Archive of Our Own

Loki has come to expect Stark’s touch. Ever since Stark first drank from him, he has been… affectionate. That is the right word, Loki supposes, even though Stark’s affection is sometimes very sharp. He likes it when Loki is within reach, when he just has to hold out a hand and Loki is right there for him to feel and touch. Loki learned that early on, and even after half a year he hasn’t stopped preening under Stark’s touch when he reaches for him in public. 

They sit down next to each other, and while Loki argues with Natasha about a show they’ve been watching, Stark wraps his arm around Loki’s middle and pulls him closer against his side. He keeps his hand on Loki’s waist, holding him in place. 

Maybe it should feel restricting. It is restricting. Loki isn’t sure when it happened, but at some point he started needing the touches to be comfortable. 

He leans against Stark’s side, melting against him. Stark makes a pleased noise that starts somewhere low in his chest. It’s one of those noises that don’t sound quite human. A little feral. The sound tugs at something low in Loki’s stomach, cock twitching. He crosses his legs.

Stark’s friends have stopped teasing them for being “glued at the hip” as they call it. They get some odd looks from others as the party goes on, though. Loki doesn’t mind; he glares at humans who stare at him too annoyingly and smiles sharply at those who seem jealous. Loki is quite sure they’re jealous of him, because Stark must be one of the most desired bachelors in the country – or well, he was. Stark’s company released a statement just a few weeks ago, disclosing their relationship. Loki has yet to talk about it in a press conference, and he knows that when he does, it will be with Stark’s hand on his thigh under the table. 

They end up standing by the windows, talking to James Rhodes and a man Loki doesn’t know. It is Rhodes’ birthday, so a lot of his friends and colleagues are here. This one looks at Loki a little too much. At first he thinks it’s because he’s the exotic supervillain – fine, former supervillain – from outer space who invaded New York, but those smiles look different. These are curious in another way. Really, Stark’s hand tightening on Loki’s waist should have been the first hint. 

Loki always enjoys riling Stark up. 

“I’m disappointed to see you step down from a challenge,” Loki says to him when Barton approaches them, already past tipsy, and suggests a drinking game. 

Stark gives him an unimpressed look that tells Loki that Stark knows he is up to something. “Honey, it’s beer pong.”

“So?”

“Not really a challenge. Apart from that I don’t see you rising up to meet it, either.”

“Well, unlike you, I’m not human. It would be unfair to the other players if I participated.”

Stark sighs, long-suffering. Loki knows he is deeply frustrated by the fact that he doesn’t get to show off his vampiric powers in public. 

“Thor is participating,” Barton announces. 

“Sober Thor has the aim of a drunk ox,” Loki says sweetly. “He’ll be useless at this game as drunk as he is now. Which probably means that Stark will have to invest in some interior repairs tomorrow.”

Stark scowls. “Why do our parties always end with me having to rebuild half the tower?”

“C’mon, please,” Barton whines. “I need you in my team or Nat’s going to obliterate us.”

“Well, I’m always up to beat Natasha in the few things I’m better at than her,” Stark drawls, putting his drink aside. “Rhodey?”

Rhodes shrugs, but comes along. Stark looks at Loki once more, knowing, and squeezes Loki’s side before he leaves with Rhodes and Barton, already arguing with them about beer pong technique. 

Loki turns to Rhodes’ friend with one of his most charming – and most fake – smiles. The man doesn’t notice the latter. 

*

The party disperses early in the morning. Stark and Loki take the elevator to the penthouse. Loki is buzzing with energy, because Stark has been looking at him for hours now, in a way that makes being trapped in the small elevator with him seem like a possibly bad idea. 

Maybe Stark smells that, the spike of fear that makes Loki’s heart stumble, because he grins. 

“Stop,” he says. 

Loki is about to ask what he is supposed to stop, but before he can say a word, the elevator comes to a halt. Loki’s mouth snaps shut. His lips feel dry. 

“And?” Stark asks, a little too friendly. 

“I’m sorry?”

Stark crosses the small distance between them. Loki’s body wants to take a step back, but he stays where he is, staring at Stark’s dark eyes, the smile tugging at his lips. It reveals a bit of teeth, normal looking teeth, no fangs to be seen. Not yet. 

“Your little experiment.” Stark puts his hands on Loki’s shoulders and pushes with enough force that Loki has to stumble back, his back meeting the wall. “What’s the result?”

The casual display of strength makes Loki’s cock go from half hard to aching. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

“You sure that’s how you want to play?”

The light in the elevator is harsh, too bright after hours of talking and laughing and drinking in the almost-dark. Loki knows that Stark can see everything, every spark in Loki’s eyes and every twitch of his mouth, and that he knows Loki well enough to make sense of them, too. Loki has never been known like that before. The certainty that there is nowhere to hide makes his stomach flip. 

“I wasn’t aware we were playing,” he lies and can’t help the slight smile when Stark snorts in reaction. 

“Right,” he says. “Turn around.”

Loki licks his lips and swallows around his dry tongue. He turns around. He knows what order Stark will give next before he hears it. 

“Bend over. Pants down.”

The no-nonsense tone makes Loki shiver. His hands tremble slightly as he opens his slacks and pushes them down along with his underwear. They pool around his ankles. He bends over, putting his hands on the cold metal wall for support. 

Stark’s hand feels just as cold when he puts it between Loki’s shoulder blades and pushes. He forces Loki to bend lower. Loki shuffles back a few tiny steps to make sure he can do what Stark wants, keeping his back arched. He spreads his legs as far as the pants around his ankles allow. 

Stark doesn’t say a word. For a few seconds, all Loki hears are his own breaths, already shallow. He’s flushed with both humiliation and arousal, and all he wants is to give his cock some strokes. 

