There is no doubt in Tony's mind what Loki is talking – screaming – about. The only thing he wonders is how come Loki is still apparently unharmed and how did the god find out and why didn't his plan fucking work?
"You – you dare to try to harm your king!" Loki hollers, and Tony wants to take a step back, for whatever good it will do him, but the window is already behind him and he's trapped. The god's unleashed rage is truly a magnificent spectacle to behold, or at least would have been, if Tony hadn't been its target – his eyes are burning with an unholy light, green pieces of ember in that ghostly place face, looking like they're ready to shoot lethal beams of laser any second. Somehow, it's like he's grown a couple of inches despite having been a tall freak already, or maybe Tony never realized just how freaking big the god really is. And to top it all off, that green cape is swirling dramatically – evilly – behind him as if in a perverse mirroring of its owner's mood.
If he hadn't known better, he could have sworn that Loki was indeed the god of thunder and otherwise really shitty weather. It's like the whole room has darkened and the pressure dropped in anticipation of the vicious storm drawing up. If there had been a crackle of lightning just above them, Tony wouldn't have been the least bit surprised.
And if he ever thought the god looked crazy, that was only some mild delusion in comparison to the madness etched into his features as he covers the few remaining steps to Tony and punches him right in the face, the force of the blow felling him as easily as were he a house of cards in a hurricane.
The world spins before the ground comes up to meet him, dark splotches dancing before his eyes. Then the pain explodes along his jaw line, and he inhales sharply, hand instinctually going up to cup his cheek. Loki's never punched him before, despite the god's fondness for face-slapping, but he packs a vicious punch. Whimsically, he wonders if that is going to bruise tomorrow, before realizing that there's probably not even going to be a tomorrow for him.
"You think I wouldn't be able to tell? You, of all people, hold me for dim-witted?" the god yells somewhere above him, far too loud, far too noisy for the nasty pounding in Tony's head.
Then a hand comes down to grab hold of the front of his shirt. He tries to cringe away, but is roughly pulled to his feet, coming far too close to Loki's rage-filled face for comfort.
"You will regret you audacity, Stark," the god hisses, mouth curled and teeth sharp. "And you will find out first-hand what happens to those who commit treason against the throne."
He tries to dodge the fist that comes flying at him again, but it is of course useless. The world explodes into a fireball of pain and hurt as hard knuckles make contact with his face, and he groans, surprised that he's still standing before realizing that Loki's other hand is still holding him upright.
As if hearing his thoughts, Loki brusquely discards of him with a flick of his arm, throwing Tony across the floor like a rag-doll. His arm and shoulder are the first parts of him to make contact with the relentless ground, new flashes of pain shooting up to mix with the old ones. He tries to scuttle away, drag himself over the marble tiles as the hulking god approaches him, but he's still dazed and not quite sure which direction is which. He only manages a disgraceful squirming before Loki's foot steps down harshly on his hand, grinding down.
He screams, tugging desperately but uselessly at his arm. The foot relents, but there is no time for him to feel any relief before it makes renewed contact, this time with his ribcage, making him gasp for air from the brutal impact.
Instinctively, he curls up, choking and whimpering in pain, hoping that nothing is broken. And fuck, he's going to die, Loki is going to kill him, and isn't it strange how he only minutes ago had been musing over how he had absolutely nothing left to live for and now he realizes that maybe he doesn't quite want to stop living anyway.
But it's all over now, he knows, and he can't even bring himself to feel all that sad about it, because he did his best, he did what he could, and that's really that. Death by evil demi-god.
He closes his eyes, trying to think of Pepper. She won't even know what happened to him, won't hear of his death, and that just seems so terribly unfair that she won't even know.
There's another kick, and another one again. He curls tighter into himself, trying to protect his face and his midsection, despite the uselessness of it all. Then, the onslaught suddenly stops, as Tony is still gasping for breath, and he is once more dragged to his feet, unable to support himself, but the ruthless hands are holding him firmly in place, stopping him from collapsing into an undignified, boneless heap on the floor.
"Well, then," Loki says, voice dark and low, ostensibly calmer, now, but sharp danger still lurking beneath the silk-thin surface, ready to slice through any second. "You are to find out what consequences betrayal will bring."
And Tony wants to say something snarky and witty, he really does, but his tongue won't obey him, and it's not as if his head manages to come up with anything worthwhile to start with. Instead, he merely hisses in pain as Loki half-drags, half-pushes him out of the living room and down the hallway, steps brisk and unencumbered, as if he wasn't dragging a squirming captive along.
