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The Masochism Tango

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The feeling of vulnerability had never been one that Loki savored. But there were times…oh, there were times, on his knees as in defeat (kneel!) and -

You know what you need.

And you know where to find it.

Looking up into flat, implacable eyes, regarding him with something between disdain and hatred, he felt the stirring of that particular savage desire, the craving he hated. Fingers carded into his hair and tugged his head back, baring his throat, and Loki let him do it.

“You look better on your knees,” he purred, voice vicious silk. “You know it’s where you belong. Kneeling before any who would have you. You struggle and writhe and try desperately to prove that you are more, but all of you knows that it is a lie. The base core of you laid bare, all artifice stripped away, and this is what is left. A comfort, isn’t it?”

Loki shuddered, and wasn’t sure himself if it was dread or anticipation. He found a smile, more like a baring of teeth. “And you are so much better. Nothing but words.”

He looked amused. “Words are enough. To cut to the bone, to separate skin from muscle and leave you raw and bleeding. You would rather the knife, would you not? Rather that pain than to look into a mirror of yourself that you cannot bear to see.”

Loki forced out a laugh. “Are you going to lecture me or fuck me? Because I honestly thought…”

He moved like lightning, and Loki saw the backhand coming but let it take him, barely rocking to the side even though it drove his teeth into his cheek, a burst of copper blooming over his tongue. He swallowed, letting the taste roll back, metallic and salty.

“You need me,” he said, hissed, “More than I need you. You positively reek of desperation. Who but me can give you what you want, what you crave?

“You don’t think I could find another who would be willing?”

His hands were back in Loki’s hair, dragging fingernails over his scalp, the anger smoothed off his face again. “I don’t think you want to. I think you know no one will punish you like I do, and that’s what you need, isn’t it, what you burn for.”

“My needing you,” Loki said, tonguing at his cheek. “Does that make you less worthless in your own right?”

“I’m not the one who’s grovelling to lick the floor before the only person strong enough to make him.”

“No,” Loki said, smoothly. “Maybe not. But what are you really proving here, in the end? That you’re better? How much, if you need to do this to-”

His hand shot out, fisted in his hair, dragged his head back to bare his throat until Loki’s neck ached, until he was almost bent backwards, muscles straining. “Silence, whore. Or I will see to it that you hurt.”

Yes, a fraction of Loki’s mind thought frantically. Yes, please, tear me apart, show me no mercy, I want to and hated himself for every half-formed desire. He was suddenly excruciatingly aware of his cock, already half hard within the confines of his clothing. He forced a grin onto his face. “You wouldn’t like this if I made it easy.”

“That’s the only reason you struggle, isn’t it,” he said, and dragged Loki’s head back further until he was struggling to breathe. “Because you know it’s what I want. If I wanted complete submission, that’s what you’d give me, isn’t it? So eager to please.” His hand jerked, and flung Loki back. He caught himself, awkwardly, on his hands, and then he was kneeling between his legs, forcing them apart and pushing him down to the floor. “Down, cur.”

“Oh, are we to speak of breeding,” Loki started to say, and then a hand locked around his throat and he froze. No pressure, not just yet. But it rested there, like a threat.

“Look at me,” he said, and Loki raised his eyes, steeled his gaze to almost mocking placidity. “You’re not even pretending to fight me.”

“Why would I,” Loki murmured, “When you’re giving me just what I want?” He let his thighs fall open further and arched his hips up provacatively. “Why be ashamed of-”

The hand around his throat tightened, clenched, and just for a moment Loki gasped for air, blood rushing to his head and his groin. I can’t breathe, he thought desperately, I can’t, I can’t and god it was-

Then it relaxed again. “Because what you want,” he said, “Is what you are. Is all you ever were. Debased. Debauched. A crawling nothing. Would you deny it?”

Loki panted. He could feel his eyes wide and wanted to say something. The words had deserted him. The heel of his hand pressed into Loki’s throat, not enough to cut off air, not quite. (Give it to me again.)

