dreamsofpoison | for halfassed

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for halfassed

Just how and why Loki was back on Earth was a mystery. There had been no communication from Thor any Asgardian representatives. It wasn't obvious that Loki was back, in fact, his presence could have gone unnoticed if not for, well, mischief.

He'd somehow taken something belonging to one Clint Barton. Something very dear to him. His bow. Said bow now sat on a mantel above the fireplace in his current residence. It was a stone and log cabin. Lodge would be a more appropriate description. Logs make up A frame structures to support the roof. They also provide an excellent place to suspend someone from. Which inevitably happened when Barton followed the little trail of bread crumbs to find his bow and ultimately, Loki.

He's suspended near the fireplace, which is lit. Turned so he can see his bow sitting there on the mantel. He's hung high enough his toes barely brush the ground and apparently Loki took great care in securing his wrists in a specific type of cuff. The kind that would ensure he could keep him there for quite some time without much damage to his hands or wrists. He was stripped of his weapons and all his clothes save for his pants. Hence why he choose the beam close to the fire. It was the dead of winter outside.

As for Loki himself, he stood by the window, watching the snow fall and waiting for the subtle signs his captive has awoken. He's far removed from the armor and leather of before. Instead he's in simple mortal clothes but they still had a certain Loki-esque flair to them.

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His hand is in motion before Loki has finished speaking. And then he jerks to a stop, like, seriously, is this happening? And then he moves again. And then hesitates again. And then -- he touches.

Loki is wetter, now, and his thumb slides along Loki's vulvae. It is hot as fuck. He feels all stretched tight and breathless inside, anticipating and craving.

Yeah, he's going to be hard as a rock. Very, very soon.

He slides a finger a little bit of the way into Loki's body. A warm, damp grip around him.

His hand pulls away, and he tentatively pulls it out from under the blankets and darts a tongue out to taste. Not looking at Loki, not watching Loki's reaction, just he really, really wants to go down on Loki right now. He wants to touch and taste and feel where Loki's body opens up. God does he ever.

A little smile crosses his lips as he sees the hesitation then him actually do it. Loki lets out a breath then eases off of him and on to his back. Oh, and he likes this feeling. He feels like he's back in control and not that nauseating helplessness he was feeling.

"Now," he says, lifting the blankets up so Clint can see down there. "Use your mouth."

Fucking mindreader.

Clint is on it, like a good soldier. Like a good, very horny soldier. He moves down and braces himself on his knees. Dark in here, but he knows his way by feel. He pulls Loki's legs up onto his shoulders and tilts Loki's pelvis up and parts the lips with his thumbs and draws his tongue all along his slit, up to the clit. Presses the flat of his tongue against that, and then returns down, pressing his mouth against Loki to lick inside of him.

Clint isn't alone in feeling this shit after all. This is a place that Loki keeps hidden, doesn't let people touch or see, and Clint is here going down on him on Loki's word.

Loki lets out a slow breath. There's a slight shiver through him at the first contact of his tongue. His legs shift open further, then one of his heels dig into Clint's back when his tongue goes inside him. He lets out a hiss of sensation.

Soon his hips start to twitch against him. One of his hands finds its way down to grip at his hair. His other hand ghosts down his own cock once.

It's warm here, close, difficult to breathe, but none of that matters. None of it matters at all, because Loki is touching himself, he's twitching up against Clint's tongue and digging heels into his back. Clint redoubles his efforts, all precision and strength and devotion. He licks, gently sucks Loki's clit between his lips, then returns lower. Hands supporting Loki's ass. It's messy, and it's hot, and Clint makes an executive decision that Loki's use your mouth meant only his mouth, and that makes him even hotter. Loki can use him like this any time he wants.

Well, Loki isn't complaining about that decision at all. There's a two fold high he gets from this. One is strictly the power of it, a stronger feeling that it was with the scepter because here Clint could stop, if he wanted. Of course, the other is obvious.

Loki's thighs begin to shake the closer to orgasm he gets. He's not used to oral there. Not that he hasn't had it before, it just wasn't often. His hand starts to move over himself in hard pulls, to produce a lovely contrast in sensations. "Yes," he draws out into a moan. He's gotten very close very quickly.

Clint's fingers dig into Loki's thighs, and he makes a sound, a low vibration into Loki. Loki's going to come apart, over him and around him. Loki's hand tugging on his hair -- he backs off, as Loki gets very, very close, and he moves to Loki's clit, and tongues it slowly and softly to push Loki just barely over the edge.

He makes a choked sound. The sudden back off is like hitting a brick wall. He groans out in frustration, digging his heel in with a bruising force. His hips surge up to encourage more contact. Both his hands move to Clint's head to pull him in closer. Another frustrated sound and he's clawing at his head.

Then he's gasping, slowly moving over the edge. His fingers dig into his skull the moment before an orgasm rocks through him. Though it is only an orgasm through the female anatomy, his cock is still hard and not quite over the edge.

He's reluctant to pull away. He licks deep, long and slow, dragging Loki through the aftershocks. Fingers stroke along Loki's thigh.

He waits for Loki's word to pull away.

"Enough," Loki breathes unsteadily which is followed by a very low, almost inaudible please. He does entertain the idea of letting Clint continue until Loki was completely out of his mind. Maybe another time he tells himself.

