She wouldn't shake. Wouldn't give him a God. Damn. Thing.
Darcy had surrendered herself at the foyer of Loki's corporate stronghold with a jutting chin and some pretty serious doubts as to whether or not she was going to be able to keep her breakfast down. Twenty four hours had passed since Loki's ultimatum had been issued.
Her life for Jane's.
There had been a general murmuring of 'We'd never ask you to...', but then she didn't need to be asked. It didn't take a superior intellect to work out that the worth of an intern did not equate that of a genius astrophysicist, especially in such bug-fuck crazy times.
Momentum had carried her to Loki's door, but it would be fear and bondage that kept her there. Like, literal bondage. Turned out that Loki had a kinky streak. Hardly surprising given his thing for leather and power. Still, it was a shock for a girl from some Podunk town where people still suspected that BDSM was a European sports channel.
Loki had met her in person, that had been a surprise. Some part of her had been certain that she hadn't really registered on his radar. Instead, his request had surely just been one more instance in which he'd exerted his will over the few who still stood against him. The Avengers had set themselves up as the last bastion of freedom, but Loki had proven that he could - and would - still reach them.
"You called, I came." Darcy kept her voice flat.
"Yes." He smiled in a way that made her want to tear his face off.
"Is doubtlessly hurtling into my brother's embrace as we speak."
"I don't believe you." But she did.
He didn't smile then, but he did step forward, moving fully into her space. She'd never realised how tall he was, how completely he filled out his ridiculous costume. "You will come to trust me, Darcy Lewis."
She didn't know what to say to that, so she said nothing.
He reached up to tug her knitted cap from her hair, tossed it aside then traced a cool fingertip down the slope of her cheek and over her bottom lip. "You understand what you are to become?"
Darcy shut her eyes tightly. "Yeah. A whor-"
Loki's hand dropped to tighten across her jaw, long fingers biting into the sides of her face to stop her words. "Mine. You will be mine."
He said it with such steadiness, such assurance and conviction, that Darcy found herself searching his face. Somehow she'd just figured that his demands for her would be about sex. No matter how much faith she had in herself, in what she was capable of, she knew that a man like Loki would view her in a limited way. Still, when he looked at her like that...
Darcy sniffed, shuffled out of reach and looked around the foyer. "Soooo how does this... How do we do this?"
"I am prepared to wait for your comfort," Loki clasped his hands behind his back and gave a benevolent smile.
Arrogant fuck. She snorted. "At this point, I figure I'm a forgone conclusion. Put me out of my misery."
No smile for that. "As you like it." He turned to leave, throwing some final directions over his shoulder. "You will be taken to a chamber. I will attend you directly. I expect you to be unclothed, face down. Wet, if you can muster the enthusiasm. Willing, if you value your hide."
The room she ended up in didn't look like a kinky sex dungeon. Instead, the room - presumably a part of the penthouse - was all air and mid-morning light. It smelled of peppermint and eucalypt, was furnished in all beechwood and white. The bedroom was big enough to comfortably fit a large plush white sofa and carved beech four-post king bed. Fluffy white bedding made it all seem so inviting. It didn't seem possible that anything wrong or wicked could happen in a room like that.
Wet and willing? Darcy could feel her top lip curl. She was there, wasn't she? He could damn well take care of the rest. It wasn't like she was a blushing virgin. Wasn't even like she minded, not really. She yanked her knit dress up over her head and tossed in toward the sofa. She'd done worse, had crept barefoot out of dive-y apartments with sticky underwear and some pretty serious self-loathing. But that wasn't really the point, was it? Even if she wanted to see the good in it, to focus on the width of his shoulders, or revel in his presumably godly stamina... Well, that option had been taken from her.
She yanked her tights down her thighs and kicked them away. He'd branded her now and the world knew what she was to him, what he was about to do to her. Something hot shot up her spine and she ignored it. Her bra flew across the room with a little too much force and her underwear followed closely.
At that point in time the bed and the door held equal appeal: all and none.
The bed because... well. If she had to suffer for the cause... it didn't seem like there'd be too much suffering involved.
