brandingproblem | au shenanigans for icasm

"It seems likely." Completely unaffected air you've got there, Loki, but; Look. He may not have put it here but it's here now and here it shall remain. Clint made it happen (whether or not he wants to admit it or likes that truth) and Loki loves Clint, so.

It. Stays. Put.

He remains a frost giant when they're inside, which is more a mark of how comfortable he is with Clint knowing his secrets as they are and having less to do with how cold the library may or may not be still. "Purposefully damaging the books would probably be painful in a way I wouldn't enjoy, but I doubt you'd do that anyway." Plus the library would likely defend itself from such an attack as it stands. "It should be fine. I'll let you know if anything feels... off, I suppose."

Mostly he wants to stand there and watch Clint handle the binding, the pages, moving drawings of things Loki knows, places he's been, people he's met and encountered along the way. This is a book of languages; the faces in it are of those who taught or opened the door for Loki to learn a new dialect, to expand the AllSpeak, to study the written word as it was intended to be understood.

It's a pretty heavy tome.

It is heavy. And, funnily enough, the words inside of it are indecipherable to him. Which may be because there are so many different languages, or it could be the library attempting to protect Clint from himself. Literal centuries of knowledge do not necessarily belong in a mortal human's head.

And immortal human, well. Save that for later.

But even if the specific words are impossible for him to read, he still understands the gist of it. As is what tends to happen in a dream, he realizes. There's a joke to be had that this is a hint, that they need to sort out their god damn communication issues. But he's not going to be the one to say it, and puts it back.

He plucks another at seemingly random, a few rows down. This one is slighter, a balmy blue, and full of--weather facts and figures. Details on the constant volcanic rains on Cyrellus, the volatile silver seas of Ganid, the hottest and coldest days ever recorded in the history of Asgard's existence. He flips to a page on snowy Iowa days, near the very end of the book. By sheer coincidence. Surely. Clint smirks and slots it back.

Lets his fingers trail along the spines as he ambles down the aisle. There's so much. And it's all so beautiful.

The next is a little black book. Literally. "Oh, is this a universal concept?" he jokes.

Surprise, it's details on the mating rituals of serpents through the universe!

"Nnnnnevermind."

Loki chuckles a little; he can't help it at all, not really. Is that where any of those books belong? The language one, yes, perhaps, but the book on weather should be several aisles over while the tome on snake sex (appropriately black as it is bound) should be much farther afield. What's happening, Loki guesses, is that he thinks of certain things when Clint is around. Snakes and arrows and cornfield skies. The difficulty of communication (yes, he caught the hint, thanks). The pervasive desire for touch, sex, connection between himself and this man.

Sex as a snake is definitely a form of communal connection. It would be easier than this dance they've engaged in now, certainly, but perhaps not as much fun in the long run.

"You don't like snakes?" A raised eyebrow.

He tosses it at Loki's head. Knowing that it will be caught, or magicked away.

"I'm starting to think your dewey decimal system is really fucked." does loki even know what that is "Or your brain's giving us hints. Free association, maybe."

He's...more cautious with the next book. Literally flips right into the middle, and it's instructions on how to tango.

"Are you doing this on purpose?"

Caught, easily, and then shelved behind him.

"My what now?" No, he doesn't, he's not an ancient Earth librarian after all, "I'm going to presume that is some method of organization and you being here has made things more... flexible, in terms of its location in the library. So no, I'm not doing it on purpose. Ask it for what you want," he offers, extending a blue hand towards the stacks, "otherwise it will continue filtering through my own thoughts as you literally rifle through whatever is at the top of my mind at the moment."

"What makes you think your brain library is going to listen to-"

Oh. Because Loki is head over heels attached to one Clint Barton. Why wouldn't something inside Loki's brain listen to Clint?

He purses his lips, slots the dance book back, keeps staring at Loki, holds out his hand to press it against the stack. Like thinking it is going to summon it right to his hand like Mjolnir. What does he want to know? Or, what does he want to see that's in Loki's memory bank? Something Clint would recognize. Archery? Does Loki know anything about the use of a bow and arrow?

