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Use Your Inside Voice, Tony Stark

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None of them knew anything was wrong, at first.

Tony Stark certainly didn’t, though, even if he had had an inkling, it might not have stopped him.

Because, once he knew something was wrong--well ... he still loudly, publicly, and with no shame whatsoever declared their greatest enemy attractive.

Okay, “hot as fuck.” That was the quote that appeared in the less-reputable media; the family-friendly sources at least had the decency to asterisk the “u.”

Jesus Christ, Tony. Just ... Jesus Christ.


This is how it all went down:

It was a beautiful spring afternoon--sixty-six degrees and sunny, just a few cottony clouds brushing past each other in the sky. The kind of day that New Yorkers think about smiling at strangers. Just think about it, mind you, which is really enough after a wet, gray winter of grimaces, snarls, and crosswalk collisions.

It was the kind of day Steve Rogers would have spent sketching in a cafe, Bruce Banner would have spent quietly reading and people-watching in a park, and Clint Barton would have spent honing his arrows. But honing them outside, on the Avengers Tower balcony, not hunched grumpily in a corner of his apartment.

Instead, all of the Avengers, including Thor and Widow--who defiantly behaves exactly the same in twenty-degree weather, thank you very much--were spread out in sky and on rooftops, deflecting rage-induced magic laser beams and tackling oversized reptilian smoke monsters.

All thanks to Loki, God of Mischief.

Tony was getting too old for this shit.

It had been two years since the god had been led away in muzzle and manacles by his older brother, but, yeah, he somehow managed to come back, you know, every now and again, just to shit on their nice days. He shit on their bad ones, too, but this seemed more outrageous somehow. More deeply offensive, Tony thought, looking at the gorgeous sky, then at the people running in terror below.

He rose further into the air, repulsors flaring, to get a direct line of sight to the spellcasting figure. Loki had perched on an eight-story building--”all the better to fuck you up, my dear,” Tony muttered to JARVIS, as the bastard sent more spectral reptiles from one hand to the streets, using the other hand to send laser beams of maximum damage to any of the Avengers he spotted.

With that, the next BFG 9000 blast came straight at Tony, hitting him hard in the faceplate and tumbling him backward through the air. He righted himself immediately with barely a blink from the team, who weren’t particularly impressed with seemingly serious harm coming to the suit, or, you know, Tony himself. They’d seen too much to think him fragile at this point. It would have pissed him off, their complete lack of alarm, but not appearing fragile to Steve Goddamned Rogers was part of Tony’s modus operandi these days.

So, yeah. “No, really, guys, I’m fine,” he snarked after he was reoriented--slightly farther above Loki, but still close enough to assess the situation. Look for weaknesses.

And check out Loki’s armor. Which had been modified somewhat, Tony noted, as Loki threw another bolt in his direction--swing more limber than Tony remembered, but he still missed. “JARVIS,” Tony began. “Is it just me, or has the Liesmith had himself a little makeover?”

“Yes, Sir,” JARVIS sighed. “He appears to have traded some of the metal embellishments on his armor for a heretofore undiscovered material, which seems to be lighter in mass and more flexible. I am documenting the properties now.”

Steve’s voice came over the comms. “You got something, Tony?” The audio sounded a little weird, and Tony looked for damage, but found nothing. JARVIS was occupied gathering readings on Loki’s gear.

“Looks like Loki’s modeling Asgard’s new line of armor for fall--maybe we can get him to do a little strut for us. On the catwalk. It’s a motherfucking walk-off--” Tony dodged the beam that accompanied a pissed-off look from the god.

“Stark.” Ah, yes, swearing on the team comms--not Steve’s favorite. Meanwhile, a fresh round of what looked like very fast, car-length komodo dragons slithered away from Loki’s bubble of magical horror and headed over the side of the building.

“Okay, seriously--whatever, Cap. I’m going private for a minute to work on this with JARVIS and use whatever potty words I want. I might have something here--”

Tony might not have picked up on the tiny hesitation if he hadn’t been working solid with Steve Rogers for two years. Steve was never crazy about Tony adjusting the transmissions so he could hear, but not be heard by the others. As it was, though, Steve agreed: “Okay, but monitor team chat, and be ready to come back if we need you.”

“Always, Cap.” Silencing his mic, Tony began to ramble as he gave Loki the once-over, still at enough of a distance that he easily dodged the sporadic volleys Loki aimed at him, and airborne enough that Loki’s landbound (seriously? Try harder, Eight-Point) reptiles couldn’t reach him.

