FrostHawk Drabbles
Title: FrostHawk Drabbles
Author: Nakimochiku
Fandom: Avengers
Pairing: Loki/Clint Barton
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: lotsa mind control?
Summary: just a collection of about 10-20 drabbles written over the summer.
FrostHawk: Tattoo
"I find this pleasing." Loki murmured, tracing his tongue along the black ink swirls curving around the jutting bone of Clint's hip.
"Yeah?" The archer gasped out, leg muscles clenching as he grit his teeth, trying to follow Loki's tongue, aiming for more direct stimulation. But Loki continued to fastidiously map each trail of ink, leaving the skin sparking and moist. Clint panted, clenched his eyes shut.
"My noble hawk." Loki heralded regally. He was smirking, Clint could hear it. "The next tattoo you get will be a reminder of me."
"Yes sir." Was all Clint could choke out.
FrostHawk: Victory
"What is our goal?" Loki asked, circling Clint like a wolf stalked deer, eyes just as hungry and predatory.
"Victory." Clint answered promptly, hands held behind his back, chin up, shoulders down, chest out. Military, right to his bones. Loki nodded with a pleased sound.
"And how shall we achieve this goal?" He stopped to stand directly in front of Clint.
"Ruthlessness." Clint answered again.
FrostHawk: Rainforest
"Our travels take us everywhere, it seems." Loki murmured lowly, flicking aside a colourful frog that had hopped into the mud path before him with the toe of his boot.
"Just a bit farther sir." Clint replied as soothingly as he could. Loki snatched his hand away from a branch where he hadn't seen an immense spider hanging, and smiled grimly at him.
"Careful, my little bird." Loki said warningly, pulling him into the presumably safe shade of a leafy tree. His skin was cool, where his palm touched the damp skin of Clint's arm, welcome in the balmy heat of the tropical weather.
"Sir." Clint said in response. Whatever he was going to say was lost when the sky far above the canopy of green leaves and hanging vines and colourful flowers split open, and rain poured down like someone had over turned a bucket.
Loki leaned further back against the tree, batting a snake away easily, and pulled Clint with him, holding him to his chest. "We'll rest here until the rain stops." He smiled eagerly then. "Wouldn't want to ruffle my little bird's feathers, would I?"
"No sir." Clint answered breathlessly, and let his sweaty forehead rest in the cool place Loki's throat provided.
FrostHawk: Stars
Clint curled in his perch above the warehouse Loki had made home, gazing at the sky. He stiffened at the flicker of movement in the corner of his eye, holding his bow ready in his lap, arrow nocked and drawstring tight.
"Do you pull weapons on your master?" Came Loki's teasing voice by his ear, and it was everything he had not to whip around and put an arrow through his eye.
"Can't be too careful, Sir." Clint replies stiffly, and doesn't bother to tell Loki that he really shouldn't sneak up on him, because the god does it merely to play. Instead, he glances at Loki as he settles in the perch beside him, gazing at the sky. "You should be resting, Sir." He says gently, because if he's being frank, Loki looks like shit and hasn't been getting sleep.
"I am resting." The god snips back. His eyes fix somewhere on the night sky, and he points. "There. That is Asgard." Clint follows the line of his finger.
"A little to the left is Jotunheim, my birth place." Clint listens to Loki's low voice as he explains the stars as seen from Asgard, and if he closes his eyes and dozes, Loki doesn't mention it.
FrostHawk: Eclipse
"Hurry please, Clint." Loki urged softly, his eyes flashing in a way that promised death if Loki missed whatever spectacle he was looking forward to. Clint all but scurried to his side, and barely had time to really ground himself before Loki was flying.
"Can I ask what all the fuss is about, Sir?" Clint asked breathlessly into the side of Loki's neck. He hated flying with Loki. He hated having to depend on the god, to trust him.
"An eclipse, my hawk. Such is the perfect time to collect certain ingredients that are at their prime this night." Loki landed with a dull thump. Clint looked about them, and found a tree to scamper into, bow and nocked arrow resting across his lap. Far above, a black disk began to move across the moon as Loki began his work.
Clint didn't bother explain to the god that was something completely poetic about him being out on a night such as this.
