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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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."

Loki's breath leaves with a groan. "Let--" he has to clear his throat before his voice cracks, "Let yourself adjust." His hands run along his sides then rest at his hips.

"Tell me when you're ready."

"I'm ready. Sir." He's always ready. He can adjust on the fly. He always adjusts on the fly. So what if it hurts? It won't hurt in a minute.

Loki lets out an amused sigh. "Of course you are," he answers. He doesn't quite believe him but he doubts a little more pain now will scare him off if they ended up at this point.

So, he pulls back and gives a short firm thrust. He pauses only a second to see how he takes it. It's followed by others where Loki is trying to find the right angle. He doesn't have to make this feel good but it's in his benefit to do so. And, he simply likes it when he is responsible for making him feel a certain way.

His teeth are gritted. The friction's a little much, and at first he's just tolerating it. Still working out how to relax his body, how to avoid clenching every time Loki pushes in.

Except the angle shifts. And there's something -- there, and he just fucking melts under Loki's hands. Feels his cock thickening again, and he leans his forehead on his hands, panting.

"There. Stay like that," Loki says, his voice wavering toward the end. He tries to keep his new few thrusts at the right angle but it becomes increasingly difficult. It's so hot and so tight. He's having trouble holding back.

He pauses, nearly panting, and smooths a hand down Clint's back. He leans forward pressing his chest to his back. "Touch yourself," he breathes against his back, he ends it with a light kiss between his shoulder blades.

Loki's cock makes obscene sounds as it shoves inside him. And he can feel every inch of it. A violation, an invasion, a -- oh, fuck, and he groans at that command. He's on his knees with a cock in his ass and he's getting off on it so hard.

And it's Loki.

He palms himself, strokes like he likes it. Doesn't have the breath to say yes, sir.

Loki hisses out a breath through his teeth. His fingers dig into his skin as he raises back up. His thrusts are short and firm, the edge of teasing. He doesn't want to finish just yet and he would if buried himself completely.

"Very good," he praises, "Keep going."

He lets out a sound that he would definitely not describe as a whine, no sir, not him. His body is starting to shudder and tighten, moving closer to climax.

He pauses, on instinct.

"Sir," he breathes: a plea. He needs permission, doesn't he?

Loki feels a sudden rush of power when he realizes what that 'sir' means. That surge of power alone is almost enough to make him finish on the spot. But he holds back. He gives one deep thrust then leans forward to respond. "Look at you, about to spill with me buried deep inside you," he says in a hoarse whisper, it doesn't sound nearly as mocking as he intended. Intentionally not giving expressed permission.

He lets himself thrust fully for a few strokes, making a point to be vocal, he wants to be very sure he knows how much Loki is enjoying this. He digs his fingers into Clint's hips and delivers a series of hard and fast thrusts. Finally, with throaty moan he starts to come. He keeps himself pressed in tight to his back. "Now, come for me," he whispers then places a bite on his shoulder.

It gets hard to hold back. The rapid thrusts make him feel tight inside, like his climax might start somewhere in him, instead of at his dick. He didn't know that was possible.

And then Loki makes that noise, and Clint's fingers are digging in hard, trying to hold back.

His hand jerks to his cock when Loki gives the order, but it's completely unnecessary. He collapses, shooting hard into his palm, trying to take in the unusual sensation of coming with something so hard and deep inside him.

Loki rests on top of him for several moments. He lets out a slow hiss as he finally pulls out. He rolls on to the mattress next to him, his breathing still coming in pants.

That, he decides, was progress. Now if he can just keep Clint under this strange and new form of control. It occurs to him in the aftermath they don't have running water and the water they do have should not be used for a bath and he is not terribly interested in going outside to bring in snow to melt. It would take ages to get enough for a proper bath. Never mind that he didn't want to move that far right now. Eventually, he sits up and feels around for something clean up with and a bottle of water. He uses one side of the cloth on himself then hands it over. "Here. It isn't very warm I'm afraid."

Grumbles something about sloppy seconds, but he takes it, and wipes his ass with a look on his face like is this really fucking happening to me. And then he moves to his feet, and goes out of the living room. Creak of the door, and then a slam. Yep, he tossed it out into the snow. Because he does not want to deal with it right now.

And then he comes back, and slides under the mattress, shivering from the chill.

For maybe a half second, Loki thinks Clint might have just walked outside for some ungodly reason. Realizing what he actually did makes him laugh.

When he returns Loki tries to push him closer to the fire. "Were we not supposed to be conserving heat? You should not have gone to the door without clothing of some kind," he says. Loki does at least have some body heat now that he's mortal, not much but some. So he tries to press in against him to share what he has.

He relents to Loki's touch, but he's shaking. A tight shudder, and then another, and then something like a sob. He's breaking down. This is it. And the only person here to put him together is Loki. The only person he thinks can put him together is Loki.

Well, this is a new one on Loki. People he sleeps generally don't break down right after. Then again, he generally doesn't stick around long enough to find out and comforting isn't exactly something he's good at unless its to twist the knife in deeper. The one thing he can do is tighten his arms around him.

"What is it?"

"I don't know... who the hell I am."

He needs the comfort. He's never felt a need this big before. Maybe this is his heterosexual freak-out. Or his maybe-I'm-not-actually-a-good-guy freak-out. Either way, it's a freak-out.

He twists around, and settles himself into Loki's arms, burying his face in the curve where Loki's neck meets his shoulder.

"I don't know what I need to be." He just doesn't want to be left behind again. He can't be left behind. And SHIELD will leave him behind if they know about these blazing paths in his mind, about how he lets Loki touch him and he likes it.

"You are mine," Loki utters like the answer is the most obvious thing on the planet. Strangely enough, he does understand this sort of identity crisis intimately, though understanding and helping are two different things.

He shifts to hold him tighter then adds, "My hawk. My solider." In the back of his mind he adds 'my general' because oh Clint would make an excellent general if Loki could have an army again.

Loki wants him, and Loki accepts him, and Clint doesn't know which is easier: to sever all of his connections with Loki, or to just let himself fall to darkness.

He breathes in Loki's smell. And if he hadn't been exhausted so soon, he would have stirred again -- he's way more into Loki than he always expects. His hand drifts to Loki's abdomen, and flattens hesitantly over the skin there. If there was a child, he's not sure he could ever leave.

An idea forms in Loki's mind. If it wasn't certain he was carrying before he'll make sure before they leave. It's not one of his proudest manipulations and makes him feel strangely inadequate. The silver tongued Loki couldn't get what he wanted without being pregnant. Just like a--No, he pushes those thoughts back. Not important. This is to survive. He must do everything he can to keep himself alive so he might regain what is his. One day.

That bit of inner turmoil is only reflected by an uneasy sigh. "I will tell SHIELD as much or as little as you like," he says in a low voice.

If he betrays SHIELD, he just wants it to be once. Once, a clean break, snap it all off, his loyalties are gone and here's someone else. He doesn't want any fuzzy period in which he's not even sure himself who he prefers.

Unfortunately, he's right in the middle of that fuzzy period.

Clint snorts. "Is that because you want a double agent," he says, "or because you actually give a damn?" He can't even lift his head. He aches, inside. And he wants Loki to fuck him again. Again, and again, until he's exhausted.

Loki sighs against him. He could have done without the return question because he fears it might be a mixture of both.

"Fury will not make the same mistakes again. He may suspect you on circumstance."

"Just answer the god damn question."

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