Warnings this chapter: rape, angst (is there ever not angst?)
A/N: This chapter's a bit shorter than usual, but it felt necessary to confine what happens in it to one chapter. Fairly explicit rape scene here, one of the few in the story.
Hollow Skies - Chapter 4
The house was exactly as Loki remembered it. The smooth furniture he was never allowed to touch, the cool floor, the glass walls and the great black piano. Loki kept his hands curled up protectively to his chest and kept his head low.
Nothing had changed. It was as if all that time, that horrid time in the penetrating black hadn't happened. That he had never been alone - agonizingly alone - for so long, trapped in the eternal night. He wanted to forget it; to work with Stark in his workshop and eat food and drink water. He didn't care about whatever the inventor did to him, he just didn't want to be alone. Never again, no please, never ever again. He could take pain, even constant torture, but not that. How could simple loneliness and darkness eat at him so? The excruciating lack of everything, of anything was unbearable.
No. Anything is better than nothing.
So Loki decided right then, no more escapist thoughts, no more plans against his captor. There was light at the end of this tunnel and he wasn't about to chase it away with foolish fantasies.
Stark led Loki into the expansive kitchen the second day of his liberation from the dark. He taught him how to make something called 'coffee' then instructed Loki to bring him some every morning. The trickster frowned a little, wondering how he was to do that if he was locked in his cell. He didn't ask since the mortal was now showing him various other machines in the kitchen. Something called a 'refrigerator', which Loki noted was quite handy, and other machines including a toaster, a dishwasher, a trash compactor, an espresso maker, and half a dozen other confusing kitchen appliances. He also showed him the stove and the oven, although Loki knew enough about cooking to guess their function.
Does he expect me to cook for him? Loki was suddenly anxious, he didn't know how to cook. Being a prince in Asgard meant that servants always brought him food every meal. As if reading the trickster's mind - or perhaps his expression - Stark also showed Loki how to use the 'internet' to find instructions on how to cook. The 'tablet' was quite interesting, although Loki had little time to fully explore it so he set it delicately back down on the table.
Next, Stark took Loki down to his familiar workshop and the god was quite glad that it also had changed little. The colorful cars still lined the far side, and various pieces of machinery lay strewn across the floor.
"So," Stark said as they worked, "you'll still sleep in your cell, but I'll leave the door open." Loki dared a glance at him then, uncertain how he should react. "But, the second you step out of line, the door goes shut, and no more mister nice guy."
Loki nodded profusely in understanding, shrinking back in his chair. "I-I will cause no trouble," he said while staring at the object in his hands.
Stark tisked, "Don't make me regret letting you out again."
Loki nodded again.
For the rest of the day, Stark informed Loki of all the things he would be expected to do. Cleaning and maintaining the house, ordering food and groceries, and other assorted responsibilities.
He was also expected to perform what the inventor called 'relaxing techniques' for him. Apparently, Stark liked the occasional massage or foot rub - which Loki soon came to despise, not because of the acts themselves, which were made all the worse when the inventor kept complimenting him on his 'long elegant fingers', but because they put Stark in a 'sensual' mood, which was never a good thing for the god.
A few days after being given instructions on how to maintain the house, Stark called Loki into his bedroom, the normally clear glass windows that lined the room now opaque, something that made Loki nervous. He hoped the windows being darkened only meant that the mortal didn't wish to see the night sky... He internally scoffed, what a ridiculous thought.
Stark himself stood quietly by his bed, arms crossed, eyeing the dark-haired god. Loki kept his head down and stood silently by the door, awaiting Stark's instructions.
"Come here," said Stark casually. Loki obeyed, stopping a few steps away from the mortal, eyes fixed on Stark's bare feet. "I said: come here, not stop a few feet away." Loki winced but immediately walked a few steps forward, trying futilely to shrink in on himself, arms crossed protectively over his chest. What's this about? he wondered. "On the bed," came Stark's next order. Loki blinked several times and made his way to the bed, wondering if he should lay face-up or face-down. He opted for the latter since he was certain what the mortal was about to do next, and didn't wish to be flipped over; it saved time, and he didn't wish to linger here any longer than he had to.
He heard the distinctive sound of a zipper and flinched, never able to control that particular reflex. He didn't dare look at Stark, so he stared at the opposite wall with his head turned.
"Up on your knees," said Stark, his voice neither excited nor forceful, just... level, as though he were discussing the weather or some other equally mundane thing.
