Time for the plot to actually get going! Warning for semi-graphic torture at the start.
Let me know what you think in a review! I must know!
Gloved hands were gripping the collar of his bloodied armor, leather digging into his neck, vision blurring from the lack of oxygen. A spasm of pain shot through him as his back slammed against the hard ground, a boot placed firmly on his chest, grinding sharply.
"Disgusting Asgardian filth."
The words rang in his ears like far away bells, echoing and distorting themselves, meaning nothing to his dizzy consciousness. The boot pressed harder into his chest, lungs ready to collapse, ribcage ready to shatter. The hands returned to grip his arm, no gloves this time, throwing him against another wall like a limp ragdoll. His mouth was flooding with the nauseating taste of copper, blood dribbling out of the corners as he smirked—he couldn't help but smirk, it was impossible to do anything else.
"I will remember this when you are begging."
He let out a soundless gasp as that reprehensible boot slammed into his side, and was that a rib cracking? He had lost count of the broken bones days ago. Now the armor on his chest was being pulled away—if it could even be called armor in its current state. Still, it was rough and it rubbed against his raw flesh, causing pain to spread like fire across the welts and bruises, but this was nothing compared to what was to come, he knew. Nothing.
His breathing was ragged now, every gulp of air causing agony to spiral through his very core, and was oxygen really worth this, anyway? Now comes the sound of metal against metal, a high-pitched whine, the awful, familiar sound of a blade being sharpened; it was echoing off of the chamber's walls and if Loki could have ended it now, somehow, if only there was a way, he would have.
Those rough hands were back, pressing against his throat, binding his arms and his legs so that he could not fight back—so he could not struggle like he did at first, but now he was weak and broken and they both knew it was just a formality—and then it began.
Teasing at first, the sharp edge of the blade grazing his chest and drawing foreign shapes around his torso without causing harm. Not yet. A dark laugh from his captor caused Loki to bite his lip desperately, holding back all noise because he wouldn't let himself scream. Would not scream. Not this time.
It was a lie, straight from the mind of the liesmith himself, and he knew it was useless to think otherwise from the moment the grip on his throat tightened and cold metal suddenly pierced the flesh immediately next to his heart.
At first there was nothing but an icy chill, spreading throughout him as the blade sunk into his flesh. It was being dragged slowly—so slowly—along his chest, and the fresh cut was forming as though his skin was made of soft butter—now the pain was blossoming as it shuddered through him in waves, warm blood coursing out and onto the floor, and he wondered how it was possible to bleed this much while staying conscious.
The knife suddenly twisted, taking a sharp turn for the swollen flesh barely covering his ribcage and it was too much, the fresh wave of searing pain caused his vision to go white and now he could only cry out, channel all of his energy into his pathetic, broken voice and scream—
Loki awoke to a loud crash, his breathing heavy and his mind still somewhat hazy from sleep. It was a distant sound, and it was followed by a stream of curses. That voice sounded so familiar, but he could not place it for some reason...and why was he covered in sweat?
Suddenly the door was thrown open and a worried Tony Stark was looking in at him, hesitantly approaching; now he was sitting on the edge of the bed, eyes searching his own for something... but what?
And then, all at once, he remembered—the nightmares were flooding back, engulfing his mind like a sudden tidal wave. He only realized that he was shaking violently when he was quickly pulled into a firm embrace. A hand was stroking the back of his head and he couldn't help but shut his eyes tightly and lean into the touch even though he knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that it was a bad idea.
Somehow, as tight as his throat felt and as hard as he was pressing his face into the billionaire's shoulder, he manged to speak.
"What are you d—"
"Ssssh."
It was not pity, Loki noticed. Not comfort. It was a simple request.
For a while, neither man spoke. Tony's hand was now still, and Loki's breathing grew steadily calmer as the memories faded, leaving him feeling a strange sense of emptiness and a twinge of discomfort. This was not the first time that the horrors of his past month in captivity had manifested themselves in the form of dreams, but it had been especially vivid. It surely did not feel like a dream; he could still feel hands around his throat.
It was difficult to not let himself be distracted by the warm scent of Tony's cologne, the imagery that it brought with it, and suddenly the night before hit him—had Stark kissed him? Oh god. The idiot mortal had, and Loki hadn't pulled away. And then...had they had gone back to bed together? He couldn't recall much detail. Curse those Midgardian drugs. He had been a fool to take them.
Stark seemed to sense the god's discomfort, releasing his grip carefully and leaning against the headboard, hands behind his head, shattering Loki's panicked thoughts with a few words.
"The nightmares were the hardest part."
Loki held back a bitter laugh. What a ludicrous notion. The billionaire, the playboy, telling him what it was like to have such haunted dreams? But there was such sincerity in his voice that while Loki turned away, he continued to listen.
"Sleep was always a luxury. Closing my eyes for longer than a few seconds was hard enough. Having my head forced into icy water, eyes burning, feeling like my lungs were about toexplode. Only to be given a taste of oxygen and plunged right back in again. I had a hard time taking showers for a while." There was amusement in his voice, now. "Blacked out the first time, actually. 'bout gave Pepper a heart attack, I think."
This was vulnerability that Loki had never imagined possible coming from a man he had only seen act with confidence and wit.
"Of all people, I would not have expected you to relate." He kept his gaze averted, refusing to look in Tony's direction.
"You continue to underestimate me, sweetheart."
Loki tried not to cringe at the pet name. "You give yourself too much credit."
Tony only laughed.
