brandingproblem | fucky feelings for cuttingremark

fucky feelings for cuttingremark

(from here)

He keeps his word. He doesn't tell anyone where Loki's hiding out, powerless. Even though he should. At the very least, Thor deserves to know, and when he inevitably finds out, Clint is going to accept whatever anger the thunder god levels at him.

Steve's gone, Tony's dead, Nat's dead, Bruce is...happy and content with his life and doesn't deserve that dropped on him frankly. So. That's all the OG crew accounted for. The new crew would obviously have heard about Loki, but that's not the same as actually being present fighting him or his forces. That Scott guy doesn't count, either. Like, would they do something? Maybe not if he hasn't actually done anything and doesn't pose a threat.

NYPD might have a few choice words, but. Clint tries very hard not to get noticed by the local LEOs if he can help it. Loki isn't really their jurisdiction, and SHIELD is...more or less out of commission even though it still works in the shadows, where Fury and Hill are. Wherever they are.

Which doesn't mean Loki gets of scot free. If he is up to something, then it's up to Clint to suss it out. Clint's mess, as ever. If Loki really is as powerless as it seems, there are still plenty of other ways he could fuck around and cause trouble. So. His responsibility.

It's definitely not whatever lingering connection of magic that binds their minds, not telepathy, not even really empathy, but still. A connection. It might have been severed long ago, but it's as Loki implied: you don't come out of that, something that strong and strange and otherworldly, and not have there be something that remains behind. Therapy has been all well and good. He isn't angry about it, not really, and he doesn't get nightmares the way he used to, after. But also, he's not sure it prepared him for Loki being in his life again. Not just a passing glance, either.

It jumbles everything up. The same type of traitorous thought that had him pondering Loki's sleeping habits and the absurd thought of touching crops up whenever he's near. Something damn near affectionate, something starved. Something that's in Loki, too, and it makes him feel sick. Makes him feel wanting. Which makes him feel sicker.

His eyes might be clear, but his mind feels clouded. Not a great way to show up at the apartment, but he can't just let this pass by without checking in on Loki. That's most of the reason he takes these trips back to NYC in the first place. Occasionally check in on Avengers-y things, see how the cleanup of the compound is up north, catch up with a few people he actually knows. But. It's about Loki.

It's always been fucking about Loki, huh.

He raps on the door, drinks nestled in a holder. Hot tea for Loki, a spiced blend, cloves, cinnamon. Makes him think of wintertime. Makes him think of the spicy and complicated (former?) god. Coffee for himself. Peace offering.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The knock on the door doesn't startle Loki, but it does concern him. He doesn't go out much beyond shopping for necessities, and he certainly doesn't have any friends to randomly drop by. The rune engraved in the door glows green, showing the person on the other side doesn't have any overt ill-intentions against Loki, but that doesn't mean much.

The uneasy feeling lessens only slightly when he peers through the peephole and sees Barton on the other side. Despite the unease, there's a little flash of something more positive. His mind had been straying to the archer since he'd nursed his wounds, wondering what might have happened if...

He squashes those thoughts quickly when they arise.

Curiosity overtakes any self-preservation instinct he has, so he opens the door.

"To what do I owe this pleasant surprise? I thought you wanted to be rid of me?"

Part of him really hopes Loki isn't even there anymore, that he really did pack up and move on, untraceable, and out of his hair. No such luck.

"Was in the area. Thought I'd drop by." A tight smile, the kind that doesn't reach his eyes. He offers up the drinks. "Tea?"

Loki takes the cup and steps to the side, gesturing for Clint to come in. The entryway looks much the same, save for the glowing rune carved into the doorframe.

"I'm honored. Such a personal and overt poisoning attempt? And my favorite flavor even." Loki smirks, clearly joking as he takes a sip of the tea. It is his favorite. Something in his mind knows how Barton knew, but everything else stubbornly ignores it.

It was a guess.

He's going to tell himself it was a guess.

"You know me, prefer to get my hands dirty myself and be a weapon than let someone else do it." His resting face is already a bitch face as it is, so he wonders if the light frown he sports at that coming out of his mouth is even noticeable. He takes a sip of his coffee.

"I'm here to check up on you. Make sure you're not doing anything you're not supposed to. Being a godly babysitter."

Loki notices. Loki notices a lot of things about Clint that he doesn't about other people, though.

"What a noble goal. Shall I provide a full report on my goings on, or merely the highlights?"

As he speaks he walks further into the apartment, expecting Clint to follow. If they're going to chat, no sense standing in the entryway.

The living room is neat and orderly, a few books and a notebook on the coffee table the only hint that Loki even uses the room. The god sits down on one end of the fine leather sofa, one leg crossed over the other elegantly.

"I was gonna pretend like I'm listening and wander around the place poking at everything. But if you've got something to say..."

He remains standing in the middle of the room, out of arm's reach of Loki, eyes scanning. But always coming back to rest on Loki. The atmosphere is so casual, so why is it ratcheting up his internal tension.

"Promise I won't only pretend I'm listening the whole time."

"Poke away, though perhaps leave anything glowing alone. I've been experimenting with runes recently." Loki watches as the man grows more and more tense. It begs the question why he showed up here alone and seemingly unarmed in the first place ~~not the only thing Loki would like to see beg~~.

He shakes his head to banish the thought.

He jerks his thumb at the door. "So I noticed. You've still got some magic juju all this time? Or are you gonna tell me that the runes actually run on science instead?"

Keep it light. Keep it casual. Get in, poke around, get out. If Loki's getting his jive back, that's a concern to tuck in his pocket.

"Not as much. Runes work based on the ambient magical energies of a location rather than the reserves of the caster- engraver in this case, I suppose." Magical theory, something he can talk about for ages. Something impersonal.

But he so desperately wants to get personal. Call it another bout of ill-advised curiosity, the same as what made him actually open the door.

"So you really didn't tell anyone? Not even your lovely wife?"

He doesn't personally know much about magic, just that it sure as hell exists. The Asgardians sure have it, Wanda sure has it. The Stones were next best thing to magic, he thinks.

"Would it upset you if I told her?" Neither a confirmation nor a denial. He doesn't look to Loki for an answer, instead taking measured pacing steps around the space, looking for anything that strikes him as out of place or alarming.

"That depends. Would she do something about it if you did?" Loki knows of Laura, but he doesn't actually know anything about the woman other than she use to be with SHIELD but retired so they could have some semblance of a normal life.

"She'd worry over me, threaten you, and tell me I'm an idiot for coming here. But she'd only hunt you down if you actually did anything." He breathes, calm, in, out. He doesn't touch any of the glowing shit. Doesn't mess with anything that looks like magic. But he does look.

"She'd be right on all counts. I shouldn't be here. But now you're my responsibility. So if you're gonna stab me, better do it now while my back's turned and I'm enjoying my coffee."

"Ah yes, my master plan," Loki says, his voice thick with sarcasm, "Find you half dead, nurse you back to health, allow you to leave, only to kill you when you return to deliver me tea."

Loki watches him like...well like a hawk. On the surface it's simply to make sure he doesn't mess with any of the delicate rune work around the living area, but even the master liesmith can't lie that effectively to himself. It's not just what Barton does as he walks around, it's how he moves. The fine control he holds himself with, the way his eyes move so carefully along the gathered items, how his muscles contract so carefully with every movement.

"She's clearly good at keeping a secret. So long as she doesn't call a strike team to spirit me away in my sleep, I suspect telling her would do no harm."

He can feel Loki's eyes on him. Like fingers over his skull, like nails down his back. Digging. He barely represses a shudder. For a moment, and just a moment, he's younger and under an influence he had no chance of fighting, doing his job and doing it effectively but also being aware of his captor/boss/master's gaze taking him in. His heart.

The same heart that's beating a little too loudly in his chest, absurdly wonders if Loki can hear it.

"I didn't give her your address. But she knows you're back. She knows you're in the city. And she thinks it's a bad idea that I'm taking it on myself to make sure you don't do anything fucking stupid." A shrug, a sip, nonchalant. "We're not in a habit of keeping secrets from each other, so of course she already knows. It's everyone else she keeps secrets from. And just because she doesn't agree with my judgement doesn't mean she doesn't trust it."

It's a mistake, as so much that's going on here is a mistake, that he finally raises his eyes to Loki.

"You keeping any secrets from me?"

Loki waves an arm around the room.

"I'm an open book. Ask me anything you wish."

He takes a sip of his tea.

"But do sit down first. You're pacing like a tiger in a cage."

Edited (wrong your) 2022-06-14 16:36 (UTC)

"You have never been an open book in your whole life, and you're not gonna start now just cuz I asked pretty please."

Should he sit? That might imply staying longer than a quick pop in, check things out, leave. He...keeps a distance. It feels safer for both of them, to lean on the counter instead, cross his legs at the ankles, give him a look. That he's staying right here. For now. But it does mean he's not pacing anymore, at least.

"So what's the plan here? Stay holed up until, what, until you get your magic back? How are you getting food? I can't see you with a job, even though that'd be hilarious."

"Well perhaps no one ever said 'pretty please' when they asked." Loki turns on the couch so he can still look at Barton perched by the counter. The lack of pacing is appreciated, but what Loki really wanted was for him to get closer. He knows he doesn't deserve it, and absolutely understands why, but he can't help but be a little irritated that the archer insists on keeping the distance between them.

"Until I find a way to get it back, yes. My seidr is replenishing itself, but slowly. At this rate it would take centuries to return to my former power. So I research what few Asgardian texts survived and the paltry Midgardian texts on sorcery to find a way to speed things along."

He smirks at the mention of his living. "As for how I obtain necessities such as food: There are many ways a man can get money, Barton. Especially when a great deal of the wealthiest among you store the majority of the capital on such archaic technology."

Loki motions to a sleek silver laptop resting closed on a desk by the window.

Good. Let him be irritated. That's better than--whatever the alternative is, right? Right. Right? (And just what is that alternative, Barton? What the fuck is so scary about a depowered godling?)

His eyebrows scoot up and up at the idea of what some of those many ways Loki's gotten money. But. It's just good old fashioned taking from the rich and giving it to the self. He glances at the laptop. Back to Loki. Maybe a couple times. "You really are adopted, huh? Thor barely understands what a computer is half the time. I mean, he's coming along, he gets it now, but...here you are being a rightful little hacker."

Loki sees that look, but chooses not to comment on it. Of course he knows some other ways people choose to gain income from the internet, and he had thought about it briefly. But this allows him to keep his identity just a bit more secret.

"Thor was always slow to pick up different technologies. I, on the other hand, am a being of change. It took a bit of getting use to, but the technology isn't that complex once you get down to it." If he were a bird, he'd be preening right now. It's the closest thing he's gotten to a compliment since well before his death.

"I guess some other ways you could make a quick buck would be inconvenient at best without more of that magic mojo to disguise yourself." Just. Gonna gently lay that out there.

"You actually siphoning from the wealthy? Because, law breaking technically aside, I'm okay with that. Probably don't take too much from Stark Industries; Pepper's gonna notice and come down on you hard if she does."

"Stark Industries is the one I am not touching. Call it respect for the man who defeated Thanos." That and their security is actually good. He could totally get past it if he wanted to, but why bother when there are other, lower hanging fruits?

At the mention of disguises Loki gets a...look. "Well, I am not totally without talent there..." In the blink of an eye Loki shifts. Where once sat a clearly masculine god now sits a goddess. She bears many resemblances to the body and face Clint is use to seeing, but in a way one might see in siblings.

"Now before you start," she holds up a finger to shush any oncoming accusations. "I did not lie to you about my magic being gone. This is apparently something...different. More inherent to my being than I previously thought."

Well. That's a surprise.

She's gorgeous the same way that he is handsome, and boy that is a dangerous thought to have in that moment. He sets down his coffee harder than necessary on the counter, and when she's done with her little explanation, he points an accusing finger.

"Magic is inherent to your being, too. And you can't tell me that casting disguise self isn't magic. Is that really not magic? Cuz that seems like magic. If people could change their whole," vague hand motion to All Of That, "gender thing on a whim, pretty sure more people would just do it."

"It's...complicated." Loki massages her temples. This is why she didn't mention it to him when he was here last. It's s necessary conversation, now that he's apparently appointed himself her keeper. This is the main way she disguises herself to do things like go to the grocery store, so he was going to find out eventually. Better to get it out of the way now.

"'Magic' isn't some overarching power in the universe. What you call 'magic' can be many things. On Asgard, my reserve of power is a force known as seidr. Something like an ever rejuvenating lifeforce. That is the power that was stripped from me. This," she gestures to herself, "is not an illusion. It is a transformation, one I have been capable of long before I was able to manipulate my seidr."

He does not...necessarily understand that. Magic is not just magic, it's more of an umbrella term for all sorts of things? "Like...different schools of magic? It's kind of magic but it's different from each other?" Even that's probably dumb as shit, and he holds up a hand.

"Okay, so, just. Ground rule this. You can't do magic magic right now. It's like how the runes are kind of magic but in a way that it uses the juju in the air and inherent in the aether or whatever. This is just some internal, inherent thing you can just do, like breathing and blinking. Anything else you can do that may or may not technically be what I might call magic?"

Loki worries her bottom lip. "It is possible my...heritage affords me certain abilities I have not previously explored. And have no interest in exploring."

"I know this whole thing started because daddy didn't love you and lied to your face, but some might see that as a reason to go exploring that other side."

"I wouldn't even know where to start." Loki mutters into her tea. "It's not like there's a comprehensive study of Jotun anatomy, culture, and abilities just lying around."

"And you can't exactly go there." For just a whole bunch of reasons.

Contemplative sip of coffee. Calm down. Cool off. This is all weird but it's a weird he can handle.

"Kinda figured you just got doordash for whatever you need, but I guess being cooped up in here would make you go stir crazy." Look at how he's not making any comment on ways women can make good money, too. Definitely not saying it.

"I know you think of me as a spoiled prince," Loki says, changing seamlessly back to his masculine form, "but I do actually enjoy cooking. Having all my meals delivered would be tiresome."

Almost without thinking, he stands and walks over to the counter to lean against it as well. Some of the tension in him eases as he settles closer to Barton.

Loki's tension might ease, but Clint's only gets higher. Thinks of hidden blades, thinks how easy it would be. Thinks of being hurt just to have steady hands patch him up again. Convenient excuse to keep him here. Convenient excuse to touch.

God, he fucking hates this part of his brain that goes all haywire around Loki.

