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Tony’s gasp of pain did nothing to stop the pinching, so he tried a more pointed, “Ow!”
Still, whatever Loki was doing to his nipple didn’t stop, and Tony tried to squirm again in some way to dislodge the blindfold. With no success. And with his arms out of commission, wrists chained up to the ceiling in the dungeon room that had been “home” for a week, he was pretty much at the fucker’s mercy.
Still at the fucker’s mercy. It was downright embar--
Then something cold and implacable--unforgiving metal--was biting the tender flesh of Tony’s nipple, and he tried to pull away as Loki’s fingernail teased the swollen nub left exposed by the ruthless device. “Goddamn, De Sade, are you skewering me?” He swallowed a whimper. “Whatever you’re doing fucking hurts.”
The fingers stopped tormenting Stark’s chest long enough for Loki, apparently, to consult the list at the center of this weeklong nightmare.
“Day five, Stark: ‘Nipple play.’” The explanation dry and clearly entertained.
Tony struggled even harder, metal clinking together as the chains above slid in their pulleys. That goddamned list. Another thing Tony couldn’t see through the black of the cloth, but Tony knew it was nearby, for reference. For consulting--those little two- and three-word phrases that drove Loki’s cruel mouth, fingers, and ...
With a last, jaunty pinch, Loki’s hand dropped away--as did some kind of goddamned weight that yanked down Tony’s tortured flesh. Tony bit down a squeak, heard Loki’s happy tone: “A clamp for each side, with these lovely little balls attached to increase the pressure.” The bastard must have tugged on or flicked the thing, because the terrible jolt made Tony hiss.
He’d always had sensitive tits--never minded quite as much as he did now. Usually the ladies liked them, since it gave them something to do on the way to his cock, but he’d never had someone--ugh--toy with them like this.
God. Embarrassing.
And, also: Ow. It was day five, and Tony was long regretting the carte blanche he’d given his tormentor.
What kind of idiot agreed to blanket consent? In sex games? With Loki? This idiot, apparently, Tony groused at himself. “Oh, Jesus, you sick fuck. Not a fan of nipple clamps.” He wiggled for emphasis and, after setting the weight swaying, immediately regretted it. “Ugh. Take it off.” He pulled down on the manacles locking his arms as Loki’s attention, and hands, moved to the vulnerable target that mirrored the first. The cheerful dedication with which Loki pulled at his nipple reminded Tony of a balloon artist stretching out the latex ... but this time, Loki bent to nibble first. The soothing touch of lips and tongue, with just a little teeth, almost distracted Tony from the goddamned gator jaws swallowing him alive on the other side.
Okay, more than “almost.” His traitorous cock was starting to pulse at the gentle teasing. He couldn’t help himself--his breath hitched, released with an unintended groan, and he heard a pleased hum in return.
To be fair, Tony wasn’t exactly surprised when his cock started to respond to the tongue swirling around his areola, the gentle sucking around the hardened tip. After four days of stimulation--not to mention twenty-some-odd years of ever-more-deviant behavior--his body was kind of on autopilot. So he was at half-mast already when Loki pulled away and--
Ignored the weak kick that Tony aimed at him, so Tony went back to hectoring and insults. “Goddamn it! Stop!” A totally non-toddler-like foot-stomp for emphasis. “I’m going to safeword out of this, you breast-fetishing pervert.”
He heard the snicker as Loki finished attaching the clamp to his second nipple, the one that had been so lovingly treated just moments before and was therefore unprepared for the savagery. Loki spoke over Tony’s groan. “You don’t have a safeword. We’ve already established that. Safewords are for mortals.” The last word was all disdain.
“If you haven’t noticed,” Tony laughed, disbelieving, “I am a mortal! And my tits don’t like metal teeth in them.”
The weight attached, Loki released the ball and Tony’s whole frame stiffened as an electric jolt, near-excruciating, relayed between the two points. He drew in, and released, a long breath. Wondered, not for the first time, how long Loki would leave him this way.
“But I am more than mortal,” Loki responded. “And if you are truly damaged, I can repair you.” His hand slid down Tony’s belly to his cock--completed the circuit as the shooting pain in his nipples intensified his focus on the light touch of Loki’s palm, suddenly greased, on his shaft. A long, smooth stroke followed, grip tightening with the motion, and Tony’s cock fully swelled from the touch.
Tony’s next breath was released in a shudder.
Another breath. Another caress from the hand that was kinder than the torture at his chest. “You practice bad Dom etiquette, you asshole,” Tony sighed, still twisting in the bonds. “God,” he moaned. Loki’s hand tightened and pulled, and Tony kept twisting in the bonds, grunts of pain from the teeth biting into his chest, the swaying of the attached weights morphing, slowly but obviously, into pleasure as Loki worked him. The room went humid from the sweat springing to the surface of Tony’s skin.
The voice was low in his ear, Loki pressed close, as his nose and then a sharp cheekbone teased Tony’s temple. “Does the pain not intensify the pleasure, Stark? I always found it did.”
The visuals. Loki in the same vulnerable place, being touched by anonymous hands as he writhed--Oh. Oh. His cock jerked. Rising up on the balls of his feet, Tony decided to keep his mouth shut as he began to push himself into the firm grip. Toes curling into the floor, fingers now reaching up into the chains above him for purchase, Tony’s thrusts met Loki’s sweet, hot stroking, and he suddenly knew this would be over, God, much too fast. He didn’t even try to stifle his moans, encouraged by Loki’s quiet coaxing.
When Tony came, it was with a cloudburst over Loki’s hands, his chest throbbing in pain and, fuck, yeah--a confused sort of burning, shamed pleasure. He was released immediately after, collapsing weakly into the bastard’s arms, Loki’s long fingers rubbing soothing patterns into his aching flesh.
After regaining his footing, and ripping off the blindfold, Tony gave Loki’s satisfied expression a critical look and demanded, “Fine, you twisted fucker.