FrostHawk: Awkward
"Sir if I could just --" Clint paused, his mouth slightly agape as his eyes wandered over Loki's pale, naked form. The god raised a single eyebrow at him, hardly cowed by his nudity. "Ah--" Clint managed pitifully, and didn't know if he should turn around, go ahead and ask his question, or flee as fast as his legs could take him.
"Well? Did you have news for me or not?" Even his tone was admonishing, and Clint was surprise that a flush rose to his cheeks, bit his lip, and could only stare as Loki slid into undergarments pulling a tunic down, his gauntlets following. "Clint."
"Yes, sir, ah--" he sighed, and turned away at last, feeling flustered and embarrassed and hilariously awkward as his superior dressed erotically slow.
"Never mind." And he made his escape, leaving Loki smirking deviously behind.
FrostHawk: Escape
"I'm not under your control any more, you lunatic!" Clint growled. He didn't have his arrows, but hit fist closed around a bowie knife, and knew his aim was just as good with it.
"No?" Loki smiled benignly, the same smile that used to make him go weak at the knees. Clint scowled instead. "Are you telling me then, that if I shove you against this wall, and kiss you, you will not moan?" The god took a measured step forward and smiled smugly when Clint took a hasty step back.
"If I bite that sensitive spot at your jaw, call you my hawk, you will not wrap your legs around me, as before?"
"I'm not your whore." Clint bit out, hands going clammy around the handle of the bowie knife. Loki chuckled softly.
"No." He allowed with a gracious dip of his head, bottomless green eyes sparking. "You're my little bird." He took another step forward, close enough to grab him.
"You're my pet, and I never said you could leave." Clint swallowed thickly, and imagined he look like a terrified child lost in the dark as he stared up at the god. Loki smiled, wrapped his deft fingers around Clint's wrist and squeezed until the knife he'd uselessly brandished fell from his grip.
"Don't--" Clint started weakly, before being cut off by a quick, rough kiss.
"Did you honestly think you could escape me?"
FrostHawk: Sleeping
Loki sleeps rarely, as though he hates to be unaware, vulnerable, unprotected. Clint imagines that's the reason the place Loki chooses to rest is cleverly hidden from the others under his thrall.
Except for Clint. The archer knows where Loki sleeps, knows when he will be weakest, keeps the others away from him. Unbeknownst to the god. He stands over him, arrow nocked and bowstring taut, watches him as he sleeps. Watches his face move with his dreams, watches his eyes flutter and his mouth move. Sometimes, if Loki appears to be having a nightmare, he strokes his hair and murmurs soothing things.
The god would never let him do this, were he awake.
So Clint protects him, watches him. And when Loki shows the first signs of waking, Clint vanishes, as though he never was.
FrostHawk: Fetish
Clint's fingers are calloused, short and slim. They're worn from years of work, blisters hardened from endless, endless practice.
When Loki swipes his tongue over the pads on his fingers, Clint blushes. When he nips the thin webbing between his fingers, he squeaks delightfully, clenches his eyes shut, and grunts out "sir." In a way that supposed to be admonishing. But Loki's never been admonished in his life, and he certainly isn't going to start with this tiny mortal who bites his lip as a groan rumbles in his chest when Loki takes his fingers into his mouth.
"Sensitive?" He asks, and smiles as irritation and embarrassment crosses Clint's face.
"Sir." Clint replies, and doesn't try to explain his odd little human fetishes. Loki prefers to find out on his own.
FrostHawk: Fashion
"Do I look presentable?" Loki asks as he emerges from behind a partition wall, arms spread to allow for an appraisal of the full affect. Clint feels his mouth go dry. He doesn't know much about clothes. He avoids formal wear like the plague, and shirts don't last all that long for him anyway.
But Loki's suit accents all of what Clint believes are his finest features. His mile long legs, his milk white skin, his glinting green eyes that, at the moment, have a knowing twinkle in them as Clint opens his mouth, closes it again for fear of gibberish coming out, and nods fervently.
"You look...." Stunning, breath taking, down right fuckable. "Quite presentable, Sir." Loki gives him a bemused little smirk, and chuckles softly. That chuckle makes Clint go weak at the knees.
