Vindicant

   

 

   Even with Stark’s upgrades to his security, it wasn’t too awfully hard for Clint to hack into the database and change a few key lines of code. No one would notice that a few cameras on Loki’s detention level were looping the same footage or that the audio recorders were no longer functioning. He’d even managed to block JARVIS from tattling on him, although that took a little longer. He wasn’t a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent for his looks; an assassin who couldn’t get to his target when he needed to wasn’t a very good assassin.



    His target this time, however, was already wrapped in a nice little package and sitting in his lonely room, almost as if he’d been put out especially for him. The chains were a novel idea, and from what Thor had told them earlier, they would suppress the trickster’s powers until he could be properly contained back in Asgard. All Clint needed to hear was that Loki’s tricks were - for the time being, at least - tucked safely up his sleeves.



    Seeing the demigod slouching against the wall with shoulders slumped and head hanging should have made him feel vindicated. They’d won, the enemy was beaten, the world was safe once more.



    Well, that was fine and good for everyone else. For Clint, it would take more than a pummeling from the Hulk and a few chains to put everything square between them.



    Loki glanced up at the sound of the door unlatching and narrowed his eyes at his visitor. Barton, of course. The Hawk, whose wings he’d thought clipped. He was still dressed in his uniform, with the hallmarks of battle still smeared across his face and arms. His cuts still bled and sweat still beaded his brow, and that stare - the gaze of a sniper with his target in his sight - was still in his eyes. Behind his muzzle, Loki’s jaw clenched.



    The door closed behind Barton with a sound like a cell door slamming shut. Loki shifted to sit up straighter, determined not to let his enemy see him weakened. He did his best to glare as he approached, but it had little effect when it caused the split over his brow to reopen and send a trickle of blood into his eye. Barton smirked at the sight. He wasn’t fooled for a moment; he saw everything, from the defeat and apprehension in his eyes, to the pain and exhaustion that wracked his body.



    “You probably think I came here to gloat,” Barton said, still staring with those fixed eyes at the blood slowly running into Loki’s eye, causing it to sting. “You’d kinda be right. Not gonna lie, I’m glad to see you in here. The bruises add a nice touch.”



    Stepping forward, he took a tight hold of Loki’s hair and pulled his head back, forcing him to look up at him. Those sniper’s eyes glared into his own from a mere few inches away, and for the first time, Loki truly realized what a dangerous enemy Clint Barton could be. This man, who he had thought of as a pawn in his scheme at best and an entertaining plaything at worst, loathed him with every breath in his body. Free of the Tesseract’s influence, there was no buffer between him and his Hawk’s rage.



    “I like this better,” he growled, twisting the chains binding his magic and forcing his hands together. With a harsh tug to his hair, Barton had Loki on his feet and slammed against the wall before he knew he was even moving. The wind left him in a grunt, muffled behind the metal gagging him. His bound hands were forced into stillness between them with Barton’s white-knuckled grip.



    The sudden, unexpected pain of the impact left him blinking dazedly into steel-blue eyes. Eyes he’d never seen behind the veil of the Tesseract.



    “This seems familiar, doesn’t it? Sir?” The venom in Barton’s voice was matched by the lethal glare in his eyes and the fierce grip in his hair.



    It hadn’t occurred to Loki that Barton would ever recover from his thrall, much less remember anything from that time. He was beginning to think he might end up regretting that oversight very soon.



    Clint was surprised at the cold, blinding rage he was feeling. He’d been a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent long enough to know he couldn’t fly off the handle as much as he had in the past; losing his temper had been the one thing he couldn’t afford. All his hard-won control over his own emotions was beginning to crumble the longer he was in Loki’s presence. In only a matter of days, he’d been tossed around inside his own mind like a ragdoll, and when he’d finally come back to himself, it was to this... mess.



    A mess Loki had caused.



    A mess that Clint couldn’t hope to clean up on his own.



