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Chapter 19: Waking up

It had only been a word. One syllable. Two letters. And it had changed everything.

Not only had he avoided a humiliation he would never be able to bear, but in his mind, something had begun to function again: it was like his thoughts had been frozen in a limbo made of guilt, self hatred and despair, and his 'no' had broken through his apathy to let him think again.

He still hated himself for his weakness and his stupid arrogance; the children's faces still haunted him with their usual intensity and he knew he deserved only hatred and contempt. But, with his rebellion, he had realized he still cared about himself, his life, his dignity. He wouldn't allow Loki to use him as he pleased, nor would he accept to be wounded so deeply he wouldn't be able to heal. It seemed like somewhere he still had a glimpse of self-respect and now, he was ready to fight to defend it.

It had been a beautiful discovery, which had brought him an unthinkable amount of relief.

For the first time since Schmidt, he felt alive.

He looked at the bedroom he was in like it was the first time he saw it. His shoulders weren't bent anymore and he could breathe without feeling the unbearable pain of the unfairness of his own existence. The torture's signs were slowly disappearing: now, he could stand up and walk and touch his body without hissing from the pain and his movements were a lot smoother than before. After having eaten some nourishing meals, he was beginning to regain weight and he felt overall a little stronger than when Loki had first brought him here.

Even though his mind was still dizzy and confused, too full of emotions to find a balance, he felt the urge to act, to move, to use the muscles that had been still for far too long.

He went to the hallway, looking around with a suspicious gaze, his whole body tense.

The god had disappeared after his amused comment, leaving him surprised and incapable of reacting. He still didn't truly understand Loki's reaction or intentions. And it was even stranger to believe what had happened, because he would have expected everything from Loki – humiliations, torture, a slow and painful death, so spectacular he would never be able to anticipate it – but he never imagined he would be forced on his knees at the god's feet to appease something different from Loki's huge ego.

After all their past fights, he thought there was a sort of mutual respect between them: thanks to Jarvis, he had been able to gift to all other Avengers the DVD special edition of 'God of Chaos vs. Hulk', which had soon become 'God of Chaos vs. floor of Stark Tower', and Tony himself was ready to kill Loki, if he had to, but he would never capture him to give him to the S.H.I.E.L.D.'s branch that wanted to experiment on the god like he were a guinea pig. And Loki had always been a huge pain in the ass for all of them and tried countless times to hurt, maim and kill them; he had fucked with Clint's mind and tried to do the same with Tony's, but he had never attacked them from the shadows, with a surprise attack which would have killed them before they even noticed, nor had he taken hostages.

They were enemies, that was for sure, but Loki was nowhere near Schmidt or scum like him. Tony had always thought there was a sort of honor, in their antagonism – and how many centuries seemed to have passed since that time of heroes and bad guys.

He had taken for granted the fact that there were some boundaries Loki would not ignore, that the god had his own moral code. But he didn't know what the Asgardian ethic was regarding rape.

He grimaced.

If only he had been foresighted enough to ask Thor about the customs of his people, now he wouldn't being freaked out at the thought of Loki's return.

Thor, do your people use slaves? What do you do with prisoners of war? Is it normal for you Asgardians to keep them chained in the bedroom and to use them as a mean of relieving the stress through a quick fuck, or is it a habit that only your psychopathic brother has?

He shook his head to erase the ironic sound of his own voice, but his thoughts kept on replaying what had happened: the god's mocking words, his crazy smile, the hand that was slowly opening his leather pants, Loki's grip on his head, cruel and unmovable, and the way he had tugged at his hair, maybe because of irritation, maybe because of desire, maybe because the god just wanted to hurt him.

Now the fact that Loki had captured him and hadn't killed him assumed a new, darker meaning. The kiss, the lack of torture, even making him sleep chained to floor next to his bed could be clues of the sick interest the god had in his regard.

In another situation, he would take pride of that, realizing that even a god couldn't resist his charms. Knowing that a god desired him, would appease his ego more than the models, the actors and actress, the scientists and the Playmates he had had sex with. But the truth was the sole thought of being raped terrified him and froze him from inside, like an iced shower.

Tony Stark: genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. Now a sexual slave to a psychopathic alien god with huge family issues. But he wasn't a philanthropist anymore – maybe he had never been – with all the blood on his hands. A true genius wouldn't have made that mistake. A billionaire had no merit.

It remained the playboy, who was so famous that his enemy wanted to use him as his personal slut.

Or maybe not. Maybe Loki was just fucking with him, to reveal his weaknesses and to destroy his defenses. Maybe he had only wanted to see what his reaction would be in that situation. And his last comment left him with even more doubts and anguish at the idea of what Loki wanted from him.

He kept walking aimlessly, like he could escape his own thoughts.

Just remembering how he had been on his knees, while the god was opening his pants, made him feel nauseous.

He had already been at the feet of a man, before. Several times, when he wanted something different from the usual pretty model, so he looked for a man instead of a woman. He had enjoyed making several men squirm and beg and moan while he pleasured them with his mouth. And he hadn't loved any of them, he hadn't even really known them, nor did he remember now their faces or their names. But it had always been consensual.

With Loki, the kneeling position had been horrifying.

Sure, he had had a sex dream with the god as the protagonist, but he used to dream about every person who was interesting or good looking enough to catch his eyes. And Loki was both. He had even thought about how it would be to fuck him – because Loki could be everything: bag-full-of-cats-crazy, psychopath, sadist, rapist wannabe, but he surely wasn't ugly or boring. He had thought about having sex with him especially soon after the break up with Pepper, when he had discovered that no other woman was appealing to him and he had spent several weeks bedding only men, so that he wouldn't think about her when he was having sex.

Not that he ever wanted to live this particular fantasy, since, even if Loki didn't kill him – and that was a really big if – Fury would imprison him in some dark cell and throw away the key. But he had already recognized that Loki was kind of hot, behind all his craziness and tons of daddy issues. And maybe his psychopathic side added a forbidden shiver that made the thought of having sex with the god even more exciting.

But even in his fantasies, it had all been consensual.

His thoughts began to suffocate him, so he went to the kitchen, following his urge to move. When he realized where he was, however, it seemed only natural to open the first drawer and to retrieve the same knife he had taken during his first day in the house. This time, he didn't put it back when he closed the drawer.

It wouldn't be of any use against a god, but it was a weapon nonetheless. He wasn't completely helpless anymore.

If Loki returned to abuse him, he would fight him.

He realized it with a warm feeling: even if he didn't deserve protection or salvation, even if he was unworthy of living, there was a part of him that wouldn't accept such humiliation.

He strengthened his grip on the knife, feeling well with his hand on a weapon and feeling even better to touch the testament of his will to rebel.

And for a moment, a fleeting smile curved his lips.