“What’s next?”
A week earlier, or mere hours after Tony’s kidnapping
Tony’s answer, after a full minute of silent, shocked staring: “No.”
A day after Tony’s kidnapping
“Stark, be reasonable.”
Cross-legged on the dungeon-room’s strangely comfortable bed, Tony looked up from the generic turkey sandwich Loki had delivered him. He pointedly flipped a page in the book Loki had provided when he’d complained of boredom, then returned his attention to the sandwich. Picked up a potato chip with economical movements and popped it into his mouth.
“I am always reasonable,” he responded, still chewing. “That’s why the answer is still no.”
Seventy-two hours after Tony’s kidnapping, or, from Loki’s point of view: “Day one”
Tony’s frustrated grunt was audible across the room. “So, just to be clear: I work through your kink list--help you cross off all thirty of the nasty, perverted guilty pleasures, whatever the hell they are, and you let me go. Without a fight. Without Steve and your brother and the Hulk coming in here and ripping you into pieces and maybe taking me out in the process.”
Loki was holding one of the tablets he’d “borrowed” from Tony’s workshop when he’d borrowed the man himself. He’d put a ridiculous password on it--something Tony couldn’t parse no matter how much he watched the dozens of keystrokes--and so Tony hadn’t actually seen what he privately called Loki’s Lust List to know what he was agreeing to. But Loki had promised no harm would come to him.
No “permanent” harm ... which was a little disturbing. He looked around the windowless “bedroom”--the best word he could think of to describe what would probably be his personal house of horny horrors, because there was at least a fucking bed in it--and tried to regroup.
“No mutilations.” Projecting all casualness, he thumbed the lampshade of one of the room’s light sources, the old-fashioned bulb giving off a comforting light.
“Fine.”
“No animals.” A finger over the dresser, where Loki had shown him his jeans, favorite shirts, et cetera upon his arrival. The room was actually mysteriously homey. Sans, you know, windows or emergency exits.
Or a phone. Yeah, “homey.” By way of “sadist’s bunker.”
“Ah, disappointing. But, fine. No animals.”
Tony looked into the mirror over the dresser, wondering what he would see himself doing in the weeks to come. “No beaming in here with Doctor DOOM to make an Oreo with me as the cream filling.”
“I’m not sure what that means, but I can ... extrapolate. No, no Doctor DOOM.”
Finally turning around to face his captor, Tony’s eyes narrowed. “You were very specific on how you answered that question.”
Loki shrugged, waved his hand. “Yes, well. It would spoil the fun if you knew what I was going to do ahead of time.”
And, just to be clear, Tony continued: “Totally consensual.”
“Hm?” Now it was Loki’s turn to study the other, a hint of confusion over his features. “What do you mean?”
Tony couldn’t help his disbelieving chuckle. “Con-sen-shoe-el,” he intoned. “If I change my mind, Brainiac, you stop.”
Loki actually had the nerve to look shocked. “Stark--” A pause, then, emphatically: “ ... What would be the fun in that?”
They stared at each other for a long, awkward moment. Finally Tony offered, “No, really.”
“Really,” Loki insisted. “You’re consenting now, are you not? Your objections have become muted over the last twenty-four hours, and you are negotiating. The idea of being at my mercy is not unappealing to you.”
“The idea of getting out of here without bloodshed--including, thank you, my own--is appealing to me. If I have to let you pop my crazy-ass-god kink cherry for the next month to make that happen, and you’re not going to damage me ... yeah, fine, you’re not terrible to look at, and I’ve done worse. Had worse done.” He glared at Loki. “As you know.”
Loki looked confused at the cherry reference, then offended at the notion that his favor was anything but a great honor. “Flattering,” he drawled. “And I’m not going to second-guess each action for the next month to avoid offending your delicate sensibilities. Say yes now, and you say yes. Or say no, and we do this again tomorrow. Increase the time you’re here as my guest, and increase the likelihood of an ill-advised rescue.
“So, Stark: What say you?”
Tony burned. “God, you fucker.” Then, hands up: “Okay, no permanent harm. No animals. No DOOM--or any other of your gross allies, so don’t try to smuggle in Skurge either. Nothing that is going to leave me with yet another goddamned case of post-traumatic stress I have to drink my way out of. Can you promise me that much?”
“I can agree to those specific terms, yes.”
“Oh, again--that’s alarmingly circumscribed.” Tony let out a breath, clapped his hands together and rubbed them. “Okay, let’s get this adults-only show on the road. What’s first.”
Day one, later
Loki popped Tony’s cherry on the queen-sized bed in Tony’s dungeon-bedroom.
No romantic, was Loki, so instead of flowers and sweet words for seduction, he had pressed Tony face-down into the linens, hauled up his hips, and pushed into him slowly but insistently as he gripped Tony’s neck from the back. Tony sobbed his mixed pain and pleasure into the soft blankets and sheets, twisting the fabric up in his fists as his body was overwhelmed with sensation.
Loki had barely believed Tony had never let anyone fuck him in the ass before. When Loki aimed his thrusts just the--God--perfect way, Tony couldn’t believe it, either.
When Loki wrapped his thin fingers around Tony’s cock and forced Tony’s hips forward with every hard push, forced his dick into the slickened hole of Loki’s hold ... Well. Clearly he had strong feelings about captivity, so Tony couldn’t be blamed for coming harder than he’d come in years, for having to struggle to catch his breath, pulling over a pillow to hide his face, while Loki finished behind him.
Fuck. Twenty-nine more days of this.
It was going to kill him.
Day two
“Not going as planned?” That was a list item? This whole fucking thing was not going as planned, since Tony was supposed to attend a summit in Geneva that day--something no doubt poor Pepper was having to lie his way out of, rather than alerting the world that Tony Stark had been nabbed by a Big Bad ninety-nine percent of Earth’s population believed was off-world permanently.
