Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/443964.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      F/M, M/M
  Fandom:
      The_Avengers_(2012), The_Avengers_-_All_Fandoms
  Relationship:
      Bruce_Banner/Loki, Bruce_Banner/Tony_Stark, Hulk/Loki, Bruce_Banner/Thor,
      Bruce_Banner/Clint_Barton, Bruce_Banner/Natasha_Romanov
  Character:
      Bruce_Banner, Hulk, Loki, Thor, Tony_Stark, Clint_Barton, Natasha
      Romanov, Steve_Rogers
  Additional Tags:
      Rape, Revenge, Sexual_Violence, Non-Consensual_Violence, hoshit-that's-
      mean
  Series:
      Part 1 of Loki_wants_revenge
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-06-26 Words: 3405
****** Undoing ******
by s_alt
Summary
     When Loki escaped, one thought drove him above all others: to find
     the Hulk, undo him, make him pay a hundredfold for the humiliation
     the beast had perpetrated upon him.
     In which Loki seeks revenge on both Bruce's mind and body and
     terrible things occur.
Notes
     Devin_chain
     and Valdemort are completely responsible for goading me into writing
     this, and many thanks to them both for being my incredibly efficient
     beta readers.
     This one's nasty, folks.
     Oh, and the underage bit is small, but significant.
When Loki escaped, one thought drove him above all others: to find the Hulk,
undo him, make him pay a hundredfold for the humiliation the beast had
perpetrated upon him. That filthy ogre, that horrid base beast, had unmanned
him, cost him his freedom. It would not stand - not without the kind of
retribution on which Loki had built his reputation over aeons.
Finding where he slept was easy enough, as was the glamour he cast on the room
to shield them both from electronic eyes. Loki settled into a chair a few feet
from the bedside and watched the man who contained the creature toss, saw his
eyes and hands twitch with dreams.
This was an unhappy man, Loki thought. Oh, good. Yes, this would be fun.
The first night, Loki remained an observer, familiarizing himself with the skin
the beast wore. He’d seen it once, of course, on that flying fortress, and it
had been pleasant enough. But what lay under the skin was far more fascinating,
even then. Loki had sensed the creature roiling in the depths, desperate to
rise, unfurling to wakefulness in the wake of his magicks. He knew it was only
a matter of time before the great thing burst forth, creating havoc. How Loki
had longed to stay and watch...
Never mind. Loki would have his chance, soon. For the moment, he studied.
The man had seen years, harder years than many. Loki studied calloused hands,
scarred back, weathered face. The marks told stories, and Loki listened,
learning. So much experience in so little time. Fertile ground.
The second night, Loki pierced the veil and watched as the man dreamed.
Scattered things, as dreams always are - fragments of memory, ache, loss,
temptation. The task was not, this night, to parse what the dreams contained -
no, to merely absorb them, take them back with him, let them be a part of the
labyrinth of his mind so that they could weave a means to that man’s very
middle.
Another night passed thus, and another, until a month was behind them, and the
direction of the man’s dreams were as a familiar path, easily traversed. Loki
walked among them, leaving only the faintest trace, a promise of violation to
come.
Bruce, his name was. Loki thought he might be one of the most interesting
specimens he’d ever examined. Thought and raw emotion in this one were so
inevitably entwined that one became the other almost seamlessly. It was a
wonder the beast did not ride that skin each day. Perhaps it did, in its own
way, for certainly the beast rode alongside Bruce in dreams, with him.
*****
The first seed Loki planted was deep, deep within, and he wore the skin of a
frothing, drunken monster breathing hate and alcohol, holding the boy flat and
still with one great hand on his back as he took him, as the boy sobbed and
screamed into his pillow. When the change came, the Beast tearing out of Bruce
in furious glory, Loki whispered the seed of a promise in the ear of the dream-
boy still pinned by his hand, his member:
“I will own you more than this, creature. You will be mine.”
Bruce’s quarters changed after that, and Loki waited, giving the man a sweet,
short time to feel safe from his nightmares. But the game was too lovely to
leave for long, and Loki soon found his way again to Bruce’s bedroom, hiding
his presence, delving into dream.
The second seed was easier, closer to the surface. A fumbling failure of
adolescent encounter Loki twisted to his whim. Bruce remembered the boy as
beautiful, but cruel, and Loki knew that, oh so well. This time, he settled on
the edge the bed, touching Bruce’s back with pale fingers as he reached into
the man’s mind to take on that boy’s skin, inhabit it. He smiled Loki’s smile
on that face as the youth pushed Bruce - barely beginning manhood - to his
knees, holding him there by one hand on that narrow shoulder.
