Loki prided himself on his silvertongue in every important aspect in his life. It was a quick thing, could talk him out of the tightest spots and take him to a better place. It helped him to soothe Thor’s anger – only sometimes, admittedly or charm others so delightfully that he knew about their best kept secrets within a few hours, his ears having fallen off and his smile frozen in place, his shoulders stiff from the tense stance but he was still listening –
And of course, there were other things his tongue could do and sometimes managed to surprise even himself. Loki knew from himself he was a quick thinker and he let people know that too because it was something he was better at than Thor but –
He would never tell a single soul he sometimes couldn’t follow his own thinking, getting lost in the heat of the moment, trusted his tongue to get him where he wanted and let everything happen. The ending was always a surprise; sometimes people stared at him ashen, tears collecting in their eyes, other times they wanted to hear more about him at a private dinner or invited him to a different place. It was nice but –
Never would he have expected to have Iron Man open his visor and stare at him with interested eyes after another battle of theirs, frogs still exploding in the distance and he was sure he could hear the Avengers over Iron Man’s comm, asking him what the hell he was doing there. It seemed Iron Man hadn’t known himself, shot Loki only a wink and a leer and then was off again.
Just an hour after the battle had ended and Loki was sitting in his dark armchair, a book in his hands, when the bell rang. The curious thing about this was that Loki swore he did not own one. Maybe he should have expected Stark standing in his doorway, sunglasses still on and a dirty smirk on his face, proclaiming he was here to take on the challenge Loki had issued earlier.
Loki could not remember said challenge but he knew roughly what he’d said and yes –
It was a challenge, making Loki see that Stark could do more than just ‘fling pretty insults with that sharp tongue’ because he wanted to open a panel on the back of the Iron Man suit while Stark was distracted by him.
Of course, Loki’d been raised with manners. There would be no backing out now without appearing rude in front of Stark and so he invited him in, opening the door and stepping aside politely.
The next thing that happened was Stark telling him JARVIS would do things if Loki wasn’t nice to him, then there were lips on his; rough and salty, a hint of peppermint and a hot tongue tracing over his lips. There was nothing that could have prepared Loki for this; only perhaps the heated glint in dark eyes, dipped in arousal and fire.
They shed their clothes like snakes did their skin, quick and effortless. Skin on skin, passion racing through them like bolts and Loki’s hands fisted in his sheet, Stark’s hands roaming over his body and his tongue so delightfully skilled, sliding down Loki’s body with a promising smirk on the plump lips before he buried his tongue deep in Loki and licked him open, Stark’s goatee scratching him in the most delicious of ways.
He felt like he was burning under Stark’s intense lust, from being the one who the hero desired and Loki gasped his name because he felt like he deserved it.
He knew he was walking down a treacherous path, perhaps by himself or maybe leading Stark down it, Loki wasn’t entirely sure. He’d seen that glint he’d been hoping and waiting for with bated breath and it felt like Valhalla, a dance in the drunken air of spilled mead and wine and his head felt light, oh so light as he pulled Stark in for another kiss.
As days turned into weeks, there was no reason to keep meeting and fucking, no doubt that Stark could take whoever he wanted to bed but he chose Loki, again and again. The lure of challenges, the teasing; Loki knew all about it and he kept provoking the other. It was almost as easy as manipulating Thor into doing things, laughably so, and Stark came out as the winner often enough but Loki never felt like he was the loser.
Maybe this was why he didn’t cease his efforts, why he craved having Stark in his rooms and writhing beneath him or rutting above him, why he could not get enough of either. Stark was an aphrodisiac of the worst kind, worming his way into Loki quietly with alarm bells blaring in the dark of the night.
Loki loved it.
“If you don’t continue,” Stark said, his voice sounding hoarse, his hips raised up on a pillow– “I’ll do something you might not like.”
Loki’s lips curved up into a smile at that. There was almost no sound more welcoming to him than Stark’s voice nowadays and he licked over the already abused asshole with the flat side of his tongue before he drew back.
“And what will you do?” he asked, resting his cheek against a trembling thigh. Stark stared at him, as if he were trying to decipher him and solely because of that, Loki turned his head a bit and nipped on the soft skin of Stark’s thigh, eliciting a startled squeak.
“I’m waiting,” he smirked.
“Ask you out for a date.”
A date. Loki snorted at that, before the words started to make sense in his head.
“Beg your pardon?”
“Told you, you wouldn’t like it.”
And Stark looked miserable at that; his mouth was smiling but there was nothing of it to be seen in his eyes.
And Loki didn’t like that. Not, that it was any surprise to him, loving the sound of startled laughter and the wrinkles under his eyes when he made the genius chortle.
“No,” he said, “I think I would like it very much.” He tapped Stark’s thigh thoughtfully. “We can do that after I’ve had my fill of your taste. Does that sound agreeable to you?”
Stark nodded, his eyes wide and his smile shining in his eyes as well now.
Loki nodded in agreement and ran his lips down Stark’s leg again, down and –
Had he just agreed to going out with Stark?
He gave the loose rim a lick and shrugged internally. His tongue was taking him places that he honestly never expected.