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Cocky boys

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Amazing cover art by Noirefilthythoughts

(Behold this incredible art by Noirefilthythoughts!! Fucking stunning!!)



“You did what?”

It’s not like Tony had expected a hug and a kiss when Loki had stormed into his office like a snow blizzard, but that furious green leer had him cowering a bit just the same.

“We were being bombarded with messages asking why you were not on the poll…” he explained.

“How is that my fucking problem?!” snarled Loki.

“Loki, sweetheart…”

“Don’t you fucking sweetheart me, Tony! You were completely out of line! I’m sorry, but you have to pull me out of it!”

“But darling, it’s too late, the poll’s already closed…”

“See how fucking bothered I am!” roared Loki. “I never fucking consented to this!”

“Weeeell…” said Tony, who may have had a copy of the contract made ready for such an eventuality, appropriately highlighted for ease of perusal. “You may have, a little,” he said, his tone meek. Submission worked better with Loki in this mood.

Loki duly examined the document, and his signature at the bottom. When he lifted his eyes back to Tony, they were narrowed down to an angry, nay, a murderous squint.

“You bastard,” he hissed. But he didn’t have a leg to stand on, and he knew it. “You could have fucking asked me. Or warned me, at the very fucking least.”

Tony put on an angelic smile.

“I could have, but you would have said no.”

“Of fucking course I would have said no!” roared Loki, slamming the stack of paper on the table. “I’m not a fucking piece of meat for you to auction! And what happens to my right to veto my work partners?

Ah, that.

“Well, yes, technically that still applies, but…” Tony pushed the other document he had had prepared since the poll had ended.

Loki had a glance. His expression changed to a lovely blend of astonishment and scepticism.

“What fucking currency is that? Yen?”

“American dollars, sweetheart,” said Tony. “And if you reach above a certain number of hits, this is the percentage you’ll get.” He pointed at the figure, just in case Loki had missed it.

…And now Tony was able to say that he had seen Loki Laufeyson’s impressed face. It was an exclusive club indeed.

“You expect to make millions out of this, don’t you?” said Loki. For his usual ice-cool, unflappable self, he sounded almost shocked.

“The response has been huge,” explained Tony. “It has blown all our expectations out of the water. And you two have coped over 85 percent of the votes. It will be massive, the biggest event in the industry in ages. You don’t want to be left out of this, trust me.”

Loki seemed to be giving the figures in the contract some serious thought, his quick brain surely handling plenty more variables besides money.

“You know,” mused Tony, “we have dozens of people every day offering us little fortunes for even ten minutes simply in his presence. You’re getting a king’s ransom for what others would sell their grandma’s jewels for.”

The scowl was back on Loki’s face.

“But I’ll be having to put up with a lot more than just his presence, won’t I?” he spat.

The prospect put a dreamy smile on Tony’s face. 

“Oh yes…” He loved his job, ok?

Loki huffed, nostrils still flaring with unspent fury. Then a calculating glint in his eye.

“I want the same percentage on the rest of my movies,” he said. “Starting today.”

Ah, clever Loki. There would surely be a surge of hits on his past films after the Christmas Pairing was announced. Tony pretended he was giving it some thought. Pepper was going to kill him, but…


Loki huffed, resignation starting to win over the annoyance. 

“Fine, ok,” he relented, his tone and his expression suggesting he believed that Tony was going to owe him a lot more than just money for this. “But if you ever so much as dream of pulling anything like that on me again, I’m going to cut your balls and Pepper can make herself a keychain.”

Tony raised his hands, appeasing.

“I swear.”

“Don’t bother,” grumbled Loki, making his way out of the office, long, dramatic strides. “I can do that myself.”




If they managed to take this ship to port, reconciling the two sides of this argument should give Tony and Pepper enough diplomatic credit to handle peace talks in Israel. They were trying to agree on a choreography, but they might as well be trying to parcel up post-war Berlin. Five minutes in, and they had already hit a wall (a shallow, Stark, be optimistic. ’Tis but a shallow.) That being, Thor and Loki were both tops.

Elaborate: Thor’s cock was famous, one of his, uh, greatest assets, along with his legendary stamina, his dashing looks, and his truly epic libido (it was a well-loved story in the business that time when Thor had shot three scenes in a day, and then took one of his co-stars home on a date; though not one of the co-stars who had bottomed for him. Those would have had as much of Thor’s cock as they could take any given Friday. Hung as a horse, randy as a goat, the looks of a god — the man was a gift from the heavens unto the world of adult cinema. All Hail Thor.) And so, even though Thor said he was perfectly happy to bottom, and that he enjoyed it immensely, and did it every now and then in his movies, the fans wanted to see him top. They would surely be expecting it in The Christmas Live Event.

Now, as for Loki. Loki was fine with bottoming in his private life (Tony had had first experience of this early on in their acquaintance, sigh), but not on the job. He simply did not want assorted semi-strangers sticking anything up his ass, and being paid for it.

But of course, there had to be anal.

But of course, the fans wanted to see Thor top.

But of course, Loki did not bottom.

But of course, there had to be anal.

But of course, Tony needed a painkiller for his head. They were caught in a loop from hell.

There was a reason why Tony swore by Virginia ‘Pepper’ Potts. 

“Gentlemen,” she cut in, with the smoothness and effectiveness of a Japanese sushi knife. "This is not going anywhere. Why don't we try to reach a compromise?"

And proceeded to suggest that they both did everything, both giving and receiving in every posture. Then she outlined the advantages of a balanced, equal performance for their respective statuses in the business (the part where this saved both their faces when they agreed to it didn’t need stating).

