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“I don’t understand the appeal,” Loki said, eyeing him with a curious tilt of his head.
Tony grinned with a sharp smile while leaning his weight against the chains. The sting of the cuts and bruises were a welcomed feeling on his wrists and ankles. “Right back at you, Princess.”
Loki didn’t respond to the comment, he simply moved closer, taking Tony’s chin and tilting it up. He appraised him like he might an animal on display. He ran a finger over the other’s jaw, a spark of magic keeping Tony from spitting at him.
Loki had learnt his lesson early on that front.
His eyes were transfixed on the column of Tony’s throat as he muttered, “And yet...”
“And yet, you’re a sick fuck who-”
Loki’s thumb pressed over his lips, a flare in his eyes that made Tony’s mouth snap shut and his eyes shoot fire at the Mage.
“I have not touched you,” Loki told him quietly; ignoring the soft way his hand always found Tony’s face and even the way his magic and restraints had given Tony wounds. He was brushing them aside with indifference, his words only meaning a specific kind of caress - and Tony was well aware of that. “But you are...” he scowled. “You are annoying.”
Tony knew the words for what they were; annoyingly intriguing, annoyingly attractive, annoyingly desirable.
But he couldn’t say anything, not with Loki’s thumb brushing his lip in slow, magically silencing strokes. Loki's eyes stared, vaguely unfocused but still always, always fixated on him. Loki was obsessed with him and it fell somewhere smack dab in the middle of fucking terrifying and furiously unbreakable.
He’d tried insults, he’d tried wheedling, even attempted seduction but Loki was impossible to work around. He couldn’t even get out of his chains for five seconds in the Mage’s presence - an amount that would be just long enough to stab him in the face and end this whole thing. But, no, it was like scratching at ice with blunt nails.
And the worst part was that Tony was actually starting to enjoy the time spent with the guy, starting to think; I couldn’t do that to him. He might be back in chains when the Mage was present, but at least he wasn’t alone. And fuck it all, he kind of pitied Loki. (And even he realised that was a warning sign.)
He been taken from Earth a few months ago but he’d been treated like a mostly forgotten guest when Loki wasn’t there. He was just locked in a room he couldn’t leave and left to his own devices with books, a bed, and a worktable.
When Loki did decide to show up, Tony always knew in advance because everything disappeared. He was then dragged up by invisible bonds and into his customary position of powerless snarling where he would be contemplated like a pinned butterfly.
The silence at least, never lasted long; Loki liked to get him talking - even if was just insulting him. Sometimes he’d just talk about his day, smiling briefly at Tony’s comments like he was some kind of court jester or like they were just friends teasing each other.
Tony knew all about ruling Asgard under an illusion by now (he also knew about all their backward homophobic doctrines that Loki still couldn’t shake). Really, Tony could write a book about it: a captive’s guide to a repressed homosexual dictator with a BDSM fetish. It would sell millions.
And as if to only prove his point about Loki's struggling gaydom; Loki dropped his hand and let his fingers briefly brush the centre of Tony’s bare chest (which was actually progress. Slightly more brazen touching had only started last week), something that was always revealed for Loki’s staring pleasure. And Loki did look, but he never touched beyond those almost accidental strokes.
Tony almost wanted to scream at him; hit me, punch me, kiss me, fuck me. Do something before I go even crazier than you.
“I don’t understand,” and it was a growled confession of frustration, but Loki's eyes were pools of longing, disgust, confusion and attraction.
Loki didn’t wait for an answer though; he just turned on his heel and disappeared in a bunch of sparkles and a snap of his coat.
He left Tony alone again, removed him from his chains and forced Tony to pick himself back up from the floor. He was used to the drop by now, and it was nice to see his furnishings and clothing reappear in the room (and on him) again too.
He still stared at the spot where the Mage had disappeared from for a few minutes, feeling an overwhelming wave of depression. I don’t get it either, he thought at the Mage, but I’m starting to - and I wish you’d give me some kind of outcome soon.
Because if the guy didn’t come up with something or make a move and admit his homosexual fantasies - then Tony was just going to have to kiss him to get it over with. The gesture might actually get him killed, which would suck, but it would at least be something.
Tony couldn’t stand being a frustrated and trapped curiosity much longer.