Edited 6/27 (minor changes)
The grand chamber was strange and unfamiliar as Clint Barton blinked around, disoriented. But he was not shocked to see the tall Asgardian standing in the room with him, dark hair falling loose, framing a knowing grin. Clint did start at the sight of the scepter in Loki's hand, even as the unsubstantial nature of the room proclaimed it a dream. A distant recollection: Loki is dead... right?
Real or imagined, he advanced, still smiling. As the tip of the blade touched his navel through his shirt, Clint's nostrils flared and his lips compressed. He did not want to go back under the scepter's thrall, but he suddenly and desperately wanted Loki to touch him, to claim his belly and his breath.
That wasn't right.
After this flash of unease, doubts evaporated as the scepter prodded him and the surroundings solidified. In a kind of languid haze, Clint found himself stumbling backwards, encountering a couch of sorts and he fell, arched back like an offering on an altar. His feet didn't even touch the floor and a leaden paralysis settled over him.
Belly-up over the plush armrest, he knew he should be able to resist, but his limbs felt heavy while his torso felt charged, electric with dread and arousal. Clint's stomach felt as weak as the rest of him and he knew that Loki would focus there. He barely flinched when the blade split his shirt and belt.
Cool fingers lightly explored his throat, abdomen and genitals; brushing over these sensitive, exposed places. Each caress threatened and promised to become torment as Loki steadily increased the pressure.
"What...unhg... are you going...mmm… to do." Clint gasped, anticipating pain to replace the tantalizing touches.
Feeling the hard nub of his navel shift against a shallow thrust, Loki brought Clint's mouth to his and kissed him roughly, rolling the knot against the smooth muscle. "Exactly what you want me to do," Loki promised. "Exactly what you have been longing for."
Lightening fast, he clutched the archer's throat in one hand and plunged into his abdomen with the other. The clawed hand on his trachea a silent reminder that the god expected absolute obedience and a soft, unresisting stomach. An indecent groan of pleasure sighed through Clint's parted lips as he yielded to this masterful invasion.
With both hands, he pressed down, flattening Clint's middle, grinding his guts against his back bone. Clint knew that the Asgardian could, with very little effort, kill him with his bare hands; the god could crush him as easily as satisfy him.
"No pretenses, Agent Barton. I know your deepest secrets. I buried some there myself." Loki had complete access to his body in this stretched out and vulnerable position. He pushed hard against Clint's abdomen as if he desired to delve in and pry those very secrets out and expose them to the light of day.
"You have all been searching for this,'" he intoned, indicating the golden spear. "Do you want to experience it again?"
"Not the pointy end," Clint answered honestly.
The god smirked and swung the scepter so the tapered base ground into Clint's navel. His strength relented as the cool metal drew warmth from his insides and pressed down until it couldn't sink any deeper.
Clint stopped resisting the burning agony; his world narrowed until all perception became the unending pressure in his belly. In dizzy confusion, the pain crested and became indistinguishable from pleasure as the scepter bore down. Loki waited, measuring the heart beats pulsing against the shaft. After a few shuddering inhalations, Clint submitted and the metal rod bore to his spine.
Aroused and panting, perspiration slicking his brow, daunted and shamed under the intense scrutiny of that glittering green gaze, Clint shut out sight. Face hot and streaked, red from his inverted position, he pressed his teeth together and refused to beg...for he feared what he would beg the god to do to him.
Loki lay the heavy object aside. The scepter was terrifying and weighty, but it was no substitute for hands. He probed and explored Clint's stomach, minutely and slowly, contemplating the tension of the muscle, the depth of the incursion, the shifting of the viscera, the satisfying submission of the flesh and the soft grunts and moans.
As Clint's sighs became more contented, his brows knitted in appreciation and he shifted his hips to find some relief as his cock responded to the stimulation of the nerves at his core.
Loki blazed with anger. No longer focused on the powerful god lavishing him with this dark gift, this human was accepting his favors as if he were worthy of them.
Piqued, Loki struck. The punch shook the air, a sharp blow precisely calculated to paralyze the diaphragm and empty the lungs. Loki pinned him in place as he spasmed with recoil, eyes wide. The powerful muscles in his back and arms tensing against the lassitude that bound him. His core tightened protectively and his erection receded.
Reasserting dominance, Loki assaulted his defenses and demanded his attention. Under that ferocious strength, Clint yielded as the barrage slowed, unable to repel the jackhammering thrusts and absorbing each impact.
The last one fell like the replay of a death blow in a videogame in Clint's wavering perception; deliberate and inexorable, a bullseye in the center of his body that penetrated without resistance.
