dreamsofpoison | for halfassed

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for halfassed

Just how and why Loki was back on Earth was a mystery. There had been no communication from Thor any Asgardian representatives. It wasn't obvious that Loki was back, in fact, his presence could have gone unnoticed if not for, well, mischief.

He'd somehow taken something belonging to one Clint Barton. Something very dear to him. His bow. Said bow now sat on a mantel above the fireplace in his current residence. It was a stone and log cabin. Lodge would be a more appropriate description. Logs make up A frame structures to support the roof. They also provide an excellent place to suspend someone from. Which inevitably happened when Barton followed the little trail of bread crumbs to find his bow and ultimately, Loki.

He's suspended near the fireplace, which is lit. Turned so he can see his bow sitting there on the mantel. He's hung high enough his toes barely brush the ground and apparently Loki took great care in securing his wrists in a specific type of cuff. The kind that would ensure he could keep him there for quite some time without much damage to his hands or wrists. He was stripped of his weapons and all his clothes save for his pants. Hence why he choose the beam close to the fire. It was the dead of winter outside.

As for Loki himself, he stood by the window, watching the snow fall and waiting for the subtle signs his captive has awoken. He's far removed from the armor and leather of before. Instead he's in simple mortal clothes but they still had a certain Loki-esque flair to them.

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He'd kept it to himself. Nat probably suspected something, but to Clint, this shit is private. He was never satisfied with the way Loki was punished, and he'd never told her the extent of the mind-bending way Loki had treated him. For God's sake, those few days in Loki's service were the best days of his life -- or, at least, some of the happiest.

So he takes his vacation days -- which is suspicious, but fuck it -- and walks out, suck and tired of the bullshit of everyday life in SHIELD, blah, blah, and follows the breadcrumbs. He's getting his damn bow back. He likes that one. He made that one. Or at least had a big hand in designing and crafting it. It's his. And Loki can't have it.

He has enough time to think through his plan. Enough that he decides he really shouldn't have one. Loki is unpredictable, and who's to say what he's like once he's been through Asgardian justice. Maybe he's been brainwashed himself. Maybe he's been stripped of his powers. Maybe he's only got one leg now. Clint doesn't know, and it's stupid to plan. So he has a few ideas, makes sure that he knows the area, makes sure that he's got some weapons stashed away.

And then he waltzes into Loki's trap, because this timeline is already too long, and he wants to get things moving.

Thus, he's not entirely surprised when he blinks himself to consciousness dangling from the ceiling.

Cuffs are comfy, though. Nice. He's used to the more torturous we-don't-care-how-much-carpal-tunnel-you-get kind.

Hey! That's his fucking bow!

"So," says Clint, "Option A is that you just give me the bow, let me go, and I'll ... well, actually, I'll shoot your face off, so that's probably not ideal, from your point of view. It is quick, though, so I'll let you decide."

Loki appears more interested in the window at first. It is a very nice window admittedly. It could stand to have some curtains. All of the windows could, really.

Ah, yes, Barton. He really shouldn't just leave him hanging. He smirks to himself, that was terrible, even by his standards. "Oh, I'm quite fond of my face the way it is, thank you," he says as if he was just offered a make-over. He turns from the window and paces to stand in front of the fireplace. "However, I do appreciate your honesty," he adds with a smile. Somewhat mocking.

"What might await me with Option B?" Now, that is mocking.

Do you see this Barton? He's taking your bow down from the mantel. He's touching it and really, almost caressing it.

His eyes follow Loki. If he were standing right now, he would be tense and ready, and would keep his distance. As it is, he's in the process of figuring out how to dangle most comfortably from his shoulder sockets. Not what he would call a comfortable position.

"I figure Option B could be a collaboration. You tell me what you'll do, and I'll figure out a way to get out and shoot your face off. More slowly."

Don't mind the way his jaw is working, right now. Teeth grinding. Or the way he's staring at the bow. He would really, really like Loki to get his greasy hands off of that.

"Hm. Shall I assume my other options follow such a theme?" he asks a grin on his face. Like there is a joke there that only he can get.

Loki's hands are entirely non-greasy, thanks. Oh, yes, he is stroking the bow almost lovingly. In a quick movement is draws it and sights it(without an arrow, of course) on Barton. Really, someone as thin as Loki doesn't look like he could hold that pull without shaking but he does.

"As a child, I always favored the bow," he says whimsically.

He releases the string as if he had an arrow. He lets out a little laugh then lowers the bow. He rather lovingly leans it against the fireplace.

After a moment he reaches a hand out to run along Clint's torso then down along edge where skin meets clothing. It's not a way he touched him before, even when he was completely under his control.

It's a good draw. Not as good as Clint, but, then, the bow's not made for Loki, and Loki's an asshole, so that all works out very nicely. A skinny asshole, at that.