“The new armor isn’t bad,” he said to JARVIS as he got another curious, sharp look from the asshole below. “Lightweight. Even leaner, if that’s possible. More form-fitting. More maneuverability. I’d love to get my hands on a sample of it, though--yeah, I’m guessing that might be tough to come by.” He paused. “Looks good, though.”

JARVIS, familiar with his master’s expectations, didn’t respond.

He eyeballed the god, who was momentarily distracted, peering down at the Hulk’s noisy rampage through a dozen of Loki’s conjured animal minions. “It’s too bad Loki’s such a fucker, I swear,” Tony began, surveying Loki’s hair, his long, long neck--ramble expanding like the Big Bang of ADHD, “because, well--God--look at that fucker.” He made a low noise that perfectly mated base physical appreciation and disappointment at Loki’s life choices.

In a weird sort of timing, Loki jerked his attention back to Tony, just as he was turning to shoot at his brother, who had settled on the ledge of the next building over. His arms stilled.

A voice in his helmet: “Tony--”

He turned his own transmissions to the team comms back on. “Yeah, Cap?”

“Uh, we can hear you.” His voice was all unhappy embarrassment, even as Tony could hear him whacking giant alligators with the bowl of his shield.

“Oh, shit--sorry.” Tony thumped his helmet with his palm. It still sounded weird, but he wasn’t getting a report of any anomalies. “JARVIS, shut that down, would you? Don’t need the guys to hear my dick talking--”

“Don’t want to hear it either, Iron Man,” Natasha sniped from wherever she was wrestling a snake reptile.

Tony rolled his eyes. “Sorry, Widow,” he sing-songed sarcastically. “But, seriously, guys--gal!--I’m just gonna say what we’re all thinking: He is just hot as fuck. Isn’t he? Like, objectively speaking. It’s the whole package, minus the murderous intent. Why the hell do they have to make the hot ones so goddamned evil?”

With that, Tony got another bolt to the face, just after catching Loki’s wide grin.

“I take offense to your words, Iron Man,” Thor grumbled over the line. “You’re speaking of my brother, which is ... unappealing to me, to say the least ... and you also disrespect your noble teammates, who themselves are quite comely--”

“Thanks, Thor,” Steve cut in, “but, really, you don’t need to defend us--”

“Speak for yourself, Cap.” That was Clint, his voice bracketed by the swooshing release of his bow. “Keep going, Thor--let’s play a game of Hot or Not--starting with Fury--”

“Look,” Tony cut back in, watching the dark figure on the roof, who was giving Tony more and more of his focus. Tearing his eyes away, he began accounting for the Avengers’ locations around the field of battle. “Sorry, guys--I think my comms system got knocked out in that first blast from Loki that none of you even bothered to notice, thanks.” Okay, so maybe it stung a little. “So you’re just going to have to hear me say it. This guy is six-plus feet of hot, dark, and nasty, and it’s just such a waste of that body that he’s always trying to kill us. If I had the opportunity--”

“Stark!” That was Thor.

“STARK!” And that was ... Loki?

Okay, Tony had lost the plot a bit, but his head whipped around from roll-calling the team to find the God of Mischief again ... standing on the rooftop, arms akimbo, with a frown on his face. Just staring at Tony.

“Wait--what? Fuck--okay, JARVIS, public speaker on.” After a beat: “Why are you talking to me, Dr. Evil?”

“Because I CAN HEAR YOU, you idiot.” Loki’s tone perfectly mated disbelief with disappointment at Tony’s life choices.

“What?” Tony suddenly noticed that the quality of his voice hadn’t actually changed in the last few moments. “Oh, fuck, seriously?” With a focused diagnostic, JARVIS began to confirm that the suit’s internal comms and PA system had been unexpectedly compromised by the blast, broadcasting Tony’s voice both internally and out. And, apparently, very, very loudly.

Ugh. Embarrassing. That’s what he got for deprioritizing communications flubs in JARVIS’ evaluative subroutines. “Uhh,” he tried, shaking off the humiliation as quickly as he ever did. “I ... wasn’t talking about you?” He smiled wryly. “It was another Loki.”