    Seeing Loki battered, bruised and bound was not going to be enough. Clint had to show him the monster he’d made when he’d so carelessly taken him apart. It would be a mere slap on the wrist compared to what he really deserved, but Clint was going to make sure it was a very hard slap.



    The entire time he’d been hacking into Stark’s security, the walk down here, up until that very moment, Clint had been debating with himself about what he was going to do to Loki in retribution. Nothing he could think of was nearly enough to satisfy his sense of vindication; nothing except this. It wasn’t about sex, not really, although that was part of it. His nerves were ragged and frayed, adrenaline still pumping steadily through his veins; he would be lying if he said having his tormentor pinned to a wall and absolutely powerless to do anything to stop him didn’t have him straining in his pants.



    No, this was about showing fang and taking the throat between his teeth. Everything that had come before was going to be wiped out after this; Thor could take his precious little brother home and they could have a happily ever after for all he cared.



    But first, there was this.



    “You know why I’m here, so I’m not going to bore us both with small talk,” Clint said in Loki’s ear. He could feel the demigod shiver, whether from the words or the deeper meaning behind them, he couldn’t tell, and frankly, he didn’t care. “You’re not getting out of this without me getting my pound of flesh. You owe me... Sir. And I’m not one to let my debts build up.”



    With a sweep of his leg, he took Loki’s feet out from under him until the only thing keeping him upright was Barton’s grip on his hair. Clint yanked his arms over his head and released his grip on his hair. In the same movement, he reached back to pull an arrow from his quiver. With a precision Loki never would have credited a mortal, Barton stabbed the arrow through the links of his chains and into the wall. With no leverage to move, the arrow was an effective anchor holding his arms above him. Not that he didn’t try to get free; he wasn’t particularly fond of the predatory look Barton was giving him.



    Loki’s face was now level with his crotch, but Clint knew better than that; even if the god wasn’t muzzled, he’d never trust putting anything in his mouth he didn’t want bitten off. No, he could get what he needed from Loki without that.



    The glare he was getting from below would have been amusing had Clint not still been feeling his rage boiling over. Obviously, Loki still didn’t understand that he was beaten and that Clint was now in control.



    A black-booted foot kicked the trickster’s legs apart and stepped between them. He crouched down until they were eye-to-eye. Barton reached up to Loki’s face and, less than gently, wiped the blood from his brow that was still slowly trickling down into his eye. He studied the red smear for a moment, then wiped it on the lapel of Loki’s coat.



    “So, you bleed just like the rest of us,” Clint mused aloud.



    Behind his gag, Loki growled something that might have been words, and those words might have argued against him being anything like the weak and puny mortals of this realm, but it mattered little.



    That same hand reached down to the armor covering his chest, sliding along the breastplate to the catches hidden behind his coat. Clint knew well how to remove the armor; he’d been made to do it before. Unconsciously, his teeth began to grind against each other at the sound of the clasps coming undone. The breastplate fell away until nothing but soft cloth covered Loki’s chest. It might have been his imagination, but Clint thought he could hear Loki’s breathing speed up as he was disrobed.



    Clint didn’t want this to be a slow, involved tryst. It was intended to be a quick in-and-out - literally - but he found himself lingering a little too long. Loki’s eerie stillness wasn’t helping. His eyes had never left him as his hands worked the clothes from him, leaving him with his shirt open and pants undone. His chest heaved for breath, which was definitely labored now. He was matching him glare-for-glare, and that called up that spark of rage that had slowly been banking itself.



    With a snarl, Barton sat up and unlatched the harness holding his quiver to the back of his vest. It fell away and landed behind him with a carelessness he would never have shown otherwise. He came down on his knees between Loki’s spread thighs and pulled his archery glove off with his teeth as his other hand undid the latches on his own vest. The zipper came down with a sharp tug and he shrugged the heavy armor off, leaving his torso bare, scars and bruises on proud display.