When Loki suggested they “practice” Tony’s new ability by having him work himself open while Loki watched avidly from a chair next to the bed? Well, it was awkward, too, but not necessarily unwanted. Tony came either way.
Tony was discovering that coming at Loki’s command was not, apparently, going to be a problem. And that skitter of humiliation he felt as Loki watched him fuck himself on his own fingers, as Loki gripped his ankle roughly in preparation for mounting him?
Kinda only made it hotter.
Ugh.
Day three
Tony turned his mouth down, giving a suspicious look to the back of the tablet in Loki’s hand. “No. Piss.”
Tony just got a chuckle in return. “Amusing that this is your first guess when I mention ‘bodily fluids.’” Then, dropping the tablet on the bed and reaching for his own trousers: “No, Stark--not that.” He gestured at the floor with one hand as the other worked his belt free. “Get on your knees. I wish to come in your mouth.”
It wouldn’t be the last time.
That day.
Day four
Loki had introduced the manacles that day. And the blindfold. And Japanese rope bondage. Which Tony had done, but never quite that thoroughly.
He’d been a fucking pretzel by the end.
And a fucked one, too, he chuckled ruefully to himself as he rubbed his sore joints and stretched his legs back out. He asked for Alleve the next morning, and then--hey!--got a massage to go with it, and, eventually, once his cramped muscles were treated, a hand job as well.
His nails digging into skin, he held onto Loki’s arms--just as tight as the previous day’s ropes--as he got his happy ending.
Day five
Ow. The fucking clamps.
Never. Again.
Day six
Fascinated by Tony’s newly discovered sensitivity, Loki made him female, all the better to tease. But this time, it was tongue and lips, ice chips and heated oil.
Better than metal and teeth, and Tony once again enjoyed his--her--own body’s responses. Done using his mouth on Tony, Loki had straddled her waist, oiled the valley between her breasts, and slid his cock into the welcoming bed he'd made for himself. Ever talented--ever dedicated--he continued to flick and pinch and tease Tony's nipples with finger and thumb even as he thrust himself closer to completion between the surrounding swells of Tony's suspiciously ample breasts.
For Tony's part, the sight of Loki lost and gasping above her, hair lank and half-obscuring his face, was enough to make her wrest one arm beneath Loki's thigh, into the place between her own legs. She pressed and rubbed at her clit, desperately working to remember everything that made women flood Tony's hands, mouth, and cock with their pleasure, her fingertips seeking purchase among the frictionless folds.
Remembered what she liked, in Loki's place, and so encouraged him to "fuck, baby, just come--come all over me, give it up, let me feel it," and the first spatters of Loki's hot come on her skin, up to her neck ... his broken moans as he released ...
Yeah.
Her frantic fingers finally found, struck the match, and she climaxed in ecstatic throbs, crying out Loki's name.
Tony was himself again before he realized it. One look up, to where Loki watched him, amused, even as he still panted on his knees over Tony's restored shape, and Tony could only say, "Shut up." If he had been a lesser man, he would have blushed at Loki's laughter.
No, that definitely was not a blush.
He covered his face with his free hand.
"Shut up."
Day seven
Tony finally got a say in this one, to his relief. But after comparing notes on what, in their extensive experiences, constituted a “creative sexual position,” they hit a standstill.
Which is why, after seven days of fucking Tony on hands and knees, binding him into helpless acquiescence, or spilling into his mouth (or, yeah, tits) from above, the only “creative” thing left was to put the man on his back and ride him gently, watching his expressions, and measuring his responses, the entire time. Tony could feel his cheeks heat again, damn it, but when he tried to push his face into Loki’s hair, he was pulled back and kissed instead.
Tony called the position missionary; Loki termed it bridal-style.
Loki left immediately after, without saying another word. After looking at the now-locked door for a moment, Tony turned on the TV that had materialized on day four and watched some MMA tournament.
Day seven, later
“Why me?” Tony asked, when Loki brought in their dinner. He had set the trays on the bed and turned back to the open door, as if trying to remember something.
Tony couldn’t see Loki’s face from where he was stretched out on the sheets, and he didn’t get an immediate answer, so he pressed on. “Why pick me for your little ... experiment, or whatever the hell this is?”
Loki still didn’t turn, and when he spoke, his normal intensity--the irritation Tony expected--was absent. “Why pick one of--what do you call yourselves? ‘Earth’s mightiest heroes,’ and bend him to my will? Exploit him sexually until his body is limp and all fight has left him? Until his submission is complete and all he craves is my touch?" After that, Tony got a glance back, could see humor in the corner of Loki’s eye and hint of his mouth. "Yes, why would I do that?"
And Tony was pretty sure that was an eye-roll. He raised himself up on his elbows, started one sentence, then another. Then breathed. Then: “Okay, yeah--okay. But why me?”
“You were the easiest one to get to, out of the suit.” Loki shrugged. “Obviously.”
“Well, that’s just ... unsatisfying.”
“To your massive ego?”
Tony huffed. “Obviously.” Also, Tony thought defiantly: Liesmith.
Loki moved back to the bed. “Well, perhaps I can find another way to satisfy you.” When Loki climbed onto the mattress, Tony couldn’t help himself--he reached out. Grasped. Held.
The fight hadn’t left him, despite Loki’s predictions--it was just ... on hold. For other things.
Twenty-two more days.
Day eight
Tony grimaced at the leash in Loki’s fist. “What’s day eight? Puppy play?” Loki had transitioned Stark into their evening’s activities without binding him, but it looked like that was about to change. Tony stood in a corner of his room, still wearing his bathrobe from his shower in the en suite, plates from the evening’s dinner stacked on a footed tray in the corner. Loki had begun sharing meals with Tony, because, as he said, it was “easier.”
Tony didn’t bitch about the company. The TV and books could only do so much. And the meals had definitely improved since Loki was sharing them--Tony hadn’t had “heart attack on a plate” in years, for obvious reasons, but that fettuccini had been worth the artery abuse.