"Thank you, little bird."
Author: Nakimochiku
Fandom: Avengers
Pairing: Loki/Clint Barton
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: lotsa mind control?
Summary: just a collection of about 10-20 drabbles written over the summer.
FrostHawk: Tattoo
"I find this pleasing." Loki murmured, tracing his tongue along the black ink swirls curving around the jutting bone of Clint's hip.
"Yeah?" The archer gasped out, leg muscles clenching as he grit his teeth, trying to follow Loki's tongue, aiming for more direct stimulation. But Loki continued to fastidiously map each trail of ink, leaving the skin sparking and moist. Clint panted, clenched his eyes shut.
"My noble hawk." Loki heralded regally. He was smirking, Clint could hear it. "The next tattoo you get will be a reminder of me."
"Yes sir." Was all Clint could choke out.
FrostHawk: Victory
"What is our goal?" Loki asked, circling Clint like a wolf stalked deer, eyes just as hungry and predatory.
"Victory." Clint answered promptly, hands held behind his back, chin up, shoulders down, chest out. Military, right to his bones. Loki nodded with a pleased sound.
"And how shall we achieve this goal?" He stopped to stand directly in front of Clint.
"Ruthlessness." Clint answered again.
FrostHawk: Rainforest
"Our travels take us everywhere, it seems." Loki murmured lowly, flicking aside a colourful frog that had hopped into the mud path before him with the toe of his boot.
"Just a bit farther sir." Clint replied as soothingly as he could. Loki snatched his hand away from a branch where he hadn't seen an immense spider hanging, and smiled grimly at him.
"Careful, my little bird." Loki said warningly, pulling him into the presumably safe shade of a leafy tree. His skin was cool, where his palm touched the damp skin of Clint's arm, welcome in the balmy heat of the tropical weather.
"Sir." Clint said in response. Whatever he was going to say was lost when the sky far above the canopy of green leaves and hanging vines and colourful flowers split open, and rain poured down like someone had over turned a bucket.
Loki leaned further back against the tree, batting a snake away easily, and pulled Clint with him, holding him to his chest. "We'll rest here until the rain stops." He smiled eagerly then. "Wouldn't want to ruffle my little bird's feathers, would I?"
"No sir." Clint answered breathlessly, and let his sweaty forehead rest in the cool place Loki's throat provided.
FrostHawk: Stars
Clint curled in his perch above the warehouse Loki had made home, gazing at the sky. He stiffened at the flicker of movement in the corner of his eye, holding his bow ready in his lap, arrow nocked and drawstring tight.
"Do you pull weapons on your master?" Came Loki's teasing voice by his ear, and it was everything he had not to whip around and put an arrow through his eye.
"Can't be too careful, Sir." Clint replies stiffly, and doesn't bother to tell Loki that he really shouldn't sneak up on him, because the god does it merely to play. Instead, he glances at Loki as he settles in the perch beside him, gazing at the sky. "You should be resting, Sir." He says gently, because if he's being frank, Loki looks like shit and hasn't been getting sleep.
"I am resting." The god snips back. His eyes fix somewhere on the night sky, and he points. "There. That is Asgard." Clint follows the line of his finger.
"A little to the left is Jotunheim, my birth place." Clint listens to Loki's low voice as he explains the stars as seen from Asgard, and if he closes his eyes and dozes, Loki doesn't mention it.
FrostHawk: Eclipse
"Hurry please, Clint." Loki urged softly, his eyes flashing in a way that promised death if Loki missed whatever spectacle he was looking forward to. Clint all but scurried to his side, and barely had time to really ground himself before Loki was flying.
"Can I ask what all the fuss is about, Sir?" Clint asked breathlessly into the side of Loki's neck. He hated flying with Loki. He hated having to depend on the god, to trust him.
"An eclipse, my hawk. Such is the perfect time to collect certain ingredients that are at their prime this night." Loki landed with a dull thump. Clint looked about them, and found a tree to scamper into, bow and nocked arrow resting across his lap. Far above, a black disk began to move across the moon as Loki began his work.
Clint didn't bother explain to the god that was something completely poetic about him being out on a night such as this.