    Loki’s eyes raked over his captor almost appreciatively, as if he wasn’t bound and gagged and at his mercy. When he felt hands grasp his hips and pull him forward, he almost bucked forward of his own accord before he remembered what was happening and tried to squirm away. Clint gripped him harder and leaned down to growl into his ear.



    “You’re not getting out of this, so stop squirming.” A sharp bite to the shell of his ear had Loki gasping behind his muzzle. “If you’re good, I might even let you enjoy it.”



    Loki twisted his head around to glare into his eyes, but Clint was beyond intimidation now. This little show of defiance had sparked his rage even higher until his head was pounding with it, his hands shaking with it.



    And behind the rage, something else; he actually wanted the damn deceitful bastard underneath him. Someone like Loki - proud, defiant, superior in every way - spread out beneath him, at his mercy... The ultimate adrenaline rush.



    He didn’t think he’d ever undone his pants faster in his life. He sprung free of the constricting material with a groan, and he couldn’t help a smug smirk at the widening of Loki’s eyes at the sight.



    “Don’t look at it like that, Princess. You’ll hurt my feelings,” Clint growled, twisting his fist once more into Loki’s hair, forcing him to look up. His other hand reached between Loki’s legs, palming his cock through the leather of his pants. Caught between the sudden pleasure of being touched and the indignant rage at being called a princess, Loki wasn’t sure whether to moan or spout muffled insults.



    Clint was surprised to find Loki was actually growing hard from his touch. Maybe the bastard had a masochistic streak. Either way, it suited Clint’s purpose as he yanked the leather down the trickster’s thighs. There was another half-hearted attempt at squirming away, cut short with a harsh squeeze of Clint’s hand around his cock. The hips stilled, warning duly noted, and Clint shuffled into position. Loki’s cock was released so his hips could be raised up off the floor and slid into Clint’s lap, until his shoulders were barely touching the wall. All of his weight hung from his wrists, leaving him feeling even more helpless and vulnerable than before.



    It finally hit him then; there was no getting away from this. He was bound, both physically and magically, he couldn’t speak or even move to cover himself from the eyes that saw everything.



    This resignation seemed to lift a heavy weight from his shoulders. As Clint began to prepare him, he could feel the fight slowly beginning to ebb from him like the last trickles of sand in an hourglass.



    The feeling of fingers inside him was as sudden and jarring as a blow to the head. His first instinct was to curse and buck away from the sting, but instead, he tried to welcome it. Without any prompting from Clint or even his own conscious mind, Loki spread his legs wider and tried to relax into the feeling of being stretched.



    Clint didn’t trust this sudden compliance for a second. His grip tightened and he shook Loki slightly by the hair.



    “The fuck are you doing?” he hissed. When Loki tried to break the intense stare and drop his eyes, Clint twisted his fingers deeper and yanked his head back to look at him. “What the fuck are you doing?” There was a desperate edge to his voice that hadn’t been there before.



    Instead of answering - despite the fact he couldn’t have answered even if he’d wanted to - Loki pushed his hips down onto the fingers invading him, ignoring the pain in favor of seeing the dumbfounded look on Barton’s face.



    The sniper’s gaze was flickering into one of confusion now, as he tried to understand Loki’s sudden desire to be violated. Was it a trick? What did he hope to gain from this? If he wanted Clint to stop because of some fucked-up form of reverse psychology, it wasn’t going to work.



    When he didn’t move for a few moments, Loki pushed against him again, causing Clint’s fingers to brush up against something inside him that caused his hips to tremble. A quick, sharp moan floated out from behind his muzzle, which seemed to snap Barton out of whatever contemplative trance he’d fallen into.



    Everything was backwards, now, Clint thought. Loki wasn’t supposed to want this.



    But he’d be lying if he said it didn’t make him feel like less of a monster.



    The show Loki was putting on was beginning to be too much for Clint to handle. He was practically fucking himself on his fingers, and every time he touched that spot inside him, his whole body would shudder and clench. Loki was definitely hard now, and Clint was so hard he could feel his cock throbbing against his belly, giving an impatient twitch now and then.



