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It just had to be raining.
Tony doesn’t normally mind the rain, the soft patter as it drips against large, wall sized windows, a pleasant distraction during interminable board meetings. This isn’t a light summer shower, though. This is drenching, soaked to the bone the minute you step outside rain. It falls in sheets, running off the rim of his umbrella.
With his free hand, he yanks up the collar of his coat, protecting his neck from the biting wind, made that much colder by the damp. He misses California - the warmth, the sunshine. Everything in New York is dull, grey, and cold.
Well, almost everything.
Streets are brightly lit, here, light pollution and all that. It’s impossible to see stars, but very easy to spot bright green eyes.
Loki, he notices, doesn’t have an umbrella, but he doesn’t seem to need one. The rain just sort of parts around him, not so much as a drop touching the god of chaos and messing up his perfect hair and perfect clothes. His appearance is decidedly unchaotic, and Tony isn’t sure if he appreciates the irony or not.
“You came,” Loki says, sounding like he’s trying to sound bored. He might have been really good at fooling Thor and the other Avengers (*cough*Steve*cough*) but Tony knows a thing or two about lies, knows how to fake a smile, fake interest when bored out of his gourd or fake boredom to get someone’s interest up. So he knows that Loki, for all his attempts at causal, is surprised to see him there.
And why not? It isn’t every day that you agree to meet your enemy (who threw you out a fucking window, by the way) in the middle of Times Square. So Loki is surprised, but Tony’s kind of surprised too. So he lies, shrugs his shoulder like it’s no big deal.
“Didn’t have anything better to do tonight,” he hedges and Loki’s eyes narrow. He knows that Tony is lying, now, and so what? It puts them on even ground, levels the playing field, things that Tony doesn’t care about, except when the ground is uneven and the playing field is not level and it all works to his advantage.
There’s no advantage here, at least not for him. He doesn’t have his armor with him and he’s standing face to face with a very powerful alien who uses some kind of ancient alien magic. An alien who has tried to kill him and his friends - they’re kind of his friends, as close to friends as he has, anyway - multiple times. Not for the first time he’s questioning himself, wondering why in hell he agreed to meet Loki. But he knows the answer, even before he asks himself the question.
He’s intrigued. There’s something about the god or alien or sorcerer (and maybe he’s all three, or maybe he’s none and it doesn’t really matter anyway) that catches Tony’s attention. He isn’t used to new things that don’t come from his own mind and his own workshop, and Loki is decidedly new.
“So, what did you want?” Tony asks when it becomes clear that Loki’s waiting for *him* to say something, do something. Hell, for all he knows, Loki’s waiting for him to run away screaming. It could happen. Tony isn’t sure, yet.
Loki doesn’t say anything, just steps closer, into Tony’s personal space. The umbrella is suddenly superfluous, because whatever spell Loki has around himself has now encompassed Tony, too. It’s warmer, Tony notices and he feels like it shouldn’t be, like it should be colder, since Loki’s apparently a Frost Giant, according to the latest information that Thor got from his dad. But it’s warm, and Tony’s grateful for that. It reminds him of Malibu, and he wishes it didn’t, because he could almost forget that he’s in New York and the guy staring at him with intense green eyes is the enemy and he needs to be wary and not wanton.
“Hey, so, not that I don’t appreciate the sudden burst of summer bu-”
There’s a mouth on his, cutting off his words and a tongue slipping into his mouth, silencing him further. There’s a moment, a brief, clear moment when he tells himself he’s going to push Loki away, that this is wrong, and he needs to push Loki away and run like hell.
The umbrella drops from his hand, and his arms are reaching, wrapping around Loki and pulling him closer. Kissing he knows. Kissing he can do, be it with women, men, or alien gods, and maybe the playing field is just a little uneven in his favor because he’s good at this, damnit.
His tongue curls around Loki’s, sliding against it, pushing it out so he can explore Loki’s mouth, taste him. His fingers run through perfect black hair, tangling in it, tugging and pulling so he can control the kiss, control the angle. And there, he can nibble lightly on Loki’s lower lip, tugging, biting harder, hard enough to bruise, and Loki moans softly, gripping his arms tightly, drawing him closer, still.
Their bodies are flush together, fitting pretty well, and he wonders if Loki planned it like that or if this is just a happy accident, or if he’s over-thinking things. He’s definitely over-thinking things, because there’s a gorgeous man in his arms, and he can feel Loki’s cock, hard in his perfect dark denim jeans, pushing against his hip. Just feeling that, knowing that that’s from one (albeit one absolutely amazing) kiss has Tony hard, too.
It’s on the tip of his tongue to suggest they go back to his place, or, better still, to a hotel where no Avengers could walk in and catch them. He’s about to say it when he’s suddenly being soaked through by cold, cold rain.
Loki pushed him away. Tony’s offended, for a moment, but then he sees, really sees what’s before him. The mussed hair, the rumpled jacket, the flush of color on pale cheeks and, best of all, wide green eyes that can’t hide their surprise anymore. Tony would be offended, but he’s too turned on, because *he did that.* Now Loki looks like a god of chaos. Chaos and sex, and Tony’s starting to think maybe he will make that offer after all.
“Don’t speak,” Loki orders and Tony keeps his mouth shut, not because he wants to, but because he feels like he has to. He’s not one for taking orders (just ask Fury) but this could be magic, and he tells himself that Loki’s making him do it and he doesn’t have a choice.
“This is a mistake,” Loki’s saying, and that’s ironic, considering that Tony was thinking that exact same thing *before* the kissing. But Tony wants to tell him no, it isn’t a mistake, because something that feels as right as kissing Loki felt couldn’t be a mistake. And maybe it was just hormones or pheromones or maybe it was just Loki’s moans, but Tony still wants more.
Loki’s eyes narrow like maybe he can read Tony’s mind. Tony thinks the dirtiest thoughts he can, just in case. Loki on his knees, sucking Tony’s cock. Tony bending over the end of a bed while Loki fucks him from behind. Loki bent his half, heels on Tony’s shoulders while Tony drives into him, over and over.
The thoughts don’t seem to have an effect on Loki, but they are making Tony hard. Harder. Who the hell is he kidding, he’s so hard he could drill a hole through a brick with just his dick and he shifts uncomfortably, trying, subtly, to adjust himself. That, of course, Loki notices, green eyes travelling down Tony’s body, taking it all in, leaving Tony feeling incredibly exposed.
Loki licks his lips.
Tony grins, does a little victory dance on the inside.
“So, my place or yours?” he asks, cackling as he feels a surge of power surrounding him. It doesn’t matter where they end up at the end of this teleportation. Tony has plans. Lots of plans.
He’s going to start by having Loki suck his cock.