His hand starts to move of its own accord, then stops. Archery's too obvious, too simple. Grew up a prince, probably learned hunting when young. Something else. The family. Knowledge and thoughts and feelings on the Barton clan. His hand starts to move again, in a different direction. Stops again.

Because that could be a very bad idea. His fingers flex, and he closes his eyes. Fine. Something more neutral.

Had dance. What about music? Instruments and the playing thereof.

He takes a few steps, eyes still closed, hand reaching down to pluck a new book out. Images of instruments, many he doesn't fully recognize. Bits of sheet music.

Somewhere in the distance, music begins to play. If Clint stops to think about it, he's pretty sure he'd recognize it.

Loki doesn't recognize the song, which is saying something... it must be from some part of Clint's past that Loki wasn't a part of, or some event where there was music but Loki wasn't there? Either way, he's not displeased, it isn't bad music, it's just interesting, and Loki tilts his head a little to better catch the snatches of it.

He knows where it would be loudest: the hall/ballroom/location of the former orgy. That is where all celebrations are loudest. But it could also be centered in his own rooms. That, he supposes, depends on how comfortable Clint is thinking about that particular location right now.

"What is your favorite type of dance?" He could ask Clint's favorite instrument but the man might say 'bass guitar' and Loki will have to groan into the next millenia.

Good beat, energy. Clint's not trying to pay attention, but he is tapping his foot. The question catches him off guard. "Type of dance?" Jesus, are there all that many? "The kind where you move to music, I don't know, I like a good club scene just fine. Slow dancing when appropriate."

One day, Loki decides, he will expose this man to some blessed culture. Or at least the proper terms for the things he likes. Loki also enjoys a good club scene, but for very different reasons, and while this is good music to move to it's not quite that.

"Did you ever learn to dance or has it always just been a matter of the heart meets rhythm?"

"Learned a little waltzing during SHIELD training, went undercover at a fancy shindig. Not usually my place." He sees better from a distance, after all. Nat usually did the up close and personal. "I feel like most dancing should just be natural, go with the rhythm. But what would I know? There's a reason you've got a memory dream book on dancing. I've never done the tango in my life. I'm sure you've got some Asgardian folk dances in there somewhere."

"Waltzing is good." Loki's mouth raises in a half-smile and he shrugs. "The folk dances were mostly lost to the atrocities that were courtly dances by the time Ragnarok rolled around, but waltzing is a perennial favorite. Tango might be fun, actually. It's up close fast dancing. I have memory dream books on dancing because I love dancing and because I'm obsessed with knowing and learning things."

"Well, you definitely know...a lot of things." Given the size of the library and all. From there, he kind of fades off. Because he doesn't know shit for shit about any formal dancing, so he doesn't feel like he can comment on it other than waltzing is constantly counting 'one two three, one two three' in your head. Flips a few more pages, shelves the music book. Tries not to suddenly feel very small in the shadow of a millennium and change of knowledge. "Never seen you dance."

"Your children have." Clubbing, parties, that kind of thing. Loki's smile is soft, fond. The music changes; a tune that seems ever fluid, the sort of thing you absolutely love but won't be able to quite remember the next morning.

Loki pushes himself off from the bookcase behind him, extending a hand out toward Clint. "Will you dance with me? I promise you won't have to count."

"Sounds like we should be going to parties more often then."

It's a joke. Kind of. Sometimes he wonders if it's maybe, maybe time he just let Loki into his life more fully. Not like he'll be getting rid of the god anytime soon. Or ever. They belong to each other, and there's no fixing or changing that.

He eyes the hand. This doesn't seem like a joke or any attempt at humiliation. Loki looks, feels, like this might be a genuine good time. Considers it a moment longer before finally taking the offer. "Show me what you've got."

"I would like that." Not much reason to be coy about it; he enjoys spending time with the Bartons, he is connected to Clint, he loves parties. Dancing, dressing up, showing out. What's not to like?

The music swells. The bookcases move to make room. It's just them and Loki more or less likes it that way, for now. In the waking world, things are different.

He'll take every moment he can steal with abandon.

