fucky feelings for cuttingremark

[brandingproblem]

(from here)

He keeps his word. He doesn't tell anyone where Loki's hiding out, powerless. Even though he should. At the very least, Thor deserves to know, and when he inevitably finds out, Clint is going to accept whatever anger the thunder god levels at him.

Steve's gone, Tony's dead, Nat's dead, Bruce is...happy and content with his life and doesn't deserve that dropped on him frankly. So. That's all the OG crew accounted for. The new crew would obviously have heard about Loki, but that's not the same as actually being present fighting him or his forces. That Scott guy doesn't count, either. Like, would they do something? Maybe not if he hasn't actually done anything and doesn't pose a threat.

NYPD might have a few choice words, but. Clint tries very hard not to get noticed by the local LEOs if he can help it. Loki isn't really their jurisdiction, and SHIELD is...more or less out of commission even though it still works in the shadows, where Fury and Hill are. Wherever they are.

Which doesn't mean Loki gets of scot free. If he is up to something, then it's up to Clint to suss it out. Clint's mess, as ever. If Loki really is as powerless as it seems, there are still plenty of other ways he could fuck around and cause trouble. So. His responsibility.

It's definitely not whatever lingering connection of magic that binds their minds, not telepathy, not even really empathy, but still. A connection. It might have been severed long ago, but it's as Loki implied: you don't come out of that, something that strong and strange and otherworldly, and not have there be something that remains behind. Therapy has been all well and good. He isn't angry about it, not really, and he doesn't get nightmares the way he used to, after. But also, he's not sure it prepared him for Loki being in his life again. Not just a passing glance, either.

It jumbles everything up. The same type of traitorous thought that had him pondering Loki's sleeping habits and the absurd thought of touching crops up whenever he's near. Something damn near affectionate, something starved. Something that's in Loki, too, and it makes him feel sick. Makes him feel wanting. Which makes him feel sicker.

His eyes might be clear, but his mind feels clouded. Not a great way to show up at the apartment, but he can't just let this pass by without checking in on Loki. That's most of the reason he takes these trips back to NYC in the first place. Occasionally check in on Avengers-y things, see how the cleanup of the compound is up north, catch up with a few people he actually knows. But. It's about Loki.

It's always been fucking about Loki, huh.

He raps on the door, drinks nestled in a holder. Hot tea for Loki, a spiced blend, cloves, cinnamon. Makes him think of wintertime. Makes him think of the spicy and complicated (former?) god. Coffee for himself. Peace offering.

Comments

[brandingproblem]

Someone's a little eager. Not that there isn't a part of him that's also fully eager, but she seems to really enjoy engaging with this idea. He keeps up no problem, but eyes her up. There's a question on his mind, but it seems nebulous and complex (or just really stupid), and he doesn't know how to word it. It also...absolutely doesn't matter if Loki only has this desire because of the connection or if she actually perhaps somehow in there really does want him, apart from it all.

[cuttingremark]

The quicken pace gets them back to the building and into the elevator before the heat in Loki's body becomes a burning. As soon as the metal door slide shut, she's on him, pressing him into the wall of the elevator with a heated kiss.

It's dangerous. They don't exactly have a good history of stopping without serious interruption, but she can't help it. Not trying to deny it anymore feels good, like intentionally letting pressure out of a container rather than waiting for it to explode.

[brandingproblem]

To no one's surprise, least of all his own, he's an idiot. Of course Loki's going to do her damnedest to release some pressure instead of waiting, and Clint is--appreciative of the move, certainly. His need had felt much less present, even with holding hands, even with proximity. (Yeah, maybe an intense conversation with your wife will put just about anything on cooldown.)

He's been fighting this the whole way. Being given grudging permission hasn't helped any, because now he just feels more fucked up and weirdly guilty about the whole thing.

So Loki catches him off guard, and there's a moment where his mind just blanks. And when it boots back up, his body is certainly kissing her back. And then the burning want surges in. Still recognizes this body as Loki.

And still he fights. Puts hands on her--shoulders, not at her waist, her hips, the way he wants needs wants to, pushes. It feels...worse. It feels worse to push that heat and desire away, and it leaves him gasping for air. The elevator dings. He can't get out of that small space fast enough. Like that'll help instead of making his head spin.

[cuttingremark]

Loki lets out a growl of frustration at being pushed away. She would have gone in for another kiss had the doors not opened and the archer not raced out. All the better, though, lest they be caught rutting in the elevator like a couple of horny teenagers.

She follows, soon overtaking him to get to the door to 'her' apartment first. A single touch from her hand to the doorknob enough to open the unlocking rune inscribed there.