A recess was called for the boys to consult this solution with their agents. Tony hovered about, pretending first to be getting himself something from his jacket, and then pretending to be reaching for the biscuit tray, so that he could eavesdrop while they boys conferred on their opposite ends of the table. Sif was fiercely protective of Thor, and usually acted as a firewall between her client’s bonhomie and generous disposition and this greedy world, which, when offered a hand, would always try to take the whole arm. With Darcy, it was the opposite. She was the voice of reason, as saucy as she was sensible, and very often the only thing that stood between Loki’s full-tilt diva temper tantrums and whosoever was signing his pay check that day. True to their customary roles, Sif was advising Thor to have a good think about what the fans would be expecting from him on such a significant occasion, while Darcy was listening only with half an ear to whatever string of angry hissing Loki was showering her with, while examining a chip in her deep red nail polish.

So, although he could see the merit in Pepper’s solution, Tony was not hopeful. He would have to take matters into his own hands.

He ambushed Loki by the drinks vending machine. Loki glowered at him from the corner of his eye, grimaced when the sip of black coffee scalded his infamous silvertongue.

“Imagine The Mighty Thor impaled on your cock for all the world to see,” murmured Tony over his shoulder, like a tiny red devil, cape and horns and pointy tail and all. “And then imagine his face as you wreck him with those magical belly-dance moves of yours. Don't you know how sensitive he is?”

Loki ignored him, completely impervious to his arguments. Ok, maybe not the best approach.

“Imagine the hits,” tried Tony then. “The one time Loki Laufeyson bottomed on camera. Have you got any idea about the thirst there is to see that? Think of the money…”

Not that Loki was not scowling anymore, but he looked a bit less… rigid.

“Does it have to be with him?” he hissed.

Tony’s eyes glinted.

“Forget about your feelings, use your head. Who else should do it? Who else could measure up to you? Thor Odinson, the king himself, nobody else. Clash of the titans. Epic.”

Confident that he had made some inroads there, and that Loki was maturing the idea, mostly from the lack of snarky retorts, Tony took his leave. 

When Sif took a powder-room break, Tony made his move on Thor. His greatest star was sprawling on his chair, checking his stats on google. 

“So,” said Tony. “Sif is reluctant, isn’t she?”

“The Christmas Fuck is my thing,” Thor said, probably parroting his agent’s words. “It’s my present to the fans. The fans like me topping but, so far, it doesn’t seem that they like me bottoming so much. On a day with so much exposure, I can’t risk alienating the fanbase.”

“Hm,” Tony pretended to be giving that argument due consideration. Then he leaned over and lowered his voice almost to a whisper, conspiring. “But you are The Mighty Thor… The fans don’t tell you what they like, you tell them what to like…” Tony gave him a second to feel it. “And just think about it for a second. Think of Mr. Ice Princess here, all haughty and puffed-up. He has no idea, does he?, with those lanky, pretty fucks he’s usually paired with, of what a power bottom really feels like. Why don’t you show him?”

Thor finally deigned himself to lift his eyes from the screen and look at Tony, under a frown.

“And what do you get in return?” murmured Tony, aiming for the kill. “You will be the first to take that gorgeous ass for all the world to see. Nobody else. Just think about it…”

There. Tony had not missed it, that sparkle in Thor’s eye. He didn’t miss it either when Thor ran an appreciative gaze over Loki’s pert, denim-clad, frankly perfect behind. Because Thor loved his job, and that love was not platonic.

A noisy silence while everybody returned to their seats.

“So, gentlemen,” said Pepper. “Where do we stand?”

The agents conferred with their clients. Then they crossed a look with each other along the table, daring the other one to speak first.

“He’ll do it, for an extra five percent,” announced Darcy.

“Two,” said Pepper.

“Three and a half.”



The men had witnessed the quick exchange as if at a tennis match.

“Thor?” urged Pepper.

“Same deal,” said Sif, thinking on her feet.

“Tony?” said Pepper.

Tony sighed.

“Fine, fine, fine. But I’m cutting my own throat.”

“Excellent,” said Pepper. “Now, let’s move on to the gory details…”

After that, it wasn’t all that hard, just a bit cumbersome. Tony said what he wanted, the agents consulted their clients, the clients whispered into their agents’ ears, and the agents conveyed their agreement and/or their amends and counter offers. For the most part, the boys agreed (Tony didn’t want anything outlandish for Christmas, just a nice, vigorous fuck, in an assortment of photogenic postures. It was basically the studio's Christmas card after all), but always making the point that the other one accepted first. It was a bit like a school yard. 

“Any questions?” said Tony.

“Do we have to do the introductions?” asked Thor.


“Do we have to kiss?” said Loki, with distaste.

That put a stormy look on Thor’s face.

“Yes,” said Tony.

“Can’t we have fluffers?” groaned Thor.

“Fluffers?!” exclaimed Tony, outraged. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. It had been a long morning. “Listen, dears, I’m afraid you have to do the whole thing, alright? Introductions, talk about it a little, make out, undress, the whole shebang. And you have to start soft. People love to watch you guys turn each other on and get hard. You’ve done enough work for me to know how it goes. I’m sorry, but that’s non-negotiable.”

Thor and Loki traded a quick, hostile glare and looked in opposite directions. They crossed their arms over their chest at the same time. It was pleasant to the eye, what with the symmetry and all, kind of yin and yang. 

“If that will be all,” said Tony, “I’ll see you gentlemen on Christmas Eve. Don’t forget the gym, yeah?”


Alone in the room now, tidying up his notes, Tony felt Pepper’s eyes burning the back of his head.

“Yes, dear?” he said.

“Are you really, really sure this is a good idea?” 

“Best I’ve ever had,” beamed Tony, “trust me.”

