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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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."

"Made you crazy." He lets up, a little. Maybe enough for Loki to turn and sit up, so long as it's not any sudden moves. "Not that it needed to push all that hard in that direction."

Loki's not rational. He knows that. But he's not being rational either, so why the fuck should he care?

"Tell me what they had on you."

He makes no sudden moves. He's actually very sore from their on and off fighting. So he slowly pushes himself up. He wipes a spot under his nose to make sure he hadn't started bleeding again. Oh good. No blood.

He gets himself comfortable because this isn't exactly a short story. Maybe Barton won't ask many questions.

"As an exiled Prince of Asgard with no means to return or means to go elsewhere," he says then shrugs, "They had everything. My one chance was to endear myself to them, gain some measure of trust then gain the means to escape." He leaves out their threat to him if he failed them.

"Not an exiled King?" Funny, that's the thing that he picks out. Loki calls himself Prince here, not King, where their pretensions are stripped away. He'd always wondered if Loki really believed he should be the rightful king.

A short nod. "I know what that's like." He's retreated back, a little, though Loki's legs are still pinned under his. A long time ago, Clint was an orphan and he didn't have anywhere to go. He made his way by pledging himself to someone else, too.

His eyes snap up to meet his, it wasn't a slip he was aware he made until it was pointed out. "I was a King," he confirms, "While the Allfather slept and Thor was exiled."

He shifts a little, half testing how much give he has half just getting comfortable. He doesn't say anything else. He would rather skim over that part of his life, thanks. No time to think about monsters more terrible than himself out to get him.

His hand goes back to Loki's belly. He's not ready to let Loki up yet.

"I don't care about Asgard," says Clint, softly. "You made yourself my king. And you can't -- you can't just cut and leave me to pick up the pieces after that. You can't kill my people and wreck a city and leave me alone." Better that Loki never meet him in the first place.

He pulls away, then. Moves to his feet. "If it was a fight for survival, that's -- better. Than if it was just you giving your brother the finger."

Just a little flinch, ignore that.

He gives him a confused wondering look. He really looks like he had no idea. "I did not cut and leave. I intended to stay. I was defeated and you had a part in it. You were amused at how I was led off."

He doesn't address the last part. Taking something of Thor's just made it sweeter.

"I was mad."

He's still mad. Still twitching with the impulse to beat Loki into the ground.

"But you," and he fights to explain what he felt. "Did you ever even want to win? You didn't care about what you destroyed, you just --"

He's had time to think about it, since then, to parse through Loki's motivations, to feel something other than free. He's still not free. He'll never be fucking free.

Slowly, cautiously, he gets to his feet again. He doesn't stay on them long, opting for a chair a few seconds later.

The funny thing is, he's not sure he has an answer for that. He thought he wanted to win. Looking back he isn't as sure. He rubs his face like that would help clean the matter.

"I knew what awaited my failure," he answers finally. He appears somewhat nervous, his fingers twitching needlessly. "There are... worse punishments than those you can think of. They will come."

"Then you'll survive it or you won't." Tends to be Clint's attitude about missions these days. He'll make it or he won't.

He shoots him a glance, gives a little laugh. It can be refreshing to have someone around with a simplistic approach to problems.

"I wished to see you," he jumps topics. He lightly gestures about the room. "You have most effectively ruined my plans."

"Nice change of pace," he shoots back. As opposed to him fixing Loki's plans, or making Loki's plans, or obediently following them. Ruining them feels pretty damn satisfying, actually. He likes it. He should inconvenience Loki a lot more.

Loki goes quiet. He is not used to a mortal body in the slightest. It tires so easily. Then something occurs to him, Barton hasn't gone to get the keys. He also realizes his shirt is still unbuttoned.

"Are you staying here?" he asks bluntly.

Yeah.

Yeah, he is. Someone has to keep an eye on Loki. Maybe bring him into SHIELD, later. This isn't gonna look good, if Fury finds out before Clint has a chance to tell him. Not gonna look good at all. He needs a plan. That's a good enough reason to stay.

"Why?" he asks. "You gonna try and dangle me from the ceiling again?"

Loki gives a shrug and smirk like he was considering it. He did like the look of it, the way Clint was forced to use every muscle in his body. He should have never let him have that key -- the thought makes him bring his bitten fingers up and look them over. Slight swelling made them feel stiff but the bleeding has long since stopped.

He pushes himself back up and heads to the bathroom. He hadn't cleaned the bites, however small, he shouldn't leave them. Mortal forms are far too fragile.

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