This isn't happening. It's not. It can't be. It's impossible.
His brain seems like it has short-circuited itself, as if Loki's words flipped some switch inside his head that just made everything automatically shut off. Even his body is refusing to move, frozen into place in shock and horror by Loki's request.
He can't be serious. There's no way.
And Tony never saw this coming in a million years. Sure, he had expected all kinds of shit from Loki, but not this. Never this. The possibility hadn't even entered his mind.
And it fails to make any sense. Because – why? Is it Loki's way of humiliating him, to punish him for being a big-mouthed smart-ass? To show who's in charge, and provide a cruel demonstration of the total power the god holds over his mortal prisoner? To put him into his place? To take out the frustration brought by that rebellion on whoever happens to be nearest?
He can't answer any of that, but there's one thing he knows for certain – there's no way he's getting into that bed. Loki will have to fucking kill him first.
Loki's face is flickering in and out of focus, a hazy blur before his eyes, but still Tony doesn't fail to notice how it's slowly darkening in fury at his refusal to comply.
"Didn't you hear me?" the god hisses, anger lacing the words. "I said, take off your clothes and lie down on the bed. Or so help me, you're going to regret disobeying your king."
And Tony bolts. He knows he's not even going to get off this floor, since Jarvis is controlling the elevator, but fuck it. He makes a run for the door anyway, hoping Jarvis isn't going to slam it shut.
The AI doesn't need to. Tony doesn't even make it half-way before there's suddenly an arm around his waist – how the heck did Loki move that quickly? – halting him with a fierce jolt. He struggles, tries to bite, kick, punch, anything, panic roaring like a tornado, sweeping all sense and reason out of his head. There's only one thought left in his mind – he needs to get away, get out of here. Nothing else matters.
His arms are wrenched behind his back and held in a vicious, unyielding grip. The pressure is making his shoulders burn in pain, but he couldn't care less as he continues his futile attempts to fight the god off. He pulls and strains, trying desperately to loosen the grip, but to no avail. Instead, a hand snakes up to grab hold of a fistful of his hair, ruthlessly yanking his head up and back until the top of it is touching Loki's shoulder, the god's mouth millimetres away from his ear, his breath hot on Tony's cheek.
"You will be punished for that, Stark," Loki growls into his ear, the fingers entwined in Tony's hair making another painful yank, pulling him further backwards until he's starting to seriously believe that he's about to be snapped in half.
Punished. As if whatever tortures that the god is going to concoct will be anything compared to what he already has in mind. Like Tony even cares about punishment at this point.
"Let me go!" he shouts, though the words are hard to press out from the strained throat that has been bent into a painful backwards angle. "Don't you fucking dare!"
And Loki actually lets go. Although 'shoves to the floor' is probably a more apt description. Tony stumbles and lands awkwardly, unprepared for the ground coming up to meet him.
He scrambles, trying to get his bearings. Loki is hovering above him like a vengeful angel of death, effectively cornering him and blocking his escape route. He's saying something that sounds like 'do as I ordered, or you're going to sincerely regret it', but Tony barely even registers it. All he knows is that he has to get past that looming figure, one way or the other.
So he lunges, throwing himself at the god, hoping to take him enough by surprise to make him topple over. He's not even thinking, not seeing anything beyond that objective in his panic, failing to even consider the next step. He just needs to get away.
Loki doesn't even budge. It's like hitting a wall of steel.
A second later, Tony is lying flat on his stomach on the floor, effortlessly held down by a fuming god, arms once more wrenched up behind his back, one hand squeezing his neck to the point where he's seeing stars. But it's not enough to stop his struggles. So he bucks and squirms, not caring that he's almost tearing his own arms out of their sockets in the process. There are words – screams – leaving his mouth, though muffled from his face being harshly pressed into the floor.
But it's all to no avail, and eventually, he stills, exhausted, the pounding in his ears slowly subsiding as the horrible reality of his own powerlessness is setting in.
"What is the matter with you?" Loki snarls somewhere above him, his hands not relenting for an instant, even if Tony has stopped struggling.
The god even has the gall to ask. As if it's not blatantly obvious. As if he expects him to simply acquiesce to his sick demands. Maybe he's even conceited enough to believe that Tony should be flattered at receiving such attention from the king himself. If so, the bastard has another thing coming.