Darcy's toes dug into the plush white carpet (seriously, white carpet? Clearly Loki didn't do his own housekeeping). The door itself was a tricky proposition. It suggested freedom (assuming she could bust out of the seventy-something storey building unnoticed), but the reality was that few places remained that weren't firmly under the control of Loki's new regime.
And maybe she wanted to stay.
And maybe that was worse than the rest of it combined.
In a small show of defiance Darcy folded her naked self up onto the sofa and cradled an overstuffed cushion to cover all her pertinent bits.
He wanted her naked, wet and face down on the bed? Tough. One out of three was the best he was going to get.
Darcy shuffled on the sofa and pressed her knees together. Two. Two out of three was the best he was going to get. She eyed the bed with a haughty air, then flipped her gaze to the door. So what was the deal? There weren't exactly floggers and gerbils lying around the place. The lack of leather made it all seem rather innocuous. Still, some sixth sense told her Loki wouldn't settle for the simple rote lovemaking of her past. Loki wouldn't be the sort to fuck by numbers and, if nothing else, she had to appreciate the nervous anticipation that plucked at her nipples and set her on a slow and uneasy burn.
An hour later she was still seated naked on the sofa and upgraded the burn to an all-out conflagration. She briefly considered that he was watching, waiting for her to obey his final directives. That thought propelled her to take a quickly shuffled turn around the room, stopping just a few seconds to brace her knee up onto the bed, curse herself and then dart back to the sofa.
If she was his toy, wasn't it his job to come and play?
Darcy sat up, crossing her legs beneath herself and cuddling the cushion to her breasts. She couldn't deny the building ache between her legs, couldn't ignore the heated moisture that gathered and hummed, then alternated between hot and cold with each shift of her spread thighs. Loki was a shit. A confusing, demanding shit who -
"Jesus fuck, do you even use doors?" Darcy's eyes landed on his dark form, not just lingering in shadow, but creating it in the bright airy space. At some stage, she couldn't say when, he had materialised in a corner next to the bed.
An inky eyebrow shot up as he slipped heavy gold vambraces from his wrists, "Do you ever follow directions?"
Darcy snorted, almost managing to hide the hitch in her breath.
"Is the bed unsatisfactory?" He inclined his head toward it as he passed a flat palm down over his chest, the complicated leatherwork parting at some silent command.
Fucking magic. She knew it. He slipped the leather from his shoulders and threw it aside as he toed off his boots.
"And yet you are not on it. As directed."
"Mmm, with powers of deduction like that it's no wonder you took this world in under six months."
He smiled then and it had her jumping to her feet. Jesus, he seemed bigger in just the pants. Broader, harder and altogether meaner.
Her original major had been art history and even she, with her conflicted feelings on the subject matter, had to admit that his body boasted some devastating and classical lines. Plus abs. And guns. He was a walking study in the sublime male form.
"Bed." Something in his jaw twitched. "I won't ask again."
Darcy briefly wondered if it was too late for that whole 'get to know you' stage that he'd offered. The thought must have been telegraphed on her face because he gave a single shake of the head. "The time for reprieve has passed, pet. You will find me a kind master, but not a patient one."
On that rather grim note, Darcy drew in a deep breath and located her (figurative) balls. She dropped her cushion to the side. Never one to be accused of taking the easy way out, Darcy injected a little extra swagger into her walk and moved toward the bed. Easy would have been taking the long way around and perching herself on the opposite side of the bed, easy would have been covering all the parts of her that usually drove her insane because they wobbled a bit too much, were pale, odd or...
No, instead she shifted angle and crossed to side of the bed where Loki stood.
A slow smile spread across his strong features, softening him around the eyes, making him seem less like a god and more like a man. "It's good to be king," he murmured as he eyed the heavy sway of her breasts.
Darcy crowded him, let her nipples brush against his ribs as she stood on tiptoe and whispered, "Well, I didn't vote for you."
There was a Monty Python quote for every eventuality and she'd just proven it.
His hand found her arse with a resounding SMACK! and she barely had time to register the unexpected pain when massive hands dug into her hips, lifting her, turning and depositing her forcefully down onto the bed. Face down. Of course.
