Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/7019818.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      The_Avengers_(Marvel)_-_All_Media_Types
  Relationship:
      Loki/Tony_Stark
  Character:
      Loki_(Marvel), Tony_Stark
  Additional Tags:
      Bondage, Handcuffs, Corporal_Punishment, Plot_What_Plot/Porn_Without
      Plot, embarrassing_lack_of_onscreen_sex, BDSM, Fluff
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-05-30 Words: 7124
****** Cut to the Chase ******
by locusinbloom_(Fractual_Visions)
Summary
     Maybe he should have manned his principles and never touched the boy
     at all, he thought bitterly, starring at the darkened skylight over
     his bed.
     His conscience, such as it was, and his good sense warred with his
     darkest impulses. It would be so easy to enter the Stark residence by
     night, bind Tony with magic, and take them to a place where Tony
     could never run away again. So easy, yet that devastatingly alluring
     trust in Tony's eyes would be gone forever. Loki sighed.
     He had to wait. However long it might take.
     Note: this is marked noncon because of some extremely dubcon physical
     violence. No rape herein! Just some general skeeviness with a teenage
     Tony Stark. ;)
Notes
     Happy Birthday, lovely Iswyn!
     For those who don't live in a cesspool of endless depravity know what
     a switch is, it's a slender, flexible tree branch with the leaves
     (and sometimes the bark and knots) stripped off. It looks very
     innocent and innocuous but is fully capable of breaking skin and
     leaving bruises just like a whip. Also, steel handcuffs are not great
     bedroom toys, even double locking ones. Use with care.
See the end of the work for more notes
A whisper of magic would speed the coffee brewing, but Loki purposefully
refrained.
His self-imposed exile to Earth had been petty, all over the discovery that
Thor was indeed writ to become the next king, but Loki as yet had no desire to
leave it. He had a boringly inconspicuous job in finance, a non-ostentatious
car, and a very large house in a snobby neighborhood whose soccer mom gossip
vine reminded him enough of Asgard to keep the nostalgia at bay. Plus a few
indulgent extras. There was a 1969 Honda CB750 in near mint condition in the
garage. Loki had spent a great deal of money to acquire it, taken by its
similarity to the sort of bike given to Asgardian children. It was plated in
chrome, unlike the gold alloy favored by Asgard, but Loki considered that an
addition to its charms. The fuel tank and side panels were painted in deep
hunter green. He also had a tiny hot tub on the second floor deck.
It didn't compare to Asgard and, after thirty years, his seiðr was ever a soft
and constant temptation, but he liked it.
This life he had built, that is.
The coffeemaker pinged at the end of the brewing cycle. Loki grabbed a mug from
the counter, bringing him directly in line with the kitchen window. It was a
beautiful day out. The sun was cresting lazily over the horizon. It shone
brightly through paper thin gaps in his back fence. The grass needed cut soon.
A few clouds were drifting slowly overhead. A teenager in a black t-shirt and
ripped cut-offs was spray painting the rear windshield of Loki's car.
The screen door slammed in its frame behind Loki as he bolted out the kitchen
door.
The punk looked up, startled, and took off running.
He was fast, but not faster than Loki. He tossed the spray can aside to grab
the fence with both hands and planted one foot on it for leverage. Just as he
pushed up in a move that would have vaulted him over, Loki snatched him out of
the air, slamming him into the dirt. Loki had one leg over the boy's hips and
one hand pinning both wrists over the boy's head before the little devil had
time to breathe.
"Get off me," he shouted, gasping from the sudden fall. "Let me go!"
He was twisting hard in Loki's grip and he was strong, much stronger than
implied by his slender frame and jutting hipbones. The sweat slicking his skin
made it just that little bit harder to hold on. Loki closed his fingers tighter
to compensate. He didn't notice or care about the grass stains forming on his
slacks or suit jacket as he reached with his other hand for the discarded spray
can.
"Fuck it, you're hurting me," the teen cursed, a tiny hint of nervousness
creeping into his voice.
Loki brought the can up to point in the kid's face, finger poised on the
trigger—he wouldn't really do it, of course he wouldn't—and that, that was real
fear, frozen and wide-eyed.
Loki noticed a number of things simultaneously. One, that he was about to
commit had committed felonious assault on a minor. Two, said minor had the
prettiest brown eyes, made even richer and brighter by a coat of tears.
Three, he was so turned on it was making him dizzy.
He wanted to rip that black t-shirt to shreds, see if the slight tan on the
boy's stomach went all the way up, wondered what color his nipples were and
what they would taste like. He wanted to yank those faded denim pants down,
finger him open, fuck him right there in the dirt and never take his eyes off
those gorgeous hazel irises while he did it.
