Characters/Pairings: Loki/Tony Stark
Warnings: Sexual themes, character exploratiom(?)
Summary: Loki wears an armour of permafrost, and Tony wants nothing more than to thaw him out.
Note: everything comes back to smut with these two, so i tried character exploration instead.
Loki comes to him like rain comes to the desert. He’s just as wild, just as burning hot and freezing cold. He’s just as rare and unpredictable. Tony doesn’t know if he’s come to hate the familiar chill of Loki’s hand at the small of his back pushing him into the nearest available surface, or if he relishes it. He always makes sure to press their mouths together in a feverish kiss before Tony can make some dry humourless quip. Personally, he doesn’t know why Loki bothers, it’s not like he’s going to scream for help.
Not when Loki looks at him so intently with a haunted expression of want, a bottomless pit of hunger that Tony can’t even hope to fill but knows all too well. It’s the only honest emotion Loki shows him, that hunger like poison. Tony holds onto it like he holds onto Loki’s slim shoulders, lets that hunger fester inside of him and become his own. He’s sick of the lies, prefers the Loki under the mask of permafrost.
He’s long since stopped trying to ask questions. Why him? Why at all? He wants to know what Loki’s game is, wants to know what part he has in it, but that’s dangerous ground. Better that he can feign ignorance and smile. Besides, Loki simply laughs softly when he asks a question, a breathy sound that sends sparks of arousal to the pit of his stomach and winds him tight.
They never speak. Loki’s fingers speak in a language they both understand very well. Sometimes tender and gentles, sometimes demanding and rough. It’s all the same really, because by now he knows Tony’s body intimately to the last detail. He knows just where to press to make him squirm and mewl embarrassingly, glaring a little at Loki’s smirk, but too turned on to really be angered by the slight.
Too focussed on wiping that smug expression from the trickster’s lips to care that all of this is probably a devastatingly bad idea. He can worry about the rights or wrongs later. He can deal with the consequences when Loki isn’t giving him that look of poisonously honest bottomless hunger. He can worry about the risks when Loki isn’t wearing armour of permafrost on his very skin.
Loki is cold. Like he’s spent too much time walking around in below zero weather, like he’s been swimming in the artic ocean in the dead of winter. He’s cold right down to his heart, like he’s dipped it in dry ice and smashed it to pieces like glass. He’s cold and Tony imagines somehow that he thaws when Tony is touching him. He wonders if that’s why Loki comes to him, because they are the same and completely opposite, Tony is all fire where Loki is ice, cliché as that may be.
There’s a million miles of ice and frost and snowstorms and ever present permafrost before he can even dream of reaching that frozen heart. He wants to. He wants to eat up all of Loki’s hunger, his ice. He wants to eat right through him with heat, dig in and not let go until Loki is something like human. He wants to save him. It’s a piss poor time to try to be a hero, but as far as he’s concerned, Loki showing up every so often is like he’s admitting he needs one.
He imagines Loki thaws a little when he’s panting above him, hands steady and sure on the curve of his waist, hips rolling and eyes intense star bright, pressing little reverent kisses to his forehead and along the side of his jaw. He imagines he takes the edge off that hunger and tosses his head back to offer his throat. Loki’s mouth is there instantly, teeth and lips and tongue, so cold he’s searing hot.
Tony imagines the permafrost of Loki’s armour softens a little more with each visit. And if it doesn’t, then he’ll have to hold him tighter until it does.