Fic: A Little Birdie (The Avengers, PG-13) (1/1)
Title: A Little Birdie
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,928
Fandom: The Avengers (Marvel Cinematic Universe)
Characters: Clint Barton (Hawkeye), Loki, Thor
Warnings: Spoilers for The Avengers; dub-con kisses.
A/N: Written for this prompt at avengerkink.
Summary: Loki treats Clint like a diary because he's a great listener.
Clint knows people think he was on autopilot after Loki's staff pulls him under. He isn't. Not really. He just can't say no. It's like the blueness fills him up and he has a little Loki action-figure sitting in the corner of his mind sitting cross-legged and leering at him, willing him forward. But Clint can still think. And listen.
In fact, he listens a lot. Because Loki talks a lot.
The first listening-session is right after Clint and the others arrived at Loki's headquarters (Clint isn't even sure where that is, geographically, but the mini-Loki in his head reassures him and he presses on). He's taking inventory of all of the weapons they've amassed when he hears that low, smooth voice murmuring behind him. He can only pick up scraps of what might be a conversation.
"Yes, we'll have to...no, I can't...yes, I understand completely. But you must comprehend that my services are---"
Clint picks up the pieces of a sniper rifle and examines each part thoroughly. "Somethin' you wanna share with the class, boss?"
Loki's voice became sharp. "How much did you hear?"
"Enough to know you're worried. Not much more." Clint snaps a few of the rifle's pieces together and he pauses, but the blue inside him squashes any rebellious thoughts. "I won't tell anyone, though."
"Good." Loki's footfalls echo in Clint's ears after he exits.
*
Much later that nice, Loki visits him again. He leans against the wall and slides down until he's curled into a surly-looking ball in the corner of the room. Clint lets Loki sit in silence for a few minutes until he looks up from the corner. His eyes look even more sunken in and lamplike than when he landed at the S.H.I.E.L.D. base and his cackle sounds almost delirious.
"I have no idea what I'm doing. I'm just making it all up as we go. That's the fun part." Loki smiles and a tiny part of Clint's brain thinks he looks like a psychotic clown. "The less fun part is pleasing the clients."
"They're not happy?"
"Oh, you know how bosses are. Always want things done quickly. Planning and precision mean nothing to him. And the really terrifying thing is that I can't refuse them. I can't. A simple 'no' wouldn't be met with a frown or a disappointed glare. My parents have given me thousands of those. 'No' here would mean..." Loki rests his fist over his mouth.
"Game over," Clint finishs. "Same here" can't force its way to his mouth.
"Exactly. When I met them, I had assumed this arrangement would work like patronage: they admired my work and wanted to support it and I'd give them a few small tidbits every once in a while, but I would be largely independent. Evidently, I misread the fine print, as your people say. We agree that this realm is fit for subjugation, but stakes are not mine. They are not where I would put them."
Clint walks over next Loki and leans against the wall, staring down at the man he should probably call 'Master.' "Patronage? Isn't that a Renaissance thing? I don't where your bosses are from, but you sound more like a Mafia hitman or an outsourced telemarketer. No offense, but you're not so special as they want you to think. At least not to them."
Loki stands up straight and gazes almost kindly at Clint. "You are more right than I would like you to be, Clint. That is your name, isn't it?"
"Yes, sir."
Loki rests his hand on Clint's shoulder. "You having an oddly calming presence. We must do this again."
The blueness inside forces Clint's head to nod.
*
Loki comes back. Loki keeps coming back whenever he has a free moments in between checking things off his evil overlord list (probably filled with stuff like "Make all of Mount Rushmore look like me" and "turn that Mexican crater into a caricature of my dad") or whatever he does when he isn't ordering Clint and the other minions around. He pours out his "woes" and swears Clint to secrecy. Apparently, most of his issues go back to being adopted and not told about it until recently, which would make Clint roll his eyes if it weren't for the mini-Loki glaring in his head, preventing any rebellious moves. He feels a little bad for Loki when he starts talking about his plans---the plans that aren't really his anymore---and his mysterious anonymous bosses. Those are the moments when his skin looks palest, his hair greasiest, his armor shabbiest, and he really appears sort of lost.
"Do you have any siblings, Clint?" Loki asks, sprawling out on the floor near the weapons.
Clint glances at him and shrugs. Then he focuses on changes his bow's strings.
"I have one. An older brother. Ever the preferred child, despite my parents' claims. Older, stronger, more charismatic..."
The blue inside Clint surges up into his mind. "Big, blond, and beautiful. Hammer fetish. Landed in New Mexico a little while back."
"Yes, that's definitely him."
He counts up the arrows. "We crossed paths for a little bit. They wanted me to take him out, until they didn't."
