brandingproblem | au shenanigans for icasm

"You just wanna go on a space adventure with me and fuck up some assholes who need fucked up?" Clint squints his eyes at Loki. That seems so simple. That seems too simple. But then, Loki has no home, no kingdom. An agent of chaos across the stars.

Be Hawkeye, just for the likes of a sad and lonely prince who thinks a little step sideways has him reformed.

"Seems like you're just gonna have to get used to life on boring old Earth for the next couple decades and then find someone else to hurt you 'til you cum."

A possibility I am... more or less prepared for. A possibility he has actively plotted against, more like.

There's a moment's hesitation; not to tell Clint about Idunn's apples but for the admission that not every orgasm has to be led by pain. That he craves Clint's softness, as well, before. During. After.

There's that longing, again. Softer than before. Immediately tinged by embarrassment. Stop making him feel soft things, Clint, he doesn't know what to make of it at his big age.

He shrugs, swirling the tea ball in the mug.

Edited 2022-08-20 20:19 (UTC)

He huffs out of his nose and raises a hand like he's going to--he doesn't know what. It moves unbidden. Like he's going to rest it on Loki's shoulder? Stroke his cheek? Take him by the jaw?

Lowers it again. Flexes, once, like shaking off whatever drove the impulse to begin with.

"It's not like you to be shy." Shy with--is it desire? It's not exactly desire that bleeds through but something like it. "You talk too much, remember? So what is it?"

Green eyes track the lifting movement and drop of Clint's hand, before the alarm begins to rattle, and Loki reaches out to silence it.

Any of those gestures would have been welcome. There's a sense of thrill at what almost occurs, that doesn't quite dissipate despite Clint's decision not to see it through.

Loki picks up the mug, removes the tea ball and sets it into the sink, and blows against the surface of the liquid.

They are standing very close to one another, now. Loki turns to fully face Clint, leaning slightly against the counter.

I am not a creature that tends toward gentleness. I, perhaps, have never been, or at least not after I reached adulthood. I thrive in the absurd, the outcast, the subversive. That which has been deemed outside of reasonable desire. Pain is part of that.

You know this. An incline of his head.

And yet. I find that I crave your care, your gentleness, even in the face of my belief that I do not, could not, possibly be deserving of it. It's complicated. Confusing, even, at times. I know how to navigate a desire for suffering, for pain. How to encourage it, pursue it. I don't know what I'm doing with the rest.

So. Shyness. Embarrassment. He takes another sip and shifts his gaze away.

Loki tends to be confused about Clint's dual state of mind, and yet when Loki explains his desire for pain and craving for care, he thinks it's the clearest he's ever seen Loki. Maybe the reasonings they hold differ, but the idea of being split down that middle, wondering at what it means to deserve, juggling desires that are unusual, that makes so much god damn sense he could choke.

"You don't ask me to. You only ever ask for..." Loki barely asks for anything, honestly. He thinks about the taste of tears and blood. Blinks. It's gone again. But when he licks his lips, just a brief darting to wet them, the warm metallic taste lingers in the background.

He tips his head, searching. Drums fingers on the countertop for a moment before flattening his hand on the surface. Phrasing. It's interesting. Curious.

"Am I outside of reasonable desire?"

He expects the answer to be a scoffed no, but he wonders. Loki thriving off the chaotic and unwanted and strange and set apart. Did Clint seem that way when he was chosen? Was there something of his difference in his eyes that Loki had seen?

Asking for things is difficult, for there always exists the potential for denial.

A sigh. Another sip.

I suppose it could be worked on, my habit of only allowing for and making implied and explicit demands.

Is that Loki giving Clint the room to tell him to ask for things more? To take the risk of being denied? (Will small miracles never cease? Apparently today is the day for it.)

Another sip as he turns Clint's question over in his mind. Yes. A breath. Some of that is my fault, if there's fault to be had.

He pulls a hand through his hair, causing the curls to bounce and rearrange themselves around his face.

It's not a no. It's a yes. He doesn't know why this feels settling and upsetting at once.

Hasn't he always known he was different, outside, undesirable? Look at the Avengers, at who they were, at the ones who claim to be them now. Fuckups and assholes and broken, damaged people. All of them. You have to be to do the things they do.

"Think if there's fault, it's to the guy that knocked up a young girl and left her all alone." Red noseless fuck had named him, son of Edith, and not anyone else. "You didn't help by reaching in my head and squeezing my brain like a sponge, no, but I don't think any of it's your fault."

One of the few things he doesn't think Loki can be faulted for, really.

"Still managed to get married to the greatest woman in history." He's allowed to be dramatic and sappy about his wife, thanks. "Raise a bunch of kids who are smarter and kinder than I'll ever be. Have a house. Have two houses, even if moving was kind of just a necessity of having a bunch of people suddenly know where your incredibly secret and private off the radar life is. Saved the world a couple times. I think that's pretty good for an outcast weirdo nobody dipshit who should've been dead decades ago."

Nose wrinkle. I take some offense to the idea that you're a dipshit. Also, Clint is definitely not a nobody at this point, even amongst his own people but especially in Loki's regard; still, that might be a pointless fight for another time.

Loki suspects it's a well-known secret amongst the Barton clan the high regard with which he considers Clint's family; even Laura who occasionally asks him pointedly (in his opinion) ridiculous questions he refuses to properly answer. You know how I feel about the children you've raised, the father you are. High praise, from a creature that has staunchly avoided parenthood for two millennia and also cannot stand a single person he ever has or could call 'father'.

"Hey, I'm the dumbass who never finished school; I can call myself a dipshit if I want." And maybe he's not a nobody now, but he most certainly was for a good bit of his life. "You attached yourself to a dipshit. Good job."