He doesn't flinch. Of course, there's the possibility that there's a magic arrow there that's invisible, but fuck it, if he's going to die by his own bow, he'll do it without any little twitches of fear.

Now that touch -- that does make him flinch. And brings a heat to him that isn't entirely the light of the fire. Loki is as ethereal as ever, a presence and an absence at the same time, magic and flesh bound together. He gives Clint goosebumps, and those follow Loki's touch now, a visible indication of his reaction.

"Then as an adult, you copped out and went with the brainwash stick," says Clint. "I don't think it's an upgrade."

Loki takes the verbal jab well and laughs. "I had little choice," he points out dismissively. His hand travels lightly over his skin, moving upwards. He presses two fingers on the exact spot he used the 'brainwash stick.'

"Yet effective, for my purposes," he says more seriously, his eyes darkening. "Most effective on you," he adds and presses with those two fingers. "You felt the peace it could bring," his voice comes out airily. He speaks from experience from on both ends of the spear. He leans in closer, still pressing firmly with his fingers. "You embraced it," his breath coming against his ear.

"Bullshit." He had a choice. Maybe not a good one, but there's always a choice. If there's anything he knows about Loki, it's that he locks himself into plans -- he gets too narrowminded. Clint was the flexible one, and he was brainwashed.

-- oh, yes, he remembers. It's an event that he plays through his mind more often than he'd like. He'd thought Loki was going to kill him. He'd tensed in anticipation of that blade slipping straight into his heart. But, instead, there'd been a flood of cool inside him, gentle and sure, shuffling the cards of his mind and settling them into a different order. Kept his heart as strong as ever, because he remembers feeling like he'd never felt before. Looked like a robot on the surface, but he worked beneath his skin.

His jaw tightens. "In case you missed it," he says, "the glow-stick doesn't work anymore." And he just can't resist: "And I wouldn't call it peace."

Suspect a God of Lies of lying? His response got another laugh out of him. At any rate, Loki's reasoning isn't something he needs to explain to him. Maybe in the future. His mind backtracks on the thought. No, he need never explain himself to a mortal.

"Oh, I noticed. Yet you know as well as I--" he presses his fingers against the spot with a bruising strength. "--the effects never truly fade." With that he backs away.

"Not completely."

He steps behind him after a moment, his hands smoothing over the skin of Clint's back then up to his shoulders. Slowly his fingers trace over his strained muscles. His fingers wander over him, exploring. His right hand soon rests against his neck. "Lean your head back," he says in a simple command.

Loki's touch creeps over his skin, and Clint's breath grows shallow. This isn't how Loki treated him before. It was orders, fascinated stares, sweet praise, drawing close but not touching. Usually. Usually. Not always.

His head gives a little twitch, an aborted movement, as though his reflex was to obey Loki's words without question. But then he tenses his fingers and pulls himself away, just fractionally. His muscles stand out on his arms. He's strong.

Or, strong for a mortal, depending on what condition Loki is in.

"Why?"

The little twitch makes him smile, not that he can see it. His hand ghosts to his hair. He takes hold and tugs his head back, not too hard but enough to get his attention.

"Because I asked," he replies, sounding mystified like it was the most obvious answer.

His touch withdraws completely after that but he can be felt still standing behind him. "How strong are you?" he wonders aloud, not directly asking him the question.

A brief moment of panic, at those words. He has to remind himself that he's not under Loki's control. There's no puppet-string magic thing at work here. He's his own person, despite being tied up, and he's been in worse situations before. He could get out of this no problem. And he will. Soon as he gets a good opportunity.

"You asking my bench-press numbers?" he asks. "You show me yours, I'll tell you mine."

Again, Loki laughs. A true laugh, not quite like the ones before it. "You wish me to show you?" his voice is truly amused. "I drew your bow quite easily, would you like me to do so again?"

Oh, a wicked thought crosses his mind. A beautiful thought. Oh, it was perfect.

He jumps up with surprising agility to grab hold of the beam next to him. He hefts himself up with ease and straddles the beam. There is a mischievous glint in his eyes which surely can't be a good thing. He stretches out on the beam like a cat. Looking up, he's more or less directly above Clint. Oh, he is grinning.

From his pocket he produces a key. The key to cuffs to be specific. He toys with it between his fingers then holds it level with Clint's bound wrists. "Show me."

Oh, hell.

Oh, hell. That bastard. That bastard knows that the laws of physics are all stacked against Clint, and that he wants his damn bow back so badly, and that he wants to show Loki up -- bastard.

Fine.

A pull-up isn't hard. He curls his arms -- legs too, to get the muscles of his trunk moving, and, ignoring the pain in his shoulders, makes a stab for the key. He goes for it with his mouth, knowing that moving his hands or fingers would be a waste of effort; he'd be fighting against gravity and the cuffs, and it's easier this way.