“You’re pathetic,” he said, and Loki swallowed against the palm of his hand. “Worthless.” Loki’s hips ground involuntarily upward, and he pushed them down again, his thumb pressing into Loki’s throat, running down over his pulse. Loki shuddered. “Look at you. Writhing like a whore for it.” His knees, braced between Loki’s thighs, spread him wider. “Do you want me to fuck you raw, mewling slut? Do you want me to-”

His hand clamped down over Loki’s neck again, and Loki sucked in a reflexive breath that went nowhere, and his eyes widened. Everything sharpened, his senses suddenly exquisitely clear. His body arched upwards, and he could feel the heat of his erection pressed against the inside of his thigh. Every nerve singing. Loki felt his thumb slide down the side of his neck and then he was gulping air again, heart racing. Air rasped on the inside of his throat. He might even bruise.

He wanted to beg. Oh, he wanted to beg. But could not, still, could not quite… Loki found a feral smile, forced the words out.

“You’re going to have to try harder than that.”

Bright eyes above him sharpened, narrowed. “Are you sure it’s wise to tempt me so rashly?”

“Wisdom was never much of a draw for me,” Loki said, with a sharp, razor-fine smile, and caught a flash of anger, like a reward, flashing across his face.

“I could break you open,” he said, fingers pressing with near bruising force at the sides of his neck, and Loki resisted the urge to arch into it, bare his throat and ask silently for that exquisite feeling, that beautiful loss of control. “I could tear you apart and leave you even less than you are now.” His other hand gripped one of Loki’s thighs and squeezed, once. “It wouldn’t take so much.”

“Why not do it, then,” Loki rasped. “Why hold back when I know how you hate me-”

“Hate you? I loathe you. I despise everything you are. And that is why I will never end you. Because it would be too much like mercy. And I have no mercy in me.”

Loki was breathing shallowly. He could feel himself almost painfully hard, aching, yearning to be touched. He pulled back, then, hand slipping from Loki’s neck down to his chest, and drew away. “Strip,” he said, brusquely. “And then get on the bed, hands-and-knees. I don’t want to see your face.”

Loki unfolded from the floor and tilted his head back, summoned a smirk. “Enough games?”

“Oh, no,” he said, and it was like fingers down his spine, “I’ve only just begun.”

He could fight it. Could struggle and protest and make him force him every step of the way. He might even win.

That wasn’t what he wanted, though.

Loki began to delicately peel off his clothes, discarding them a layer at a time. His eyes raked like a touch over his body and he wasn’t sure if the knot in his stomach was one of want or humiliation as his lips quirked at the corners.

“Exquisite,” he murmured. “Beautiful. That’s what your other lovers tell you, and you drink it in all the while knowing it’s a lie. That this body’s a lie. That every inch of skin they touch is a filthy deception meant to hide what you are.”

Loki spread his hands wide. “Do you not like it?”

“Oh, no,” he murmured, and paced forward, hands on Loki’s waist and mouth fixing at his throat, sucking hard. “No,” he murmured on the skin. “Just the opposite. Like this, you taste so sweetly of self-loathing.” His hand wrapped around Loki’s cock curving up toward his stomach and tugged once. “And that’s beautiful.”

Loki shuddered and let his hands fall to his shoulders and clamp down with bruising force. He only laughed and lifted his head. “The bed,” he repeated. “I assure you, darling. I shall only be a moment. Watch and I shall see your skin flayed off of you.”

Loki climbed onto the bed and knelt. He felt conspicuously bare, too aware of his skin, too sensitive, too aware of each brush of air. He reached for his own cock and a hand caught his wrist and squeezed once, hard.

“Did I say you could touch yourself?”

“Did you need to tell me I could?”

The sharp twist of his wrist hurt and Loki hissed in a breath and stiffened. “Do you want to test me,” he hissed. “I can be more inventive than even you desire.”

For a moment Loki quivered between desire and dread. Then he went slack, and the hand on his wrist was loose, both on his shoulders shoving him to hands and knees. “I like it,” he said, “When you pretend you want to fight me. When you pretend to have control and all I have to do is say the word for you to give it away, every fiber of you burning with shame that it’s not power you want most, it’s peace, it’s silence from your own mind – and that’s what I give you, isn’t it, a time when you don’t have to be anything but what you are.” His hands slid up Loki’s back to his hips, tugged them back to grind his cock against Loki’s buttocks. “Worthless.”