"You'll learn, Darcy Lewis. But until then..." His voice trained off ominously and Darcy had scant seconds to turn her head to the side in time to note a delicate gold chain snaking across the bed toward her right wrist, a nervous glance down revealed two more approaching her feet. All four chains found her skin at the same time, gently slipping over delicate toes and ankles, fingers and wrists. The chains were warm, dainty and were it not for the way that they surely and steadily tightened around her skin, pulling her limbs out and apart, she would have liked to think she could easily break them. An experimental tug suggested that her skin would give way long before the chains did.
Darcy planted her face into a plump pillow, groaned and waited.
... and waited.
Her shoulders tensed as she considered what sort of image she presented. Naked and spread out for his use... his pleasure. The chains clinked softly as she tried - and failed - to draw her knees together. She lifted her head and glanced to the side in time to see a flash of pale chest and dark leather as Loki stalked around the bed, viewing her from every angle.
Time passed and she began to squirm, tense and waiting for some touch to her exposed pussy or perhaps another firm strike to her arse... Slow seconds stretched out, then a soft stirring of cold air hit her foot just seconds before a firm exploring hand drifted up into the arch of her foot, over her heel and then to her calf, long cool fingers gripping and shifting in fair simulation of a massage. Her toes curled as the bed dipped and he settled onto his knees between her spread thighs.
Loki continued to let his hands roam up and over her thighs. If he found her too fleshy, pale or wanting in some way... he didn't say. His knees nudged her thighs further apart and the chains tightened in symphony so that her toes pointed to each corner of the bed.
The bed shifted and she felt Loki lean over her to speak directly into her ear. "Do you fear me?"
No. "Should I?"
A finger trailed softly down her spine. "Maybe. Probably. And yet..." He trailed that single finger over the hotly flared inner folds of her pussy, "...you don't. You're already dripping down to my knuckle, pet."
It would have been a choice time to rattle her chains, instead she arched her hips up seeking out his fleeting finger. There was a soft tutting in her ear as he gently tilted her face to the side and traced her lips with his finger, coating them with the sheen of her own arousal. He paused for a moment to admire her, then swooped in to devour her mouth, licking, sucking and biting at her lips as though starved for the taste of her. It wasn't exactly a kiss. Next to what he'd just done a kiss seemed redundant.
He shifted again, moving back down her body, giving her space to clear her head and-
Two long, sure fingers sank roughly into her more-than-ready cunt. The chains jerked as she jumped in shock, they might have bitten into her soft skin but at that moment zero fucks were given. This time it was she who tried to spread her own legs further apart, but she was already approaching her own limits in that regard (gymnast, she was not). Loki slowly worked her with his fingers, alternately dipping deep and withdrawing to spread her arousal and teasingly pet her clit. His spare hand never let up gently massaging her hips and thighs as she began to quake and shift against her bonds.
Cool breath blew against the small of her back, causing her hips to buck in response. Teeth sank into the sweep of her arse and she screamed, not in pain but in... something. A hot stinging not-pain throbbed between his teeth for a handful of seconds before he drew back to lave at the bite. Something hot and liquid dribbled down her hip and she knew he'd drawn blood. He licked and lapped at her skin, chasing the trail of blood until the wound became a dull ache.
The words were spoken so softly against her behind that she doubted that they'd ever been meant for her, still she caught them, greedily trying to decipher anything from the words and actions passing between them.
"Not until this moment have I felt like a king..." His voice was hoarse, broken.
If he noted the shift in her shoulders, he acted quickly. He scissored his fingers within her, twisting and pumping them, then withdrawing just enough to add a third finger. It was the limit of what she could take and she gave a mewling little cry to let him know it.
Loki responded by raining kisses down over the curve of her arse, stopping to whisper the occasional secret against her skin. She caught words like 'precious' and 'prize' and felt as if some ghostly hand had reached into her chest, seized her by the sternum and begun to rattle her to her core. It didn't seem wise to address what was unfurling inside of her, so she simply focused on what was being done to her body.
Long, skillful fingers continued to fuck her with brutal purpose and her hips seemed to be rocking back to meet each thrust. Darcy dropped her face, groaning and hissing into the pillow as he toyed with her, her pussy stuffed full and his tongue slipped down to soothe the heated place where she stretched around his slick fingers.