Loki felt the throb of need in this skin’s cock, and knew Bruce was hungry for
this, perhaps more than for anything else. He’d learned that in his navigations
- the weaknesses, the needs, the ways in - and was ready to exploit. “Take it,”
he said, pushing against Bruce’s mouth, the moistness of his lips, and he was
suddenly there, in the moment, fingers digging into Bruce’s shoulder until the
boy gasped with pain, and he could thrust himself between those lips and to the
back of that throat.
Bruce gagged, and Loki laughed, fucking the boy's mouth, which soon enough
adjusted and started to suck. “Oh, yes, you will be mine,” he promised,
thrusting and moaning with a young man’s need, a moment away from being spent.
And when he came, Bruce whimpering around him as he swallowed, Loki swore that
in their next encounter he would make this creature beg.
*****
The third seed lay far closer to the surface, and was delicious indeed. This
one, Loki decided he would plant in the flesh. He coaxed the man to the surface
of the dreamstate, that place where people sometimes move, walk, speak. Loki
left Bruce there, where the dream was most real, and took on the shape of that
one Bruce ached for, the one he wouldn’t tell himself he needed.
That same one who had threatened Loki in the penthouse, whose metal heart had
thwarted him. And as he drew the form from Bruce’s dreams to take on as his
own, he heard the name reverberate across the man’s consciousness: Tony.
Wearing Tony, Loki pulled back the sheets from the prone form below him -
slowly, so as to savor the moment. It was a form to appreciate, and Bruce’s
dream of Tony found it exceptionally appealing. He watched Bruce adjust,
curling from his back to one side in the sudden chill, and caught a glimpse of
parts he wanted to explore.
A wave of one hand brought Bruce just that one step closer to wakefulness, and
oh, Loki was playing with fire, but he was lit with it and needy himself, and
would not be denied this pleasure. He pulled off the shirt he’d concocted and
discarded it, leaving the pants for another purpose.
One touch was all it took for Bruce, eyes still closed, to stretch and face
him. The dream still held; Tony was visiting Bruce, reaching out to lay a hand
on a naked hip, run it down a leg that started to tremble.
Bruce let out a noise, choked between a whimper and a growl, and Loki allowed
himself to be taken by the dream, because he’d seen it, because he knew how
very good it was.
It always started, as it did now, with Bruce opening his eyes, catching Tony’s
needy gaze, sitting up to move to the edge of the bed where Tony still stood.
Things changed from there, but Loki found his favorite parts and brought them
forth - the ones where the beast was apparent, riding the surface as surely as
Loki rode skin. So it was now that, eyes locked to Tony’s, Bruce knew what to
do, and he tore open Tony’s pants, tore them straight down the middle seam, and
tossed them aside to take Tony - already hard and dripping - into his mouth,
pulling deep.
Loki’s hands, Tony’s, curled into that glorious hair and held on, head falling
back involuntarily. And yes, it was as good as the dream imagined, and more, as
Bruce’s hands locked on his hips, pushing and pulling, fucking his own mouth as
deep as he could go.
A few seconds was all Loki could take, so he pulled back on that hair, hard,
hoping for the green-white eyes that promised the kind of release only this man
could know. But no, the eyes were brown, aflame, as cheeks hollowed and a
tongue flicked, sending shudders of pleasure deep.
“No, no no,” he intoned, and the voice was his own, but Bruce didn’t seem to
notice, didn’t care. So beautiful, this deception.
“No, dear monster. You will be mine tonight. I will own you, and you will serve
me.”
Bruce let go with a moan, eyes closing as his body shivered, as his hands
gripped harder those hips he saw as Tony’s. “God, yes...please,” he begged,
lips wet and open and oh-so-full and wanting, slick. He licked the taste of
Tony from Loki’s tip. “Please.”
The smile that spread Tony’s lips was fully Loki’s, then, as he grabbed Bruce’s
hair, pulled him backward to lay on the bed. He used Tony’s legs to push
Bruce’s wide, let go to grab Bruce’s hips and lift them. He spat in his hand,
rubbing himself until Bruce begged again, then spat once more and slicked that
entrance, watching as the man he would undo trembled, rock-hard, with need.
How Loki wanted to simply plunge in then, thrust a scream from the man’s
throat, make him hurt. But that would not serve the longer game, and so he
entered slowly, taking time, groaning his pleasure as Bruce, so tight, loosened
slowly to allow him in. And then out, once more, slow. A few more, and Bruce
had begun a quiet keening deep in his throat, pushing hips forward as best he
could with his legs in the air, over Tony’s shoulders.
