brandingproblem | au shenanigans for icasm

Why isn't Loki reacting more? To any of it. Why is he so calm? Oh. Shit. Did exactly what he wanted. Gave him some peace, settled something, and it feels...that should feel better than it does, shouldn't it? Loki is being patient. And it all feels kind of wrong. Where's the sharpness, the baiting banter, even if it's in his head alone?

There's an overseas beer in his hand, a cat on his shoulder happy to stay there, and he's sitting on Loki's couch like they're old friends about to do some catching up. He does not understand this.

He feels like there's a phantom ache in his side. And pointedly ignores it. The beer is appreciated, but he still sets it down so he can scrub at his face with both hands.

"The kids are worried. That's why I'm here."

Holding the mug with both hands is ideal for keeping it steady; seeing Clint here, as Loki slowly but certainly rebuilds his body and connection to magic after being severed from both due to both of their decisions in Clint's dreamscapes is unnerving and a little frightening and also...

And also. There's a reason the door didn't allow Cooper through but didn't even pose a semblance of hesitation at allowing Clint inside. If he'd come days earlier, while Loki was sleeping, it would have been the same. It's an interesting sort of thing, the way this thing between them works. Has grown. Has evolved.

Loki knows that his first thought upon waking (the second time) was a sense of vague disappointment that he'd woken alone. Not that he'd expected anything else. But emotions and desires aren't often made of purely sensible things, in his case.

The part of Loki that is fascinated by a puzzle loves it, everything that he's learned, everything it implies for the future. The part of Loki that is frightened of what it means, represents, the power that it indicates Clint holds over him, unwillingly perhaps, unwittingly at times, is trying to have faith in the idea that, eventually, one day, it'll be fine.

That doesn't mean it'll be fine today. Nor does it mean that he wants Clint to find himself mired in grief over what has occurred, for his role in it. It was wanted. Perhaps even necessary.

I told them I would be fine. Regret, yes. That he worried them. That he lied, via omission, to two of the people he tries very hard not to lie to when he can avoid it. Sometimes it can't be avoided, however.

Loki sets the mug down next to Clint's currently ignored beer and, gently, hesitantly, runs his hand up from the nape of Clint's neck into his hair. I will be fine. I'm just tired. An uncomplicated truth from a being who doesn't really believe in such things. As much for Clint's benefit as his own.

There's a flare of something, anger? No, not as intense as anger. Indignation? Frustration, perhaps. Loki is not fine, he's not fine now, and it's hard to see him being fine in the future if all of that happened to him. Happened to him in the real, waking world. He thinks, briefly, of his bedroom, of spreading red. Blinks it away.

Loki's hand is lovingly petting him.

Clint's relationship with Loki is fraught and confused and an exercise in polarity. This is not a surprise. Attraction and repulsion in equal measure. The touch makes him want to shiver and lean into it while at the very same time want to crawl directly out of his skin and jump out a window. The affection and kindness and softness and familiarity feels nice. But it's too soft, too familiar, too kind.

He jerks, dislodging the cat, turning sharply in his seat to snatch Loki's wrist tightly. His heart is lodged directly in his throat, pounding away.

Glød makes a very catlike noise of protest at being suddenly dislodged from her new favorite perch on the archer's shoulders before settling herself at Clint's hip, paws against his thigh, sharp claws digging in through his pants just a little. Not a threat as it would be for a guest that behaved this way, that dared to touch her master; merely a reminder that she exists.

Petting her was better than whatever this is.

Loki, for his part, narrows his eyes and freezes. Indignation and frustration and the briefest flash of anger mirrored in his expression, in their connection. You're being a poor guest. Which is about the still ignored beer, actually, which Loki clearly obtained just for Clint at some point in the past, and is not directly about the touching. Or Clint's reaction to it. Though Loki did, for a split second, entertain the idea of slapping Clint across the face for what he perceives as a nearly hysterical reaction.

He's just not sure what would happen, as a result. If he would be able to mitigate the force of his hand. If Clint would take offense to that, too. If it would inform the other man that he's sturdier than he used to be.

Too many variables. Loki's nostrils flare. What are you angry at me for, now?