"Anything we need to discuss?" she asks, stepping inside and kicking her shoes off.

[brandingproblem]

He's very good at opening his mouth when he shouldn't, and keeping it shut when he should say something. 'We don't have to do this' is on the tip of his tongue, but then, if that were really true, he wouldn't be following her in, closing the door with some kind of sense of finality behind him. That kiss made things so much worse. Because he wants to do the wall pushing now, hike up her skirt, fuck her until they pass out from exhaustion. Wants her to tie him up tight and drive him right around the bend by touching him and riding him.

His hand hasn't left the doorknob, and it tightens hard around the metal.

"Dunno," he eventually says, like it's casual, "is there?" Plenty. What would they say? He isn't sure. "No choking, got that part."

[cuttingremark]

"A shame, but yes. No choking. Other than that..." Loki steps behind him, pressing her from chest into his back, looping her arms around his chest to trace up and down his torso with her fingers.

"The floor is yours."

[brandingproblem]

He shivers under the touch. It's a fixation, from that very first night, the idea of touching, of being touched and caressed and held and hurt and molded and formed by Loki. Possessed, treated with such reverence.

"Pretty sure the floor's not gonna cut it this time." Which is not what she meant and yet.

[cuttingremark]

Still behind him, Loki shifts, gaining the height he'd long on Clint in his other form.

"I whole heartedly agree," he says, bending down to nibble lightly on his ear. "Lead the way?"

[brandingproblem]

"Fuck."

The resolve, or really the fight in him, finally gives way. That there's still just enough of himself present to be angry at himself means, yeah, okay, those little incidents through yesterday really did help in small measures. Is it better if they are both somewhat more conscious and aware of all they're doing rather than submerging under the pull of this otherworldly gemstone? (Or, better question, will even this fade away when they give in entirely?)

He wants Loki's hands all over him, to pick him apart, to sink into his chest and take hold of his very heart.

Well. They can take hold of something else soon enough if they really want to. He presses back against Loki, adding a bit of friction, and takes one of those roving hands, brings fingers to his lips, takes a few into his mouth to suck on. Ignores an impulse to bite.

...Right, he was supposed to lead the way. Bit distracted from that.

[cuttingremark]

"That's the general idea," Loki mutters into his ear, grinding right back. No hardness meets Clint, but not for lack of arousal. After all this buildup, Loki finds he doesn't want to worry about prolonged prep work to get where they're going.

They aren't moving, and he isn't doing much to help that as he moves his lips down Clints neck, kissing and nipping and sucking. He's gripped with the urge to mark, to claim. To let everyone know that this is his. His to devour, his to see.

There's the sudden urge to slam Clint against the wall, to ravish him right here in the entrance hall. Loki suddenly detaches and takes a step back, pupils blown wide.

"Bedroom. Or couch, fuck, I don't care."

[brandingproblem]

Ah--well, that sure is an example of what Loki was suggesting earlier about preferences. Clint has zero problem with any arrangement of bits and bobs, but clearly Loki has a limit to his patience.

Which, maybe he hasn't quite reached, since he actually pulls away. Couch is tempting. It's closer.

But a bed will give them more space. And somehow, it seems fitting. A month ago when he'd laid out on that bed fighting what he thought was a sickness with that sense-memory of Loki's touch that had never touched him in the ways lying there wanted him to be touched. It's more intimate that way, for better or for worse.

Clint takes a step closer, strips off his shirt as he goes, tossing to the floor, baring chest and tattoo sleeve and all. And he closes the distance, pushing into Loki, pressing him back. He remembers where the bedroom is, after all. Kisses, nips at him. Slides hands up under that skirt to grab handfuls of ass none too gently.

[cuttingremark]

Loki watches as Clint removes his shirt, but doesn't get much time to dwell on the tattoo as the archer is on him only a moment later. He walks backwards where Clint directs, doing everything he can to stay in constant contact with him.

It's a miracle neither of them trip on the way to the bedroom. Loki doesn't even realize they're there until his legs hit the edge of the bed.

[brandingproblem]

Clint pushes, actually shoves him with a hand to his chest, and wastes no time climbing after Loki, over him, above him. He could, perhaps, help Loki out of his clothes. Or he could just keep a hand under that skirt, hiking it higher and higher, flipping the material up.

His mouth travels down, rough kisses and little bites over his jaw and neck, following down the dip of the V of his top. And one of his hands occupies itself running up one of Loki's thighs, over stockings and over skin, and then along the hem of panties, and further still until he runs his thumb over a particular bit of soft, wet, warm patch of fabric and starts to rub.