Stark spreads Loki’s cheeks and presses two fingers against his hole. They’re a little wet with what must be spit, but that’s not why they slide in without much difficulty. Stark undressed Loki right away when Loki showed himself in the suit he had chosen for the party, and then they were late because Stark just had to finger Loki for a whole forty-five minutes. He didn’t let Loki come, however, and maybe that’s why Loki has been so eager to provoke Stark all evening. He considers Stark suitably provoked now, and wonders if it was a good idea when Stark pushes both fingers in all the way without hesitation. He’s not gentle about it. Loki is still a little loose, yes, and the spit is enough to ease the way, but only just. Loki stifles a moan and raises his ass higher, pressing against Stark’s hand. He thinks this will hurt, and the thought is like electric sparks all over his skin. 

Stark pulls his fingers out. Loki hears a zipper. He looks over his shoulder as well as he can without changing position and sees Stark’s gaze fixed on Loki’s ass, one hand stroking over his lower back while the other lines his cock up with Loki’s hole.

“Stark,” Loki whispers, and then loses track of what he meant to say because the thick head of Stark’s cock breaches him and it feels gigantic. 

Stark lets out a sigh of relief, as if he’s been waiting for this all night. He pushes in slowly, steadily, until his hips are pressed against Loki’s ass. Loki is panting by now. His body clenches down on Stark’s cock on its own accord, and Stark grunts. He grabs Loki’s hips tightly, skin burning where his nails dig into it. He still doesn’t say anything, just pulls back a little and then pushes forward again, a slow, shallow thrust that knocks the remaining air out of Loki’s lungs. 

Stark can’t really mean to fuck him like this. It’s too dry. The stretch is already almost too much to bear, and Stark is barely even moving. Loki would tear, certainly. Cry. Scream. Fear is making his cock go soft, but he’s still burning up, like his body can’t decide whether what he feels in reaction to every tiny movement Stark makes is pain or pleasure. 

Stark hums, low in his throat. One of his hands moves down to slip under Loki’s dress shirt and stroke over his stomach. The muscles tremble under his touch. 

“I love it when you’re terrified,” Stark murmurs. He bends forward to press his lips against Loki’s shoulder. The movement causes Stark’s cock to go even deeper, Loki gasps. He hears Stark inhale. “Makes you smell even better.”

Loki wants to feel Stark’s lips on his bare skin; his dress shirt is in the way. He wants to feel Stark’s teeth. Stark pulls out again and thrusts back in, and Loki can’t help but let out a choked whimper. Too much friction. 

“But I prefer you slick, I think.” Stark straightens again, both hands returning to Loki’s hips. “Do your magic trick.”

Loki’s knees buckle with relief. In the last few months, he has used this spell more often than he can count. Stark likes to prepare Loki himself, loosening him up with his fingers or toys until he begs Stark to fuck him, but he also likes to take Loki fast when he feels like it, without wasting any time. He has grown quite fond of the spell that slicks and relaxes Loki’s hole, and Loki can’t complain. If there is one thing he knows, it’s that Stark will always make it worth his while. Even when it might not seem like it at the first glance. 

Loki calls upon his magic, and when Stark rolls his hips again, lube eases the way. The painful stretch dissipates. Loki waits for Stark to say something, to acknowledge Loki’s obedience, his skill. But Stark stays quiet in favor of fucking Loki slow and deep, taking his sweet time with ever thrust. Loki’s legs start to shake. He looks over his shoulder again, wanting to turn big, pleading eyes to Stark and get a reaction, but Stark’s eyes are closed, his expression full of pleasure. The beginning of a snarl on his lips, revealing the tip of one of his fangs. There he is. 

Loki stares, enthralled. His cock takes an interest in the proceedings again, but he doesn’t get more than half hard even as arousal shoots through his veins and clouds his head. He still wants to hear Stark’s voice, to be praised and encouraged like Stark usually does, but even more he wants to watch and feel Stark use him silently, with little to no regard to what it does to Loki. Loki’s breaths are ragged and quick. Stark’s cock fills him so well, but he’s avoiding his prostate, either by coincidence or on purpose. Loki wouldn’t be surprised if Stark was just making it look like the former while doing the latter. 

Loki takes one hand off the wall and wraps it around his cock, stroking roughly. It’s the first touch his cock has gotten today and it’s almost mind-numbing, although he knows, of course, that it’s a mistake. 

Stark’s eyes immediately open. He makes a displeased noise and moves faster than Loki’s eyes can process. After a fragment of a second Loki’s arms are pinned to his back and his shoulders are pressed against the wall, the metal shockingly cold against one side of his heated face. 

Loki lets out a guttural cry. Stark sets a punishing pace and Loki’s head goes blank, focused only on Stark’s cock. He pants with his mouth open and doesn’t struggle against Stark’s grip, letting himself be shoved against the wall with every thrust. Stark still doesn’t talk, even though he likes to talk, usually. Loki is not much more than a convenient hole, and the pleasure of it brings tears to his eyes. He can’t help but cry out time and time again, and suddenly one of Stark’s hands lets go of Loki’s arm and closes over his mouth, shutting him up. Loki groans in protest and tries to bite down on Stark’s palm, but Stark just pushes him even harder against the wall and keeps fucking him, unbothered. 

Stark comes fast, much faster than usual. Loki moans, stifled by Stark’s hand, when he feels Stark still inside of him. His hips snap forward roughly a couple times more before he slows down. Loki doesn’t hear Stark breathe, which probably means that he has stopped. He doesn’t strictly need to, after all. He makes a low sound as he comes, though, almost a growl.

Loki tries to catch his breath. It’s difficult since he can only breathe through his stuffy nose. His legs ache, and his arms where Stark has been holding onto them. That’ll leave bruises. He whines when Stark doesn’t stop moving, his thrusts now slow and lazy. When he pulls all the way out just to push back in, it makes a disgusting wet noise. Mortification burns in the pit of Loki’s stomach.

