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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It's probably a good thing Loki doesn't know that's what he's planning. But even if he did he wouldn't stop this. In a crazy way, he does have a plan. Well, several plans. A couple hinge on Clint but the master back-up plan does not. But all of that is beside the point.

Right now he is watching very closely. His breathing becomes deeper. His mouth opens. The hand on his hair tightens. Yes, he would like it rough but there is a strange thrill in this. He actually can't rightly remember the last time he had gentle.

Clint shivers, like a tense racehorse, like a tamed hound. Loki's desire flits through him like nervousness. Yeah, yeah, he would be gentle, and he would be creative.

"How about the stuff that's not anatomically possible to do on myself?" he asks.

There's a shiver from Loki, he'll blame that on a mortal body. For some reason he has little trouble finding his voice to answer. He's forced to clear his throat before he speaks.

"Show me then," he says, it comes out sounding like permission.

He tells himself to forget the rest. Forget the shit that Loki did, remember when Clint found him shivering in the privacy of the tunnels every single damn day, remember the way he held Clint's eyes and said what do you need. How sweet it was just to know that Loki was satisfied.

This is so fucked-up.

He takes Loki by the hips and directs him to the chair, pulling him down. Hands undo the clasp of his pants, encourage him up so Clint can peel them away. He's always been kind of abstractly fascinated with this process, the moments in which a person goes from being ordinary, fully-clothed, to giving their body to someone else.

He reaches out and runs a thumb up Loki's cock. Spreads Loki's knees and settles between, feeling obscurely like he's kneeling in front of a throne. He licks up Loki's length, and his hand settles back on his own cock. Can't resist it.

Loki moves where directed easily. He can do little else, not that he'd mention that, he was beginning to think he'd no longer be able to just stand there.

He let's out a slow exhale as he is exposed. He's a fair bit hard already then harder when touched. He makes a small muffled sound at the feel of his tongue. His hands hover like he wants to take hold of his head and just force things along faster. Eventually, his hands settle on the arms of the chair where he grips it tightly.

He draws his tongue over the tip of Loki's cock. "What happened to that silver tongue?" he asks, surprising himself in that it isn't mocking, it's actually kind of hopeful. He wants Loki to speak. Wants to hear that voice, as he sucks him off.

He starts taking Loki in, letting his jaw relax, feeling the weight of Loki on his tongue. Such a fucking turn-on, he can't even believe it.

Loki gives a shaky laugh. That is a very good question. His grip on the chair has started to turn his knuckles white. Gentle, it seems, gets him very very hard.

"How--" he struggles to keep his voice even, "How long have you wanted to do this?"

"How long do you think?" Asshole. It was the second that Clint realized what kind of being Loki was, how he was a league above what humanity could even hope to reach for. Finally, a commander worth a subordinate like him -- that's what it felt like. Finally someone who could command him and set him loose, who could hold complete mastery and still let Clint show off the best of himself.

It's a hell of a rush, having this kind of power over Loki. Knowing what effect he has on him.

He bobs his head, and then presses down further, taking in about half of Loki's length before skimming his lips down the side of his shaft. He savors this; he wants this.

An amused sound is the only response Loki offers to that question. There's a growing tension in him and frankly, the slow pace is maddening. His hips twitch in a little aborted thrust when he's in his mouth.

His breathing grows harder and again he stops speaking. Far from trusting his own voice.

"Yeah." Breathed, and Clint takes himself in hand, strokes firmly as he swallows around Loki's length. First time he'd ever done this, he was under the influence of the scepter, but then it had been so easy -- the control over his muscles had been so fine. He remembers the basic concept, and lets Loki's length slide down his throat. His hips twitch forward, overeager.

A little grunt from Loki. He's keeping his hips relatively still while he's practically squirming everywhere else. Almost like he's never had a blow job before.

He finally gives in and lets a hand drift over Clint's head. Not forceful, just combing through his short hair. Then a airy, breathless laugh. "You will finish before I," he says shakily, half daring him to go faster.