[cuttingremark]

The skirt isn't a tight one, so it moves and flips easily around Loki's body and Clint's hands. He stretches his neck, giving more access for more bites and rough kisses, as his hands push up and under the archer's shirt. Nails run over the same paths as the previous day, digging in almost hard enough to break the skin when Clint finds his sweet spot.

"There!" Loki's hips grind up into his hand, doing everything he can to increase the pressure and friction. It's been a while since he sought pleasure in this form, the sensations similar, yet so different.

[brandingproblem]

The scratching, well, it scratches some kind of itch in him, something he probably shouldn't indulge. The idea of mixing in pain, that it might be a reminder of what Loki did to him. Something that can ache and sting and hurt, even if the pain is enjoyable at the very same time.

As ever, it's a confused jumble of feelings and sensations, and so much easier to focus on someone else's pleasure. The way Loki keens under him. He indulges for a short time before the impatience, the insistence, rumbles a growl out of him, and he pulls away long enough to once more shuck his shirt. There's no plan to retrieve it this time. His hands push down on Loki's hips, fingers worked under fabric, pulling down roughly. Nails catch on stockings without care, a pull here, a run there, until he flings the panties off Loki's legs entirely and to somewhere on the floor.

[cuttingremark]

With the moment's reprieve, Loki also shucks off his own shirt. He is just about to push the skirt down as well, but Clint it back on him in a second. Soon his hands are occupied again with broad shoulders unshielded from his perfectly manicured nails. He wants to dig in, to claw out whatever piece of him is trapped inside the other. What else could call to him like this?

He lets out a groan, hips moving to allow the green lace and silk panties to slide down his legs. He bucks up again, rubbing his wet heat on the hardness in his pants.

"Not fair," he says, hands moving to fiddle with the belt there. Fuck, the things he could do with that belt. Restraint, paint, so many promises in one thin piece of leather.

[brandingproblem]

There is most definitely a hardness to rub on, and he breathes heavy at the sensation before, also unfairly, pulling his hips just far enough away to get out of that reach. Not to worry, he replaces the sensation with deft fingers again, sliding along his wetness, playing with his clit.

"No such thing as fair." Between nails on his shoulders, shirtless Loki, Loki scrambling for Clint's belt, there's so much going on that plays with the imagination, and he can't just let this go on without getting his mouth back on there somewhere. At least ducking in to bite at Loki's chest keeps him from uttering I want you to hurt me. It's there on the tip of his tongue, but it can't get out if said tip of tongue is too busy lapping at a nipple, right?

[cuttingremark]

The combined sensations of Clints fingers sliding over his clit and his lips and teeth on his nipple makes Loki moan loudly. His hands fumble with the belt more, finally getting the buckle loosed so he can yank the strip out with a quick tug.

"Harder." It's unclear if he means the teeth on his very stiff bud, or the fingers working his folds. Possibly both. Sure, he's been known to enjoy a bit of pain with pleasure before, but he's never needed it. Not like this.

[brandingproblem]

There is a moment where he wants to fight it. To pull himself away entirely and tell Loki, very petulantly, that he doesn't get to give orders anymore.

And then just as quickly, he bites, hard, while his fingers dip into Loki, thumb pressing rough circles at the low nub. He does not have to follow it like an order, but the idea seems to soothe something in his animal brain, in the--whatever magic bullshit is inside of him. Good little soldier, doing as he's told. Beautiful weapon, given purpose.

So very hard to say no when it feels so good to give in.

[cuttingremark]

That gets him to cry out even louder. The pain, the pleasure, the fullness (not as full as he could be. Not as full as he desperately wants to be.)

"Yes- fuck - don't stop. P-please don't stop." Unlike before, Loki sounds more like he's pleading than giving an order. He can't stop himself from thrusting his hips up to take Clints fingers even deeper. He can't thrust all the way to meet his hips, but his hands are in a rather advantageous spot. He grinds his palm down, cupping and squeezing the hard dick through his pants.

[brandingproblem]

That one he doesn't have to follow. He doesn't feel compelled. But with the sounds Loki's making, he doesn't see any good reason to stop, save out of spite. And if the god is going to get his hands on him like that...

Clint leaves another sharp bite to his chest. "Fuck," he growls at the touch, needed, needing. Rolling his hips into that giving hand.

[cuttingremark]

The button and zipper of Clint's pants are easier to undo than the belt was. Loki still can't manage to shove them down much from his angle, but he is able to get a hand under the waistband of his underwear. He growls and gives the hard length a rough tugs.

Giving in rather than letting everything bottle up is helping with him truly not loose control, but as they sink deeper and deeper into the animalistic sensations and urges. He wants to posess but also be posessed. To hurt and be hurt. To drive the other mad with pleasure and pain and everything in between and be driven mad in turn.