    He pulled his fingers free with an impatient growl, tried to ignore Loki’s grunt of discomfort, and lined up with his opening. He paused there for a few beats, their gazes locked, before he pushed home in one thrust.



    Loki’s scream was muffled but still loud enough in the otherwise silent room. His fingers twined into his chains and he clenched his jaw around the bit between his teeth as the burn of the stretch seared through his nerves. Barton’s grip on his hips would probably leave bruises, but there were so many covering him by now that Loki really couldn’t care.



    Through the pain and crippling pleasure, their eyes stayed locked.



    Barton wasn’t gentle; he began thrusting almost immediately, allowing no time for Loki to adjust or even brace against the next movement. His breath - when he could manage it - came in sharp gasps laced with pain. Then Barton changed the angle of his next thrust and he nearly screamed again, this time from the intense, blinding pleasure of having his prostate nailed dead on.



    With his pants pulled down only enough to expose him, Loki couldn’t spread his legs any farther, so he did the only other thing he could think of; he wrapped his legs around Barton’s waist and pulled him even harder into his body.



    The abrupt and unexpected movement caused Clint to lose his balance and fall forward into Loki, slamming him against the wall. His cock drove even deeper into the other man, and now that Loki had the wall at his back again, he used it as leverage to thrust up against Clint. They both moaned before they could think to stop, which seemed to be the catalyst for them to both stop holding back.



    Clint slammed into Loki, fucking all of his rage and bitterness out into the writhing, trembling body beneath him.



    “Hate you,” he gasped, glaring deep into Loki’s eyes. “Hate you, you fucking bastard.”



    Though he couldn’t answer in words, Clint could read his eyes just as easily: I know.



    After that, there were no more words spoken. There was only wild, animalistic rutting of one body into another. The entire time, their eyes stayed fixed on one another, neither one daring to look away, to back down, or allow the other to look away first.



    At some point, he wasn’t sure when, Clint took hold of Loki’s hardness and began stroking him along with his thrusts. He wasn’t gentle with this either, but Loki didn’t seem to mind the harsh fisting of his cock. A muffled curse behind his gag was all the protest he got.



    The end was drawing in on them both before long. Clint couldn’t keep up the punishing pace for much longer before he finally let go, and Loki wasn’t far behind him, if the flush covering his chest and what could be seen of his face was any clue.



    Clint leaned in close, until their faces were almost touching. He could smell the sweat and blood on Loki’s skin, and the alien metal of his gag as he looked as deeply into Loki’s eyes as he’d ever looked at anyone.



    “When this is over,” he growled, so low it barely registered as words in Loki’s ear, “after I’ve come inside you and you’re lying here on the floor, after you’re truly beaten... We’re done. You’ll be nothing to me, Loki. I won’t hate you. I won’t love you. You’ll be nothing more than someone that happened to me.”



    The brutal pace of his thrusts sped up even more. He could feel Loki tightening around him; he was close. Good, because so was Clint, and he didn’t feel like holding back for Loki’s sake. With a few more strokes, Loki was spilling out between his fingers, his entire body shuddering with the intensity of his climax.



    That was it, he couldn’t hold back any more. With one last punishing thrust, Clint finally let go. It was the hardest he could ever remember coming, with the sight of his most hated enemy lying spread over his lap with come splattered across his stomach.



    And still, their eyes never left the other’s.









    After Clint had gotten dressed and back to his feet, after retrieving his arrow from the wall and releasing Loki’s chains, he looked down at his work and wondered when that sense of vindication was going to kick in.



   

 

AN: This was written as a prompt from a friend who wanted to see Loki bound and beaten, after the events of The Avengers movie but before his departure to Asgard. It was meant as a simple PWP, but it got away from me. I had to find some way of justifying Clint's extremely out-of-character actions, so it got a bit more angsty than I intended. It was also my first attempt at dub-con/non-con.