It was amusing, really, knowing exactly where to let his tongue wander on sensitive flesh, precisely how hard to tug on that short, brown hair to cause Tony to moan expletives into his ear, and yet, at the same time, he knew next to nothing about "Iron Man" beyond the arrogant public persona.
Loki had to admit, he was terribly curious as to what was underneath.
He turned slightly, emerald eyes searching Stark's face for any sign of deceit, but finding only understanding. Perhaps it was the wrong move to continue to make such an effort to keep himself and his past a secret from this man. For some reason—likely insanity—he wanted to let his guard down, if only just to calm his mind.
"I have endured much harsher pain than this, Stark. Why these dreams continue to plague me I do not know. It is almost as though some of that darkness that enveloped their prison has followed me here, latching onto my heart, causing me to feel it always. I felt the same as I did when I was in that wretched cell...like any strength or willpower I had remaining was being weakened."
"Alien magic?"
"It is possible. The Chitauri are not a race to be taken lightly...not that you seem to think so, of course."
Now, there was something resembling lightheartedness to Loki's words.
"Hey, I took them plenty seriously. Almost got myself killed."
Tony was silent for a moment before sitting up. "Speaking of which, how are the injuries? I have more bandages and shit in the workshop if you need 'em."
"Surprisingly, the treatment you provided was quite helpful. I heal at an accelerated rate already, so things are much more...bearable than they were yesterday." Loki decided not to comment on the fact that his magic was not returning nearly as quickly. He had used up more energy than he thought he would when he transported himself here, but he knew it was a necessary evil.
Tony stood up, walking towards the door. "Well, if you want breakfast, I'd recommend joining me in the kitchen. It'll be a bit, though...there's pancakes and coffee all over the floor, now. Jarvis?"
"Already being taken care of, sir."
Loki briefly considered yelling after him that he was not interested in his so-called breakfast, if only to show that he could, that he still had some amount of control over this maddening situation, but the smells coming from the kitchen were causing a pang in his stomach that he could not ignore. He hadn't eaten a proper meal in over a month, though it felt like years.
"I hope these 'pancakes and coffee' are worth the effort of moving."
"Oh, you'll love 'em," Tony called. "I promise!"
Loki could only roll his eyes.
Pepper Potts hated being late.
It was Monday afternoon. There had been an investors meeting that morning at Stark Tower, and of course Tony cancelled on her at the last minute. She really should have expected it, and honestly, it didn't make much of a difference whether she saw it coming or not.
When Tony wasn't there, things always ended up taking twice as long as they should have. It meant having to explain everything on her own, things that Tony understood so much better than she did; he could have the board happy and ready to leave in the time that it took her to simply fabricate an excuse for his absence. At least she was convincing.
She tried not to let it get to her; she was used to this. This was her job. This was what she was paid so well to do.
It may have come off as more than mild annoyance as her shoulder clipped strangers on the sidewalk, pace almost at a run. It was 11:39. That left her twenty minutes to pick up the coffee order, stop by the bakery, get back to the car, grab Tony's dry cleaning—well, maybe she'd skip that one today just to spite him—and have everything ready to go in the conference room for yet another meeting that Tony was bound to miss.
Pepper was so deep in thought that afternoon that she completely failed to notice the shadowy figure that had been following behind her for the last three blocks. She barely registered the way her senses were starting to dull, her focus slowly slipping—blamed it on the caffeine withdrawal—and then she was at her car, and it was too late.
A man was standing in front of the door, masked face and disproportionate hands, and she suddenly felt weak, opening her mouth to cry out for help, but her voice wasn't working—why wasn't it working? She felt herself falling towards the pavement, unable to do anything but submit as her vision swirled away into blackness.
"Stark, there is no way that this amount of...what did you call it, syrup? This has to be too much."
Tony was lazily pouring maple syrup on his own stack of pancakes, watching with amusement as the raven-haired god seated across from him poked at his food suspiciously.
"Look, trust me. This is how it's done in America."
Loki scoffed, setting his fork down in favor of a small spoon that he was now using to stir sugar into his coffee.
"I do not doubt it. It seems everything here is done to excess. Even the consumption of alcohol."
"Especially alcohol."
"Of course."
"Look, I'll show you—," he paused to stuff a rather large bite into his mouth, sticky syrup dripping onto the table. "Drishus."
"Disgusting is more like it."
"What, do you want me to feed you?"
That earned him a glare. "I will end you."
Tony couldn't help himself. This was too much fun. He used the side of his fork to scoop up another bite, smaller this time, and held it in front of Loki's mouth. "Open up, buttercup."
For a moment Loki's eyes filled with rage and Tony honestly expected him to pull out a knife and keep good on his threat, but then the rage was replaced with something far deadlier—something familiar.
The god leaned forward, wrapping his lips around the fork, tongue slowly catching the extra syrup in a motion that was completely unnecessary, and oh god, now he was looking up through that curtain of black hair...clearly that bastard knew exactly what he was doing when he finally slid his mouth off of the utensil, smirking and licking his lips.
Tony's mouth was hanging open, fork still extended despite nothing being on it. Loki was now leaning back in his chair, still smirking.
"You asked for it, Stark."
"I—well—thats..."
"These pancakes are surprisingly good, considering they were prepared by you."
Tony couldn't decide if he wanted to throw his plate at the bastard's smug face or lunge across the table and really show him what the word delicious meant. He instead decided to continue shoving forkfuls of food into his mouth, glaring the entire time. Loki pretended not to notice, silently eating his own pancakes with much more grace.
He was about to recommend that Loki try drinking some of the coffee before it got cold, but he stopped when the god suddenly dropped his fork, looking upset.
"Stark, there is someone at your door."