for halfassed

[dreamsofpoison]

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.

Comments

[halfassed]

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."

[dreamsofpoison]

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.

[halfassed]

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.

[dreamsofpoison]

"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.

[halfassed]

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."

[dreamsofpoison]

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.

[halfassed]

"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."

[dreamsofpoison]

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.

[halfassed]

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?"

[dreamsofpoison]

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.

[halfassed]

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."

[dreamsofpoison]

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."

[halfassed]

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.

TIME SKIP

[dreamsofpoison]

It was not Loki's fault, he's sure to point out, several times. It was not his fault that a snow storm came up, knocked out the power and made it impossible for them to leave. It was also not his fault that the generator was ancient and refused to work in such cold.

While keeping them there longer did offer Loki more time to work his long term plan it also made him very uneasy. As a mortal he's truly felt cold for the first time. Only after Clint has gone to bed on the first powerless night does Loki huddle by the fire. He keeps checking and rechecking his hands. The last time he felt anything close to this he turned blue. What does that mean without powers? Well, he was left with a small trickle of power that gave him no benefit other than to his dignity. Could he stretch that illusion if he somehow changed?

No, no. He shouldn't think about that. If he stays warm it won't be a problem. So he pulls the blanket tighter around himself and sits on the floor in front of the fire.

[halfassed]

He could've slept in the cold. He can sleep in anything, a nice side effect of being in special forces. Unfortunately, he knows all too well the possibility of freezing to death in a temperature like this, and he doesn't know how well the cabin will stand up to unexpected temperature drops.

So here he is coming downstairs, seeing Loki huddled by the fire.

"It's cliche," he says, "but we gotta share body heat. Otherwise, there is a very real possibility that one or both of us will die." Maybe not a really big possibility, but it's there, and that's enough for Clint.

[dreamsofpoison]

Loki shoots him a glare. "I am warm enough by the fire," he says matter-of-fact. Never mind that the fire wood is ruining low but nothing can be done about that until morning.

"I would think you would not be so eager to touch," he adds, intending to be a sting.

[halfassed]

What is Loki, fishing for compliments? "What do you expect? You want me to say I want to touch you? I don't. But survival is more important."

He sets a hand on Loki's shoulder. "Come on," he says. "Burning through the wood isn't going to do us any good."

[dreamsofpoison]

He shrugs off his hand and looks offended he touched him. Even if he's right. He considers being difficult -- more difficult. No, he will cooperate with this.

A resigned sigh and he scoots back from the edge of the fireplace. "For warmth," he finally agrees.

[halfassed]

"Need your help," he says. "We should get the mattress in here -- seal off the room, keep all the warmth in here, with the fireplace." He claps Loki on the shoulder. "C'mon, it'll warm you up."

[dreamsofpoison]

Another sigh and he stands up. He still doesn't look thrilled with the idea. "What do you want me to do?" he asks.

[halfassed]

A few painfully annoying minutes later, they have the mattress maneuvered onto the floor in front of the fire. Clint makes a quick round, closing all the doors into the room, and checking the closets for spare blankets. Far away from the fireplace, his breath mists in the cold. Must be below zero outside.

He brings back a pile of 'em, smelling faintly of mothballs. Unfolding them, one at a time, and piling them on the bed.

"Big spoon or little spoon?" he asks.

[dreamsofpoison]

Loki didn't complain as they got things set up. His mind was elsewhere. He could be glimpsed glancing at his hands like he expected them to change.

Oh, he glares at the question. "I do not care," he replies. He slips in under the blankets and curls in on himself.

[halfassed]

Clint shrugs his jacket off, making sure that he'll share as much body heat as possible. And he slips under the blankets, settling them down behind him.

Jesus. Clint's freezing his ass off and Loki's even colder.

"You're like an ice cube," he complains. "Are your hands hurting? What's wrong?"

[dreamsofpoison]

Loki curls in on himself even further. That's not exactly something he can easily answer. "No," he replies, "They don't hurt." As for what's wrong, he has an on going list of things that are wrong. "I may be mortal but I am still not human."

[halfassed]

Loki says it like it's a bad thing.

Clint frowns. Shifts closer, tucking the blankets in around them. Maybe, in Loki's eyes, it is a bad thing. But what reason would he have to dislike it?

"Isn't that a good thing?" he asks.