TW: Violent sex, implied abuse

This was not love. There were no soft beds or tender embraces. Loving phrases had no place in what they created for themselves. No sweet warmth. Violent passion in its place, there was no love making. Not here. They left each other with shallow gashes on their backs and bruises on their necks and wrists, aching bones and sore hearts.

There was no love when they fell to the floor, one hand behind his neck, the other in his hair. To be fair, neither of them ever thought it was, although some acquaintances had made the assumption about affection between them. One would smile. One would frown.

"Love is for children."

"Sentiment is for fools."

The response was always a sigh. But they ignored it.

"You taught me that."

"I've always told you that."

The comment stung, and she turned her head. The brother laid his heavy hand on his shoulder.

It was not love.

They hit the ground hard, the blonde taking the brunt of it, making the man above him chuckle.

"I'm sorry, did that hurt?" Sharp nails dug through the thin fabric of his shirt, shredding the cloth and the flesh beneath it. Clint drew in a sharp breath, breathing out a name in a hiss as his back arched off the cold cement.

"Loki."

Clothing disappeared in record time. The bare bodies writhed against each other, no form, no restraint, save the vice grip of Loki's hand over Clint's wrists. Words of ownership were whispered- 'remind me again, pet, to whom do you belong?'-before the swift entrance. There was no preparation, Loki felt there was no need, and he was particularly impatient today. Neither pair of lips ached for a kiss, no soft touches, no hushed words.

"Tell me."

Loki snarled into Clint's ear, his hips making quick short thrusts to meet the eager man beneath him.

"Tell me!"

His nails dug into Clint's hip while the other hand held his arms above him. Loki sunk his teeth into his neck, drawing blood.

"You, you!" he choked out, gasping.

"Name!"

"You, Loki. I belong to Loki."

"You do if you know what's good for you." He'd purr, and then he' bring both of them to their climax. He would leave Clint alone in whatever place he'd told him to be. He would never stay, save to occasionally admire the man as he stumbled to his feet and cleaned himself off. No kisses, no Embraces, no words of affection. This was not love.