The silhouette was always sharply etched against the New York skyline. Tony didn’t know how he actually got up there; he’d never seen the other man fly on his own. A small, traitorous part of his mind whispered, he didn’t /want/ to know.

The other Avengers knew not to disturb him right now; he’d overheard Clint, once, jokingly refer to it as ‘his time of the month,’ before being glared into silence by Natasha. Compared to other things, this was a harmless indulgence. Compared.

Horns, against the night sky.

Loki always vanished his armour before he came inside, though. He wore it on arrival, like a calling card, like a knock, silent announcement of his presence. Silent, so he could be ignored by all.

Except Tony.

It had begun with a drink, but what didn’t, for Tony? Even he didn’t know, now, what he’d expected when he offered. Not this, surely.

This. What was this? Frenzied coupling, drunken and sloppy with suppressed need and guilty desire? Slow, sober kisses traded like candy, spiced with caressing words? Light banter, volleyed back and forth with all the intensity of a tennis match, until one of them broke into helpless laughter?

Twice a moon, dark and full. In the shadows of Loki’s hair, in the brightness of Tony’s arc reactor, they came together, unable to resist each other. Drawn and clashing, all sharp edges and wit; they never spoke of it outside these nights; never let it affect them outside this room.

It had begun with mischief, but what didn’t, for Loki? Even he didn’t know, now, what he’d expected when he’d done it. Not this, surely.

/This/ was Tony’s fingers, calloused and grease-stained, shaping designs of desire against Loki’s hips, pressing them together while they tried to mold into one being. /This/ was Loki’s tongue, silver for more than words, jarring Tony’s senses out of the usual courses until the world crashed back together in jagged pieces. This was Loki’s wickedly accurate and merely mortal mimicry of the voice and mannerisms of everyone they’d both ever met, from Thor to Maria Hill, from Omega Red to Mandarin, while Tony literally rolled on the floor from laughing. This was Tony rambling his way through a techno-science description of the universe, with Loki inserting sardonic corrections and addenda until Tony put a hand over his mouth.

It was chinese takeout and trying to cook for each other; it was good books and bad movies; it was video games and and sniggering like schoolboys as they blew things up in the lab. Sometimes it was quiet cuddling of the other through flashbacks and remembered pain, or dominance play and ego measuring.

It was never, ever boring.