"Nothing like a homecooked meal, I suppose," he says with a quick little fake smile, raising his cup in a mock toast, and moves to the freshly vacated couch. Considers taking said freshly vacated spot, as a show, as a--weird thought about feeling again, no, let's not go there. Go to the other end of the couch. There we go.

"So what happens when you do get your seidr magic back?"

Loki frowns as Clint moves to the couch he only recently vacated. He could try to play it cool. Or he could immediately go back to the couch.

He doesn't even give it a second thought and is back on his side of the couch in a moment.

"If you trust me not to poison you, you are welcome to stay for dinner. I was planning on trying a carbonara recipe tonight."

Great. Cool. Awesome. Now they're both here. He could be petulant, keep this going, stand back up. And then Loki would insist on closing the distance again. Sets the coffee back down, nearly empty anyway, leaves it. Arms on knees. Looks at Loki, looks away again.

It's so amicable. It's wrong. Why doesn't it feel wrong?

"Can't." And then, an amendment: "Shouldn't. Just wanted to pop in, make sure you weren't about to try and attack the city again, leave you be if not." His brow furrows, cocks his head toward Loki but doesn't quite look at him. Peripheral vision.

"I think too much time around you is bad for my health. My brain doesn't know what to do with itself. Tuned into a channel I don't understand."

"Ah, of course." He didn't expect Clint to actually say yes, that is foolish. Of course the man doesn't want to be around his former enslaver. He's just here to make sure Loki is staying in line. There isn't any disappointed note in his voice. Not at all.

"You wouldn't be the first to say I'm bad for your health."

"And you don't seem to think I'm bad for yours."

No. No it's just him, he's the only crazy one here, stupid sad human brain unable to properly deal with what happened and the consequences of it. Is that why Loki's so fucking disappointed he won't stay for dinner?

"The hell do you get out of this?" It's more aggressive than he necessarily means, turning himself fully toward Loki. "What are you after?"

"Connection," Loki says, turning his body towards Clint as well. In turning he also subconsciously brings himself just a bit closer to him.

"You are the only one who knows who I am, who sees me with full context. Even if you look at me with utter disdain, at least you look at me."

"I don't know what that means," he scoffs, knowing what it means. "I don't know a damn thing about you. All I know is stories, and a glimpse of whatever crazy little gremlin was running around behind your eyes. You've got me at a disadvantage. You always have. You saw all of me, and I don't know what I saw."

"You saw more than you think. I didn't have the wherewithal to try to block the connection from backflowing. You think you were confused what you glimpsed? Imagine living in it." He lets out a half-mad laugh, leaning in just a bit closer.

"You see me, Barton. Do you know how long it's been since I heard someone address me by my name?"

"I saw enough. I saw--" Too much. He saw too much, even if he's trying to say otherwise, and that's why he's still not afraid of Loki, only the mad influence behind him. And now that that's long since gone, what's he scared of?

Loki wants to be seen, revels in it, and Clint doesn't want to be seen unless he gives it. Is that it? He's reminded that he is seen, and it leaves him feeling bare and defenseless. And Loki wants to dive in and be felt and heard and seen and understood.

When two souls touch one another, it's impossible to extricate themselves completely. Intermingled, intertwined, a bit of him in Loki, a bit of Loki in him, forever. Somehow knowing each other better than anyone else and not knowing anything at all. It's not a knowledge of facts and figures, but mind, emotion, an intrinsic understanding of the person inside.

When did he start hovering closer? He doesn't remember doing that consciously.

"Pretty sure you last heard it five years and change ago before you died." He'll fight it. With snark, anyway.

What Loki wants to say is that he didn't. Thor was muzzled at the time so all he heard was his muffled screams as Loki gasped for air like a fish on a line. But he doesn't say that. He doesn't say anything, actually.

Like magnets whose forces draw them together with more strength the closer they get, Loki crashes into Clint. Lips crushed onto lips in a fervent need to feel something, anything: the sting of rejection, the sear of a bullet, possibly even the heat of reciprocation. He does not move with rational thought, only a primal want who's only direction is towards the archer.

There's no more fighting it once contact is made. They kiss, or some version of kiss that is deep and primal and without understanding or thought. It's two bodies bashing against each other in a show that is somehow violent and affectionate at once. Clint meets the kiss fervently like he's needed this, like a dying man meeting water, lips yes but also teeth, desperate for more.

His fists bunch in Loki's shirt, and if there's any remote thought of pulling away, he won't allow for it. Just as easily, he could push, could shove, but simply keeps Loki right here. The only pull there is is a separation, just enough to gasp for breath, pressed so close, nose along nose, foreheads touching.

"Get your hands on me," nothing short of a growl. "Right now."

Electricity shoots through his veins when Barton returns the kiss, heat sending a flush of desire to his cheeks and tips of his ears. Though his ears don't comprehend when Clint asks for more, his soul does. In one fluid motion Loki straddles his lap, one hand pushing up the bottom of the other's shirt to feel the soft skin beneath. The other hand moves to fist the hair at the back of his neck, angling their heads just right for Loki to shove his tongue into Clint's mouth.

It's damn near practiced, how smooth the transition, how readily Clint accepts what is given. For the first time since he got here, he seems to relax. There's still a taut tension in him, but of a very different kind. Everything seems to slot into place, and he is a man possessed--not (just) from something inside him, but being possessed by Loki, owned and controlled and seen and beloved. He doesn't understand it and doesn't have to.

He belongs. That seems to be enough.

The hands on him soothe an inner ache he's had since waking up in Loki's bed, the one that made him feel twisted and sick now instead making him feel bold. He lets this perfect-seeming moment go on until he moves, sudden, a surge, until Loki's pinned under him back flat on the couch.

Clint's weight on top of him sooths some jittering part of Loki he hadn't fully realized was there until it suddenly isn't. He arches his back, pressing impossibly closer to Clint as he pushes up his shirt further, exposing more and more skin to Loki's pale fingers.

"Fuck," he whispers against soft lips. Normally he would be talking quite a bit, but part of him is too afraid to break this...whatever this is. "Please." Even he's not sure what he's begging for.

He feels naked even while fully clothed, bare and raw in the best of ways. Loki's eyes seem too bright and yet not blue bright. Not an influence, not directly, but something inside of them left behind by an influence. Dangerous to give in to it, but it's far too late for that.

He's loath to break contact for even a moment, but after that beg, he sits back if only to strip off his top with a few short tugs. Even less gentle with Loki's, pulling tugging he'll rip if he has to until that fabric is off, too. And wastes no time pressing their bodies back together, hands at the god's waist, mouth kissing mouth, jaw, neck, reveling in the taste of skin and the hot beat of a heart just under his lips tongue teeth.

He doesn't have to do much to get Loki's shirt off— as soon as Clint sits up, Loki starts working it up his torso of his own volition. Loki lets out a very undignified whimper as Clint yanks the fabric the rest of the way off. Luckily for him it's mostly muffled by their lips meeting again.

The skin on skin contact is nothing short of glorious. Forget hearing his name, how long had he gone without being touched in a way not meant for battle? This is a battle of it's own, but the fire that races across his skin where they touch is an entire different sort of feeling. His hand go to Clint's back, nails digging into the muscular shoulders as if pinning him in place on top of Loki.

"Yes!"

Terrible, it's terrible and beautiful and he never wants it to end even though it wold probably be better if it did. He could end it too, if he were a stronger person. But Fortitude of character or morals has never been one of Loki's hallmarks so he'll take what he gets until the spell breaks.

It would be better to end it. But that feels so impossible. His teeth want to bite, and then to rip and tear, like digging into Loki's throat and gnawing it out like a wild beast. Love and hate mashing together into something vicious and wonderful.

He doesn't. Only works a bruise into the side of Loki's neck, shivers at the plaintive and praising word out of his mouth. Huffs an abortive noise at the dig of nails into his skin. He can't even say he'd mind if Loki breaks skin. Might prefer it, even. Whatever this is, it's in their blood and in their viscera and their hearts and souls and essence. He tips his head, forehead pressed against Loki's shoulder as he desperately tries to breathe. The fog of need doesn't clear, but he thinks he can see through it a little better. It's very small, the part that's horrified. The rest of him seems to revel in that horror and bundle it into the overall experience like this is exactly what needed to happen. As though this is the natural state of things.

One hand comes up, fitting along the other side of Loki's neck. Where his teeth had itched to go, he traces his thumb along. Presses in. Presses. He can't lean his weight into it, but his hands are strong and steady. Clint's eyes are wide and wild when he looks into Loki's. "I fucking hate your guts," he growls out, words like gravel, almost not words at all, before he licks his way back into Loki's mouth.

Loki isn't sure if his nails do break the skin on Clint's back, but if they don't it's a close thing as he starts marking up his neck. They drag down, surely leaving angry red marks in their wake. He knows the mark on his throat will fade quickly, but these will stay. Possibly even be seen.

He doesn't get to revel in that thought for long, for good or ill. A calloused hand comes to his throat and for a moment he's still lost to the sensations. It's something he enjoyed greatly once upon a time, the ecstasy of giving his very breath to another in a moment of heated pleasure (or whatever this is.) But now as the thumb presses down and the air halts partway down his throat all he can smell is smoke and burning, everything is burning, his lungs and eyes and limbs are burning and going numb and it's getting dark and Thor is screaming-

One hand comes up and wrenches Clint's away as he bucks his hip to the side, trying to throw the other off and onto the ground. Normally when dealing with a human he would try to mitigate some of his Jotun's strength, but the screaming in his head and in his veins won't stop until the hand is off his throat and the first few gasps of air enter his lungs.

He knows it's bad. But that's also part of the thrill. The fucked up nonsense in his head of trying to fit everything together and just acting on the basest impulses. Would he have kept going or let off pressure at some point? Even he has no idea.

But Loki is not defenseless and reacts. He reacts, and before anything has registered, he briefly skids over the coffee table, cups flying, and further across the room until he finally hits the floor, the wind knocked right out of him and everything suddenly seeming far too bright, too bitter, too loud though that may only be his pulse pounding in his ears.

Loki sits up as soon as Clint is off him, eyes wide, a hand clutching his throat protectively. (Like that would have stopped it, he just would have crushed your hand along with your windpipe.) The haze of need slowly lifts and he grips the couch arm so tightly it nearly rips.

He can't look at Clint, just at the floor next to the coffee table.

"What the fuck was that?"

Everything's cooling down significantly. He feels incrementally more himself. Which means. That the horror and panic begin to claw to the forefront. He takes a few deep, shaky breaths from the floor and almost doesn't register the question. Almost.

"I don't know."

It's as honest as anything else he's said. He aches, physically this time, but pulls himself up. To his feet. He feels next best to lightheaded for the sudden removal of that insisting stimulus.

And makes a beeline directly for the door.

(without his shirt? all scratched up? yes. these are things that are not on his mind at all.)

Loki should stop him, should at least get him to put a damn shirt on before running out. But then again, she should have done a lot of things differently in the past few minutes. So he lets him go, staying completely still for a good 5 minutes after he hears the door slam shut.

Though his body is still, his mind has never worked faster. Were they really...engaged for only a few minutes? It felt like eternity. Why did he do that? Why did Barton reciprocate? Why did he-

Loki jolts to action in a split second, grabbing the essentials first and throwing them into a backpack. The books are already sorted, but there are more in the "necessary" pile than he thought. It needs to fit all in two boxes max.

So maybe in other places, a shirtless scratched up panicky looking guy who may or may not be recognized as an Avenger might be cause for concern. This being New York City, however, there's stranger shit on about every street corner. Some people look, of course, but if there's more than that, he doesn't take notice. His head is on fire. The hamster's back on its wheel. Everything is going wrong and imploding and fucked up and he doesn't know what to do about it.

He barely even comes to realize he's still shirtless when he gets about halfway around the block. At least he's still got pants. He stops, breathing hard, and digs out his phone. But he doesn't know who to call. Laura? And say what? His therapist? And say what?

The air helps his head to clear, even if it makes what happened not at all any clearer. He's less frantic when he makes the rest of the trip around the block, hands shoved in his pockets, just Some Shirtless Dude Taking A Walk, nothing anyone should notice. And while he hates...going back, hates the idea that maybe he's crawling back, even if he doesn't apologize, he does anyway. Right back to Loki's door. Where he stands, shifting from foot to foot for a minute, two minutes, three. And knocks quietly, head resting on the wood.

Loki is lost in his mind, debating if he needs both "Runic Magic of Vanaheim" and "Advanced Ruins by Esotopes Solbakken" when the soft knock echos through the apartment like a gunshot. This time it does startle him. He knows who it is even before he get to the peephole.

He sighs and squares his shoulders before opening the door.

"So were the men in black who gathered for my arrest waiting on the first floor, or did you have to go all the way to the end of the block?"

"What?"

Not what he was expecting. But past Loki, he sees a bit of organized chaos.

"No...nobody's coming, Loki, 's just me. Unfortunately."

Loki pokes his head into the hallway, looking one way, then the other, before stepping aside for Clint to come in.

"Your things are on the side table." Back turned to Clint, he gestures at the shirt neatly folded, any items he may have left behind laying delicately on top.

A sturdy looking black backpack is sitting on the floor next to the coffee table, upon rests two medium sized boxes filled with books. More books lay dumped on the couch with only a small spot open where Loki sits back down to continue debating the two books at hand.

He doesn't, at first, move from the doorway. Like entering is a bad idea that will only lead to bad things. He doesn't want to be here. But it seems Loki doesn't, either.

Finally, with a sigh, he steps in and closes the door. "You don't have to leave. Nothing's changed." Everything has changed. "On the front of who knows where you are, I mean."

Loki pauses long enough to give Clint a dubious look.

Both books land in the left box with a loud thud.

There's a lot they should say, a lot that would do them good to get out into the open. But Loki didn't get to where he is with clear lines of communication and a healthy concepts of boundaries.

"Changed your mind about dinner, then?" So snark it is!

Where the hell would they even start?

With a sigh, he gathers up his things, pulls the shirt back on over his head. There's a little stinging on his back, but any blood that was drawn has definitely already dried, so it's fine. It's fine. Nothing else is fine but that much is fine.

"I wouldn't wanna distract you from your cooking by existing in your presence." Just because Clint has needed to Talk It Out before and currently does not mean he's an open book unwilling to snark right back.

"I assure you, I've cooked under more duress." Had he?

He sighs and gets up. "The question is can you stand to be around me?"

"The question is if it's gonna end with us going at it." Fine. He'll be the adult in the room and Talk About It. "You feel it, too. Whatever the fuck this is."