"It would take more than one of your arrows to bring him down. He's a fighter, my brother. He most likely came out of the womb prepared for battle, cape and all. He's not the cleverest, but his charm never fails to save him. It's a natural gift of his: people love him the moment they meet him. He's never had to cultivate anything. He's simply blessed."
Clint looks back to see Loki's feet stuck up in the air and his face twisted into an annoyed smirk. "And you hate his guts for it."
"Yes, I certainly...I envy him. Do you know how many hours of practice a day it takes to master spell-casting? Compared to learning to throw a hammer in the right direction? He simply doesn't apply himself and yet he's lauded for his mere existence!" The soles of Loki's feet slam onto the wall. "But I cannot hate him. I can hate how he's favored, but not him. As I said, he's very charming, oafish though he may be. And by the time I fell, he had finally started to turn into a good man." Loki turns his head so Clint can only see long spines of greasy black hair. "I can respect that, even if I cannot follow. But if I cannot be a good man, then I shall be a great one. Even he could appreciate that, though he would tell me I was silly."
"Uh, couldn't you just tell him all of this in person? You're not doin' much good telling me."
"No. I have taken steps down certain paths that would most certainly disappoint him. It is also best to keep my distance in case I anger certain parties. I would protect him from any threat, if only to keep him for myself."
Clint picks up his bow. "Kinda like how the Joker thinks he's the only one who's allowed to kill Batman?"
Loki sticks his feet up in the air again and stares at Clint. "I have no idea who those men are. Warriors of little consequence, I assume."
Clint just shrugs again. Not worth the argument.
Loki forces himself up and straightens his armor. "I am very lucky to have you, Clint."
Loki crosses over to where Clint stands, slips two fingers under Clint's chin, tilting his head upward, and kisses him. The blueness urges Clint to lean into it, so he does, even as another, more distant part of him screams that he should run away. It's a pretty good kiss, as far as these things go. And when Loki pulls back, half of Clint is relieved, and the other half (which isn't entirely blue) isn't sure he should have let go.
*
Loki manages to cram a few more confessionals into the time they have left before Natasha kicks the blue out of Clint. He knows about Loki really looks like and at least half of his childhood exploits (including one particularly embarassing incident involving him, Thor, pudding, and a glass-and-gold vase) and way too many things he probably shouldn't know about. Clint can't like the guy, but he can at least...appreciate him. Loki's not just Evil Overlord Wannabe #426; he's a son, a brother, a lonely idiot who's made bad choices. And Clint has to respect someone who can catch one of his arrows.
Clint tries to forget. He wants to forget. But his dreams fill up with Frost Giants and pudding and jealous little boys in capes fighting over a crown. Even though the blueness is gone, something pushes him forward, whispers that he needs to find Thor.
He finally does find the thunder god and he grabs Thor's arm roughly.
"What do you need, Barton?" Thor's been suspicious of him, and Clint doesn't blame him. He's surprised anyone trusts him now.
"You need to talk to your brother," Clint says quickly.
"Why?"
"Because...because he misses you. He babbled to me the whole time I was brainwashed. Told me everything."
Thor still eyes him suspiciously. "You do know my brother loves tricks?"
"Yeah, I do---he told me all about that. He even told me about his favorite pranks. Oh, and I know about the vase and the pudding."
Horror spreads across Thor's face.
"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone. It's pretty hilarious, though. But Loki still looks up to you---you're his big brother and all. So could you just say something to him? Good or bad, that's your call. Just say something." Clint spies the metal gag in Thor's right hand. "And you should probably do it before you put that thing on him."
"I have tried speaking to him before."
"Alright, but now he can't slam you in the face with his spear, so this looks like a pretty nice opportunity to say your piece."
Thor's expression turns thoughtful. "You have a point."
"'Course I do."
*
Clint waits outside Loki's holding cell until he sees Thor exit. He glances both ways down the corridor and steps inside.
Loki's head snaps up when Clint enters. The light from the hallways glints off the gag.
"Hi," Clint begins. He glances around the bare cell. "There are worse places they could've stuck you in. Maybe they like you. Just a little bit. I don't know if I like you. I can't like you. But I understand you. I'm not sure I want to, but I do. Maybe I don't want to get you 'cause I don't want to see you as a person, after all you did. But I do see you like that. Now I gotta wonder if every one of my targets was somebody's lonely little brother. I don't know how I feel about you and I don't know if I'm ever gonna figure it out. I just thought I should say goodbye."
Clint presses his lips against the cold gag and holds them there. Loki's bound hands reach up and his fingers brush against Clint's chin and neck and cheeks. Clint wraps his fingers around Loki's and sets his cuffed hands back down.
"I got a feeling I'll see you again," Clint says before he shuts the door behind him.