“They hate each other,” she observed. “And I’m talking archenemies, you’re my mortal nemesis kind of hatred. Do you think they’ll be able to hide it?”

“Oh,” grinned Tony, “I don’t think they’ll even try.”




Tony raised his eyebrows when he saw Loki strutting into the set. Must have been the first time in his life he was the first to get there. Tony observed him have a wary look around the room. They were in the lounge of a gentlemen’s club they had rented for the day, all dark wood and red upholstery (very Christmassy), the floors thick with rugs and carpets in rich red and gold, miniature oil paintings with old-fashioned hunting scenes on the walls. Very masculine, very understated, stylish in an old-fashioned kind of way, and hardly what one would ever expect to see in the backdrop of a porn film. Perfect. There was a big, traditional Christmas tree on a corner, and even a huge fireplace the sound techs had been trying (and failing miserably so far) to light up. The lighting crew were busy creating a warm, welcoming atmosphere.

“You like it?” asked Tony.

“Very cosy,” said Loki dryly.

“This is the rocking chair where I’ve thought you could suck him, and the fainting couch is going to be great for him to ride you. Then I thought he could do you on this armchair. How does that sound?”

Loki gave him a dark look instead of a reply.

“Is that what you’re going to wear?” asked Tony. His boys always started fully dressed, except for shoes and socks (it was a mood killer to see them taking them off, for some reason), and wore casual clothing. It all helped to build up the impression that they were simply two very hot guys who had just met and hit it off, and were going for it before the audience’s very own, very greedy eyes. He never put them in firefighter costumes or created fictional plots. His boys were real people. It was such a turn on.

“Yes. Problem?” snapped Loki.

“Not at all, you look ravishing,” said Tony quickly. “But, well… leather pants?”


“Won’t they…? I mean, when you start, um, sweating… what if they get, uh, stuck? Oh, dear god, don’t tell me you’ve put powders on or something…”

Loki narrowed his eyes into a menacing squint.

“Ok, ok, whatever. I trust your judgement. You’re a professional.”

“Who’s a professional?” boomed Thor’s gruff, husky voice as he made his grand entrance, gorgeous in plain dark blue jeans and a tight red t-shirt that showed off his glorious muscles. He gave Loki a quick once-over, and cocked an eyebrow, with a smirk. Loki rolled his eyes and looked away, scowling.

“We all are,” said Tony. “And now that we’re all here, let’s go over this again, shall we?”

They had one last look at the choreography, making sure everyone was on the ball with the approximate time frames for each, uh, exercise, then Tony gave them an overview of the shots he was aiming for, so that his actors could plan accordingly to accommodate them. There would be three cameras, one following each of the boys, ready with the close-ups, and then the great Phil Coulson would be in charge of the third one, doing what his artistic sense dictated. 

When they were done, Thor just had to go and rearrange the furniture, muttering something about optics, cinematography and the Golden Ratio, to Loki’s silent (and yet perfectly audible) scoff of derision. Then Thor took over the hearth from the small crowd of techs, who might have never been in contact with real fire for all the progress they were making, and in ten minutes he had it going, with the logs arranged in an aesthetically pleasing pile. It was small and lively and lovely, but it threw enough heat to have Tony stealing quick, worried glances at Loki’s leather pants again. 

When Thor rejoined them, he looked rather smug. Then again, that was his default mode. Loki’s expression, on the other hand, could have curdled milk. (And yes, same.)

They both took their shoes and socks off, and started with their warming-up and stretching exercises. Tony could not help the expression on his face, tender and proud. Look at them, his babies, all grown up. He had introduced them to the business, plucked them from an anonymous sea of faces, and nurtured and pruned and trained them to become the porn gods they were today.

Loki folded himself in half like it was nothing, leather taut on his magnificent butt, with that fabled flexibility of his. It had stolen the viewers’ heart from the very first moment, and had now obviously also piqued Thor’s interest — he had frozen still, mid shoulder stretch, watching him. Tony remembered the first time he had seen Loki, on stage with his shitty little band. While the rest of the members were just, well, playing music, Loki was up there making love to the audience, those lizardly, feline moves, that look in his eyes, scorching hot, that purr of a voice that did all sorts of things to Tony’s composure. He had courted him for weeks, chasing him to do a screen test for him. All he had to do was jerk off, but oh, the way he had looked straight into the objective, the sounds he made, the filthy things he said… He nearly melted the lens, and the guy who was filming it. And soon after, it had been that multi-award-winning fuck in the woods that had the critics fawning over the new, uh, face of gay porn (and his partner on that occasion, the usually unruffled Fandral, still sighed when they reminded him of that film). It had been the final bang to place Stark Studios on the map, and mark it as a completely new thing, different from any other company out there producing online porn. Oh, Loki, his gorgeous, wicked, haughty prince, and his wondrous, uh, leaning ivory tower. Pepper did not agree, but Tony thought he was worth every headache, every tantrum and every fit of rage.

And Thor? Tony had spotted him in the dark room of a gay club, the physical centre of an impromptu orgy, taking care of four men at once (five if you counted the one that could not await his turn and was on the floor humping his leg). And the joy he radiated while he did it, the unabashed, almost naive relish. He single-handedly (well, no, with both hands actually, alongside with other appendices, and his mouth) was making something sublime out of what had every potential to become a pretty seedy situation. Tony knew there and then that he had found the cornerstone of his future smutty empire, the very embodiment of his vision.