Loki nods, leaving the books behind to head to the kitchen.

"I knew the stone left us with a connection, but I didn't think it would be this...potent."

"There's some vague annoying connection, and then there's that." He reluctantly follows just so they aren't yelling across the way. But keeps his distance deliberately. "It's why you rescued me in the first place, right? You probably wouldn't have gotten involved, but there was something in the back of your mind?"

"Do you really think so little of me?" Would he have done anything if it weren't for that niggling at the back of his head?

"I already said I felt I owed you after everything that happened, but I cannot deny that there was something else there at the time." Loki starts pulling ingredients out of the refrigerator. Seems he was genuine about dinner.

He lets that go unanswered. Because that seems like a rhetorical question. 'After everything that happened' and all.

He should leave, of course. He's got his shirt back, and staying is only going to invite something happening again. But Clint sits, gingerly, at the counter instead. "I haven't had thoughts like this in--" A sigh. "A long time." There were similar trends in the immediacy of the aftermath. Things left over, things rattling around in his skull with nowhere to go.

"It is possible seeing each other again triggered something. Like opening up on old scar." Loki's voice is steady, but his hands are just a bit more clumsy than normal. He attempts to pull a pot out of an upper cabnit, only to have the handle catch on something and slip from his grip. It clatters to the counter, then down to the floor with a series of noises loud enough to wake the dead.

Loki curses, but does not move to pick it up immediately. Instead he presses the heels of his palms against his closed eyes. Apparently Clint isn't the only one having some issue with fraying nerves.

There's something to be said about these scars not being ones he ever wanted to reopen, but then there's the clatter and crash. He's halfway out of his seat, part startled, part...wanting to help? Probably that. But. That also would require getting closer to Loki. Who is having a time.

He sits back down. Takes a breath. Okay. Part of this is on him.

"I'm sorry. That I sprung the choking on you. I don't... You get it. Neither of us knew what we were doing. Just doing."

"I understand, I..." Loki lets out a heavy breath, hands moving from his eyes up into his hair as he looks at Clint for the first time since he re-entered the apartment.

"Thank you. People don't normally...apologize to me."

"Yeah, well, you had a reaction, and you had every right to. I normally...wouldn't. Do that. Without talking about it first anyway." But now is probably not the time to get into kinks! Especially if their ~connection~ or whatever the fuck they're gonna call it means they ignore everything logical and sensible.

"Here's a stupid question." Ask stupid questions, get stupid answers! "How honest should we be right now? How...open, do you think?"

Yes, ask the god of liars who prefers to go with snark and talking around issues that. But Loki's hands going into his hair gives Clint a very profound urge to get his own hands in there, threading through, petting, tugging. And he is not going to act on that. But wonders if he should bring it up.

~~They can talk about kinks later once they get this figured out~~

Loki lets out a hollow, almost feral laugh. "You're asking me, ME, how honest we should be with each other?" He shakes his head. "The world has truly gone mad."

Or maybe just the two of them. Loki grips his hair just a little tighter ~~wishing they were not his own~~ before his hands drop down and he bends to retrieve the fallen pan.

"Honesty would likely be in our best interest, but I have a feeling it will be supremely uncomfortable for the both of us. Shall we agree on a trade? One truth for another, so neither feels the other is gaining more than they are giving."

"I know, believe me, I know." That honesty with them, with Loki, is like drawing water from a stone. But they've been honest, forced to be honest, and that...means something. Doesn't it?

He slouches in his seat, arms on the counter, chin resting on his arms. Glances at Loki, glances away. "A truth is that right now, I would really like getting my hands in your hair, now that you've drawn attention to it."

Loki keeps moving as Clint talks: set the pan on the counter, bend down to get a pot for the pasta, take the pot to the sink to fill it with-

His hand freezes halfway to the tap. Turning to look at the other would be dangerous right now with the blush that forces it's way onto Loki's face at the thought of those dexterous fingers tangled in his hair, petting, pulling. He clears his throat.

"That is a problem, because I would very much like your hands in my hair." Loki stays frozen in place. He made the first move on the couch, he can't be the one to make the first move here as well.

"I figured."

He could fix that. He could come right over and tangle his fingers in and kiss Loki deeply, kiss his neck and not choke this time. But. That would be giving into this. That would be...bad. And food will never get made.

Clint stays very still where he is.

"I should go."

He doesn't move.

"Probably." He stays so still, like a deer caught in the gaze of a predator.

Or an oncoming truck.

"But would that make you feel better, or worse?"

"Distance from you is going to eventually clear my head. Hopefully." Okay, so, face in his arms instead. Don't even risk looking at Loki right now.

"It didn't, not really. Not while I was home. I don't know who I'm kidding. But if we start, do you think we're actually going to stop?"

"Except neither of us can be assured distance from each other." Okay, he can do this. Water on, fill the pot. "Unless you turn me in, that is. There's always the chance we run into each other and end up back at square one."

Move the pot to the stove. Turn on the induction burner.

"Probably not. At least I won't. My self control has never been that good." It's a terrible thing to say, likely what will end up pushing Clint away, but they made a deal for honesty.

"We'd have distance if you stay here and I go home and fucking stay there and not visit by way of making sure you're not being a bad guy who needs an arrow in the eye. If I go, then all we have to do is deal with occasional weird cravings. We can do that, right? That's easy enough. Maybe a little therapy, or magical therapy, can help. I don't know."

"Can you stay away?" Salt the water. "You didn't even know I was here the first time."

Cutting board, knife, bacon. Shit, is a knife a good idea right now? "And where exactly would I get therapy without revealing who I am?"

"That was on you. You pulled me out of an alley and tended to me and played nurse. You could have left me."

Or maybe he couldn't have. Maybe that's the real point here. He sits up with a groan. Yes, Loki has a point, but also, therapy might not be something that works with this. Does he get in touch with Strange? Wanda, maybe? Wanda's good with mental shit.

"What's the fucking play here, Loki? If we get something started, we might not be able to stop, and where does that leave us? Til one of us crosses a line and hurts the other, and then, what, give some space until coming back again for more?"

Loki groans in frustration, slamming the knife down on the cutting board and whipping around to finally look at Clint.

"I don't know! I don't know what to do about this! There aren't exactly instructionals for how to handle being scared by an infinity stone, most don't survive their encounters long enough to start jotting notes! And even if I did, it would likely require magic to fix, which I will remind, you I don't have at the moment!" He thinks briefly of Strange, but he only met the sorcerer for a few brief moments and can't be sure the man wouldn't turn him over to the authorities.

Or worse, call Thor.

"Then we get someone who knows magic! Let's talk to Strange, he might point us in the right direction so long as we don't get too handsy we stop paying attention. Or tell your people you're still alive, see if there's anything anyone in New Asgard can do! Are you that afraid of existing again?"

"YES!" Loki's voice has a desperate note, like someone pleading for his life rather than the opposite. "Because it means I can stop existing again!"

He's breathing heavy now, his heart hammering loudly like he's in a fight or running a great distance.

"I can't go to Strange. He'll just lock me up, and I will NOT be caged again."

"Existing's better than not, isn't it? I don't know how or why you're back, but at least you're back, and unless you wanna take yourself out again, you have to just deal with being here again, okay?"

But then, it must really be heavy on Loki's mind.

"Look, it's not gonna lock you up, not if I vouch for you. You haven't done anything. In over ten years, anyway."

"Last time we met, he tossed me into an eternal fall for over half an hour before we'd even laid eyes on each other. So forgive me for being skeptical."

Loki takes a deep breath, closing his eyes in an effort to calm his heart rate. It's been a while since he'd felt like this, probably not since Frigga died.

"...I'm not gonna do it," Clint declares suddenly. "I'm not gonna be your calming influence, your emotional support animal, because then I'm never leaving your side. I have a life, and--"

Clint stops, very suddenly, a deeply contemplative look on his face.

"And I don't want that. I don't want to be tethered to you, but here we are! I want-" What he's about to say is 'for you to bend me over this counter and fuck me so hard I can't walk tomorrow,' but Clint's expression makes him pause.

"I'm not sure if that look should concern me or not."

"I don't want to have to keep coming out here to check on you. You want to be a secret nobody knows where you are. Family's moved before, after the Ultron thing, so we keep a low profile. You could..." He spreads his hands. "I wouldn't put you up in the house, but barn's got a hayloft that would be an easy conversion."

Well that takes him right out of the image of being pounded mercilessly by the archer.

"...Odin's beard, you're serious. Would you honestly be okay with ME essentially living with your family? Your children? Nevermind your feelings on the matter, what about your wife? Even if she would agree to this, how are you going to explain why we're constantly moments away from violently making out?"

"Would I be okay with it, no, of course not! But it's an option. I really don't...I don't know what the solution is except me walking out that door and never, ever seeing you again."

Loki groans in frustration, turning back to the bacon and cutting board.

"I'm going to coot us dinner. We will go to Strange in the morning." His hands are much more steady now as he chops the bacon. "After he tells us there's nothing he can do and you somehow convince him to not chuck me in a hell dimension, we will maybe entertain the idea of me coming to ruin your idyllic family life with my presence."

"Wow, you just make the whole thing sound so appealing," Clint snarks. "Maybe I should just leave you here and we'll get over this whatever the fuck it is with time and distance and force of will."

"I won't to stop you from leaving." The chopping stays even. "But I will not change my habits to try to avoid future encounters with you. Nor will I seek out Strange on my own."

Loki wants him to stay. He wants him to stay more desperately than he wants breath, but even under their promise of truth, he can't bring himself to say it. Not that it needs to be said.

Clint doesn't move. He keeps on not moving. There is not moving from this spot to be had. At least not out the door, anyway.

"He won't chuck you in a hell dimension. He's a wizard, right? He'll be able to tell you don't have magic and aren't a magical threat. Can't say anything about what kind of threat you are otherwise, but..."

"Still not a risk I plan on taking without someone else there to glare at."

Chopped bacon goes into the heated skillet.

"Do you have any vegetable preferences?"

"'m not a picky eater." Which is not helpful, no, but also as far as he's concerned? Not the point.

"So. We do food. And we see Strange in the morning with me advocating for you for whatever that's worth. And do I...stay here? Sleep on the couch? Get a hotel room? Lock myself in the bathroom hanging out in the tub so we don't get all handsy?"

Because the other option is sleep with Loki

which

is too tempting to risk, right?

"As this is New York there are many fine hotels for you to choose from. But my couch is very comfortable." He would know seeing as he'd spent the nights there as Clint recovered.

Loki worries his bottom lip. Not that Clint can see as he's still facing the stove. "But in the interest of honesty, I would very much like you to stay."

He sighs, annoyed by the whole damn thing. Because now he has to be honest about something. But also: "No, I don't really think it's you as much as it's...the thing in your head. We can probably separate those into different entities, right?"

"Perhaps. I've never been terribly good at ignoring these types of urges though."

Pasta in the now boiling water, Loki walks back over to the counter, sitting in the bar stool opposite Clint.

"Now I believe you owe me a truth."

"Guess that I do." Loki's closer. He doesn't really like that. But he can't argue against it. "What do you want to know?" To put the onus on Loki, rather than just coming up with a truth out of his mouth.

Closing the distance between them is not making this situation better and Loki knows it. He should have stayed on the other side of the kitchen, but that magnetic pull was there again, just behind his navel, urging him closer. He puts his elbows on the counter and leans over so he's a bit closer. They won't come into physical contact unless Clint moves as well, but it's enough to ease the urge for the moment.

For a moment he thinks about asking an innocuous question, letting the archer off easy and putting something of a dampener on the strange game of cat and mouse they'd been forced into.

"What would you do if you got your hands in my hair?" But when had he ever acted in his own best interest?

"Pull it," the immediate answer, no hesitation. "Hard. After I pet through it a couple times to see just how soft it is."

There is a second, brief, a blink at most, where that seems like that's gong to be all. And then impulse takes over, and he grabs Loki's arms, pulls the elbows out from under him, pulls him closer still.

"I want," he growls, "to fight this. I'll settle for fighting you."

Loki isn't resting a lot of his weight on his elbows, but he's resting enough that the sudden jerk causes him to pitch forward. It's either grab onto Clint's shoulders for balance or smack his face into the granite, so in the split second he has to decide he chooses the former.

Of course this brings them even closer, Clint's words ringing fresh in his ears. Fire zips though him at the image and again he's consumed with nothing but a violent want

"I think we both know how that's likely to end," Loki says, so close his breath ghosts over the archer's lips like a gentle breeze before a storm.

There are several tense moments that follow, feeling Loki, feeling him, with no sound in his head other than the drumming of his heart.

He's too old, sometimes, he thinks, to still be pulling needlessly acrobatic stunts. There is no good reason for him to vault over the counter and into Loki, except that that is the shortest and fastest way to get to him. But he does it because the yearning wanting desiring connection between them demands it.

He crashes into Loki, both of them knocked off the seat and too the floor, lips wherever he can put them, fingers in Loki's hair. Running through, petting him, just as he said, just as he knew he would, until he grabs on tight and pulls.

Loki lets out a noise of surprise at the action, but doesn't fight it. The hard, cool tile at his back provides a wonderful contrast to the hot body pressing him into it. He keeps a firm hand on the back of Clint's neck, holding him in place as if either of them has the ability to pull away. The fingers in his hair send shivers down his spine in anticipation.

He should probably be embarrassed at the noise he makes when Clint tugs, but they're both back in that hazy place of want and action and burning. All he can do is buck his hips up in and angle his head into the pull, exposing even more of his throat to whatever assault is coming his way.

It isn't an embarrassing sound at all. It drives him harder, in fact, some animal part of him ready to rip him apart or fuck him into oblivion. Or both. Loki bucks his hips, Clint grinds down against him, friction setting them aflame, nerves firing like crazy with want and need. He bites against Loki's lips, down his chin, along his jaw, --stops, hesitates, with his mouth breathing hard against Loki's throat. They've been here before and he made a bad call, and that part of him that understands that keeps him still before he makes the same mistakes.

Clint hesitates and Loki lets out a growl. A slender (unfortunately clothed) leg wraps around the archer's hip, giving him the leverage needed to continue grinding their hips together. The fire in his veins is swiftly collecting in his groin, his dick already half hard in his tight jeans.

"Don't you dare stop." Despite what happened last time Clint was at his throat, Loki isn't afraid. Mostly because there's no room in his head right now for fear, but also because there's a part of him that trusts.

