Chapter Text
At first Tony thinks Loki forgot their anniversary. It wouldn’t be the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last. Years go by with blistering speed these days, with four kids and three businesses to manage. But when he steps into their bedroom to find the furniture shoved into the corners and a large exercise mat with a wrestling ring on it, he figures Loki remembered just fine.
Eyeing Loki’s tape wrapped wrists and black compression shorts, he steps into the ring and asks the obligatory question.
“What is this?”
“What does it look like?” Loki replies with faux-innocence.
“Uh, Million Dollar Baby?”
Frowning slightly, his partner stands and dusts off his hands.
“I thought Hunger Games.” he says, pausing for effect. “The first one, I mean, with the training segment.”
“You wanna fight me?”
“I want to conquer you.” Loki boasts. Wispy magic crawls up Tony’s body, stripping him to his boxer briefs. Cheeky bastard.
“No magic.”
Loki cracks his knuckles. “No knees or elbows, I’ve seen your idea of honorable combat.”
“You sure you want to do this?”
“Positive.” Loki takes a swing at Tony’s head that’s close enough to rustle his hair. He dodges. Unbalanced from the recoil, he tries to grab Loki’s arm and the squirrely punk slips free.
“You break my nose and we’re gonna have a real fight.” Tony warns, setting up his guard. Loki laughs like the threat makes him want to do it more. It probably does. Risk addiction and all that.
“I would fix you right away.” Loki promises, voice sweet as he takes another swing.
This time he manages to get a lock on Loki’s elbow, twisting it behind his back. He inhales sharply at the twinge of his joints.
“Slaps only or we’re done.”
“I’m only playing.” Loki huffs.
“And I’m telling you the game. Nothing that would need a spell to heal.”
“Yes, alright.” Loki sighs, finally tapping out.
Tony shakes out his hands and hops on his toes to get the feel of moving. Loki ties up his hair. The atmosphere shifts once they’re both ready, and they settle into their stances.
Loki steps right, and he matches. Tunnel vision feels like any other fight, but this time his focus is trained on Loki’s outstretched hands and his shuffling steps.
Air shifts and he braces for impact. Loki slips inside his guard and gets him around the neck. Pulling down hard, he matches the clinch with his own neck grab and then it's his strength against Loki's. As the shorter guy, it’s not where he wants to be. A heel kicks into his knee and that's it, he's on the mat.
The landing is messy, a mad scramble of limbs where Loki lands off balance. Skin slaps against skin. It's matter of reflex to throw up his hips and roll them over, to put a hand to Loki's neck and push. A harsh slap blurs his vision. The world rocks. He's still got his arm under Loki's neck, so he fights to get his other hand around and squeezes.
Maintaining the stranglehold, he plants his feet and leans in, pulling an appreciative noise out of Loki that has no place in a battle. There's a bulge growing in his shorts that Tony has come to expectfrom these encounters, so it's with a certain smugness that he bites Loki's ear and rocks their hips together. Loki thrashes, teeth bared in something caught between a snarl and smile. Tony waits, constricting his neck and watching his face turn pink as he refuses to tap out.
"You're not doing so great. Is this one of those games where it's always my turn?"
Loki worms his hand inside the choke, and the next thing Tony knows he's got a pair of surprisingly strong thighs hooked around his neck. Loki throws him to his back and lands with his hips on his shoulders.
"You will earn my deference, mortal." Loki pants, grinning down at him with a lightheaded leer.
"I think I'm good where I am." Tony quips, because he has a face full of Loki’s junk and that’s never a problem for him. Loki grabs him by the chin.
“Your mouth will be the end of you someday.” Yanking his head up, Loki and grinds into his face. As if he needs to be coerced. Sucking that cock might as well be a hobby on his resumé.
Laving open mouthed kisses along the stretchy fabric, he splays his hands up Loki's back and pulls him closer. Kisses turn into licks and very quickly into suction. Loki shudders. Eyes sliding low, his attention waivers and Tony curls his legs around Loki's waist, heaving him face down and scrambling on his back.
It's a ride reminiscent of a mechanical bull, and he briefly imagines lassoing Loki like a cowboy. He doesn't know shit about ropes, but he's starting to think he should. Because damn, it would be nice to fuck him with both hands free. For now he sticks to what he knows, twisting those long arms behind Loki's back and sitting on his calves. He's pinned, every limb tied, and the exodus of tension is so pronounced Tony can actually feel it. Loki sags, slumping to the mat in a way that must tweak his shoulders.