Before he became the force of nature he was today, his big golden stud had needed a bit of a polish, diamond in the rough that he was, because fucking and fucking for the camera are two completely different things. But they didn’t have to look like two different things, did they? And that was the germ of Tony’s idea when he had set up this little business venture of his. A renewed, determinedly non-sleazy approach to adult cinema. While the bulk of the industry seemed to be veering more and more towards some seriously fucked-up, frankly horrifying extremes of dehumanised brutality and degradation, the surge in popularity of homemade, amateur porn suggested to Tony that there was a different market out there, full of people who just wanted to watch other people enjoying a bit of good old sexy funtimes together. Perhaps he could interest them in, say, a professional take on that? 

It all flowed from there. Instead of the tacky sets and the sad dungeons many professional porn films were offering, how about some real, sunlit, open, even outdoors locations. Instead of monster-cocks, disturbing props, and all that damned ugliness, how about pretty boys who did not look like porn actors, but like real people, only young and fresh and hot, and nicely matched, who were happy to be there and actually having a good time together? Instead of humiliation and degradation and cringingly extreme sex acts, how about some kissing and laughing and eye contact and even some talking? Then some elegant, tasteful photography, and the famous part, now trademark of the house, in which the performers introduced themselves (because there was no shame in being a porn actor; that was the idea anyway) and chatted for a moment, humanising themselves and the situation to the viewer, before they got on with it. Everything was pretty and tasteful and well-balanced in his movies, from the performers to the locations to the composition of the scenes; everything sunny and joyful and fun. 

Thor had taken to that philosophy like a duck to water, and his natural charisma and enthusiasm (and his physical gifts, of course) had instantly attracted attention, critical acclaim, and an ever-expanding fanbase. Today, Thor Odinson stood head and shoulders above any other porn actor Tony had ever seen, so expressive, so horny, able to convey lust and sensation and spontaneity like none other. He always looked so excited to be there, so randy, so full of lust for his partner (or partners), and with his Olympic form, no posture was out of his reach. He really was The Complete Artist.

Yes, Tony worshipped these two boys, and had been trying to make them work together for a long time, but Loki had reacted with a loud “No fucking way in hell!” the one time he had suggested it, and when that had reached Thor’s ears, he had been deeply offended. They hated each other, and everybody knew.

But it was more than that single incident. It was a personality issue first and foremost. Thor took his job very seriously. It was his full-time occupation. He loved to be a porn actor, and he went out of his way to be the best he could be. For Loki, it was nothing but an occasional hobby he just happened to have a knack for, without having to work for it. Even though it was the only one of his professional pursuits that actually brought him real critical recognition and popularity, he held it in very low regard. He considered himself a writer first (he was a published author - one bildungsroman composed mainly of self-pitying rants, and two books of angsty, cryptic poetry, with a fanatical, yet extremely limited following), a singer and a musician next (not that the band would ever amount to much, but Loki craved the thrill of a live audience’s worship), and only very lowly in his scale of priorities was this fucking on camera business. He enjoyed a certain lifestyle, and none of his other endeavours could support it. And so, every now and then, he would condescend to grace the screens with his lovely face and even lovelier body, and made a film with Tony.

Because he did not do many movies, when he made one, they were hugely anticipated. Which for Thor, who hated Loki’s standoffish, dismissive approach, only added insult to injury. Loki in turn resented the minor social phenomenon Thor had become, which reached even beyond the industry. He had been on the cover of Time Magazine, goddammit, with a feature on his life, and an interview and everything, as if he was doing something meaningful, for fuck’s sake! He was only a porn actor, had the world gone fucking mad? No, of course Loki was not jealous, he was in outrage and despair at the stupidity and the banality of the human race!

And even their very acting styles clashed. While Loki seemed always aware of the camera, and usually made a point of eye-fucking the audience to a mush, Thor really could make it feel as if the camera had never been there in the first place, pulling the viewer into the room with him.

Thor had called him a pretentious diva, a cold fish, and an envious little shit. Loki had called him a brainless oaf, a brute with more cock than sense, and there was this mean tweet attributed to him floating around the net, in which he allegedly quipped that Thor was so full of himself, his next project should be the porn version of Cast Away.

It might very well be, and Tony did not discount it, that the audience had had this animosity in mind when doing their frenzied clicking. And with the energy in the studio thrumming with his stars’ mutual antipathy, Tony thought that, if hate-sex is what they wanted, hate-sex they were going to get. 


Three minutes.

“Ok then, kids. Battle stations,” said Tony.

They had prepared a pile of fluffy cushions by the fire, where the action was set to begin. Loki sat down on it as rigidly as if they were sacs of cement, while grumbling, “Yes, let’s get this over and done with.”

Thor grunted something unpleasant under his breath. Loki, of course, could not have possibly heard it from his superior stance. In any case, he did not react, but carried on examining his nail polish — smoked black quartz with sparkles, like chips of mica, classy as fuck. Thor took his place next to him, thighs sprawled wide, and adjusted himself to make sure the bulge of his cock was clearly visible through the fabric of his jeans, so that the viewers wouldn’t miss it as it got hard. Tony took the sight of his two stars in for a moment, how very nicely they clashed together, the giving sun with its warming rays, and the moon, radiant, remote, and cold. (Hopefully not too cold.)

“Oh, one more thing, guys,” he said. “If you could just, uh, maybe tone it down a little?”

“Tone what down?”

“If you could, well, pretend that you don’t absolutely hate it to be here…”

Loki gave him his famous psychotic shark smile. Thor took the Sarcastic Toothpaste Ad approach.

“Rrrright,” said Tony.

Behind him, everyone shared a look of concern - Nat (IT), Clint (control), Sam (trouble-shooter, Renaissance man, it was his first week) and Wanda (cinema major intern, had been there for yonks). The lighting and sound crew didn’t seem too sure either.

The Christmas Live Event was going to be live.

