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Patience and Respect

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Clint still wasn’t used to waking up in a luxuriantly homey bed instead of a lumpy bedroll with pilled stuffing, nor was he used to waking up without chains on his ankles and a guard standing outside his cage.  As he rolled onto his front, though, warmed by the sunlight streaming in through his window and cradled in the softest blankets he’d ever known, he decided he could certainly get used to it.

Even if it meant waking up next to Loki every morning.

Clint was almost startled when he bumped into his new master, particularly since he was downright cold in comparison to the comfortably toasty bed.  Loki drew breath long and deep as he awoke, stirred by Clint’s movements.  “Hm..?”  He looked over at Clint though sleepy eyes and smiled.  “Good morning, Barton.”

“Good morning.”

Loki stroked Clint’s face with one palm, which he’d learned meant Loki was trying to coax him into looking up for a kiss.  Clint obeyed readily, and wasn’t surprised when Loki captured his lips with his, his mannerisms surprisingly soft and permissive for someone who was, realistically speaking, Earth’s unwavering conqueror.  Clint breathed against Loki, soft and steady, before finally being allowed to pull back for breath.  Loki grinned as Clint regained himself.  “You seem to be adjusting nicely,” he hummed.

Clint smirked at that.  “With respect, sir, it didn’t take much adjusting.  Comfy bed, good food, and you treat me well, considering I’m a slave.”

Loki let out a single snort of laughter.  “You are permitted to share a bed with me - an honor offered to few; even those I have bedded in the past have been expected to leave once I am through with them.  I would think I treat you well for any social class, let alone a slave.”  Granted, Loki kept him there just in case the mood struck him for a bit of fun in the middle of the night - and it certainly had, on more than one occasion - but that didn’t make it any less of a privilege.

Clint tilted his head back and stifled a yawn.  “I don’t know; there’s the whole ‘sex at your beck and call’ thing,” he teased lazily.  “Don’t get me wrong.  It’s better than fighting until I finally collapse, but it does take some getting used to.”

Loki propped himself up on one elbow, a skeptical look on his face.  Clint sensed that he was somewhat irked, if not properly angered, and he immediately began considering how to fix it.  “Oh?  You do not seem to complain when I have you on your belly…or all fours, or against the wall, or any of the other ways I have indulged in my desire for you.”

Clint shifted and looked up at him, gliding a placating hand over Loki’s shoulders.  “It was a joke.”

Loki considered him carefully before relaxing a bit, verdant eyes narrowed with wicked amusement.  “Your almost-buyers were right - you are mouthy.  Perhaps I’ll teach you a lesson one of these days.”  Clint wasn’t sure if it was Stockholm Syndrome or genuine arousal when heat stirred through his groin at that threat.  Loki noticed the way his eyes widened, though, and he wove his fingers into Clint’s hair as he spoke again.  “Oh?  Does this idea excite you, Barton?”

Clint was quiet.

Loki’s eyes sharpened with something more dangerous than amusement, and he tugged abruptly on his hair.  Clint let out a startled noise as Loki said coolly, “I do not like to repeat myself.”

“Yes, sir.  It does,” he said quickly.

Loki’s serene morning-mask was back on in moments.  “How very interesting.”  He rolled to the edge of his bed and sat up, stretching away his early-morning stiff muscles.  “Do not think I will forget that anytime soon, my little hawk.”  Clint made sure Loki couldn’t see it when he rolled his eyes at the nickname.  He didn’t care for it, and had been somewhat irritated when Loki had discovered his old codename, but what was he going to do now?  Argue?

“What am I calling you today, sir?” Clint asked as he scooted towards the edge of the bed.

“Master,” Loki responded without missing a beat.  “I’m starting to think you need to be reminded of your place in this world.”

Clint wrinkled his nose, but nodded.  “Yes, master.”

“Good boy.”  Loki finally stood, a thoughtful hum running from him.  “Fetch me my coat.  I expect it’s going to be a busy day today, and I shall need to look my best.”



Loki was right about one thing - it was a busy day.  Loki was in charge of the entire planet, after all; there were a lot of little things to deal with.  And big things; plenty of big things.  Attending him constantly, making sure he ate, and stopping him from killing the people who so much as looked at him oddly was no small task.  By the time Clint stumbled into the bedroom he and Loki shared, he was more or less expecting to fall asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.

What he wasn’t expecting was for Loki to be standing naked at the side of the bed with a set of thick leather cuffs in his hand.

“…where did you even get those?” Clint asked.

If he’d been expecting a straight answer, he found himself disappointed.  “You mortals think you are the inventors of creativity in the bedroom,” Loki scoffed.  “I have had these since well before you existed, Barton.”

“All I heard there was ‘creepy age gap’,” Clint deadpanned.  He yelped when Loki responded to his snark by dragging him over instead of waiting, throwing him onto the soft expanse of his bed and looking down at him with a decidedly predatory shine in his eyes.  “Sorry.”