And then, Loki took him, made him cry Tony’s name, made him whimper and wriggle
and moan. More than once, Bruce’s hands went to his own cock, but Tony smacked
them away each time, forcing him to focus on his undulations, his desires. Loki
slapped Bruce’s face to get his eyes open again, capture that hungry gaze,
shivering to his core when he found the tiniest hint of green at the edges.
He was close, very close, ready. At that point, gasping, ready for release,
Loki sent whispers deep into Bruce’s mind, tendrils that latched on to the
other seeds he’d planted, to the path he’d built and walked. You know who I am,
whom you served this night.
Loki, came the thought response, and Tony cried out as he spilled over the
edge.
*****
Again and again, Loki came to Bruce in his dreams, bringing him to the edge of
waking, riding him as Tony until he came. He denied Bruce that same release
every time, and sat back and watched as the need for it rose and rose to a
pitch, until poor Bruce was nearly undone by it. Loki knew, of course, how very
afraid the man had become of releasing any feeling so strong, but there was no
mortal - or Asgardian, for that matter - who could deny it forever.
A month of filthier and filthier evenings passed as Loki worked to isolate and
undo the man. Loki split in two, taking Bruce as Tony from behind, as his dear
brother in his mouth. Tony tied Bruce, hand to foot, so his ass was in the air
and his face pounded the mattress with every thrust. Tony fucked Bruce’s mouth
a dozen times, and Thor a dozen times more, swelling his member until it choked
him, until Bruce swooned from it. That damned archer made an appearance,
licking his lips and telling Bruce that he’d been having...dreams...of Bruce’s
cock, and just couldn’t pass another day without seeing it, touching it,
sucking it, and oh - would he mind if Steve watched? Even the bitch had a part
in it, pushing Bruce’s face into the mattress as she buried a hand in him from
behind, Loki-as-Clint sucking at the same time.
With each evening, each taking, Loki planted a seed, a reminder of his
presence, his place in all this. And each time he spilled, each time his seed
fell in or on Bruce, his mind reached out, tending the spaces he’d filled with
Bruce’s serving his desires, reminding him that only Loki, Loki, Loki could
bring him to fruition. And after each fevered rutting, the man curled away from
his compatriots still further, hollow-eyed and haunted.
Never, never once, did he allow Bruce release, and the man was coming apart
with the need for it. The beast rode the surface, and Loki knew that the time
was close at hand.
*****
And thus it came to the final evening Loki planned, the evening in which he
intended to reap what he’d sown. He was girded in his finest gold and green,
ready for battle, ready to rule. The beast was won, and he would claim his
prize.
Bruce, he knew, had taken to sleeping much of the time, and the rest of his
pathetic crew could not break through his silence. Bruce wandered the halls,
silent and ashamed, avoiding any discussion about his unkempt appearance, the
slightly maddened expression he wore. He barred his doors, turned off all
cameras, hid from those who would help him, and all so soon.
Pity. Loki had hoped this game would last longer. But he would take it. This
was a victory, a vengeance.
He entered the room through shadows to which he’d grown accustomed, hardly
surprised to find Bruce curled in a ball in the middle of the bed, sweating a
bit, shivering. He’d become accustomed to that body, could smell the need, the
hunger, on the skin. His eyes caught a glimpse of the Beast, pushing, wanting
out.
“Tell me who owns you,” he whispered, his voice carrying deep into the sleeping
soul.
“Loki,” came the whispered answer, and Loki’s body thrummed with pleasure and
need.
“Tell me who takes you, beast,” he nearly panted, smiling now.
“You,” the answer, coming from a head buried in Bruce’s arms.
Loki pulled shoulders back, head held high, all the parts of him nearly alight
with triumph. “Then tell me, beast, whom you will serve.”
Loki felt a shift in the air, something base and primal, rising, and he wanted
it. He watched the body on the bed, hungry for the transformation, for the
submission that would follow.
The head lifted, and eyes, once brown, bled to to a greenish-white as they
found Loki, locked. The voice that emanated from that body was deeper than it
should be, louder.
“SERVE?” it asked, and something inside Loki shook.
Loki took a step back, just as the body leaped, landed just in front of him
with a thud far louder than should be possible for such a small man. A hand
flew out, capturing the wrist that held Loki’s scepter, sending it scattering
to the floor as it squeezed, harder than should be possible.
The hand formed him, somehow, brought him fully into being, and he was suddenly
too solid and present as he tried to figure out what went wrong. Tendrils of
himself reached for the dreamspace, the pathways of that mind that had become
so familiar, etched with his presence. And when he found them, ah yes, Loki
understood, too late.