Finally, Stark takes his hand away from Loki’s mouth. Loki takes a few sharp breaths, whimpering softly when Stark keeps fucking him, somehow still hard. Loki knows from experience that it may take a few more minutes until Stark’s cock softens. Unless it does the opposite and they are in for a second round.

“What’s his name?”

Loki wriggles slightly, trying to free his wrists out of Stark’s hand, but Stark’s grasp is like iron shackles. He doesn’t know what Stark is talking about, and doesn’t manage more than a breathless, “What?”

“The guy you were flirting with,” Stark explains patiently, sounding not at all like he just gave Loki one of the roughest fucks since he dragged Loki into his bed. “Because you know, if you weren’t playing, you must’ve been serious about him. I watched you. All smiles and bedroom eyes. All the stuff that’s usually mine.”

He underlines the last word with a sharper thrust, making Loki keen. His hole feels raw and swollen, used to the girth of Stark’s cock by now, but still so sore. 

“I can call him if you want,” Stark says. “Tell him that my pet really wants him to fuck him. I mean, I’ve had my fun now, I don’t mind you getting yours. And I’d be irresponsible if I didn’t make sure you had everything you wanted, right, darling?”

All of Loki’s instincts scream danger. “Stark –”

“No, sweetheart, it’s fine. If you’d rather come on his cock than mine, we can absolutely make it happen. Right now, maybe? Should we go back downstairs and see if he’s still around?” Stark presses his chest against Loki’s back, voice close to his ear. “Sure, you look messy as fuck now, all used up. But I’m sure he wouldn’t say no if I offered.”

Loki makes a frustrated noise. “Stark.”

“Somebody else, too, maybe? People look at you all the time, don’t think I haven’t noticed. Not like I can blame them. Give me an hour, I’ll find three or four nice guys for you and tell them they can have a go.”

Loki shudders. “He flirted with me first.”

“Yeah? Well, initiative should be rewarded, right?” Stark pulls back and thrusts into Loki hard. “Tell me, pet. What’s his name?”

Loki tries to answer, but his breath hitches too much with Stark’s cock moving in and out of him. The tears spill over and he struggles against Stark’s grip, desperate to get some friction on his own cock. 

“His name, Loki.”

Loki sobs. “I don’t know!”

Stark laughs. “What do you mean, you don’t know? He didn’t tell you?”

“I forgot!” Loki wasn’t even looking at the man when he introduced himself, goddammit. He was looking at Stark. “I didn’t care.”

Stark pulls back. Loki hisses when Stark’s cock slips out of him so suddenly. His legs are jelly. He doesn’t even try to struggle when Stark grabs him and makes him turn around, then pushes him down onto his knees, a hand tight in Loki’s hair. 

“Open up.”

Loki makes a face and looks at Stark’s cock, glistening with his come and magical lube. Otherwise clean, thankfully. Still. “Stark, please –”

“Open up, I said.”

Loki looks up at Stark, determined to be defiant, but that melts away when he meets Stark’s gaze, hard and commanding. The only thing Loki wants is to submit, and so he does.

He opens his mouth wide, and right away Stark pushes his cock past Loki’s lips. It hits the back of Loki’s throat, but he swallows around it and lets it happen, breathing through his nose. Stark grabs Loki’s head with both hands and fucks his mouth, slow and controlled. Loki’s eyes roll back into his head. If his cock had gotten a little more attention, he could come from this alone. He clings to Stark’s legs; one of them is pushing against his chest, keeping him trapped against the wall. 

“Just to make this clear,” Stark says, of course still not even out of breath. “The next time somebody flirts with you, the first thing you’ll tell them is that they have to ask me for permission. I’ll handle the rest.”

Loki groans, and Stark pulls out of his mouth, leaving him gasping for breath. 

“Say ‘yes, Sir’.”

“Yes, Sir,” Loki says at once, desperate. 

“Good boy,” Stark says, and fills Loki’s mouth again. 

He comes down Loki’s throat mere seconds later. It’s less than what is currently dripping down between Loki’s ass cheeks, thankfully, but it’s still enough to make Loki choke. His chest is heaving when Stark withdraws, cock now finally going soft. Stark runs a hand through Loki’s hair and wipes his mouth with his sleeve. Loki pushes his hand away. 

“Your suit,” he says, voice rough, glaring at the mess on Stark’s sleeve. “What are you, a barbarian?”

Stark laughs so loudly it echoes from the walls. He tucks his cock into his pants and closes the zipper. “Come on up, honey. Clothes off.”

Loki scrambles to his feet, grateful for Stark’s hands on his arms, helping him up. He stumbles a little over his slacks and has to bend down to take off his shoes first, face burning with shame. His cock is painfully hard.

“You need a shower,” Stark says, still gentle. “And then bed, I think.”

The elevator starts moving with a sudden jolt. Loki’s abdomen clenches almost painfully. He looks at Stark, clings to him, both because he knows Stark likes that and because he needs the contact. “Can I come first?”

“I don’t think so.”

“I’ll do it myself,” Loki offers. He’s trying very hard not to grind his precome-wet cock against Stark’s nice suit. “At your feet. I’ll even lick it up after.”

“Tempting.” Stark smiles and flicks the tip of Loki’s nose with a fingertip. “But no. Tomorrow.”

Loki groans, but lets Stark half drag, half push him out of the elevator and into the penthouse. Loki is so tired. And so horny. Stark bullies him into taking a quick shower, because he knows that Loki hates going to bed sticky . In bed, he pulls the covers over them nice and warm and presses himself against Loki’s back, arm tight around his middle. He kisses the back of Loki’s neck. 

“Stop that,” Loki demands tiredly, eyes already closed. “You’re making it worse.”

“I like making it worse.”

Loki huffs. He puts his hand on Stark’s arm, squeezing gently. He wriggles around some more, willing his denied cock to calm down so that he can get some much needed sleep. It takes a while, but eventually he dozes off, aware that Stark is smirking smugly behind him the whole time.