As he leaves, the only thought he can make sense of is that that is the weirdest kiss he has ever been a part of. And he doesn't even mind it.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,928
Fandom: The Avengers (Marvel Cinematic Universe)
Characters: Clint Barton (Hawkeye), Loki, Thor
Warnings: Spoilers for The Avengers; dub-con kisses.
A/N: Written for this prompt at avengerkink.
Summary: Loki treats Clint like a diary because he's a great listener.
Clint knows people think he was on autopilot after Loki's staff pulls him under. He isn't. Not really. He just can't say no. It's like the blueness fills him up and he has a little Loki action-figure sitting in the corner of his mind sitting cross-legged and leering at him, willing him forward. But Clint can still think. And listen.
In fact, he listens a lot. Because Loki talks a lot.
The first listening-session is right after Clint and the others arrived at Loki's headquarters (Clint isn't even sure where that is, geographically, but the mini-Loki in his head reassures him and he presses on). He's taking inventory of all of the weapons they've amassed when he hears that low, smooth voice murmuring behind him. He can only pick up scraps of what might be a conversation.
"Yes, we'll have to...no, I can't...yes, I understand completely. But you must comprehend that my services are---"
Clint picks up the pieces of a sniper rifle and examines each part thoroughly. "Somethin' you wanna share with the class, boss?"
Loki's voice became sharp. "How much did you hear?"
"Enough to know you're worried. Not much more." Clint snaps a few of the rifle's pieces together and he pauses, but the blue inside him squashes any rebellious thoughts. "I won't tell anyone, though."
"Good." Loki's footfalls echo in Clint's ears after he exits.
*
Much later that nice, Loki visits him again. He leans against the wall and slides down until he's curled into a surly-looking ball in the corner of the room. Clint lets Loki sit in silence for a few minutes until he looks up from the corner. His eyes look even more sunken in and lamplike than when he landed at the S.H.I.E.L.D. base and his cackle sounds almost delirious.
"I have no idea what I'm doing. I'm just making it all up as we go. That's the fun part." Loki smiles and a tiny part of Clint's brain thinks he looks like a psychotic clown. "The less fun part is pleasing the clients."
"They're not happy?"
"Oh, you know how bosses are. Always want things done quickly. Planning and precision mean nothing to him. And the really terrifying thing is that I can't refuse them. I can't. A simple 'no' wouldn't be met with a frown or a disappointed glare. My parents have given me thousands of those. 'No' here would mean..." Loki rests his fist over his mouth.
"Game over," Clint finishs. "Same here" can't force its way to his mouth.
"Exactly. When I met them, I had assumed this arrangement would work like patronage: they admired my work and wanted to support it and I'd give them a few small tidbits every once in a while, but I would be largely independent. Evidently, I misread the fine print, as your people say. We agree that this realm is fit for subjugation, but stakes are not mine. They are not where I would put them."
Clint walks over next Loki and leans against the wall, staring down at the man he should probably call 'Master.' "Patronage? Isn't that a Renaissance thing? I don't where your bosses are from, but you sound more like a Mafia hitman or an outsourced telemarketer. No offense, but you're not so special as they want you to think. At least not to them."
Loki stands up straight and gazes almost kindly at Clint. "You are more right than I would like you to be, Clint. That is your name, isn't it?"
"Yes, sir."
Loki rests his hand on Clint's shoulder. "You having an oddly calming presence. We must do this again."
The blueness inside forces Clint's head to nod.
*
Loki comes back. Loki keeps coming back whenever he has a free moments in between checking things off his evil overlord list (probably filled with stuff like "Make all of Mount Rushmore look like me" and "turn that Mexican crater into a caricature of my dad") or whatever he does when he isn't ordering Clint and the other minions around. He pours out his "woes" and swears Clint to secrecy. Apparently, most of his issues go back to being adopted and not told about it until recently, which would make Clint roll his eyes if it weren't for the mini-Loki glaring in his head, preventing any rebellious moves. He feels a little bad for Loki when he starts talking about his plans---the plans that aren't really his anymore---and his mysterious anonymous bosses. Those are the moments when his skin looks palest, his hair greasiest, his armor shabbiest, and he really appears sort of lost.
"Do you have any siblings, Clint?" Loki asks, sprawling out on the floor near the weapons.
Clint glances at him and shrugs. Then he focuses on changes his bow's strings.
"I have one. An older brother. Ever the preferred child, despite my parents' claims. Older, stronger, more charismatic..."
The blue inside Clint surges up into his mind. "Big, blond, and beautiful. Hammer fetish. Landed in New Mexico a little while back."
"Yes, that's definitely him."
He counts up the arrows. "We crossed paths for a little bit. They wanted me to take him out, until they didn't."