Loki got to his feet and tossed the spray can over the fence.
"Get out of here," he ordered.
The teenager didn't need to be told twice.
Loki walked back to the car, breathing slowly and deeply. The entire rear
window was covered in an abstract, albeit unfinished design. It resembled a
tic-tac-toe game played by someone who did not know the rules and where both
sides used filled dots instead of x's and o's. Loki sighed. It would take at
least an hour to scrub it off, an hour he didn't have right now. Magic itched
under his fingernails: a tiny gesture would wash the window factory-clean. In
the end he resisted.
He was already late and became later by going back upstairs to change suits. At
the office, his secretary had expertly rescheduled his nine am phone
conference; his boss gave him a completely unimpressed look at the—highly-
edited—tale of Loki's morning woes; and he threw himself into his work. He had
to give a conference address that evening, got home late, and crawled directly
into bed.
He cursed the next morning when he realized that he had forgotten to set the
alarm early enough to go out and wash the car before work. After work, Loki
shut the backyard gate and gave the car a disgusted look. First dinner and a
shower, then he would deal with the graffiti.
Warm water sluicing in rivulets down his legs and tickling between his toes
felt like Valhalla. It freed Loki's mind to ponder what had transpired the
previous morning. Loki had learned discretion during his first few years on
Earth. To blend with the populous meant he could not take vengeance on every
miserable human who dared to insult an Ás. He had not slipped like that in
quite a while. To be sure, had a youth done that in Asgard, Loki would have
done far worse than merely threaten. He couldn't say he felt guilt, not
honestly. He adjusted the shower head downward. It was, however, a touch
shameful. Loki had never suffered from battle lust. His proficiency with knives
was legendary. . . yet a knife buried tang deep in an enemy's neck brought only
the simple pleasure of mechanical accuracy. He had never desired to rut after
battle like other warriors, like Thor, nor had he ever fucked the captured or
the fallen as some enjoyed. Loki had thought himself above that.
Well.
Perhaps not if the captured were a lowly human child incapable of mounting even
the barest defense.
Loki never truly believed himself as vile as was whispered in the halls of
Asgard but sometimes—dragging the soapy loofa ruefully over his bare chest—he
wondered.
 
"Odin's hairy asscrack," Loki swore, dropping his cup back to its saucer with a
clatter.
He had gone to the kitchen after his shower to make a light supper. While
waiting for the rice to steam, he had put on a kettle to boil, then taken the
cup to the window.
It was a familiar ritual, watching the sky darken into twilight and first stars
come out. So different from Asgard and so painfully the same. But that land, no
matter how oft thought of it, would never be home again. Not so long as his
every thought of it brought a twisting bitterness to his chest.
A breeze had gusted up, shaking the boughs of the cherry tree and drawing
Loki's eye to the car parked underneath of it. Loki would have noticed the car
regardless: the twilight made the white paint glow eerily on the dark glass. At
first sight, he thought the punk had come back to finish the job. A skinny
figure in the same dark t-shirt and denim shorts was touching the window. Loki
grabbed white-knuckled on the counter's edge, physically restraining an urge
to— to—
It was evident in a few seconds that Loki's first impression had been wrong. He
gaped in astonishment. Could it be possible what appeared to be the case? That
the teenager had climbed back over his fence—heavy bucket in tow—to clean the
window? But why?
Had someone else discovered the miscreant's misdeeds and forced this act of
contrition? Was the boy attempting to remove the evidence of wrongdoing?
The kitchen timer drew Loki's reluctant attention from the window. He finished
seasoning the rice. He mixed in the vegetables. Getting down a plate required
passing the window, from which he saw the paint removal nearly done. Loki
slowly replaced the half-withdrawn piece of china into the cabinet. He tossed a
towel over the rice pot and shoved it in the oven, then yanked a coke can from
the refrigerator and stepped out back.
Clearly the delinquent-turned-penitent had known Loki was home: at the first
sound of the door, he was halfway across the yard then gone like a ghost.
Loki strolled casually to the car and inspected it.
"You missed a spot," he announced loudly.
A few heartbeats of silence and he continued, "Come back and finish it. I'm not
going to hurt you."
The fence protested the weight of a teenage boy vaulting back over it by
creaking.
"I'm not scared," the boy asserted and he didn't sound scared. However, he
skirted the yard close to the fence and stopped well outside arm's length of
Loki.
The skittish behavior amused Loki: he had downed quarry far swifter of foot and
at a greater distance. Loki frowned at the thought, a minute compression of his
lips. It was the wrong persona and it was becoming oddly muddled in his head.
This was Earth. He was a moderately successful banker standing in his suburban
backyard dressed in business casual. Not a warrior prince who hunted inferior
species for sport.