"You think I'm just going to lie back and let you fuck me, Loki?" he yells, anger and fear in equal amounts. "Can't the great king find himself someone who's actually willing? And if not, how about buying yourself a hooker if you're that fucking desperate, huh? Why do you have to use me for this shit?"
There is silence following that. For a much longer time then there should reasonably be. He's starting to wonder if Loki is busy planning out the painful things he will be doing to Tony for having the gall to speak to him like that, but to his surprise, there is something else.
Laughter. It's soft at first, so soft that it takes a while for Tony to recognize it as such. The hands holding him in place loosen their grip a little, though still not fully letting go. The laughter keeps rising in volume, until it reaches an almost hysterical crescendo.
"Is that it? You believe I desire to engage in sexual relations with you?" Loki almost howls, twisted mirth having replaced the previous anger. Tony can feel the slight tremors in the body above him, as Loki gives voice to his amusement. It is not a pleasant sound, not one that would invite to joint laughter even under normal circumstances, and it echoes eerily between the walls of the room.
After a while of this, Loki eventually lets go off Tony with a disdainful scoff. "Don't flatter yourself," he sneers. "I harbour no such wishes, I assure you."
Confused, Tony slowly pushes himself up from his prone position, wincing from the stabs of pain shooting up his arms and shoulders as he puts pressure on them. Loki's words are making no sense, and he turns to look at the god in incomprehension.
"What do you mean?" he asks, suspecting a trick from the crazy god, the sudden change of mind perhaps some twisted tactic to lull Tony into a sense of false security.
"I mean what I just said. I have neither the wish nor the intention to engage in anything even remotely sexual with you, Stark." He scowls. "And if I had any such desires for the night, I could do far better than you."
Tony couldn't care less about the unsubtle insult. "Then why the hell did you just tell me to strip and get into your bed?" he half-growls, feeling anger welling up inside of him at the way the god is toying with him. "Is making rape threats some kind of funny joke back where you come from, or what?"
Loki scoffs again. "Either you are a very conceited man, believing everyone would jump on the opportunity to get into bed with you, or you are merely very ignorant. Frankly, I'm not sure which alternative is the most distasteful." The look he gives Tony is one of scorn and disdain, but it seems like there is nothing left of his previous rage other than a lingering note of irritability, now.
Tony clambers to his feet, not wanting to look up to Loki any more than he already has to. He is still a bit unsteady and feels bruised and battered all over. Not nearly as bad as Loki is looking, but far from top shape.
"You know, I don't know what the customs are in Asgard, but here on Earth, when you tell someone to take off their clothes and get into bed, that normally only means one thing," he says, having to make an effort not to punch the guy in the face for the way he's been playing havoc with Tony's emotions and not even seeming to be remorseful in the slightest.
Loki crosses his arms, revealing the tattered underside of his right sleeve. "I see," he says calmly. "So you're both conceited and ignorant, then."
Normally, he would have made some snappy comeback to that, but he has no desire whatsoever trading banter with Loki right now, or even be anywhere near him. He still doesn't trust the god, and he has yet to receive a reasonable explanation. "Then how about you just tell me what it is that you actually want instead of keeping me guessing here, Loki? No, I have no clue what you're going on about, so why don't you quit the charade and give me a proper answer?"
God, he's so tired, and his nerves are nothing but frayed ribbons; his body still taut as a bowstring. And he's never been less up for Loki's mind games than he is right now.
"So despite having designed and built this creation yourself," Loki says, pointing towards Tony's chest, "you do not know its full potential?" His lips twitch in a sneer. "How typical of you mortals, never fully aware of anything you're doing, are you, never seeing further than the most obvious."
"What do you mean?" It's clear that he's missing an important part of the puzzle here, and he's in no mood for guesswork.
Loki takes a step closer, a finger going up to tap at Tony's chest. "What I mean, Stark, is that your arc reactor has powers not unlike those of magic. It can amplify certain… frequencies, if you will. Being in its close proximity means that I will be able to heal my wounds much more quickly without sapping my own magic reserves," he explains, and then makes a derisive face. "And the power emanating from the arc reactor permeates through your entire body as well, meaning that it will also have a similar effect. To put it simply, by being in close proximity to the arc reactor and your body, I will heal considerably faster than I would on my own."
