gadgeteerphilanthropist:

mischiefandflyte:

iamthefirechild:

There are /no/ words. She doesn’t even try, just walks across the floor, half-dazed by the swirls of desire spinning in the room. Telepathy. That explains — a lot. The echo. The sheer, overwhelming emotion.

Summer reaches out, fingers brushing against Tony’s hand — and she might as well be unclothed and spread beneath them both, oh god. “Please, darling, misbehave,” she whispers, finally, curling the fingers of her other hand around Loki’s free hand.

Pulling the god upright, she kisses him, drawing it out as much as possible. “Tell me what you want.”

He’s got them both at his mercy. What a lovely feeling — though Summer’s got a way with her mouth that brings the idea of mercy into question. Perhaps she can use that mouth on him while he is teaching Tony patience. The thought jolts lust through his veins.

Loki makes certain to keep a hand on Tony, even while Summer is attempting, apparently, to unravel his brain; it will be interesting to see just how much of a voyeur Tony is. Even when virtually looking through someone else’s eyes. “Undress him,” he tells Summer, squeezing her hand briefly before guiding it to the genius’ belt. “The magic will allow the passage of clothing; it restricts only our lover’s flesh. Disrobe him, and share your special magic. Let us see to what frenzies we may drive ourselves.”

He draws away to sit wide-legged in a nearby chair, calling a soft-tipped flogger to his hand and running the tassels through his fingers.

He can’t see the kiss, but he can feel it, or feel it as they do, rather, and he’s rapidly deciding that’s just as nice, before the kiss breaks.

Tony makes a discontented noise as Loki moves, and it gets quieter in his head, just as he had been getting used to the noise.  He latches onto Summer’s presence all the more firmly instead, and falls curiously still as it floods through him.

He can sense both of them again, through Summer’s empathy, though Loki is fainter now and less three dimensional.  And again it’s surreal, looking at someone’s mental image of someone else, and he wonders if he could just layer mental images together and get an honest reflection, but he doubts he has any sort of time to play around with that.  Besides, Summer’s empathy was proving too distracting to truly focus on much else.  He can even sort of sense himself through it, and for a moment he gets distracted chasing that in a circle, before he tugs once, harshly, on his wrists’ bindings to ground himself and focus on Summer properly.

“Shhh,” she soothes, not even really aware of it. With Tony almost as much in her mind as she usually is in his, there’s actually a feedback /loop/. She can hear him hearing her — it’s bizarre. Steadily she unbuckles, unbuttons, and unzips, even while she’s absorbing and reflecting back both men’s every emotion.

“Hips, Tony,” she murmurs, pulling his pants down, and it’s just as Loki said: where ordinary bonds would catch, the fabric falls right through. She has to pause there, hand braced against Tony’s hip, just to breathe deeply, reduced almost to the point of whimpering simply by Loki’s eagerness and Tony’s arousal.

Finding some point of balance, she kisses her way from knee to hip and starts on the buttons of Tony’s shirt, pausing again to shove her hair back over her shoulder and out of the way.