Not even so pretty a specimen as this. Loki was a magpie at heart. If it
glittered, he wanted to own it.
"What's your name?"
"Tony," the kid answered, reluctantly and a tad belligerently.
"Tony." Loki tasted the name carefully in his mouth. "Catch."
 
Tony had never played sports—not after the disaster that Little League T-ball
had been—but he had decent natural reflexes and only fumbled the can of pop a
bit. He wiped the condensation doubtfully from the shiny red label with his
thumb. It looked like a peace offering.
"So. . . you're not mad anymore?" Tony cracked the can open and let it foam
into his mouth.
"I thought you might be thirsty. Come, finish your work."
He didn't sound angry, at least. Tony cautiously returned, setting down the can
to pick up the discarded rag. Loki didn't move back. Tony started scrubbing,
with the older man's proximity causing his skin to prickle weirdly. It made his
movements slower and less coordinated.
The better part of yesterday had seen Tony locked in his room in a dark black
mood. To have been caught tagging. . . not just caught, but so completely and
humiliatingly caught, fomented a nauseous acidic anger. Loki dressed himself in
the same conservative suits worn by the most uptight of Tony's father's
business partners, no color, no style, and he never smiled. Tony had seen him
at a few neighborhood parties. He'd seen him again at some business function
Howard had dragged him to earlier that week. Tony had him nailed as a
hoitytoity dickwad.
No matter how many times Howard yelled at Tony to respect the source of the
income that paid for his parties, his delinquency, not to mention his six
figure college tuition, Tony couldn't shake the bitter feeling that it was
killing him. All of it. The carefully manicured lawns, the paparazzi, youngest
matriculate at M.I.T. of his generation, his father's disappointment, the
garden parties with Maria, shaking hands with dignitaries, unbridled patriotism
and optimism until his face hurt from smiling.
He was a bored, spoiled, rich kid and he knew it and he hated it.
Tony had expected Loki to holler about calling the cops or siccing the dog, but
he had been chased and caught. Held down. Loki had been so much faster and
stronger; the fury in those green eyes was deadly and self-assured. He had
picked up the spray can and Tony had spent several long seconds wondering what
acrylic aerosol paint does to the inside of a person's lungs or the surface of
their eyeballs.
Laying in bed last night thinking about it, Tony had shoved a hand down his
shorts and grabbed his dick, feeling angry and ashamed but too aroused to stop.
Loki stood silently behind him while soapy water streaked down Tony's arms and
Tony hoped that the sweat on his neck would be attributed to manual labor or
the warm night air, not the dirty turn his thoughts had taken.
 
Loki kept to his intentions. May stretched into July and Loki did nothing to
seduce the teen. In part because Loki considered himself to be a principled
god, unlike Thor many Ás who were led by their base urges into any sort of
folly.
In part because he didn't need to. Tony was doing all the work for him.
Tony wasn't a latchkey kid, Loki knew that. He had a stay-at-home mother, a
father who worked regular hours, and even a butler to see to his needs and
entertainment. He had friends from college whom he called and texted
frequently. Yet more mornings than not, he was out in Loki's yard at 8 am to
see him off to work. In the evenings, he helped mow the lawn or trim the hedges
or repaint the porch or he scaled the latticework to the upper deck and played
around in the hot tub. He was lying in the yard on a beach towel in too-tight
shorts with his laptop, smartphone, e-reader, and a good old fashioned
textbook—Loki took him out a raspberry popsicle because he wouldn't touch but
looking. . . looking couldn't hurt anything. Thank you, Loki, he'd said,
already tearing the wrapper with his teeth, and Loki knew he was lost.
Tony had commandeered Loki's tool shed and was building some kind of robot
inside. Loki only had a tool shed because it had come with the house and he
said nothing when he saw Tony picking the lock.
Loki got out of bed one morning at 3 am to get a glass of water and forwent the
refrigerator in favor of descending to the basement and quietly changing all
the house wards.
Loki started buying groceries for two. He left the back door unlocked so Tony
could come in and use the bathroom whenever he needed instead of going home.
One night Tony fell asleep on Loki's sofa and Loki didn't have the heart to
wake him. He vanished for three days after that and came back grouching about
being grounded and having his lab access revoked. Yes, he had an actual state-
of-the-art laboratory complete with personal minions at his father's company.
Yet he was building robots in Loki's tool shed. Loki kept the warm glow of that
thought stashed away in the box of memories which he only touched in private
contemplation.
 
Mr. Gearheart had cornered Loki during a Monday in early August in the
breakroom to complain about what had happened to his garage the previous
Saturday night. Gearheart was a man who derived great pleasure from regaling
the world with his each and every woe. From the sympathetic looks being cast
Loki's way by fellow bank employees, this was at least the third retelling
today.
