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“That test flight couldn’t wait, could it? You should put some make-up on that,” Pepper said, one hand lingering against the bruise by his eye, the other already digging through her purse after the concealer. Laughing, he caught her wrist, dancing half a step away in the elevator.
“And give up a wonderful photo-op? Not a chance, Pep. The incredible Iron Man, fresh in from defending humanity to inaugurate the new Los Angeles Stark Tower. They’ll love it.”
She sighed, smiling, cleverly using the hold on her arm to lean in and steal a kiss. Her hair tickled his temple, soft against the dull ache of the bruise. “They’d better, Mr. Stark.”
He gave her his million-watt grin even as the doors behind them opened and then he was striding out with Pepper at his shoulder, opening his arms wide for the flashing cameras and milling journalists.
It was business as usual and he could’ve done it all in his sleep but instead he gave it his all, riding the buzz as he extolled the wonders of arc technology, promising the end of oil and coal and plutonium and painting the future in golden green with a Stark logo stamped all over it. The Tower reactor hummed at his back and the audience lapped it all up, pens scratching, questions gasped by fawning reporters that didn’t even try to bite.
Seemed like the Merchant of Death was forgiven and forgotten, at least for tonight.
Sweetly intoxicating, this adoration. Better than any drug he’d tired, and hey, he’d done extensive testing, he’d been around that block. This was the good stuff.
Pepper noticed, of course, and laughed at him in the elevator up to their rooms and he laughed back and wrapped his arm around her waist, telling JARVIS to send the elevator down to the garage instead and have the Ferrari ready, because they were hitting the town and hitting it hard.
They were somewhere between the third and fourth bar and he thought somewhere in the haze that he could see the sun paint the horizon a pale pink. Or maybe it was just the city lights, it couldn’t be that late, surely not dawn yet. Pepper would’ve said something, something about early morning meetings and she hadn’t, she was just leaning against his side, warm and heavy and smelling perfect. He leaned back against her as they walked, unsteady but nothing serious. They’d left the car behind, and the night breeze felt wonderful after the crowded bar. Happy was with them, a good-humored shadow at their backs and maybe that’s why Tony didn’t react fast enough, maybe that’s why he didn’t register danger until it was altogether too late.
A presence behind him and suddenly a thick arm wrapped around Pepper’s neck, yanking her away from his side. Rough hands grabbed Tony from the darkness, clamping his arms to his side in a crushing embrace. He shouted in surprise, disorientation fighting adrenaline in his veins as he dug his heels in and yanked an elbow up into an unprotected stomach on pure reflex. A grunt and the hold on him faltered for a second. He twisted and bucked, cursing the alcohol in his system.
Metal glinted by Pepper’s throat. Tony froze, watching the switchblade press against her pale skin, the shout fading from his lips. A heartbeat, then two, time stretching like a rubber cord. Only to snap back into painful focus as the shiny edge drew a drop of blood to the surface, black under the street lights.
For a second his eyes met Peppers and the look in them nearly undid him, fear and panic mixed together, fear for him. Just like he must look to her, he realized, feeling the barrel of a gun dig into his temple. Her gaze flickered to the side and there was Happy, a crumpled figure on the pavement, and the fury inside nearly burned him alive.
The man holding the knife nodded once, sharply, and then the hands on him dragged him back again, pulling him away, a van screeching to a stop beside them and the last thing he saw before the doors slammed shut behind them was Pepper’s pale face and red hair.
*****
He fought them as well as he could, on the floor of a van that took the corners far too tightly and threw them all around like so much baggage. But they were many and they were sober and they knew what they were after, tearing off his earpiece and his bracelets and his phone, crushing them beneath booted feet and throwing the remains back out into the street. He snarled and bit and kicked, determined not to make it easy for them, to rip the heads off each and every one of them for putting a knife to Pepper’s throat and for that look on her face.
It didn’t last. He’d known it wouldn’t. It took four of them to hold him down, trashing on the floor, and then came a harsh sting in the back of his neck. It spread through his veins like ice, making him sluggish and numb, movement impossible.
They left him there to stare vacantly at nothing as the jarring ride finally came to a halt, the doors opening to pitch darkness. He was dragged out, hoisted over someone’s shoulder, smelling petrol and seawater.
An escape by boat. Somewhere deep inside, a small voice laughed manically. So cliché, so predictable.