“Someday.” Tony parrots. Hooking an elbow under Loki's chin, he plasters himself to his back and tugs his shorts off. The skin of Loki's back is sweaty, trembling from exertion and it gives Tony that snow globe feeling again. Like there’s something happening between them that is so unreasonably delicate. Loki’s secret gooey center drawn to the surface and exposed. He rolls his hips in an imitation of what’s to come and Loki whines, arches his back and matches his rhythm.
“But it looks like I won today.”
Loki rolls over and pulls him close. Each of their separate forces pushes and pulls the other into a perfect harmonic rhythm of soft sighs and deep groans, grinding and kissing until Tony feels like he’s floating. Pleasure zings up his spine as he thrusts into Loki’s heat. Adrenaline checked his arousal until now, but the contact has his cock twitching and filling out until it’s torture to be trapped in his underwear.
He tries to sit up, but Loki clamps his arms around his waist, lips hovering over the tender skin under his arm.
“Move, I want to get these off.”
Loki bites.
“Ow, fuck-” Tony hisses, grabbing Loki by the hair and yanking his head back. Of course that’s exactly what he wants, the psycho. He moans and jerks his hips, smiling like the spoiled kid he is.
“Fucking brat,” he laughs, smacking Loki on the thigh. “Can’t just have a good time can you? You gotta piss me off first.”
“Yes, Mister Stark.” Loki says, clawing at his shoulders and rutting even harder when he feels Tony respond. He puts a forearm over his throat. Loki tries to wiggle his knees over his shoulder again, but Tony knows better this time. Untangling fingers from messy hair, he holds Loki’s leg to the floor and puts his knee on the other one.
He’s out of hands after that, which is just typical because he wants nothing more than to have Loki spread and helpless while he stretches him open. Ropes, definitely ropes. Suddenly all those leather harnesses and cuffs make perfect sense and he wants to buy about five hundred pairs of each.
Pinching hard with his teeth, he gives Loki a taste of his own medicine. Loki kicks, feet slapping on the mat and eyes glassy as he chokes back a gasp. His cock is so hard it’s turning red, leaking freely on his stomach and Tony finds himself licking at the puffy red marks appearing on Loki’s neck. He lashes out, beating Tony’s back, but also squeezing his legs around his waist.
Here they are again, at the intersection of yes and no. Loki thrashes, he yelps, but there’s a steel rod poking him in the stomach and an upward tilt to his mouth like his dreams are coming true. So Tony claims him in the kind of kiss he never let himself have before Loki. The kind where he chews too hard and pushes too deep and keeps going, going, going until the body under him melts in surrender.
Loki’s arms stop hitting and start raking, drawing lines of fuck yes please up his back and somehow the sting drags him up into a simpler frame of mind, a primal state where all his concerns level out in the instinctive balance of power, control, protection, need. The hands come to his hair, and he mirrors them, pressing Loki into the mat.
“Is this what you wanted, Slugger?” he pants, sucking Loki’s lips until they’re red and swollen and so goddamn pretty. Slick and shiny as rock candy. “Got this all set up just so i can remind you whose in charge?”
“Yessir.” Loki slurs, gasping when Tony lets him breath again.
“Spoiled pretty little-” he grunts, struggling with his own confining briefs. He’s a goddamn engineer but that basic scrap of cotton and elastic is like a brain teaser right now. It’s not Loki, or Loki’s lips or his legs or his eyes or his ass, so it’s incomprehensible. A goddamn supernatural mystery. “Always get what you want, don’t you?”
“Always.” Loki grins, all teeth and dark promise under sex drunk eyes. “My king, conquered. All mine.”
That sounds backwards, but it’s completely true. Loki’s got his reins, got him trained and addicted to this particular brand of crazy. Nails rake down his scalp and he puts a hand to Loki’s throat. The answering look is pure trust, breathless and wanting. Fucking crazy bastard, his Loki.
“Two taps means stop. And you better do it, I swear to god-”
“I will-” Loki gasps, chest heaving, “I will.”
Tony finds the oil with his other hand, and Loki lurches. That red mouth gapes open when he slides his finger inside, slow so they both feel the stretch. Loki wastes limited air moaning his name, and he wants to devour him whole, wants to possess every inch of skin and rewrite the pathways of his mind until there are little traces of him everywhere.
