***Summer is half-drowsing, book tipped over on her chest, when her phone goes off. She stretches for it, tumbling the book onto the floor, and clicks the screen open.
[text from: Glowheart] Your presence is requested in the penthouse for nefarious purposes as soon as possible.
The phrasing is clearly Jarvis’. She rolls her eyes a little.
Nefarious purposes. That could mean anything from science run rampant to Tony attempting to cook. Flopping wholly off the couch to her feet, she tidies up the book and heads for the Tower. She goes in the front door, just so she can quiz Jarvis about what’s going on.
Loki is busy taming Tony while they wait for Summer. He steers his prisoner to the bed and pins him flat, stretching Tony’s arms overhead and kissing him. “It’s clear the last lesson didn’t stick,” he says, casting the same little spell to bind the hands. He doesn’t want Tony immobile — far from it. But Tony is not going to be allowed to escape Loki’s plans, either. It’s a sequence of magic the trickster hasn’t used in far too long — hands bound together and over the head, feet bound apart, eyes bound against sight. For the moment, it doesn’t matter that Tony is yet clothed.
Tony might have been uncomfortable with just how quickly he found himself bound and blinded, if not for his contact with Loki making it so he had some idea of when it was all coming. Instead, he simply thrashes against the bindings, out of some perpetual need to be contrary and to see if they would hold. “But you like me just the way I am,” he replies, silky and saccharine, “or you wouldn’t put up with my bullshit.” He lifts his head, trying to aim for another kiss, but with just his hearing to go by, he misses and winds up catching the god’s chin, instead.
Distracted as he is, he doesn’t quite catch Jarvis’s announcement that Summer has arrived at the tower.
“Jarvis, nefarious purposes? Really?” Summer’s no longer expecting an answer, actually; now that she’s in the Tower she can tell what’s going on. Not sure what her part in it is supposed to be, but she can tell what’s going on. She drums her fingertips on the walls in the elevator, unusually impatient with the length of the ride.
When she steps out, it takes a second to realise they’re in the bedroom — Tony’s sense in her mind is different somehow, like an echo. And then she stops in the bedroom door, and her jaw drops. It shouldn’t be sensual, she thinks, it really shouldn’t be, Tony bound hand and foot and Loki hovering over him with dark desire.
But oh god, it is.