It's late in the afternoon. Sunlight filters in through the paneled windows of Tony Stark's mansion; a single ray bounces off the Empire State Building, onto the bar, then onto the two men who are lying in a sweat-soaked heap on the cream-colored rug below. One of the men, Tony himself, shifts a little, and his partner, Loki Laufeyson, runs a long, pale finger down his spine.
"JARVIS," Tony mumbles absently to his AI. "Dim the windows. It's too fucking stuffy in here."
He feels Loki's lips brush the back of his neck; the god's skin is surprisingly cool, and Tony presses against his touch automatically, rolling over, his arc reactor glowing softly between them. He opens his eyes and smiles a little, and Loki is momentarily startled at how the bright blue of his irises is flecked here and there with his natural brown color, an indication that the spell from the staff is starting to weaken against Tony's natural strength and stubborn nature. He will have to recharge him soon