Loki obeyed, the chain of his leash jingling with the movement; he always hated the vulnerability of this position. If he had any pride or dignity left, he would have also hated it for the inherent humiliation such a position would cause. He hoisted up on his hands as well, not wanting to put his backside up in the air like some animal in heat.
What is this? Loki wondered again. Stark always did what he wanted with him, manhandling him into positions he preferred. He never gave Loki instructions to do it himself.
"Good," said the inventor plainly.
The bed dipped behind Loki and he flinched a little when he felt Stark's arousal touch him. The trickster shivered, waiting for Stark to begin so he would be that much closer to it ending.
The inventor laid a hand lightly on Loki's lower back. "Spread your legs a little more," he said, still in such a casual tone. What? Loki would have grumbled if he were even capable of doing such a thing in Stark's presence. He obeyed, regardless. "And," continued the mortal, "down on your forearms. You'll be there soon enough, anyway." Loki lowered his head for a moment, then did as he was told. Wonderful, he thought. He still ended up in the position he had tried to avoid.
Without warning the inventor shoved into Loki and the trickster couldn't help the squeak that escaped his throat. He grit his teeth as the mortal pushed in deep, and forced himself to not pull away. Breathe, breathe, breathe. He had learned long ago not to hold his breath as it often caused him to pass out - which might have been ideal if it didn't make Stark angry.
Stark didn't pause, immediately pulling out and stabbing back in. Loki made a strangled pained noise and buried his face in the covers. He felt two warm hands on his hips, holding him in place, while the mortal's thrusts became more steady. Warm liquids poured down his legs and he knew he'd be forced to clean up after it was over. He gripped desperately at the sheets near his head, instinctively trying to steady himself and maintain some sort of control, however small and futile.
He heard Stark grunting and breathing hard, and tried his best to keep quiet himself, although he mostly failed, a whimper escaping with almost every harsh thrust.
Suddenly, he heard the mortal's voice, although it was difficult to hear over the disturbing sound of flesh impacting flesh. "Loki..." said Stark between breaths. Loki couldn't conjure words to acknowledge him. "Loki," he said again. He then stopped while fully inside the trickster, holding the shaking hips. Loki felt Stark lean closer to him, over him, breaths ragged. "Who...who do you belong to?"
Loki's heart was beating harshly in his chest, but he gathered himself and answered shakily, "You."
"Oh?" said Stark, breaths tickling Loki's back. "Who do you belong to?"
The god answered again. "To you... I-I belong to you." Loki whimpered when Stark unexpectedly pulled out a little then shoved back in quickly.
"For how long?"
Loki didn't like these questions, he had no control over his answers, his mouth moved without his permission. He whimpered again and grit his teeth before saying: "Forever."
"Are you mine?" asked Stark, leaning closer.
"Yes," he answered immediately.
"Are you mine?" A single slow thrust.
Loki was crying, his face streaked with tears. "Yes," he breathed out in a pained whisper.
"Are you mine?!" Stark's grip on his hips was bruising.
"Yes!" Loki sobbed into the sheets.
Suddenly Loki's whole body shook with sobs as he wailed into the sheets for the rest of the ordeal. He couldn't feel his body anymore, and he was glad of it. Stark continued and Loki's mind felt as though it was filled with sand - like an hourglass filled to the brim but with nowhere for the sand to go.
He hated saying those words but they slipped out anyway, not even a moment's hesitation. He hated it because it was true. Stark held the god's will as assuredly as he did one of his machines. That's why he cried, why he sobbed until the wetness covered the sheets and he couldn't cry anymore.
He did belong to the mortal now and there was nothing he could do about it.
The rest of the night Loki barely remembered as he blankly cleaned up the bed and stumbled back to his cold cell.
The next day Stark left him alone, although he was still expected to perform his household duties, which the trickster did in a daze. But at the end of the day he snapped back to himself, his instinct for survival suddenly kicking in as he watched the inventor saunter out of his workshop. What had happened was not important. It was no great revelation. Everything that he had said to the mortal Loki already knew.
It didn't matter. There was nothing to be done. Of all the injustices Stark had inflicted on him... No, it didn't matter... It could be worse, he told himself, it could be worse it could be worse.
So he shook himself and continued about his day, ignoring every desolate thought that entered his mind.
A/N: I hope it's clear what's going on in this chapter - what Stark's trying to do; I'm not usually one for arbitrary rape scenes (or torture, etc).