A strand of saliva connects Loki's cock to his lips. Clint breaks it, his tongue darting out.

"You asking me to stop one or the other?" he asks, and goes down on Loki again, shallower this time, his hand working at the base of Loki's cock.

Of course Loki made he mistake of looking down just in time to see that. He makes a little whimper of a sound. That not at all what he was asking. "No," he grinds out. His hips do twitch this time and his hand tightens in his hair.

"Then tell me what you do want."

He wants to hear Loki's voice. The tones that make him shiver, that demand absolute obedience. He sets what he thinks is a kind of medium-slow rhythm, letting Loki's cock fuck in and out over his tongue.

Loki wants many many things. That's what made him so useful to Thanos but right now his wants are a little more reasonable.

"Faster," he gasps out, "...please." It's possible fore him to fake such pleas but the shiver that came with it is very real.

Yeah. Yeah, he can do that. Years of breath control are paying off, as he swallows Loki down, darts back up, speeds up the strokes of his hand. He wants to swallow Loki down. Feel the god lose control above him.

His knees are starting to ache; he pushes forward, spreads Loki's thighs wider, and reaches lower to toy with his balls, rolling them in his palm.

There's a choked sound as he suddenly feels his climax that much closer. Unlike Clint, his breathing is fast and ragged. He's only vaguely trying to keep his hips still.

"Yes," he manages to gasp out, almost like a hiss.

"C'mon," he murmurs, urges. A stroke, and then: "I'll swallow you down." Feels good, feels damn good to be the one with the upper hand.

That makes his hips buck. Loki's pale skin is flushed red, his breathing even harder after he hears that. "Please," he mouths almost breathlessly. It won't take much to send him off now and being told he'll be swallowed willingly -- almost sets him off there. It doesn't take more than a few strokes more before he does start to come. And he is vocal about it, in a mixture of half formed words and moans.

He holds Loki's hips back, and he backs off, so the tip of Loki's cock rests right on his tongue. Loki's semen is bitter, salty, but he swallows anyhow, licks at the tip of Loki's cock to get all of it.

He's breathing hard, now, and he hasn't come yet. His hands are on Loki's thighs.

In the aftermath, Loki sinks back into the chair, still gasping. His own hands drop on top of his, he rests them there a moment then reaches for his wrists. He tries to urge him up where he can reach him. "Here," he says, his voice soft and hoarse. Once he can reach, he wraps a hand around him.

He slides into Loki's lap. Carefully, cautiously, hesitantly. Loki has bony thighs, bony knees, and he smells like sweat and snow. Clint buries his head in Loki's neck, blindly seeking more touch. Every bit of skin contact makes him feel sharper, stronger. He wants Loki, a bone-deep desire -- heh. Bone deep.

Jesus, the places his mind goes in times like this.

"Loki," he breathes, and he laughs, at himself, and he grips too hard on the chair arms so that he won't grip too hard on Loki's vulnerable flesh. He's conquered his god. And now his god's hands are on him.

Despite Loki's skinny frame, he takes the added weight without complaint. He is tougher than he looks even as a mortal. He cranes his neck to the side when buries his face against the side of his neck.

Loki lets out a little breathless chuckle when he hears his name. His thumb rubs over the head of his cock then he starts to stroke in firm rough pulls.

His breaths fade to little hitches of air, and then to no breath at all. He breathes in, and he lets go.

He comes hard into Loki's hands, like a rubber band snapping somewhere inside his abdomen. Grunting, his hips thrusting forward, his hands gripping too hard. One of the best orgasms he's ever had, he was so worked up from the blow job.

He'd better burn this out of his system. He'd better come out of this a little less broken than he is right now. Because right now all he can do is lean against Loki and breathe and imagine doing it again.

"Ah!"

Loki may have just been a little surprised by the amount. He wipes his hand off on his shirt, it was already splattered anyway(and he will quickly run out of shirts at this rate. Or learn how to wash them. Oh the things he never bothered to learn.). Other than shifting under him he doesn't move.

After a few moments, he grunts. "You are heavier than you look."

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