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Tony is very sure that someone—he suspects Clint or Bruce—has spiked his punch. His punch meaning his regular evening glass (okay, bottle) of whiskey. If it was the latter, he hopes that Bruce used the good hash.
So far, the trip's been good.
There is a naked merman on his bed.
Now, Tony doesn't really know all the technical details of merpeople, but he does know that 1) merpeople don't exist, 2) they are actually always rather naked, and 3) they're usually found in bodies of water. His bedsheets are a nice navy blue this night, but it's not even a waterbed.
He is also quite sure that Loki is not meant to be in the Tower or a merman. Maid. Person. Loki seems to be shifting in between multiple sexes fluidly, his—now, her?—tail flicking lazily at Tony in a come hither motion.
Tony thinks, flexible, and drops the bottle onto the carpet. (It's stoppered; it's fine. There is a naked merperson—mer-Loki in his bed, for chrissake, shush.)
"Hi," he says, eloquently, and receives an arched eyebrow in return. Tony's hallucination of Mer-Loki has apparently decided on his familiar, everyday looks, but it's (mostly) good to know that Loki is attractive to Tony in any form. Got you, the pouting mouth seems to say, and Tony makes a mental note to thank Bruce in the morning.
He unbuttons his trousers, and fumbles with his boxers, confused when Loki frowns deeply. When Tony wraps a hand around his cock and begins to jerk off, standing right by the bed, Loki cocks his head and slaps his tail forward, a slightly damp force behind Tony's knees that pushes Tony onto the sheets.
That feels solid—Tony's not tripping, unless Bruce went all out on the hash. Or perhaps Tony's dead somewhere and he's in a coma. Maybe he's in a dream—he's seen Inception, okay, he knows the technology exists somewhere. Or maybe he's in the afterlife. (Hey, there are actual-to-god gods in his life. There is a revived super-soldier called Steve who doesn't swear. There is Banner.)
"You're real," Tony gasps, hands gliding up the shiny scales, and Loki shivers in response.
"Yes, you crude imbecile," Loki says after a moment, with a disparaging sniff. Tony doesn't buy it for an instant; Loki's pupils are blown wide, and he's flushed prettily down to his chest. That's when Tony realizes he's humping Loki's gorgeously green tail.
It should turn him off, but at least Loki doesn't smell of fish. Tony blames the half-finished bottle of whiskey. And the sight of Loki splayed out on his bed. The fact that Tony hasn't even thought about why the Avengers' newest 'consultant' is a merman lying (ha!) so seductively in wait for Tony is a problem.
The first step to regain some sort of addled control, Tony figures, is to stop humping. Loki does not look at all pleased at Tony's control, which is rude. He flicks his tail again, and Tony is jolted a ways up Loki's lean body. Tony gets the message; he sits, straddling Loki's hips. He's still in the suit he wore for the Avengers meeting; they were discussing Loki's probation evaluation, of all things—Tony had nothing much to say except for Loki being not too bad on the eyes and good with his hands, thereby earning himself several looks from Steve, Clint, and Thor at the implication. (Thor's was, well, thunderous until Tony assured him that he was not banging Thor's brother. Well, the past is past.) Tony's dick is hanging obscenely out of his slate-grey trousers, which is slightly embarrassing, though he really, really likes the way Loki's looking at him.
"So how did this," Tony indicates Loki's merperson half, "happen, exactly?"
Loki, the bastard, reaches to curl cool lean fingers around Tony's cock, and says, "Do you actually want to get into the details right now, Stark?"
"No." It doesn't matter, actually. Nope. Probably Loki being a shit, as usual, and fucking with Tony. Maybe Amora happened. What truly matters is that Tony is avidly fucking himself into the tight grasp of Loki's fist.
What matters even more is that Loki takes his hand away just as Tony's five seconds away from coming.
Tony whines. He has not one iota of shame in his body, particularly when Loki eyes him like that. "Like you're gonna eat me," he blurts out. (No shame, no compunction. None. Fuck you very much.)
Loki purses his lips in thought. "I rather think I shall," he drawls, and Tony doesn't give a fucking damn if Loki blasts him across the room; he leans down and bites Loki hard on the collarbone.
The following happens: 1) his sensitive cock drags against Loki's toned stomach, 2) Loki bucks upwards, the motion shoving Tony forward and flat onto Loki, and 3) Tony's dick is squashed in between the friction of both their torsos.