And Loki's the one who's mad about it?

"Tell me to leave, then," he says with a bite, which is weird, because his voice sounds so fucking muted and distant to him, the pounding panic in his ears a familiar roar.

The sharp little pricks in his thigh are actually just grounding enough to keep him from getting actually hysterical about anything. Good thing Loki didn't voice that particular thought, or he might have done something genuinely ill-advised.

It's another long moment, two moments, before he finally lets Loki go, dropping the wrist like it's become far too hot. Reaches for the beer instead, cool in his grip. "Thank you for the drink."

It does not at all surprise him at this point that Loki knows what he likes, that he would keep it stocked just in case. The heavy taste of it feels like it weighs him down, but not in this case in any bad way. Grounding, like the cat. That he finally deigns to stroke.

"I'm not your cat. I'm not your pet." Is what he says as explanation, but it feels weak, like it's a step to the side of what he means.

Don't be daft. Sharp. Annoyed. Clint still has his wrist and this feels like an edge that might be dangerous for either or both of them. Or, perhaps, there might be stairs on the cliffside to the bottom, to the next thing.

He probably won't find out if he moves too fast, so Loki merely raises his eyebrows and waits. Why would I do that?

It pays off. Clint releases him, and Loki sets his hands in his lap and watches the other man with some curiosity.

I know that. Less annoyed, now. Still petulant, however. He doesn't think this is the most direct method of getting to the source of what has upset Clint, but it is... progress, of a sort. His fingers twitch in his lap before he folds them and forces them to relax.

He wants to touch him, reassure himself that he's really here. As something for his hands to do. As a method of chasing and refreshing the memory of that sense of complete connection he'd had before the other man slit his throat.

It's possibly a very stupid thing to want, in light of Clint's... complaint.

We are beyond that. Clint won't look at him, and, well. Loki supposes he shouldn't blame him. He hadn't intended for the man to find out this way, if at all. And to be pedantic, Glød is more than a cat, anyway.

As if in response to her (unspoken, by the literal definition) name, Glød chirps in pleasure and leans into Clint's hand.

Edited 2022-08-19 21:35 (UTC)

"Are we."

Maybe to Loki, yes. He has been chosen in some way. Even if at random, or on accident, or inadvertently. What feels like a lifetime ago, they became connected, because Loki chose him. Not knowing what that meant. Apparently knowing what it means now.

They are certainly well past Loki trying to worm his way inside to use him, to control him utterly. Sometimes it feels like the actual opposite. He keeps petting the cat that is something other than a cat, and sure, might as well be, whatever. A familiar, enchanted, an alien? He doesn't ask. Looks like a cat, sounds like a cat, acts like a cat.

He savors another sip, looking across the room. Looking at--not Loki. Deliberately not looking at him and his healing wounds right now. Keep it...lighter, maybe.

"I'm guessing you can only talk in my head because of what we've got. You didn't suddenly become a telepath, or you'd talk to the kiddos."

Do you feel like a pet? Indentured to me for protection and sustenance? In no way or sense my equal? Loki scoffs, even though the action causes him a bit of pain as he reaches for his tea. Not like he's unused to pain, is he? Besides, it's worth it to express his distaste for the frankly ridiculous association at this point in time. In the beginning, perhaps. A very loyal pet, who in turn ensured that I ate. Rather a reversal of the roles implied there, I would think.

He rolls his eyes (even though Clint isn't looking) and takes a sip of his tea. At least it's still hot and soothing. Glød is purring, now, making gentle kneading gestures into Clint's thigh. Claws still out, though.

No, I didn't suddenly become a telepath. Could he talk directly into the minds of the Barton children? Possibly, all things considered, with the correct materials, time, and spells, but he'd rather keep this to the two of them anyway.

Besides, he enjoys his text and phone video conversations with Lila and Cooper and the occasional incomprehensible meme from young Nate. Why give that up in favor of something that might just terrify them in the end?

I don't particularly feel up to croaking my way uncomfortably through a conversation you only seem half interested in actually having, when this is an available alternative.