The Beast did not sleep, nor dream. But it had watched, and knew, and hated,
now as full of vengeance as Bruce was ever was of desire.
A hand jerked him down, and Loki fell to his knees. The man stood before him,
his Beast riding his skin, green-white eyes fixed on Loki. Part of him was
asleep, Loki sensed, but the other part was terrible and awake, and controlled
that body Loki had come to know so well. The very force of that terrible
transformation, held at the edge, not spilling forth, somehow kept Loki whole,
all-too aware of the polished concrete under his knees, the press of those
fingers, hard, on one wrist, one shoulder.
As always, Bruce had slept naked. His cock, erect and ready, pointed very
nearly at Loki’s face.
“SERVE,” it repeated, and those hands found Loki’s hair, entwined fingers, and
pulled him forward so his mouth pressed against that member, hot against his
lips, until Loki could either open or allow his teeth to cave under the
pressure.
He opened, and the creature thrust Bruce’s cock into his mouth, liquid already
spurting forth as he found the back of Loki’s throat with a groan that was
almost a growl.
Loki’s hands struggled for purchase, found nothing but those arms, impossibly
strong, and gripped, just to keep himself from being jerked forward with any
more force. He pushed back against the arms that pulled him up and down that
shaft, trying to slow the force. But the beast was stronger, and found his
throat with each thrust, and moaned in pleasure each time Loki gagged.
“YES,” came the voice, terrible and deep, and Loki was suddenly released,
pulled to his feet by his hair, until he was eye-to-eye with the thing his
hands still held onto as he tried to get his feet underneath him. Something in
those eyes fixed him, filled him with a child’s terror, the desire to flee and
hide and never return.
The creature turned him, turned them both, and pressed forward. Loki took
fumbling steps back, unable to look away from those terrible eyes that held
him, needed him. The back of his knees hit the edge of the bed, and he
crumpled, watching the creature smile.
Loki was released for a moment, too short for him to gather his thoughts and
disappear. The hands grabbed his hips, tore open his garments, scratching deep
rivets into his flesh as they did. He lay naked, exposed, as hands impossibly
heavy held him in place, eyes staring him down. To his great shame, his own
cock stood straight up with its own hunger.
Lips found Loki’s tip, moist, hot, and pulled him in, and for a moment, Loki
forgot all about escape and lost himself in Bruce’s mouth, which had become so
very practiced at this, after all. He wanted to cry Bruce’s name, come undone,
spill for him, into him, planting once more that fertile desire.
But that was not to be. Bruce gave him precious seconds only, leaving him
exposed, whimpering, thrusting uselessly into the air. Loki heard the man
chuckle, the sound low and hungry, and that made him throb too.
Bruce met no resistance turning Loki over, and Loki moaned yeses as fingers
slick with spittle pressed in and made him open. Only when a hand lifted to his
shoulder and a weight settled over him did Loki remember himself, and, for a
moment, dread.
But then, Bruce was pressing into him, slowly, as he’d been taught, and his
hands locked to Loki’s shoulders to push him down, spear him on that member
that was growing larger and thicker even as he pressed, and Loki could barely
breathe, gasping with the force of it. He pressed his own thickness into the
bed, wishing desperately he could find it with his hands, knowing he was
pressed too deep to do so.
“SERVE,” the creature said simply, and began to ride him, every thrust a
violation, hate pushing deep within.
Loki cried pain and need into the mattress as the grunts above him became deep
groans, as the pressure of that thing grew inside him, so big he wanted to
scream. He spilled uselessly into the linens once, and again, as the Beast
pounded him into submission, hunger and rage filling every stroke.
At last, there came a shudder, and the Beast pushed deep into Loki and lost
himself.
When it was done, great hands released him, and Loki - dirty, wet to the knees
with that being’s ejaculate - was shoved unceremoniously off the bed, onto the
floor. He landed in a heap, turning quickly, facing the Beast, finding in its
eyes a rage not lessened. Its hands clenched in and out of fists, breath deep
and loud, as it stared hate into the god that had tried to own him, rule him,
and Loki trembled with two memories now of being taken, defeated.
Loki faded before fingers could wrap around him once more, his own hatred and
humiliation burning in his stomach, his eyes. But still, he smiled; after all,
he was in the man now, and this was but the first, the easiest assault. The
part of him that walked Bruce’s mind whispered a promise: that a thousand more
ways remained to unravel the man and ravage the Beast, and he had eternity to
find them all.
Loki laughed as he fled into shadow, and began planning anew.
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