brandingproblem | au shenanigans for icasm

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!"

Loki slowly turns his head to look at Clint straight on as he speaks. The man probably isn't wrong; Loki does tend to twist things to suit him, words especially, and it's not as though he's likely to have set that particular skill or impulse aside just when dealing with Clint.

He doesn't know how to bridge this, in particular. He knows what he wants, from Clint; he has a sense of what he thinks he deserves, but a more nebulous series of ideas of what Clint thinks he deserves. Or is acceptable. "Appropriate", even.

As if they can't just make the fucking rules up as they go along. As if they're going to somehow get in trouble. As if that were even a real threat at this point.

Then tell me what you liked about it. Is there anything that didn't feel weird, or sick, or wrong, or disturbing? His expression is put upon, but his emotional response is... hesitant, not quite hopeful, but something close to it, before he frowns sharply and looks away, feeling distinctly foolish for having hoped for something so soft in the first damned place.

The anger seems to dissipate rapidly. Replaced by something more distressed. Clint looks away as well.

"I liked a lot of it, too. What I remember of it. Hunting felt good. Hurting you. Touching you." And that's the thing. A lot that he liked is also what felt wrong and disturbing. "I get so pulled inside out with you. It's all backwards. I love it and I hate it, just the same. I don't know who I am when I'm around you. I don't know that I like him. And in a dream...I didn't think it would..."

Matter? Is what he would normally say, if he weren't trying to also consider his words more carefully.

"Reflect, manifest, here. I don't know how fully in control I was, how lucid, but I know I was trying to let myself do and feel things I don't want to or don't get to. Here."

Sighing, Loki allows his head to drop a little, chin angled towards his own chest as he stares at his hands and Clint's legs. He understands. Kind of. The idea, at least, of not knowing who he is being rather unsettling. Upsetting. Uncomfortable. That Clint may not know if he likes that version of himself.

At the same time he doesn't understand, because he's rarely been a creature who hesitates to indulge, good or bad.

Who do you want to be? Still not looking up. Maybe that's a goal. Or at least a good place to start. Loki swallows. Someone who wouldn't be here in the first place, I suspect. Which, again, circles back around to the things Loki can't do: change the past, or let go.

"Yeah. Well. I can't hope for that, because it's not in anyone's power to do anything about it. Not my fault. In some ways, it's not yours, either." A little shake of the head. "I don't think that's the right question."

What the right question is eludes him, of course. But it's not about who he wants to be. Or at least, that's not the right question for him right now.

"Didn't used to think I was complicated; now I wish you'd picked up someone easier to deal with."

Loki doesn't look up. He keeps his focus downward, on the scars on his hands, on the texture in the material of Clint's pants.

He knows how he would answer the question if it were turned back on him. That he wants to be someone worthy. Of Clint's care, or his violence as necessary, without Clint hating himself for it.

There's little point in saying that without being asked first, however.

How would I even begin to handle a simple person? How would I ever trust anything they say, or feel, or do?

"You could trust everything they did. It'd be simple. You sure as hell can't trust me. You do, but you also can't. Everything's a contradiction with us."

He drains the rest of the beer, sets the bottle aside, sits up straighter. Looks at Loki. Wants, for once, to catch his gaze.

"Name something I can do to make this better for you."

He picks off an invisible bit of lint from Clint's pant leg. Trust doesn't mean believing everything you do or will do would be only in my best interest. He realizes that's... probably not ideal, for anyone else, and that trusting someone who doubts who they are when they're around Loki is likely the height of foolishness but here they are.

Foolish.

The request does get Loki to look at Clint, as if staring at the other man's face for several long moments will somehow make what he means clearer to Loki. It doesn't; he's not exactly surprised, but he also doesn't demand clarification. Loki is annoyed, clearly, and afraid, kind of, mostly of saying the wrong thing. Showing too much, too early, and thus making the desirable become ultimately unattainable.

Besides, what is this? Dying? Having some of his greatest fears realized in his lack of voice, a magic that doesn't work as it has for ages, a sense of powerlessness? Or is this the thing that this usually is, for him: the pervasive sense of loneliness coupled with the belief that it is what he deserves and all he's worth?

He could hedge. He could say 'I don't know'. He could be petty. But he's simultaneously afraid of being too specific. Clint could hold him; it would help, but he'd be too concerned that it would only happen the once, now, and he's not sure how he feels about that. So it goes with any number of other primarily physical comforts he can think of.

You could care, is what he settles on, in whatever way will not make you hate yourself for it.

Edited 2022-08-20 02:17 (UTC)

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