Warnings: this story contains explicit rape/non-con, physical torture, psychological torture, PTSD, extreme Loki-whump
(About slash: my own opinion is that slash relationships are between two consenting parties. Therefore, I'll go ahead and say there's no slash in this story, just m/m rape/non-con.)
Warnings this chapter: semi-explicit rape, not much else
Disclaimer: I don't own The Avengers or any of the characters within, etc.
As all we disturbing authors say: Don't like, don't read. I've given fair warning, please don't complain about the content, just don't read it.
A/N: There's actually not a lot of explicit rape scenes in this fic, just a couple, but it's still pretty disturbing even without specific scenes (at least I think so). There's also some torture, although perhaps not the obvious kind. It is a h/c story, however, so keep that in mind as well.
Note: There's one thing I'd like to say before you get started: there's more going on in this story than meets the eye... (you'll see what in later chapters.)
Important Note: I just remembered this story is a bit AU. The only difference from the movie is that Thor and Loki couldn't return to Asgard with the Tesseract, they were forced to stay on Earth. More will be explained in-story. Everything else is the same.
Hollow Skies - Chapter 1
Loki lay quietly on his side on the cold concrete floor. He often wished he could revert to his Jotun form, for more than one reason, but for now, he would have appreciated its resistance to the cold. He had, long ago, become accustomed to the dark, relying on the nearly imperceptible red light from the camera embedded into the corner of the ceiling.
He shivered, and for the hundredth time wished he had even a scrap of clothing to cover himself with. Even just his hands or his feet, anything but this open frailty, this raw exposure to anything and everything.
How long have I been here? he wondered. It felt almost like years, but he suspected it had only been a few months. Few agonizing months of the most unbearable kind of torture. He would have taken anything but this. Anything at all: his lips sewn shut again, being tied to that dreaded rock while the serpent's poison dripped into his eyes, the cold unblinking abyss...anything.
Certainly the pain itself was bearable, if only by a margin, but being used like this... of being nothing but someone's plaything, a slave to their whim, to feel every ache and know there was nothing he could do to stop it - the combined effect was unimaginable.
The beeping sounds - the sounds of someone gaining access to the room - echoed through his head, grinding against his forgotten will. No no no no no...not again, not again...
He tried to sit up, to hide away from the frequent intruder, but his last session had been particularly brutal, and he had not had sufficient time to heal. So he just lay there, struggling futilely against the collar around his neck. Connected to the collar was a long metal chain, which was then connected to the center of the concrete room.
Loki finally managed to back away somewhat, a little against the wall - meager protection - just as the familiar man entered through the door, which slid shut behind him.
"JARVIS, lights," said Tony Stark. As usual the blinding lights switched on, Loki covered his face with both arms. He didn't like the brightness, but he also hated looking at his captor. Every time he came here, the inventor's attitude was one of three: angry, bored, or extremely drunk. The trickster wasn't sure which one he hated the most. Anger made the man come and go quicker, but he was also more violent. Bored might have been the best, except such an attitude was unnervingly inappropriate given the situation. Extremely drunk was bad simply because it was so chaotic. His emotions ranged from spastically happy to sorrowful to hatefully seductive - the last of which often gave Loki the impression Stark sometimes believed the mischief god had volunteered this treatment.
But it didn't really matter, the result was always the same.
Loki cowered behind his arms and attempted to make himself smaller against the wall. Stark moved closer, bored it is then, Loki silently noted.
The moment the man of iron began unbuckling his belt, Loki whimpered and tried to slide away further, somewhere closer the corner. It was futile, the trickster knew, but it was an instinct he could no longer control. Begging was also useless, Loki learned very quickly, and sometimes spurred the man on, but it was another thing the trickster often couldn't help.
The mischief god felt tears already falling down his face in anticipation of the familiar pain.
He wanted to beg, say something, but no... useless! He'll never stop, it doesn't matter! You can't do anything!
The clinking of metal and a slight tug of warning on his collar kept Loki compliant when he felt warm hands turning him over onto his stomach. No no no! Somebody help me! The fingers were now on his hips pulling him up to his knees, his face buried into the cold floor.