'Well, that's it then,' was the sarcastic retort on the tip of Loki's tongue.
'Might as well burn the house down and flee to Mexico.'
To be followed by a pointed and cold exit. He did not give his time to idlers
and gossips; ironic perhaps, given how much idle gossip was his prized weapon.
However, Loki did not get further than, "Well, that's—" when something the
other man had said caught his attention and held his tongue.
"—white on a green garage! Six hundred dollars to get it scrubbed clean. What
the hell is the world coming to?"
"Graffiti?" Loki asked hesitantly.
Mr. Gearheart did live a few blocks over from Loki, but that was hardly proof
of anything. Any random asshole could buy a can of paint or swipe one from
their daddy's basement.
"Yeah. Just look at it!" A picture of the crime, ready and waiting on
Gearheart's phone for this moment in the conversation, was thrust
unceremoniously under Loki's nose.
Loki knew that symbol.
"Can you send me that picture?" He asked faintly. "I think I might. . . have an
idea about the culprit."
Mr. Gearheart, excited at someone finally being interested in his story, sent
the image immediately.
 
"Hey, Loki," Tony greeted as he dropped his athletic bag by the door. "Jarvis
told me to gather up my dirty clothes while I'm over. I'll be down in ten. Do
you mind if we have spaghetti tonight?"
"What's this?" Loki asked quietly, showing Tony the photograph: white lines and
dots on lime green exterior siding.
Tony flinched. "I don't know anything about that."
"Don't lie to me."
"I don't know what that is!"
"I can report this to the police, if you'd prefer."
"The police already kno— fuck."
"Yes, aptly put. I told you not to lie to me."
"Why do you even care?" Tony shouted.
It was good question. Unfortunately for Tony, Loki had no intention of
answering honestly. "You think my affairs do not extend to whether I harbor a
miscreant in my own house? I thought you had progressed beyond such juvenile
behavior."
Loki didn't care what Earth laws or social mores Tony broke, of course he
didn't. Seeing that picture had enraged Loki for so much pettier a reason: a
little piece of Tony's life kept hidden from Loki.
The long hot summer. . . evening after evening of Tony in his house and yard,
dressed in clothes that screamed easy access, babbling every stray bit of
idiocy and brilliance that came into his mind. . . Loki had forgotten (chosen
to forget, a little voice whispered) that Tony had a life outside their time
together. Loki had opened his house, his heart, given everything he could think
to give and asked nothing in return. Nothing is exactly what he would get. Tony
would return to school in the fall. The fantasy summer would melt like ice in
the sun.
"So you're like every other adult," Tony taunted bitterly. "Too wrapped up in
your property values or taxes or whatever the fuck to care about. . . care
about anything more important than your stupid egos."
Care about me, Loki surmised. Well, he would disabuse that but first. . .
He had been remarkably lenient with Tony's insolence. It was time for Tony to
get a taste of Loki's less charitable nature. Jealousy and heartbreak had
called all his bitter demons to life.
Faster than Tony could even see, Loki swung his left hand out, thumb down,
grabbed the back of Tony's neck and yanked, tripping him over Loki's left foot,
and pulled his unbalanced body effortlessly over a bar stool which had been
nudged into position with a subtle bit of seiðr. Tony instinctively tried to
scramble upright. Just a tiny hint of Asgardian strength, one hand between
Tony's shoulder blades, pushing down, stilled his struggles.
"Stay there."
"Why?"
Loki ignored Tony.
"Hey! Where are you going?"
In the backyard, Loki swiftly cut a switch from one of the birches. It was two
and half feet long. A few test slashes proved it was flexible and well
balanced.
Loki was honestly surprised, entering the kitchen, to find Tony still draped
over the stool. His posture screamed bored and contemptuous, so throughly
adolescent that Loki had to stop and admire it.
"Well?" Tony demanded, when the silence had stretched on, "You gonna keep
yelling at me about my delinquent behavior?"
Loki crossed the floor in three swift steps. He was unable to keep the
amusement from his voice.
"Not yell, no."
He waved the switch in Tony's line of vision for just a millisecond, long
enough to see shocked recognition dawning in those beautiful eyes, then stepped
back and brought it down on his posterior. Tony scrambled for balance, grabbing
the leather between spread fingers, his elbows poised to shove himself upright.
He even got so far as to bring his head up and lift his shoulders, but then
froze as though torn between two strongly conflicting impulses.
"You can leave"
swat
"whenever"
swat
"you want"
swat, swat, swat
"or"
swat
"you can stay"
hiss, crACK
"until I'm done with you."
Loki stepped back, letting the switch fall to his side. Tony made no move to
stand, only gripped the stool harder, breathing hard.