Nat and Clint gave them the ok, and Tony started the countdown. Loki gave his ink-black locks a fluff (he was really a ginger, just don't tell anyone), Thor made himself comfortable, sprawling even more, invading Loki’s space, which got him a kick on the shin. Tony silently prayed to the gods above (or below, or to the sides, beggars can’t be choosers), and gave the signal.

Aaaand we’re online. May god have mercy upon our souls.

The air in the room buzzed with tension for a few seconds, the crackle of the fire the only saving grace. The boys appeared to be waiting for the other one to go first. But Thor was making a stand, so Loki rolled his eyes and, looking into the camera, he forced a sarcastic grin.

“Hello, I’m Loki Laufeyson.”

“And you all know who I am,” beamed Thor, megawatt smile.

Loki rolled his eyes even more, a huff of irritation.

“And we’re going to fuck,” said Thor, greedy eyes on Loki.

“Happy Christmas,” hissed Loki with displeasure.

And then he deigned to return Thor’s look, with a dark scowl of pure spite. Thor had a brazen, shit-eating smirk. Hate me as much as you like, he seemed to be saying, I’m still going to have your ass.

Right now, Tony wasn’t so sure about that. He gulped.

Thor made a move, Loki pulled back. Oh-kaaaay. The filming crew traded worried looks. Thor leaned over again. Loki tilted his head back and away, his eyes a fixed green flame of simmering contempt. 


Thor hooked one hand around the back of Loki’s neck, and pulled him towards him. Loki fought, trying to make it difficult rather than impossible, his expression saying loud and clear, “I wouldn’t if I were you, but I fucking dare you.”

Thor smirked some more, self-assured, and plunged in for the kiss. Loki stood still and irresponsive. Tony ran one hand down his face anxiously, shifty on his feet. Then Thor pushed his tongue in, and Loki showed teeth, and bit down. A pained groan from Thor as he jumped back, touching his mouth. And was that blood in his lip? That had been no playful nibble…

Thor snatched Loki by the neck again, this time no fucking around, and very bravely risked kissing him again, a sloppy, hungry kiss that took Loki by surprise. He raised one hand and Tony thought he was going to brush it on Thor’s long blond hair. Hah, as if. Loki got a handful and yanked hard. Another groan from Thor, but this time of a completely different nature. Because as Loki was tugging, he was also kissing back. And how. Never had the expression “tongues battling for dominance” been more on point. Thor’s crotch was already showing some serious strain. Tony wiped a little tear, which always appeared in the presence of that gravity-defying prodigy that was his greatest star’s mighty endowment.

Well, they were finally kissing, fiercely, aggressively even, but aside from that claw on Loki’s neck and that clasp on Thor’s hair, they were not touching… Thor grabbed Loki’s wrist and led his hand to his own crotch, biceps bulging when Loki offered resistance. Testimonial, really — Thor’s arm was twice as wide as Loki’s, he had no chance to beat him like that. But when Loki’s hand made contact with Thor’s crotch, he didn’t go for the cock, he went for his balls. And he squeezed. Thor’s eyes went wide and a bit teary. 

And now Thor was angry. He gripped the neck of Loki’s shirt and ripped it open, buttons flying in all directions. Loki paled with outrage, and slapped his face. Thor smirked, his cheek red. Loki was panting. There was no telling what he would do next. 

They pounced on each other like two cats at play, and started rolling on the floor in a frenzy, trying to come on top. (The cameras had to scramble away. Clint looked horrified at the screens.) Thor was stronger and heavier, but Loki kept doing this thing with his legs that had Thor toppling to the side and then flat on his back, with a whole lotta Loki on top of him, sinking his nails in his scalp as he plundered Thor’s mouth like this was the sack of Rome. Thor had his hands wherever he could reach, but he kept returning to Loki’s ass, and the huffs and gasps they both made when Thor crushed their groins together, as he pushed up with his hips… In between rolling and tumbling, their shirts had come off. We’re starting to get somewhere, thought Tony, with a sigh of relief.

Too soon, as it turned out. Loki had been struggling to get Thor off him for a while with what, for him, would count as clean methods, but with Thor’s thigh between his, he could not do that judo or wrestling key or whatever it was. So he sunk his nails in his back, and when Thor twisted in pain and gave him an angle, he punched his stomach, kicked him off, and fled. (Nat turned to Tony, a slight frown on her face, and typed something. Warnings for violence, probably.)

Loki was leaning on the wall, recovering his breath, and Thor was standing up, coughing and gasping and pretty fucking furious. 

“Sam, get me Pepper on the phone, quick,” muttered Tony, eyes fixed on the scene before him.

“What do you need?” said Sam, dialling.

“Legal question. If they kill each other doing this, are we liable?”

Thor took two energetic steps towards Loki, and then froze solid, as Loki slowly, deliberately, undid his pants, button by button, and pulled his cock out, giving it some languorous strokes. Thor gulped, Tony was able to see it from where he was standing, and the camera close to his face would surely be showing his pupils blown wide. 

“Only if they can prove we didn’t take the reasonable safety precautions,” reported Sam, finishing the call.

“Like not putting them together in the same room with a camera?” whispered Nat.

Thor walked to Loki smoothly, and leaned closer with one arm propped on the wall by Loki’s side. Not without some caution, is fair to say, he ran the big, rough palm of his hand down Loki’s thigh, pushing his pants further down, and then up, raking upwards, feeling the skin. Loki didn’t try to bite him or scratch him, (he was just there, glaring at him with eyes sharp as cut emeralds, that infuriatingly sexy vaguely-there smile) so Thor went for the kiss. Unbeknownst to Thor, Loki had been snaking his hand up, and had got a whole head of Thor’s hair in his hand. With a contemptuous smirk and a vicious twist that made Thor groan, Loki forced him down to his knees. 