Loki wasn’t sure himself if the sound that squeezed from his throat was one of pleasure or protest. Either way, it made him laugh. “Now,” he said. “Don’t you think that’s – ah – presumptuous?”

“Is it?” His hands dug into the flesh of Loki’s hips, leaving deliberate markings, of ownership, of anger. He shuddered.

“If you keep delaying I might begin to think you were incapable,” Loki forced out, and stilled at a familiar cold wetness on his skin.

“We’ll see if you still think me incapable later,” he murmured, and there was something dark and low in his voice that made Loki’s stomach clench. “Or if you…feel otherwise.” The press of his hips eased up, and Loki took a few slow, deep breaths. He tensed at the sudden brush of a hand over his hips.

“Are you going to act the blushing virgin?” His voice asked, mockingly, “You and I both know you’ve done far worse than this,” and then the blunt head of his cock pressing against him. For a moment he thought – and almost pulled away, fear suddenly sour in his mouth, but the first intrusion was only of a single finger and Loki held in his hiss even as his body clenched reflexively.

“Not going to make me bleed?” He murmured. “Not going to – oh,” as that finger crooked inside him, the slight drag of fingernail over sensitive flesh, and Loki’s eyes slammed shut. He bit back a yell.

“Oh,” he said. “I’ll make you bleed. I’ll make you scream and weep and howl.” He worked another finger in alongside the first one, and Loki’s breath caught and dragged over his throat. His hands clenched in the blankets. “My gentleness is not-” His fingers twisted and Loki’s whole body arched – “-kindness.”

The other hand slid up his chest and clasped loosely around his extended throat, almost cradling it. His fingers squeezed just slightly and the sound that Loki made was shameful, wanting.

“What is it about this,” he asked, fingers resting in the comfortable grooves of his throat, over his pulse. “That you need so much? Is it the light taste of death? The loss of control? Or is it just as base as your need to submit, to bow to a mastery greater than your own-”

“Do you never cease talking?” Loki forced out, voice deliberately light. “You’re almost as bad as I-”

The thumb over his pulse pressed in hard and Loki’s voice broke off, fractured. “I could take you now,” he murmured in Loki’s ear. His fingers inside Loki curled and pressed down and Loki’s whole body spasmed, jerked, his eyes slamming closed at the burst of intense, hot pleasure. “Ride you hard and carelessly, take what I need and leave you quivering-”

“Go on then,” Loki hissed. “Take it, if you have the mettle.

“Oh, mettle is the last thing I lack,” he said, and then the fingers were gone and he was breached in one swift, brutal shove.

Loki did not swallow his yell. It felt almost forced out of him, like the cock filling him had left no room for voice, and indeed for a moment his eyes watered and his body clenched, trying to reject the sudden intrusion. He moaned, low and quiet, and sank his teeth into Loki’s shoulder, sweet sharp pain counterpoint to the ache setting his legs to trembling, to the bruising pressure of fingers on his hips. He felt raw, exposed.

He moved again before Loki could relax, the dragging friction as he pulled back almost worse than the initial thrust in and thus better and everything was so exquisitely, sharply clear. He pulled out almost all the way and wrapped a hand around Loki’s softening cock, gave it one long pull. Loki sucked in a breath through his teeth.

“Oh,” he said, and Loki could hear the frown in his voice. “Did you not enjoy that?”

“Yes,” Loki said, and then shuddered as shame followed like a wave. “Don’t think you can- ah!” Another long, hard thrust, hips pressed to Loki’s buttocks, and Loki’s hands clenched in the sheets.

