day 3: lime
30 days, 300 word drabbles. frostiron set.
So maybe Tony doesn’t have the best impulse control.
To be fair, not even a saint would be able to resist the man currently smirking a challenge at Tony.
“You talk a big game, Stark,” he says. Just Stark – not mister, and Tony’s willing to bet that ‘sir’ costs extra. He might be in love. Or maybe that was his dick. “Can you follow through?”
“Always,” Tony promises.
The bar is buzzing with the low rumble of people chatting, punctuated by a loud laugh every now and then. Drinks clink on the counter, but Tony hasn’t touched his since this guy walked in with his leather fucking pants and his 'casual’ white tee, black hair tousled like someone had been holding it while they pushed into his mouth—
“Got a name?”
The guy smiles, twines his long fingers around the base of his shot glass. “Loki.”
(there’s a read more cut here, mobile users)