*

Loki wakes up to the smell of breakfast. The light falling into the room tells him that it must be way past noon. He’s still on his side, like he hasn’t moved at all in his sleep. Stark is touching him, stroking his stomach, the slight curve of his hip, his thigh. Stark’s touch is often the first thing Loki feels in the morning. The touches are never openly sexual in nature, which is a bit of a disappointment on mornings like these. 

“There you are,” Stark murmurs, still behind Loki as if he hasn’t moved away at all, although the tray on the nightstand with tea and food proves that he did. 

“Good morning.” Loki’s voice is rough and slow. Goosebumps erupt over his skin as Stark’s fingertips brush over his inner thigh. “Or good day, rather.”

Stark hums. He rubs his nose against the back of Loki’s neck like an affectionate cat. “Do you want to sleep some more? You can. I just wanted to touch you.”

Loki puts his hand on Stark’s and smiles when Stark intertwines their fingers. “Will you stop touching me if I fall asleep?” 

Stark just hums. Loki sighs, trying to keep a clear head. But his cock is hard and all he can think about is Stark taking him, in whatever way he wants. Oh. Loki really has to ask –

“You will eat and drink something,” Stark says, still soft, but the order is clear. “I’ll drink from you later, so I need to get some food in you. We don’t want you passing out, do we?”

Loki wouldn’t mind that, actually. He whines when Stark pulls away, sitting up.

Stark chuckles. “Don’t argue.”

Loki gives him a dark look, but sits up as well. “Oh, I would never, Sir.”

Stark made a nice breakfast for him. Eggs scrambled just the way Loki likes them, his favorite tea, some fruit. Loki kisses Stark’s cheek and makes himself comfortable with his legs over Stark’s lap, Stark’s hands stroking up and down his shins. 

“Are you sore?” Stark asks, watching Loki eat. 

Loki shakes his head. “Barely. I’m sorry to disappoint.”

“You never disappoint.”

“Never? Not even last night?”

“Never,” Stark repeats firmly, then grins, showing his fangs. He must be thirsty. “You know I never mind teaching you a lesson.”

Heat rises to Loki’s face. Stark has taught him quite a few lessons in their time together, that’s true. Lessons like holding still while Stark feeds because his teeth might leave bigger and deeper tears than intended otherwise. Loki knows all of Stark’s favorite positions, and often a nudge or a look is enough to make Loki bend over and arch his back exactly like Stark prefers. Stark likes to be Sir, but only when the deference is real. Loki learned that Stark wants to know where Loki is at all times, and that he prefers Loki telling him over asking JARVIS. Lying to Stark has painful consequences, just like putting himself in more danger than necessary. Stark accepts a no, but he expects an explanation, even if that consists only of Loki not being in the mood. Coming or even touching himself without permission are unacceptable. Obedience and availability are a must and, more importantly, they are rewarded. 

Loki didn’t think he would enjoy it. Never even considered that he might thrive on being taught, trained like a domesticated animal. Simple commands, rewards for good behavior, punishments for disobedience. It makes no sense that any of that would make him feel free, but it does. He only has one person to answer to these days, and only the Norns know why, but that person wants him fully. 

“Oh, I know,” Loki says, lowering his gaze in a show of submission that’s only partly that, a show. It feels frighteningly real, most of the time. “And I always like giving you reason to.”

Stark chuckles, a warm sound that makes Loki flush even hotter. “Yeah, I know. And you always take your lessons very well. You know what to do now when someone flirts with you, don’t you?”

Loki’s gaze snaps back to him, hoping to see by the look on Stark’s face that he is joking. He does not look like he does now when he is joking. “You were serious about that?”

“Definitely.”

Loki stares at him. He searches for the appropriate reaction in himself – there must still be a tiny bit of outrage hiding in some dark corner, but all he finds is excitement. Lust. Sometimes he does wonder if Stark is lying about his alleged vampiric mind control powers only working on humans.

“You wouldn’t actually –” Loki stops to swallows. “Share me.”

Stark tilts his head to the side, considering. “I don’t want anyone else touching you. But I could live with not getting what I want if it meant seeing you like that, just every once in a while. I’d definitely enjoy that.”

Loki scrapes the last remains of eggs off his plate just to have something to do. “Seeing me like what?”

“Oh, you know.” Stark leans his head back against the wall, smiling. “Used. Ashamed, probably. And very obedient.”

He would, Loki realizes. He would. Find some random men and order Loki to serve them, spread his legs on command like some whore. The even more terrible realization is that Loki would, too. He would obey. Worse, he would probably get off on it. 

“I am not sure if that is a lesson I wish to learn,” he says, voice raspy.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Stark says, squeezing Loki’s leg.

Loki relaxes, knowing that Stark wouldn’t lie to him. He wouldn’t do it against Loki’s will. He does enjoy pushing Loki, though, and Loki doesn’t doubt that pushing him that far would be pleasant for Stark. And Stark is a hedonist at heart – not versed in resisting temptation. 

Stark laughs. “No need to smell like that, sweetheart. I was bullshitting last night, just like you. I’ll keep you to myself for the time being.”

“I’m not scared of you,” Loki says, even though his scent probably betrays him. It usually does.

“Yes, you are,” Stark says cheerfully and takes Loki’s empty plate from him. “And I like it that way.”

Loki is much too aroused for a conversation like this. Everything Stark says only makes it worse. He scowls. “I was not remotely serious about propositioning that man.”

“Yeah, like I said. Bullshitting. There’s no need to try and make me jealous, darling.” Stark pats Loki’s legs, the cue for Loki to move them. “I manage that all on my own.”

“Were you, then?” Loki asks. He sounds too hopeful, but he can’t help it. “Jealous?”

“You know the answer to that.” Stark moves to sit in front of Loki and grabs him by the hips, unceremoniously pulling at him to make him lie on his back. “Oh, look at how hard you are. You’re adorable.”