Wrist-deep in his belly, Loki slid the scepter behind Clint's shoulders and lifted him up off the cushions. He kissed the pliant, wary archer, caressing his lips and tracing his teeth, and inhaling his shallow, panting breaths. He resumed exploring his abdomen with long, steady presses of his clenched fists. Dazed and drained, in thrall to that insistent, coaxing mouth, Clint's arousal began to build again as the edged pain in his beaten belly dulled to a blunted ache.
Clint made a muffled, hungry moan, and Loki shifted, trapping their hardening cocks between their bodies and rocking his hips. The pressure made Clint keenly aware of his own erection, aching and straining as Loki thrummed against the nerves rooted deep in his abused gut. Each action transmitted electric jolts of pain and warm dollops of pleasure, pumping Loki's rage, ambition and despair directly into Clint's nervous system where it swirled fitfully between his mind and his cock, pooling in his belly, ready to explode.
From the empty air, Loki plucked a white ball of glowing energy. "Within this shell is a fragment of a Norn stone.I have been meditating on a lost use of this ancient power. I think it's time to test it..." He released the ball of light and it hung in the air, until, at an imperious gesture from the fallen god, it spiraled towards the prone body on the couch, coming to rest on his stomach. "You shall soon see what I have created."
Loki's fingers dug into his hips as he arranged his prone victim, his navel pulled to a narrow slash. He lay heavily against him, his body conforming to the curvature imposed by the couch with the ball of light between them and continued kissing him, massaging his arms and shoulders. Loki let his own stomach slacken and accepted the press of the hard orb as he felt his archer's body tense beneath him.
Breaking the kiss, Loki stared hard into Clint's eyes, inflamed by the roiling conflict, knowing how little strength remained in his core. Once he held the archer's unwavering gaze, he flexed his powerful abs and pushed the orb into Clint's stomach, crushing the brittle coating around the ancient rune. As easily as a pebble sinking in honey, the dust of the Norn stone worked its spell. Loki stood, watching as the stone breached the glistening skin.
The transformation took only a second; one moment, Clint's abs were a sheet of solid muscle interrupted only by his navel, heaving with sensation. Next, a slit replaced the thumbprint indentation and yawed wider when Clint screamed as the magic bloodlessly parted the flesh, burrowing cleanly into his body.
Two long fingers circled, pressing hard under his solar plexus, a few inches from the entrance. He relished each stuttering curse he squeezed from the frightened archer as he slid those invading digits into that trembling orifice. A warm pleasure replaced the pain that split him open but Clint's low moan was cut short at the sight of Loki's exposed erection as he made ready for the culmination of this encounter.
With horrified fascination, Clint thrilled as the god sank inch by inch into his abdomen, his reason at war with his neurology as his whole body responded to this invasion. A sensation of unbearable pressure and soaring exhilaration radiated from this central point. This floating pleasure ended the second Loki was fully seated inside his body and Clint realized he couldn't breathe with the long cock forced deep inside his belly.
Loki groaned as the panic set in and Clint's lungs began to fight for oxygen, retching from this preternatural trauma. He rolled his hips as the archer's strong spasms quaked around his throbbing member. The heat of Clint's coiled, tortured insides spread through the former frost giant like a heady alcohol. He ground into his reclaimed thrall, still staring into the depths of his blue irises and reading the panic there.
As painstakingly as he had entered, Loki withdrew, his gaze intent on Clint's perspiring face. Regaining control of his body, Clint sucked in air, panting to slow his racing heart and force his mind to sharpen, but to no avail. Each time his abdomen was penetrated, breathing became a struggle.
With a snap of his hips, Loki drove in again and again, gutpunching Clint as he rutted against him. Clutching greedily at the curving lines of his shoulders, he anchored himself there to get the best purchase. Clint breathed through with the thrusting onslaught, but his throat constricted when, at the apex of a stroke, Loki said: "Have you fantasized about me doing this to you?"
Clint squeezed his eyes shut in shame and nodded, clenching his teeth on a cry when Loki pounded into him. "Only more? Much more? Much harder?" the god supplied.
Again, Clint nodded. Two more strokes to his insides.
Loki withdrew entirely. "Do I disappoint you, my hawk?"
Clint shook his head, "no, sir."
"Call me, my lord," he rebuked.
"No, my lord, sir."
Loki resumed fucking his belly with a force so brutal, Clint didn't know if he would lose consciousness from pain or from lack of oxygen first. The pounding in his temples rose to a crescendo as Loki tore a blinding orgasm from his stomach as if it were physically rooted to his spine. At Clint's exhausted collapse, Loki's own release began to overtake him and he surged sinuously against the now limp form until he too foundered, sated and spent.
The next chapter is something completely different...
which may be a good thing or a bad one, I suppose.
Review are greatly appreciated!