He raised his head and glared murder at Loki. His irises were already filmed
over with tears. Loki pulled on the brown hair to raise Tony's face further,
admiring the unshed tears and the ugly red flush over his cheeks. He pressed
the thin length of wood against Tony's lips, just because he could. The firm
wood brushed soft divots in the pink flesh until Tony opened his mouth and took
the implement between his teeth. Tony's lashes fluttered. Loki caught the
subtle shifting of Tony's hips against the black leather padding.
The late afternoon sun spilled over the patio outside. The open door brought in
the first sound of evening crickets. A fresh warm breeze fluttered the napkins
in their countertop holder. Tony held absolutely still, trembling with rage and
lust, and Loki decided it was the most perfect thing he had ever seen.
To Hel with good intentions. Loki retrieved the switch from Tony's mouth and
beat him over and over and over. Tony started to whine and the whining changed
pitch until it became full, broken sobs. Loki drank it up in blissed out
euphoria.
"Please stop, please stop, please stop," Tony was begging quietly between sobs.
"Please stop."
"You can get up whenever you want to," Loki reminded him, voice sounding
distant in his own ears. It was important, important to him that Tony knew
that.
Tony's fists remained clenched bloodless around the base of the bar stool.
After a while, he stopped begging and stopped crying, the only noise became his
deep, trance-like breathing and Loki felt something go quiet and calm inside.
He finished with two crisscrossed strikes biting Tony's shoulder blades; Tony
tossed his head back and howled—bellowed, truly—in surprise as much as pain.
Loki dropped the switch to the floor and it was over.
He ran a gentle hand through the back of Tony's lovely brown hair and slid his
other palm soothingly over the throughly bruised curve of his ass.
"You were so very good," he praised. "You took your punishment so well."
"Yeah, whatever," Tony muttered sullenly, pushing slowly to his feet, swaying a
little. "I have to go."
"Have a glass of water before you do. You need it."
Loki took down a glass and filled it, warming it with a tiny hint of whispered
magic to the exact tepid state Tony preferred. Tony took the glass from him. He
moved to sit at the counter with it, then thought better and drank it standing.
Loki wanted to hug him, but the exhausted, guarded lines of Tony's body
screamed evasiveness. Loki reluctantly kept to the far side of the kitchen.
Tony wanted to say something after setting the glass down. He was scratching
the nails of his right hand on his collarbone, a sure tell that he was thinking
something serious. In the end, he headed wordlessly for the door.
"See you, Loki," Tony called back flatly and Loki couldn't tell if he meant it
or not.
 
Loki knew perfectly well that Tony needed time to assert his independence. It
was with humans as it was with all animals, if you pulled, they resisted. If
you relaxed your grip, allowed them their freedom, they were captured and tamed
rather easily. It didn't stop the clawing panic he felt each day, no, each
hour, waiting for Tony to return. Perhaps he had miscalculated, gone too hard
or too soon.
Maybe he should have manned his principles and never touched the boy at all, he
thought bitterly, starring at the darkened skylight over his bed.
His conscience, such as it was, and his good sense warred with his darkest
impulses. It would be so easy to enter the Stark residence by night, bind Tony
with magic, and take them to a place where Tony could never run away again. So
easy, yet that devastatingly alluring trust in Tony's eyes would be gone
forever. Loki sighed.
He had to wait. However long it might take.
 
It took a week.
Loki caught the sound of feet quickly approaching and the back door opening
without so much as a by-your-leave. Tony stood in the kitchen doorway. He was
flushed, as though he had just run here.
"I keyed Mrs. Alyson's minivan," Tony said quietly, looking anywhere but at
Loki.
"You. . ." Loki's heart was suddenly beating far too fast. "When?"
Tony swallowed. "Five minutes ago."
Loki took it all slowly in: the hunched posture, the lowered head, the slightly
defiant set of the jaw.
"Oh, Tony." He smothered down his laughter not wanting Tony to think he was
being mocked. He took the boy's jaw in one hand, tilting his head carefully up
until their eyes met. "If you want punished, I am delighted to oblige. You are
not required to act out to get what you want from me."
"You mean some kind of DBSM thing?" Tony asked, trying and failing to look
casual about the question.
"BDSM," Loki corrected, "and yes, that is precisely what I mean."
"But no freaky shit?" Tony warned nervously.
Loki feigned a disappointed frown. "You mean I can't put you a in sparkly pink
collar, lock you in a kennel, and call you Daisy?"
"I guess. If you want to," Tony prevaricated, blushing hard. His eyes shifted
to the side, clearly picturing what Loki had described and—Loki
snickered—looking more intrigued than repulsed by it.
Merriment aside, "Of course I would do nothing which you find distasteful. You
belong to me. Your happiness is dear to me."