"It would take more than one of your arrows to bring him down. He's a fighter, my brother. He most likely came out of the womb prepared for battle, cape and all. He's not the cleverest, but his charm never fails to save him. It's a natural gift of his: people love him the moment they meet him. He's never had to cultivate anything. He's simply blessed."
Clint looks back to see Loki's feet stuck up in the air and his face twisted into an annoyed smirk. "And you hate his guts for it."
"Yes, I certainly...I envy him. Do you know how many hours of practice a day it takes to master spell-casting? Compared to learning to throw a hammer in the right direction? He simply doesn't apply himself and yet he's lauded for his mere existence!" The soles of Loki's feet slam onto the wall. "But I cannot hate him. I can hate how he's favored, but not him. As I said, he's very charming, oafish though he may be. And by the time I fell, he had finally started to turn into a good man." Loki turns his head so Clint can only see long spines of greasy black hair. "I can respect that, even if I cannot follow. But if I cannot be a good man, then I shall be a great one. Even he could appreciate that, though he would tell me I was silly."
"Uh, couldn't you just tell him all of this in person? You're not doin' much good telling me."
"No. I have taken steps down certain paths that would most certainly disappoint him. It is also best to keep my distance in case I anger certain parties. I would protect him from any threat, if only to keep him for myself."
Clint picks up his bow. "Kinda like how the Joker thinks he's the only one who's allowed to kill Batman?"
Loki sticks his feet up in the air again and stares at Clint. "I have no idea who those men are. Warriors of little consequence, I assume."
Clint just shrugs again. Not worth the argument.
Loki forces himself up and straightens his armor. "I am very lucky to have you, Clint."
Loki crosses over to where Clint stands, slips two fingers under Clint's chin, tilting his head upward, and kisses him. The blueness urges Clint to lean into it, so he does, even as another, more distant part of him screams that he should run away. It's a pretty good kiss, as far as these things go. And when Loki pulls back, half of Clint is relieved, and the other half (which isn't entirely blue) isn't sure he should have let go.
*
Loki manages to cram a few more confessionals into the time they have left before Natasha kicks the blue out of Clint. He knows about Loki really looks like and at least half of his childhood exploits (including one particularly embarassing incident involving him, Thor, pudding, and a glass-and-gold vase) and way too many things he probably shouldn't know about. Clint can't like the guy, but he can at least...appreciate him. Loki's not just Evil Overlord Wannabe #426; he's a son, a brother, a lonely idiot who's made bad choices. And Clint has to respect someone who can catch one of his arrows.
Clint tries to forget. He wants to forget. But his dreams fill up with Frost Giants and pudding and jealous little boys in capes fighting over a crown. Even though the blueness is gone, something pushes him forward, whispers that he needs to find Thor.
He finally does find the thunder god and he grabs Thor's arm roughly.
"What do you need, Barton?" Thor's been suspicious of him, and Clint doesn't blame him. He's surprised anyone trusts him now.
"You need to talk to your brother," Clint says quickly.
"Why?"
"Because...because he misses you. He babbled to me the whole time I was brainwashed. Told me everything."
Thor still eyes him suspiciously. "You do know my brother loves tricks?"
"Yeah, I do---he told me all about that. He even told me about his favorite pranks. Oh, and I know about the vase and the pudding."
Horror spreads across Thor's face.
"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone. It's pretty hilarious, though. But Loki still looks up to you---you're his big brother and all. So could you just say something to him? Good or bad, that's your call. Just say something." Clint spies the metal gag in Thor's right hand. "And you should probably do it before you put that thing on him."
"I have tried speaking to him before."
"Alright, but now he can't slam you in the face with his spear, so this looks like a pretty nice opportunity to say your piece."
Thor's expression turns thoughtful. "You have a point."
"'Course I do."
*
Clint waits outside Loki's holding cell until he sees Thor exit. He glances both ways down the corridor and steps inside.
Loki's head snaps up when Clint enters. The light from the hallways glints off the gag.
"Hi," Clint begins. He glances around the bare cell. "There are worse places they could've stuck you in. Maybe they like you. Just a little bit. I don't know if I like you. I can't like you. But I understand you. I'm not sure I want to, but I do. Maybe I don't want to get you 'cause I don't want to see you as a person, after all you did. But I do see you like that. Now I gotta wonder if every one of my targets was somebody's lonely little brother. I don't know how I feel about you and I don't know if I'm ever gonna figure it out. I just thought I should say goodbye."
Clint presses his lips against the cold gag and holds them there. Loki's bound hands reach up and his fingers brush against Clint's chin and neck and cheeks. Clint wraps his fingers around Loki's and sets his cuffed hands back down.
"I got a feeling I'll see you again," Clint says before he shuts the door behind him.
As he leaves, the only thought he can make sense of is that that is the weirdest kiss he has ever been a part of. And he doesn't even mind it.