It is, in fact, how Loki feels all the time. How Loki has felt, for centuries. To wonder if you are an outcast, alone, because of your choices or just who you inherently are, and then to learn it's both, both are true, they've always been true and you were lied to about it, a perfect storm of monster and madness that no essence of nurturing could avoid.
Loki would like to be better, sometimes. But he has no real idea how to start without lying about the past whole cloth. Not an option, really, especially not on this planet, and he is stuck on this planet until Clint decides otherwise.
He won't admit that, however. Let the Hawk figure it out on his own, perhaps.
This is what he does to the things he loves is a bitter realization to have, as Clint presses into his body, as Loki tilts into those kisses, as he wraps his legs around Clint's waist to give him better access. This man would kiss him softly, on this bed, but resisted taking more from him, even when offered, even when begged for, and for what?
Perhaps for the same reason that Loki has resisted anything that doesn't come wrapped in suffering. To have anything, briefly, something that helps him forget that feeling, or fills him with faith that he might not live an entire existence of only that, just to have to turn to dust between his fingers each and every time. Because of his choices. Because of the immutable will of the universe.
"You want me out of your head." That has not been a possibility since we met. Loki's expression is rueful as he touches Clint's cheek in a show of softness he likely doesn't desire and Loki does not expect a return on. "You want to know where I begin and you end. You want to know if you could be a good person." Loki could give him many things, but not the answers to those questions. He cannot unmake the past.
It is a terrible thing to realize you are not the best thing for someone you need so completely, he imagines. Mostly, for him, the terrible thing has been realizing he may not be useful to them in some way. A hindrance instead of a help.
For a moment he is not disconnected, the warring sensations of dream and memory colliding inside his head, his body. For a moment he is something important to someone important to him and it feels like what he imagines belonging must feel like. Even if it's terrible, and tainted, and probably wrong for everyone involved. Even if Clint hates him for it.
no subject
Loki would like to be better, sometimes. But he has no real idea how to start without lying about the past whole cloth. Not an option, really, especially not on this planet, and he is stuck on this planet until Clint decides otherwise.
He won't admit that, however. Let the Hawk figure it out on his own, perhaps.
This is what he does to the things he loves is a bitter realization to have, as Clint presses into his body, as Loki tilts into those kisses, as he wraps his legs around Clint's waist to give him better access. This man would kiss him softly, on this bed, but resisted taking more from him, even when offered, even when begged for, and for what?
Perhaps for the same reason that Loki has resisted anything that doesn't come wrapped in suffering. To have anything, briefly, something that helps him forget that feeling, or fills him with faith that he might not live an entire existence of only that, just to have to turn to dust between his fingers each and every time. Because of his choices. Because of the immutable will of the universe.
"You want me out of your head." That has not been a possibility since we met. Loki's expression is rueful as he touches Clint's cheek in a show of softness he likely doesn't desire and Loki does not expect a return on. "You want to know where I begin and you end. You want to know if you could be a good person." Loki could give him many things, but not the answers to those questions. He cannot unmake the past.
It is a terrible thing to realize you are not the best thing for someone you need so completely, he imagines. Mostly, for him, the terrible thing has been realizing he may not be useful to them in some way. A hindrance instead of a help.
For a moment he is not disconnected, the warring sensations of dream and memory colliding inside his head, his body. For a moment he is something important to someone important to him and it feels like what he imagines belonging must feel like. Even if it's terrible, and tainted, and probably wrong for everyone involved. Even if Clint hates him for it.
Even if Clint won't remember in the morning.