(Affectionate. Somehow.)

"You've been good." There's an emotion working its way up his throat, and he clears it, looks away. It's still there trying to claw. "You've been good to the kids. And to Laura. You didn't have to be. Pretty sure you only started trying to be part of the family just to piss me off," which worked at the time, "but you are, now. You're a good uncle. I know your family's complicated as hell, but I think if you ever wanted kids of your own? You wouldn't be a half-bad dad."

Eye-rolling. Also fondly. Yes, a good and somewhat predictable attachment for me, historically. You've met Thor. If we're going to talk about Loki's ability to handle being connected to a dipshit, then they might as well identify the first one he ever aligned himself with.

'You've been good', the emotion in Clint's voice, that he can simultaneously hear and feel coming from him, drives Loki to keep his mug up in front of his face, eyebrows slightly elevated. This is nice, this back and forth, but the compliment regarding his estimated parenting abilities is making him a little uncomfortable. Besides, it's not like Clint is wrong; Loki did begin ingratiating himself to the rest of the Barton family as a way of pissing Clint off.

It's just that he... actually enjoys children. In a broad sense. When they're old enough to reason. Usually. So that helped. And then, suddenly, somewhat to his own surprise, he'd managed to make friends with Clint's children.

Thank you. He isn't going to demand a subject change but it's a near thing. He will, however, continue sipping.

Thor's been less of a sticking point with them than Clint thought he would be. Mostly because Thor is so used to Loki's shenanigans by now that little is surprising, and because he's mostly pulling a Captain Marvel and roaming the universe looking for purpose and people to save. Visits New Asgard sometimes. Drops by the house specifically whenever Loki is not around even less frequently but no less unwelcome. He knows that there's a connection, and he knows no way of breaking that which a primordial force of the universe forged between them.

Clint respects Thor. Really got that balance of being so smart and so dumb at the same time nailed down. It's impressive.

Loki's probably as surprised as Clint is that this moderate softness is continuing, at any rate. The tight emotion of family. The acknowledgement that Loki is part of it, that he hasn't been bad for them. Making things all the more complicated. He nods in acknowledgement of the thanks but doesn't trust himself to say more. Because it's going to get worse if he says more. The one most likely to break the uneasy peace.

Loki frowns, softly, and sets the mug back down on the counter. Even if he weren't connected to the other man in such a way he'd be aware of his discomfort. Could trace it back to himself, as the reason.

He should encourage Clint to leave before this gets ruined by one or both of them.

He's too selfish to do that just yet.

How do you ask for forgiveness when you're not sorry for the thing you've done, when you only feel bad that it hurt someone else? Unaccustomed and unused to apologizing on the first place means Loki doesn't have the faintest idea. But that sense is there, bouncing around inside of him.

He wants to kiss Clint but that is an always state, for him. Neverending. He should ask permission, first, but the fear of rejection, the possibility that he'll ruin this moment in the asking, has him considering his other options, for once.

So he stands a little more upright, opens his arms a bit. Would you like a hug?

Thank your children for training him out of asking that particular question in a much more convoluted way.

Loki is plotting something, and Clint braces himself for whatever's about to happen or come out of his mouth (figuratively).

And then it's asking if he wants a hug. It's so...unexpected. A little childish? But in a good way. That'll be the kids, then, teaching him a few things. Trying them out on him. He laughs, actually. Surprised. In a good way.

"No," he says, even while laughing. Not from Loki. And not even really over this. It's kind of cute, though. "Do you want a hug?"

The rejection stings, causing a small flare of hurt and anger even though Clint is laughing and not in malice, even as Clint offers him the opportunity to he more honest and possibly get what he wants in the end. Touch and contact.

So he's not looking Clint in the eye when he responds. Yes. Does he expect to get one, at this point? Hard to say!

His lips are smirking, but he lets out a sigh. Loki doesn't ask him for much, and when he does, it's either something distressing, or in such a roundabout way that he can't figure out what it actually is at the heart of it. So this is new. They're trying a lot of new things, lately.

"Okay." He will try not to hurt Loki in the process. Even knowing that Loki would like it if he did. Steps up into Loki's space, curls an arm around his waist, another up, into Loki's hair, to draw him down a little, rest chin on shoulder. Holds him.

Loki spends Clint's entire yet short approach towards him glaring at somewhere around the other man's midsection. He closes his eyes as Clint embraces him and tries to relax into it, despite everything else. It's nice. It helps, actually, and he returns the embrace, wrapping his arms around Clint's back and breathing for a few moments.

Just that. Nothing else.

However. Loki recognizes that the next thing he says, or does, will either be several steps in the wrong direction between them or a demand that Clint is not prepared to meet. Because he feels raw and on edge, now. Too much honesty between them.

Better to stop before that happens.

So. He counts to twenty, in his head, and then lets go. Pulls back. Thank you for coming. He looks Clint in the eye, now. You should go.

It's strange. A sense of...calm. Maybe not contentment, but a quieting of the anger and hate and disgust. The idea that if they can have this, now, then what if they could have this moving forward?

That's not who they are. They both have too much baggage with themselves and with each other to keep it up for long. Loki's holding back, and Clint's letting him. They both have impulses that are ugly and unwise, and they can't set all that aside forever.

It's still not okay. It might not ever be okay. As a whole and for the situation that they found themselves in. Clint takes a step back, steels himself. "Yeah, I should. I'll tell the kids I checked up on you. That you're probably gonna be okay. I think Lila's kind of upset; you should probably text her more." He stands there for a beat longer. Like he doesn't want to move. Like he's waiting. Like he's debating with himself about touching Loki again. Blood doesn't come to mind this time. (But he knows it will later.)

And then he turns and goes.

au shenanigans for icasm

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