bakerstreet | (no subject)

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The Cross My Heart Meme

When only a dysfunctional relationship will do.

Rules
1. Post with a character, put the name and canon in the subject line. In the body of the comment, give your preferences and some if possible some information about the character.
2. Respond to others and roleplay a dysfunctional relationship.
3. Feel free to take inspiration/scenes from the list below or write your own prompt.

Scenarios

1. Try to tell you 'no', but my body keeps on telling you 'yes'. You absolutely, positively do NOT want to sleep with this person again. So why the heck do you keep waking up with their underwear on your bedpost?

2. What happens when a tornado meets a volcano. Maybe you're just too different to see eye to eye. Or maybe you're just too alike and no one's going to compromise. Either way, your battle of wills looks more like World War 3 than a lover's spat.

3. All your love is revenge. You don't know why you're together. You don't know how to be apart. But is whatever that's making you stay with this person worth all the misery?

4. I would die for you baby (but you won't do the same). Ever love someone so much you'd take a bullet for them? What if you want to find out if they would do the same for you? It's not that crazy to demand the same kind of devotion from your lover, right? After all, it's only fair. You aren't obsessed, you're just in love.

5. Somewhere along in the bitterness. Where did things go wrong? You started out so in love, so attached, and now it seems like things are falling apart. Can the relationship be fixed or is this where you both stare awkwardly at each other and decide who gets the CDs and who gets the goldfish?

6. You let me complicate you. You're not good for them. You're corrupting them, you're ruining their life, you're causing them pain, even if you never meant to. Why are they still hanging around?

7. I don't care if you really care as long as you don't go. So there's no love in the relationship. But there's so many other reasons to stay together, right? Sometimes having a lover is more important than being a lover.

8. I will go down with this ship. It's been over a long time and your lover has moved on. But you're never going to give up the hope that they might come back to you. Love is supposed to be forever.

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It was unsurprising that after his latest scheme coming to ashy ruins at the hands of the meddlesome Avengers, Loki wished to meet up with Barton. Given the Avengers hadn't known of his involvement and Loki had kept it that way, it really wasn't fair to call upon Barton but he did so anyway.

When the agent appeared, Loki grabbed him by the short strands of the hawk's brown hair and pulled him into a heated, demanding kiss. He invaded as if what he failed to achieve with the world could be conquered in the confines of the archer's mouth, and it wasn't until the mortal started lacking air that he finally released him.

"So very nice of you to drop by, agent."

And there it is. That familiar heat, the uncontrollable rush of need that rises to the surface whenever Loki is nearby. It satisfies some twisted part of him to know that he was so good that Loki can't let him go, that he was the best subordinate that Loki's ever had, that nothing will stop Loki from wanting him still.

Maybe that's why he hasn't told a soul about this.

He's shaking when Loki releases him, his heartbeat quick. The words make his expression darken, and he moves into action fast sending a brutal right hook at Loki's face. He knows Loki's fast enough to block it, fast enough to take Clint down, and he knows the damage he'll do to himself is more than what he'll do to Loki. But he can't fucking help it. Bastard just brings it out in him.

"You shouldn't have called me," he spits.

The change from thoroughly kissed out subordinate to willful, compromised enemy was so sudden that the hit nearly connected. At the last possible second Loki's eyes widened and he ducked under the swing, at the same time reflex had him pushing out and shove the hawk out of his immediate circle.

Barton should feel incredibly fortunate that Loki hadn't lined his hands with ice daggers before that shove.

His next move was just as quick as the god recovered and took a forward step to recover the distance he created between them. A glare and he was backhanding the misbehaving bird hard across the face. "I can and will call you whenever I wish. Do not forget who you answer to, agent."

Sharp sting on his cheek, but he doesn't retaliate this time. Just simmers.

"I answer to people who earn it," he snaps. Forget that Loki was the only commander to ever utilize him to the true extent of his skills. Forget that, because Loki tore apart the one thing that matters to him, which is his ability to choose.

He takes a step back, rubs his forehead. "You shouldn't have called," and his voice is tight with the effort to hold back emotion. He'd go down on his knees for Loki any time. He wishes he wouldn't, but he would.