“As well as you should be, though you’re a bit late for a verbal apology.”  Loki nudged one of Clint’s elbows impatiently.  “Arms up.  I told you this morning I would punish you, and I now have the time to do so.”  Clint swallowed hard, but obeyed.  He found himself considerably less sleepy when Loki eased the leather gently over his wrists, drawing it tight and testing its hold before slapping a hand gently over one side of Clint’s face and rubbing his cheek.  “Oh, but you do look good like that.”

Clint had forced himself to adjust to being restrained when he was first enslaved, and he’d quickly taken to not having constant chains on his body.  Finding himself bound again was somewhat unnerving…and yet, with Loki trailing slow fingers down his body and toying provokingly at the zipper of his pants, strangely welcome.  “Am I still calling you master?” he asked.

“Yes.”  Loki ran a gentle touch through his hair, as if rewarding him for asking.

“Anything else I should - “

“Barton?  Shut up.”

Clint closed his mouth obediently, and was rewarded with another gentle stroke.

Loki grinned and worked his hands back down, drawing Clint’s pants open slowly, sliding them down with agonizing deliberateness.  Clint squirmed, trying to get him to move faster, and Loki paused in his motions and sent an icy look until Clint calmed back down.  “You need to learn respect and patience,” Loki hummed, finally removing the article in its entirety and admiring the way Clint looked - sprawled, arms raised, shirt pooled up around his pectorals and pale thighs flexed with anticipation.  “Is that clear?”

Clint nodded.  “Yes, master.”

“Good boy.”

Clint made a soft, needy noise when Loki ran a palm over the fabric at his groin.  He went to cant into the touch, but stopped himself, wary of Loki pulling his hand back.  Loki seemed to sense his restraint, because he grinned and pressed just a bit harder, sliding the tips of his fingers into the gap in the material of his boxers.  Clint closed his eyes, parting his lips and doing his best to look enticing…because if he couldn’t react, he could damn well try to get Loki to work faster.  He should have known it wouldn’t work.  Clint felt the tiniest brush of fingers against his shaft, then Loki removed his hand entirely.  “I am not so easily distracted from my work, little hawk.”

“It was worth a try,” he muttered, only to yelp when Loki offered his inner thigh a stinging slap.  “What the hell!” He gave a second shout when Loki hit him again, on the other thigh.  Clint snapped his mouth shut, a low whine escaping from the back of his throat, and Loki watched him for a moment before grinning.

“There we are - I knew you’d catch on.  You’re ever so clever.”  Loki stroked both hands up Clint’s thighs, dipping beneath the fabric again…this time, though, Loki smoothed cool fingers over the cleft of Clint’s bottom with one hand, while the other held steady at the join of his leg.  Clint groaned softly, holding still with no lack of effort, panting and tensing as Loki teased him without ever pushing in.  After what seemed like forever, but couldn’t have been more than five minutes, Loki leaned over to the bedside table and slid the drawer open, fingers wiggling in thought as he looked for the oil they used.  At least, Clint was hoping he was looking for oil.  Lube would have been better, but Clint still hadn’t convinced the stubborn bastard to switch.

Clint’s silence was rewarded when he heard the familiar sound of the vial being opened, felt Loki tug off the last of his clothing, and felt a cool, thick drizzle against his skin.  He whined and tilted his hips up, encouraging the stream down between his cheeks - which, apparently, Loki was allowing.  Clint moaned when Loki’s hand returned, spreading the oil and pressing one long, slender finger inside of him.  He jerked his hands instinctively down to grasp at Loki’s shoulders, and gave a disapproving growl when he remembered why he couldn’t.

“Testy little thing,” Loki hummed, working his finger gently in and out.  He gradually picked up speed, rubbing firmly, then slipped a second finger in and offered a delighted purr when Clint drew him freely in.  “You open so readily these days, Barton…”

Clint panted with the effort of staying non-verbal and stone-still.

“…and you catch on so quickly.  I knew you were the right choice.”

Loki worked Clint open with agonizing slowness, working with a seemingly endless well of serenity to teach Clint the patience he’d insisted he needed to learn.  He seemed to flow effortlessly between slow and teasing to rough and vigorous.  Clint’s entire body trembled as Loki fingered him, but he did not squirm - not even when Loki offered him a wicked smirk and crooked his fingers into his sweet spot, though the moan that spilled from Clint’s lips was nothing short of pornographic.  Loki’s approval was evident.

Such a good boy.  Enough patience for one night; you may move, but do not speak,” Loki said softly.  Clint didn’t need telling twice.  He immediately pressed himself down against Loki’s hand, writhing obscenely and panting, lips falling open as pleas for more withered into wordless moans.  He hooked his ankles around Loki’s hips, growing steadily more desperate as Loki became unable to mask his arousal.  He was more than ready, and he ached for Loki to remove his hand in favor of something far more satisfying…

As if sensing his unspoken desire, Loki slid his fingers out, wiping the excess oil off on a cloth he kept on the bedside table for exactly that purpose, then leveled his hips with Clint’s.  He looked down at him, running his un-oiled hand over Clint’s face and explaining, “You may speak, but I remind you, this is an exercise in respect.  Make no demands of me, and do not call me anything except ‘master’.  Am I clear?”