It feels too good for the hesitation to last long. It's an order, and a sensation, and a need. And it overrides all other senses. He pulls at Loki's hair again with one hand, tongue and teeth at that bare and enticing throat, while his other hand slides along Loki's body, along his side, hip, up the thigh hooking around him.

He doesn't know if it's about sex so desperately as it is a desire to be together, to be as one, the only way their meager mortal forms can. But it also doesn't matter in this moment.

Another guttural moan forces itself out of Loki's throat at the combine sensations. Pulling, biting, caressing, friction, heat, heat, heat. It makes him want to pull Clint closer, to tear him to shreds with his nails, to hold him tenderly, to just be with him. In him, him inside Loki, both in a sexual way (shit he's getting harder with every bite, with every tug) but also in a very undefined way made of pure existence. Like if their essences, their minds, their souls could meld everything would suddenly feel right again.

But that's not actually possible (at least not at the moment,) so Loki settles for snaking his hands between their rutting hips to undo the fastenings of his jeans. If nothing else, to release the pressure on his throbbing cock.

He needs this, needs Loki, needs needs needs. His mouth moves down to Loki's collar, and his hands move as well, to the open pants to grab hold of fabric. They can do this right here and now; they'll do it dry if they have to. (Or Loki could decide he feels more like someone who is capable of being very wet. That would work, too. Or, hell, they're in a kitchen, someone grab some oil.)

He's grabbing, tugging, pulling fabric-- when a shrill noise pierces the kitchen air. And along with it, the smell of burning.

Clint feels like he's been doused in ice water, or coming up for air with straining lungs, sitting up so sharply his head swims. The bacon, left forgotten, is doing a fair impression of char in the skillet.

The piercing screech of the smoke detector causes Loki to jerk back as well, cracking his head painfully on the white tile floor.

"Shit." It's unclear if he's cursing at their burned dinner or the interruption. In one smooth motion he slides out from underneath Clint and hurries over to turn off the burner and dump the now ruined meat and vegetables in the sink.

"Windows," he says back at Clint, gesturing to the living room windows as he climbs up on the counter to fan the infernal device with a random flyer left on his doorstep. The windows don't open much, but anything to get the smoke out of the apartment and stop the detector from screaming.

"Right." Any good excuse to get away from Loki. Jam the windows open, get in some of the fresh(?) city air. His face is still hot, everything hot, desire still running rampant down low and a salt tang of skin and sweat on his tongue. But it ebbs back and away.

He sits himself down against the wall under the windows, breathing. Watching Loki and his open fucking pants, the effect of the sight somewhat mitigated by his frantic air waving and wafting. "Baking soda and vinegar," he eventually supplies. "If the pan's burnt."

The smoke detector stops screaming, but Loki continues to fan, knowing from experience that it could come back on at any moment if there was any amount of smoke in the room.

"What? Oh-" It takes his brain a second to catch up to what Clint had said, thoughts stretched thin between the situation at hand, and what it had ripped them from. The hae and heat of the moment left him feeling fuzzy in the head, but the longer he stayed there, the more it cleared. "Noted...thank you."

As the air clears more and Loki starts to evaluate if he can stop fanning, he's suddenly struck by just how ridiculous he looks squatted on the counter, pants undone, hair a mess, waving a flyer for some new pizza restaurant called 'Cheese Louis' in the air, the smoking remains of their dinner in the sink.

It starts as a chuckle, but quickly devolves into full on hysterical laughter. He doesn't even get time to get fully off the counter when it hits, leaving him sitting on the edge of the granite, clutching his stomach, laughing harder than he has in years.

Clint does not, at first, see what's so damn funny about all this. But, at the same time, Loki's laughter is infectious. It's genuine. It's not maniacal, even if it is manic.

He's just. fucking sitting there on the counter of his stolen apartment after burning food accidentally, pants open, practically halfway off his hips, hard as can be, junk mail in hand, like this is a bachelor pad and they're trying desperately to exist right out of college or something.

(Clint assumes, having never done the college life much less post-college life.)

Yeah. Yeah, okay, that's ridiculous as fuck. Clint tries to only chuckle quietly, but he snorts, which sets him off further. Until they're both just laughing their asses off. And that feels almost as good as giving in.

The erection is a bit of a problem, but it doesn't take much concentration to change things around down there to make any arousal not as visible. Chuckles subsiding, he slides off the counter while zipping up his pants.

"The pasta appears to have congealed into a single mass," Loki says, turning off the burner for that pot as well. "So it would appear takeout is in our best interest. If you would like to stay, that is."

They'd gone at it again, despite talking about how it was probably a bad idea. However something about this time has left Loki's mind just a bit more clear. Perhaps due to it ending with a cooking mishap rather than a flashback to his painful death.

"I think I'm good, thanks," Clint says, getting to his feet. "Safer at this point if I get my own takeout somewhere away from you. Meet at Strange's in the morning? See if we can't get this figured out."

A pang of panic shoots through Loki at the thought of Clint leaving, but he pushes it down. It's in the best interest of both of them to get some distance, clear their heads.

"Of course. Let's convene at roughly 10?" He busies himself looking at the flyer used to fan away the smoke as if suddenly very interested in this pizza.

"...It's for us both. It's better this way." Is he trying to convince Loki, himself, or the thing in them both? "We'll probably start going at it before food even shows up. We can't keep doing this, or I really might rip your throat out with my teeth."

"I know, Barton," He means his voice to come out in a harsh bark, but instead he just sounds tired. "I know. And at this point I'd probably thank you." Or worse: beg for it.

"Leave, eat, rest. We'll meet again in the morning."

That's that, then. He doesn't say anything more, but he does briefly hesitate at the door. Does not look back. That might be the end of it if he looks. But that insisting part of him that wants Loki wants, obviously, to stay.

He leaves. Easy enough to find a cheap little place around. Get some food. Try not to think about Loki. Think about Loki. Work out until he's close to exhausted, get himself off in the shower, go the fuck to bed. Try not to think about Loki.

(Think about Loki. Dream.)

Their agreed upon time is late enough in the morning that even if (IF!) he's groggy come waking, he's perfectly awake and alert and clear-headed by the time he reaches the pretentious pretentium or whatever the wizard hut is called. He feels ready to face Loki and whatever magic voodoo the time sorcerer might be able to do.

Loki lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding when the door opens and closes. That traitorous part of him hopes that when he peers out into the entrance hall that Clint will still be there, having decided not to leave after all.

It's a strange mixture of relief and unease when he sees that the other really did leave.

Unknowingly, he spends his evening much like Barton: order food, workout, shower, jack off, go to bed. All while trying to not think about the archer, about his hands in Loki's hair and his teeth at his neck. If he comes with Clint's name on his lips, no one has to know other than himself and the drain. He'd hoped that taking care of that before bed would stop any salacious dreams, but of course he was wrong about that as well.

Not that any would know it the next day. Loki's taken care to look put-together with semi-casual, yet fashionable Midgardian clothes in dark greens and blacks. He holds out one of the two steaming travel cups to Clint as he approaches.

"Coffee?"

There's the briefest moment when he wonders where Loki is and who this lady handing him coffee is, until he remembers, laughs, accepts a cup. Of course Loki wouldn't show his face in the city; that's the point. Having a different face (it's still Loki, he can see that, but he knows Loki, too) means better job being undercover.

"You can't quit the color scheme, huh?" he comments. "You don't see me wearing nothing but purples and purple-adjacents."

"You should. It's a very good color." She smirks and takes a sip of her own tea, red lips leaving behind a faint stain on the lid of the cup. "Not as good as green, obviously."

"I'm not gonna start wearing green just for you."

But in bringing up the idea, he thinks about it, for just a split second. Loki influencing his wardrobe, or bringing him things to wear just for them. That denotation of possessing again. It's enticing. It's horrifying. Something inside him recoils while another part would like to very very much.

"Should probably get this over with. I won't let him hurt you."

"Pain isn't exactly my primary concern," she mutters as they move up the steps, fighting back the opposite image- herself in a deep purple dress, or a delicate arrow pendant...

Raising a fist, she bangs on the door with much more strength than her frame would suggest.

It's startling, but it works. A wide-eyed apprentice appears at the door.

"Can I, uh, can I help you?"

"Yes. Is Stephen Strange in?"

"He's studying at the moment, is this an emer-"

Loki presses a sheathed dagger into the young mage's hand. "Give him this. Tell him Hawkeye and an friend are here to drop in."

"Um..." They look at the dagger, back at them. "Sure, I'll...just wait out here while I relay the mess--"

"We'd be happy to wait inside," Clint chimes with fake chipperness, blowing past the apprentice like they're nothing into the foyer.

"Er, ah..." A moment of breathing, and then...defeat. "Of course. Please, stay right here." And they shuffled quickly out through a side door.

Clint, then, eyes Loki. "So. Take it there's a little history there."

Loki follows Clint in with delight, flitting around the room to peer at the items adorning the tables and walls.

"Yes, after he trapped me in the never ending fall, I threatened to stab him," she says as if she's reporting they met at a book club or something. Notably she doesn't stand in one place for very long, remembering the last time how the portal opened beneath her feet with a ring of gold sparks.

She won't be caught off guard again.

Edited 2022-06-21 21:24 (UTC)

"That's a downright reasonable reaction out of you." He watches her from the corner of his eye, choosing instead to be the steady rock in the center of the room. Tempting to just jog up the stairs, start raiding the place, see what secrets there are, but they wouldn't mean anything to him. Would to Loki.

He's not a dog about to go play fetch, though.

"Only threatening. Out of you, I would've expected you go skip right to the stabbing, very hard."

"Oh, don't think he didn't try." The fucking wizard himself appears at the top of the stairs, pretentiously floating with his cloak but dressed in otherwise very casual clothes, old tome in hand. "Now, correct me if I'm wrong, Barton, but I was under the impression that you two weren't exactly BFFs." With only a soft sound of sneakers, he lands on the floor and looks up at the both of them. But primarily at Loki. His eyebrows raise just slightly.

"And rumor had it--and by rumor, I mean verifiable fact--that you had shuffled off this mortal coil."

"Doc. It's a bit complicated."

Strange shuts the book with a hand, the sound a heavy thump, but when he steps away from his spot, a translucent afterimage or copy stays in place, rolling its eyes, and keeps on reading its very open book. "I'll say. Either Loki's learned to hide his--her?--their magic, or they don't have any. Otherwise, I would've noticed your presence in absolutely the worst possible city outside of Wakanda's capital you could've chosen."

"Unfortunately it is the later." Loki says, shifting back to his more familiar form partway through the sentence. "But that is not why we're here."

Strange narrows his eyes at the transformation. "Not all your magic, apparently."

Loki just waves him off. "We can discuss my peculiar circumstances later. How familiar are you with the Mind Stone?"

The wizard looks like he would very much like to discuss those circumstances here and now, but the mention of the Infinity Stone piques his interest. With a wave of his hand, the three find themselves in a warm study. Shelves of books and magical artifacts line the walls, a roaring fire crackling merrily in the hearth.

"More than most, less than some," Strange says, glancing between the two of them. "Why?"

Clint's getting pretty used to wild fucking bullshit, but magically suddenly being in a completely different room has him momentarily spooked.

Strange pays the reaction no mind. The tome in hand vanishes with a cloud of orange sparks, motions to chairs like a polite host as he sits in one himself, fingers steepled, one leg crossed over the other. Watching them both.

Clint takes a breath. "You at least have a passing understanding that," with a motion between himself and Loki, "we've got history."

Strange waggles a hand. "I'm aware, but give me details."

"Attack on the city, Loki had the Mind Stone on him, used it on a bunch of us to essentially brainwash us into doing his bidding." He gives Loki a look. The fact that Loki was likewise not entirely himself is much less known. It's an important detail, but it also isn't Clint's to say. "We think there's some kind of lasting effect."

Loki eyes the chair, unsure if it is some kind of trap or not.

"What kind of-just sit down, it doesn't bite." Strange says, huffing at Loki's clear suspicion. "What kind of 'lasting effect'?"

Loki sits gingerly, ready to jump up at any moment. When the chair doesn't spring to life around him, he relaxes just a bit more.

"An...attraction of sort. It started roughly a month ago when I saved him from a gang of thugs in an alley."

Clint makes a face at the word 'attraction', but can't argue it. It's one hell of an attraction. For his part, he chooses to remain standing, something about the latent almost-nervous energy that keeps him from relaxing.

"Gang of thugs?"

He waves a hand. "Not the important part. I needed patching up, Loki dragged me to his place. First I knew he was here, alive suddenly, with no magic."

"And this...attraction," the sorcerer repeats the word with some hesitation, "are we talking magnetic, or are we talking--"

"Animal, kind of." Clint's brow furrows, eyes on the floor. "There's something in my head--something in both of us--where proximity and contact makes for...thoughts and desires coming to the forefront. To the point of not being able to fight it, or think through it. It isn't always necessarily sexual in nature. Sometimes it's violent. Sometimes it's just...it's just impulses. That have to do with each other. Distance doesn't make it go away. Eases it a bit, but it's still there."

"And..." Strange's eyes flit back and forth between them. "You're sure this isn't a job for a psychologist? Sex therapist, maybe? I know a halfway decent neurosurgeon, get some scans done."

"First, yes, I am sure. Second, even if it were, who exactly would you reccomend we go to?"

"Like I said, I know a-"

Loki glares at him nd it actually gets Strange to shut up. For a moment at least.

"Okay, so whenever you two are in the same room you, what? Go at each other like a couple of horny bonobos?"

Loki shrugs. "Eventually, more or less."

Strange sighs. "Yeah, I can run some tests. Magical and medical, just to rule everything out."

"Would appreciate it. And your discretion."

Strange stands and gives him a Look. "Please, I'm still literally a doctor; I can do confidentiality. But you," with a point, "should probably tell someone that stone boy's been messing with your head, and you," pointing the handle of the sheathed dagger suddenly in hand at Loki, "should probably tell Thor before he finds out some other way and busts a hole through my freshly patched roof."

Clint grimaces. "We're telling you, because it's magic, it's Stones, and you had one for a while."

"And as you know, I don't anymore. No one does. That was the point."

"Hasn't stopped this connection from happening."

"And you didn't feel it at all while Loki was alive?"

A shrug. "I think being on a completely different planet and out of my life meant distance makes the heart grow colder."

Strange looks around at some of his books and magical bullshit, looking for something specific. "And you haven't considered just being far from each other and waiting it out?"

"No, totally didn't cross our minds at all, doc."

