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Fresh white linen sheets. Like clean sheets of paper, they welcome anything and everything Tony sees fit to introduce to them. Like an endless train of canvas by the hand of an artist running amok, they only disclose one shape these days.
Two shapes, to be more accurate, yet invariably arranged together, in all imaginable ways.
How long has this been going on? The question crosses his mind like lightning. A hastily discarded irrelevance when Loki sets about lavishing those agonizing small pushes of hips, riding him, all languid smudges of warmth and pressure.
He used to time this by sheets, he would later think. That he did, but at some point the sheets became too many, with more than a handful of them piling in heaps undivided by space which Loki's usual departures provided. Soaked through one another, they were all spreading in a blur.
He lost count of the sheets, and yet somehow he would find himself with Loki on the same page.
Mostly.
"I swear, you have no sense of perversity whatsoever," he complains when Loki has been eying a pair of handcuffs dangling from the hooks of Tony's fingers, in prolonged and much telling silence.
Come to think of it, considering how they first met, maybe the suggestion was somewhat inappropriate. This is just as well, because Tony has never been what most people would call a considerate person, and he sure isn't turning into one for the sake of a mass murderer's feelings.
It's interesting though, reflecting on how things have changed.
"Who would have guessed?" Tony scrutinizes Loki with his gaze. Putting the handcuffs away on the nightstand, he strikes an easy smile. "I'm starting to think maybe we're not the best match made in heaven after all."
"And you only see that now." Loki emphasizes the last word with a dart of gaze to where the rather tacky looking gadget found its rest, his voice faintly amused. “Hm.”
“What?”
“How did I not foresee that you would enjoy being clasped in scraps of metal?”
Tony thinks. He thinks, therefore he is. Considering his biography, it's safe to say that Tony Stark brings a whole new meaning to the phrase.
Swollen lips trace a damp snail's path up Tony's nape in a hot and lingering open mouthed kiss. It spills countless rivulets of sweet sensation running through his entire body. Loki should only move a little... yes, right there.
"You can read people's minds too?"
On his skin, Tony can feel lips curling in a smile.
"I should hope not," Loki huffs a warm puff.
Taking Loki at his word, Tony resumes his own train of thought. Serves him right; if Loki was lying, he just brought a welter of Tony's doubts upon himself.
That's the thing though, with Loki there's no point even trying to tell lies from truths.
Tony claws on Loki's skin. It feels so infuriatingly real, what they have. Which makes it a perfect lie, if that's the case, and he'd expect nothing less from the god of lies. The farther they go only constitutes proof of either authenticity or Loki's talent in deception. How about that for a harsh revelation? In fact, whatever Tony's mind can come up with to support one thing, at the same time will back up the very thing he's trying to disprove. In fact-
Short circuits of soft touches take over his body, and then there's no room for anything but the warm, all-encompassing feeling as Loki leans in.
Tony looks up to see his carefree smile.
"I don't get it," he blurts out. "This -"
Loki nestles his face in the crook of Tony's neck.
“Mm,” he murmurs agreeably. “That's because it's simple."
With that, Loki sinks in the sheets, setting there as easily and tightly as dim streetlights on his skin. He'll be asleep in no time.
Tony has never been good with relationships. He is, however, faultless in recognizing when things work.