But, back to the leash, and Loki: “Domination and submission.”
Tony looked at the leash--then back at Loki, watched warily as the god crossed the room to him. “So, this is the part where you tell me to kneel?”
Loki cocked his head. “We’ve done that already.” Then he gently took Tony’s hand and pressed the folded leather strap into it. “This is the part where you tell me.”
Tony took the leash, watched as Loki gathered his hair and pulled it around his neck, exposing the silver ring attached to the collar he wore. Tony’s mouth went instantly dry, and he had to swallow before he could speak. “You’ll ... you’ll do what I tell you.”
Loki loosed his hair over one shoulder. “Oh, yes,” he sighed, as if he could imagine nothing better.
“Anything?”
“Yes.” Said with another blissful sigh.
Tony’s hand tightened, making the leather creak just a little. “And if I tell you to let me go? Will you do that?”
Both arms now at his side, metal ring still glinting, Loki regarded Tony. “If that’s what you wish.” Eyes never leaving Tony’s own, he sank to his knees. He smiled--not smugly, not meanly--just a little quirk at the corner of his lips, sharing a joke. “Is it?”
A moment of stillness later, Tony opened the clasp on the leash and brought it through the ring on Loki’s collar. He held the strap loosely in one hand. With the other: “Let’s try this. First, I’ll need your mouth,” he said, pressing a thumb to Loki’s lower lip. “Everywhere.”
Days nine and ten
Tony frowned at the logistics of “double penetration,” until he could have kicked himself in the head for missing the obvious. When he looked up, he saw the clone mirroring Loki--wearing the identical untucked silk shirt, loose black pants, and ... a look of intent.
The next day, Tony described his thing for twins, how close Loki had come to it the day before. Challenged, Loki repeated the experience, but threw in a little role-play, just for fun. Tony gave him bonus points for being willing to call his clone “brother”--while being held down for Tony’s enjoyment--without cringing.
Day eleven
Tony was looking at the tablet. “‘Disapproving third party.’ This one seems kind of ... hard to surmount. Unless you have Thor outside.”
Yeah, that was probably pushing it with the “brother” references. With an impatient huff, Loki pulled the device from Tony’s hands, touched a few icons, and opened a videoconferencing screen. He handed the tablet back to Tony, who gave him an incredulous look.
“You’re kidding, right?”
“I enabled the outgoing calling. Your choice whom you call--but you tell them. Explain what you’ve been doing for two weeks. Explain what you’ll be doing--voluntarily--for the next two.”
Tony couldn’t help it; he’d immediately imagined Cap’s appalled face, and he couldn’t hide his own grimace. “That’s just going to ... they’ll come find me, you know. Long before your thirty days are up.”
Loki’s face hid a secret--poorly, this time--and Tony squinted at him. But the god only offered, “I’ll worry about that--just make the call.”
Tony chickened the hell out and ended up just calling Bruce.
After that, without an explanation, Loki gave Tony access to the rest of the apartment. Perhaps it had something to do with how hard Tony argued--how emphatically he reassured--when Bruce started going green.
Day twelve
“‘First time?’ How the hell do we do that one? You got a time machine around here? And a sixteen-year-old girl? ... Uh, no--ignore that last part. I try to avoid underage girls, you know--where possible.”
Loki did ignore it, happily. “Imagination, Stark,” he chided. “Tell me about the first time you fucked someone. And let me decide how to complete this task.”
And that was how Tony ended up making out with Loki on a couch in a near-exact replica of a 1985ish finished basement while The Evil Dead played on a VCR across the room.
It was Loki’s living room, masked with a spell. Within two days, they’d christened every room in Loki’s ample apartment--all much more appealing than the make-believe eighties rec room, though Tony maintained a fondness for both the experiences, first and “first.”
It also was just entertaining as fuck watching Loki watch Bruce Campbell as they ate popcorn, after, and drank Mountain Dew.
Day thirteen
Tony had never had a corset fetish. Until day thirteen.
The wasp-waisted shape the garment’s whalebone ribs forced Loki into; the way the laces had felt, running down Loki’s back, exposing the mosaic of his smooth skin, as Tony had knelt behind--over--him ... the sound Loki made as Tony worked two fingers into the front panel to pinch the nipple he found (“Just desserts, babe”) ...
When Loki, breathless and red-cheeked, shimmering with sweat, rolled onto his back to beg Tony to continue ...
Well, Tony thought, as he pulled Loki’s ankle up over his shoulder, and leaned in until the leather edge of the corset bit into his own hip.
He’d spent the last twenty-five years of his life not having a corset kink.
At least once a week, for every year of the rest, he’d remember the moment it started.
Day fourteen
Tony was in the kitchen late that evening, after ... just after, staring at the refrigerator door, when Loki entered the room. It only took a moment for Loki to notice ...
“Are you all right?”
Tony was still shaking. Couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t hide it.
“Yeah, I’m--” He tensed a bit as Loki stepped up behind him. “Just trying to figure out what to eat.”
“Staring at the outside of the box is usually not the best way to determine what’s on the inside.” The arms slipped around Tony’s naked torso and over his arms, and his hands caressed soothing lines up his abdomen. “Did I do something--?”
“I don’t--” He was having a hard time finding words this evening. His own hands came up, closed on Loki’s arms from below. Holding.
“I won’t do fourteen again. Is that--is that sufficient? Or do you need--”
“No--”
Tony felt the face pressed into the back of the neck, the lips gentle on his nape. Quietly, Loki offered, “If you need to--”
“No! No.” Tony turned around, leaned into the hold, his own arms moving around the other. “I just--”
“Come back to bed.” Loki kissed him where the hinge of his jaw was clenched. “We’ll do something else. Or I’ll bring you dinner.” He was quiet. “Or a drink.”
“No,” Tony replied. “Not the drink. I don’t need--” He felt Loki’s arms tighten. “Bed. Food. Talk ... You can talk to me. And you can tell me how that was supposed to go. How it should have felt.”