Loki covers his eyes with his hand, making a face. Gods. He was supposed to ask Stark something. “Stark?”

Stark just hums. He’s already kissing his way down Loki’s chest, lips lingering on the soft skin of his belly. Loki feels the scrape of Stark’s fangs. His stomach muscles clench tight, hips rucking up all on their own. 

“Stark.”

“I’m listening, love.”

He grabs Loki’s thighs and spreads them, kneading the flesh. An open-mouthed kiss right at the start of Loki’s inner thigh, where he is extra sensitive. Loki’s cock leaks precome onto his belly, the frustration of being left denied the night before welling up inside of him. Focus, though. This is important. 

“Do you consider me your property?”

That gives Stark pause. He stops his teasing and rests his cheek against Loki’s thigh, looking up at him out of dark, dark eyes. Loki can’t resist. He reaches out and cards his fingers through Stark’s hair. Soft. Stark lets him. 

“I love you,” Stark says.

Loki’s heart stops. Then he frowns, his grip tightening on Stark’s hair. He has never said that before. Loki hasn’t said it to him, either. It rings true. Loki recognizes manipulation when he sees it. “That – does not answer my question.”

“No,” Stark agrees, and he smiles and straightens, kneeling between Loki’s legs. Hands on Loki’s thighs again, pulling him closer so that his hips are tipped upward, resting on Stark’s thighs, legs curled around him. “But it’s true, and it softens the blow a bit, doesn’t it?”

“So you do,” Loki accuses, propping himself up on his elbow. “I’m not a thing, Stark, and I don’t appreciate being treated like one.”

“I’m all with you on the former, baby, but the latter is a lie.” Stark just looks at him for a moment, eyes a little more serious. His hands are on Loki’s sides, soothing touches. “I wouldn’t treat you like I do if I didn’t know how much you liked it.”

“Well, some things belong in the bedroom,” Loki says, snide. His breath stutters, though, anxiety breaking through. “I don’t mind it there. The opposite, really, you – you know.”

“I do.”

“And I knew that it would be like that. You told me.” The memory almost makes Loki push up against Stark’s hand, wanting a harder touch. You’ll bare your skin when I want to feed on you, and you’ll spread your legs when I want to fuck you, that’s what Stark said way back at the beginning, after the very first time he bit Loki. And Loki still wants nothing more, and that is scary. He swallows, hesitating. “But I can feel it – spilling over. Into other areas.”

Stark considers him thoughtfully, unblinking. “I want you to be mine in all rooms. Not just the bedroom. And you are.”

Loki knows that he is. He lets Stark control so much. Even on the battlefield, Loki reacts to the tiniest gesture of Stark’s hand like a well trained dog. He shivers. “It scares me.”

Stark reaches for him and pulls him up, setting him down on his knees properly. Loki gives in, wrapping his arms around Stark’s neck and his legs around his hips, lets Stark hold him tight with nowhere to go. He can feel that Stark’s cock is hard. Reacting to Loki’s submission or his fear, or both.

“I’m not as human as I look,” Stark whispers to him. His hands aren’t as cold as usual on Loki’s back; they have warmed up to his temperature already. “And you’re prey.”

Loki shivers in Stark’s arms. Stark has been feeding on him once a week for months now, even though he could survive on less. Loki knows that he is prey. Stark has held him down and drunk his blood until Loki lost consciousness, gods, he could kill Loki easily, because Loki keeps offering himself up on a silver platter. 

“But if your question is if that’s the only thing I see in you,” Stark adds, “then the answer is no. If I did, you either wouldn’t have a clue that I ever took a sip, or you’d be dead.”

Loki pulls back to look at him. Stark seems calm, smiling at him. He’s always so steady. So easily in control, even when he’s angry or upset. Loki loves that about him.

“I see,” Loki says. “So instead of that, you wish to keep me. Like a possession.”

“Yes,” Stark says. He cups Loki’s jaw, keeping him from looking away. “I own lots of pretty things. You’re the best of it all.”

He sounds proud. Well, it’s easy for him to be unashamed about this; he’s not the one who constantly feels compelled to throw himself at Loki’s feet. That image has frustratingly little allure. Loki doesn’t want things to be the other way around; they feel just right as they are. 

He sighs. “Were you ever going to ask my opinion on that?”

“What’s your opinion on that, Loki?” Stark reaches for Loki’s hard cock. “Oh, wait, I think I know.”

Ass. Loki glares and bats his hand away. “I’m serious.”

“Same here.” Stark grins and pushes Loki onto his back again, crawling on top of him. “I know. But I can dial it down if that’s what you want. Is it?”

He’s fully clothed, although he changed out of his suit into something more comfortable while Loki was asleep. Loki wishes he would undress, wanting to feel his skin, and at the same time he quite likes that he is naked while Stark is not.

Loki thinks about what he wants. Well, what he wants is to stop talking, and for Stark to wring a few orgasms out of him and then drink from him. And then fuck him again while Loki is still dazed and weak if that’s what he wants. And that’s what it boils down to, isn’t it? Whatever Stark wants. 

“It seems,” Loki says slowly, running his hands up Stark’s chest, “that no matter what you do, I only ever want more.”

“That so?” Stark drops down on the bed next to him, tucked against Loki’s side. His fingers find one of Loki’s nipples. He flicks his thumb over it, rubbing gently. “Tell me.”

Loki wants more of that touch. No, he wants Stark’s mouth, and his cock. Thinking about the scene in the elevator makes Loki throb. “Tell you what, exactly?”

“What you want more of.” 

Loki’s eyes flutter shut when Stark kisses his neck, teeth pricking at Loki’s skin. He twists Loki’s nipple between thumb and index and Loki gasps. Stark’s hand wanders over his upper body, moving to tease his other nipple until it’s hard and sore. 

“I want,” Loki says, trying to pull Stark back on top of him, “your cock inside me.”