“Then again,” muttered Natasha, “if they should ask for compensation, we can probably afford it.”

That got Tony’s attention.

“Give me numbers,” he said.

She angled one of her monitors towards him. Tony raised both eyebrows now.


Thor was on his knees before Loki, hands on the slender hips, and Loki was looking down on him like a victorious warrior would stare at his war trophy. Still with that grip on Thor’s hair, he held himself in hand and stroked his cock on Thor’s lips. Thor allowed it, looking up with a wicked leer. Then he stuck his tongue out, and Loki’s jaw fell open, his brow scrunched up. He kept rubbing his cock on Thor’s tongue, as his breathing became heavier and sharper. Thor opened his mouth, and Loki pushed in. When Thor hollowed his cheeks around Loki's cock, Loki did no more than gasp, but as he thrusted gently, his expression tensed, his breathing rushing, and then finally, finally, with Thor’s tongue working him inside his mouth, there was a soft moan. Oh, how the viewers loved to see that cold arrogance and self-control breaking down, his face softening as he abandoned himself to sensation.

Thor must have felt Loki’s grip on his hair loosen. He grabbed Loki’s wrist and tore that claw off him. Then he gripped Loki's hips and held them in place. Loki groaned, went to grab his hair again, and then went pale and froze. With Loki’s cock still in his mouth, and a very eloquent smirk, Thor was cupping Loki’s balls. His expression said, “I wouldn’t if I were you, but I fucking dare you.” And gave it a little squeeze, to clarify his point. Loki whimpered, his chest heaving fast.

Thor let Loki’s cock out of his mouth and, with relish, he flicked his tongue under the head, teasing, tormenting. Loki whimpered again, his thigh trembled. Thor kept teasing with light licks and slow laps, just the tip of his tongue, and the camera was there on Loki’s face to show how he slowly fell apart, much to his own chagrin, and his body’s delight.

When Loki’s knees started to give, Thor pulled back, wiping his mouth, licking his lips. He got up and went to take a seat on the rocking chair. He looked almightily pleased with himself. He unzipped his own jeans and pushed them down, cock jutting up like the proudest flag pole. He crooked his finger in a ‘come hither’ motion. He took in Loki's indignant, furious expression, and winked.

Tony looked at Clint, Clint looked at Nat. Loki’s eyes were burning with a flare of green poison.

“Be professional, guys…” mumbled Tony to himself, a little prayer.

WIth a look of dignified determination, Loki pushed his leather pants the rest of the way down and stepped out of them - his butt to the camera (there was a sudden surge in the comments section, mostly inarticulate random key smashes and fainting emojis). Like a stalking panther, he sauntered towards Thor, swinging his ass. He stood there above him, cocking his hip, and the whole world was able to see the dumbstruck expression on Thor’s face, and the twitches of his cock as it got even harder just from that view, just like a Labrador puppy wagging his tail at the prospect of a game of fetch.

At a leisurely pace, Loki sunk to his knees between Thor’s powerful thighs, eyes locked on his stunned catch at all times, a sultry, predatory gaze. And he dived in. Thor’s head fell back immediately, his mouth gaped wide, his eyes shut tight. Loki’s camera tried to show what he was doing to Thor, but it was impossible. They were able to show a nice, wide shot from the side that included all of Loki, featuring prominently his celebrated buttocks and his exquisite legs. 

And Thor was so expressive, bless him. He was moaning and groaning and shuddering and gasping, hands clutching tight the arms of the rocking chair. Hard to tell if he was being pleasured or gutted alive.

Wait. What an awfully disquieting notion.

“He’s not hurting him, is he?” said Tony.

Natasha shrugged.

“Oh my fucking god…” moaned Thor, his voice hoarse and choked, as Loki’s head started to bob faster between his legs, turning this well-seasoned, vastly experienced professional into something you could spread on toast. “Oh my god… oh dear god… oh god… oh sweet Jesus… oh my god…”

Nat and Clint exchanged a look. He wasn’t usually this religious, was he?

Thor tried to stroke Loki’s hair. Loki sunk his nails in Thor's forearm, and removed his hand. After a minute, Thor tried again. It seemed an unconscious gesture — he did not look very focused. Loki didn’t use his nails this time. Thor jolted, and went a bit white.

“Yup, man,” muttered Clint, swapping shots, “you may not want to piss off the guy who’s got a full set of teeth around your manhood…”

Ah, Thor wasn’t without resources either. With Loki's attention distracted, he sucked his fingers wet and stooped low over Loki’s back, to reach between his buttocks. Loki would have prepared himself earlier, and he was obviously very aroused, so, before he could realise, Thor had one thick, playful finger buried to the second crook inside his ass. Loki's back tensed so beautifully - Thor knew what he was doing. What a lovely scene they made, working each other in a balanced composition, the fireplace to the left, the heated action to the right, the flames gilding their naked bodies. Tony sat down on the director’s chair and crossed his legs. 

It was a bit like a raunchy take on a shampoo ad when Loki raised his head from that prominent, glorious erection and shook his hair loose, thick and luscious, that deep reddish hue under the warm light of the flames (and the artfully arranged lighting rig). His lips were puffy, edges diffuminated into pink, chin shiny with drool. Thor was looking at him with heavy lidded, drowsy eyes, and his million dollar grin. His glans was deep purple. It had been thoroughly sucked.

Loki got up and went to take his place on the fainting couch. He didn't so much sit down as sprawl on it, and started to stroke lazily his own cock — and what a beautiful cock it was, and the world agreed; long, of a nice girth, not donkey-hung but pleasantly, elegantly so, like everything else about his body.

