Finally! I've had a portion of this chapter written for months and have been struggling with it. I just recently sat down and was able to put the rest of it together.
I am still shocked at the response this story has received. Thousands of views and all the lovely reviews, favourites and follows. Plus the poll results. Which, by the way, means this is heading toward a case of Stockholm syndrome for our dear Hawkeye.
I apologize for the delay and hope you enjoy!
The following days form a kind of pattern. Clint wakes from a restless sleep, his glowing blue eyes staring blankly before he can gather himself enough to get up and tend to his humanly needs before reporting to Loki. He contributes mindlessly to strategic discussions. For the most part, they're at a stand still as they gather numbers to carry out their king's plans. And of course Selvig is working at an exhausting pace with the tesseract. Clint doesn't really understand all the scientific babble. He doesn't have to.
Even through the haze his mind has become, he notices that Loki tends to keep him close. Closer than the rest of his subjects. To have that kind of attention after the kind of life he's led is a bit of a novelty. He does Loki's bidding without batting an eye. He's almost forgotten that this isn't truly his mind. Not entirely.
Each day, once everything is tended to and Loki is somewhat content with their progress, they retreat alone. Loki has a space that he seems to have magicked into a room for himself. That is the only possible explanation for the furnishings. Everything in the room is a striking contrast to the bare underground warehouse setting of their base. Clint thinks the stuff looks like something out of a museum or a castle but made of magnificent materials. Glass and gold and silk. It's not to his taste at all but he's not in his right mind anyhow so it doesn't really matter.
He's not sure what time of day it is, there's not much to tell by in this compound. Next to no windows and they hardly ever venture above ground. It must be late though as they enter the lavish room. He's two steps behind Loki and he's almost used to the door automatically clicking shut without a single touch.
Loki sighs raggedly. This is the only time he ever even hints at any kind of weakness. Clint is humbled by the apparent openness.
Whoever his king is working with has been wearing him thin. He's seen him in those trance-like states; it's when his mind seems to be the clearest. He's also seen Loki break out of such trances with fright-filled eyes and a cold sweat. It actually tugs at his heart to see Loki so distressed. There is the faintest glimmer in his mind chanting that the crazy coot deserves it, but it seems to grow quieter with each passing occurrence.
"Hawk," Loki calls softly, drawing him in like a beacon.
"Yea boss?" he inquires, coming to attention before his king. He knows what is coming.
Loki doesn't say a word, just reaches for him, pulling him effortlessly forward like a magnet attracts iron. He places a rather chaste kiss soundly upon the side of Clint's neck and with a flick of his fingers, their clothes dissolve away. Handy thing, that magic. "What can I do for you, my king?" he murmurs reverently. Hang on, was that right? A corner of his mind questions just how appropriate his willingness is but he swats it away even as the ever present fog encompasses the thought. Of course this was right. He was made to serve Loki.
The god smiles softly, genuinely, "Mmm, just let me enjoy you, my dear." His long, thin hands are already exploring his body, tracing scars and muscles alike.
Soft lips kiss along his collarbone and up his throat. "Anything you want," Clint agrees breathily on a sigh, lids fluttering shut over glowing pupils as his chin tips up. That annoying voice clamors with dissent amid the swirling haze. His skin prickles with goose bumps at the chill in the room and teasing fingertips ghosting elaborate paths down his back. Cool lips seal over his own, initiating an intense but sadly brief kiss.
Clint moves to follow but Loki is already travelling south. He's not sure how much of the fog is the tesseract and how much is lust as his king's beautifully perfect mouth is nibbling at his length. His callused hands stroke and grip at Loki's shoulders. Glowing eyes are enthralled by the sight of himself being swallowed whole and then the sensation has them rolling back into his head with a groan. He grunts and pets softly at long black hair, absently amazed that such a regal figure would honor him so. Delicate hands accompany his mouth, toying with soft skin, palming heavy balls and gradually creeping toward his entrance.
Clint instantly relaxes, familiar with the routine and trained to respond. He doesn't pay any heed to the uncertainty pawing at his consciousness. Marginally cooler fingers — he has yet to figure that one out, only that Loki seems to run at a lower than average temperature — press inside, magically slick. He can feel Loki's free hand playing over the curve of his hip, his mouth still laving at him lazily. Fingers caress his side, curl around to his chest and feather-light kisses dance across his shoulders. Wait.. Kisses. He glances down to see Loki still occupied with his erection. There are an unknown pair of hands upon him, hands that must be attached to the mouth at his neck. Clint jerks back, knocking the stranger behind him to the ground. He turns just in time to see a mirror image of his king fade away into wisps of green smoke.
"Huh?" A rough exclamation of surprise escapes him as he vigilantly scans the room, eyes wide, body shaking with adrenaline.
Loki is on his feet in seconds, looking a little shell shocked himself. His hands flutter towards Clinton, seeming hesitant even to touch. "Shh, sh, didn't meant to frighten you, my hawk," he reassures quietly.
Clint's eyes focus sharply upon Loki, his chest heaving. The god's hands finally come to rest on either side of his neck. The touch alone calms him, the panic being swallowed by a comforting blanket of mist in his mind.
"Better now?" Loki asks needlessly. Clint nods silently, a single hand resting against his king's arm, just a touch to ground himself. "Good.. Watch." Loki moves to stand beside Clint, one arm encircling him. His other hand waves, fingers curling and from the very same green smoke emerges another Loki. The clone stares at Clint with a lustful gaze. "Just a bit of magic."