Please, don’t let them panic and throw him to the sharks when the Helicarrier came to hover overhead.
Still nothing but darkness as he felt a gust of wind on his face and the steps of his abductor shifted as he stepped onto something that gave slightly under their combined weight. A walkway. A short one, the incline shallow – the boat couldn’t be that large. Hushed voices over his head, heated and tense.
“Come on, come on, we gotta go, now-“
The creak of a door and he was carried inside, through more dusk and darkness, down a staircase so narrow his head kept smacking against the wall. There was permeating smell all around, the unclean stench of seawater and fish and things rotting and yes, he could guess what type of boat this was, because it sure as hell wasn’t a yacht.
Another door and then he was unceremoniously dropped on the floor as his ride grunted. He blinked up at the small, sharp light bulb in the ceiling, glad to feel his eyelids move, trying to force control back into the rest of his limbs.
He had a welcoming committee. They leaned in over him, identical heads in black masks, wasting no time in yanking his shirt open. Cold air hit his chest, making the skin around the arc reactor shiver. If he could he’d have cracked a joke about hey, eager much, you’d just have to ask, I’m always up for some fun, because fuck, he hated when they went for the reactor.
One of his pet peeves. Don’t hand me things, don’t stick around in the morning and stay the hell away from my heart.
A careless hand scrabbled over the casing and he tensed, but it pulled back without doing any harm. Another of the heads leaned down, peering closely at the glowing light.
“Fascinating.” Watery eyes turned to stare him straight in the face. “Mr. Stark. A pleasure to have you join us.”
He managed a growl and the man cocked his head. “Already coming back? Impressive. But it doesn’t matter. You’ll be our guest for a while, and we’ll do our best to keep you safe and sound... or at least this.” One blunt finger tapped against the reactor cover. “We’d really prefer to keep you both connected but don’t doubt, Mr. Stark. If we have to, we’ll take this little wonder straight out of your chest. We don’t need you, Mr. Stark. We just need this. Do you understand?”
He stared back defiantly, fighting the drug for control, until the head muttered something and pulled back.
“Not important. Tie him up.”
And tie him up they did, to the point where even Tony questioned their paranoia. His clothes were rifled through as though they feared he had the Iron Man suit hid in his back pocket. Tie, belt, shoes, even his socks gone– at least they left the suit jacket, after pawing all over the lining. Hands all over, rough and intrusive, yanking off cufflinks and groping between his legs.
Well, he did keep a rather fine gun there.
Thick tape around his wrists and knees and ankles, up against the skin, gripping tight, cloth between his lips and over his eyes. More tape, on his face, catching on his beard and eyebrows. That’d be a bitch coming off, he could tell already.
And through it all, there was not a damn thing he could do about it save lie there and take it, as tense as he could make himself, trying not to imagine Happy’s still form and that knife and Pepper.
Finally, they forced earplugs into his ears, shoved them in deep, muffling all sound to indistinct echoes.
They left. Tony had no idea for how long he spent lying there, feeling the chill seep into his bones, the drug slowly bleeding away to leave him shivering and stiff on the floor. Darkness and silence – if it wasn’t for that fishy stench, he’d be approaching full sensory deprivation. Disorienting as hell. The floor rolled underneath him, letting him know they’d hit rougher waters – they must be out at open sea now, leaving land behind. Heading for the unknown and greatly unwanted future.
Fuck. He was so done with this shit. Once had been enough.
At least Afghanistan hadn’t been this damp.
His treacherous body still reeled between alcohol and adrenaline. Tony ran through the situation in his mind, forcing himself to ignore the nausea, facts and possibilities chasing each other in circles. All his trackers were gone – the watch, the bracelets, his phone- and the suit had been in the car. They wanted the arc reactor. Had they gone for the suit as well? The car war armored underneath that sleek exterior – JARVIS was onboard, and had a trick or two to keep unauthorized people away. Happy was authorized. So was Pepper. Had they taken Pepper back to the car? Had they killed her as soon as Tony was out of sight? The mere thought was enough to push more adrenaline through his system, making his arms jerk against their bindings.
Pepper dead filled his mind, a thousand agonizing scenarios, until he dragged in a deep, slow breath though his nose and pushed the pictures away by sheer force of will, refusing to succumb to despair.