There's no leading or following in this dance. It's not slow but not so fast as to end up out of breath too fast. The music teaches the steps; this is dream logic, yes, but also the truth of this particular trip of composition.

Loki has always loved this dance. It changes every time. And Clint doesn't step on his toes even once.

The kind of dance where he might remember the moves on hearing the music again or when his mind is far away but not necessarily when he tries to pluck out the memory specifically. As dreams do. Though naturally one as deft as he would make sure not to step on toes even if he doesn't dance with any formality. Too mindful of his own body for that.

His outfit, too, changes. Out of the robe offered as cover and into jeans, a tee, both tighter and dipping lower on his body than he normally wears casually, looking a little more ready to pick up some attention at a club than work on another addition to the house.

It's fun, is the thing he thinks he's surprised about the most. Not that dancing is fun, of course it is, but it's Loki. In his odd mindspace with the moving shelves, the air having enough of a chill to keep from getting too warm from the moving, and the music feels like it's going through him rather than hanging around overhead. It feels good, better than a room of fake orgiastic glory for how much more real this feels. Which is going to feel silly on waking, but how else could he describe it rather than Real and Not Real?

Loki isn't so caught up in the magic of dancing in his own dream that he doesn't notice the costume change, or how tight and low both articles of clothing are. At some point he, too, had changed, from the ice giant in robes back to his more or less Asgardian-appearing self, wearing jeans and a button-up with short sleeves and a collar that isn't done.

If things were perfect... if things could be perfect, even if only in a dream, Loki would kiss Clint as the song ends and they'd both wake up after that moment and life would go on. But Loki doesn't really believe in perfect. Not for him and not for his dreams. So when the music ends and it's clear he wants to kiss Clint, he doesn't. Just offers the man a smile and lets go of his hand.

"That was a lot of fun." A gesture towards Clint's torso. "I like the outfit."

Things can't be perfect, won't be perfect, not in either of their lifetimes. Then that would, truly, make this a dream rather than reality.

But here, this is fun, a good time that they both know is constantly under threat of being ruined, but it isn't ruined yet. He can tell that Loki wants him, wants more--not just because he always does, and not just through the thrum of want that stretches between the expanse of their connection. It would be easy for Clint to take the offer of letting it drop, never acknowledging. Loki is being considerate.

He glances down at himself, shrugs, smiles in such an easy and casually lopsided way that he looks nearly a decade younger for it. Nearly says something, but instead:

The music kicks up again, with a decidedly Latino type of flair to it, and he retakes Loki's hand, surges forward, a hand to his waist. Does Clint actually know how to tango? He does not. But he's seen movies. Occasional videos on youtube. Maybe even seen a dance or two himself out on missions. In a dream, he can cobble together the idea of the dance, and also supplement in whatever Loki might happen to know himself. The footwork is precise, as is the legwork, close and intimate. A spin here, and a dip as well. Loki might be taller and more knowledgeable about dance as a whole, but that doesn't apparently keep Clint from leading.

There's a startled sort of amusement on Loki's face that replaces the fond, wanting smile he'd had, as Clint surges forward in time with the music and grabs his hand. Does Loki know tango? Yes, and between dream!logic and desire and the fact that Loki would pour at least a third of the things he knows directly into Clint's brain if he wasn't sure it would hurt the other man somehow, the execution is flawless.

It's been decades since Loki has done anything this intricate, and more years than he'd like to bother counting since he's let anyone lead him across a dance floor, no matter who or what he looks like. This? This is better than nice, this gets his heart racing and blood pumping and part of him wishes it was happening in the waking world just so that someone could take a photo or a video of it. Permanence, in a digital sense; Loki fears his memory might never do this justice.

One of the things he'd forgotten about tango is how much of the dance moves involve the following partner being softly and sensually dragged across the dancefloor by the lead. The library is nothing if not accommodating to this detail, and while, since it's a dream, there's not much point to Loki being breathless and aching pressed against Clint's leg at the end of the dance...

Some things are just true, it would seem.

Catching his breath takes a few long moments, where he has his eyes closed and is remembering deep in and then slow, deep out. He's not sure what he expects to see when he opens his eyes to look at Clint again, but. He can only forestall it so long.

