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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"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."

"Point taken."

He pulls away from Loki, giving him a disdainful glance. "Can't even let a guy linger in the afterglow, huh?" A beat, then: "You got a shower?" Cause right now, he feels the damn intense urge to scrub Loki off of his skin.

Loki gives him a disbelieving look. "Through the bedroom," he says, "You've begun to smell."

He moves to the bedroom a few moments later. His destination is the bed. It's only his clothing that's soiled and mortal forms tire so easily. Seconds later he's curled up under the covers. Seemingly unconcerned about being defenseless.

He scrubs his skin clean, flicks some water through his hair, and when he steps out --

Loki is curled under the covers, like a kid. Apparently asleep.

Clint pats the last of the water from his skin, and steps forward. There's a violent urge inside him -- he wants to break that stillness, reach out and punish Loki for everything that he's done. Loki doesn't deserve to sleep deeply. He deserves to watch his back. All the time.

He gets a tube of lotion from the bathroom, and spreads it on his fingers, climbing behind Loki on the bed. Pushes Loki's legs just a little bit apart. He doesn't really know what he's doing here, but he's aware of the basics: stretch out the muscle, lube it up, and then go for it.

He presses two fingers inside of Loki, slick and deep.

Maybe Loki doesn't feel threatened by Clint and that's why he fell asleep. Or maybe, more morbidly, his own death fits into some sort of plan of his.

Whatever the reason he fell asleep doesn't matter. He's a light sleeper and is awake the moment he feels someone on the bed. He tries to jerk away, sending a sharp elbow back at Clint. He doesn't manages to stop his fingers. There's a choked pained groan. "Release me," he hisses then tries to push himself free of his fingers.

"Really? Release you?"

He has his other hand on Loki's spine, pinning him down.

"Cause I was under the impression that you enjoyed yourself before. That you really want me." He twists his fingers, scissoring Loki open.

He tries to buck him off but that just succeeds in brushing something that makes him gasp. He still struggles but not as violently and maybe not as hard as he could. His hands fist in the sheets in response to what he say. His next bout of struggling,he's trying to twist himself onto his back and actually pushing back against his fingers.

Clint folds Loki's legs up and lets him twist onto his back. This time, slides three fingers in. Loki's body is damn tight around him -- this, this'll be good. He'll get inside Loki the same way Loki got inside him.

He doesn't struggle as much once he's on his back. He still isn't making it easy, he digs a thumb into Clint's arm -- right where he shot him -- to show his displeasure. A third finger makes him groan again, more pain in the sound than pleasure. "Slow down," he says with strain in his voice, "Let me adjust!"

He twists Loki's wrist, to break his grip on Clint's arm.

"Relax," admonishes Clint. "Stop fighting me." Pushes his fingers all the way in, to the root, even though Loki's body struggles around him. But he goes still, then, leaving them buried inside. His breath is rapid between his teeth.

Half of him wants to break Loki in half. The other half wants to fuck him slow until he can't remember his own name.

Clint is pretty sure that the rough side is him. But not 100%. His mind's inside out, because that feels like the more foreign desire.

A choked cry comes out of him when he drives his fingers. His struggles still after that. He blindly grips at Clint, not so much to stop him but to just grab hold of something.

His own breathing his rapid, almost frantic but Loki does seem to be trying to relax. There's only a hint of it showing on his face but he is scared. Scared it will hurt more than he's prepared for. He's never done something like this while mortal.

"Yeah, like that... yeah," he murmurs, not entirely aware of what he's saying. Speaking low, reassuring, like he would if he was dealing with someone scared, someone who didn't speak his language, couldn't know what he was saying. Sometimes, doesn't seem like Loki speaks anyone's language.

His hands are gentle, suddenly. His free hand lets up his weight on Loki, strokes the lines of him, the slim spaces of soft skin from hip to ribs.

"Feel good?" he asks, lowly.

What he's saying barely register as words, everything seems like a haze. Loki makes an attempt to calm his breathing but that is rather hard to do considering where Clint's fingers are. The burning sensation steadily subsides to something vaguely uncomfortable.

The sudden change to gentle, feels more to Loki like hitting a brick wall. Disorientating and somehow painful in a new way. His breathing suddenly hikes back up when the question registers. He shifts, angling his hips so Clint's fingers brush a certain spot. He hardly trusts his own voice to answer, instead he turns his head and nods against the pillow.

It's going to be hard to stick to any kind of plan, with Loki looking like this. He's halfway to being wrecked, and Clint is turned on beyond belief.

He hitches his fingers further inside Loki's body, impossible as it is. Fucks him with the fingers, in short strokes, aimed at that particular spot.

"I want you to talk to me," says Clint. "I want to hear what you got to say."

Loki's back arches and he chokes out a sound that was meant to be speech. Well, it sounds more like it was meant to be a curse. Only a few strokes into it and he's completely hard. He tries to regain some composure to actually speak. He draws in a hiss of breath. He tries to grab a handful of Clint's hair to pull him closer. "Why--" he grinds out, "Why are you doing this?"

The rough treatment he could understand, the anger at seeing him able to sleep. All of that he understands. But sudden contrast just doesn't make sense to him. It's almost enough to make him prefer the roughness and pain. That made sense.

Clint has to resist the urge to laugh. It would be a hysterical laugh, anyhow, a hint unhinged.

"It's messing with your head," he says. "Isn't that enough?" His free hand squeezes Loki's balls. "You're like a slut right now, you know that? What do you want me to do? Tell me."

His face flushes red in a strange mix of anger and arousal. He actually growls and looks like he's going to fight him again. The hand in Clint's hair moves to get a grip on his throat but once there he doesn't squeeze -- primarily because of what Clint is squeezing. He winces faintly then goes still.

Words like that should not be a turn on. Especially for someone raised as a Prince. If he was under the control of the scepter he'd tell him but this...? No. It could spoil his plans and be used against him.

"No," he says defiantly.

"Then you won't get anything from me."

His fingers withdraw, and he releases Loki. Leans in close to Loki's ear:

"Satisfy yourself."

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