Naturally, Tony comes. He shudders into the crook of Loki's neck, nibbling on the skin as Loki makes little mewling sounds in his throat.
"Pathetic mortal," Loki croons rather fondly, as Tony sits back up. His chest is splattered with Tony's come, and so is Tony's very much ruined suit.
As a result, Tony gets naked as quickly as possible, considering that his vision is still slightly blurry (from his orgasm more than the drink now). He looks down at Loki's once-again smirking face, and decides that it needs something more. Tony swipes a finger through the white on Loki's chest and presses it to his mouth, watching with wide eyes when Loki laps at the come with little licks of his pink tongue.
"Jesus," Tony whispers, feeling his cock stir in arousal. (Only a stir, mind you; Tony's not exactly young, or a god, like some people. He needs time to get it up again. Then again, Loki's helping to move things along pretty fucking fast.)
Loki finishes his thorough cleaning of Tony's index finger, and leans back as if to silently demand for another dollop of come. His tail fins tickle at Tony's back insistently, and Tony happily complies, feeding Loki the rest of the mess, and kissing him just to make sure he swallows it all. Now he knows why Loki prefers the name Silvertongue.
Tony's visibly upset when they break apart. Loki's mer-ness is gone. Namely the tail. Tony had ideas.
"You broke the curse," Loki says, with a peck to Tony's lips, as if that's in any way an adequate explanation, and rolls his hips upwards to rub his cock against Tony's ass.
On the plus side, he's currently sprawled on top of a very naked, very aroused Loki.
Still, Tony splutters out a "What?" and moves back into a straddling position on Loki's hips.
Loki hums as he touches the skin around Tony's arc reactor. "Amora didn't take too kindly to my, as she calls it, defection to the Other Side," he says. (Tony mentally awards himself a point for that guess.) "I regret telling her about that Midgardian fairy tale."
Tony's mind shorts out just a tad as Loki begins to rut against his ass with fingers digging deep into Tony's skin, thumbs spreading the cheeks apart. On a particularly vicious thrust, the head of Loki's cock catches against Tony's hole, and he unapologetically claws down Loki's sides, groaning when Loki outright snarls and tries to do it again.
Loki has brilliant aim.
The next few minutes are filled with ragged breaths; Tony grinds down as hard as he can as Loki thrusts up, biting his lip raw in order to stop himself asking for more, because he can just feel Loki waiting for him to beg, and Tony is not giving in even if he knows how good the sex would be. But Loki's level of patience has never been high, especially when it comes to Tony (sometimes even more so than Thor), and so Tony feels a sense of accomplishment when Loki moans, throwing his head back against the pillows, and comes all over Tony's exposed hole.
Dazed, Tony mutters, "I win," and closes his eyes to savor the sensation of Loki slowly rubbing his softening dick against the come splattered onTony's ass.
"Verily," Loki says, not sounding upset at all. Instead, when Tony opens his eyes, he's looking at Tony with a critical expression. "I should make you clean my cock."
Tony's own cock twitches, that much more hard now. It's a record. "Well, Reindeer Games, you said you'd eat me, and my ass is covered with your come, so by right you should clean me up."
"I believe we can come to some sort of arrangement," Loki purrs, and pulls Tony down for a kiss. Like before, it's dirty and wet, but this time it's Loki who pushes a white-covered finger into Tony's mouth; his other hand is busy rubbing slick come against Tony's hole.
"I want your mouth," the two of them say in unison once they've pulled apart. Tony and Loki both snicker; Tony fervently hopes that he remembered to lock the door, and that Jarvis is (and has been) recording.
"By the way," Tony says conversationally, as Loki bossily moves them into position with Tony on top, "you can turn yourself into a merperson, right?" (No shame, remember? And ideas. Ideas can never be denied.)
Loki places a gentle nip onto Tony's left buttcheek. Tony groans, anticipating one on his right, and wiggles his ass because he can. (And, okay, because he's itching for a smack.) "I promise to show you how merpeople copulate. But later. In your pool."
Tony can only stutter out some syllables on the verge of becoming words like awesome and babe and holy fucking hell in response because Loki has just applied his dexterous tongue to the task of cleaning up his own come from Tony's ass. Loki, Tony is beginning to learn, is extremely conscientious.
Well, at least he can bring that up in the next evaluation meeting without Thor going apeshit on him again.
That is, if he can suppress the memory of Loki licking a languid stripe up Tony's cock and balls.