The wizard pulls a book, then with a motion of his hand, they're in another room completely while he looks at other shelves. Clint's coffee nearly spills from his hand. But at least his feet are still under him. "Why come to me and not Wanda? She's the magic user more attuned to the mind. I'm flattered, of course, but it's not my specialty."

"And saddle her with this? Besides, we were in town. I don't even know where she's gone to."

"Thor will hear nothing of me until my powers are fully returned." Loki grabs for the dagger, only for Strange to pull it away at the last second.

"Nope, you gave this to me. It's mine now."

Loki huffs, but seems to suddenly remember something.

"If you aren't powerful enough, we can always seek out the Sorcerer Supreme," Loki says with a snarky tone. Strange fixes him with an indifferent stare that betrays that the barb actually found it's mark.

"Wong's a busy man, no need to bother him with this."

"Wait, is he not the Supreme? I thought you were the Supreme."

"I was, until I got blipped out of existence, and then that made Wong get the title on a technicality alone."

"So we should go to him."

"Do you want help or not?"

"I'm just saying, if you're not actually the--"

"Take a seat, both of you."

Clint still doesn't want to sit, still wants to keep standing, like he's going to bolt at a moment's notice. "Can't do it standing?"

Strange shoots him a look. "Same way you don't do a CAT scan or an MRI while standing. This could get intense, and I don't need either of you falling over in the middle of it."

He...sits, reluctantly, uncomfortably, but at least he does.

They're both on the same couch and it's just like yesterday. Luckily this time Strange is there to take some of Loki's attention. Something to focus on that isn't the faint heat he can feel from Clint, barely an arm's length away.

"Okay, I'm going to need you both to close you eyes and focus on the other."

Well shit.

"We're...kinda trying to do the opposite of that, you know?"

"Barton," with the exasperated patience of someone quickly running out, "what I'm about to do is the magical equivalent of doing exploratory surgery on your brains. Try to follow my instructions."

"Focus on Loki, got it."

His hands ball in the couch either side of his lap, leaning forward, unable to relax, but he shuts his eyes and thinks about Loki. Tries for distance. Think about Loki from a factual standpoint. View him, review facts about him, don't get into it.

Impossible not to get into it, though. Some of it is the flash of desire, yes, wanting to pounce on him, pin him down, feel hands scratching him all over and pulling him in.

Some of it is memory, sense memory and all. A wave of sickly blue, the same kind dancing in exhausted eyes. The ease of being given an order or being asked questions and responding without hesitation to it all. Falling in step easy as breathing. The internal struggle, useless. The urge to fell the felled god with one last shot, half buried in Stark's floor.

The simplicity of not thinking or fighting it. A hand on his shoulder (a hand in his hair a hand holding his neck tight a hand running down his spine). A murmur of praise (from Loki from the Stone from something beyond either of them from Loki).

Loki under him squirming and gasping and grasping, grinding into one another. The desire for oneness. The understanding between them. Seeing. It all swirls together, and whether that's just his own mind and the connection, or Strange's magic, he certainly can't tell.

UnFotunatly for Loki, he knows exactly what this kind of magic is looking for. He doesn't try to fight the urges, doesn't try to stay neutral, just opens his mind and focuses on Barton.

A hand, a tool, a weapon. Sharp eyes behind a haze of blue, looking for any weakness to escape. Control, more control, more focus than the others. Fear, fear of failure, his own and Bartons. Fear of what was behind the power that bound the two together. He tries to keep the thoughts in some sort of sequential order, but it's no good as old mixes with new in a swirl of sensations and emotions.

Hand, calloused yet soft yet hard. On his skin, in his hair, at his back. Urging him forward, pushing him away, supporting, tearing, grinding, choking-

It all stops in a snap. Loki's eyes open as he gasps like he's been underwater for hours. Strange is breathing heavy as well, leaning back on the table behind him for support, perfectly quaffed hair slightly disheveled.

"Shit," the sorcerer says. "You two got it bad."

The best part, he figures, is that he doesn't think he can feel Strange's brand of magic. He doesn't know which of them is shuffling through memories or sensations, but at least the only fingers across his brain he feels are Loki's, as far as he can tell.

That it all ends so abruptly is the part that slaps him across the face, douses him in ice water. He reels back, confusion pouring in, disorientation, for a moment not entirely sure where or when he is.

But Strange snarks, and Clint leans back, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes. "No shit," he growls in return. "Great diagnosis."

"Good news," the sorcerer continues, running a hand through his hair to straighten it out (only to dishevel it further), "you're not going crazy. Well, crazier. It really is a lingering influence triggered back when the Stone bound you together."

"Cool. Bad news?"

A hand waggle. "'Bad' is subjective."

"Doc."

"Fixing something done by something as powerful as an Infinity Stone without that same Stone is not exactly easy. Has anyone else under the influence reported anything?"

"Not that we're aware of?"

"And you two, when this connection was broken--"

Clint continues rubbing at his eyes. "Got hit in the head really hard until I snapped out of it."

"Likewise, my connection with the Stone was broken when the green beast slammed me into the floor. Repeatedly." The haze of anger and violence receding, every feeling the Mind Stone had amplified for Thanos' own purpose.

"So you just got whacked on the head really hard. I don't suppose anyone checked you out for traumatic brain injuries after? From the blows or the Stone?"

Loki shrugs. "They certainly didn't me, but I assume they would take more care with one of their own." He gestures vaguely to Clint.

"Right, so we have no diagnostic information directly post trauma." Strange lets out a heavy sigh, fingers going to massage his temples. "We'll work on managing the symptoms until we can find something to sever the connection. You said distance made it better?"

"In a way, but..." Loki grimaces, loath to admit any weakness in front of the pompous human. "I did notice it getting a bit worse in the day or so before Barton arrived. Like an itching at the back of my mind."

"I got put through so many tests after, SHIELD archives probably could make some kinda perfect clone of me that could fool anyone. Medical and psychological." He pointedly doesn't look at Loki when he drops his hands, more at the ceiling than anything else. "I shouldn't've gotten back in the fight after I came to, but I did. After, I was taken care of. For months."

He takes in a steady breath, lets it go, sits up straighter. That was a lifetime ago now. He'd long since gotten over it. But now it sits fresh like mint on the tip of his tongue.

"But if you really wanna push the idea that head trauma's causing this, this would be a really damn delayed reaction. I didn't exactly get some kind of animal craving to literally fuck the guy who figuratively fucked me. I had to sleep in another bed away from my wife when I finally was allowed back home, because it wasn't-" with a fervent motion between the two would-be patients "-it wasn't this I was waking up from in the middle of the night, that's for damn sure. And in the ten and change years since, can't say I've felt anything like this before.

"We're here making fucking idiots of ourselves in front of you because this is some magical bullshit, not a shared hallucination or brain trauma."

There's a few moments of silence ringing after that, and Strange spreads his hands. "Are you done?"

Clint flips him off.

"Okay. Now that that's out of our system, do you want to tell me if you had any worsening symptoms like Loki described, or do you just want to keep lashing out like a child to the person you turned to for help?"

"You don't play well with others, do you?"

"Not everyone ends up a go-to guy on a world renowned superhero team."

"Because you don't play well with others. Got it." Before Strange can get another snark in edgewise: "I think the worst part about all this is that after we got...handsy with each other a couple times, it feels better." A glance, brief, at Loki. "I think it feels a little better. Dunno if it's because of the...giving in or what."

Seeing Clint berate Strange feels good. Not in the weird forced heated way that is their bond, but in a normal vindication sort of way. Thor is always so willing to give people the benefit of the doubt, especially when Loki is the one with issues with them. Seeing one of the 'heros' tear into the doctor for everything Loki had found irritating about the man feels good. Like it isn't just another one of his many character flaws preventing him from getting along with him.

Or maybe it is and it's just a flaw they share. Still, misery loves company.

Loki nods in agreement when Clint glances at him. "I was the same. It lasted longer the second time, though."

Strange gets that calculating look on his face that makes Loki want to stab him. "Think you two can hold hands for a couple of minutes without going for each other?"

"Doubt it," is the honest reply. "But we could try it. Not getting in a get-along shirt anytime the blue in my brain decides I need a hit of Loki, though."

"Humor me."

Clint grumbles and holds out his hand to Loki. "I don't even know why it gets all determined about touching and more as it is. You'd think it'd be all about...I don't know, a master and his subservient kind of thing."

He knows an aspect of it is simply knowing that they see each other, whether they like it or not. They are different people now, but it's that touch of mind and will and soul that means that no matter what happens, Loki will always be...someone who knows him better than anyone else. At some level.

Loki eyes the hand for a moment before taking it, subconsciously threading his fingers between Clint's. He feels that same pull, but not trying to resist the urge to be with completely does make it easier to not immediately pounce. Oh well, if they do loose control, Strange with either get a show or dowse them with cold water.

"Close your eyes again, we're going to try one more thing..."

He doesn't get much time to comply with the request before they're both awash in gold magic. Without instruction on what to think about, Loki finds his mind naturally wanders to Clint. His hand in his, a map of his years of combat, heat seeping under Loki's skin. It makes him want more. More heat, more places, he wants to be covered in it, wrapped so tightly he can't move. Wants to hear that voice-

"Yep! That's what I thought." Not that voice! "You want the good news or the bad news first?"

Clint huffs out through his nose, letting Loki lace without fighting it, but he is fighting the urges. They're more muted but still very much there. Oneness, together, like missing part of himself. Like he needs that domineering presence back in his life, except Loki hadn't ever acted domineering. In control, yeah, sure, but setting that aside, he asked questions, listened to answers, took suggestions. Not equal, but close to it.

Like he wants to take Loki in his hands and push him up against a wall and press into him until they merge. Like he needs to feel every muscle and every patch of skin. Like he needs Loki to need him back. Like he needs to protect what has been claimed.

When Strange's voice cracks into that sensation, draws him out of it, he finds he's leaning much closer to Loki than he was a moment ago.

........Should they keep holding hands or nah? He's gonna keep holding on.

"Uh. Fuck it, what's the good news?"

Loki doesn't let go either, loath to break the connection once it's been forged.

"Good news is your symptoms should be pretty easy to manage." Then without a beat, "Bad news is your best option to manage them is probably to sleep together."

Well that's not what he was expecting. His grip on Clint's hand tightens somewhat, nothing painful, but still noticeable.

"Pardon?"

"Sorry, was that not Shakespearean enough for you? For more long-term relief from wanting to rip each others throats out in a semi-erotic way, you should have coitus. Make the beast with two backs. Fuck."

Loki's going to kill this man.

"Enemies with benefits this? What, like on a regular basis?"

"To manage the symptoms, like I said, yes." Like it's just that easy.

"And do you have any helpful suggestions about fixing this, maybe?"

"We're talking about the power of an Infinity Stone here. It was never going to be as easy as snapping my fingers. There's so little research on the effects of these things. You wanna know why?"

"Because they usually--"

"Because they usually killed the person using it." Clint's going to kill him if Loki doesn't. "Yes, exactly. That Loki had a fancy stick mitigated the damage, but if he kept on using it, yeah, probably would've ended up dying way earlier. Rest of you? Permanent damage at best. I need to do more digging to come up with something more lasting to help you two, so in the meantime, you need to help yourselves." And after a beat: "Not here. I'll have you know the Sanctum is a hanky-panky free zone."

"Explains a lot," muttered just loud enough for Strange to hear."

Loki lets out a snort at the jab. "Are you certain? This couch is rather comfortable."

Strange just rolls his eyes. "Seriously, do not get busy on my couch. I have to go look up some very old books and scrolls now thanks to you two."

"Perhaps we should check in with the Sorcerer Supreme. He is the one who actually runs the Sanctum, isn't he?"

"I am perfectly capable of diagnosing you with a case of stone-crazy, and the fact that my medical recommendation is sex isn't an indication I'm not taking this seriously."

"Uh-huh. But do you think the Sorcerer Supreme would mind if we got busy in these walls, or is this a you-specific rule? Maybe he made it because of you."

Strange raises a finger, like it's threatening at this point.

"Maybe you need to check in with some of the apprentices. Kids these days, you know how they are. Maybe there's a reason this couch is so comfortable."

"Get out, go, go on. Get a hotel room or something. I think I need a shower from all the," shudder, "images and feelings you two were giving off."

"...I should actually--" Clint withdraws his hand from Loki's, finally. "I should probably make a call real quick."

"And you can't do it after you have vacated the premises?" Strange sighs dramatically. "I'm not kicking you out permanently; I want to two to check in regularly to reassess and modify treatment as necessary."

"It's not that. But, thanks, actually, for taking this seriously?" It can wait the two seconds while the sorcerer shoves them outside. But he does want to do it. And. It also annoys Strange. "Two minutes, okay, just one call. Don't arrest him before I get back."

"I'm sure he can resist the urge for a few minutes." Loki doesn't look up at Clint as he exits the room to make what is bound to be a very uncomfortable call. Of course he doesn't know for sure who the archer is calling, but given the circumstances, it's a pretty safe bet that Laura Barton will be the one on the other end of the line.

"Come on, take him with you! I have stuff to d- aaand he's gone." Strange huffs and plops down on a rather pretentious wingback chair. The two mages stare at each other for a while before Stephen finally breaks the silence.

"So the shape shifting-"

"I genuinely do not know why it is still functional. My seidr is gone, you said it yourself."

"Really? No ideas? Nothing to do with the adopted thing maybe?"

Loki glares at him. "The thought had crossed my mind, but I don't exactly have any way to check, now do I?"

Stephen sits back and hums. "I'll have one of the apprentices look into anything we have on Jotunheim."

Loki raises an eyebrow, clearly confused at the offer for information without asking for something else first. Stephen waves him off.

"Look, I don't understand this, and I don't like not understanding things."

"So it is your pride rather than some misplaced sense of sympathy."

They probably won't kill each other in the couple minutes this will maybe possibly take. He wouldn't be too put out, really, if they did.

The call to Laura goes...about as well as can be expected. She is, of course, a very understanding woman. More than he could ever hope to ask for. Her history as an agent certainly helps, knowing that there is some Weird Inexplicable Shit out there. She was so good to him in that unsettled period after Loki's...after Loki. She understands that sometimes Shit Happens on the job.

That does not mean she has to understand this.

He explains it as best as he can. Which isn't great. But he tries. That there isn't any tangible method of fixing this, and that to be perfectly honest they don't even know if this will work until they try it, doesn't help.

Her worries are legitimate. She doesn't want to lose him to something he'd fended off years ago. And they practically just got back together. Running off to spend time with someone like that, sexually, does not feel good.

There is...an argument.

