Chapter Text
Loki woke up, confused and bleary-eyed, when Stark opened his door, letting it bang on the opposite wall, jerking him from restless sleep.
“Come,” Stark ordered, pointing down the hallway. Loki rolled off the bed at once, hurrying after the man as he strode back towards his own spacious suite. The door to the room Loki feared looked the same, firmly closed and solid as ever, but Loki could not shake the feeling that something had changed. The air felt different, and he did not slow his steps as he followed Stark, fearing to be left behind to pass that door by himself.
“You know what to do,” Stark said, gesturing to the bed. He went to the bathroom, leaving Loki to undress, which he did, stripping off the loose pajamas that he lived in now. Perhaps Stark would allow him some day-wear, if he asked politely? Loki shut that thought down at once. He had asked Stark for enough, lately, and he had been denied. Asking for more would not endear him, and Stark seemed in a bad enough mood.
Perhaps Thor had broached the topic of Loki’s binding with him. Loki couldn’t help but hope there was some other cause for Stark’s mood, because it would not bode well for the outcome of such a conversation. But of course, knowing his luck, Thor had angered Stark with his request, and then left to let his brother face the consequences.
The blinds were open in Stark’s room, and the nighttime lights of the city cast a faint glow over the room, the bed, and Loki himself. He climbed up and arranged himself on the bed as he had become accustomed to - on hands and knees, ready for Stark’s use. He waited there while Stark lingered in the bathroom, the small sounds of movement and water running ramping up Loki’s already unsteady state of nerves. Why had Stark rejected his offer in the lab only to summon him now? Why had he summoned him if he was not ready for him? Just to make him wait?
Maybe that was true. Having a slave wait may be appealing to some, but Loki had not thought Stark would toy with him in such a way. His mind flashed back to his ordeal with the legionnaires, and he swallowed past his suddenly dry throat. Stark was capable of a lot more than merely toying with him, if he had a mind to.
The man reappeared in the doorway, arms folded over his chest. “So, you enlisted your brother to harass me about letting you off your leash. Did you really think that would work?”
Loki cringed. He had nothing to defend himself with. There was no defense he could make, because Stark spoke the truth.
“I’m sorry,” he said, wishing that he was not naked and on Stark’s bed for this scolding. “I...I am sorry. I only wanted to help.”
“Did you, really.” Stark approached the bed, his tread measured and even. “You don’t think doing what you’re told would be more helpful? You don’t think giving me even a day to think about it before getting Thor to berate me would be more helpful? Have I not done enough for you, Loki?”
“I’m sorry,” Loki repeated, hanging his head, Stark's cold tone drilling into his nerve like an ice-pick. All thoughts of helping, or being able to use his powers fled from his mind, replaced only by terror that Stark was going to get rid of him. He could, and they both knew it. He could call the Grandmaster's name and trade Loki back to him anytime he wanted.
Stark pulled his leather belt out of the loops of his pants, and Loki breathed out a sigh of relief. Stark was only going to beat him. Loki could take that manner of punishment, and he would not make such a mistake again.
Stark slapped the belt against his palm. “Knees apart.” He waited until Loki spread his legs to his satisfaction, exposing his intimate self - his genitals, his hole, the soft flesh of his inner thighs.
“What are you sorry for?” Stark climbed up on the bed to stand over his disobedient slave. He grabbed a handful of hair and turned his face down toward the bed. He did not like Loki looking at him, and Loki at once corrected himself.
“For disobeying you.” Loki bit his tongue as Stark bought the belt down between his thighs six times in quick succession, whipping his most tender flesh, hitting the same spot each time, layering the blows until Loki tasted blood in his mouth.
“Explain.”
Loki tried to focus, his head swimming with shock and pain. Stark was Midgardian, his strength was nothing compared to that of an Asgardian, or even a Jotun like Loki, but with aid of the belt and with Loki’s utter defenselessness to this punishment, it was agonizingly effective. One of the blows had sliced across the head of Loki's cock, the rough edge of the belt cutting into him, and the raw, throbbing pain of that spot almost drowned out the burn of the rest.
Loki held his position, licked his lips and forced himself to speak, his voice shaking.
“You told me no, and I should have accepted your decision. I should not have told Thor.”
Six more blows, and Loki fell to his elbows, his face buried in the blanket to muffle his scream. He longed for the restraints, for a gag, for anything other than Stark’s command to keep him here, legs spread for this torture.
“I’m sorry,” he sobbed, clawing himself back to the required position, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
Another six, and this time Loki blacked out for a moment, his head spinning, stars dancing before his eyes.
“Please, please, I’m sorry! I will never disobey you again, please!”
“Get up.” Stark nudged him with his toe. Loki had no choice but to obey, forcing himself to assume the position Stark required, bracing himself on trembling limbs.
“You said that before, didn’t you? When you got off En Dwi Gast’s ship. What promise did you make to me then?”
Loki tried to remember. He had been almost drowned in shame, kneeling naked before the enemies and the eyes of the world he had tried to conquer. What promises had he made?