Still breathing hard, he's hit with a very intense desire to bend him over the nearest piece of furniture and pounding him into the ground. He draws in a hiss of a breath through his teeth then admits. "I want to fuck you."

He licks his lips, wipes his mouth off. He's pulled the blanket back by the time he hears that.

"Yes, sir."

The response is completely automatic, bypassing all conscious decision-making.

And it's deeply fucked-up.

"What?" asking in honest surprise in his voice. Well, and maybe a desire to hear that again.

"Move closer to the fire," he says, shifting on to his side.

Well, he might as well own it.

"I said," he says, more firmly, as he moves to obey, "yes, sir."

Oh, that thrills along the tunnels in his brain carved by the scepter. He goes on his hands and knees, still on the blankets, the firelight's warmth all along the left half of his body.

Edited 2012-09-25 03:08 (UTC)

Loki watches in a mild sort of awe. Even knowing what the scepter left behind, this is willing. More willing than it would be under complete control.

"Lean forward on your arms," he says next, running a hand up his back to urge him into that position. His other hand brushes over his ass but does nothing. "Tell me when it hurts too much," he instructs next.

He already knows Clint hasn't done this before. So they will need something... then Loki gets an idea. "Look at what I'm doing," he says then lets a hand drift down between his own legs. He had gotten quite wet after all. He curls his fingers in himself to draw out as much of the wetness a he can. It may not be enough but he likes the sort of message it sends him. Once he thinks he has a good amount he brings his fingers to Clint's bared ass. He draws a slick finger over the hole then circles it. Satisfied enough wetness has been spread starts to push.

He goes down, resting his weight on the distance between elbow and wrist. His thighs spread apart, knees bent underneath him. He doesn't really consciously realize it, but it's further than most men could go. He is flexible, and very physically fit, and he's anxious. He wants to please, and he wants it to feel good.

As ordered, he looks back. He realizes what Loki is doing, and lets out a choked groan, his head dropping briefly to rest on his hands. Damn him. Damn him for turning this into a vulnerability for Clint -- damn him for taking Clint like a girl.

Damn Clint for getting on his knees like he was born to it.

The first finger feels weird. It isn't bad, but it isn't good, either. He's not sure what he's really supposed to get out of it, besides the turn-on of being the one to submit to another.

Loki moves his finger in a few short thrusts then slowly he works on adding another finger. He twists them once inside, working to stretch his muscles out and spreading what wetness he can. As he works his fingers he presses his thumb against his perineum.

"How does it feel?" he asks, choosing that moment to hook his fingers inside him.

His hips give an aborted thrust forward. His voice is strained, and the first time he tries to say something, it won't come out. Second try: "W-what was that." Loki, like -- he pinched or something, outside and inside Clint, and he felt it in his cock. What the hell.

That causes a grin to return to his face. Naturally, he does it again. "That?" he asks like he has no idea what he is talking about. "Does it hurt?" he asks in mock innocence. Really, Clint, he has no idea what you are talking about. He gives a few short thrusts with his fingers then scissors them.

Grunts forced out of him with every movement of those fingers. He's pretty sure he's leaking precum. Dripping it. He's also pretty sure that's never happened before.

Gathers enough breath to speak. "You know," oh Jesus, "exactly what, oh god, please, please do that again."

There's a soft laugh behind him. His touch softens, giving only enough pressure to tease. "You like this," he says, not a question. He leans forward enough his own erection brushes along the side of Clint's hip. "Do you want to know what it feels like?" he asks, giving a bit more pressure. "To learn just how much your body can actually take and still love it?"

This presses every button he knew he had and every button he didn't know he had. Yes. Yes, he wants Loki to push him to his limits, he wants to go there and back under a firm ruling hand. He knew he liked being ordered around, but this is an order of magnitude beyond that. He could give all of himself. He could be owned body and soul.

Wanted.

He has never needed something so bad, not in his entire life.

"Yes," he manages, then swallows. "Sir."

"This may hurt," Loki warns as he pulls his fingers free. With his other hand, spreads some of his own wetness over his length. Receptive as Clint is being, he's hoping they won't need much more than that.

He shifts into position, resting the head of his cock against him. "When I push, you must bear down, it will lessen the discomfort. Breathe," he says, smoothing a hand down his back. Slowly, he begins to push.

He doesn't really know what Loki means by bear down. But he finds that as the movement starts, it's not hard to figure it out. He can angle his body properly. He can focus on the lines of the two of them, the positioning, his visceral awareness of the space around him -- as he's being stretched so open that it burns. Breathing he does. He does it as calmly as he can. But he can't stop himself from making sounds, tiny movements as Loki does something uncomfortable or something pleasurable.

"Yeah," he says, strained. "That hurts." He's a little softer, but he's no less willing.

"Breathe," Loki instructs again. He continues his slow push inward, stopping now and then when he thinks its too painful. "Is it too much?" he asks in a tight voice, almost completely inside him now.

Loki himself is shivering under the strain. He wants to just thrust blindly but that would hurt for both of them if he didn't do it right. "Can you press into me?" he asks next.

He doesn't even answer, just drops his head and shifts his knees and does it. It's not too much. He can handle it. He's handled worse. Less intimate, but a hell of a lot worse.

He hisses in a harsh breath.

"God, you're deep."

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