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Sometimes, in the in-between times, between battles and fights, between the name-calling and the cat-calling and the vicious wounds that bloomed like love-notes, in between the strangulation and the whispered promises, there were these moments, when Loki arrived at his door, shadowed and glittering sharp. His mouth was a thin line of regret and desire, slashed across a closed face, half in and half out of a moment he wasn't sure he was ready for.
Tony ached for these times, for the in-betweens.
Somehow reality had become fractured into separate parts. There were the times when he was with Loki, and there was the rest of the world. Pepper had faded into a shallow shadow of herself, a pale orange blur against the haze of green at the edge of his vision. He caught her worried eyes and the lingering touch of her lips on his cheek, her breath a warm breeze when he wanted nothing more than to be frozen.
Loki.
Loki was all sharp angles, pressing him up against the edge of the bed, one thigh in between his own and a harsh expulsion of breath against his throat. Loki had lines like a cat, sleek and severe, beautifully soft against searching fingers even as claws ripped down his back and sides. It was not a pleasant experience, not a gentle touch. But that wasn't why Tony was obsessed. It wasn't for the kisses that Loki left on his throat, nor the delicate way in which the god slowly knit together wounded skin. The magic shuddered over his skin, as foreign as the idea of sweetness, mending bleeding marks and leaving only the echoing murmur of what once had been, and dried stains on a satin sheet.
It was not even the sex. Sex, so simple a word for the absolution Loki and Tony gave each other. Sex, a three letter word to describe the intimate death of privacy, the vulnerability of a destroyed home. Loki had come into his life, and torn apart the floor of his world, baring his secrets and his dreams and all the horrible, dark things that twisted inside him. Loki had watched these demons leak black from Tony's wounds, and he had simply bent his head and lapped them up, like so much milk and sugar.
Loki had - well, Loki had laughed.
"Little human," and his voice at this moment was a whisper, lips pressed against Tony's unshaven jaw. "I have seen the furthest reaches of the universe. I have given birth to the ruler of Helheim. I have watched my children stolen from me. I have cried as my son fought his bonds, as venom split my face apart." He cold-as-ice fingers slid, echoes of a glacier, across the smaller man's chest, shivers running like waves as they traversed the planes. "I have destroyed a thousand lives. I have saved a thousand more. No one loves me, little human." A slow, wet tongue licked a trail behind his ear. "No one in a thousand years has loved me but you, little human."
And then when he was inside Tony, hard and thick, pinning his wrists, face bare inches from his own, cool breath and hard thrusting, beautiful hips against his own, a sharp stretching pain - as Loki split him apart and filled him up and completed him, violently - he whispered furious words of love, of adoration. Little one, little one, little one. "I understand you," he groaned, and Tony jerked against the warm hand on his cock, flooding thick seed over them both, as his body struggled and writhed against the god's.
He never spent the night. He never even stayed to clean up. His body vanished like a dream, leaving Tony dazed and still hard, panting in a rumpled bed, semen leaking from wherever the other man had seen fit to spill it. And Tony slid his hands over himself, hoping, uselessly, to find the bruises and wounds he knew would never be there. His only physical reminder was a faint soreness and the evidence of having been taken, owned, written across and through him.
Tony knew he was obsessed. Knew it in the way he smiled, faint and quick as a moth's wing, whenever he heard tales of his lover's destruction. Knew it in the way he twisted his fingers against his flesh, seeking out that slight burning pain that reminded him of a harsh hand against his thighs and throat. Knew it in the way he always sensed - always - the moment Loki was back on Earth, knew it when he saw the shadows shift and the curtains of night part, and there - finally, there was a dark man in green, piercing through with shades of alabaster and hunger.
And always, Loki knelt before his lover, burying his tired face in Tony's lap, so that the smaller, oh-so-human and breakable man could slip his bare fingers through the fine-as-silk strands of midnight, finding an unnameable peace in stroking this cat-god, this liar, this angry force of nature.
"I will destroy you," he would say, so quiet and so empty.
Tony leaned down, slow and careful - for you never startle a cat, and you never anger a god - and rest his brow against his lover's hair. "You know you already have."
Sometimes, in the in-betweens, when the midnight hues separated into the shapes that may have made up a person - sometimes, Tony felt whole again.
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