The god halts outside the door to one of the extra bedrooms, one that Tony would use to store various odds and ends in, but which has been locked and inaccessible to him since he ended up a prisoner in his own tower. And even if he can't really feel or see or hear it, he has the distinct impression that Loki works his magic somehow, does something, in that frozen instant of concentration that precedes his pushing the handle down. The door that had stubbornly refused to open to Tony easily swings open at Loki's touch, though, and Tony renews his struggles. Whatever awaits behind that door, it's not going to be something good, and frankly, he's terrified.
And Loki shoves – no, throws – him inside, making Tony again fall hard on the ground, and he grimaces as the wind is knocked out of him once more. The room is empty, all the gizmos and spare parts and failed experiments and other junk once occupying it gone. Well, empty except for one thing – a big pole in the middle of the room, something that most definitely didn't use to stand there back when he was still the owner of this place.
He doesn't bother trying to get up as Loki's feet and the hem of his cape come into view. He's hurting too much for that, and he will accomplish nothing but getting himself knocked down again. Whatever Loki is going to do, he just hopes it's going to be quick, even though he very much suspects differently.
And then, there is prickle of warmth enveloping him for the split of a second before retreating, its disappearance leaving him inexplicably cold. And that's when he realizes that he's naked, the fucking god having magicked all his clothes off, every single piece of it.
He shivers, and not from cold. The feeling of being so utterly and terribly exposed is frightening in its stark surrealism.
"Hey, what are you-" he weakly manages, the words like heavy lumps of stone in his mouth, but Loki cuts him off.
"Silence!" The word is sharper than the cut of a knife, and the rest of the question dies on Tony's tongue. He knows he'll find out soon enough, as much as he really doesn't want to.
He's manhandled back onto his feet and pushed face first against the pole. And that's when he notices that there are manacles attached to it, manacles fastened to thick metal chains dangling from the top. He struggles feebly as they're snapped shut around his wrists, closing with a final-sounding click, his arms pulled taut over his head.
With his bruised ribcage, each breath is painful, even more so in this position with arms locked into place above him. Shuddering, he leans his forehead against the cold metal – at least he thinks it's metal – trying to fight down the nausea growing worse by the second. It's disconcerting how he can't even see Loki from his current position, while knowing that the god is hovering somewhere behind him, planning who knows what. He tries to turn his head a little, but his vision is effectively blocked by his own arm, so instead he sinks back into the previous arrangement of leaning his forehead against the pole and simply focuses on breathing.
"Well, then, Stark," Loki drawls into his ear, far too close for comfort. A hand grabs hold of his hair, brusquely tugging his head up and back. The by now familiar smell of Loki and leather is strong and musky, and he has to make an effort not to choke on it.
"You have committed treason and you have plotted to kill your king. Crimes of such gravity are normally punishable by death." A short pause, during which Tony is disturbingly aware of Loki's sharp breaths behind him, whimsically wondering if there's any leeway at all inherent in that 'normally', or if it's just another word for 'always'.
"But since you're a Midgardian, and your kind clearly has not grasped the severity of such crimes yet, I have decided to be lenient and mitigate your sentence," Loki drawls, the fingers in his hair gripping tighter as if they're trying to rip his scalp off. "I'm going to have you flogged, Stark," he half-whispers into Tony's ear. "One hundred lashes. You'll probably survive. And if you do, you will remember the consequences of betrayal for the rest of your life."
And Tony shudders. He can't help it. And he knows that Loki notices it.
Fuck.
The god pulls back a little, his hand leaving Tony's hair. "Now, I will leave you for a while to let you contemplate the gravity of your crimes," he says dispassionately as if he's discussing the weather. "Then I will return to administer your punishment."
And a few seconds later, the door behind him is slammed shut, and Tony is alone with only the sounds of his own laboured breathing and speeding heart filling his ears.
Fuck.
How did everything go to hell so quickly? Mere minutes ago he had been lounging in his living room, certain that the whole arc reactor deal had already been played out. And now…
Loki will be back to rip him to shreds. He swallows, the pain racing through his body impossible to ignore – the sharp throbbing from his bruised ribs (are they cracked?) the relentless pounding in his face and skull, the aches in his shoulders from his arms being pulled so taut, the burning around his wrists from the tight and chafing shackles, and the stabbing fear in his chest, which is in some ways the worst part.
Fuck.
And as he's standing there, naked, bound and helpless, held up by nothing but the chains encircling his wrists, everything just seems to dissolve into one big mess of hopelessness, fear and pain. It's like the last thin thread holding him together finally snaps, and he does something he hasn't done since before the first Chitauri descended from that space-hole.
Without a single thing left to him, now, he bows his head and cries, hot, burning tears flowing down his cheeks and slowly dripping onto the floor.
Poor Tony.
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