The next morning is Saturday, a fact that Steve forgets until he returns from his run to see Tony struggling to make breakfast. Bruce is helping him with some degree of success. The smell of eggs cooking (and eggs burning) pervades the apartment and the sound is like that of a fire crackling.
For a few moments, Steve stands in the doorway, watching them chat with a feeling of peace. Then he sees the cracks in the countertop that the pair is carefully ignoring and feels a little of his fickle tranquility slip away.
"Good morning," he says, putting on a smile.
"Morning, Van Gogh," says Tony with a visible wince.
Bruce rolls his eyes. "Morning, Captain. And Tony, you do realize that's not clever at all, right?"
"You kidding? I made it up. Thus, it has to be more clever than what you think," smirks Tony. Bruce ignores him, the whites of his eyes making another appearance. He takes the pan from the billionaire's hands and dumps the eggs within onto a few plates unceremoniously.
They eat, Tony doing most of the chatting despite an apparently monstrous hangover. Bruce makes the occasional snarky remark and gets an equally obnoxious one back from Tony. It's comfortable. Steve feels the knot of guilt in his chest begin to loosen up.
"So what was going on during the meeting yesterday?" Steve finds himself asking, feeling rather obligated to catch up. "It was a bit…above my pay grade."
"What does that even mean?" asks Tony a little standoffishly. He doesn't wait for an answer. "Anyway, to put it in nice, easy terms, we were talking about tracking Victor von Doom, the suspect behind the Texas bombing."
"We originally got a really vague tipoff from one of our undercover agents, remember?" adds Bruce. "How he'd been hearing rumors of a Victor von Doom, or as he styles himself, Dr. Doom?"
"Yeah, so what's the progress on tracking him?"
"Well, what we found was a very unique radiation signature. Basically, that bomb left a strange residue behind that makes us suspect either it wasn't intended to be a bomb or it's a new form of dirty bomb." Bruce stops for a moment to chew a last forkful of eggs.
"We're not sure what it could have been yet. We've been modifying equipment in order to scan for the signature, which will hopefully track us back to this Dr. Doom," finishes Bruce, clearly oversimplifying to make it easier for Steve. Steve nods in gratitude.
Bruce stands and clears up the dishes in a few minutes, helped intermittently by Tony. "I should be going," Bruce says, glancing at the time pointedly. "See you Monday, Steve."
"See you," says Steve, the phrase sounding unfamiliar in his mouth.
Tony says his farewell reluctantly. He doesn't look as if he wants to be alone, and Steve understands why. If Pepper, the only person outside of the Avengers who sees—well, saw—Tony on a regular basis, really broke up with him…Her absence must be torturous.
While he and Tony might not be the best of friends, Steve cares about him just enough to indirectly suggest a movie night. "You know that Batman movie you always talk about?"
"Yeah, the one that completely ripped me off?" says Tony indignantly. "Billionaire with a fancy suit is a superhero? I mean, come on."
"Well, I haven't seen it yet," Steve says. Tony seizes on the idea enthusiastically.
"Want to come over sometime and watch it? I've been meaning to have you guys over, you know, Avengers team-bonding experience."
"Sure. Just call me whenever." Whatever regrets Steve might have about his offer dissolve at the look on Tony's face.
"Thanks, Van Gogh."
"You're welcome," Steve says automatically. "I'll see you Monday."
"Yup," Tony calls over his shoulder, half out the door. The door shuts behind him with a sense of finality.
The silence is deafening, unbroken for a few moments.
And then he senses, rather than hears, someone else behind him. He knows that they're there the same way he knows, with a sudden certainty, that it's Loki behind him.
"What do you want?" says Steve, talking to the door rather than the god.
A few footsteps behind him, the warmth radiating from Loki's body just an inch too close for comfort.
"I'll yell. I'm sure someone will hear," Steve threatens. He feels a finger nudge his lip, stroke his cheek. He shudders and feels his face redden at the memories that simple touch brings back.
"No, you won't," Loki says softly but with a commanding tone Steve unthinkingly obeys.
Steve stares at his door fixedly as if he can will it to open. "Why?" he says rigidly. So many questions wrapped up in that one word. He doesn't know how many Loki hears.
There's a little hiss behind him and something very hot presses into the side of his neck. He gasps in pain, feels smoke rising from a tiny burn, turns around halfway. Loki pushes him flat against the door impatiently, a flame dancing on his fingertip and reflecting in his green eyes.
"First rule: no talking unless I ask you a question." The flame goes out. Loki takes a small step back, sizing Steve up. "You will follow my orders or I will make you. So I'd suggest, for both your comfort and mine, that you do exactly as I say. You have no control here."
Steve is afraid, his back molding gradually to the door's ridges and whorls as he presses against it, the burn on his neck throbbing. He's afraid, yes, but somehow he also feels a little lighter, more alive. Every touch, every breath sends pure electric adrenaline thrilling through him. Every sense is heightened, attuned to the point of pain. He's afraid and he's never been more exhilarated in his life.
He has the lingering feeling that he should be guiltier, that the knot in his chest should be clenching up as it did so interminably yesterday. He should be punching Loki and knocking down his own door to escape. But that part of him that revels in adrenaline and fear rebels against the idea.
"Stop, pet," Loki purrs, sounding amused.
"What?" says Steve just a little too loudly.
"You were thinking too much...and besides, didn't I say no talking?" Loki says, punctuating the last two words with tiny burns against Steve's neck. Steve resists the urge to cry out with difficulty.
"Now," commands Loki. "Strip."
The word is so incongruous in the god's aristocratic accent that Steve almost laughs. Loki narrows his eyes, fingertips blazing.
"Isn't that how you Midgardians say it?"
Steve nods blankly.