As if he needs more madness in his head.

Still, in this moment, the only thing he can think of is Clint's cock inside him. The fingers aren't enough, but when he tries to beg for more all that comes out is incoherent moans as he strokes in time with thrusting fingers.

[brandingproblem]

God, they're really taking the advice of a shitty wizard and fucking so they can quiet the wordless voice of a magic stone in their heads, huh. He hopes it works, because the idea of rutting against Loki's hand, getting inside Loki, to hurt be hurt have be had more and more and more, it's all sounding way too good. Better than it has any right to.

Loki has since stopped forming actual words, and that's the point where Clint slides his fingers out. Partly it's to leave Loki breathlessly wanting. Partly it's so he has his hands free, shimmying out of the rest of his clothes before taking up his belt and looming over the god. The urge to bind his hands up is great. The desire for him to sink his nails in like claws is greater.

"Cat got your tongue?" He could be petty about it. Make Loki beg. But neither of them have too much in the way of patience left. Another time, then. (Is there going to be another time? Is it wrong that he hopes there is?) He kisses Loki, deep, rough, needing, and the moment he pulls away again, the belt replaces his mouth as a makeshift gag, pulled firm around Loki's head. It'll keep him from offering up any smart remarks. Or orders. At least until he decides to take it off himself.

Not that Clint's willing to give him that much time to think. Leather in place, he wastes no more time in gripping Loki's hips like a vise, sinking his cock deep inside with no further preamble, no gentleness. "Fuck," he grits out, dipping his head to muffle the rest of the sounds he might make against Loki's shoulder, biting an unkind mark as he moves his hips.

[cuttingremark]

Just when he's almost found his voice again to tell Clint to 'get on with it already!' When he pulls his fingers out, Loki can do nothing but moan clenching around nothing but the sudden emptiness, his grip tightening on Clint's dick. It steals his voice again, leaving him with nothing but a snarl at the sass. Even that is snatched away by the sharp kiss and then leather between his teeth.

He bites down on the belt, giving a performative struggle against it. Of course it would be very easy to reach up and undo the bindings, but there's something about the tight pressure around his head, the weight of the leather on his tongue. It grounds him in the moment, makes everything feel more visceral and real, but also makes his head go fuzzy with need. Not just carnal need, but the need for Clint to take control, to take him and make him whatever the other wants.

The haze only increases as the archer thrusts into him. Loki doesn't even know when his hands moved away from the other's dick, but he finds himself digging deep crescent moon shaped marks into Clint's shoulders as the air is punched from his lungs with a loud moan. It's muffled somewhat by the gag, but still loud enough that if there were any neighbors in the adjacent apartments they would know exactly what the two were getting up to.

Skin gives under his finely manicured talons as Clint bites down. He can feel the blood beneath his fingertips, core clenching around each thrust trying to pull him deeper faster harder. Each motion punches more muffled whines and moans out of the god. He curses and begs, not that any of it is intelligible around the gag.

[brandingproblem]

It's a relief and a craze that take him over at the same time. The buildup and the desires coursing through him means actually finally taking what his nerves sing out for is a balm, so good against the strain of resistance he'd put up. But there's also no time to slow or to think or to consider or even for any finesse. He wants and wants and takes and has and the influence inside him is a greedy son of a bitch.

But he knows that Loki's just the same, from every wailingly loud moan to the way he clenches around Clint's length every time. They both need this, to satisfy the deep urges inside of them clawing to the surface.

And speaking of clawing, he can feel Loki's nails dig in, when the gripping and scratching turns to bleeding, the sharp tick of pain. That, too, feels good, soothes something inside him. Being hurt without having to ask or beg for it. Part of him doesn't want to enjoy this. Part of him desperately wants this to hurt, to bring a slew of negative connotations, so he'll hate this, so it's a chore. That part is probably going to be deeply disappointed in the way it feeds a violent desire, the same way that he wants to bite into Loki and tear him to shreds, a hate that is also a longing that is also a way to express a need they can't define. The pain swirls in, mixes with the pleasure, becomes part of the same.

He lifts Loki's hips, an adjustment of angle, to hit deeper harder faster, fingers digging hard into skin. Like he wants to meld with the god. Like if they could just dig into one another just right, they'll connect, they'll become one, they'll share in everything, and it will all be perfect. As though something could be more perfect than hot skin whining moaning groaning sweat and blood and fingers gripping mouth biting licking kissing pressing to pulse point feeling life feeling passion sex and more than sex.

When he comes, seated as far inside Loki as physically possible, trembling, pulsing, every fiber of his being pulled taut, it takes him by surprise.