As JARVIS started laying out a possible fix, the AI’s voice was talked over by the pissed-off god: “'Seriously,' as you say.” Loki crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m glad to know you find my appearance so pleasing, but, rest assured, it won’t stay my hand in destroying you.”

Tony shrugged--as well as he could in the suit. “Whatever, Monsters, Inc. I was just saying it’s too bad that we can’t put some of that spare energy to good use. Focus all that creativity in another, more horizontal direction.” He paused as Loki very visibly rolled his eyes. “Okay, for example, and I'm just gonna put this out there--I assume you’re a screamer in bed, right?”

“Tony!” Yeah, that was Thor, now with twenty percent more offense.

“Turn it off, Big Guy--well, uh, go away. Plug your ears. The little bro and I are gonna have a discussion.” In Tony’s peripheral vision, he saw Thor hesitate--torn--but finally sit down hard on his own rough rooftop, jamming his fingers in his ears.

Tony couldn’t believe that worked, but ... he had more important things to consider just then. “So, yeah--screamer, right?” Tony flipped up his faceplate, aimed his repulsors to push him just a little closer to Loki’s roof.

Loki tracked him with a slow, and, yeah, lithe turn of his body. “You flatter yourself, Stark. I have been known to be vocal in my pleasure, but it takes one with rather more skill than yourself, I imagine.”

“Ah, you admit that you imagine. That sounds promising.” He scooted a little closer to the roof, and, even more promising, Loki took a step or two in his direction, not actively trying to kill him for a mo’, which was nice. “It’s possible that I’ve imagined, too. For example: What would one have to do to get that kind of reaction out of you? I have to admit, I’ve had a little fantasy--don’t tell Steve, he’d be mortified--”

He heard the squawk over the comms, and hushed the speaker quietly. He started again. “I think, on the one hand, you’re the kind of guy who likes to be worshiped. I mean, obvious, right? It fits? I think you’d like someone--and let's just jump past the hypothetical--someone like me--to get onto my knees, ‘kneel before Zod,’ as it were, and wait for your commands.”

His feet finally landed, lightly, on the gravel-covered roof, far enough from Loki that he could avoid a sudden finger blast or fresh demon lizard. “And I’m guessing you’re an ‘open my zipper with your teeth, peasant’ kind of a guy in those situations. Big on the face-fucking, where your cock is so far down my throat that I can’t breathe until after you come.”

He ignored the “meep” from Steve; the unhappy grunt he heard from Thor, who obviously didn’t have good ear-plugging skills; and Widow’s knowing chuckle. As Tony moved a little closer, the stone crunched, rubbed together under his boots.

Meanwhile, Loki’s raised eyebrow was a good sign. “Not bad, Stark--a bit obvious, but not bad.” Loki was now about twenty feet away from him, arms loose by his sides, but posture still wary. The silence around them--well, the lack of combat noises--suggested the other Avengers had finally vanquished the creatures.

And Loki was distracted from creating more. Score one for Iron Man.

“Obvious, eh? Yeah, the kneeling thing--I guess a little played out. Can’t have that. Don’t want you to be bored.” Tony reached up, unlatched and removed his helmet. “Yeah, maybe it’s more the ‘whore in the boardroom, virgin in the bedroom’ thing that works for you.” Tony tilted his head, watching Loki’s face carefully. “I have to admit to a particular fantasy--one of my faves--”

“Oh, this sounds promising--”

It was a taunt, but Tony hummed agreeably. “You looked so pretty trussed up after the Chitauri battle--” Yeah, risking it, Loki’s neutral expression went dark in a breath, but fuck it. “I have this giant bed--custom-made--bigger than a California King, seriously, it’s huge. And I was sure to get a headboard and footboard with these--” He made a hesitant up-and-down gesture with his gauntleted hand, fingers spread. “--slats, right? Because what is the fucking point, I ask you, of having a headboard if you can’t tie someone to it, you know?”

The dark expression had faded, and Loki gave him an amused look. “Indeed,” he said, with a single nod. “I am partial to restraints. They can give one such a sense of ... freedom.”

Oh, yeah--hooked, Tony thought. Encouraged, he took a few more steps. They were now about a dozen feet apart. Tony could still hear the quiet chatter over the comms in the suit’s speaker, but not enough to make out distinct words.