Stark smirks and takes Loki’s hands, pinning them over his head. He runs his free hand down between Loki’s legs, fingertips probing his hole. Loki rolls his hips up, the magic coming to him easily. He still feels loose from the night before and the lube does the rest. Stark pushes two of his fingers in without hesitation and angles them just right, pressing against Loki’s prostate. 

“You always want that,” he says idly. “What else?”

“I want you to feed on me. Only – only me.”

“We’re already doing that.”

The smug tone is both arousing and infuriating. Loki wishes he could use his hands to pull Stark closer, into a kiss, but as it is he can only force himself to hold Stark’s gaze and let his silvertongue make itself useful.

“Nothing pleases me more than pleasing you,” he says, voice dropping low and rough. “Obeying you. Yours are the only orders I will ever follow, and I will follow them –” His breath stutters because Stark’s fingertips are right against his prostate. “Eagerly. The one thing I want is for you to never doubt that I am yours and will do as you say.”

He knows by the spark in Stark’s eyes that he has him. Stark adds a third finger and slowly drags them in and out, closely watching Loki’s face. 

“Whatever I say,” he says, steel in his voice. 

“Whatever you say,” Loki agrees breathlessly. “You know that I cross your lines only to have you correct me. To feel your control over me.”

He is supposed to say pretty things to rile Stark up, give him a taste of his own medicine, but there is too much truth in it. Too much need. Stark smiles and Loki thinks that he can see right through him, as usual. 

“Go on,” Stark orders, voice so soft that Loki’s belly lurches. He lets go of Loki’s hands and runs his own down Loki’s chest, thumbs brushing over Loki’s hardened nipples. 

Loki dares to move his hands, since Stark hasn’t ordered him not to. He touches the side of Stark’s face. His skin is colder than Loki’s, the edge of his beard soft and scratchy at once. Loki’s head is suddenly empty, losing interest in pretty words. He wants Stark to take over. 

“I have been fleeing from other people’s control for so long,” Loki murmurs, watching as Stark tilts his head and leans into Loki’s touch. “But with you…”

He loves Stark’s eyes. They barely pass as brown, dark as they are, reflecting the light differently than a human’s would. Dead eyes, just as dead as the rest of his walking, unbreathing body. Filled with so much hunger. 

“With me?” Stark says, still in that predator’s purr. 

Loki strokes over Stark’s cheek, then further up to brush a strand of dark hair out of his face. “Property suddenly has a nice ring to it.”

Stark smiles and his fangs peek out, pressing against his lower lip. He kisses Loki’s palm. “I thought I’d have to fuck that admission out of you.”

“Oh, you should,” Loki says, breathless, pleading. His hand moves to the back of Stark’s neck, holding onto him. “Sir?”

Stark hums and moves, knees pushing Loki’s legs further apart. Loki’s hole is still slick, loose from Stark’s fingers. He expects Stark to push his cock in with one sharp thrust, hungers for him to do just that, but Stark surprises him once again. 

He does it slowly. Gently. It knocks the air out of Loki, anyway, the slow stretch of it, forcing him to feel every inch breaching him until Stark’s pelvis is pressed against Loki’s hips. Stark leans over him and kisses the corner of Loki’s mouth while Loki gasps and struggles for breath. He doesn’t protest when Loki buries a hand in his hair, the other one on his back, nails scraping over his shoulder blade. 

“You feel perfect every single time,” Stark says, voice still low, his face close to Loki’s. “Always such a good boy for me, aren’t you?”

Loki is always weak for praise, and Stark knows that, of course he does. He’s never shied back from exploiting that. Loki clings to Stark’s shoulders and meets Stark’s slow thrusts by rolling his own hips up. Stark feels perfect every single time, too, and it’s stolen Loki’s voice. The only reply he can manage is pulling Stark into a kiss. Stark obliges, and chuckles when Loki’s tongue catches on one of his fangs. Loki tastes blood and gods, he’s so close already, knows that a really good orgasm is waiting inside of him. If only Stark would –

“Harder,” Loki begs and pushes at Stark’s shoulders to make him change the angle. A few rough strokes against his prostate and he’ll come, he is sure of that; he’s too pent up for it to be different. “Harder, Sir, please –”

Stark ignores him and keeps his slow pace. The gentleness of it fills Loki’s eyes with tears. Stark’s cock does hit his prostate, brushing against it slightly with every thrust, and it’s torture. Enough to make him feel like he’s right there on the edge, not enough to tip him over. He doesn’t want it to ever stop. 

“Can you even come like this?” Stark asks, voice still steady. His rhythm doesn’t falter. “Or is it too gentle for you? Hm? I bet if you were in charge, you’d have fucked yourself to one or two nice orgasms already. But you’re not in charge, are you?”

Loki groans and shakes his head, squirming under Stark. He tries to rub his cock against Stark’s stomach, but doesn’t have enough leverage. 

“Are you, pet?”

“No, Sir,” Loki manages, choked. “I’m not in charge.”

“Good boy. You may come, you know.” Stark mouths at Loki’s jaw, fangs leaving scratches on his skin. “I think you can. I like it best when you come from being used, you know that. Actually –” Stark snaps his hips, the first hard thrust he’s given Loki, and Loki keens. Stark laughs. “You know what, for the time being I’ll only let you come from being used. The only point of your orgasms should be mine, don’t you think?”

“Stark,” Loki says, and he means it to be a protest but it comes out as begging. 

Stark shushes him. His mouth is on Loki’s neck. “And I think I’ll only use your mouth until you learn to come from that.”

Before that can even properly register, he buries his teeth in Loki’s neck. Loki comes immediately, letting out a choked cry and clenching down on Stark’s cock. Stark’s hips twitch, he buries himself deeper into Loki and holds him still while he coaxes the blood straight from the vein. Loki sobs and shakes under the shocks of his orgasm, all that tension finally snapping. 