A push on the neck, a brush of his fingertips, and it’s like he can see Loki’s soul creeping out his mouth. He’s slipping away bit by bit, eyes hazy and ecstatic. Nobody loves a dangling precipice like him. Easing his grip, he allows Loki catch his breath and adds another finger, and then another. He doesn’t have any condoms but they’re both clean, and as far as he knows even Loki can’t grow a baby in his ass. The line of Tony’s cock along Loki’s seam makes him tremble and he rushes to pull his knees to his chest and offer himself. Arousal surges through Tony at the display, the hunger.
Loki’s ready for him, shiny with lube and quivering. For once he’s completely relaxed, muscles soft as putty. He trades his fingers for his cock and holds them on the brink until Loki whines.
“What’s your safeword?” he asks, a question ritualized to the point of being a turn on. A promise of illicit, unsafe things that they both want.
“Jotunheim.” Loki rasps. He grabs him by the leg and throws him face down with a smack of sweaty skin. Loki catches himself, arms bent by his head and Tony puts a hand to the back of his neck.
“Stay.” he orders. And immediately knows it's a mistake. While Loki had been eager to comply moments ago, the opportunity to be a shit snaps him right out of it. He tries to crawl away. Tony drags him back by the hips. If that’s how he wants to play it, then he can deal with the consequences. Spreading his cheeks, Tony drives in with one deep push. A bony elbow flies toward his face so he twists that into a bind too, holding it to the small of Loki’s back and quivering when Loki clenches around him.
The first thrusts are jarring, uncoordinated, but the moans tell him it’s good. Loki struggles and bucks, but it only makes the pleasure more consuming, interwoven with a heady rush of authority. Domination is a hell of a drug, like the most intense high rushing through his veins as he overpowers Loki’s struggling and pushes in to the hilt.
“Is this what you wanted, brat?” he asks again, because he likes making Loki say it. He likes the sheepish smile that slips out when Loki has to deny an obvious truth. Strings of alien words pour out his shiny lips, and he drives out and back in hard enough to send a clapping sound to the rafters.
“English, Loki. Isn’t this what you wanted?”
“Y-yes, Mister Stark-”
“Then speak. Show me some fucking enthusiasm.”
The hand on Loki’s throat walks up to his hair, and Loki mewls louder, angles his hips up.
“Hit me, please.” Loki says through clenched teeth. “Please, sir.”
“Nhm, good boy. Tell me how you want it.”
He has to let go of Loki’s arm to smack his ass, but the flush of red and the swallowed cry are more than worth it.
“H-Harder-” Loki gasps.
The sound of his hand clapping Loki bounces off the walls and his own arousal becomes a roar in his ears. The answering flinch is intoxicating, tight enough around his cock to steal his breath as he drives in.
“Say my name, say my fucking name-”
“H-Harder, Mister Stark.”
“Fuck, like that.” he pants, getting dizzy. Loki’s ass looks amazing split around his cock, shaking from the force of his thrusts and meeting him every time. He alternates slapping his ass and reaching around to jack him off, and Loki squeezes around him at every flash of sensation, good or bad.
He folds himself over Loki’s long body, wrapping his arms around his waist and his neck, holding tight and wanting him so much. Wanting to make Loki his, inside and out, in ways that can’t be erased. The thrusts turn slow and rough, his hand stroking Loki to his climax. It’s an easy release, like the last note in a song. Not at all what he expected, but Loki moans like it’s the best he’s ever had.
He’s still buried inside, his hindbrain begging him to get on with it, but Loki is dazed and pliant and he wants to savor him. Resting back on his heels, he pulls Loki up with him, holds him tight to his chest and sucks hickies into his shoulder blades. Feathering touches up his belly and over his nipples, he supports Loki while he floats.
Scratching through the wiry hair on his stomach and over the single freckle on his hip, he treasures his awkward, bony demigod in all his quirks. It’s like his sex drive has been rewired, totally changed from his younger days when he thought the pinnacle of beauty was a smokey eye and a bouncy pair of double Ds. Now nothing compares to these over-long limbs and this square, tight little butt because they’re parts of the most remarkable being he’s ever know. So many contradictions stuck together into one person. Wits, compassion and caustic, unmitigated bitterness.
“Thank you.” Loki breathes, holding Tony’s wrists and treating him to a deep, sensual rock of his hips.