It takes her checking that he does, in fact, have a flight booked home and several promises that he would rather Loki choke on several dicks that are definitely not his and maybe re-die and go to whatever Asgardian hell there is (Hel?), but seeing as that's not going to be an option for several reasons...to get the argument to calm. Think of it as a mix of alternative therapy and a mission. It's the best he's got.

She knows he hasn't been sleeping the best for the last month anyway.

He meekly comes back, phone tucked away. "Still alive?"

"Barely."

Loki stands when Clint re-enters the room, not making eye contact with him. He hadn't been eavesdropping, but it was impossible for either him or Strange to miss when the call got a bit heated.

"Unfortunatly Strange refuses to budge on the 'no sex in the Sanctum' rule, so I suppose we shall have to return to my apartment."

"Wait, you have an apartm-"

"Shall we?" Loki seamlessly shifts back to her less-recognizable form and holds an arm out for Clint to take.

He sees the arm and the dashing lady and--

Shoves his hands in his pockets and makes for the nearest exit-looking door. "We shall. You know I have a hotel room, right?"

Strange rolls his eyes so hard they might strain, and with a touch of magic, they are suddenly in the foyer again, with him shooing them toward the door. "I do not want to hear it, out. But let me know if it works!"

"Hey, quick question, anyone ever puke after that?"

"Out!"

And they are out.

"...Like I said. Hotel room. I've got one. Just in case, uh." He furrows his brow, stares at the concrete under his feet for a moment. "Depending on how many neighbors are around." To hear. In case. Things get loud.

"Aw, shy are you?" Loki gives him a dangerous smirk and tries very hard to not think about what he might do to make her scream. "Most of the apartments surrounding me are empty. If you prefer to wear protection, we should stop to purchase that."

That. Is an annoyingly not bad idea. "What, not in the habit of bringing anyone home yet?" His feet start moving. There are shops all over, and better to be away from Strange's doorstep at this point.

"You thinking of staying like that, or back to your usual self? Out of curiosity."

"That and I don't actually need it."

She thinks for a moment. Something about talking about the act takes a bit of the edge away, as if they were making it worse trying to ignore it.

"Whatever you would prefer. Things can also be a bit of a...mix and match, shall we say?"

"...Well. If you don't need it. Then I probably don't need it. I'd ask if we're about to find the first case of cross-species STDs, but your brother has definitely slept with Jane, so pretty sure if there were some weird biological differences to know about, we'd know about it."

(Does he know for a certain fact that Thor and Jane did the do, no, but come on. It's Thor. You hit that. With a hammer. So to speak.)

"That not needing extend to, uh." He is not a teenager god. "Lubrication?"

Setting aside the mix'n'match for a hot second.

"That entirely depends on your preferences. But I do have that in the bedroom."

"...Noted."

Well. Seems like apartment is the real way to go here. Even if it's Loki's turf, Loki's territory. Does that make it worse, knowing that he'd be right in the midst of her home field as it were, or better, knowing he's wrapped around all things Loki?

He doesn't want to turn that question over too much in his mind.

"Whatever you prefer. It's your body. I'm not gonna make you be something you're not feeling."

"There isn't anything I'm not feeling at the moment." She picks up the pace a bit.

"Come on, if we aren't stopping for anything, I'd rather get back as soon as possible." You know. For 'symptom relief.'

Someone's a little eager. Not that there isn't a part of him that's also fully eager, but she seems to really enjoy engaging with this idea. He keeps up no problem, but eyes her up. There's a question on his mind, but it seems nebulous and complex (or just really stupid), and he doesn't know how to word it. It also...absolutely doesn't matter if Loki only has this desire because of the connection or if she actually perhaps somehow in there really does want him, apart from it all.

The quicken pace gets them back to the building and into the elevator before the heat in Loki's body becomes a burning. As soon as the metal door slide shut, she's on him, pressing him into the wall of the elevator with a heated kiss.

It's dangerous. They don't exactly have a good history of stopping without serious interruption, but she can't help it. Not trying to deny it anymore feels good, like intentionally letting pressure out of a container rather than waiting for it to explode.

To no one's surprise, least of all his own, he's an idiot. Of course Loki's going to do her damnedest to release some pressure instead of waiting, and Clint is--appreciative of the move, certainly. His need had felt much less present, even with holding hands, even with proximity. (Yeah, maybe an intense conversation with your wife will put just about anything on cooldown.)

He's been fighting this the whole way. Being given grudging permission hasn't helped any, because now he just feels more fucked up and weirdly guilty about the whole thing.

So Loki catches him off guard, and there's a moment where his mind just blanks. And when it boots back up, his body is certainly kissing her back. And then the burning want surges in. Still recognizes this body as Loki.

And still he fights. Puts hands on her--shoulders, not at her waist, her hips, the way he wants needs wants to, pushes. It feels...worse. It feels worse to push that heat and desire away, and it leaves him gasping for air. The elevator dings. He can't get out of that small space fast enough. Like that'll help instead of making his head spin.

Loki lets out a growl of frustration at being pushed away. She would have gone in for another kiss had the doors not opened and the archer not raced out. All the better, though, lest they be caught rutting in the elevator like a couple of horny teenagers.

She follows, soon overtaking him to get to the door to 'her' apartment first. A single touch from her hand to the doorknob enough to open the unlocking rune inscribed there.

"Anything we need to discuss?" she asks, stepping inside and kicking her shoes off.

He's very good at opening his mouth when he shouldn't, and keeping it shut when he should say something. 'We don't have to do this' is on the tip of his tongue, but then, if that were really true, he wouldn't be following her in, closing the door with some kind of sense of finality behind him. That kiss made things so much worse. Because he wants to do the wall pushing now, hike up her skirt, fuck her until they pass out from exhaustion. Wants her to tie him up tight and drive him right around the bend by touching him and riding him.

His hand hasn't left the doorknob, and it tightens hard around the metal.

"Dunno," he eventually says, like it's casual, "is there?" Plenty. What would they say? He isn't sure. "No choking, got that part."

"A shame, but yes. No choking. Other than that..." Loki steps behind him, pressing her from chest into his back, looping her arms around his chest to trace up and down his torso with her fingers.

"The floor is yours."

He shivers under the touch. It's a fixation, from that very first night, the idea of touching, of being touched and caressed and held and hurt and molded and formed by Loki. Possessed, treated with such reverence.

"Pretty sure the floor's not gonna cut it this time." Which is not what she meant and yet.

Still behind him, Loki shifts, gaining the height he'd long on Clint in his other form.

"I whole heartedly agree," he says, bending down to nibble lightly on his ear. "Lead the way?"

"Fuck."

The resolve, or really the fight in him, finally gives way. That there's still just enough of himself present to be angry at himself means, yeah, okay, those little incidents through yesterday really did help in small measures. Is it better if they are both somewhat more conscious and aware of all they're doing rather than submerging under the pull of this otherworldly gemstone? (Or, better question, will even this fade away when they give in entirely?)

He wants Loki's hands all over him, to pick him apart, to sink into his chest and take hold of his very heart.

Well. They can take hold of something else soon enough if they really want to. He presses back against Loki, adding a bit of friction, and takes one of those roving hands, brings fingers to his lips, takes a few into his mouth to suck on. Ignores an impulse to bite.

...Right, he was supposed to lead the way. Bit distracted from that.

"That's the general idea," Loki mutters into his ear, grinding right back. No hardness meets Clint, but not for lack of arousal. After all this buildup, Loki finds he doesn't want to worry about prolonged prep work to get where they're going.

They aren't moving, and he isn't doing much to help that as he moves his lips down Clints neck, kissing and nipping and sucking. He's gripped with the urge to mark, to claim. To let everyone know that this is his. His to devour, his to see.

There's the sudden urge to slam Clint against the wall, to ravish him right here in the entrance hall. Loki suddenly detaches and takes a step back, pupils blown wide.

"Bedroom. Or couch, fuck, I don't care."

Ah--well, that sure is an example of what Loki was suggesting earlier about preferences. Clint has zero problem with any arrangement of bits and bobs, but clearly Loki has a limit to his patience.

Which, maybe he hasn't quite reached, since he actually pulls away. Couch is tempting. It's closer.

But a bed will give them more space. And somehow, it seems fitting. A month ago when he'd laid out on that bed fighting what he thought was a sickness with that sense-memory of Loki's touch that had never touched him in the ways lying there wanted him to be touched. It's more intimate that way, for better or for worse.

Clint takes a step closer, strips off his shirt as he goes, tossing to the floor, baring chest and tattoo sleeve and all. And he closes the distance, pushing into Loki, pressing him back. He remembers where the bedroom is, after all. Kisses, nips at him. Slides hands up under that skirt to grab handfuls of ass none too gently.

Loki watches as Clint removes his shirt, but doesn't get much time to dwell on the tattoo as the archer is on him only a moment later. He walks backwards where Clint directs, doing everything he can to stay in constant contact with him.

It's a miracle neither of them trip on the way to the bedroom. Loki doesn't even realize they're there until his legs hit the edge of the bed.

Clint pushes, actually shoves him with a hand to his chest, and wastes no time climbing after Loki, over him, above him. He could, perhaps, help Loki out of his clothes. Or he could just keep a hand under that skirt, hiking it higher and higher, flipping the material up.

His mouth travels down, rough kisses and little bites over his jaw and neck, following down the dip of the V of his top. And one of his hands occupies itself running up one of Loki's thighs, over stockings and over skin, and then along the hem of panties, and further still until he runs his thumb over a particular bit of soft, wet, warm patch of fabric and starts to rub.

The skirt isn't a tight one, so it moves and flips easily around Loki's body and Clint's hands. He stretches his neck, giving more access for more bites and rough kisses, as his hands push up and under the archer's shirt. Nails run over the same paths as the previous day, digging in almost hard enough to break the skin when Clint finds his sweet spot.

"There!" Loki's hips grind up into his hand, doing everything he can to increase the pressure and friction. It's been a while since he sought pleasure in this form, the sensations similar, yet so different.

The scratching, well, it scratches some kind of itch in him, something he probably shouldn't indulge. The idea of mixing in pain, that it might be a reminder of what Loki did to him. Something that can ache and sting and hurt, even if the pain is enjoyable at the very same time.

As ever, it's a confused jumble of feelings and sensations, and so much easier to focus on someone else's pleasure. The way Loki keens under him. He indulges for a short time before the impatience, the insistence, rumbles a growl out of him, and he pulls away long enough to once more shuck his shirt. There's no plan to retrieve it this time. His hands push down on Loki's hips, fingers worked under fabric, pulling down roughly. Nails catch on stockings without care, a pull here, a run there, until he flings the panties off Loki's legs entirely and to somewhere on the floor.

With the moment's reprieve, Loki also shucks off his own shirt. He is just about to push the skirt down as well, but Clint it back on him in a second. Soon his hands are occupied again with broad shoulders unshielded from his perfectly manicured nails. He wants to dig in, to claw out whatever piece of him is trapped inside the other. What else could call to him like this?

He lets out a groan, hips moving to allow the green lace and silk panties to slide down his legs. He bucks up again, rubbing his wet heat on the hardness in his pants.

"Not fair," he says, hands moving to fiddle with the belt there. Fuck, the things he could do with that belt. Restraint, paint, so many promises in one thin piece of leather.

There is most definitely a hardness to rub on, and he breathes heavy at the sensation before, also unfairly, pulling his hips just far enough away to get out of that reach. Not to worry, he replaces the sensation with deft fingers again, sliding along his wetness, playing with his clit.

"No such thing as fair." Between nails on his shoulders, shirtless Loki, Loki scrambling for Clint's belt, there's so much going on that plays with the imagination, and he can't just let this go on without getting his mouth back on there somewhere. At least ducking in to bite at Loki's chest keeps him from uttering I want you to hurt me. It's there on the tip of his tongue, but it can't get out if said tip of tongue is too busy lapping at a nipple, right?

The combined sensations of Clints fingers sliding over his clit and his lips and teeth on his nipple makes Loki moan loudly. His hands fumble with the belt more, finally getting the buckle loosed so he can yank the strip out with a quick tug.

"Harder." It's unclear if he means the teeth on his very stiff bud, or the fingers working his folds. Possibly both. Sure, he's been known to enjoy a bit of pain with pleasure before, but he's never needed it. Not like this.

There is a moment where he wants to fight it. To pull himself away entirely and tell Loki, very petulantly, that he doesn't get to give orders anymore.

And then just as quickly, he bites, hard, while his fingers dip into Loki, thumb pressing rough circles at the low nub. He does not have to follow it like an order, but the idea seems to soothe something in his animal brain, in the--whatever magic bullshit is inside of him. Good little soldier, doing as he's told. Beautiful weapon, given purpose.

So very hard to say no when it feels so good to give in.

That gets him to cry out even louder. The pain, the pleasure, the fullness (not as full as he could be. Not as full as he desperately wants to be.)

"Yes- fuck - don't stop. P-please don't stop." Unlike before, Loki sounds more like he's pleading than giving an order. He can't stop himself from thrusting his hips up to take Clints fingers even deeper. He can't thrust all the way to meet his hips, but his hands are in a rather advantageous spot. He grinds his palm down, cupping and squeezing the hard dick through his pants.

That one he doesn't have to follow. He doesn't feel compelled. But with the sounds Loki's making, he doesn't see any good reason to stop, save out of spite. And if the god is going to get his hands on him like that...

Clint leaves another sharp bite to his chest. "Fuck," he growls at the touch, needed, needing. Rolling his hips into that giving hand.

The button and zipper of Clint's pants are easier to undo than the belt was. Loki still can't manage to shove them down much from his angle, but he is able to get a hand under the waistband of his underwear. He growls and gives the hard length a rough tugs.

Giving in rather than letting everything bottle up is helping with him truly not loose control, but as they sink deeper and deeper into the animalistic sensations and urges. He wants to posess but also be posessed. To hurt and be hurt. To drive the other mad with pleasure and pain and everything in between and be driven mad in turn.

As if he needs more madness in his head.

Still, in this moment, the only thing he can think of is Clint's cock inside him. The fingers aren't enough, but when he tries to beg for more all that comes out is incoherent moans as he strokes in time with thrusting fingers.

God, they're really taking the advice of a shitty wizard and fucking so they can quiet the wordless voice of a magic stone in their heads, huh. He hopes it works, because the idea of rutting against Loki's hand, getting inside Loki, to hurt be hurt have be had more and more and more, it's all sounding way too good. Better than it has any right to.