“Is it the pain? Does it make you feel better, getting what you deserve? Because I should tell you, then-” Another thrust, in-out, long and hard and brutally slow. “—this isn’t what you deserve. You deserve so much worse than I could do to you-”

He was getting hard again, not from the stimulation, not from the hand moving almost carelessly on his cock, from the words, from the hot hard knot they created in his belly, from the shame of his pleasure and his submission and-

The next thrust was short, shallow, and left him feeling unfilled. He tried to arch to take more and a hand moved from his hip to his hair, dragged his head back again until his neck screamed. “You’ll get what I give you,” he said, “Nothing more,” and bit Loki’s other shoulder, hard enough to draw blood. Then he released him, shoved him back down to the bed, and resumed his motion. His whole body felt splayed wide open as he thrust shallowly into Loki, deliberate slow drag of friction not enough-

“Please,” Loki said, frantically. He could feel his breath stuttering in his chest even though he was free to breathe. “Give me more.

“Oh, that’s sweet.” His breath was cool on the shell of Loki’s ear as he slowed even further, thrust inward to the hilt and rolled his hips against Loki’s. “The desperation of your voice. The way your body quivers. You need this. Long with every waking moment for someone to hold you down and break you to their will, bend you and mold you to something better than you are.” Hands on his shoulders shoved him down harder, to the floor. “Say it again. Beg.

He could barely breathe. His head was spinning. “Stop,” he said, thoughtlessly, and he fell perfectly still.

“Do you want me to?” A purr, already knowing the answer, and Loki’s hand curled into a fist and slammed into the mattress, and he wanted to struggle, wanted to fight and be better than this-

He wasn’t. Never had been.

“No,” he said, the words grating at his throat, and he laughed, his hips rocking against Loki’s once before he was moving again, thrusts faster, more deliberate.

“What if I were your brother,” he purred in Loki’s ear, and Loki stiffened. “You’d be even quicker to give in, wouldn’t you? That would be a thrill, wouldn’t it? Thor bending you over a table and fucking you like you deserve, holding you down and cock so hot inside you that it almost burns-”

Loki squirmed and heard a small, thin whimper escape his throat. Arousal thudded low in his gut like a hammer and his cock ached, seeming to throb in counterpoint with his heartbeat.

“And do you think,” that voice went on, smooth and even and unchanging even with the rhythmic, snapping thrusts of his hips. “He’d wrap his hands around your throat and squeeze, press the life out of you a little at a time, and you could fight it all you wanted but it wouldn’t matter. As your head started to spin he would let you take a breath. Just one.” His hand clamped on the back of Loki’s neck, hard enough to bruise. “Would you like that, would you die trying to scream as you came?”

“No,” said Loki, but even to him it sounded false, unmeant. He laughed, thrust his hips hard enough against Loki’s to jar him forward and one hand wrapped around the base of Loki’s cock. His whole body went rigid, straining against that fist, yearning for friction, for relief.

“You’d deserve it, wouldn’t you? Deserve that death. It would be perfectly fitting.” The hand around him squeezed once. “Perfectly just.”

Loki’s hands clenched into claws and his whole body bucked forward, and he wasn’t sure himself if the sound he made was one of fury or of need. Behind him, he laughed, bright and sharp like Loki’s own throwing knives.

“And you could claw at his arms but there would be nothing left, just you and him, and the last thing you’d see, the last thing you’d feel would be him coming to watch you die.” The hand gripping him loosened and slid up, pumping his length once. It was enough.

He came hard, with a gasp and a fractured sob in his throat, want and shame and rage all tangled in a knot together, tied up too tightly to ever undo. His stomach was smeared with his own mess and yet he finally felt…empty. At the core of him. Like some burning coal had been temporarily quenched.

(Quiet quiet quiet.)

The hand on the back of his neck loosened, slightly, changed to a caress, the punishing thrusts resuming, each a slam of his hips against Loki’s slack body. His voice was nearly a purr.

“Look at that. Even just the mention of the Mighty Thor is enough to break you. Not that it takes much.” He followed Loki, only a few thrusts later, audible in the exhale on Loki’s neck and the pulse of his hips, last few shallow thrusts.

Loki took a broken breath and clenched his fist, breathed out the words to end the spell. His double dissipated, leaving him cold, aching, and empty, air rasping over his bruised throat. Sprawled exhausted and face down on his defiled bed, eyes stinging with unshed and bitter tears.

There was only one person who could give him what he wanted, and would do so without flinching.

Loki’s best weapons had always been the ones he’d made himself.