She should have felt like the worst sort of whore, like a traitor... "I-I can't..."
"You can." A long lick, "You are." A flourish of the tongue. "No fear, no shame in my bed, in my arms, Darcy. I bear the fear and shame for us both. There is no wrong between us."
His thumb came up to gently pet at the tight entrance of her arse. His tongue followed, flicking wickedly and eliciting a shocked clench that echoed around his fingers. "Ah, I'd be the first here? Another time, then. But for now..." His tongue pressed hard against her arse, shifting and gently seeking admittance. The duel penetration was more than Darcy had ever endured before and yet her clit was throbbing for attention, she knew if she could... just.... tilt her hips and graze the swollen bud against anything, maybe the bedding... maybe...
Suddenly Loki was gone, withdrawn from between her thighs and sitting back on his heels.
"Such a greedy little quim, so eager." He traced a finger over her aching cunt, not penetrating, not anywhere near her clit. "Beg your king to fuck you."
Even out of her mind with lust she knew she'd never do that. "Not. My. King." Darcy muttered into the pillow.
The sigh that followed seemed almost relieved, as though she'd answered correctly. Maybe she had, because it gave him and excuse to land a firm smack against her dripping pussy. He paused and ground the palm of his hand against her clit, letting her ride out the unexpected pain until the friction became something else entirely, something good. Just as she felt the first thready promise of her climax, Loki drew away again and began to rain measured, sharp spanks on her behind. The pleasure/pain continued for an age and her skin felt swollen and raw, doubtlessly pink and flushed from his attentions. Each time she gleaned a sort of rhythm and anticipated the next blow, he would short-circuit her brain by sneakily petting her pussy, stroking her thighs or even gently pinching at her clit.
When she finally (finally) felt him stand to shuck his pants she was sobbing and gasping into her pillow with need. She felt the weight of him settle over her and was struck by the power and density of his body. It was easy to forget that he wasn't human, especially when they were caught up in such base games, but the solid heavy thighs settling between her own served to remind her that even if he wasn't - strictly speaking - a god, he was certainly no mere mortal.
She wanted to moan his name, make it a plea, a benediction. But if the Avengers could mount a resistance in the face of such a treacherous foe, then at the very least she could resist him in her own meagre way.
Maybe it was the only way she could resist. The slick, fat head of his cock brushed against the swell of her arse leaving moisture where it touched her, arms corded with lean muscle braced beside her shoulders. Something dangerous rolled down her shoulders and it felt a lot like power, a lot like strength because she had him and he was no less committed to this than she was, no less needy.
"Say my name," she muttered as she felt him pressing between her legs. The demand that he had made throughout numerous victories and stately gatherings suddenly became her only thread of control. A short and joyous laugh tore from his throat and his hand lifted to give a single imperious wave. The chains slipped from her limbs and receded into the bedding, leaving her only with savaged wrists and ankles and a pain she was far too turned on to feel.
Darcy shifted, bringing her knees up and supporting herself on her hands. Her knees remained wide as she pressed her back up against his chest, her body inviting as his hands dropped to tilt her hips up and backward.
"Darcy." He kissed her shoulder. "Sweet Darcy." A kiss on her spine. "Lovely Darcy." A hand reaching up to cup and pluck at her breast. "Wicked Darcy." His nose nudging into her wild hair. "Tight Darcy."
"Your Darcy?" she asked breathlessly.
"Yes," he hissed as he regained his hold on her hips and seated himself deeply.
A scream bounced off the walls of the room, but was quickly replaced with her throaty groans and half-formed encouragements. If she'd thought his fingers had been a challenge, she was quickly forced to reassess as his wickedly curved cock filled her and drove the breath from her lungs. With each thrust he seemed to expand, to demand more from her body, to take more.
Darcy reached behind her head blindly, fingertips glancing across angular cheekbones and sliding up to dig her nails into his scalp as she pulled at his hair in clumsy urging.
He fucked her then, brutally and beautifully. Her breasts bounced as he found his own pleasure in the grip of her cunt. Unfinished, sweet, lover's words tumbled from his lips, nothing but choked noise and terrifying sentiment.