Loki has since stopped forming actual words, and that's the point where Clint slides his fingers out. Partly it's to leave Loki breathlessly wanting. Partly it's so he has his hands free, shimmying out of the rest of his clothes before taking up his belt and looming over the god. The urge to bind his hands up is great. The desire for him to sink his nails in like claws is greater.

"Cat got your tongue?" He could be petty about it. Make Loki beg. But neither of them have too much in the way of patience left. Another time, then. (Is there going to be another time? Is it wrong that he hopes there is?) He kisses Loki, deep, rough, needing, and the moment he pulls away again, the belt replaces his mouth as a makeshift gag, pulled firm around Loki's head. It'll keep him from offering up any smart remarks. Or orders. At least until he decides to take it off himself.

Not that Clint's willing to give him that much time to think. Leather in place, he wastes no more time in gripping Loki's hips like a vise, sinking his cock deep inside with no further preamble, no gentleness. "Fuck," he grits out, dipping his head to muffle the rest of the sounds he might make against Loki's shoulder, biting an unkind mark as he moves his hips.

Just when he's almost found his voice again to tell Clint to 'get on with it already!' When he pulls his fingers out, Loki can do nothing but moan clenching around nothing but the sudden emptiness, his grip tightening on Clint's dick. It steals his voice again, leaving him with nothing but a snarl at the sass. Even that is snatched away by the sharp kiss and then leather between his teeth.

He bites down on the belt, giving a performative struggle against it. Of course it would be very easy to reach up and undo the bindings, but there's something about the tight pressure around his head, the weight of the leather on his tongue. It grounds him in the moment, makes everything feel more visceral and real, but also makes his head go fuzzy with need. Not just carnal need, but the need for Clint to take control, to take him and make him whatever the other wants.

The haze only increases as the archer thrusts into him. Loki doesn't even know when his hands moved away from the other's dick, but he finds himself digging deep crescent moon shaped marks into Clint's shoulders as the air is punched from his lungs with a loud moan. It's muffled somewhat by the gag, but still loud enough that if there were any neighbors in the adjacent apartments they would know exactly what the two were getting up to.

Skin gives under his finely manicured talons as Clint bites down. He can feel the blood beneath his fingertips, core clenching around each thrust trying to pull him deeper faster harder. Each motion punches more muffled whines and moans out of the god. He curses and begs, not that any of it is intelligible around the gag.

It's a relief and a craze that take him over at the same time. The buildup and the desires coursing through him means actually finally taking what his nerves sing out for is a balm, so good against the strain of resistance he'd put up. But there's also no time to slow or to think or to consider or even for any finesse. He wants and wants and takes and has and the influence inside him is a greedy son of a bitch.

But he knows that Loki's just the same, from every wailingly loud moan to the way he clenches around Clint's length every time. They both need this, to satisfy the deep urges inside of them clawing to the surface.

And speaking of clawing, he can feel Loki's nails dig in, when the gripping and scratching turns to bleeding, the sharp tick of pain. That, too, feels good, soothes something inside him. Being hurt without having to ask or beg for it. Part of him doesn't want to enjoy this. Part of him desperately wants this to hurt, to bring a slew of negative connotations, so he'll hate this, so it's a chore. That part is probably going to be deeply disappointed in the way it feeds a violent desire, the same way that he wants to bite into Loki and tear him to shreds, a hate that is also a longing that is also a way to express a need they can't define. The pain swirls in, mixes with the pleasure, becomes part of the same.

He lifts Loki's hips, an adjustment of angle, to hit deeper harder faster, fingers digging hard into skin. Like he wants to meld with the god. Like if they could just dig into one another just right, they'll connect, they'll become one, they'll share in everything, and it will all be perfect. As though something could be more perfect than hot skin whining moaning groaning sweat and blood and fingers gripping mouth biting licking kissing pressing to pulse point feeling life feeling passion sex and more than sex.

When he comes, seated as far inside Loki as physically possible, trembling, pulsing, every fiber of his being pulled taut, it takes him by surprise.

Clint shifts him forcefully and Loki howls at the new depth he's able to reach. Heat builds and builds and he can't hold it back anymore. There is no denial here, so there's no reason to stop his hand as it moves from the archer's back to where the two of them are joined. The slick there lets him glide his fingers over his swollen clit in tight, rough circles. It's enough to put him right on the edge, enough that when he feels Clint spill inside him he tips over into his own orgasm, walls spasming as he moans through this own release. He feels like he's thrust from his body for a moment, floating in pure extasy as waves of pleasure crash over him.

Loki isn't sure how long it takes him to come back to himself. Not long, he would think, as the two of them are still connected. He's breathing heavy, trying to collect his thoughts as what to do now.

"Fuck."

Loki coming practically at the same time doesn't help matters, but it does mean they don't have to keep at it longer than necessary.

Which is only a thought that starts lazily floating to the surface when Clint can start feeling his body again. The thing inside of him sated for the moment, merely passive background noise. Fed to filling. As filled as Loki is.

His skin buzzes with the rush of chemicals, exhausted pleasure, deep satisfaction, and he feels near drunk when he laughs at the muffled apparent curse Loki tries to spit out. It's not funny. None of this is funny. But it is, and it feels good, and when he's got just enough control to slide slick and easy out of Loki, the good feeling clashes harshly with that sick feeling of wrong he's been grappling with when not in the middle of the animal rutting.

He tries to summon up Laura's face, as though superimposing the image over Loki might help. It doesn't. His back stings, distantly, through the happy hormones, and it's not good enough but it's a start. His hands feel like they're glued to Loki's hips where they are, and it's an effort to move them away. At least so he can undo his belt from a very offending mouth. There is one very brief but very strong moment when he wants to kiss. And then shoves it very far away from himself.

Doesn't shove himself very far away, unfortunately, but he does drop on his side beside Loki rather than on top of him. He wants to be on his back, but. Ow. But blood on his sheets is just petty enough he might reconsider--

"Really don't wanna tell Strange."

Loki wipes his mouth with the back of his hand after the belt is removed. The angry red lines from where the leather pressed against his skin are already fading a second later.

The noise in his head, that unending pull dragging him to Clint, driving him to tear and be torn in turn, seems to be quiet now. So he can't blame that for the relief he feels when the archer doesn't immediately get up and leave as soon as he's pulled out.

He groans, dragging a hand down his face. "He'll be utterly insufferable."

He stares at Loki, disheveled hair, disappearing marks, the long long lines of his sweat-drenched body, the mess disappearing between his legs. And then finally rolls onto his clawed up back to stare at the ceiling instead, for Loki to deal with later.

There's so much about this that he hates. That the pain also manages to feel good is only one of the items. The question, asking for reassurance that Loki has the whole lack of protection thing covered, wants to claw up his throat, but it dies there. He should go. He should leave. His legs feel like jelly.

"So will you," he utters. Is that true? No idea. But why wouldn't it be?

Loki wants to roll closer, always having craved contact and softness after sex. He doesn't, knowing it would just make Clint leave faster.

"Do I really seem like I have much reason to be smug at the moment? I had no more control over what just happened than you."

"How much does it bother you?"

It feels like a fair question. Maybe even a safe one.

"Not as much as it bothers you." Not at all, in fact. Clint is a handsome man, and the ferocity he exhibited was exactly what Loki needed in that moment.

"So you might as well be smug about it. How long have you wanted--" He snaps his mouth shut. That one...is not a fair question. It's one he doesn't think either of them want or need an answer to.

There's silence for a moment while Loki waits to see if Clint will actually finish his thought. It isn't hard to tell what he was going to say next, but Loki wants to see if he has the balls to actually say it.

He huffs and turns over on his side to face the human, making sure to keep the same distance between them.

"Keep hating me. It will make all of this easier."

"No, it won't." Hating him makes this so much harder. It'd be better if he could just relax into this and enjoy it fully. A friend with benefits. A fuckbuddy. A bootycall.

He turns his head to look at Loki. Doesn't bridge the gap. Considers it. Considers them, drying and tired and sated and naked.

"You want me to fucking say it? I'm going to sound like an idiot, and you're going to scoff at me, and you know what I was going to say. How long have you wanted this?" 'This' is not exactly it. That's not what he means. "How long have you wanted me to fuck you?"

Loki's eyebrows draw together.

"It's not that I actively wanted you to fuck me before we started feeling these...urges. But you are an attractive man, so it was more the sense that I would have enjoyed it should the opportunity present itself."

He frowns.

"Ideally under more consensual circumstances."

That isn't actually the answer he was expecting. He breathes it in slow. Back out again. Nods. There's no reason for Loki to lie to him, now, like this. (Loki, who has his cum inside him and his blood under perfectly painted nails, who holds this connection with a certain tenderness that Clint rails against.)

"Sorry about the belt thing," is what then comes out of his mouth, not knowing what else to say. "But you seemed to like that well enough."

Loki frowns, rolling back over onto his back. The sudden openness makes him itchy. Worse than the actual itching from the drying sweat and cum.

"Feels odd having you apologize to me. Not sure I like it."

"Then I won't do it again." He frowns in return, still staring at Loki. Apologizing to the god is not in his nature, but he thought it might at least be not unwelcome.

When he sits up at last, the sheet under him sticks to him for a moment. "I'll go. And we'll see how long this all...lasts."

Loki watches him, only now realizing the blood he'd have to try to get out of those sheets.

"Only time will tell, I suppose. I'll-" he groans, "I'll contact the wizard in the next few days, see if he's found anything else." He should probably do it before then, but he really really doesn't want to.

"Feel free to use the shower and such. There are towels and wash cloths in the hall closet."

He wants to turn down the offer. Wants to just pull his clothes on and leave and get on a plane and leave and shove this all in a locked drawer and never have to deal with it or look at it ever again. He almost says as much.

But he has blood on him, and Loki on him. Clint shivers and pretends it's just a chill. "Okay." And, because maybe manners won't kill him: "Thanks."

He doesn't bother in gathering up his clothes. He'll get them later. There's no embarrassment here walking around the flat naked now that they've fucked. He keeps the shower cold. It feels more cleansing. And punishing. Tries to be quick but thorough about it, like after a mission, and when he comes out again, mostly dry but a towel around his waist, he still can't quite look Loki in the eye.

"Free for you to use. You've still got plenty of hot water." He shifts a little. "Also, I wouldn't mind if you gave me a hand with-" He motions a hand up to his shoulders. They aren't bleeding anymore, but still should probably slap something over the little wounds. "Could probably do it myself, but it'd go faster with help." And then, "You don't have to." Just so Loki is aware.

While Clint showers, Loki goes to the guest bath and washes up as well. He will take his own shower later, but for now it's enough to wipe off the sweat and cum wit a soapy cloth. He changes back to a dick, not bothering to put a towel around his waist as he goes back to the bedroom to strip down the bed.

He looks up with Clint addresses him, mildly surprised the man didn't sneak out when his back was turned. But he figures the other doesn't want to muck up his shirt as he had when he pressed his back into the sheets.

"Of course. I have bandages in the bathroom." Loki gestures back to the room Clint just came from, stepping forward to follow him should he re-enter it. "I do apologize for that. I didn't realize...my strength in the moment."

"I dunno, I think you would've managed it with human strength. It wasn't..." He trails off, unsure what to say, really. How to describe it. That it's not bad. That he's had worse during sex, honestly. That it felt good in the moment.

That he wishes it was bad, that it didn't feel good.

He settles himself on the edge of the bathtub. Only glances at Loki's state of undress. Maybe next time--god. If there's a next time. Maybe there won't be a next time. Don't think about a next time.

"Pain's just a flip side of pleasure," he settles on, uneasily.

Loki catches the glance, but interprets it as more a curiosity than any real fervor. The heat under his own skin has soothed, and he can only assume the same for the human.

"Hard to get pregnant if you don't have the right organs for it," he says casually.

He begins to work, hands light as he runs an alcohol pad over each cut. Clint has just showered, but it never hurts to be careful. They start to ooze a bit, the tiny scabs coming away with the wipe, but it's nothing that impedes the bandages he has at the ready.

"Didn't say anything about it," he mumbles. Hard not to look, okay.

He doesn't wince or hiss at any of it. Minor cuts. Not even really worth the effort, but better he doesn't start bleeding for it in the middle of just existing. More for the convenience of others if not for himself.

"Strange knows how to get in touch. If he finds anything or has questions, he's a big boy, he can talk to us instead of having to reach out to him."

"He is technically doing us a favor, though." Cleaning done, he starts applying a thin layer of gauze and tape, the cuts being too long for normal bandaids. Just enough to catch any blood that might see through before it could stain Clint's shirts.

"At least the urge to jump you seems to have abated." Or kneel at his feet, begging to be used.

Clint just grunts in response to the first point. Okay. Granted. Strange doesn't have to do anything, but he should know it's in everyone's best interest if this gets fixed. So. Fucking magic.

His shoulders stay still, but Loki might still get the sense of drooping them in a sigh. "For now. I'm not exactly looking forward to the idea of it coming back."

That might not be entirely true, but he doesn't want to acknowledge any part of him that actually might have fun with this.

"I could always come to you," Loki says nonchalantly, like he's suggesting coming over for dinner rather than a wild booty call.

"Not your home, obviously," he amends quickly. "Somewhere nearby, so you don't have to travel so far."

And he can't even rail against the idea. Clint was the one who had suggested the ludicrous idea of Loki coming to the homestead, staying, like in the fucking barn. Loki's amendment does not necessarily make it better.

It's all so damn wrong.

"If it comes back," grit out, just a bit, "then we'll figure it out then."

"That sounds like waiting until you're hungry to decide what to cook for dinner," Loki says as he places the last of the bandages.

"There, now you won't bleed through your shirt."

"Isn't that how most people do it?"

He only kind of jokes. Laura does most of the planning for cooking. It's usually easier that way. Given Clint does indeed tend to wait last minute until he's hungry, or the kids are, to figure out what a meal should be.

"It's probably not gonna kill us."

"I think we both know there are states far worse than death." Loki stands, walking back into the bedroom to fetch a pair of comfortable black sweatpants. Why he didn't put them on earlier is a mystery to him. Perhaps he wanted Barton to see, perhaps he wanted to test the wizard's hypothesis a bite more thoroughly. Perhaps he was just feeling lazy.

Yeah, probably mostly the last one.

"And for the record, I did enjoy what you did with the belt. Wouldn't mind it being used in other ways, should we have to do this again."

Clint doesn't move when Loki does, doesn't make to stand immediately, if only because the words seem like such a slap in the face. To invoke what they are both keenly aware of. To compare a possible occasional romp in the sheets with--

He breathes out slow and finally gets the hell up. Surprised to see Loki bothered to put anything on, but makes no comment on it. Honestly, Clint is being very good right now about trying not to put his whole entire foot in his mouth. Even if Loki is making that very difficult.