Tony mimics it, caressing Loki inside and out. “What’s your color?”
Loki squeezes his hands, pulling his arms tighter.
“Thank you.” Loki slurs.
“Answer me.”
Loki shifts, works his ass into a shallow rhythm. “Want to...”
“Want to what? Use your words.”
“Want to serve you, sir.”
“Then get your ass to work.” he orders, low in his throat, and his pretty little god complies, his eager body working independent of a mind that’s a million miles away. Up and down in a steady beat, tired but trying his best.
“Arch your back, fuck that’s it. Faster...faster. Good boy.”
Loki lets out a one of his falsetto moans, high and through his nose.
“Yours.” he groans, and shit that word fucks him up. He loses himself, moving on pure instinct. Although he wanted Loki to do it himself, he can’t help plowing in and setting the pace. Passive isn’t his skill, even if the image of Loki whoring himself out for Tony’s pleasure has him steadily creeping toward the edge. He fucks him fast and shallow so he can see his hole opening for him, taking him down and pulling the pleasure out of him.
“That’s right, thats-” ung “-so good. So good.”
“Yours, yours-” Loki says, like he’s a scratched record skipping on one word. Jerking him close, Tony loses his rhythm, rising to his knees and giving it to Loki without restraint. The total control warps his pleasure into something more, something dark and rich and all the more addictive because it’s freely given, a token of the hidden generosity Loki shows only to him.
Contact amplifies the caress of skin on vulnerable skin. It’s a mark in it’s own way, like the welts on his neck or the handprints on his ass. It’s base and primal and possessive as fuck, but spilling inside fills his mind with a chorus of mine mine mine . He stays buried as long as he can, as close as two people can get, and bites Loki’s back until it’s a canvas of toothy autographs.
Committing it all to memory, he runs his hands over protruding hip bones and adorable little nipples. Tastes the salt of his sweat and inhales his musky, radically un-human scent. Sucking at the bite marks, he inscribes Loki’s trembling gasp on the inside of his skull along with the awed pleasure sound of him licking Loki’s ear. And then, shortly after, he adds an addendum for the shy, embarrassed noise of him touching parts Loki doesn’t like about himself. His pointy elbows and scraggly chest hair, the barely noticeable belly fat born from a steady diet of stealing Tony’s food.
“Come to bed.” he says, exhausted.
Loki mumbles, curling up on the mats.
“Up. Come on.”
“Yours.” Loki shakes his head.
“You can be mine in bed.” he says, drained enough that just rolling Loki onto his back is a challenge. His partner clings.
"Please, Mister Stark." Loki whispers, kissing him. He picks him up and stumbles to bed, laying Loki down and abandoning any plans to clean up at the sound of his crying. It’s not sadness, not exclusively, but Loki is deep and emotions sometimes bubble up. Speech is beyond Loki, so Tony wraps him up and lays on him while he floats. Keeps him safe and restricted, sucking at his neck and nipples and anywhere else that makes him sigh and moan.
They both hate being still, and yet that’s what this is about. Trapped in the holding cell, they started weaving something between them, and all these years later he’s still searching for the threads. Trying to tie them in a way that will hold him and Loki together despite how life insists on pulling them apart. He coaxes another orgasm out of Loki just because he can and afterward his baby boy's eyes are more focused, his breathing less steady.
He seems dazed, poking absently at the spread of pulsing bite marks on his chest.
“How do you feel?” Tony asks, unsure himself. A little unnerved by Loki’s fussing. The blank stare, familiar as it is, doesn’t help. Loki summons a water bottle with magic and cracks open the lid. Sips.
“Was I good?” he asks, eventually.
“The best.” Tony blurts, distracted by Loki’s down turned lip, by the way he’s inspecting the damage with narrow eyes. “How do you feel?”
Loki grows horns and fumbles for Tony’s hand, presses it to his lines with an annoyed expression. Stops.
“Norns Tony, you really must stop with this guilt.” Loki rumbles low in his throat.
“Just making sure-” Tony says. “You weren’t talking so well by the end.”
“It was good, fool." Loki sighs, gulping down the rest of the water with a crack of plastic.
“Good.” Tony says, finding himself strangely complacent. Flush with success. He holds Loki close and does some euphoric floating of his own, enjoying the flurried mess of thoughts revolving around the words ‘we’ and ‘us’ and ‘good.’
“Good.” Loki agrees, eyes slipping shut in a doze.