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No. 68112
"Fuck, I'd love to see you without that thing on for once," Tony said.
He hoped for another booming laugh, but instead Doom went deathly silent, then stepped forward, raising one hand towards Tony, and for a moment he thought Doom meant to crush his skull for that comment. Instead, Doom grasped him by the faceplate and slammed him into the wall.
"Argh," snarled Tony as he fought against Doom's grip.
"Fool! You pompous ingrate, you will learn your place!" Doom was furious; his eyes were dilated and wild. "If you would look upon Doom's face, then look!"
He ripped the mask off. This had the effect of making Tony stop shock-still; it did not have the effect of cooling his ardor.
Doom was scarred, but Tony had slept with people covered in scars, even facial scars. And these weren't keloids or discolored welts, but thin, spidery cracks, as though Doom's face (dark skinned, full lips -- a very handsome man, Tony dimly noted) had been cracked like a mirror, and then carefully put back together again. The overall effect was unnerving. And ruthlessly exciting.
"Gorgeous," breathed Tony.
Doom released him, and Tony stood shakily on his feet. Doom regarded him coldly, and Tony got the impression he was considering whether or not to seriously maim him for his drunken ramblings. "Get down on your knees," Doom commanded, "and worship your better."
Beneath his mask, Tony smirked. "Oh, is that how you like to pla-"
"Silence!"
"Oookay," Tony quickly conceded. He dropped to his knees. From this angle Doom looked even taller and more powerful, like an angry god. Doom's dark eyes watched him from that curiously beautiful cracked face, and Tony could feel himself getting hard. Shit, he thought to himself, I'm more fucked up than I thought.
"Remove your gloves," Doom ordered him.
Tony's gauntlets clattered to the floor. Doom reached for his own belt, and a thrill went through Tony's whole body from his scalp to his toes. He hated Doom. He wanted to fuck his brains out. It was like every doomed relationship he'd ever had, distilled into pure adrenaline.
Doom did something that Tony couldn't see clearly to his belt, and that tunic billowed open more loosely. "Now," said Doom, as though he were merely gearing up for another monologue, "worship me, minion."
Tony's hands glided up the smooth metal plates covering Doom's legs to slip inside the fabric of his tunic. He had to fight past several layers of fabric and a codpiece to find -- oh, wow. Somehow the idea that Doom was a man and had a cock hadn't seemed organic to Tony before. He'd always perceived Doom as a force of pure malevolence who'd sprung into the world fully formed like a tin-plated Athena from Zeus' head, not a man of flesh and blood (and metal, and magic). His hands were much too dry, and he didn't dare remove his mask to spit on them. So Tony settled for gently stroking the swelling organ, dimly noting through his stupor that Doom was uncut. He is European, after all.
Doom's cock was the same sugar brown as his skin, and Tony had a mad desire to wrap his mouth and tongue around it, but he had just enough reason left to keep his mask (and his secret identity) intact. It didn't take long for Doom to become rock hard, and rock against Tony's hand. He was still eerily silent, staring down at Tony, his bisected upper lip twitching. "Fuck, yes," muttered Tony, and then Doom came into his hand in long, heavy spurts. "Beautiful. Fucking beautiful."
Doom made him wipe him off, then tuck him back into his tunic. "Now," he said at last, his voice annoyingly at ease, "back to the task at hand." He strode over to the time machine, laying near-forgotten on the table. Tony, who was still so hard he could cry, glared at him fiercely.
"You ever hear of 'all work and no play', Doom?"
http://community.livejournal.com/marvel_kink/567.html?thread=358455#t358455
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