The stabbing pain of the man suddenly inside him shot up his spine and Loki cried out. It was too much. He had long ago lost count of how many times it had happened, how many times the mortal had visited him, hurt him. Given the human's nature, it shouldn't have been surprising that he occasionally used...objects instead. Loki tried his best to ignore those strange assaults and he couldn't decide if they were worse or better than what Stark usually did to him.
Loki sobbed into the floor and quietly wondered why Stark had entered him so easily. What could it- But then he remembered the short time span between visits, no doubt his blood still lingered. His thoughts distracted him only for a moment, as the sudden sharp pull of the chain on his collar jerked him back onto Stark's member. Loki tried to cry out, but the sound caught in his throat as the collar choked him.
Now the inventor was speeding up, his pounding getting rougher with each passing second. Loki could do nothing but continue to cry openly against the now wet floor and hope that it would be over soon. It hurt so much it burned, but each potential scream was stifled by the collar around his neck. This was another of Stark's favorite things to do, to control Loki's movements with the chain and collar, although he just as often used the trickster's hair.
As the assault continued, Loki found himself asking familiar questions that frequently invaded his once confident mind. Why did Stark do this to him? Why punish him in such a way when it seemed that most Midgardians appeared to frown on such actions. When the mischief god had first met Tony Stark in his tower, he would have never guessed what darkness lurked beneath that casually drunken charisma, that blue orb hidden beneath humble clothing. If he had known...well, Loki wasn't afraid to admit it, he would have thrown the Tesseract at him and run to Thor's side begging to be sent home. Any Aesir punishment would have been better than this.
And what had happened? How had he gotten here? Where did it all begin? Oh yes, the Chitauri. Loki had been running from them after he had escaped using his magic, but no world was safe, no matter where he teleported to. So, why not hide on Midgard? The last place he would be expected to hide? Where it all started? And if nothing else, the so-called Avengers might keep them busy for a while, or at least until he could think up a better plan than simply running.
The Chitauri had caught up to him while on some planet he couldn't identify, and just as Loki was about to teleport to Earth, he was struck by one of their weapons. Normally he would have been able to shrug it off, but using his magic in that way caused his barriers to come down and the foreign energy to enter his body, causing him pain while simultaneously draining him of his magic. He had gotten through, of course, to Midgard, but his concentration had been broken and at the last moment he accidentally teleported himself to Stark's tower - the first familiar place that entered his mind.
Initially, it didn't seem too big a deal, until the Avenger clasped metal on Loki's wrists and pushed him into this cell. Loki wasn't too worried then, his magic would have returned, and he could break free. Unfortunately, Stark had been using the last few months to perfect an anti-magic collar just for such an occasion - the same collar he was wearing now. It stung and it bit into him when Stark first forced it on him. He demanded the collar be taken off but it was too late.
And now here he was. Little more than Stark's plaything, his slave. The first time he forced himself on Loki, the god of mischief had been furious and promised vengeance so vile. The next couple of times Loki threatened him with Thor - saying his brother would bludgeon him into the floor when the thunder god found out. So, Stark had put a muzzle on him to shut him up. After the first dozen times or so, he took it off, knowing Loki wouldn't resist. He still didn't remember when exactly his shackles had been removed.
Loki almost sighed with relief when Stark spilled into him, it meant it was over, finally. The trickster sniffled and rubbed the tears from his eyes then didn't bother catching himself when he collapsed to his side. It hurt, but he didn't care. Stark was leaving, the metal door sliding behind.
Loki smiled. It was a ridiculous thing to do, he knew, but he vowed to himself that he would do some things to keep himself sane. To celebrate every good moment, no matter that they weren't really things to be happy for. Stark leaving was always a reason to celebrate in Loki's mind, so he smiled.
A/N: So, feel like you need some brain bleach yet? Even I've had a hard time re-reading my own story in order to proofread it, lol.
About any OOC-ness: obviously we're sort of jumping in the middle of the story here, so a lot's happened. So unless you think that people are incapable of changing based on extreme circumstances, I'd say Loki isn't too OOC - but of course that's a matter of opinion. Tony... well, that's another thing entirely.
I'll try to update semi-regularly since I have a few chapters written already, but more than likely updates will be sporadic, at best. I'm afraid this fic is subject to my unpredictable whims and I only add to it when I'm in the mood.