sabinetzin: (marvel - work that throne)
[personal profile] sabinetzin
Title: cut me my share
Summary: Natasha pays Loki a visit.
Fandom: Avengers
Word Count: 1049
Rating/Contents: NC-17, noncon, bondage, gags, humiliation
Pairing: Natasha/Loki
Policies: Read my archiving, feedback, and warnings policies here.
A/N: For [community profile] kink_bingo (penance/punishment)! This falls in the category of "I am scared this came out of my brain" stories, but what can you do? Except, I guess, not write it or post it. Anyway, this is unrepentant noncon and could very easily be very triggery, so be warned.



Loki's been locked up so long that it's become tedious more than anything, chained wrists and ankles to a hard bed in god knows where. There's someone guarding outside, and he can hear intermittent movements, but no one comes in. They must know that he doesn't need to eat, even though he's hungry; his brother must have divulged many secrets to these mortals, these ants. Who knows what kind of treasures he's offered up out of sheer stupidity, misunderstanding how base and useless these humans are.

He's dozing when the door opens, and he cranes his head to look. It's the woman; she looks different than the last time he saw her, much less dangerous out of her battle clothes, though he knows now how cunning she is. She caught him off guard once, but never, ever again.

The door shuts and locks behind her, and she turns up the lights. Loki tracks her movements as she walks toward the bed, but he frowns when she climbs onto it, straddling his hips. "Having fun?" she asks, and Loki rolls his eyes. If she's come here to taunt him, she'd better have something more entertaining than that. He's dying of boredom.

"You said that Barton told you everything about me," she says. "That's not true, because there are things even Barton doesn't know about me." There's confusion in his eyes, wariness. "Yeah, it's that bad." She sits back, hiking her skirt up and out of the way; she's wearing nothing underneath it. "See, Barton also told me all about you," she tells him, "and he doesn't miss things, even when you're playing with his mind- which, by the way, was not the best way to ingratiate yourself to me."

Loki is giving her a haughty look, one that says any torture she can visit on him is nothing at all, but it's hard to miss the way he's pulling at the restraint around his right foot, looking for a start at getting free.

"I know what you'd hate," she says, and she reaches into his clothing, working through the layers until she hits skin; she finds his cock and draws it out, scratching her nails across the sensitive flesh around it, and he jumps. "I didn't even have to be told how in love with yourself you are and how much better you think you are than all the rest of us, but Barton saw how scared you are of losing control."

His cock is soft, but it starts to fill as she strokes it; he relaxes a little, starting to look like he's completely okay with this, like beautiful women servicing him happens every day. That lasts until she grabs and squeezes, making him arch off the bed in pain. "You are absolutely terrified of the idea of somebody getting their hands on you and making you submit," she tells him, and now he's starting to look scared, edging into his eyes around the haughtiness. She laughs. "Today I'm somebody." She smiles at him. "And don't expect me to back down, because honey, this won't even be the first time I've done this. There's a reason I keep things from Barton."

She produces a condom from her pocket, tearing it open and rolling it onto his cock, and Loki looks at her in surprise, maybe more than a little bit of alarm. Without prelude, she sinks down onto him, riding him hard enough that it's pain more than pleasure, slamming his hips against the hard surface of the bed every time she moves down.

"You destroyed half a city, you tortured my partner, and you killed my friend," she says, and there's no sorrow in her voice, no anger, no emotion at all. She's nothing but revenge, retribution, an avenging angel visiting justice upon him. "But all that, and you couldn't kill one mortal woman," she sneers. "I wasn't even wearing armor. I see why they threw you out of Asgard now, when you're such a complete fuck-up."

Loki struggles hard against the restraints, wanting her off him, wanting his hands around her throat, but it's completely useless. He doesn't know what Thor has done, where the magic in these things has come from, but he won't be leaving anytime soon. With the gag in his mouth, he can't even protest, can't spit her words back at her, cut her down like she's cutting him. It's beyond infuriating, being held like this, getting down deeper than that, into parts of him he thought he'd excised years ago.

All that, and his body is still responding, helpless, his cock still hard inside of her. Natasha's not sure how he's breathing behind the gag, but it's making garbled noises, like he's sucking in air, choking on it. She leans forward, putting her hand around his neck and squeezing, just to help him along. She's not going to kill him; she wants to make him live with this, the knowledge of what she's done. Asgardians live a long, long time, and she hopes he thinks about it, what fucking with Earth got him, what leaving even just one of them alive will get him.

She hopes he thinks about it all the time.

He's getting close, pressing up against her, shutting his eyes, shutting her out. If he can come, she can't do this to him any longer; perhaps she can think of worse to do, but at least she'll change her torture. There is no other word for this but torture, nothing in it having any relation to pleasure or even sex, nothing but a very intimate way for her to destroy him. In his long life, Loki's had worse, but not by much, never quite like this.

And then she stops, and Loki's hips give one last jerk against her before he knows what's happening. "Slut," she says, squeezing his throat again. She sits up, climbing off him, hopping neatly down, smoothing her skirt. Loki is lost, cock still hard and hanging ridiculously out of his complicated clothing. She walks over, opening the door, and Barton appears in the doorway, smirking in that particular way of his. She puts a hand on his chest, looks back at Loki, and says the two words he least wants to hear.

"Your turn."

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