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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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?"

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."

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.

He is gradually warming up, at least. It's a very strange feeling for him. He brings his hands to his face to blow into them, subtly checking their color in the process. Still pale flesh.

Enough, he thinks and shifts to face Clint. Without a word he puts his hands on his chest. Best way to stay warm, after all.

"Numbness comes before the pain, if it were frostbite," he says. It's not, but there is no reason he can't take advantage of the subtle shade of blue on his nails.

Clint hisses. "The point is sharing warmth, not stealing all of mine." But he shifts, again, sliding one arm under Loki's cheek, using the other to pull him closer, so that Loki is curled against Clint's chest. It's more intimate a position than Clint wanted, like Loki is a lover of his, like they both would crave the other's presence.

And while that might be true -- god damn it -- it isn't what Clint wants.

"So it's not frostbite?" he asks. "What is it?"

"You make it sound like I have a choice," he says with a laugh. Of course, if Clint's uneasy about the position Loki likes it even more. He wiggles up closer and tries to slip a leg between his thigh. Purely for warmth.

"An inconvenience," he answers. Now don't mind him as he lets his hands run over his chest. It's purely coincidence that ice cold fingers run over Clint's nipples

Clint twitches, and this time grabs Loki's wrist. "Hands! Hands in inappropriate places." Loki is curling up against him like a cat hungry for affection, and despite Clint's misgivings (of which there are many and varied, most of which he's trying not to think about right now) he's having an uncomfortable reaction in his borrowed sweatpants.

And Loki laughs. "That was hardly inappropriate," he points out as he nearly buries his face against him in laughter. He composes himself a second later and clears his throat.

"No, had I run them between your legs," he says, edging in closer to speak against his ear, "Ran my cold fingers over you until you warmed them or grew to like it. Rubbed my thumb over the head until it leaked." His hands are currently doing none of this, of course.

"It's what they teach us in grade school," continues Clint. "Chest and pelvis, those are no-no zones."

He and Loki are silent a moment, just breathing. It's almost peaceful.

And then Loki speaks.

Clint has gone stiff by the time Loki is finished. His muscles, not his dick, though his dick might very well be on the way.

He retreats, an inch or two. "Loki," he says, not knowing what he means by it. A warning?

"What? I am doing none of that," he says brightly. The only thing he's doing with his hands is moving them to warm pocket under the blankets. He's not even touching him with them anymore.

"It would be inappropriate," he says resolutely. He takes a moment to consider something. He could press further. "I could run them over myself. I fear I would lose more heat than I would gain," he says, looking thoughtful. "Would you mind?" he asks, leaving the question intentionally ambiguous.

"We're under a blanket," says Clint, "just hold your horses and wait. You'll warm up."

He does not want to give Loki permission. Especially not for some unspecified amount of touching. Loki will take every advantage he gets, seize it all and then ask for more.

"Very well," Loki says with a put on sigh. "I will not touch you unless you ask."

He is, however, going to lay there and touch himself. His hands may be cold but his body does not seem to mind. He closes his eyes and hums to himself as he strokes over himself at a leisurely pace.

Clint turns over, lies flat on his back.

"That's it," he says. "I'm in hell."

He turns back and he reaches out to take Loki by the throat. "You know that each minute I don't kill you is a tribute to my self-restraint, right?" he growls. "You might want to cut out your tormenting."

And Loki lets him. He tilts his head back in response. "Oh, I know. Do you want to test it?" he asks with a dark grin. Yes, it would be too much to ask for Loki not to find some twisted enjoyment in this.

His hands still then he slowly moves one of them up encircle Clint's wrist.

It isn't just a sense of skating on the edge, Clint realizes. Loki would legitimately let Clint kill him. As a revenge against -- against who? Against Thor?

"You using me to get back at Thor?" he asks, lowly. "Cause that's a dirty trick."

There's a flash of something in his eyes, anger, maybe. He really hadn't expected him to come to that conclusion. It was true, in a way, one of his plans involved his death and how Thor would react.

"Is it?" he hisses back.

"Just the same bullshit," says Clint, lowly. "There's no one in your world but you, is there? You and Thor, maybe. You don't give a shit about anything else. You don't care about me, or the Avengers, or your parents. You just care about you."

He releases Loki's neck.

"So shut up," he says. "And survive. That's all I want from you, right now."

That last sentence is a lie.

Loki's eyes narrow and at the mention of Thor he makes a dismissive sound. Thor is nothing to him -- just an annoying obstacle that goes on about sentiment. An obstacle he must prove himself better than.

"And you, Barton?" he asks back in biting tone, "There's nothing in your world but your mission. Your next target." He pushes himself up from the mattress.

"You're wrong."

His voice is tight. He closes his eyes, thinks of Coulson, Fury, Nat.

"There's nothing in the world for me but my boss."

Meaning that, for a time, Loki was everything to him. Everything. Beyond the sceptre, beyond the tesseract. He had cared.

"Am I?"

Loki stalks over to the fire place. After a second's thought, he laughs. "Oh, yes. That's what truly angers you, isn't it? Not my crimes against this world. It's what I did to you."

It's on his lips to deny it, but then he thinks -- why? Why should he? He knows it's about revenge for him. When he wants someone dead, it's about emotion. Always. When he kills for his boss, it isn't.

"Yeah," he says, finally, sitting up. "For me, it's personal." And what fucks Clint up so much is that for Loki it's just another day at work. He waltzes in and ruins Clint's life, not a care in the world.

That just gets another laugh out of him. Something about this really is funny for him.

"And why do you think I lured you here? Of all the people I could turn myself into. I could have simply walked into any major city to be on SHIELD's radar," he says, gesturing with his hands as he does. He paces in front of the fireplace a moment. "Why this place? Why you?"

"Because you already have your hooks into me. I'm easier to manipulate."

A mix of glum and angry.

"You are far from easy," he says a bitter tone to his voice, leaning against the side of the fireplace. "You have done very little I have asked. That which you have done..." he trails off, it's hard to explain the blow job with that logic but one thing he wanted verses a growing list of things not going as planned. There is some truth in what he says of course but knowing him there is no doubt a mix of lies in there.

"No, it is you," he says sharply, dangerously, "because you are mine."

And that -- that jolts him right to his core. From angry to breathless in 2.2 seconds.

Re-evaluate.

Not torment, but possessiveness.

God damn it. God damn it, Clint should not be falling for this, he shouldn't want this so badly. He shouldn't be shaking with how much he wants it.

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