The confession had slipped out without Loki's intention, but far from looking
alarmed, Tony smiled cheekily. "Belong, huh? I kinda like that."
Loki smiled back. Seconds ticked away of starring into each other's eyes. Loki
liked looking at Tony. He was handsome in manner that defied words. Puberty had
been having its unrepentant way with him, leaving traces of acne and muscles
struggling to catch up to an expanding frame. He was exceedingly thin through
the belly and hips, every spare calorie spent on growing. His skin was still
boyish even on the patches where hair was crowding in thicker and darker. It
might have been off-putting but it wasn't. It was delightful and Loki felt a
faint blush heating his cheeks. Tony noticed immediately and the look in his
gorgeous brown eyes was awed and aroused.
Loki opened his arms and Tony stepped forward to settle his head on Loki's
chest. Pressed chest to chest, their breathing quickly synchronized. Loki
couldn't honestly remember the last time he'd had someone cradled in his arms.
It had been too long. And this. . . he wondered if Tony had ever been held by a
lover.
"I don't want to be beaten again," Tony said, in a subdued tone, like he wasn't
sure if he would seriously be allowed a choice. "I've still got bruises from
last week."
Loki pitched his voice warm and inviting. "What would you like?"
Tony was blushing like a fire engine, but his eyes, when he raised them to
Loki's, were sparkling.
"Maybe you could um—" The rest of Tony's sentence was lost in a mumble.
Loki quirked an eyebrow, lips twitching. "What was that?"
Of course his hearing was superior to that of a human and Loki had heard Tony's
request. He just wanted the pleasure of forcing his young companion to repeat
himself. Tony, however, had apparently reached the end of his courage. He
pulled his phone out of his jeans and fiddled with it, obviously searching for
something. All the while, Loki kept an arm draped over Tony's shoulder. When
he'd found the picture he wanted, he held it out wordlessly to Loki.
"Oh." Loki glanced between screen and Tony's face. "Oh, that's quite an image.
This is what you would have done to you?"
Tony looked like he could barely breathe. "Yup. That's what I want."
"And afterward, when you are helpless? What would you want next, you terribly
trusting creature?"
"You're gonna make me say it?" Tony whined in a petulant tone.
"Oh, yes." Loki crowded Tony to the wall, relishing the natural difference in
their heights. "Every. Single. Word."
Tony gulped on air until Loki took pity and dropped the predator act. "Tony,
we're friends. . . I hope? You can tell me. I won't mock you, I give my word."
"I want," Tony started, then stopped. After casting about helplessly for a
moment, he wrapped his arms around Loki's neck and managed to get the rest of
it out by whispering into Loki's ear.
"That," Loki promised heatedly, "you will have. Go wait for me in the garage."
 
Tony shivered slightly inside the unpainted concrete walls. It was cool inside
the garage, despite the afternoon sun beating on the exterior wall and
filtering through a tiny cobwebbed window.
After last week, Tony was having a hard time believing that he'd come back. He
had been so pissed off. As far as he knew, only little boys, not teenagers,
were spanked. Not that Tony had ever been spanked in his life. Also, how dare
Loki decide he got to punish Tony for anything. If not for a stubborn
determination to prove to Loki that he could take anything Loki cared to dish
out, Tony would have been out the door the second he'd seen that tree branch
waving in front of his face.
Tony had had no idea why Loki had left him mid-argument. He had been flustered
by the feeling of Loki grabbing his neck and effortlessly tossing him over the
kitchen stool. Such an inconvenient time for the crush he had struggled with
all summer to come back in force. It wasn't like he hadn't known about Loki's
violent streak. It was how they had met, after all.
By the time he had gone from surprised to angry to bored to aroused, Loki had
been back in the kitchen. The indeterminate minutes after that had been nothing
but agony. Even the time he had taken a curve too fast on his dirt bike and had
flown into a row of hazel bushes probably hadn't hurt as much. Tony had left
the house angry and stayed angry. Yet after numerous mental rounds of just
where does he get off trying to act like my dad none of his fucking business
what I do to other people's property there remained one fact that Tony just
couldn't escape: he'd loved it. It had hurt like battery acid, but there had
never been any danger. Hell, Loki had said he could get up and leave. Tony had
believed it; had trusted Loki completely. He kept finding excuses to lock
himself in his bedroom so he could take down his shorts and stare at the
bruises in the mirror.
He hadn't enjoyed the pain at all and he liked the humiliation even less, but
by the end of the week Tony was done lying to himself. If getting beat black
and blue were the price of admittance to Loki's fierce and unrestrained
dominance, Tony would sign on the dotted line. It had been a bitter
realization. Tony didn't give a flying fuck about being gay. As far as he was
concerned, that was just another great way to stick it to the old man. This,
though? No way would he ever let Howard find out. No way would he let anyone
find out. He didn't even want to say it in his own head. A. . . a submissive.