FrostHawk: Awkward
"Sir if I could just --" Clint paused, his mouth slightly agape as his eyes wandered over Loki's pale, naked form. The god raised a single eyebrow at him, hardly cowed by his nudity. "Ah--" Clint managed pitifully, and didn't know if he should turn around, go ahead and ask his question, or flee as fast as his legs could take him.
"Well? Did you have news for me or not?" Even his tone was admonishing, and Clint was surprise that a flush rose to his cheeks, bit his lip, and could only stare as Loki slid into undergarments pulling a tunic down, his gauntlets following. "Clint."
"Yes, sir, ah--" he sighed, and turned away at last, feeling flustered and embarrassed and hilariously awkward as his superior dressed erotically slow.
"Never mind." And he made his escape, leaving Loki smirking deviously behind.
FrostHawk: Escape
"I'm not under your control any more, you lunatic!" Clint growled. He didn't have his arrows, but hit fist closed around a bowie knife, and knew his aim was just as good with it.
"No?" Loki smiled benignly, the same smile that used to make him go weak at the knees. Clint scowled instead. "Are you telling me then, that if I shove you against this wall, and kiss you, you will not moan?" The god took a measured step forward and smiled smugly when Clint took a hasty step back.
"If I bite that sensitive spot at your jaw, call you my hawk, you will not wrap your legs around me, as before?"
"I'm not your whore." Clint bit out, hands going clammy around the handle of the bowie knife. Loki chuckled softly.
"No." He allowed with a gracious dip of his head, bottomless green eyes sparking. "You're my little bird." He took another step forward, close enough to grab him.
"You're my pet, and I never said you could leave." Clint swallowed thickly, and imagined he look like a terrified child lost in the dark as he stared up at the god. Loki smiled, wrapped his deft fingers around Clint's wrist and squeezed until the knife he'd uselessly brandished fell from his grip.
"Don't--" Clint started weakly, before being cut off by a quick, rough kiss.
"Did you honestly think you could escape me?"
FrostHawk: Sleeping
Loki sleeps rarely, as though he hates to be unaware, vulnerable, unprotected. Clint imagines that's the reason the place Loki chooses to rest is cleverly hidden from the others under his thrall.
Except for Clint. The archer knows where Loki sleeps, knows when he will be weakest, keeps the others away from him. Unbeknownst to the god. He stands over him, arrow nocked and bowstring taut, watches him as he sleeps. Watches his face move with his dreams, watches his eyes flutter and his mouth move. Sometimes, if Loki appears to be having a nightmare, he strokes his hair and murmurs soothing things.
The god would never let him do this, were he awake.
So Clint protects him, watches him. And when Loki shows the first signs of waking, Clint vanishes, as though he never was.
FrostHawk: Fetish
Clint's fingers are calloused, short and slim. They're worn from years of work, blisters hardened from endless, endless practice.
When Loki swipes his tongue over the pads on his fingers, Clint blushes. When he nips the thin webbing between his fingers, he squeaks delightfully, clenches his eyes shut, and grunts out "sir." In a way that supposed to be admonishing. But Loki's never been admonished in his life, and he certainly isn't going to start with this tiny mortal who bites his lip as a groan rumbles in his chest when Loki takes his fingers into his mouth.
"Sensitive?" He asks, and smiles as irritation and embarrassment crosses Clint's face.
"Sir." Clint replies, and doesn't try to explain his odd little human fetishes. Loki prefers to find out on his own.
FrostHawk: Fashion
"Do I look presentable?" Loki asks as he emerges from behind a partition wall, arms spread to allow for an appraisal of the full affect. Clint feels his mouth go dry. He doesn't know much about clothes. He avoids formal wear like the plague, and shirts don't last all that long for him anyway.
But Loki's suit accents all of what Clint believes are his finest features. His mile long legs, his milk white skin, his glinting green eyes that, at the moment, have a knowing twinkle in them as Clint opens his mouth, closes it again for fear of gibberish coming out, and nods fervently.
"You look...." Stunning, breath taking, down right fuckable. "Quite presentable, Sir." Loki gives him a bemused little smirk, and chuckles softly. That chuckle makes Clint go weak at the knees.
"Thank you, little bird."