brandingproblem | au shenanigans for icasm

"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)

It is very easy to take this the worst of all ways. Maybe he's starting to see why Loki reacts some of the ways that he does. If you don't get your hopes up, you won't be disappointed.

Because there's a thought that comes to mind. That he could alter the parameters of what he wants out of this, that he could blithely say name something I can actually do, just to twist the dagger a little deeper. Out of anger, pettiness. Spite.

Instead, he scoots closer, pushing off the corner of the couch he'd settled against. Knees over Loki's lap instead. "Give me your hands." And then, after a moment, "Please." Because Loki has been polite, save that scare with being pet, and it's the least he can do to try and attempt it in return.

There is hesitation, confusion, curiosity, all within Loki in the moments it takes Clint to realign his body. When Clint's legs move Loki's hands shift to press into the couch at either side of his hips. He had, in all honesty, expected the other man to inform him that he'd already reached that particular limit just by being here in the first place. In Loki's apartment, in his presence.

If you don't get your hopes up, you won't be disappointed. If you expect the worst you can be surprised by things being not as terrible as that, even when they're still fairly terrible.

The confusion remains even as Loki twists his body, angles himself more in Clint's direction, and holds out hands that are immediately unsteady without something to apply constant pressure to.

There are... several reasons for that, honestly. Instead of being precious about it, Loki decides instead to focus on the fact that the tremors are less bad than they were merely two days ago. So is the pain. He suspects that the scars will always be visible, to the two of them especially and in particular, but he sees little reason to be upset about that.

Scars are a mark of survival.

He cups Loki's hands in his, gentle, palm up. Focuses on the scarring there, and on long fingers lightly curled, and on the shake in them. Presses his thumbs into certain points, the meat of Loki's hands, feeling him out.

Nods to himself, sets one of Loki's hands back down--on Clint's knee, even, rather than anywhere else. A deliberate choice. And sets both of his hands to the task of rubbing the one between them. Massaging his thumbs into the muscles. Pulling firmly but gently at fingers, rolling joints, rubbing long lines down the whole length of Loki's hand. If anything in particular seems to hurt or pull, he turns his attention there.

Having spent a lifetime using his hands for his work, he knows plenty about caring for them, exercises to retain flexibility and mobility, has had doctors massage at them before. He can't say he's ever been pierced through and through in the middle of them, but Loki's body is healing itself rapidly enough. When Clint is satisfied with his work on one hand, he takes the other back up for the same thorough attention.

At first, Loki more or less holds his breath in an attempt not to overreact. To balk from or desire too much of what he asked for: care. Which for him could cover a large swath of behaviors that aren't necessarily limited to acts of kindness, compassion; and while he knows that there can be a level of care in pain if applied for certain reasons, certain necessities, certain ends, it's definitely not the sort of thing he would expect out of Clint at this moment.

It's... nice? Not so gentle that Loki feels physically uncertain about it, in that way he has of being twitchy around unexpectedly soft and gentle things he's not prepared for (and this, actually, is what has him realize that perhaps the way he'd touched Clint earlier had not been the best idea). There's pain, of course there is... the muscles are stiff, the nerves are shot, but Loki makes a valiant attempt not to make any noises of discomfort, even when it does hurt.

Clint can tell, anyway, either by the involuntary movement of his hands or just by virtue of knowing Loki. Perhaps it's a ridiculous endeavor to begin with but Loki has always been a man of pride at odd turns, even when it does not suit or support him.

That his libido responds is not entirely surprising, honestly. It's touch and contact from the person he craves it from the most these days, after all. It is, however, embarrassing to become hard at this moment when he is trying very sincerely not to push, or make demands, or be...

Whatever it is that makes him difficult for Clint. Beyond the troubled history. Being himself, he thinks ruefully. Who gets horny at every single inappropriate damned moment, it would seem.

Really, it is one thing to find violence sensual. To be attracted to the things that others tell themselves cannot possibly be attractive. It is quite another to spend centuries sublimating suffering into ecstasy just to get incredibly aroused by soft kindness from someone who is offering nothing else.

He tries ignoring it, ensuring to keep his hip incredibly still, trying not to remember the moments of soft sensuality before pain that had taken him by surprise in Clint's dream, until he realizes the hand that had been set at Clint's knee is now, weakly, gripping into the fabric of his pant leg. Loki keeps his eyes on Clint's hands and forces himself to relax. It half works; his weakened death grip on Clint's knee lets up, at least.

Loki is not going to look up, however.

He works in this not-so-casual silence, focused. Will not demand that Loki look at him. Won't scoff that he needs to get a grip on himself. Feels that hold on his knee, curled into the denim, does not comment on it.

Loki wanted care. This is him, caring, without hating himself for it. Maybe hating what he did in some regards, but not hating this. He refuses, too, to feel self-hate for this giving into Loki's wants again so easily. In a sense, Clint asked for this himself.

At least this is something that makes full sense to find attractive. A desire that he can wrap his mind around. He doesn't think on it much, because that will get awkward fast, because he might instead think of pulling those fingers into his mouth, or elegant hands wrapped tight around his windpipe, or nails digging into his skin. Clint lets out one little breath about it and refocuses.

Until he feels done with that hand, too, and sets it back down as well. A moment where his hand is over Loki's, on his leg. This could be cozy if they wanted it to be.

"Does that feel any better?"

Loki nods, breathes. Doesn't look up. He wants to lift his hands and sign 'thank you', keep his mouth shut and his voice out of Clint's head, but he also doesn't want to break the contact at all.

So. Another breath, and then: Thank you. The jumble of emotions behind that lead with desire and shame at the forefront.

The kind thing, or perhaps the sensible one, would be to gently imply that Clint should leave. Or perhaps just ask him to, outright. He's going to fuck it up, Loki's even more certain of it now, this fragile moment of peace; it is merely a kindness that Clint hasn't laughed at him, or rolled his eyes, or grown irritated or disgusted or what have you.

'Why are you incapable of self-control?' is Odin's voice, in his head. An argument centuries past, a man years dead. 'What need have I for that?' had been his response, at the time, but now?

He screws his eyes shut. Clint will decide what happens next. He'll probably leave before it becomes too strange to handle. And Loki will refuse to make any move to stop him.

They are sometimes way more similar than Clint feels entirely comfortable pointing out. Because there is shame that filters through, which is something he wasn't sure Loki was even capable of feeling at all, much less about...whatever this is. That he's horny for touch? That hands are one of the most sensitive parts of the body for obvious reason, that interest and warmth and kindness and tenderness and arousal intertwine in this case, that he likes something that isn't pain and horror and blood?

Loki does not technically answer the question, but Clint doesn't feel like being pedantic about it.

This is a nice moment. They come so few and far between with them. He wants to frame it and hang it on a wall to remind himself he is capable of this. So he keeps his hand there over Loki's. Warm and secure.

He should go.

"Do you need any help with anything around here?"

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