“So, this is what I’m thinking--well, this is what I was thinking the other night, after we reviewed some footage of your last attack: You, on your back, spread nice and wide on that giant bed, those soft sheets. They’re this perfect shade, like natural linen, this sort-of caramel color, that would look gorgeous around your skin as you move on them, as my hands move over you, every inch of you, as you just fucking writhe, trying harder and harder to pull yourself free--”

“Ah.” Loki shook his head, looking down with an exaggerated resignation. “So you imagine taking me by force, then?”

Oh, the god’s disappointment, however theatrical, was almost heartbreaking. “Oh, no, baby,” Tony sweetly reassured him--reassured the, uh, mass-murdering psychotic god who still was a threat to them--to him--ten feet away and closing fast. Loki met his eyes again, lips quirked at Tony’s teasing voice. “I wouldn’t want to, and I wouldn’t need to. You’d be trying to pull yourself out of the ropes--or chains, or fucking magical vines or whatever the hell--because you’d be wanting my cock so much, wanting to come so hard--”

Tony heard a thunder peal and knew the other god was looong gone. “But, here’s the thing--once I had you tied down, nice and open and ... let’s say ‘receptive’ like that, I wouldn’t want to stop. That would be the sort of thing I could keep doing for a long, long time, Loki--bringing you close with my fingers and my tongue, dragging my nails down the inside of your thighs, just where you’re the softest. the most vulnerable. Spreading you even wider, just to where your muscles ache and pull--”

Loki’s mouth had fallen open, just a little bit.

Oh, yeah.

But then: “JESUS CHRIST, TONY. SHUT THE HELL UP.” That was Clint, clear as a bell even through his distant helmet comms. Tony dropped the helmet to the ground, nudged it away, just a bit, with his toe.

“I have to admit,” he continued, “the thought of being on my knees in that scenario works a little better for me, too. Right there, between your legs, maybe putting my hands under your ass and lifting you up so I can fuck into you, hard and so, so slow. An extra push at the end of every stroke that makes you say my name. ... Hm.” He paused. “I don’t know if you’re gagged or not, actually--I might want to hear how you threaten me when I stop you from coming for the nth time, but the thought of you wordless, moaning behind a cloth is kind of--yeah.” Tony pretended to think about it, and also pretended he didn’t have a hard-on of steel, for fuck’s sake, with nothing to be done for it. He took a breath, shifting on his feet. “So, uh, does that work for you a little better?”

“Possibly,” the god admitted finally, after his own shaky breath. Loki’s new armor didn’t leave much to the imagination, and his interest was making itself just as clear. Good--let the bastard suffer with him.

Meanwhile, the distance, somehow, had closed, and Tony was now within Loki’s arms’ reach--close enough that the god could strangle him, break his neck if he wanted. But Tony was pretty sure--at least eighty percent? ninety?--that that wasn’t going to happen.

He hoped.

“So, what do you think about, then?” he asked, pretending his voice didn’t shiver, hadn’t dropped in pitch with want. “What gets you off?”

A long look. Then: “I’ll admit, Stark, it’s been a long time--too long--since I ... thought about it.” (Oh, that must suck, Tony thought--too busy storming the castle to get some. What a waste.) Loki tipped his head consideringly, then continued, “And while the scene you describe is intriguing, I’m not altogether eager to be at your mercy.” A pause. “Yet.”

“Oo,” Tony cooed with a tease, a hospitable gesture with his arm. “Continue.”

“But.” He appraised Tony, a slow look from his boots to the top of his head, where Loki gave his no-doubt-mussed hair a critical nose-wrinkle. Bastard. “I am intrigued by this larger-than-king-sized bed you describe. And the imagination fires as to what we could do in it. With both of our hands free.”

Here, he raised a hand as if to touch Tony’s suit, and, looking at every available surface ... gave it up, his arm dropping back down. “Yes, that would be ideal. I imagine you wouldn’t stop speaking, so you would give voice to every thought, gasp through every pulse of pleasure that wracked you, lying in that ridiculously-sized bed--” “Hey!” “--as my teeth sank into your neck, your shoulder, just under your arm, and that little plain of flesh right beneath your navel--”

“Oh, fuck--that’s a good spot--”

Loki, clearly in his element, was picking up speed. “Tell me, can you come from two fingers breaching you, rubbing inside you, right in that perfect, secret place?” A wider smile at Tony’s expression. “Yes, I’m certain you can, maybe with just a little help from my mouth brushing your cock, tongue just teasing the head. Tasting you as you drip your pleasure onto your own skin.” Loki had leaned in, his lips almost touching Tony’s, green eyes gazing steadily into him, as Tony tried really hard not to sway on his feet.