Edited (lmao whoops names) 2022-08-19 22:13 (UTC)

Fine. Fine. Loki seems perfectly okay with all of this, maybe because he asked for it, wanted it so damn badly and was given it on a fucking platter. Clint sets down his drink and lifts both hands to sign as well as speak.

"We have a lot of different ways of talking. But it seems like this one isn't going to suit you, either."

He resists the urge to end that by flipping Loki off. It's a very adult decision of him. Very adult. So mature. He continues petting the pretty kitty.

"Why did--" A huff, a pause, rethinking his phrasing. Loki picks at him about how he never asks the right questions to what he wants to know. "Why did you think it was appropriate to touch me like that?" There. That...seems somewhat more specific than 'why did you touch me'.

Glowering, Loki puts down the tea and signs back as the words echo in Clint's brain. You would have to fucking look at me for signing to be worth my time or consideration. Besides, his hands hurt, even with that little bit, though he won't admit it aloud or via their connection.

It's likely obvious in the fact that his hands, which are usually quick moving and full of fluent gestures, appear a little stiff and slow. The scarring doesn't help.

If he'd flipped Loki off he would have probably laughed aloud, or at least tried to, and then flipped him off in response. Slowly and purposefully. Because he thinks this is just about the dumbest possible thing for them to be having a pseudo-argument about in the first place.

I wasn't thinking about the appropriateness of it. He pauses, hands stilling. I wanted to touch you. I still do. Feel free to praise him for his self-control. Or don't; he's not expecting any praise for it, anyway. I don't know what you'll deem appropriate for me to do, in regards to you.

"That's what I meant, asshole. Your hands are a little fucked right now. I'm not gonna make you sign if it's--whatever." This is. so dumb. This is very dumb, and Loki is still taking all of this very well, and the fact that Clint isn't just annoys him further.

There are a lot of ways Loki could touch, too. Hand. Leg. Arm. Cheek. Back of the neck and stroking lovingly into his hair seemed like such a deliberately intimate thing to do, where he cannot see. Like, what, now that they had a fucked up dream full of dream sex, now they're boyfriends?

(He doesn't know how dream magic works, and he wonders if Loki does either.)

"You want to touch me." Repeated. Stated. Okay. A light huff. "You usually stop yourself." Because of course Loki wants to touch. And they have, sometimes, touched. Deliberately, with silent permission, or inadvertently, accidentally brushing together. Sometimes Loki did it to stoke the embers of anger and get a reaction, to provoke. Sometimes softer. Sometimes harder. Sometimes not at all, the desire hanging there heavy between them.

He's touched Loki, in a world of unreality. Fairness means allowing him to touch back in some way. Hand on his side, sliding down to grab him, dig in nails-- Thinks of hands running up his back, down his spine, gripping short hair, stroking thighs. Thinks of arms holding him.

It makes him feel dizzy, and he thinks instead about the taste of good beer and the warmth of a cat. Shifts the little sentient void so that he can move, swinging his legs up and stretching out along the couch, calves neatly resting on Loki's lap, back propped up by the corner of the seat. Now he's looking at Loki. Now Loki gets to touch him. In a way that Clint can see and approve of. For the moment.

It is small and childish. And he does not give a fuck.

"I guess nothing about us is really 'appropriate' anyway. Sorry. I'm trying to be a little more careful with my words, and I'm not great at it."

He swallows. Tastes blood. Reaches for his drink and swallows away that taste.

"Do you want me to apologize for what I did? I know the answer is no, but I want to hear you say it." ...Hm. "You know what I mean." He'll still hear it, in a sense!

To be fair, the word (or even the concept) of 'boyfriends' has not crossed Loki's mind. In part because he's never had one, so what the fuck would that exactly mean? In part, because they belong to one another, and he's been doing his best, accidentally and purposefully, to make that as an equivalent exchange between them as possible.

Now, honestly, has he informed Clint of all the ways he's done this? No. Does he plan on doing that? Probably not until directly approached about it. Would he be opposed to being lovers, somewhere other than in Clint's dreams, surrounded by his own blood? Definitely not, though he does doubt that asking for that would be considered "appropriate" at this point. If ever.