Tony blinks.
Loki cocks his head to the side as he looks down at his nose at Tony. "Yes, it is a rather distasteful arrangement, but I intend to take full advantage of its merits regardless."
"So I'm going to be your quick-fix band-aid, huh?" Tony finally manages after a brief silence, not sure how he's supposed to feel. There is definitely a heady sense of relief inside of him, making him vaguely dizzy, but there is a strong sense of discomfort as well. And he's not sure which part of this arrangement is making him feel worse – engaging in any sort of intimate body contact with a crazy mass murderer, or being forced to actively aid him.
Loki shrugs. "Just another reason why you better be quick about building that new arc reactor, once you get to it. I assure you that I would much rather make use of the reactor on its own than of you." He draws himself up, face turning harder. "Now, I believe I gave you an order that you have yet to follow." He points towards the bed. "Get to it."
Tony meets Loki's gaze with his own, as frosty as he can make it. But he's fully aware that Loki can just as easily knock him unconscious, tie him up and have his touchy-feely way with him regardless, so he might as well make the night as comfortable as he can, despite how the concept of sharing a bed with Loki is making his skin crawl.
And at least, it's nothing worse than that.
Clenching his teeth together, he pulls his shirt over his head, then takes off his shoes and socks, and finally his jeans. He keeps his underwear on, because there's just no fucking way in hell, and then, hesitating only for a few seconds, he crawls into the bed, his neck prickling. He sure hopes that Loki isn't just playing him, making all this elaborate crap up so he can get Tony into bed and fuck him.
To his relief, Loki doesn't tell him to remove his underwear; he doesn't think he could have stomached lying fully naked next to the god.
"That's better," Loki says impassively. "So much easier for both of us when you simply obey, Stark."
He wants to say something scathing in reply, but neither his brain nor his mouth is cooperating, so instead he just gives Loki another dark look and then awkwardly watches as the god undresses, partly by hand, and partly by magic.
There are more wounds beneath the clothing, bruises and swellings and lacerations, each injury making Tony feel a small twinge of satisfaction. It's comforting to know that the god isn't invulnerable, even if the damage on his body hasn't been nearly enough to incapacitate him.
He's grateful that Loki also keeps his underwear on as he lies down on the bed next to Tony, all lean body and long limbs, red blotches and lines marring his pale skin.
"Back towards me," he orders impassively, and Tony complies. He's only glad not to have to face the god at all.
He can hear the soft rustle of sheets as Loki scuffles over; Tony suppresses a shiver of unease, not wanting the god to even put a finger on him. But he has barely finished the thought before an arm reaches out and snakes around his waist and chest, pulling him tight.
To add insult to injury, Loki has to fucking spoon him. And of course, Tony gets to be the little spoon.
Having the god's body pressed up close is nothing short of disturbing, and so is the arm around him, holding him in an iron grip. Loki's chest and stomach are lying flat against the skin of his back, and the god's hand is resting against the arch reactor. Even his legs are pressing into Tony's, forcing them to bend, alien knees pushed into the hollows between his thighs and calves. It's a mockery of an embrace, and no words can truly express how creepy and disturbing it is. Like sharing a bed with Hitler. He's definitely going to have a long and hot shower first thing tomorrow morning to wash off every lingering trace of the god.
He thinks he can feel the shape of Loki's dick against his ass, and as disgusting as that is, at least it's every bit as limp as his own, which is at least in some way reassuring.
Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he digs his face into the pillow, not wanting to feel the faint smell of leather and sweat and body odour emanating from the body behind him. The fact that he will have to lie here all night and inhale it is not appealing in the least. A strand of black hair is tickling his face, and he fidgets, trying to get it out of the way.
"Sleep," Loki orders, the muscles in his arm tensing slightly, "and try not to move around too much."
They don't exchange any further words.
It takes a long time for Tony to fall asleep that night. The position is not comfortable, but he can't move much since even while sleeping, Loki is holding him in a vice-like grip. If he'd worm around a bit, he could probably turn onto his other side, but the idea of facing Loki appeals to him even less, so he remains in the same position until his arm falls asleep, and then, much later, he finally does too.
Please review. :)