“I swore I would obey you,” he ventured when the silence had gone for too long.
He was expecting the blows. His answer was inadequate and he knew it, but he simply could not remember what he had said days ago, under such stress. Stark growled at him, and the six additional blows seemed to only increase his frustration with his disobedient slave. Loki’s cries of pain could not be silenced. The lower half of his body was on fire, throbbing with each fresh stripe, a mess of welts and blooming bruises, and there was nothing he could do to help himself.
“Friday, show him.”
Stark tossed the belt aside and yanked Loki’s head up, turning his watering eyes to the screen where Friday was showing the recording. It was himself, viewed from above, the camera looking down at him grovelling in the grass, just as Stark had looked down at him on the day.
He heard his own words again, words that had proved to be false:
Stark, I beg you, I beg you, please, you will not want for a more obedient slave than I. I will serve your every whim. I will never complain, never refuse you, never cause you the slightest trouble…
Loki bowed his head, but Stark was not done with him.
“Have you kept your word, Loki?
Loki shook his head. He had not. He had not. He had taken Stark’s kindness and his mercy and he had thrown it in his face. He had thought he had known better, he had spoken ill of his master behind his back. He was a bad slave, and he deserved this punishment and much, much more.
“Master, I beg for your forgiveness,” he whispered.
“You don’t have it,” Stark retorted at once. “I don’t forgive you. It would have been so, so easy to leave you with En Dwi Gast. It would have taken no effort at all, and I would still have my legionnaires.”
Loki nodded. It was true. Stark had paid for him and the trade had not been worth it. If only there was something Loki could do, something he could offer, but of course, he could not. He was nothing and he had nothing. He was Stark’s creature, his toy, he pet, and he could not even do that right.
Stark grabbed him by the hair and dragged him off the bed. The fall rubbed every one of his raw nerves, the newly striped skin of his thighs, the bruised and puffy flesh of his balls, the sore burn of his hole, and the raw agony of his cock, tender and swollen. He bit down on his scream of pain, and crawled when Stark brusquely ordered him to.
They stopped in front of the door. The Door. The door that terrified Loki more than anything or anyone, The door that held the box. Stark made him face it on his knees, as though he were worshiping it, or about to be sacrificed to it. Icy streams of air seeped from under it like the swells of the rip-tide, eagerly wrapping around Loki's legs, welcoming him, a tender morsel for the box to devour.
“You promised,” Loki gasped, his throat dry with horror, his heart shuddering in his chest, the rhythm broken and failing. "You promised you would not!”
Stark yanked his hair again, his anger seemingly undimmed by whipping Loki’s genitals, by bringing him to sobs of pain and fear. “You broke your promise to me ,” he said, “So we’re done with promises. I’ll give you a threat instead. If you do anything to fuck this up, anything that means En Dwi Gast doesn’t bring everyone back, anything that risks the lives of four billion people, I swear to you Loki, I swear to you, I will find you. I will put you in that thing and I will never, ever, let you out.”
Loki looked up, meeting Stark’s furious brown eyes. He saw the fathomless depths of them, the chasms of pain and fear, the losses that Stark had suffered, the knife-edge that he lived on, and Loki knew that he spoke the truth. Stark was clinging to his humanity by a thread. Underneath the surface, the boiling lava of rage and pain pressed at every seam and crack in his heart, waiting for the moment that he would unleash them. All Loki could do was try to stay out of his way.
“I understand, master."
Loki did not make Stark any more promises. He had already shown himself a liar, and there was no point in trying to convince Stark of his honestly.
“Good.”
Stark let him go, and Loki fell to the floor, his fingertips brushing the wood of the door that terrified him so much. He snatched them back, shaking them to rid himself of any contamination, of any lingering hint of the box’s hold on him.
“Go to your bedroom. Stay there until I come for you. Tomorrow we’re going to fix this - " he leaned down and flicked the obedience disk in Loki’s neck, the harsh motion sending a throb of pain through Loki’s nerves. “If you say you can help, we'll see what you can do. But don't forget what I told you. He pointed at the door. "This will be waiting for you, if you disappoint me."
Without another word, Stark strode down the dimly lit hall and back to his own chambers, shutting the door behind him. Loki was left alone in the hallway, and he had orders to follow. He could not stand, so he crawled. Inch by inch, he dragged himself painfully to his room, the throbbing pain between his legs increasing with every movement he made. In the small attached bathroom he soaked a towel in cold water then draped it over the afflicted areas, biting on a washcloth stuffed in his mouth to muffled his sobs of pain.
He did not understand Stark’s final words. He was going to grant Loki his wish anyway? After punishing him so severely for even suggesting it? But as Loki sprawled out on the floor, the high tide of pain gradually ebbing, leaving him gasping on the shoreline, he understood why Stark had done it.
Stark would make his own decisions. He did not welcome interference, not even from his allies. Loki should have kept his mouth shut after he made the suggestion, waited for Stark to consider it and make his final decision. He had been rash, foolish, disobedient. He deserved the whipping Stark had given him, and he would do everything in his power not to earn anything worse.