Godly skill and coordination fled as he sought to stroke and pet her, to heighten her own enjoyment. Instead one shaking hand lamely clenched and unclenched at her hip, while the wet fingers of his other hand clumsily strummed and slipped over her clit, missing almost as often as they hit their target. Still, it was enough. Too much. And when Darcy came it was in a wet rush, her fingernails scoring the side of his face as he continued the savage pounding tattoo of retreat and attack between her legs.
"Fu-" she choked as she fell forward to clutch at the pillow, too exhausted to finished the word.
Loki's answering roar barely registered as he stilled within her, his cock pulsing as he poured hot and thick into her. His muscles twitched and jumped as he heaved in air and gave a few final lazy strokes before collapsing half across Darcy's back.
A sort of shock settled over them as they both blinked in the late-morning light. Even with him still half-hard inside of her she felt a peculiar sort of distance settle in. Their breathing returned to normal - his far more quickly than hers - and an age stretched out before she felt him shift and pull out. The disengagement made a gentle noise and Darcy felt a warm trickle between her legs. She wasn't rushed to move or clean herself. Bizarrely, she didn't feel dirty and any movement to remove what remained from their fucking seemed... awful.
Loki sat up in the edge of the bed, cupping himself and blinking down at her as if something was wrong, as if something unexpected had happened. He reached up to touch the deep scores in his cheek and dabbed at the blood he found there.
"Can you heal that?" she asked guiltily as she rubbed her slick thighs together and rolled her spine. He watched, following the bow of her body as if committing to memory every soft slope and swell of her form.
"I've no desire to do so." His spine stiffened as his eyes slipped between her ravaged wrists and ankles. A hand darted out with such speed that Darcy couldn't track it, she only knew that one moment he was sitting stiffly on the edge of the bed, the next he was bringing her wrist to his mouth, gently puffing cool air over her skin as he softly incanted words she couldn't understand. Numbness had barely began to settle in when she yanked her arm back to her side.
"You said there was no wrong between us," she stated.
"Indeed," he stood, limbs quaking with barely contained anger, and turned toward the door. "But it would seem that there is something inherently wrong in me."
When he left, he used the door. It was vaguely comforting to see him do something so mundane in the wake of what they'd done.
She slept into the afternoon and throughout the night. Probably the best sleep that she'd had in weeks. No need to fear the monsters when she was in their bed.
It was clear that Loki, or some faceless minion, had returned to the bedroom. He hadn't chosen to wake her, but evidence of his influence was scattered around the room. A side-table groaned with the components of a continental breakfast, a steaming pitcher of coffee was waiting for her to fall upon it. A selection of chic oversized knits, possibly angora (hard to know when she'd only ever seen Pepper wear it before), were draped over the sofa.
A thick salve had been liberally applied to the marks left on her skin and Darcy could have sworn that they were fading before her eyes.
There was a knock at the door and her shoulders slumped, knocking was awfully formal for a man who had only the day before been pounding her into the bed. The man that slipped into the room was so far removed from the naked, shaken lover who'd fled the day before that he was barely recognisable. He wore his full battle regalia, sans helmet and seemed to be going to some length to put forward a stern and unaffected front.
Too bad his eyes gave him away each time they shifted to her wrists or flared with heat as they drifted to the bed. He blinked, made a fair simulation of a sneer and gestured to the open door. "My aim was to know what my brother would sacrifice for his cause." Darcy winced. "Now we know. Take your leave as you please, Miss Lewis. I will not detain you."
Way to be a dick, Loki.
Darcy gathered a sheet around herself and moved toward the side table, she selected a croissant and bit into it. "And if I choose to stay?" she asked casually around a mouthful of buttery pastry.
The room dropped several degrees. "I am not known for my benevolence. Leave while you can."
Another nibble. "Mmm. But if I stay?"
He blinked at that, as though he hadn't considered that she might choose to stay. "I presume you have delusions of acting as a double agent in my house?"
"Probably." She watched as he edged closer, hesitated, then stepped up to her. He tugged at the sheet as the corner of his mouth kicked up.
"Spies are punished, Miss Lewis."