That's what they called guys who let themselves be bossed around. The gossip
rags would have a field day if they ever found out. Anthony Edward Stark liked
sucking cock? That was edgy and exciting and fit right in with the recent slew
of gay teen celebrities. A.E. Stark wanting to get down on his hands and knees,
tuck his head against Loki's polished black oxfords, and beg to serve his
master? He'd been doing that all summer—finding odd jobs around the house and
yard, hours of sweated labor just for the pleasure of hearing good work, Tony
in Loki's satiny voice—an epiphany which had stung when it came in the middle
of a midnight masturbation session. Oh, they would report it delicately; Tony
was still a minor and none of them wanted to be sued. Trouble in the home,
rumors of mental illness, the future of SI in jeopardy.
Nobody. That's who he would tell about this.
What in the hell was Loki doing, Tony wondered, suddenly brought back to the
present by a dog barking down the street. Stepped out for ice cream? Had Loki
just sent him out here as a humiliating joke? No, Tony knew Loki would never do
that, but he couldn't stop the tiny rising tendrils of panic.
Moments later, the joining door between the garage and kitchen opened with a
huff. Loki briskly crossed the room to the Honda resting innocently on its
kickstand and pulled the cover off.
Tony had fallen a little bit in love with that motorcycle. Not that he was
stupid enough to ask for a chance to ride it. The vintage bike had a second
seat that extended back over the rear fender. The paintwork was deep and
glossy. The chrome didn't have a single scratch on it and the engine, the few
times Tony had heard it running, purred like a very happy panther.
"Well, Mr. Stark?" Loki dropped his equipment on the floor and patted the
leather. "Have a seat."
Tony glanced at the pile of tools—rope, chain, handcuffs—and couldn't honestly
believe he was doing this. He straddled the bike, feeling the tiny familiar
burn in his thighs. He kept one foot planted on the floor next to the kickstand
for balance, watching as Loki wrapped a padded chain around the handlebars and
padlocked it in place.
"Hands first."
The clicking of the handcuff closing over Tony's left wrist sounded
extraordinarily loud in the silent garage. Loki passed the open cuff under the
chain, then over, then around Tony's right wrist. The chain would not come off
the handlebars until unlocked and Tony's hands would be staying very close to
the chain. He shivered.
"I'm going to pick up your right foot," Loki warned.
Tony handed it to him easily enough. He could no longer stand up straight,
thanks to his cuffed hands, but he felt well balanced by his left foot on the
concrete. That didn't stop the blood pooling in his groin when Loki dragged his
leg back and secured the ankle with rope to the rear suspension.
Before picking up the other foot, Loki knelt beside him for a while, stroking
gentle patterns on Tony's calf.
"Comfortable?" He finally asked.
Tony exhaled slowly and recentered his balance.
"Yeah," he confirmed, lifting his foot slightly to show that he was not resting
any weight on it.
Loki pulled it swiftly back and Tony was hit with the gravity of his
helplessness. If the bike fell. . . if Loki pushed it. . . a shattered tibia
would be the most optimistic of outcomes. He twisted his feet in air and pulled
at the cuffs. Why had he thought this would be a good idea? Loki fisted his
hand in Tony's hair, yanking just on the pleasurable side of rough.
"Are you feeling sufficiently punished yet?" Loki growled.
Oh. That was why.
"You know I didn't really key anyone's car, right?" Tony pointed out breathily.
Loki chuckled. "Yes, I suspected as much."
Then, unexpectedly, he knocked out the kickstand.
Tony felt the bike tilt under him and gave an itty-bitty shriek. All his
muscles tensed as he yanked hard against completely unyielding bindings. The
whole thing was over in less than a second, Loki easily stabilizing the leaning
motorcycle, but Tony was close to coming just from the adrenaline rush. This
was better than flying, better than hang gliding, better than anything.
Kickstand out of the way, Loki guided the bike to the center of the garage. It
was a strange sensation, floating over the floor without having any control of
the direction or speed. Once there, Loki made quick work of a couple of small
hydraulic jacks, then blocked the motorcycle. Tony almost had to bite back a
sigh. It wasn't as though he was disappointed that Loki was taking his safety
seriously. It was just, okay no lie, he liked being at Loki's mercy not to drop
him.
"Pray tell, what has you blushing so hard?"
Tony hadn't been aware that he was blushing, but now he could feel the blood
heating his cheeks and flushing down his neck. His shirt was starting to cling
to his chest from sweat. He'd been cold earlier, but now everything felt too
hot and close. He needed Loki's hands on him.