He crooked his finger in a ‘come hither’ motion, a cockeyed smile and a green leer, but at least he did not wink. Or blink, for that matter. If Loki ever entered a staring contest with a crocodile, Tony would not be sure where to put his money on. 

Thor's knees may have been a bit wobbly when he got on his feet, but he was nothing if not determined. He even managed to drop his jeans as he walked towards him (once he was sure that there was a camera behind him to catch it) without tripping or losing step. And oh, that was one smooth, shapely ass, that muscled back, that slim waist. Where did he even fucking come from, what planet? Tony, rock hard himself, could almost hear the screeches and squees of the viewers at home, right from where he was sitting.

Loki put the condom and some lube on, discretely. Thor straddled him, reverse cowgirl - face to the camera (without looking into it though; he thought it was tacky) - but leaned slightly to the side so that Coulson could get a nice front shot of both his and Loki’s expressions as he lowered himself onto Loki’s cock.

Tony was on the edge of the seat, Clint was all hands on deck, Nat had an eye on the stats. Thor pushed down, a grimace, a gasp. Loki produced the most delightful “hnnnnng…” when Thor’s butt cheeks made contact with his groin. We have touchdown. Tony wanted to cry. It was so beautiful. Why didn’t people want to see Thor take a cock more often? Look at him, he was glowing! 

Thor did a few rolling motions, Loki bit his bottom lip hard. They were both panting, their faces wonderfully tense. And let’s get this rodeo started. Thor began to bounce on that lap like the power horse he was, quickly and tirelessly, his cock never flagging, but bobbing merrily between his legs as he slammed himself on Loki’s cock. Loki had one hand on Thor's hip, and the other one thrown across his face, head back, moaning, meowing, jolted and jerked in the onslaught, the fainting couch creaking.

The allocated time frame for this posture came and went, no pun intended, and Thor showed no signs of stopping, testing the limits of Loki’s self-control.

“The fuck is he playing at?” murmured Tony between his teeth.

Loki’s sounds and expressions were worryingly nearing orgasmic now, as he pushed half-heartedly to try to unseat Thor, made weak by pleasure. Thor’s shit-eating grin as he fucked himself told Tony the answer to the question “is this intended?”

Loki was not beaten. He bit his lip hard, propped himself up, reached around Thor’s body, and started jerking him off in a frenzy. That made Thor lose focus, and very soon, the hands he had been using to hold himself up as he bounced, he needed to get Loki off him, lest he came too soon, god forbid. And that’s when Loki did that thing again, hooking one leg around Thor’s ankle and pushing hard with the other, and Thor ended up on his face on the floor, shaking his head, panting, wondering what the fuck had just happened.

Loki looked so gorgeously debauched. He had been very close.

“I’m going to fucking kill him,” mumbled Tony to no-one in particular, but glaring at Thor.

Loki’s expression went from a near-orgasmic daze to murderous intent in the space of a few deep breaths, as Thor got himself up, made his way to the cushioned armchair, and just stood there, rock hard (thigh muscles rosy with the strain and trembling a bit, let’s hope they’ll hold up), cocky smirk, waiting for Loki.

For a long minute, nobody moved. It was the last goddamn time Tony did anything live, he swore to himself. His heart could not fucking handle it.

Well, there was a pre-arranged choreography, and there was a contract that had been signed, and now Loki could be proud, or he could be rich. 

You know, for such an arrogant creature, Loki wasn’t half as hard-headed as they made him. His chin up and hips swinging, he strutted to the armchair and kneeled on it, ready to take one for the team. He threw a sizzling glare over his shoulder that stayed the hand Thor had on himself, and arched his back, sticking his butt out, the hottest, raciest pin-up. His expression was one of contempt. Come on, impress me.

The big moment had arrived. One day, guys, you’ll tell your children about this. I was there when Thor Odinson fucked Loki Laufeyson, live streaming to the entire worldwide web. Everybody was now on the edge of their seats, breaths baited.

Thor had other plans. He went down to his knees.

“What the fuck?” mumbled Tony.

He got himself two handfuls of Loki’s buttocks, held them apart, and gave the cleft of that ass one long, tortuous lap, from ballsack to tailbone.

“Ah?” gasped Loki with a frown, turning his head. He had not been expecting that.

Without giving him a moment to breathe, Thor started eating him out like there was no tomorrow. Loki held tight onto the back of the chair, knuckles white, and began to fall to pieces under Thor’s attentions. 

Now, rimming was something of a house specialty with Thor. His fans could not get enough of it, and his workmates spoke of his ass-eating skills with awe and wonder. Tony doubted he’d ever hear an admission of the sort out of Loki’s arrogant mouth, but it was there for the world to see, in the way Loki was arching his back, exposing more of himself to Thor’s mouth as he rubbed it on Loki’s hole. The moans and sighs coming from that sexy, snarky mouth were sweet as honey, his expression blissful, and how he was pushing back when Thor had one finger and his tongue going to town in that holy shrine of his.

With Loki boneless and whimpering, draped over the back of the chair, and after one long last lap, Thor considered that his point was made. And now, back with the program. He got up on his feet, took himself in hand, and rubbed the head of his cock against Loki’s flesh.

Still perched on the seat, Loki went from kneeling to crouching. What was he up to now, thought Tony. When Thor tried to stroke Loki's hair, he nearly had his hand bitten off for his bother. 

“Careful, dude, this end has teeth,” Tony heard Clint mumble. 

Condom on, lube, Thor lined himself up, and lifted his eyes to watch Loki’s half-turned face, that smouldering hot gaze he was throwing him. He gently started to push in.