“Yes, master,” Clint panted, thighs tightening as he tried to tug Loki down.

“That includes physical demands.  I will do what I wish, when I wish to.”

Clint whined in a very undignified manner and stopped his pulling.  Loki waited a moment, running the slicked head of his cock over Clint for a moment…then, once he was satisfied Clint would not try to force him to go faster, pressed slowly in, groaning and growling as he was met with Clint’s high, anxious noises.  He rolled his hips experimentally, pleased with the stuttering cries that he got in return.  “Is this good for you, Barton?”

Clint’s voice was strained as he replied, “Yes, master.”

“Are you ready for me to move, then?”

“Yes, master.”

“Good boy.”  Loki gripped Clint’s legs tightly and offered a few uneven strokes, finding a steady position and pace before canting intently against his slave.

Clint’s moans eventually matched the rhythm, coming in deep, loud bursts with each thrust.  He squirmed as the thick, heated weight of Loki’s shaft filled and left him in rapid succession, sending tingling waves of warmth through every fiber.  The muscles in his arms corded and tensed as he yanked at the cuffs he was restrained with, desperate to claw and drag and control Loki’s pace, but powerless to do so.  Loki seemed equal parts wary and pleased every time the leather creaked under Clint’s determination.

“I will be most upset if you break those, Barton,” Loki warned, snapping his hips forward and relishing the pleasured cry melding with the sound of straining leather.  Clint responded by using the leverage afforded him by his restraints to buck his hips up to meet Loki’s.  Loki smirked, eyeing the flushed, dark length of Clint’s cock and running the fingers of one hand through the soft, dense blond curls that framed it.  “Oh, you look so enticing.”  He wrapped one hand around Clint’s arousal and stroked in time with his thrusts, biting his lower lip to stifle his pleased growls when Clint did not falter in his motions.

“Master, fuck, feels good,” he moaned, fingers working uselessly.  “So good..!”

“And yet you do not plead for more.”  Loki stroked a bit faster, delighted by his obedience, but too pleasure-fogged to express it properly.  He had other ways to reward Clint, though - he shifted his weight and lifted Clint’s hips with the arm that wasn’t milking Clint for everything he was worth.  Clint seemed confused for a moment, but it cleared up quickly; he threw his head back and howled when Loki’s thrusts ground unfailingly against his sweet spot.

Clint’s legs clenched around him, holding him close, and Loki could sense his impending orgasm from the heat of his skin and the rapid fluttering of his muscles.  He moved just a bit slower, drawing it out, smearing thick beads of precome over Clint’s belly and all but teasing him over the line between pleasure and world-rocking ecstasy.  Clint’s toes curled as he came, moaning Loki’s name and bowing his back.

Loki didn’t last much longer, between the pornographic noises Clint made and how tight he went with his climax.  Loki’s thrusts became rough, then uneven, then stilled down to tiny shivers as he pulsed, hot and thick, inside of Clint.  His hands shot up to weave into the fine, thick strands of Clint’s hair, alternating between tugging and soothing as Loki came down from the high that his pleasure had brought.

Clint was whining, spent and boneless, impatient for something but too winded to ask for it.

Loki took a moment to catch his own breath before asking, “Do you feel you have learned tonight, Barton?”

Clint nodded, managing to murmur, “Yes, master.”

Loki’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he reached up to undo the cuffs.  “This was fun.  Perhaps we should do this more - oh!”  Loki was taken by surprise when Clint leaned up in spite of his exhaustion, pressing his lips against Loki’s and sliding his tongue lazily but expertly between parted lips.  Loki considered pressing him back and giving him a piece of his mind, since clearly, the lesson hadn’t stuck that well…

…but what the hell.  He could do worse than having an overly enthusiastic slave.  Loki allowed the kiss to continue for a while, stroking his palm over the powerful line of Clint’s jaw, then pulled back and clicked his tongue.

“Impulsive thing,” he admonished.

“Sorry,” Clint murmured.

“I doubt it.”  Loki laughed quietly and lay back on the bed beside Clint, shaking his head.  “You can barely stay awake, little hawk.  Sleep.”  He eyed the sticky state of their bodies and Clint’s hair - no doubt sullied when Loki grabbed on in the heat of his orgasm - and smirked.  “It’s an early morning tomorrow; you and I could both do with a shower.”

“Could do that tonight…”

“I admire your readiness to please, but I think not.  Sleep.”

Clint yawned and curled into Loki, face resting comfortably against one pale, slender shoulder.  “Yes, master.”