"Then, what are you waiting for?" says Loki, wrapping one hand lazily around Steve's neck as if it's a toy. This time, Steve does cry out. He can hear his flesh sizzling and it is absolutely, mind-numbingly terrifying. If before he felt a rush, it is nothing compared to what he feels now.
Steve takes off his socks, sweatpants, then finally his boxers, feeling a strange aversion to taking off his shirt. He realizes why a few seconds later. More exposed skin for him to—
"You're thinking," Loki says, poking him in his still clothed chest in a way that would be playful if not for the smoking hole his finger leaves in the cloth. "Stop."
Wordlessly, Steve pulls his shirt over his head. He realizes he's trembling and does his best to still his body under Loki's rather wantonly itinerant gaze. The green eyes rake over him, take in every part of him.
Steve suppresses the primal urge to cower. He wonders if the god is going to burn him more and the thought gives him an odd tingling in his abdomen. He hopes it's not what he thinks it is.
Loki makes a noise of appreciation. "Well, isn't that interesting."
Damn. Steve has a sinking feeling that he knows exactly what Loki means and a glance confirms it. He feels his face reddening. The stiffness against his belly, while certainly not unpleasant, is humiliating. He decides to blame it on the air conditioning and makes a mental note to—
"Would you stop?" snaps Steve in an attempt to cover up his shrill squeak of pain. Loki looks at him with a coldness belying the flames ringing his fingers. Fingers that have just been pressed into Steve's flat belly.
"I said. Don't. Now, turn around."
Steve winces as he sees the five burns on his stomach but refuses to turn around.
Loki places his palm flat over Steve's thumping heart. Agony shoots through him. He could swear his heart skipped a beat. Steve turns as fast as he can and Loki helps by slamming him against the door face first.
Making a helpless little whimper against the wood, Steve feels the burns and the hardness of his cock more than ever. Loki chuckles at his discomfort, pinning Steve to the door with his own clothed body.
"Let's see," the god breathes. "What do you like better?"
Steve barely hears the words before Loki presses against him, harder, the rough surface of the door grinding against him. His hands clench and unclench. He holds them a little above his head and keeps them glued to the door. If he didn't, who knows what they'd end up doing.
"Or this?"
Burning pain against his back, a single finger dragging up, down, up, down. He feels his cock twitch and closes his eyes in silent resignation.
The pain drives all other thoughts out of his mind. Loki reaches down to grip him with a (thankfully flame-free) hand and Steve moans unthinkingly. He can feel Loki's smile against the back of his neck as he shakes. The god takes his hand off of Steve's back, using it instead to brace himself against the door. The wood blackens from the residual heat.
"No," gasps Steve. Don't stop, he wants to add but suddenly he can't seem to form coherent words.
Loki nips at his neck almost affectionately and he feels his muscles spasm at the tiny spark of pain.
He's close, so close. But...
Operating on some animal instinct he didn't know he had, Steve reaches behind him and fumbles blindly at Loki's leather pants. Through some dubious miracle, he manages to unbuckle them.
"No," stutters Loki, sounding oddly panicked. "What are you doing?"
Steve touches the god, strokes the length of him with some difficulty. It's uncomfortable with his arm twisted behind him like this but he wants—needs—to make Loki cum, too. Why? He doesn't know and he doesn't care.
Loki convulses against him with a little moan almost like a purr. Steve feels a cold wetness that is most definitely not sweat trickle down his bare back and a few moments later, Steve shudders as well. Loki's hand, moving so fast his post-orgasmic vision struggles to see it, doesn't cease.
"Stop," Steve cries out, pain beginning to overcome the throes of his orgasm.
"No," Loki says. "This is your punishment for touching me without permission and for telling me what to do, bikkja." The words are haughty, the Asgardian definitely insulting, but the god's voice shakes.
The hand moves faster, friction that hurts but is rapidly becoming more and more pleasurable. The soft lips brushing his ear part slightly. "Say I'm your King."
Steve doesn't think before the words leave his lips. "You're my King."
"Good pet," Loki murmurs and lets him go.
Steve falls but doesn't feel the impact. He closes his eyes for what could be a minute or could be a day, trembling, seeing nothing, feeling nothing but pleasure.
Slowly, his senses return. First, he feels a wetness cooling against his skin, then hears his own breathing and his gradually slowing heartbeat.
Finally, he opens his eyes to see Loki gazing down at him, clothing unruffled and back in place, with a very satisfied smirk. There's something strange about it, though, and Steve realizes with a start that Loki's eyes are red.
"Your eyes…" starts Steve and Loki flinches, blinking. For a second, he looks vulnerable, surprised, maybe hurt. Then the green returns and the smirk as well.
"Felt so good you passed out, bikkja?"
"I didn't pass out," mutters Steve. He knows he sounds petulant but at the moment he doesn't care. Doesn't care about anything except Loki. Some voice inside his head nags at him that he shouldn't be thinking that. "Why were your eyes red?"
"You're lucky I'm not in a punishing mood anymore," says the god, ignoring Steve completely. "But I think I'll have to change the label on your back, bikkja."
"Label?"
"Yes, bikkja, label. That's what pets get, correct? Labels?"
"Not exactly," Steve says. He feels improbably content, tired, but content. He refuses to delve into why.
Steve's home phone rings and Loki twitches almost imperceptibly. He shakes his head like he's just been woken up.
"That's my cue to leave," Loki sighs melodramatically. "Until next time, bikkja. You've been…quite entertaining."
Steve nearly says "Thank you" before catching himself. What the hell is with that instinct?
It doesn't matter, anyway. The god is already gone.
A/N: I used Old Norse for the Asgardian. Go find out what bikkja means, if you want. It's...insulting :P . Anyway, please review! Reviews = motivation!