Stark is still drinking when it fades, and he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t stop when Loki’s hands start to feel numb and his vision blurs. He groans and tries to keep holding onto Stark, but every movement is so difficult, he’s limp and pliant, helpless. He thinks he comes a second time, or maybe that’s just regular pleasure flowing through his body. He can’t tell, and before he can ask Stark – because Stark always has an answer, Stark knows Loki so well, Stark –

Loki passes out. 

When he wakes up a second time today – is it still today? – Loki is considerably more sore than the first time. His head hurts, the side of his neck throbs, and his entire body feels… weak. 

He opens his eyes. Tries to, anyway, they won’t open all the way. He tries to speak, too, to say Stark’s name, but all that comes out is a soft sound of confusion. 

“There you are,” Stark says, because he’s there, of course he’s there. His hand is in Loki’s hair. “You’re alright, love. You’re alright. Here, drink for me.”

Loki blindly opens his mouth and swallows when Stark pours water into it, slowly so that Loki doesn’t choke. Loki must empty a whole glass, because there is a pause and the sound of a bottle being opened before Stark gives him more. They do that two more times, then Loki’s throat is less dry, and his headache eases somewhat. 

“Stark?” he tries again, this time more clearly. 

“Right here. Not going anywhere.” 

Stark pulls at Loki, and Loki lets himself be pulled, positioned like a doll. Stark’s skin is warm. They must have been cuddling. Loki sighs and rubs his cheek against Stark’s chest, slowly, just for a moment, then it’s too exhausting. Stark wraps his arms around him and holds him close with nowhere to go. After a while, he gives Loki something to eat – something sweet and hard that breaks under Loki’s tongue. He scowls when he recognizes the taste. 

“Nuh-uh. Swallow. I took a lot, chocolate won’t cut it.”

Loki swallows. It’s one of the little bars they eat during or after battles when they lost too much blood and won’t make it back to the tower in some time. Some concoction SHIELD came up with; Loki doesn’t like it. He eats the whole bar.

“That’s a good pet,” Stark says. “Very good. How’re you doing?”

“I’m fine, Stark.” Loki presses himself closer against Stark again, closing his eyes. “Stop fussing.”

“I don’t fuss.”

“You always fuss.”

Stark’s hand finds its way to Loki’s neck. His fingers press against the side and Loki flinches, gods, that hurts. A shudder goes through him and he sits up – that works, although he is still tired enough to fall back asleep right away. 

He touches his neck. Dried blood sticks to his skin where Stark apparently didn’t manage to swallow everything down right away. The tears his fangs left behind feel deep and sore. Close to the artery. Dangerous, especially with Loki far too drunk on pleasure to remember not to move. He would blush if he had enough blood left to do so. 

He looks at Stark – still naked, eyes still dark, smiling. A warm smile, this time, one that makes fine lines appear at the corners of his eyes. He props himself up on his elbows next to Loki, but doesn’t say anything. 

Loki is tired. He’s sore. And… sticky. 

He frowns. 

Stark raises a brow. 

“Did you,” Loki says, then swallows, mouth still dry, “finish – using me? While I was unconscious?”

“I did. I didn’t need long. Do you mind?”

It’s insane how much Loki does not mind. Clinically insane, probably. The thought that Stark took so much blood from him that he passed out and then just kept fucking him until he came inside him should appall him, but all it does is make him want to do it all again. 

Loki grabs a pillow and hits Stark’s chest with it. The impact is rather pathetic, he really is weak, but it feels good nonetheless. Maybe he should have gone for the face. 

“What was that for?” Stark asks, more curious than anything. 

“For not cleaning me up when you were done,” Loki says and forces himself to move more, get out of bed. He’s shaking. The blood loss, surely. “You could have spared a minute for that, at least.”

“I’m sorry,” Stark says. “Next time I will.”

Next time. Right, yes. Loki wants to ask if next time can be right now, but then he gets himself together. Good grief, that might actually kill him. 

“Stay in bed,” Stark adds, and Loki has the time to give him a glare before he’s up on his feet and promptly swaying. The room is spinning. 

Stark is by his side at once, steadying him. Loki did not see him move, but he’s used to that by now. 

“Stay in bed, I said. You can clean yourself up with magic, okay?”

“I’m too tired,” Loki admits, sniffing. “Run me a bath.”

Stark sighs and pushes Loki down to sit on the edge of the bed. “Stay.”

Loki gets his bath, of course. And sushi from his favorite restaurant. He feasts in bed, alternating between using sticks and eating from Stark’s fingers. Stark is nothing but gentle. Considerate, even. He always keeps a hand on Loki, on his thigh, his back, his ankle. Loki hasn’t ever been this happy. 

The club is dark and loud and the music is good, thrumming slightly in Loki’s chest. He’s sated from a very good dinner and giddy from dancing. Still thinking about Stark’s hips pressed against his own. Stark is right next to him, of course, letting Loki curl into his side, arm around Loki’s shoulders. Nobody bothers them in their nook – a few have tried, but they took turns scaring them away.

“How about that one? She’s pretty enough.”

Stark follows his gaze, but only looks at the woman briefly before turning his attention back to Loki. “Not my type.”

“She’s been staring at you.”

“I’m pretty sure she’s been staring at you.”

“Oh, maybe she’s been staring at both of us. You don’t think she would taste nice?”

“Blood always tastes nice. Doesn’t make a difference who it is, really.”

“Well, that is disappointing.”

“Why?”

“Well, I thought everyone had their own distinct taste. Maybe that was too individualistic of me.” Loki sips his drink, letting his gaze wander across the room. “No, she is definitely staring at you. That one over there, too. Also pretty.”

“Also not my type.”

“Why do people always stare at you? It’s tedious.”

“I’m famous and incredibly attractive,” Stark says. 