Could you just ask for that, he wondered. The few guys he'd been with before
hadn't been much into talking. Plus, this had already flown so far past a
couple of fumbling handjobs that Tony didn't think he should even compare the
experiences. Loki liked to talk, liked hearing Tony talk, and it didn't seem
like sex whatever this was would be an exception. It was still hard forcing his
tongue into action. How did you even say stuff like that? A few things Tony had
heard in some pornos sprang to mind and he blushed harder. No way was he going
to say I want your nasty hand on my big dick right now, daddy. He would die of
embarrassment. Loki would die of laughter.
"Please, Loki." He looked at the older man over his shoulder, pulling on the
cuffs to distract himself from his discomfort. "Please may I have a handjob?"
Loki bit the knuckles on his left hand, masking the harshness of his sudden
inhalation, and his eyes. . . that scorching look would have been worth saying
anything for, anything at all.
"Absolutely," he agreed, fervently. "You have no idea what you look like to me
right now, do you?"
Yep, definitely liked talking, Tony thought, not that he minded at all. "Wh-
what do I look like?"
Slender, powerful hands settled delicately over his sides. Long fingers slowly
gathered the thin folds of Tony's t-shirt. Tony shivered harder as each inch of
his torso was bared. It took forever. Loki thumbed roughly over his nipples,
made hypersensitive by the faint brushes of moving air in the garage. Guiding
Tony's head through the top of the shirt was its own adventure. Tony had no
idea by the end whether removing his shirt had been an excuse to fondle his
hair or the other way 'round. Loki rubbed erotically over Tony's arms,
stripping the shirt until it was no more than a twisted bunch of fabric around
Tony's cuffed wrists.
Tony whined incoherently, trying to find enough leverage with his bound ankles
to rut on the seat. When Loki simultaneously licked along the bottom of his
spine while palming his ass firmly enough to drag him forward on the padded
leather, Tony came in his pants.
He buried his face in his elbow, panting.
"Did you just orgasm?" Loki demanded.
"Y- yes," Tony admitted, mortified.
If he had not been literally tied down, Tony would have run out of the room. He
couldn't ever remember feeling so humiliated in his life. Here he was trying to
impress an adult—the first adult he'd tried to impress since he had figured out
that Howard and Maria would never be impressed with him—an adult he had a huge
crush on and who knew so much about sex and was cool with in a way that made
all of Tony's classmates look like posers—and what did Tony do? Cum in his
pants like a never touched virgin!
Loki grabbed Tony firmly by the hair, dragging his head up, stilling Tony's
subconscious wrestling with his bondage. Tony closed his eyes to avoid having
to see Loki's amused or, worse, disappointed expression.
"To answer your question. What you look like. . ."
Tony braced himself. Loki, he was certain, would be nice about it. Somehow,
that thought, of being pitied, made it even worse. He wanted to curl up in a
ball and die.
"You look like all my dirtiest fantasies."
Tony's eyes snapped open.
"Ooo, you think I'm lying?" Loki's mouth curved on a slow grin. He pulled out
his phone. "Don't worry, I'll delete these later if you wish—"
"—you should delete them for your own protection—" Tony had recovered enough
equilibrium to shoot back snottily.
"—but first you need to see yourself," Loki finished, moving around the bike to
snap photographs at different angles. "You need to see exactly what you look
like." He held the high definition touchscreen in front of Tony's face. "How
about this one?" Loki swiped forward through the images. "Do you know what
seeing you bound and spread makes me want to do? I can think of other things
you might straddle with those thighs." He ran a teasing hand up the back of
Tony's jeans. "Or this one. Had I ever seen arms as sexy as yours, I would have
paid a king's ransom to fuck and be fucked by their owner. Look at your face
here." He lowered his voice to a whisper against the shell of Tony's ear.
"Aroused beyond self control and why?"
The answers which sprang to Tony's mind were all too vulnerable and pathetic,
so he said nothing. Tony felt the residual embarrassment from going off like a
bad 4th of July rocket but, well, Loki obviously didn't mind.
"Now answer me honestly." Loki slipped the phone back into his pocket. "If I
were to untie you now, strip you out of these soiled clothes, lead you dressed
in nothing up to my bedroom, lay you out on my comforter, kiss you until you
are breathless with arousal, take your sweet cock in hand," he palmed over the
damp spot on Tony's crotch to illustrate, "and stroke you to as many orgasms as
you can stand. . . would you have any objection whatsoever?"
"Really?" Tony was practically vibrating with excitement. "Really really?"
Loki nodded.
"Oh fuck yeah."
End Notes
     This_is_the_emblem Tony was painting on shit, if you happen to be
     curious.
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