Loki would make Barton going to his knees a literal thing as his hand shot out to grab the agent's hair in a merciless hold strong enough to drag him down into that position.

"I do what I want, when I want," he snarled, grip tightening regardless of the pain that he must be causing from how harshly he gripped that hair. Strands fell loose when he pushed the agent's head forward to force him into a bowed position, and not liking the resistance he sensed in that body, he gave it a shake as well.

Leaning over, he hissed with sharp, jagged tones against Barton's ear. "You best to remember that and answer."

To his knees, then, even though his own hand has flown up to Loki's wrist and gripped it tight. He's not pressing his hands into pressure points. He could, but he isn't. Because it looks like this is just what he wants. A part of him likes it, way, way too much, and that's the part that has him going pliant under Loki's grip. The part of him that wants to make Loki hurt him more.

Loki knew, like how the god knew Barton's fighting was an integral part of who he was, so was the part that surrendered to his grasp. The Avengers' hawk was long broken before Loki ever got his hands on him, and Loki did not so much break him as rearrange him to fly the way the trickster wanted.

"There is a good pet," he purred after Clint stopped resisting. He hauled the archer up by his hair again, knowing that the pain was merely physical, and used the grip to pull him into another harsh, bruising kiss.

"Did I distract you from the clean up? Such a good little agent you are, the perfect obedient soldier, who runs when beckoned by the enemy." He grinned magnanimously and kept Barton close enough that he could extend his tongue and lick at his upper lip. Face to face, Loki whispered the question, "What was your excuse to disappear this time?"

He wants to fight. Or he doesn't want to fight. One of those two options, definitely. Palms press against Loki's chest, and he bits down savagely on Loki's lip -- not to rebel, but because he wants the tang of Loki's blood on his tongue.

"I don't need an excuse," he hisses. "You know how often I run out of steam first?" He hates being the least capable on a team of superheroes.

Loki grinned with the blood on his lips, the spread of crimson making the expression seem even more ghastly in comparison. "Poor mortal," he murmured, "Playing in a field that was designed for those who are greater."

After he took another kiss, gentler this time, Loki finally let go and stepped away like Clint was a piece of dirty laundry on the ground. "You should know your station."

He catches himself, but sinks to his knees anyway. It's just -- seems like the thing to do, where Loki's concerned.

"I hold my own," he says, lowly. They need a spotter. There's no one better than him. Tony might have all his little toys and tricks, and JARVIS may be able to extrapolate a lot, but there's no substitute for a human brain.

Clint licks Loki's blood from his lips.

"Better make this quick," he drawls. "What if they come looking for me?"

Loki liked that position for the archer. It was Barton's place, on his knees, knelt before him. Smiling to show how pleased he was, he curled a finger and motioned for the agent to move forward, on his knees.

"Then they shall find you exactly where you should be," Loki answered back smoothly, the venomous words coming out like a soft caress much like how his hand reached out to run down the archer's jaw. It ended with two fingers cradling the tip of that chin, curling just under it to tilt that proud head up in a possessive, dominating gesture.

Loki used it to hook his hawk forward until Barton was right before him, close enough to touch, to submit. He looked down into his hawk's eyes as he gave the silent command for his returning pet to proceed with what he knew Loki wished for him to do. He was, after all, placed perfectly in the right spot for it.

It makes him angry at himself that he crawls forward so easily. Just a curl of Loki's fingers, and he'd go down easy. He just wants it, wants Loki to take away his control and his responsibility and his composure all the damn time. Loki's the guy who killed his boss, and Clint's obsessed with him. What the fuck is emotional health, anyway.

He swallows, feels the delicate pressure of Loki's fingers on the tendons beneath his jaw.

He tries a little limited defiance: "If you want something," he says, "try asking for it."

Edited 2012-10-24 15:09 (UTC)

The words were met with those fingers turning up to smack the hawk's cheek. It followed by Loki grabbing Barton's hair again and forcing the human to tip his head back to meet Loki's arrogant stare.

"If you waste your precious freedom with such insolence, there is a smarter use for that mouth."

He yanked Barton's head forward again, enjoying the way the human willingly knelt, gladly submitted to Loki's word and touch. Barton had tasted that glorious lack of freedom and understood the greatness of Loki's goals, and this was the mortal's reward for coming back to him. Loki will accept him and use him, take the control from him as the agent truly wished to be controlled.