Angry thoughts, think angry thoughts, get the blood flowing, flush out those chemicals.
Damn, now he envied Bruce and his inner rage monster. Or Steve. Or Natasha. None of them would’ve ended up like this.
Control came back to him slowly, inch by inch. The tape chafed and pinched his skin as he wriggled, trying to get leverage. He rubbed his face against the floor, trying to dislodge the blindfold, but the tape held it fast. The only thing he got to show for it was splinters in his face.
He rolled across the floor until he hit the door, fumbling over the crack with bound hands. It didn’t budge. There was probably a handle but it’d be too high, even if he got up on his knees – if he could get up on his knees.
And even if he did, when what? Roll all over his enemies?
He needed to get free. There was a light bulb in the ceiling – that meant electricity, and he could work wonders with electricity.
He fought the bonds until he was exhausted, the motions of the ship teaming up with a dawning hangover to make him his stomach heave. Giving up his struggles for a moment he curled in on himself, trying to preserve what strength he had.
He’d be damned if he went out like this. The arc reactor in the wrong hands was unacceptable. Should’ve fitted it with a self-destruct, he thought, and giggled helplessly around the cloth in his mouth.
Suddenly there was a hand on his face, long fingers biting vice-like into his cheeks and he panicked because he hadn’t heard anything and yes, the earplugs, but he could still hear and he hadn’t heard the door. But his panicking was just so much flopping about and oh hell.
Harsh fingers dug out the earplugs and Tony forced his body still through sheer force of will.
“Oh my, such levity. Am I disturbing you?” A smooth voice, rich and cultivated, and he knew that voice on a level deeper than pure memory, hardwired to the animal in the hindbrain, memories of it purring atrocities to Natasha and hissing promises to himself in his own living room.
Knew those hands, too. The feeling of falling helplessly towards the street fifty stories below.
Loki.
Impossible. Here, on a rickety, stinking fishing boat off the Los Angeles coast? Loki was in Asgard, had been returned there by Thor, Tony had been there himself to witness it and yet all doubt disappeared as Loki chuckled, deep and hoarse.
“So you remember. How heartwarming.” Fingers combing through Tony’s hair. “I suppose you are even more confused than usual. Quite a feat for a mortal.” A hand on his face now, smoothing over the gag, worrying the blindfold. A breath tickled his ear. How close was Loki? Close enough that a headbutt would reach him? At least he’d draw some blood before the sticky end.
Hair tickled his cheek and whoa, yes, Loki was right there and now Tony thought he could feel him, the shadow of a body against his right side, leaning over him.
A warm touch circling the arc reactor. He jumped, swearing behind the gag. Loki chuckled. “Fear not, I’m not here for your little toy. Not today.”
So why are you here? He must be emoting that question with every fiber of his being right now, lost and muddled and straining against the bonds. Loki laughed again, low and malicious, and Tony shivered despite himself.
“It’s the talk of the town that the great Tony Stark has unexpectedly gone missing.” The hands, thin and impossibly strong, cupped his face in a farce of tenderness. “When you know to listen in the right places, at least. And I do not have the patience for the unexpected today. Getting in the way of carefully laid plans. Intolerable.”
Lips, warm and soft against his face, hot breath through the cloth of the gag as sharp teeth worried his lower lip. Tony yelped in surprise more than anger, the kiss so unexpected that his mind just didn’t compute. He tried to buck against it but Loki held him firm, not even tensing against his struggles.
“You are mine to kill, Iron Man. And I won’t see you die in darkness and hidden places. Not yet. I will kill you for all the world to see.”
Tony stilled. Oh. Oh, this was so very very bad. Of course this night had to get even worse, because it apparently wasn’t enough of a clusterfuck of abyssal atrociousness already. Right. Loki was a thin veneer of ice around a core of pure molten crazy and come to think of it, Tony had smacked him in the face with a jet-driven Iron Man suit.
Why did he always get the crazy ones?
Above him, Loki hummed, seemingly delighted with whatever he saw on Tony’s face. “I said to fear not, Tony Stark. That day is not today. I have plans for you. You will not die in this stinking hold. You will live, and die, as I see fit.”
Tony snorted though his nose, he couldn’t help himself, not even with icy dread lining the pit of his stomach. He felt Loki’s lips curve against his own, still too close. “Today, I am here to grant you a boon… one you should be grateful for receiving.”
