
Acting as a ‘consultant’ for the Avengers was supposed to be a laugh, a way to annoy that stick-up-his-ass Coulson and possibly get some more face-time as Iron Man, especially now that he’d fixed the power problem.
Still, he found himself bored.
It was all well and good to be a genius-billionaire-playboy-philanthropist, but when your girlfriend spends most of her time on the other side of the country thanks to her job as CEO of your Fortune 500 company, boredom is bound to set in.
And there’s only so many ways you can masturbate without risking serious injury or discovery in an awkward position.
So, when Loki turned up in the penthouse, Tony hadn’t been able to help himself.
Tony can never help himself. He can rarely convince another human being (aside from Pepper, Rhodey or Happy) to ever help him, either. But this was different. This was an angry demigod from another planet who had chosen Tony’s penthouse to appear in, all black hair, leather and intense stare.
And because Tony Stark is Tony Stark, after some banter, some menacing and a few threats, he’d smirked at Loki and downed his whiskey in a gulp, deliberately tilting his head back to expose the column of his throat, advertising that hey, I don’t care if you’re the most dangerous man on the planet, I’ll happily break eye contact and expose a vulnerability.
It has been mentioned, yes, that Tony has no sense of self-preservation?
Loki stared at him as the man paraded his mortal form around the room, daring to taunt him and then smirk… some people just needed to be taught manners.
The moment Stark broke eye contact he moved, faster than the human eye could follow, a black-green-and-gold blur in the penthouse and Tony found himself flush against the bar, the copper rail digging into the centre of his back and the weight of the God of Mischief pinning him there, one arm around Tony’s waist and the other forearm pressed to his throat.
He could still breathe, that wasn’t the issue, it was the fact that Loki’s breath was cold that threw him. It ghosted along his jaw and Tony tried to stop himself, failed dismally, and shuddered.
"You are different from the others, Stark." Loki whispered, making the hairs on Tony’s neck stand up as his cool lips brushed his ear. Tony still had the whiskey glass in his hand, above Loki’s head, but his brain was kind of jammed because there was a six-foot demigod crowding him against the bar and murmuring in his ear and damn this was not good because Loki was moving, shifting one leg between Tony’s thighs.
"You crave danger, thrive on the rush of surviving against impossible odds." Loki’s mouth had moved, lower, and his lips were on Tony’s neck now, if he’d been able to tip his head further back he would have, and if not for the forearm against his Adams’ apple, he would have moaned.
"I know you, Stark. Better than you perhaps know yourself, because the moment I appeared here, you did not cower, or run away… no… you were amused, terrified and-" the leg shifted and this time Tony did actually moan, because Loki had come into contact with the one part of his body screaming for attention, "- aroused. Who’d have thought, Iron Man, turned on by someone putting him in his place?"
The little voice, the one that sounded suspiciously like Pepper most of the time but lately had shifted down a register and was more like Fury, was really clamouring for attention, now, it was getting very hard to ignore it, until Loki’s tongue did something indecent at the juncture of Tony’s jaw and neck and the voice was muted like so much bad music.
"Oh, god, yes…" he managed, barely, to whisper from beneath the constriction of his throat.
"Good." the word was spoken low, directly into Tony’s ear, and he felt it with his entire being, the rumble in the god’s chest, the play of cold air against his face, he tried to move a little, twist, get more contact, but the arm around his waist and the other against his neck held him still.
He dropped the glass, and it broke into a thousand pieces on the hardwood floor with a resounding crash.
There was a flash of green and Tony had no time to react, Loki’s hand was on his throat and he was moving, no, flying - not good, he’s not supposed to fly without the suit! - and he hit something that was solid for the barest moment before the impact breaks the window and there is glass in the air around him as he falls.