In the waking world, he would not be allowed this for the most part. Loki looks like someone Clint could lift if he needed to, but the reality of Asgardian (or Jotun or whatever) physiology actually would make it impossible. At least without the help of a lot of magic. Huh. So it's effortless, now, the way they drift together, the way he slides Loki across the floor.

Effortless the way it feels good to do this, to let everything that hangs between them fall away for at least a short time. He knows better, now, about these dreams. That they are not as removed from reality as he once thought. There are, can be, consequences.

He knows this, but it's not what he's thinking about if he's thinking at all. There's a bookshelf pressed hard to his back, or rather, a shelf is there close behind him suddenly as he presses himself hard to it, dragging Loki with him, pulled close against him. Certainly close enough to kiss. Which he might want to do, the way he breathes heavily against Loki's mouth.

Loki goes when Clint pulls him with absolutely no resistance. It doesn't even cross his mind to pull away or give them any time to consider what they're doing. What Clint has started.

There's a brief... Something. Not of hesitation exactly but of savoring the moment.

And then Loki has moved forward, pressing his lips against Clint's. It's not at all violent, not from him, not yet anyway, but it is passionate. Full of heady longing and rough desire. Loki's hands are fisted in the material of Clint's shirt and it's going to be very difficult to convince him to let go, at this rate.

There's no surprise when the kiss happens properly. Heated and needing. Feeling good. One hand in Loki's hair, tight enough to sting but not distract, and one on his hip, to keep him pressed in close and tight.

Is it only in dreams that he can let himself have? He'd been accused before of denying himself to spite Loki, denying himself out of some sense of self-punishment as well. Undeserving of it, afraid of it.

That might all be true. But he's not trying to think about it, or to overthink about it. Clint is trying to live in the moment without regret or revulsion or pesky thoughts cloud him up. And dream logic, well, that still is in play. If Clint's smile had made him seem younger, now he does look it, some lines on his face smoothed back, some invisible weight lifting. If only for a few dreamy, illusory moments.

Through the power of it being his own damned dream, Loki is aware of it. Aware of what it might mean. Perhaps this is a Clint before Loki met him, or just as. One without the shared baggage of what he'd done, been driven to do, between them.

He's not drawing attention to it. He's not asking questions. He's just matching the intensity of the kisses long enough to up the ante, to graduate to deeper kisses and biting teeth and pressing the palms of his hands against Clint's chest beneath his shirt.

There is, in his mind, a sense of impending doom. But it's not at a level of anxiety, yet, and so Loki ignores it, or at least notes it and moves on. The impending doom could be anything, and there are no guarantees he'll get this opportunity again.

He can bite. They know he can bite. And Clint's been thinking of the length of Loki's neck every time he's been dipped back toward the floor. So the kissing and biting moves, from mouth to the sharp line of his jaw to his neck. There is none of that animal-hunter-predator-prey sensation now, no bloody urge to sink his teeth into throat and rip and tear. Just being in the moment as he tugs Loki's hair to encourage baring of neck a little more.

There's the first real wonder he acknowledges of if he should be doing this. Encouraging Loki, dipping into the obvious wants and desires, even in the wake of what happened in dreams before. This won't help them. This will only complicate matters.

(Will it? Are they not complicated enough that, perhaps, this will actually simplify things? Is chasing an impulsive high in a dreamscape comparable to needs met in reality? He doesn't know anymore.)

But to his credit, he tries to push the doubt aside. Not shove away, not cause violence. Stay right here, indulging them both.

Loki should ask if Clint is certain about this (he won't) or if they should stop (he doesn't) long before he considers the possibility of dropping to his knees in front of his man, whose consciousness is present in Loki's own dreams, where things have an effect on the real-world.

Surely.

Well. Does any of that sound like Loki?

He does drop to his knees and here he hesitates, mostly to look up at Clint's face and see what kind of an effect this is having on the other man. If there's hesitation or revulsion in Clint's expression, he'll pivot, but otherwise?

Despite the now constant chiming of warning bells in the back of his mind, he will get this man's cock in his mouth.

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