Somehow, having Thor’s psycho younger brother kiss him and tell him that he was going to save his ass wasn’t the least bit comforting, or even plausible, but right now, Tony’d take what he could get. He’d left friends bleeding on the pavement. Owing Loki one was a trivial detail, not even registering on the scale tonight.
An arm looped itself around his waist, casually catching him. He froze as a wet tongue traced the rim of his ear. No. Not this.
Loki laughed again, straight into his ear. “Of course, there is the matter of my recompense. Surely you did not think I would do this out of the goodness of my heart?” A hand drifted slowly over his chest, underneath the edges of his torn shirt, tracing a light touch over bare ribs. He growled and tossed his head, wanting to feel the crunch of Loki’s face connecting with his skull, wanting to get away, but Loki wasn’t there, had ghosted back beyond his reach. The arm around him was unyielding, trapping him between the floor and Loki’s chest, his trashing ignored while the hand dipped beneath his waistband and tauntingly palmed his dick through the thin cloth of his underwear.
He twisted again, heart racing in his chest, pounding a dull ache against the reactor casing, tossing his head wildly enough to disorient himself.
Loki’s hand closed like an iron fist around his cock. Tony stiffened, the snarl in his throat dying off into a high-pitched whine.
“There. Much better.” The bastard was gloating, and it took an effort of will not to lash out again, to heed the merciless grip holding a very cherished part of him hostage.
“Are they really worth that little to you?” It was a mumble, against the skin of his temple, so low he had to strain to hear. “Is this price really too much to pay?”
Tony shuddered, feeling all fight drain out of his body, leaving him empty and limp. Dead weight in Loki’s arms. He closed his eyes, not that it mattered, the darkness no more compact than before, but desperate to shut the world outside in any way he could.
He’d kill Loki for forcing this not-really-a-choice-at-all on him, damn Thor to hell and back if he got in the way.
Loki seemed to take his apathy for the surrender it was. The mouth returned to press a mockingly soft kiss to his unwilling lips as the hands wrenched with his fly, pushing the fabric down. Cold air hit his thighs, making him shiver, the reality of the situation a punch to his guts. He gasped down a ragged breath around the gag, more of a sob than anything else, and Loki tsked softly.
“It must be so hard, to be the hero. To have to nobly sacrifice yourself for the greater good. I admire you, you know.” Hard hands running down his legs, the tape around his knees and ankles torn away, white-hot pain as it was ripped from skin. “But worry not. You’ve made the right choice. And should you regret it... well, there is really no way for you to stop me, is there?”
He tried to resist, body tense as a coiled spring as Loki effortlessly forced pants and underwear all the way down, leaving him bare and vulnerable, wrestling against the bonds until the tape bit into his wrists.
Pain, pain was good. It was was a focus of clarity in a world that rapidly spiraled into a nightmare as Loki shoved his knees apart, his struggles more than useless against the superhuman strength. The startling touch of leather and metal against the inside of his thighs when an unwelcome body pushed itself between them, buckles and hard edges drawing painful lines on his skin.
Loki forced himself close easily, slowly, settling against his body and catching Tony beneath him like a bug squashed under a rock. Loki was heavy and he spared Tony none of his weight, pausing for an agonizing moment that made Tony aware, too aware, of the hot, hard length pressed against his stomach and the obscene angle of his splayed legs.
It was going to happen, was happening. No suit, no SHIELD, no Avengers coming to his rescue. Just him and Loki, in this stinking room, and he couldn’t fight back.
A hand on the floor by his face, felt but not seen and then Loki forced himself inside, viciously fast, gripping Tony’s hip in a bruising grip. Tony howled through the gag, head snapping back to slam into the floor and there was pain, pain and humiliation and rage mixed together and rising in his throat in time with Loki’s thrusts.
Loki was pitiless, shoving into him without any finesse, just a never-ending onslaught. Tony fought to stay above the surface, to be present when every instinct screamed at him to just let go, let the numbness overwhelm him.
It was a losing battle. Loki was everywhere, inside him and around him, the scent of leather in Tony’s nose, harsh breaths mixing with Tony’s own whimpering. His whole body rocked in time with the rhythm of the thrusts.