Barton tilts his head, glancing from one Loki to the other. Magic. His knowledge of what it entailed seems to grow several times a day. So. Loki can make what.. clones of himself? Mirror images? Doppelgangers maybe? Okay. He could roll with that. "Copy that," he murmurs.
"Let us embrace you little hawk."
He's not sure which of them spoke. Can the clone speak? The notion becomes irrelevant because now there's a Loki on his knees before him and another at his back. Four hands touching, two mouths showering affection. It's almost too much for his fog-filled brain to handle. He's not even sure which one is the clone and which is real. Or perhaps they're both real; he doesn't have the brain power to analyze that at the moment. He's hardly cognizant that the uncertainty alone should have him on edge.
Hands are sliding up his abdomen and he stares down through heavy lids. Loki — clone Loki? or is it real Loki? ah, it doesn't matter! — slithers gracefully up, his own cock brushing Clint's. Long fingers caress his face and he croons softly, "Would you prefer something like this?" Loki's form shimmers, his face growing somewhat softer, hair longer and.. Clint blinks. Ample breasts grow before his eyes and farther down, narrow hips grow wider and rounder and the obvious erection that had been there moments prior is gone. It was a perfect render of Loki only with exceptional feminine features. Clint's mouth goes dry. Two archery-callused hands cup soft breasts, even as male Loki nips at his ear lobe and strokes his length from behind.
"Do you like me in this form?" she purrs, very much Loki's voice but softer somehow.
Clint's pupils swell to encompass almost the entirety of his irises as he nods dumbly and lets his hands slip down her curves. He can feel Loki's cock pressing against his backside, shifting to penetrate. He absently spreads his legs slightly in response, enthralled with the lovely lady before him. His toes curl as he's breached, but his hands never stutter as he cups her mound and traces his fingertips along her.
"Yeah.. you want to fuck me, pretty hawk?" she coos, nuzzling the side of his face, her wavy locks tickling his sensitized flesh.
"Yes ma'am." Hmm, ma'am.. Was that right? Well, Loki was in the shape of a female so it made sense. If he didn't think about it too closely. The fog meanders through his train of thoughts and he embraces its presence. His awareness grows hazy between sensation and lust and the ever present mist in his mind. It seems the next second — or perhaps it truly was the next second; with Loki one could never entirely be certain — the three of them are at the end of the massive bed and she's sprawled out before him, legs open, inviting.
Glowing pupils blown, he shuffles forward, Loki keeping flush against his back. He grabs her by her thighs, dragging her to the edge of the bed and, without a moments hesitation, sinks inside of her. She gasps and long-nailed fingers dig into his forearms. The pain is a vague spark that fades into the background as the Loki behind him pulls away and thrusts back in.
Clint bites his lower lip with a groan. One hand remains curled around lady Loki's thigh while the other roams her torso, tweaking her nipples and reveling in soft flesh. Damn, she's gorgeous writhing like that, almost as gorgeous as.. his thoughts skid to a halt. As gorgeous as Nat. A spark of lucidity flashes through and the realization that he is presently fucking and being fucked by Loki makes his stomach sour. Although, his mind argues, Loki has been caring for him quite diligently. As quickly as the clarity surfaces, it is once more engulfed by a heavy fog.
He grunts, his mind lost to sensation. What had he just been thinking? Couldn't be too important.
Loki is doing all of the work, dragging the both of them back and forth, all he has to do is hang on. His back arches, head resting upon man-Loki's shoulder, a hand on each of their thighs.
The Loki in front of him is moaning incessantly as the one behind him mutters all variety of filth in his ear. He's not going to last much longer like this. He tries to convey as much, but the words stick in his throat; the only sounds to escape are gasps and groans.
As if he knows — and who is he kidding, of course he knows — Loki picks up the pace and adjusts his angle. Barton yelps with surprise as his orgasm thunders through him without warning. Both Lokis are still moving and he's vaguely aware of the fact that they are coming simultaneously, clenching around him, milking him for all he's worth and emptying into him all at once. A dull aftershock pulses through him, leaving him shuddering as he gasps for air.
He feels the Loki before him sit up and press her lips to his before dissipating into tendrils of green vapor. His knees quiver with the mere effort of standing before the god, sporting a vainglorious expression, lays him out on the bed to recover. A mere flick of his fingers and Loki is clean, not a spot of sweat or spunk on his body. He leaves Clinton to lie, thoroughly debauched, a flush still present over the majority of his body, ejaculate leaking down his thighs.
Hawk blinks unseeingly, his body buzzing pleasantly. There is a faint twinge in his backside — he's not sure he'll ever be fully accustomed to anal penetration — and a sting on his right shoulder. His brow furrows and he tucks his chin, rolling his head in a struggle to discover the source. Whoa. A fresh, bruising bite mark showcasing a damn near full dentation fills his field of view, the skin broken in a few places and oozing blood. There is a growl of complaint from remaining remnant of his true self as his head thumps back against the mattress. He scarcely has the time to resign himself to worrying about it later as any residual strength in his body is seized and he falls into unconsciousness.
Yes, Loki pretty much just knocked him out, the little rascal.
Anyhow, I have set up a new poll on my profile page regarding the future of this story. Feel free to vote and contribute via review or message.