Loki sighed. “I forgot--” Unsaid, but Tony could still hear it: You’re mortal. The cave. The promise on the first day.
“Yeah.”
“I won’t--”
“Okay.” And then, after a small kiss on his mouth: “I know.
“I know.”
Day fifteen and sixteen
After fourteen, Loki had pressed Tony on his favorite things--the corset, yes, but Tony had also, hopefully, mentioned another activity he’d particularly enjoyed ...
And ended up with the fabled Silvertongue in his ass, squirming and taking and forcing him closer and closer to his uncontrollable peak. Worth. It. Oh, God. As he wept and cursed into the sheets, spreading his knees far beyond the point of comfort, he knew that tongue was at least one thing in history deserving of its legend.
Later, they kept talking, Loki trying to get to something with his questions and Tony’s wary answers. Get at something. And sometime on day sixteen--Tony wasn’t exactly sure when--Loki ... got it. Whatever he was after. Tony knew it from the devil’s glint in his eyes.
Tony wasn’t worried. Much.
Day seventeen
Tony was on his knees--again--arms tied behind his back and blindfolded--again--in the dungeon room where they’d started all this. A gentle but firm push on the back of his neck guided him further into the room; he heard the door slam behind him with a clang.
“What now, Frau Blucher?” He, of course, paused for the whinnying that, tragically, would never come. “I would have thought we’d totally exploited me-on-my-knees at this point. Unless you’re queuing up a favorite rerun.” Tony wiggled. “Be kind. Rewind.”
Loki ignored the chatter, as usual. “This one is not for me, Stark.” Tony felt the blindfold tugged off, and he blinked cautiously, but the lights were comfortably low. The room was bare, stripped of its bed and most other furniture--just the one chair in it, and on it ...
Tony felt the wash of icy adrenaline prickling his skin. He pulled helplessly at the ropes. “Oh, fuck. Cap--I can explain--”
How Loki had gotten Steve in here--Steve was seemingly unbound, perched--and alert--on the plain wooden chair usually tucked into a corner of the room. The same chair that Loki had sat in as Tony ... Oh, God--did so many things, things Cap never, never could know about--
Steve wasn’t speaking. His glare conveyed enough--disgust, disappointment, and dismay making up the recipe for the three-D viewpoint Cap always seemed to hold when Tony was around.
But ... usually not this silently. “What the hell, Steve--how did you ... “ Tony, though he hated himself for it, looked up at Loki, who stood, also silently, by his side, watching Steve with a detached curiosity. “What did you do to him?”
Loki looked down, then, with a small, almost-fond smile. “This isn’t your Captain Rogers, Stark.” He waved a hand, and a slight ripple warped the air between them, turning Steve into little more than a reflection on the surface of the water. The ripples smoothed out, and Steve was ... Steve again. No reaction to the hocus pocus. Still just glaring at Tony, his occasional small shifts, little human sounds enough to complete the illusion.
“Why?” Tony tested the ropes binding his wrists. From this angle, he could only look up at Steve, and be looked down on in return.
Yeah, that was familiar.
Loki voice dragged him back from his thoughts: “There is something I want to see.”
“I’m almost afraid to--”
Loki talked over him. “I’m imagining you, crawling over to Captain Rogers right over there on your knees. Hands helpless behind your back, and using nothing but your teeth to bare him. He’ll be thick and hard by then, with wanting you. Eager, and unable to hide it. Seeing you like that--beneath him.” Loki took a breath. “You’ll take him in your mouth, pleasure him with your skilled tongue, as you have pleasured me. You’re so good at it; shouldn’t he know that, Stark? Don’t you want him to know what your mouth is capable of, beyond insults and insubordination?”
Tony shivered--and almost managed to keep a tiny sound from escaping his lips.
Another moment. Loki touched a palm to the top of Tony’s head, caressed him, hairline to crown, in a gesture that made Tony’s chest tighten. “Take him all the way in, silencing yourself for him, and then work him with your perfect whore’s mouth until he comes down your throat.” He continued speaking softly, as if Tony were an adored pet. “I think it would be lovely if his hands were fisted in your hair, don’t you? If he sighed your name as he came?”
Tony shifted, already throbbing and uncomfortable in the too-tight jeans. “Fuck.”
“No, that’s my duty. While you can still taste his seed on your tongue, feel his shape in your mouth, I will take you from behind. While he watches. While he sees how you cry out my name. How my hand makes you shake and spill again and again.” The fingers teased his hair. “Imagine how disgusted he’ll be ... and imagine how much he’ll want you again, afterward.”
“What’s--” Tony’s throat was dry. He swallowed. “What’s the theme today?”
“‘Secret fantasies.’”
“I thought this whole month was your fantasy.” Tony pointedly didn’t raise his head to confirm it, but he could feel Loki’s slow smile. He looked down, shook his head. Finally, chuckled with a tinge of resignation. “Okay, how did you know?”
The hand in his hair fell away. “You always want Captain Rogers’ attention, when you battle. You perform for him. And your voice rises just enough when you have it.”
“Great--you make me sound like I'm twelve.”
Loki snorted. “I’m not mocking you, Stark. You’re the same, when we battle. I mean,” he paused. “You’re the same with me. That’s how I knew.”
Tony sucked in a breath, heard it shake on the exhale. “You can’t--” He tried again. “Okay, now I’m making myself sound twelve, but-- Really. He can’t know. He already thinks I’m the case study for the modern American pervert, which--yeah, okay, I am, but ... Oh, God--I can’t believe I’m saying this, but we have to work together, and--“
Loki made a satisfied sound deep in his throat, waved Tony off. “No, this will be our secret. One of many." His smile was anything but sweet. "I know this about you, Stark: You want Captain Rogers because you believe he’s better than you.” He fisted his own hand in Tony’s hair--pulled his head back to force Tony to look up. “You want me, however ... You want me because you know I’m not.”