The pain in his wrists grounded him once again, giving him a counterpoint to the tearing agony in his ass. Loki had lifted himself off him, granting him the space to breath and he gulped down that air he could through cloth and snot and tears. Relax. Relax and allow this to happen, be just so much meat on the floor. Sparing himself what pain he could. That was the logical thing to do and yet his body quivered with tension as he mentally screamed at himself to fight.
Loki shoved himself deeper inside and Tony grunted, driven over the floor by the sheer force of the puch. It hurt. Too much. Light flashed across his eyes behind the blindfold. His breath hitched as he felt himself slipping away.
Loki stilled between his legs. It took Tony a moment to realize, still forced open, Loki buried deeply inside.
Long fingers wiped the sweat and tears from his cheeks. “I can’t let you do that, pet. Stay with me. I want to see you feel it.”
That sent a bolt of pure, undiluted fury though him, the mocking tenderness, the pure cruelty of the act forced upon him. Loki would pay for this. Tony would smash through the doors of Asgard itself if he had to, would find the bastard wherever he’d flee. The universe wouldn’t be big enough to hide in once Tony was through.
A chuckle. “Good boy.”
The hand on his face returned to his hip, fingers digging new bruises into already abused flesh. Loki started to rock again, but slower, calculating, drawing it out. This new pain was… bearable. The roving hand, less so. Fingers playing around the arc reactor, dipping down to teasingly tug at his flaccid dick laid bare between his spread legs. The feeling of whatever armor Loki was wearing scraping over hypersensitive skin. He forced himself to make notes of it all, burying himself in the details to escape the impossible fact that he was held down on the floor of a fishing boat, that Loki was here, that Loki was raping him and it. Just. Didn’t. Stop.
It felt like a twisted kind of time loop, an endless repeat of push and pull. His abused flesh screaming at every thrust, Loki within and without, filling the darkness around him.
And then, without warning, the full weight of the god on him again as Loki buried his face in Tony’s neck and came with a shudder, hips jerking against Tony’s for a short moment, swallowing a gasp against clammy skin.
It seemed like an unworthy end for such an awful deed. Tony lay silent and limp, no will left to move, wanting only for Loki to be gone, away from him, never to touch him again. Revenge be damned, all he wanted was to stop feeling that body against his. Right now, he’d give anything. Everything. The shame was a shroud, wrapping him up in a filthy embrace.
Shock. A textbook case, really.
Loki pushed off. A last violation, lips against his, brushing over his cheek, a last flutter of fingers against his chest.
“She lives.”
He jerked at that, the apathy broken by the thudding of his heart, twisting uselessly to get his bearings where he lay. Loki was gone, the presence in the room faded, no scent of leather in the air. As silently as he’d arrived. He twisted up on himself, curling into a fetal ball of misery, pressing his legs together and feeling the wetness trickling down his thighs.
That asshole was just trying to mindfuck him as a final icing on the cake, and damn it, it was working, because…
She lived. She must. Because if he was to die on this stinking boat, at least he wanted to know that she was safe and sound somewhere out there.
He was alone. Alone and shivering and Loki’s help, fuck that guy, a quick fuck before they tore his heart out just did not count. Should’ve known, Stark. He coiled up tighter, trying to get his breathing under control, stop the deep sobs still racking his chest. There was still time. There must be.
A strong hand gripped his arm and something sliced though the tape, the sharp edge nicking the inside of his wrist. Gasping, he jerked his arms apart, flailing on the floor, tearing at the gag and blindfold and clumsily ripping them off his face.
The small light bulb still cast its harsh light overhead. He scrambled back into a corner, frantically sweeping his eyes over the room.
Nothing. He was alone.
He sucked in a breath and spat, desperately trying to find some sort of balance. He was reeling, shock and terror still crawling through his chest, every brush against bruised flesh triggering aftershocks to flash though his body.
His pants lay discarded in a crumpled heap. He grabbed them, ignoring the stabs of pain as he pulled them on, refusing to even look down at himself. Not now. Not ever, if he had a choice.
A deep breath. Another. He had a mission. There were people waiting for him.
And by the door, the door that now was slightly ajar, lay a gun.
He stared at it, then crawled over the floor to grasp the cold metal in his hand. A gun. One of his guns.
“You should be grateful.”
It was a moment’s work to check the clip and grasp the weapon firmly in both hands.
Grimly, he pushed the last hour deep into his mind, locked it away and buried it deep before stepping out into the corridor.
He was going home.