Loki shifts his weight and uses his free hand to flick his wrist, right next to his hip where nobody can see. The pretty man who has been staring at Stark like he’s a five course meal stumbles and hits his head on a bar stool. He stands back up right away, but his temple is bloody.

“That wasn’t necessary,” Stark deadpans.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Loki says, satisfied because the man is now too busy bleeding to stare at Stark. Loki cuddles closer to Stark’s side. “The poor man must be drunk.”

“Uh huh. His blood does smell good, now that you’ve brought it to my attention.”

Loki scowls. Well, that backfired. “I thought he wasn’t your type.”

“Blood type B. Not too bad.”

“Oh, so you can smell that, but everyone still tastes the same?”

“Well, I can taste blood types, too,” Stark says. “When someone is really sick or has an extreme diet, too. Age sometimes makes a difference. But like, it’s still just blood.”

“I see. If it’s just blood, maybe you’d like to eat one of the many people staring at you tonight?”

“You’re also always staring at me.” Stark reaches up to tug at Loki’s hair. “So yeah, sure.”

Loki huffs and holds out his empty glass. “Another drink, please.”

Amused, Stark downs the rest of his drink and takes Loki’s glass, standing up. “You just want to hear that you taste better than everyone here.”

“I’d like to think that’s a given,” Loki says flatly. Even though that is exactly what he wants to hear, of course. Better than anyone in the club, and the city, and the entire universe. 

Stark grins and leaves him alone to get drinks. Loki crosses his legs with a sigh, looking around the club again. If anyone talks to Stark at the bar, Loki might just have to resort to murder. Then again, he doesn’t have the slightest doubt that Stark will turn them away, and that might be even more gratifying. 

“Loki, right?”

Loki was so busy staring at Stark from across the room – Stark’s ass, to be precise – that he didn’t even notice the woman approaching. It’s the one from earlier. Maybe she has been staring at Loki, then. 

“Loki, indeed,” he says, giving her a wide smile. “I’m afraid I’m not on duty at the moment, so if you require our assistance, you’ll have to call the hotline.”

She tilts her head to the side. “There’s a hotline?”

“Of course. We take every possible hint and request very seriously.” 

She doesn’t need to know that the hotline is still fairly new and leads to an unfathomable mass of calls straight to Rogers’ private phone. The good Captain had to change his number five times in the last three weeks, but the hotline keeps adjusting. Loki and Stark are still discussing who of them will take the blame once Rogers figures the whole thing out. 

“Right,” the woman says, smiling. “It’s just, I was looking for a more personal approach?”

“Ah,” Loki says. “I see. Well, I’m afraid I’m still the wrong person to talk to. I’m here with Tony Stark, you know.”

“I know, I saw. But he’s not exactly known for, uhm, being exclusive. So I figured he wouldn’t care.”

“Is that so?” Loki doesn’t like this personal approach at all. He changes the color of his smile, just enough to make her laugh uncomfortably. Scared. “In my experience, he cares quite a bit.”

“Listen, if I overstepped –”

“Oh, not at all. He doesn’t share me, in general, but you could always ask if he’s willing to. I should warn you, though – most of the time he doesn’t appreciate being asked.”

“Being asked what?”

The woman flinches when Stark shows up next to her, holding two drinks. She stares at him, and Loki is sure that she has never seen him from up close before, only on TV or as a red and gold speck in the sky. And she notices. The same thing Loki noticed when he saw Stark out of his armour for the first time – that there is something not quite normal about him. Unsettled, she takes a step back. 

“Nothing,” she says quickly. “It’s fine. Forget it. I’ll – I’ll just call the hotline.”

They watch her leave, Stark with a raised eyebrow, Loki with a laugh he doesn’t quite manage to suppress. 

“So she has been staring at you,” Stark says, sitting back down.

“Yes, congratulations, you were right.” Loki takes the glass from him. “I do not like the way they think about you.”

“Who’s ‘they’?”

“Everyone,” Loki says. “They do not take you seriously.”

They still call him playboy on TV. A genius, yes, but not quite a hero, miles behind the others in that regard. Always joking, always a mess – a slut, of course, sleeping with everything that moves, immature, selfish, not caring about anything or anyone. The world hasn’t yet forgiven him for being the Merchant of Death, and Loki doesn’t think it ever will. He knows that a part of that is a picture Stark crafted on purpose. It is easier to stay in hiding when nobody takes you seriously.

“People still approach me,” Loki says. “Even though you told them all that we are – well –”

“Together,” Stark says.

“Yes. They do not care, they seem to think it’s just – some sort of fling. As if you aren’t even capable of it being more than that. It’s insulting.”

“Give it a few years,” Stark says, unbothered. “They’ll come around. Did you really tell her to ask me for permission?”

Loki takes a sip of his new drink and hopes the dim light will hide his blush. He didn’t even think about that at the moment. “More or less.”

Stark settles down next to him comfortably, leaning against Loki’s side. “For the record.”

“Hmm?”

“You do taste better than anyone else I’ve had.”

“Of course I do.”

Stark chuckles and leans in to kiss Loki’s jaw, then his neck. “Are we above fucking in a club bathroom?”

“No,” Loki says, at once. “We are not. Shall we go now?”

“Hmm. You could also use an illusion and just suck me off right here and now.”

“Sir.”

“What? You still haven’t figured out how to come from that. Maybe exhibitionism will do the trick.”

Loki shivers under Stark’s mouth. Stark is still holding onto that ludicrous idea he had in the middle of fucking; at the time Loki was entirely sure that was a throwaway line. And now it’s been two weeks. He sighs, resigned. “I’ll never come again.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Stark tells him. “I like making you come way too much. Bathroom or illusion?”

“Bathroom.”

“Illusion, then.”

“That’s not fair.”

Stark just laughs and kisses his cheek. Loki despises him. Which is why he snuggles up to him again and feels a lovely flutter in his stomach when Stark puts his arm back around him. Utter disdain. Pure loathing. 

Yes.