Still. Clint rearranges himself on the couch and once Loki gets over the brief flash of annoyance at anyone's outside shoes being anywhere near the upholstery he's filled with a sense of thrill. Contact. The invitation of touch. The fact that Clint had reacted poorly because he couldn't see but could only feel how Loki touched him in the first place has not occurred to him, either.

He might need to explain that to Loki, actually.

I usually stop myself. A nod; his hands aren't signing, now, having taken Clint's earlier annoyance as proof that he doesn't, actually, have to keep up with that. Instead, they're hovering over Clint's legs a moment before he settles them on the calves in his lap, just below the knee, one thumb tracing back and forth in a slightly unsteady line. Unsteady due to pain, yes, but also...

There's a thin, uncertain thread of unadulterated joy at the contact that radiates from Loki. Who is afraid of letting it grow into anything more solid than that, just as yet. Maybe after the tenth, or twentieth, time of being invited to touch. Of it not necessarily inciting a fight, as much as part of him enjoys fighting with Clint for a myriad of reasons.

He takes a breath. Swallows. "No." It croaks out, obviously, voice rough and unused, quieter than normal, but still. He said it. Be proud of him, Clint. Or be annoyed that he possibly slightly damaged his vocal cords further just to prove a point and also be a literal shit in the process, he's not (exactly) the boss of you these days.

He squeezes Clint's leg closest to his own chest in a gesture he hopes is at least somewhat reassuring. I don't want you to apologize. I don't want you to feel guilty either. I knew there would likely be consequences to my demands in that setting. I didn't know what they were, and I am not sorry it happened.

There's so much joy in such a little thing. A casual night in for him and Laura. And Loki takes so much happiness at the implicit permission.

They are all clothed here, and the touch isn't sexual, and it's cautious but hopeful. He'll stand that. For now. See how long it lasts before one of them inevitably fucks it all up.

Frowns at Loki using his voice. But. He did say it. Say-say it.

"I didn't know there would be any consequences at all. I don't think I knew anything for certain. It was a dream. Only you were real. And I still don't know what that means." Real where things are not real. "I shouldn't have done it. You shouldn't have stayed, but I shouldn't have given in to you."

I am not sorry, he repeats, annoyance flaring but there is also a sense of hesitation. He, too, is wondering how long it will take for one of them to fuck it all up, and historically, as far as he's concerned, usually, the blame for that sort of thing rests firmly on Loki's shoulders.

Why? He turns his head to look Clint in the eye, now, instead of staring at his hands on the other man's legs. Why does it upset you so much? Why do you think you shouldn't have done what I begged you to do?

He honestly doesn't understand. Like, at all.

"Because you begged me to." That seems obvious. "Doing what you want has not been my MO when I'm not being controlled, generally. And you want to die so bad. You want shit that I'm not going to give you. I don't want you to have the satisfaction of--"

His eyes narrow. Flit to the mark at Loki's throat. His connection to his magic is fucked. There was a day, a blessed day of not having the niggling if now comfortable feeling weighing in the back of his soul of Loki.

"Motherfucker."

So you hinge your entire decision-making process, in regards to me, on whether or not you're doing something I want. Incredulous, certainly. He raises his eyebrows as Clint looks at Loki's throat and tilts his head in obvious query. That seems very... limiting.

He leans back into the couch and keeps his eyes on Clint. You didn't wish for me to have the satisfaction of leaving consequence behind via a permanent escape. A shrug. He's still here; clearly, he's not escaped consequences, of all things.

Edited (html jesus) 2022-08-19 23:46 (UTC)

He wants to say yes, that's exactly what he does, stupid as it sounds. He wants to yell that dying is still dying. He wants to throttle this god-man for once again successfully getting him to do exactly what was wanted, manipulating him deftly, reading him like an open book, pulling all the strings, to get the desired outcome that Clint specifically did not want.

Instead, he tilts his head back, eyes at the ceiling. Sips at his drink and now only tastes blood. He remembers that so very clearly. Works his jaw until there's an audible click.

"Maybe I should've eaten your heart," he utters, voice rough for it.