He discards the towel and starts to gather up his clothes. "You really wanna plan out the next encounter, huh. Agree on some motel to meet at, any fun toys to bring, plot out what we'll do?"

"Well it certainly sounds more responsible than waiting until we're so horny we can't think straight." If he were in a better mood the pun would have been intentional.

"I don't think thinking straight has ever been a problem for you." Clint doesn't mind making a pun/joke/light of it. He doesn't comment on whether it's ever been a problem for himself.

"You complaining about how this went down? You had fun. Or do you want to draw it out longer?"

The joke does get a small snort out of Loki. He really should have seen that one coming.

"The only complaints I have are of the circumstances, which would not have been helped by us attempting to 'draw it out.'" He sighs, sitting on the now stripped mattress.

"Neither will us sitting here bickering. Go home, stay for dinner, got get drunk; whatever it is that will make you feel better about bedding a monster."

It's fucking annoying, because making a plan of action for if/when this happens again is a really good idea. Loki pulling the monster card when it's clear he is not now, currently, anything quite like a monster sticks with him, dares him to argue in Loki's favor. There's no good reply for Clint, especially when Clint doesn't know how to feel about any of it.

"You know I'm only trying to be contrary," he grumbles/admits, starting to pull his clothes on. "Piss you off and not have to think about it. Should have a plan. And a backup plan, in case. Maybe a list of don'ts, you know, red flag no gos, like you and choking."

"And now you're trying to take my job." Loki smirks, a bit of the tension he was feeling easing out of him when Clint admits they should probably have a plan. Normally he's all for spontaneity and chaos, but his situation is too delicate right now.

"Would you rather do this now while our minds are apparently as clear as they're going to get, or later?"

"Well, we're sure as hell not gonna do any planning when we're ripping clothes off each other."

He sits, tentatively, on the bed next to Loki. Deliberately does not apologize for bleeding on the sheets. Hasn't bothered with his shirt, but he's got underwear and pants on. Good enough for now.

"You planning on sticking around, or you gonna bolt?" Given how Loki was very convinced he needed to Leave, Immediately before.

"I will remind you this is my apartment -sort of. If anyone is bolting, it would have to be you."

Well, at least they're both wearing pants now. And Loki doesn't even feel the need to rip them off! Progress!

"No goes...other than choking, don't bring up my family? Though I feel that's rather obvious."

"I meant are you going to leave this place and find somewhere else, worried I'm gonna sic someone on you, but fair enough."

He huffs out a laugh at Loki's second point. "Pretty obvious, yeah. I can promise when we're together, I am not thinking about Thor." Which, he's never really thought about Thor that way, but he can see the appeal...

"I-" He starts, he stops. Like he's choking on his thoughts, struggling with what he wants to say, how he wants to say it. "Think I want you to hurt me," he starts again, fingers curling along the edge of the bed, line of his neck, his shoulders, tight and taut. "But I don't know that you should."

It's not an unreasonable request. Loki knows how his own blood sang for pain during the whole encounter, but there's something else there. The admission seems to disturb Clint in a way that tells him it may not be an established desire.

"I'm not sure I should either. Is this something you've desired from other partners?" Something outside of whatever fucked up connection they have.

It's like he said before: pain and pleasure are two sides of the same coin. They fit together so well, and it definitely can be fun in the bedroom. That's not the problem that he has as he focuses on a spot on the floor rather than look at Loki.

"I don't want to enjoy this. What we're doing. I want you to hurt me." Not the fun kind of pain, not a delicious bite, not fingernails dragging and digging into his skin. "Like some kind of negative association."

"I'm not going to do that," Loki says a bit too quickly. "If you want me to hurt your for pleasure, I will. But I'm..."

I'm not that much of a monster. Is that what you think of me?

"I won't."

Years ago--a lifetime ago--the answer would have been yes. That's exactly how much of a monster he thought Loki was.

Now the answer just has him breathe out slow, relaxing. Gives a nod. "I know." It's nice to hear. He decides it's nice to hear, that it would've been a lot worse if Loki had actually considered the request. Does part of him still want it? Sure. But he recognizes that it's a shitty thing to ask of someone, and fucking unhealthy for him to want. "Thank you."

Loki doesn't think he's done anything to warrant thanks, but rather than saying that he lets it linger awkwardly in the air.

"I know I want you to hurt me." A great way to break an awkward silence. "But that's not a new desire on my part."

"We just have to work on the opposite problem." Finally he can make himself look at Loki. "I know you're resilient and all, but I'll...try to make it the good kind of pain. Just like if you're dishing out the good kind and I ask for more, don't. We'll...figure it out."

Maybe. Depending how many times they're gonna do this.

"You like it when you're not in control," he wagers. "You like being on the bottom. Is that a you thing, or is that how you are with me specifically?"

Because there are issues between them, a history of powerlessness. He wouldn't put it past Loki that it might be a deliberate choice to keep it as much in Clint's hands as he possibly can.

Loki bristles as Clint lays his desires out so plainly. He almost lashes out, demands to know who this human thinks he is insinuating that Loki would bring himself beneth anyone.

But he catches himself. This isn't Asgard, and the smell of sex still lingers in the room despite both of their efforts to scrub it away. He has no reason to hide anything from the human. Especially if this is just going to happen again.

"I can't pretend our history has nothing to do with it, but being 'on the bottom', as you put it, is something I...enjoy." The admission seems like it has to force it's way out of his mouth and now it's Loki who can't look at Clint.

Clint rolls his eyes a little. "I don't know how you would put it. Playing catcher. Enjoying having the act done on you. Being a pillow queen. I'm sure you guys have euphemisms of your own. It's fine, I don't mind."

For a given definition of not minding, granted. He minds all of this. But he's fine doing the pitching if that's what Loki's down for. If Loki ever decides to ask for the other way around, well...that might end up being a conversation. But not one they have to have right now.

"Ergi," Loki mutters. "The Asgardian term for someone who enjoys submitting during sex. It's not exactly a term of endearment."

"Is there a term that's a little more endearing? I'm not--" He huffs. Because this fucking sucks. "I'm not gonna be out to hurt you emotionally when this shit is happening." No promises on whether he'll deliberately try to hurt Loki emotionally when they aren't in some desperate sexual throes.

"Not really. It would probably be best to stick with Midgardian terms for that one." He smirks, trying to find something to lighten the mood.

"I rather like the sound of 'pillow queen.'"

"That one's also technically not flattering, but some people like to embrace it." But that's not really here or there, he supposes. "How about doing more than just gagging you? What about, I dunno, blindfolds? Tying you up, strapping you down? I have no idea how much patience either of us are gonna have for anything involved, but. Suppose it's not bad to know about. In case."

To his credit, Loli does actually think for a moment before answering. He enjoyed being blinded in the past, but now all he can think of is the vast emptiness of the void, endless falling, no air-

"No blindfolds. Or anything deafening."

His hands start to fidget. Loki's no blushing virgin, obviously, bit something about talking through things in such a detached and plane manner makes him uncomfortable. Like he's being picked apart and examined to see what makes him tick.

"What of you? Does any of that...interest you?"

Clint isn't flippant about it, either. It's an exercise for him, trying to mentally balance things he might like with some people but not with others, things he likes generally that might make alarm bells ring with Loki. Remembering that Loki, as he is now, doesn't want to hurt him or anyone he loves. Doesn't want to control him and puppet him.

"Maybe blindfolds." An admittance. Something so necessary for him, his sight, and to have it taken away by someone like this-- "I can like that, with people I trust. It's a possibility." Might be okay to simply not see Loki. Give him a bit of distance. Hm. "I don't think you should be tying me up, though."

Not that that also isn't enjoyable in its own ways. But with Loki, he could see himself fighting it. Like with pain, with too much pain. The idea of deliberately putting himself in a situation that might be harmful to his mental state just to match what he thinks he's supposed to feel.

He shudders, just a little.

"Deafening's fine." He makes a little motion to his aid. "Can always just turn this off." Is it specifically a turn on? Well. He can't actually say he's played around with the idea of it all that much yet.

"I'd say maybe we should have a system in place if we need things to stop, but I don't know how well short physically throwing each other off that'll work." Are they putting too much thought and planning into this, for something that seems to seep into their senses, drive them mad? "Are you...okay?"

Loki let's out a strangles, half-mad sort of laugh at the question. Obviously he isn't 'okay', nothing about this is 'okay', but here they ate, trying to make the best of it. Trying to ensure the other doesn't come out of this anymore fucked up that necessary. It's good, too good for the likes of him.

"Are you?"

He huffs in return. "I mean about talking about this shit, not-" With a motion to encompass the overall.

"It's fine." Very convincing. He sighs, rubbing his temples. "No, that isn't...it's not you. Just feeling...frayed." It isn't the best descriptor, but he's sure Clint will get it.

"You had enough presence of mind to stop when I pushed you away on the couch. Whatever this is, it doesn't seem to completely rob us of our senses. We may even be more level headed if we don't wait so long next time."

"Well, you did kinda give me a throw. Figure even a mindless animal can figure that much out."

He understands it on an intellectual level. If they don't wait for it to get so bad that they can barely keep their hands off each other and speak in little more than grunts, then they have more agency. Emotionally, he hates it.

"...So I figure...verbally we might need something a little more than just 'stop'. We could go by traffic lights? Green means go, everything's fine, red means stop. Yellow's a slow down, maybe not a full stop but like a proceed with caution type of thing. But," he adds quickly, raising his hands, "if you don't want to complicate it and just have stop mean stop, we can...do that, too."

"No, that sounds sensible." Having a system is a good idea. If it doesn't work, they can always fall back on more physical means.

"We should check in, maybe in...a week?" It's hard to tell what kind of timeline they're working on, but weekly doesn't sound like a terrible idea.

"...I can give you my number. Sure. A week. See if Strange comes up with anything."

Which he hopes so, but who fucking knows.

"Want me to find a place closer to home to meet up?"

"I suppose that depends on how far away you live. I'm assuming one of the first things you did after New York was moving your family somewhere else." Somewhere Loki didn't know about. He'd never truly wanted to use them in his plans, had asked more out of curiosity than anything. But were he in Clint's position, he knows he would have done the same.

"I can't really travel as swiftly as before."

"We stayed in the same state. But different house now, yeah. It wasn't actually after you. It was after I threw an impromptu party to hide the gang from Tony's accidentally rampaging robots. Didn't feel safe to be hiding it all so long and then suddenly everyone knows. Now it doesn't really feel like it matters as much."

So long as they're safe and he can always find them.

"Maybe I just need to suck it up and deal with the idea that I might be taking monthly trips back this way. Check in with Strange, do what we do, go back home, rinse repeat."

Loki doesn't know if he's flattered or offended that he didn't pose enough of a threat to warrant Clint moving his super-secret family after the invasion. In theory he wasn't a threat anymore, but the spy had no way of knowing if Loki had passed on the information to someone else. Not that he did, obviously.

"Hopefully it will not need to be so frequent. Or Strange will prove himself useful and find a solution sooner rather than later."

Finally the spot on the floor Loki was staring at releases it's hold on his gaze and he looks over at Clint.

"Your wife...if you believe it would help, pass along my regrets regarding this situation. I take no pleasure in the position this puts you or her in."

"That bothers you, doesn't it?" Clint's brows furrow. He's surprised. Should he be? "You really don't..." It's a struggle sometimes to realize Loki was not always The Bad Guy, before or after what happened. And that the during was under a certain set of circumstances. "You don't want to hurt me. Or my family. You never did."

"Oh, I don't know if I'd go so far as saying I never wanted to hurt you. There were certainly some murderous thoughts in your direction from Asgard's dungeons." Loki still doesn't mention his family, though.

"But those died long ago. Well before I did, at least."

"Hey, I didn't put you there. If I'd had any say in the matter..."

But. That doesn't matter. Hasn't mattered in a long time.
(But at the same time, if he'd served up some justice to Loki, maybe several other things would have happened differently.)

"I still think you should talk to Thor. But I won't say anything."

"I'm well aware you wished you'd loosed that arrow into my head in the tower. There were several times I wished you had as well." Maybe if he were dead this wouldn't be an issue.

Well, given that he had been dead and now isn't, maybe that wouldn't actually be so helpful.

"I...I know. Thank you for your silence." He won't. He's too much of a coward to face Thor again after all these years, after being mourned again and again, with the threat of it still hanging over his head like some unseen sword dangling in air.

There's not much to say to that. Because he had the discipline enough to know not to murder a guy in front of his brother, and in front of a group of do-gooders. Coulson would've praised him for the restraint if--well.

Another thing to never really forgive Loki for. But.

"Give me your phone. If you've got a phone." He's not sending ravens.

"Of course I have a phone." Loki stands and begins walking out of the room, clearly intending Cint to follow him. "I'm not a barbarian."

His footsteps are nearly silent as he pads into the living room to fish the device from his purse. Luckily he'd had the presence of mind to drop it onto the couch on their way to the bedroom, so there isn't much hunting involved.

"Here." He holds it out to Clint with a new contact screen up.

"What do you even use it for if no one's supposed to know you're alive?"

But he plugs in his info, shoots a text to his own phone, hands it back over. No snooping. No funny business. Tempting as it may be.

"Keep me updated about Strange. And we'll settle on where we want to meet up next time. Even if it's just back here."

"I have my reasons." Mainly ordering takeout. He'd earned pretty quick that the best mom-and-pop establishments didn't have online ordering.

"Of course..." Well now it's just awkward. Loki looks around the room, trying to find either a natural out or something else to talk about. "You are welcome to stay for dinner, if you wish. I don't think we'll have the same problems as last night again."

"...Sure." He shouldn't. He should really just go. But fuck it, let Loki do something nice, as though making up for all of this happening. Even if it feels like some kind of awkward date. "I'll stay out of your way. Not get involved, just in case."

"I can attempt to make pasta again," Loki says, sitting on a bar stool at the counter separating the living area from the kitchen. "Or I can order something. There's a fantastic Indian establishment just a few blocks away."

"Your place, dealer's choice." He knows this is awkward, and that he's not really helping by being any less awkward. Because it's an awkward fucking situation. How else can he be? "I've never been picky." Maybe Loki picked up on that? Maybe he didn't. It's hard sometimes to know what all he does and does not know from their previous time together. And after the years (and apparently a death), even how much of that would stick.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only