Now, pride or no pride, if this was the one time Loki Laufeyson was going to get buggered on camera, he was going to make it as memorable for the viewers as it would be for him. When he felt Thor entering him, he let his eyes droop, tilted his head backwards, the arch of his throat and spine with all those lean muscles tensing up so beautifully, and exhaled, elegant always. Tony had hearts in his eyes, and Thor, fully sheathed inside him, had spaced out entirely. 

Natasha rolled back on her chair and gave Tony what, in her case, amounted to a look of total astonishment, two raised eyebrows, as she turned the monitor for him to see. They were trending worldwide: #thorfucksloki.

While Thor was still on cloud 9, Loki started to move. His body snaked and bucked in a mesmerising, sinuous motion, taking Thor inside him, and in that position, and with so much strain on his thighs, possibly with a grip of steel around his cock. Tony squirmed in his seat in solidarity. Thor was still, watching in breathless awe the way his cock disappeared into Loki’s body. He struggled to keep his eyes open, his mouth was gaping wide, and he even risked putting one hand on Loki’s shoulder, to maintain position (verticality, if nothing else). He was always spontaneous and demonstrative, but now, being worked half to death by that foxy creature’s greedy, flexible, strong body, he looked like a total wreck. Now, when he tried to stroke (in reverence) Loki’s gorgeous thigh, muscles shifting under pale freckled skin as he moved, he got a sonorous slap on the hand.

It had to be really building up now, because the beast took over. Thor grabbed Loki’s hips and started hammering into him with all his vigour and all his hunger. Loki braced himself against the back of the chair and took it, his body shuddering with each thrust. And for the first time since they had started fucking, they heard him talk.

“Oh my f-… fucking god!” he yelped, and his voice broke into a moan, strangled, breathless.

Thor was ploughing him relentlessly, well above athletic, just under rough. Coulson gave his boss a pleading stare, and Tony gave him the go ahead. Phil moved in, trying to remain out of the way of the other cameras, and inconspicuous, to get a shot from below. This was not something that was usually done at Stark Studios, but Tony told himself he owed it to posterity. There it was — balls dangling, swung to and fro, mighty thighs bulging and tensing, and that legendary cock fucking that legendary ass, while Loki jerked off frantically.

When Loki’s moans became higher-pitched and more, desperate, his camera moved in for the big moment. In spite of the surging climax, Loki had the presence of mind to angle himself just right for a perfect, stylish even, beautiful cum shot.

Panting, spent, and definitely blissed out, he shook and rocked some more under Thor’s energetic last efforts. Then Thor pulled out, slipped the condom off in a hurry, took himself in hand, his expression one of devastation and utter ruin, and came on Loki’s rump (that had been Tony’s idea. It had cost him a couple more percents in Loki’s cut, but by god, it was worth it just for the look on Thor’s face, nothing short of pure shining love as he culminated his claim.)

And then Thor walked backwards until he hit the rocking chair, and collapsed. Meanwhile, Loki turned and slumped down on the armchair, chest heaving, sight out of focus, that lovely blush on his fair skin. 

Usually, at this point there would be some kissing, the boys would tell each other how much they had enjoyed themselves, and then wave goodbye sweetly to the viewers. But, since neither of his stars seemed able right now to formulate coherent sentences, Tony instructed Clint to go straight to the closing message with holiday wishes. And then Natasha took them down. They were offline.

Tony let out a deep sigh of relief. Mental note to self, make appointment with chiropractor. The tension, Jesus Christ!

When Natasha pushed the note with the total of hits his way, Tony did not need to do any math to see that these had been the most profitable forty-seven minutes in the whole of Stark Studios’ existence, even after you took the boys' cut out. He came from money, and before today he would have said that money did not impress him. He very nearly went and hugged his boys, spunky and sweaty as they were. History had been made.

The assistants moved in with the robes and the wet wipes and the energy drinks. The boys half-straightened up to receive them. Loki was the first to drag himself up to standing, his runway swag ruined by a stiff hip. His assistant walked ahead to show him the way to the club’s showers.

Thor was shaking his golden head as if to wake himself up, eyes still drowsy and out of focus. When he got up, his limbs looked heavy as lead, his movements sluggish. He made his way to the changing rooms with a withdrawn, faraway expression. 


“Where the fuck is everybody going?” snapped Tony.

The crew had started to stampede in all directions.

“Mostly, to their bunks,” said Natasha.

“Nobody leaves this room until the set is clear!” warned Tony. “No spunk on the upholstery, no condoms under the rug, and I want that fire put out! Safely!” He groused to himself, “I had to get a special permit for that.”

The crew grumbled as they reluctantly got to work.

“Oh, puh-leeese!” exclaimed Tony. “Find any other job that actually grants paid jerk-off breaks if you can, and then be my guest to take it. In the meantime, chop-fucking-chop!” Then he turned, raised an eyebrow. “Where are Clint and Nat?”

Sam and Wanda traded a little glance.

“Oh, nevermind. Sam, call Pepper. I need to see her in my office right now. Tell her to bring Jarvis.” He popped his head back in again. “Uh, make sure there are lots more ‘pleases’ and ‘thank yous’ when you talk to her.” And he dashed down the hallway, headed for his car.

“Who is Jarvis?” said Sam.

“The strap-on,” said Wanda, busy rolling up cables.

Sam’s eyes widened with a look of shock and horror.

“They named the strap-on?”

“It’s voice operated,” explained Wanda. “And it talks.”

“It talks?! gasped Sam, horrified. “What the fuck does it say?”

Wanda shook her head, with the remote, slightly vacant look of someone too young who has seen too much.

“I hope I never find out,” she said.

“I don’t get paid enough for this shit,” grumbled Sam, as he dialled.