He released Tony’s hair, but Tony kept his eyes fixed on Loki as the god knelt next to him. “Rogers is a fool. He wouldn’t deserve this if it were offered. But I do. And so do you.” A hard kiss, with Loki’s hands coming up to hold Tony in place. “Now ... show me what you can do with Captain America’s cock.”
His hand on Tony’s shoulder nudged him forward.
“Then I’ll remind you what I can do with mine.”
Day seventeen, later
“So, that’s why you--”
“Hm?” He looked up from where he was cleaning Tony’s skin with a damp cloth, soft strokes that found and soothed the postcoital twitches.
Tony was, miraculously, quiet for a moment. Then: “You knew.”
“That you’d be easy?” Loki snorted. “Oh, yes.”
“Hey, I’m not that--” Tony’s mock-outrage died off. “Yeah, that’s fair.” He poked Loki in the shin with his toe. They were lying in the bed that had been magicked back into the room after Loki had waved “Steve Rogers” away. “But, seriously--you knew that I--”
“That you’d say yes? That you’d want this, too?” He passed a thumb over the tight circle of Tony’s closest nipple, watching the shadow play created by his fingers and the light of the arc reactor. “There was some risk--that your friends”--Tony loved the disdain Loki could apply to such an innocuous word--”would rescue you before you accepted my offer, or that they wouldn’t accept your word, or mine, that you are safe.”
“Yours.”
Loki made a sound of agreement.
But not enough. “You ... talked to them.”
“Twice.”
“TWICE.”
“Do I stutter?”
“I just--wow. Can’t imagine what you must have--” He thought. Narrowed his gaze. “Who was it?”
“Steve Rogers, first.” Loki wrinkled his nose. “Then Thor,” he offered in a flatter tone. “He’s the one who believed me, unsurprisingly.” More disdain. As he always did, Tony felt a twinge of pity for the big, good-looking, near-immortal thunder god.
His younger brother hated his ass.
Tony brought his thoughts back around. “Yeah. Huh.” A silent moment passed. “So, they’re not--actually--coming.”
“Not yet, no.”
“Hm--not a complete answer, there, but about on par with what I’ve been getting.” Tony rolled over, offered Loki a smile. “So, what’s next?”
Day eighteen
“Vikings” had given both of them a guiltily-confessed priest kink, so when Loki walked in as a monk in period vestments ... Tony had at first begged him not to do it, embarrassed, then had hesitantly toyed with the rough fabric of Loki’s robes, the rope around his neck ...
... and, some time later, demanded to be called “Ragnar” as he ruined fervent if insincere vows of celibacy with a--gods! yes!--Viking level of enthusiasm. As he plundered Loki's sweet ass with the vigor of an attack on the English coastline. His roar as he came was savage, and it said something about the satisfaction of the encounter that he didn't hide his red face under the covers until a full five minutes after, when his heart finally slowed to normal.
Then, after Tony finally emerged, resigned to the further exposure of his own depravities, Loki had another confession: It had made him just a little nostalgic. Tony snickered as he fondled the shreds of Loki's costume, the frayed rope--it had reminded Loki of the "good ol’ days," apparently.
Days nineteen and twenty
Later, during his debrief, when Tony finally saw the full list, he’d realize that Loki had skipped over “medical play,” and he would duck his head to hide an involuntary smile from Nick Fury.
Some details he’d keep to himself. Like day fourteen, and how Loki had handled him, after.
So, instead of “medical play” and “latex,” they spent the weekend watching the rest of the Evil Dead movies, including the remake Loki had downloaded illegally, to Tony’s feigned outrage. Tony didn’t bother to feign outrage at the wall-length flat-screen that turned up in Loki’s living room--better definition than the 26-inch box connected to the rattling VCR on day twelve.
Day twenty, later
Tony was tucked into one arm of the sofa, feet pressed between Loki’s torso and the sofa’s back at the other end. He occasionally reached out to tickle the arch of the foot Loki pushed closest to him.
“If this is Stockholm syndrome, I’ve been missing out,” he said.
Loki considered him. “I know this term--it suggests you come to sympathize with your captors, as a survival strategy. Correct?”
“Yeah--something like that. I’m not sure the enthusiastic fucking is actually in the DSM--” He talked over Loki’s puzzled look. “--but, you know, I have a feeling Fury is lining up some professional help about right now.” The air-quotes told Loki everything Tony wanted him to know about Fury’s “help.”
“Did you have this condition when you were held prisoner? Before?” he amended.
“No, and that was three months of hell, though I had my own survival strategy--which was to kill as many of those fuckers as I could, as it turned out.”
Loki acknowledged it with a small, approving noise. Touched his hand to Tony's knee and left it resting there, palm cupping the round bone.
“On the other hand, you’re being much more ... persuasive than they were. You know.”
Loki poked Tony with his foot--pulled it away before it could be tickled again. “I’m told my power lies in persuasion.”
“Uh-huh.”
They both glanced at the TV. The credits on the final movie were still rolling.
Keeping his attention fixed on the screen, Loki asked, “Do you want this to be Stockholm syndrome?”
“I don’t know.” Tony reached for the remote. “It would make things easier, in some ways. Going back.” He clicked off the TV. “What do you want? Besides the rest of the list?”
Oh, ‘besides?’” Loki snorted. Still wouldn’t turn away from the blank television. “I am ... uncertain. Though, as you say, perhaps this affliction would be easier.”
Too quiet. Too ... full of thoughts. Enough. So Tony made one last grab for Loki’s foot--and caught it. With an unforgiving stroke up the ticklish arch, he challenged, “Okay, Sigmund--what’s next?”
He dodged the resulting, if mostly joking, kick to his head, but not the under-the-coffeetable wrestling match that followed.
Day twenty-one
They were back in Tony’s bedroom.
“This one time, I will ask your permission.” Loki held up the small metal bar in one hand, the hollow needle in the other.