And that fucker kept talking. “Would you let your greatest enemy into your body in such a way, Stark?” A hum, and Tony fucking whimpered. “I think you would--you couldn’t help yourself. You can’t help yourself, can you? And why would we bother with restraints, when we’re both there by free will alone? I’d want your hands loose, to claw those sheets you’re so proud of, to pull at my hair, to fist in your own mouth as you cry out, to try to pull me back to you.

“And I would--eventually--let you. I’m quite limber, you see, as you no doubt have imagined--it’s a wonder what my mouth is capable of when my fingers, generously slick with oil, are working that secret place inside you, milking you mercilessly as you climb closer and closer to your peak--"

Then, with a burning look: "I wonder if I could make you scream."

“F-f-fuck.” And, yes, that was a stammer, because, God, he could picture it, his back arched, Loki’s tongue--his goddamned fingers, oh, Jesus, how soon could he make this happen, and he--

“I ... uh ... ,“ he tried.

And then, a new voice: “Holy shit, you made him speechless!” No, not a new voice--an annoyingly old voice. That would be Hawkeye. Tony looked around. Yeah, pretty much the worst-case scenario--three of the Avengers circled them on the roof, maintaining enough of a distance to be cautious, but close enough to be a real fucking cock-block.

(Hulk was off, chilling until he de-Hulked, apparently, and Thor, of course, was long gone, nursing his traumas in a stein of something, somewhere.)

Breaking the incredibly awkward silence, Cap offered, “Uh--thanks? Tony? For that, um ... nontraditional hostile-apprehension technique.”


Oh! Yeah, right. That. He gave Loki a little shrug--mouthed a clear “sorry” at him. Loki just smirked back and dipped his head in acknowledgment. Tony wondered if his own face was as flushed.

Steve, then: “Now, Loki, you’ll be coming with us--”

And Widow laughed, the bitch.

Loki actually gave her a conspiratorial grin, then turned to Steve. “No, Captain, I don’t believe I’ll be coming with you.” Tony snorted. “I have better things to do.” He glanced at Tony. “But I think you will be seeing me again, soon.” And Tony hadn’t imagined the emphasis on the “you” and the “soon” as Loki gave him one last look. He wondered if he could run those awesome sheets through the laundry with extra fabric softener in time for nightfall. Why he had gotten rid of the live-in help, he didn’t know. Screw their Avengers secrets--he needed clean sheets on the bed, like, now.

And somewhere in that line of thought, Loki vanished in a puff of smoke, similar to whatever the creatures had been made--

Oh. “Hey, you guys got rid of all those monsters, right?” Tony finally thought to confirm.

“Yeah, fuckwad--no thanks to you,” Clint answered cheerfully, standing down. Loki’s disappearing act hardly fazed anyone anymore.

“Hey, I stopped the problem at the source,” Tony retorted. “Stuck my finger in the proverbial dike, my friend.”

Tasha shook her head, tickled but trying to hide it. “God, Stark.”

Steve, of course, was exuding disapproval, in the squared shoulders, the locked-down frown, and the big arms crossed over his chest. “There’s one other problem, Iron Man--”

“Hey, there's no problem! I got this one, so you’re welcome. Loki Silvertongue meets Tony of the Platinum.”

“--or brass,” Clint sniped.

“That, too.”

“No, Tony--seriously.” Cap waved a hand around the rooftop, toward some of the other buildings. “We weren’t the only ones who heard you, and once some of the more ... colorful--”

“Dirty,” Natasha contributed.

“Yes, colorful dialogue got out, we picked up a bunch of unauthorized ears nearby--”

Tony looked around, and, sure enough, on almost every level rooftop was a person--or group of people, or friggin’ throng--with a laughably-sized unidirectional mic pointed at them.

Tony frowned, just for a second, and then ...

Yeah, he chuckled. Snorted. And, finally, just laughed. Hard.

“Oh, Cap--worth it. That bastard is hot as fuck--he just is.” At that, Tony shouted, at the top of his lungs, “AND, YOU GUYS--YES, YOU OVER THERE, WITH THE TMZ CAPS--QUOTE ME ON THIS:


Screw this, he thought, as he took off from the roof with a wave. He had some sheets to clean, and, hopefully, a god to bang.