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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A little chuckle despite his abrupt change in mood. "I already have. Where do you think this place came from?" he says simply. It could be lie, half-lie or the truth.

"We are approximately eighty miles from what passes for civilization. Try not to get lost in a blizzard on the way out."

It's true the weather is nasty outside. Cold, snowy and pretty uninviting. The real reason Loki wanted to keep his clothes wasn't for humiliation. And if Barton is intent on leaving he'll find two snowmobiles outside. One doesn't appear to be working while the other is in perfect condition but lacking keys.

"And how do you think I got here?"

He keeps an eye on the resources he and Loki used, during that whole ordeal. They're still there, dormant, waiting. Connections that could be hooked up again. That's the way Clint sees the world: connections, just waiting to be made. Tasks, just waiting to be carried out.

He takes a coat and steps right on outside. Tries both the snowmobiles, takes a look at what they'd need to be fixed, and curses, quietly, to himself. Don't mind him, he'll be attempting to hotwire the second one until his fingers go numb.

And then, maybe, he'll come back inside.

Loki is just gonna hang out inside with the fire and all the food and probably the keys. Don't mind him. He's just chilling.

Actually, he's not hanging around that close to the fire. He tolerates the cold very well, even striped of his powers. He's not idle, there's quite a bit of blood to clean up. Oh he wishes for his magic. He could just wave a hand and it would be clean. He had plans to spend a day or two more here before moving on. It was clear Barton wasn't going to bring SHIELD down on him right away.

Back inside, jacket off -- if he sweats in here, it'll turn into hypothermia later -- and he establishes a search grid throughout the house. Very methodically searching along each wall, moving a meter into the room on each pass. He won't miss a thing.

He might leave a mess, though.

Loki finished what he was doing and there are two things he won't let Clint get near in his search. Loki himself and the quiver of arrows. It's an obvious reason with the arrows, well and himself.

He stays out of his way and doesn't hinder the search in any way. He does glower about the mess though.

After a few rooms, Clint catches on, and he turns to Loki, hands on his hips.

"Okay," he says. "Strip down." It's gotta be on Loki.

His eyebrows raise up like he hasn't the faintest idea what he's talking about.

"No," he says simply. He likes it here in his comfy chair.

Then he's going to go right around that chair and tip it forward, dumping Loki on the floor. Take that, asshole.

Well, that's a good way to piss Loki off. He tries to grab Clint's arm, the one that was wounded to dig his thumb into it. "How dare you," He says in a low hiss, "Leave."

"I'm trying." He hauls Loki back to his feet, in an attempt to break the grip. "Give me the damn key, and I'll be out of your hair."

"I do not have it," he hisses, angered. He doesn't seem to keen on breaking his grip though he does, only after he's sure he's made him hurt. Even just a little.

"Just like you don't have Coulson's life, to give back," he snaps. Not a damn bit of logical sense, but he's so angry, he's hurting, he's a wounded raptor who's more dangerous desperate than healthy. "I want the chances you took from me. I want to go back to being a god damn innocent in your games." He would give anything, anything at all, just to be ignorant. Just to never know again what he's missing. He hadn't been happy, but, really, who is? He'd been surviving, and now he isn't, and that's all that matters.

"Then take them you, you insolent sparrow!" he growls then tries to pull away from him violently, despite the form of invitation.

Well, fine, then. If Loki stabs him this time, it's his own damn fault and he has to heal Clint again, because he was the one who opened the door.

Clint drags Loki to the ground, pins his thighs down with Clint's knees, and starts working open his shirt.

Loki doesn't try to stab him again. Clint will probably find four or five hidden throwing knives in his clothes. He struggles, trying to push him off. He's desperate enough he tries to aim a punch where he stabbed him before. His other hand goes to try to choke Clint.

Yes, he did invite the attack but he's not going down gently.

"Why," grunts Clint, "do you have to make everything," and he throws Loki over onto his stomach and pins him down with a knee in the small of his back, "so hard?"

He wrenches Loki's wrists and holds them against the ground with one hand, and the other goes to patting down Loki's sides, under his arms, the insides of his thighs. He finds three throwing knives in the first thirty seconds -- "Jesus, where do you keep all of these?"

Loki curses at him but his struggles still when he gets the knee to his back. He wouldn't mind being stripped of his clothes but it's losing his weapons that really make him uneasy. His wrists pinned together makes his breath come faster.

"Release me!" he demands. Yes, he can't make up his mind.

He tries to buck him off. It's a bad idea. It turns out it hurts be slammed back into a hardwood floor. As skinny as he is he doesn't have much padding. There are points on his hips that will surly bruise.

Clint snaps, again. "Do you want me to hurt you?" His voice is rough, and he's getting a thrill from this, from Loki's thrashing body. Two more throwing knives, and Clint gives up. "Where the hell are the keys?!"

He releases Loki's wrist, but stays there, pinning Loki still at the base of his spine and between his shoulderblades, pushed down hard enough that it would be hard for him to get any leverage to throw Clint off. And here is Clint, shuddering, realizing what kind of thrill he's getting, and not wanting to stop. But making himself stop, anyway.

"I'm not here to punish you," he says, lowly. Starting to think that Loki is more masochistic than he'd thought.

He stills. Very deathly still. Only sign of movement might be a twitch in a finger and shallow breathing. It is a bit difficult to breathe pinned as he is.

"Outside," he says finally, "Block of ice. They're inside."

Clint doesn't release him.

"Just give me a straight answer," he says. "Why? Just tell me the truth, for once. You owe me that much."

Loki owes him a hell of a lot more.

Loki remains still. He's not sure what he's been asked so how can he even begin to answer. Lie or no?

He turns his head, trying to look at him. "What would you have me say?" he asks back, a defeated note to his voice.

"How about that I wasn't just some fucking pawn?" His voice is tight. "That all of this meant something." That it happened for a reason, for someone's plan.

Loki's jaw clenches. This is not at all how it was supposed to go. His hands move slowly along the floor, his fingers curl against the wood. "We were all pawns," he says with considerable venom though it doesn't match his body language. He looks defeated.

"Did you ever wonder what I did in when I went alone into the tunnels?"

"I assumed..." He'd assumed that Loki was more or less a junkie, from that sceptre. He acted like it. All of them did, like they needed that thing to live and breathe. "I assumed you were communing with your little stick."

Now that he says that out loud, that sounds very wrong.

"I mean the -- you know what I mean."

Despite the situation, Loki let's out a little breathless laugh.

"It was not the scepter I communed with. It was the conduit to those who granted me the scepter and the true masters of my army," he says, fairly easily. It is the truth but its somehow made easier knowing that there is no way to prove or disprove it. Well, not in a cabin in the middle of no where.

"The scepter effected us all differently."

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