Tony was flat on the bed, Loki sitting next to him. He shuffled up to his elbows, hyperaware of the panel of his robe gaping open. “Oh, Jesus. I’m not sure pain play is supposed to be permanent.” A breath. “I thought we said nothing permanent.”
“We did.” He paused. “I did. That’s why I’m asking you, Stark.”
“Why?” Tony shook his head as if to clear it. “I mean, why do you want it?”
“Think of it as a souvenir.”
He couldn’t take his eye off the needle. “You’re marking me.”
“Perhaps. I like the thought of knowing, after this is over, after you’re back fighting ... with your little band, you may have some reminder of this under the shell of your armor.”
"Fighting me" was left unsaid, but Tony heard it anyway. A reminder of what was to come. Still: “I’ve had a lot of permanent ... modifications done, Loki, and not all by my choice.”
“And that’s also why I’m asking you ... Tony.”
Tony worked his way through a thousand concurrent thoughts on what he was being asked, and knew that, despite Loki’s ideas of reminders, of souvenirs, this didn’t have to be permanent. The metal could be removed.
He also knew that ... that wasn’t the point.
The metal could be removed, but it wouldn’t have to be. There was a choice to make. For both to make.
The silence extended long enough that, cued by Tony’s audible swallow, Loki’s hands began to drop, and he shifted on the bed to put the implements away. But, instead, Tony said: “Do it.” He steadied himself against the headboard and reached up to pull the robe away from his chest. “Just hurry. Before I realize how bad an idea this actually is.”
After a long look, an evaluation, Loki set the nipple ring and needle down and reached for the bottle of antiseptic. Tony shuddered, breathed, as he watched Loki prepare to pierce his flesh.
Eventually, he just watched Loki’s eyes as it was done. And, eventually, Loki looked up, a small, almost-surprised smile warming his face.
Day twenty-two
Loki laid aside the list and spent the day teasing Tony’s magically healed nipple. After Tony accused him of a secret lactation kink, Loki told him the story of his time as a milkmaid.
Tony dared to laugh, so, as “punishment,” he was turned onto his hands and knees, and, with strong, insistent hands beneath him, got to experience Loki acting out the tale instead.
Tony resisted the urge to moo. And Loki kindly didn’t point out how Tony’s moans sounded as he gave up spurt after spurt of the milk Loki coaxed from between his legs.
Day twenty-three
“You really want to gag me? After all this? I mean, isn’t my mouth what you actually like about me?”
Loki considered the folded cloth in his hand. “Your appeal lies in more than just your mouth, Stark,” he replied absently.
Immediately after, he’d had to gag Tony to stifle his verbal preening. It took the threat of a memory wipe to get Stark to finally stop trying to speak, to stop his muffled bragging about his supposed erotic power over a “motherfucking god, baby.”
The gag was put away, after. Tony suspected they’d both missed hearing the sound of his voice.
Day twenty-four
Tony felt a little sorry for the pizza boy who helped them check “public or semi-public sex” off the list. But Loki memory-wiped him afterward--to avoid detection--so it was fine.
For his trouble, the kid would find a big wad of cash in his pocket at the end of the night, with no idea how it came to be there.
Yep, barely any guilt at all, thanks.
Days twenty-five and twenty-six
In preparation for re-entry, Tony had gotten access to his labs, files, JARVIS ... and it only took about four hundred emails for him to shut the whole thing down in disgust and start a new project. Loki transported the hardware Tony asked for piece by piece.
“Sex toys, right?” he said over his shoulder to Loki, as he pulled up base schematics and transferred them into some new plans on a hovering screen. “I’ve always had just enough shame to keep me from designing an actual, functioning fucking machine. Lucky for us, I think you exorcised that tiny vestige of my mother’s good work, so ... let’s do this shit.”
He gave Loki’s bottom half a cursory glance--the most unfocused look he’d aimed at Loki’s pelvis in weeks. “Take your pants off--I need a model.”
That’s pretty much all they did the next day, too--especially once they got it assembled. Hell, a prototype needed a test plan, didn’t it? Though Loki did eventually need to put a hand over Tony’s mouth after hearing “work the kinks out” for the fifteenth time.
No gag this time. Tony took it as confirmation that Loki had indeed missed the sound of his voice.
Day twenty-six, later
Loki had left to do--whatever it was he got up to when he wasn’t tormenting Tony, hopefully not some unprecedented evil that would make this whole “re-entry” thing that much more awkward. Tony finally--finally--had access to JARVIS, alone, and so he only felt a tiny bit like a twelve-year-old when he asked ...
“Hey, Jay--can you queue up all the interactions with Loki and the Avengers over the last ... let’s say year, how about?”
“Yes, sir. I have them.”
“Is there anything ... are there any patterns--in how Loki interacts with each member of the team? How he speaks, or ... his voice, for example.” Tony visibly cringed at the whole scenario, but continued: “You know. That sort of thing.”
“Certainly, sir. If you mean frequency, as you’ve noted, he ignores Thor and the Hulk, preferring to converse almost entirely with Captain Rogers, Agent Barton, and you, sir. Less so with Agent Romanov.”
Tony scratched at his beard stubble--tried to imagine how to restate the question without sounding like ...
Ah, fuck it.
“Jay.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Does Loki--” Trailing off, he banged a fist in frustration against the surface of the work table.
“Sir,” JARVIS intervened. “Loki directs no less than fifty-five percent of his taunts, threats, and jibes at you, with the remainder almost evenly split among the others.”
Oh, God, the humiliation--the AI was getting a little too artificially empathetic. He covered his eyes with a hand. “Really?”
“Moreover, the pitch of his voice is noticeably--”
“Stop. No. Stop, stop, stop. Don’t indulge me, Jay. This is bad enough as it is. Please wipe this entire conversation from your drives, okay?”
“Sir, you’ve told me to confirm those orders with you when they are issued? Do you, in fact, ‘mean it?’”
