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 body is in permanent strain, now, and it's starting to tire him. Not really tire him -- he won't be out of energy for a while yet. But he gets the feeling that this is going to hurt when he's finally let down.

"You never did tell me what that means." He doesn't want to know. He's saying the words as ... rote, or banter, or something. He doesn't want Loki to tell him. Because then it would become -- what was so wrong with me? What was broken enough that you thought I was easy prey?

"No? It is rather obvious," he says mockingly. His hand lowers to rest on his chest then drift to rub his palm over a nipple.

"Devotion to your mission, Barton. Whatever that may be. You give yourself completely to it, every fiber of yourself. Should it fail, it was no failure of yours unless you want it to be," he explains. His other hand lightly tracing over his torso as he speaks.

"And you, what, you saw this right away? Did I have it written on my forehead?"

He's irritated at a couple things about Loki's words. One is that, as things stand right now, they're pretty much true. He doesn't have anything else left but missions. Two is that Loki used that. He exploited Clint and made him a victim, and Clint hates that, with a deep, heart-pounding fury that he's never known before.

Third is that he's not sure he likes that quality about himself, anyway.

"Your actions," he says, "and the scepter played a small role. It showed me who would be the most benefit. Oh, it wanted you." There's a disturbing hint in his voice that he isn't just talking about the scepter.

Speaking of wanting, he glances down between Clint's legs.

"Not just because I was the most talented operative in the room?"

Maybe not entirely true. Loki did skip over Nick Fury, after all. Picked him instead. Fury's not as vulnerable.

Okay, now that's humiliating.

"It's just a physical reaction," he snaps. He doesn't even really believe that.

"Is it?" he says in regards to the goings on between his legs. Choosing to completely ignore the first question. He has no need to explain anything further.

His hand lowers to stroke along his length. "Does this always happen when your captured? It must make your job very interesting," he says with smile.

"When I'm captured, it's usually not --" Not people who touch him like this, not people who tease him, who treat him like -- god damn it, it's just not the same. "And my job's plenty interesting, th-anks." Little catch in his breath as Loki takes him in hand.

"Oh? What is it usually?" he asks, conversationally. He slowly wraps his hand around his cock. He gives a little squeeze. "I could torture you," Loki suggests, "Would that be easier on your conscience?" He doesn't particularly want to torture him but he could.

"No thanks." He's been tortured enough for a lifetime, and he's not too proud to admit that he doesn't want to go through it again.

He shifts his weight up to his arms again. His feet are starting to cramp. That's torture enough, really.

"By the way," he says, "that 'no thanks' extends to this, which the Geneva Convention would frown on."

Something in Loki's face darkens. That was his whole problem right there. A problem he wouldn't exactly share with Barton but he would use him to fix it. That expression fades and his gaze tracks up.

"I could cut you down," he says next, not really an offer, just a statement. "Not yet, I don't think," he concludes and slides in behind him. His hand slides down between his ass cheeks and flicks a finger over his anus.

"Ah!" He twitches away from it, because that's a spot that Loki should definitely not be touching. "Cut it out, Loki." Actually somewhat scared, now, of being penetrated. Isn't that stuff supposed to hurt?

"I barely touched you," Loki says in amusement. His finger traces the spot but does nothing else. Keeping that hand in place, Loki moves back into view. He has a very eager, hungry grin on his face. He leans in close and traces his lips along one of Clint's straining arms.

"Doesn't mean I don't know what you're thinking."

Damn, he wishes he could fight this. He wants to be able to thrash and struggle. But all he can do is just hold on.

"Haven't you been far enough inside my head?" he asks. "You gotta do this too?"

A laugh. "Oh, I assure you, you have no idea what I'm thinking." The grin is back worse than before. He starts to sink down further, letting his lips settle on a nipple. He catches it between his teeth then lashes his tongue over it.

Determined not to make a sound. Lip caught between his teeth, and he deliberately keeps his breath as steady as possible. He's an archer, he can do that. He's spent months just working on breath control.

Loki is fine with him being quiet. It just makes him more eager to get any sounds of him. He gives the nipple a little bite then abandons it. He moves his mouth over his chest and slowly downward. Both his hands move to rest on his hips as he progressively mouths lower.

Clint is shaking, now.

"Don't," he pleads, "don't," but he wants it, he wants it so damn badly. Can't imagine what it would feel like to have Loki's lips wrapped around him. His hips give a little thrust closer, and his wrists twist against the bindings.

The protest doesn't deter him. He's lowered himself down to the ideal height, his hands still braced on his hips to keep him still. He glances up with a knowing look because oh yes he knows this will screw him up.

Still looking up, just to see if he's being watched, he places a small teasing lick over his cock head.

Sensation goes through him like a jolt of electricity, and so does the sight. Yeah; yeah, he's watching.

He forces himself to look away, squeezes his eyes closed.

Another lick, this time a swirl around the head. Then he's tracing the contours of the head with his tongue. He still glances up now and then to see if Clint has started looking again.

A few moments more of the careful treatment of the head before he finally, slowly, draws him in.

His lips part, and he hisses in a sharp breath of air. But stays still, and makes no other sound. His feet shift on the ground, as though somehow he could gain purchase from the flat surface.

Loki's hands grip tightly at Clint's hips. He isn't just holding him steady he is putting some strength into taking the strain off his arms however minutely. But if he was really concerned he would just cut him down.

Having little reaction from him isn't stopping him. He draws him in, all the way, sucks hard for a moment then pulls back. He repeats it several times before moving his attention solely to the head of his cock.

Clint's jaw has gone slack. Low grunts, now, sounds of strain -- the strain of keeping as quiet as he can. Loki has a wicked tongue, stereotypically enough, and Clint can't help but thrust, push himself further into Loki's mouth.

The only thing that could make this better, the only thing that would make him give in completely, is if Loki spoke to him, at the same time. That voice whispering in his ear, saying my hawk, my warrior.

The thought hits Clint like a punch to the stomach. A whimper works its way out.

Unfortunately, Loki can't throw his voice while his mouth is busy. Well, not while mortal. Oh, if he had his powers he could and would. He doesn't know what is going on in Clint's head but he does notice the whimper.

"Are your thoughts betraying you?" he asks with a parting lick. He rises to his feet to face him.

"Shut up." Dangling from cuffs, the hardest he's ever been, a hairsbreadth from begging for Loki's tongue. He's completely powerless. He shakes from muscle strain.

"The hell do you want?" Almost pleading.

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