Oh, yes. Loki is enjoying this. Immensely. He does keep the key teasingly out of reach to the point it looks like he'll just keep pulling it up out of his reach. He could do that, but he doesn't. Instead, when it's obvious Clint is at his limit, he let's the key and consequently his fingers slip into Clint's mouth.

He still looks amused but his attention is completely on his mouth. He keeps a tight grip of the key so he will either have to bite him or work his tongue between his fingers to get it.

Oh, biting is definitely the order of the day. Jaw's the strongest muscle in the human body, and Clint will draw blood. (Unless Loki's skin is impenetrable. In which case this is going to suck for his next dental bill.)

He jerks his head to the side, trying to dislodge the key.

He hisses through his teeth. Yes, it hurts to be bitten. Suddenly this seems like not the best idea but then again it's still going well over all. His skin isn't that impenetrable it seems. Blood is drawn. Loki looks less than pleased but he did release the key into his mouth.

"Do not think you won't pay for that," Loki tells him as he looks over his fingers. He then seems randomly amused by something and jumps down. As soon as he hits the floor his hands go to Clint's pants where he starts to remove them.

The taste of Loki's blood expands on his tongue like wine. Fine wine.

Clint hates wine, but there's something compelling about this. He thinks he could get used to it. Key goes between his teeth, and he hauls himself up again, muscles starting to feel the strain. This is going to hurt like a motherfuc--

And then Loki's hands are on his pants, and Clint makes a startled noise, and almost swallows the key. Almost, but a bit of old-reflex cleverness takes over, and he lets it fall into his cheek. He coughs, curses, as though he actually had swallowed it.

This'll be good. This way, he'll be able to take Loki by surprise.

Just a little chuckle from Loki at his cough. What happened to the key now was up to Clint, Loki just intends to make it as difficult as possible to use it. Whether he swallowed it or not.

He carefully removes Clint's pants and underwear. It was a funny thing, really. When he had absolute control over him he never saw him without his clothes, when he could have ordered them off at any moment. He gives his length a fleeting touch just to see what kind of reaction he would get.

He's back with his toes barely touching the ground again. Manages to support a little of his own weight that way, and, really, the comparisons to when he was brainwashed are unavoidable. Loki liked him better that way. So what the hell is all of this?

He should have given that more thought. Loki's motivations. Why he wanted Clint here, not just how Clint was going to get out with the bow. Cause now Clint has to figure it out while Loki's hands are drifting perilously close to the family jewels. He remembers servitude viscerally, the aching pleasure in his veins the closer he got to pleasing Loki. It's not the thrill he gets from carrying out a mission properly. It's the thrill he always dreamed he would get. It's the thrill he always wanted.

He shifts, uncomfortably.

"If I said 'hands off the family jewels', would it make any difference?" He just needs an opening. Needs for Loki to look away or go get some torture device, and then he'll have the chance to open the cuffs. If he gets his hands on the bow, he'll be able to get out of here.

He doesn't answer right away but at the mention of family jewels he lets his hand drift to cup his balls briefly. He makes a small approving sound then his hand moves away completely. He smiles. "It could," he concedes, then that grin is back, "I do not have to use my hands." His whole face lights up. He'll just let Clint fill the blanks there.

He is no longer touching him down there but his hands aren't idle either. His hand that was bitten drifts up to Clint's chin. He looks like he's trying to discern if he still has the key. His eyes narrow.

"Open your mouth."

Clint's actually pretty good at hiding things like this. He spent a fair portion of his life being mercilessly verbally abused by a very talented magician, and one doesn't come away from something like that without picking up a few tricks.

"I will puke," says Clint, "all over you." The muscles of his cheek don't bulge around the key, nor does he talk with any particular slurred words.

Oh, Loki shouldn't be having this much fun. He laughs again. "How charming," he comments. It is tempting to make a bird joke. "But I am afraid I must insist."

He brushes one of his bitten fingers over Clint's lips, smearing some blood in its wake. He is asking for another bite but that seems to be the idea.

One doesn't come. Clint's not an idiot, he's not going to fall for it that easy.

But his tongue flicks out. Brushes his lip. Seems he wants more of a taste of that blood -- he likes the thought that he's wounded Loki, broken his skin, exposed a part of his insides to the light. He bleeds red, just like every other fucking person on the planet.

He runs his fingers over his lips again. This time, he tries to part them but not push between his teeth. If he has the key still and is concealing it, how much will he allow to keep it concealed?

Time for misdirection. "Oh, yes. Gods can bleed. Do you enjoy that thought, Barton?"

He jerks his head away. "I've seen you bleed before." Not much, of course. Loki tended to get banged around and stand up with his hair maybe a little messy. But after the Hulk -- after the Hulk, there was blood.

Screw this. Loki's about to find the key. Loki's not an idiot, either.

So his elbows bend and he spits the key into his hand, twisting it to the lock. C'mon, c'mon, turn, you damn thing, turn...

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