Tony twisted around against the edge of the table, considering his answer, and ...
Yeah. Yeaaahhh, Loki was there, in the doorway, just shaking his head, a tinge of amusement on his face.
“No, Jay--you, uh ... Yeah.” Tony threw his hands up, offered his own abashed grin at the other man. “I mean, no. I’m already busted.” Then: “Mute.” As Loki crossed the room, his smile taking on just a brief shadow of pity, Tony tried, “Look, I already warned you that I was turning into the--”
“Stark,” Loki began, meeting him at the table and reaching up to cradle the back of Tony’s head in the palms of his hands. “I told you. I knew. About you.
“You just didn’t ask how.”
Day twenty-seven
It was “Steve Rogers” again, and the theme was--
“You have got to-- No.” He started to tug his jeans back up from where Loki had wiggled them down his thighs.
Loki stopped him with fingers on one wrist. “It’s taken you a surprisingly long time to understand the rules here, Stark.”
“That is just-- No. NO.” He broke Loki’s hold easily, kept yanking up his jeans, but didn’t bother with the button. Just crossed his arms over his chest to indicate business was meant. “Look--let’s just go back to the machine,” he tossed out as a distraction.
It didn’t work. “No. More. Fucking. Machine. STARK.” Loki glared. “Do you really think this”--here he pointed at fake-Steve--”will permanently damage you, Iron Man? It won’t be that hard.” He snorted. “Unless you like it hard, of course.”
“Ugh. NO. It will damage my mind. My psyche. I’m invoking the no-PTSD, no-drinking-myself-into-an-early-grave clause.”
Loki brought his fists to his hips. “Oh, Stark--come now.”
“I am not bending over Captain America’s lap like some kind of ... perverted Norman Rockwell scenario.” He turned his back on the illusion--he couldn’t think of what Loki was suggesting and actually see the patented three-D expression at the same time.
“Oh, Stark--but it’s my birthday, and I want it.”
“Don’t misquote Lord of the Rings to me--that’s just-- God. Seriously? Seriously. I sucked his cock! I sucked his cock while you fucked me--that was enough!”
“But I want this so very much, Stark. Tony ... “
At a weak little “please,” Tony growled. “Fine--you like spanking? You let him do it to you.” He jerked a thumb toward the door. “I’ll get the popcorn.”
“I don’t care what Captain America thinks of me. Part of the pleasure of this is seeing you shamed by the man whose respect you apparently crave, your nation’s favorite hero--”
“Hey, I resent that! People like me, too, you know. And that whole ‘crave his respect’ thing? Kind of at odds with having him spank my bare ass.”
Loki sighed--Tony was finally getting through. Thank God. “I’m terribly disappointed.”
“You’ll have to live with it. I can already guarantee you that if I let Cap haul me over his knee, I’m not going to be in the mood for anything else today.” He finished compellingly: “So, have fun with your hand.”
Loki shook his head. Then he turned to survey the stern figure in the chair. “Fine. But it seems a waste of an illusion. And a list item.”
Tony thought for a moment as he too studied Steve’s doppelganger. Yeah, okay--he’d play some ball here. “Look.” He unfolded his arms. “I’m getting an idea ... “
The first suggestion--Thor over Steve’s knee--was met with a shudder and ew-face from Loki. No huge surprise. They both briefly considered putting Natasha there, but Tony finally conceded--after a few moments of luscious, gut-squirming daydreams--that he wouldn’t be able to face either Widow or Pepper if he and Loki got off on it. (Plus, Tony didn’t think even the fake Steve deserved that pleasure.)
It was Loki’s suggestion that was accepted without hesitation, and they crossed “spanking” off the list by watching the Hulk treat Captain America like the naughty schoolboy Tony knew he must be deep inside. Nobody could be that good, and the doppelganger Hulk enthusiastically agreed.
Tony, in fact, made the popcorn. And if he got a little wood from the show, from watching Steve’s perfect ass flexing and writhing under the blows, he just covered it by rutting against Loki’s thigh as they made out after.
Yeah, that was actually the last of Tony’s shame, he thought desperately as streaks of hot come decorated Loki’s hip.
Right there.
Day twenty-eight
“Admit it--you’ll miss this.”
With a considering look: “Will I need to?”
Day twenty-nine
Loki didn’t pull out the list, and Tony didn’t ask for it. Instead, they declared it “freebie day,” and each did whatever the other wanted.
It turned out their wishes were decidedly similar, with the corset on Tony this time, and Loki suffering beatifically through the clamps.
Day thirty
Tony peeked over Loki’s shoulder at the end of the list. “Oh! ‘Voyeurism.’ Who gets to watch?”
Loki turned around, face settling into a neutral expression. “Your teammates, I think.”
Tony frowned a little at Loki’s tone. “Uh ... okay--kinky, then. You gonna magick them up like ol’ Captain America?” He got a tiny smile.
“Your real teammates--they’re on their way.” To clarify: “To ‘rescue’ you.”
Tony’s mouth fell open. “Now? Why? I mean ... I know--”
“You have your world--you work--to return to. I have ... mine.” Loki touched Tony’s face--pressed his jaw shut with an amused snort.
Tony tugged his chin out of Loki’s grasp. “And they happen to be diametrically opposed to each other, huh?”
Loki stepped closer. “Not always, as it turns out.”
Tony brought a hand up to cup the back of Loki’s elbow, moved closer into the god’s space. “No, not always. And maybe ... less so?” He answered the kiss that followed. “Next time.”
Stroking the back of Loki’s arm, Tony confessed needlessly, “I’ll miss this.”
Loki moved a hand to Tony’s chest--touched the steel bar he’d placed there. “And, as I said: You won’t need to--if you wish.”
They both reacted to the sound of the Quinjet landing on the roof, two stories up.
“Until then,” Loki said, dropping to his knees, and reaching for Tony’s button-fly, “let’s give them a show.”