Loki knows and understands Clint well enough to recognize that the other man feels played, in a sense, by him. Manipulated. And he was, to a degree, in that Loki was relentless in his quest to up the ante in a variety of dangerous (to him and his well-being, specifically) ways. But he thinks, perhaps, that Clint is giving him a little too much credit.

Everyone presumes there's a master plan as though Loki doesn't just plot for various long-term possibilities while simultaneously flying by the seat of his pants.

He wants to reach out and grab Clint's chin, forcing him to look Loki in the eye again. He wants to hit him, a little. He wants to laugh, to sigh, to cry maybe, to curl up against the other man and just ignore how dumb this all is.

Somehow I find myself doubting you would have enjoyed whatever the result of that was either. Norns, he'd probably just have been even more obsessed with Clint than he already is while his heart literally reformed in his chest. Set aside, for the moment, the idea that I went there knowing what I was doing. Because it is neither true nor accurate nor helpful in the moment. And tell me, please, why you are actually upset.

He doesn't understand why Loki doesn't understand. What isn't there to be upset about? Everything's all fucked up. Everything's god damn upside down. He doesn't know where they are, where they stand, what any of it means, and Loki is so fucking content with it all. Made a liar out of Clint, and sure, yeah, everything that happened makes Loki happy, but it doesn't seem too far a stretch to see why that might not be the best thing for his counterpart.

There is a part of him that wants to refuse. Let Loki stew in it. Let it drive him mad.

"I don't want you to die." Seems the easiest place to start. "Here. In reality." It's a start.

I didn't know I was going to. He didn't even know if it was a reasonable thing to be concerned about, at the time. Not that his feelings could've been qualified as concern, but still. I imagined that something would happen, yes. The best one for me to have asked about what might have happened to me, as a result, is long dead. Frigga would have known, or known how to find out. Where to look. And probably would have attempted to dissuade him from walking into Clint's dreams unprepared and unannounced in the first place.

It likely wouldn't have worked, her protesting, but still.

What he really wants to ask, the question he isn't sure Clint is prepared to answer directly, is why? Why doesn't Clint want him to die in reality? It can't be as simple as 'because Loki has clearly wanted it for so long', can it?

But maybe it could. He'd rather not learn that to be true and then be disappointed by it.

Speaking of lying: I try, very hard I might add, not to lie to you. Just. Putting that out there. I'm not interested in a repeat of that particular aspect of the dream. That's good, isn't it? That dying once, for real, appears to have sated that particular desire?

"Okay."

Quiet. Not fighting it.

He doesn't believe that for a single moment. Not a one. Not even knowing how much Loki tries not to lie to him. That he never truly did. Does not matter. He doesn't believe what Loki says to him regarding this.

"Are you going to come back?"

Loki sighs, loudly, rolling his eyes again. He can tell that Clint doesn't believe him and is, in turn, rather annoyed about it. But it's fine. Whatever.

He'll deal.

Do you want me to swear that I won't? He doesn't understand the purpose of asking that question, actually, especially when Clint doesn't clarify what he'd prefer the answer to be.

It's very much Clint's turn to be annoyed, huffing at the ceiling and sparing Loki only a passing glance.

"No, I want you to tell me if you plan on doing it again. Why is every question a god damn production with you?"

Because you so rarely ask exactly what you mean, and I would like us to understand one another. Loki is five seconds from literally throwing his hands up. I hadn't decided, nor had I made any plans beyond attempting to restore my voice as quickly as possible, but I am not opposed to it. Conceptually. I'd rather not die again, but I suspect that could be... avoided.

He huffs out another sigh, looking forward and gazing at Clint through his peripheral vision.

He sits up straighter and glares directly at Loki. "I am trying to ask what I mean, and no matter what I say, you end up finding some way to twist it around. No one else seems to have this kind of issue; I'm pretty sure this is just a you problem."

He's pretty sure this entire situation is a Loki problem that just happens to also be a Clint problem.

"Do you want me to get into how I feel about it? Because I don't think it's going to help. If I start explaining the things that felt weird and wrong and sick and disturbing, those are all the parts you're going to like and encourage and enjoy. You're not going to understand my point of view or validate my perspective on it, and you're not my fucking therapist!"

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