There's always a better use for Clint's mouth. For a guy who focused on his talents for oral sex perhaps solely because he could use that in place of any deeper intimacy. It's a shield, his own shield.

Not so, right now, of course. This is something he wants Loki to take from him. It's a gift, and it's subservience, and it's got Clint's dick rock-hard in his pants. Or maybe that was Loki smacking him around. Either way.

Leans forward and nuzzles against Loki's dick, trapped as it is. Fingers already familiar with the fastenings of his armor undo them, and he mouths at Loki's length, working his way up to the top. He closes his eyes as the head slides wetly on his tongue.

Once the fastenings are undone, he lets his hands drop back to his lap. Given the choice, he'd rather just use his mouth.

The first time Loki forced Clint to his knees like this, he was surprised, and delighted, to discover that his hawk was already trained for such service. Barely any instructions were necessary and Clint would know what to do.

As the frequency increased, Loki discovered new quirks about his pet every time. Like how Clint enjoyed being used like this, like how he would finish his task and relish in it so much as to come away with a needy bulge or a dark stain in his pants. Like how, as Loki placed his hands behind Clint's head and pulled him forward such that the hawk was forced to swallow him or choke, it made his pet keen for more.

"You like this," Loki murmured, simple statement of fact. "You fight, pretend to resist, struggle with the excuse to return to those who would you behind... when your true place is here." His words faltered and he swallowed a moan.

Loosening his grip to allow Clint room to pull back and breathe, to allow him to break from his pet's talent, Loki instead went to petting and carding his hands through the hair. It was almost lovingly, when he said, "You are made for this."

It's all too true; the choked noises he makes aren't of protest, or of fear. He swallows, his tongue flattens against Loki's length, lips stretched and jaw slack, open enough for Loki to thrust. It's so easy with Loki. Loki takes, and Clint knows exactly how to give. He can meet Loki's expectations, and surpass them, and it makes him feel --

The pressure lets up, and he breathes. A smooth and disciplined breath, from a controlled and disciplined sniper.

His tongue drags up Loki's length, and he is tempted to hide his shame in the leather and metal that armors Loki's skin, to nuzzle against him and forget everything. Instead, he sits back on his heels. "Fuck you," he breathes, "sir."

"That is what I like about you," Loki purred as his grip clenched on the bit of hair just behind Clint's ear and gave the head a playful shake. "Your impeccable manners."

He stared down at his hawk's features, lips wet with slick, face flushed pink with shame, eyes dilated from lust and obedience. Clear blue eyes, without the hindrance of the Tesseract's controlling power. Submissive. Willing.

The moment apart gave Loki the necessary break to cool down. Belying his earlier roughness, the trickster's hands came out and cradled the agent's head gently as he led him forward again. "Finish the job, Clint. Bring me to completion as you know how to."

Under Loki's hands, he is something else; he is something smoother and sleeker, quieter and more obedient.

No sarcastic words this time. He goes down on Loki with devotion cast from him like a shadow. He breathes in, doesn't fill his lungs all the way but enough to be comfortable. And he swallows, pushing Loki past the back of his tongue and into his throat and taking him all the way in. Jaw relaxed, shoulders dropped and chin lifted to make his mouth and throat into a single line. He holds himself there, throat working involuntarily around Loki's length, tongue pressing against the vein on the underside.

He can stay there a damn while before he runs out of breath.

Once he was swallowed and taken into that heated mortal throat, Loki could feel that climax he staved off rising again. It was a wondrous feeling of cavernous wet heat where each swallow massaged him further towards the eruption point.

A soft whimper escaped the trickster before he could hold it back, and before the Clint's very eyes, cradled by his mouth and tongue, Loki became undone. It was first a soft thrust forward as the pressure built, followed by another that morphed into a slow rocking.

Loki came quietly, and right before the rupture, he pulled back to squirt into the confines of Clint's mouth. It was with a soft gasp that he spilled his essence into his loyal soldier, his hands running through Clint's hair the whole time.

"My loyal, beautiful Clint," Loki murmured as he came down from his high.

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