Fanfiction: Never Gonna Leave This Bed (The Avengers)
Title: "Never Gonna Leave This Bed"
or: "Never is fed up with all the rape/non-con this pairing is put through" >_<
Status: OneShot; complete
Fandom: The Avengers (Movie)
Characters: Clint Barton, Loki
Disclaimer: The Avengers belong to Marvel.
Rating: K
Genre: AU, post-movie, fluff, cuddling, domestic-happiness
Warnings: unbeta'ed
Summary: Wherein it's not easy to leave the bed when Loki doesn't want to let go and Clint's protest can't be taken seriously anyway.
Note: This takes place roughly a year after " The Path I'll Follow", which is a sequel to " Keep To The Left", and has a little extra called " The King of Kings"
AN: For silberstreif, I hope it didn't turn out too sickly sweet :)
Never Gonna Leave This Bed
The shadows within the cave shifted. Clint's eyes snapped open as soon as the darkness was pierced by the first rays of sunlight; the glowing moss at the walls tinted it soft-green around the edges.
He blinked up at the ceiling but his eyes quickly shifted to the side to avoid the glare from the skylight. His body under the blanket followed in that direction and he surveyed his surroundings more alert, just in case. It was an ingrained habit to suspect danger lurking in every corner thanks to S.H.I.E.L.D's training, and he couldn't shake it off, no matter how much trust Clint placed in Loki's security measures. He relaxed a bit when he saw that nothing had changed, that he had woken up to the same anachronistic view he had fallen asleep to.
The little stream was murmuring where it flowed through the state-of-the-art kitchen, a gleaming contraption full of cooking utensils Clint had never seen before. To operate the coffee machine with its bazillion buttons and settings alone one needed at least a doctorate. - Other people went glamping, Loki pulled a whole cave out of nowhere to set up wherever they happened to stay.
Lodging with the mage never got dull, no matter the realm.
Clint had long since given up on wondering where the hell the electricity and pay TV came from or all the supplies they never bought, or how come that Loki could cook like a chef with a Micheline star.
(To the latter mystery Loki had once cheerfully pointed out that there was not much of a difference between boiling eyeballs and other creepy stuff for his alchemy and following a haute cuisine recipe. - Clint had smashed the hard caramel topping of his crème brûlee in response and decided to keep his mouth shut and a close eye on certain ingredients.)
Between crazy treasure hunts, death chases with Asgardian pursuers and (more or less) harmless schemes that kept Nick Fury's blood pressure high (Thor for one looked insanely happy though; it was a bit disturbing), Clint's life had become awfully domestic.
The term “wild marriage” had taken on a whole new meaning - and Clint loved it.
Unable to detect any kind of danger in the brightening twilight of the cave Clint relaxed deeper into the warmth of the bed and winced when the movement elicited a scattered pattern of pain all over his body. Loki always healed anything serious, of course, but he was neither a mother hen nor overprotective and Clint preferred it that way. He had earned every single scrape and bruise; he didn't need to be coddled.
A green fur blocked his view to the left and Clint tucked it away. A wild mess of dark hair peeked out between two pillows and a wrapping of blankets. Clint automatically measured his breaths and kept himself still in the hope of preserving the peaceful state of things.
It was very rare for Clint to wake up and find Loki still in bed with him since the Asgardian needed far less sleep and was full to bursting with restless energy. Usually, he would sit in his armchair, with books stacked around him like a fortress' walls, studying something or other.
Sadly, now that Clint was awake, his consciousness wouldn't let him laze around and waste precious time that could be put to a more productive use. He scooted back to the edge of the bed, careful not to get tangled up in various sheets, furs and blankets.
Clint had just stood up and turned, when cool fingers grabbed his wrist in an iron grip. He could feel the burn of green eyes traveling all over his naked body with keen interest.
“Hmm, what a nice view so early in the morning,” Loki commented. His voice was a soft lascivious purr, the kind that got ridiculous very fast if one couldn't pull it off properly, needless to say, the God of Lies was a master and then some; he chuckled when Clint couldn't suppress a shiver. “I'm keeping you.”
And I you, Clint thought, but all he said was, “Training. Let me go.”
He tugged, knowing full well that he was dependent on Loki's good will to get free. Once that would have disturbed him, now it was just another fact, just like that the god would let him go if Clint got serious and insisted.
“Hmmm - no.” Loki pulled, using just enough force to make his point and Clint gave in, letting himself fall back down on the bed.
Just a second later he found himself surrounded by blankets and a cage of milky arms and legs. Lying spooned like this they fit together, their differences in height and stature meeting half-way in a curious sort of balance.
It was warm, soft and gentle all around and the sheets smelled like rain in a forest and the unforgiving sting of ice. Like Loki, and that made it as close to perfect as Clint would ever get.
“And I you,” the mage answered, reading him like always.
Soft lips brushed the nape of his neck, each exhale raising goosebumps while Loki's hands traced idly down Clint's ribs and further, careful to avoid the spot above his hip, the one that made his muscles quiver involuntarily.
“I can't neglect my training. I will get rusty,” Clint muttered.
It was only a token protest; his body felt too heavy and sated to get up now and start with his regimen. There was no standing up against the mage's petting and caressing that loosened muscles and seeped into his core like liquid contentment.
“One day without training does hardly count,” Loki retorted easily, his hands settling on Clint's flat stomach. “Should I start to feel neglected, on the other hand... Just imagine the consequences...”
Clint scowled, feeling the smug stretch of lips against his throat; it made him shift and twist to get closer.
“Right, cuddling to preserve world peace. Don't know why no one thought of that one before.”
“Easy, am I not?”
Clint snorted, turning in the arms encircling him and catching green eyes with his stern blue ones, “More like high-maintenance.”
Before Loki could launch into his indignant protest and start a battle of wits that would be amusing, yet destroy the mood, Clint used his favorite method to shut him up. Loki relaxed into the chaste press of their lips, making him work for more, all gentle nips and licks until finally a tongue flicked out to meet Clint's. From there it was easy to chase it, to taste the coolness of Loki's mouth and the slight burn of raw magic.
They finally separated because Clint, for all of Idun's golden apple, had not overcome his need to breathe. That didn't stop him from catching Loki's lower lip between his teeth for a parting tug, though.
Sometime after the kiss and even more cuddling, Clint must have fallen asleep. He woke to the smell of pancakes and bitter coffee, and the feeling of a weight dipping down the mattress right beside him.
Yeah, Clint could do domestic, with breakfast in bed and lazy Sundays, and the kids dropping in to visit their dad every odd week; stalking shyly around 'uncle' Clint like any sweet young girl would or roughhousing with him, all claws and finger-long teeth.
The next kiss tasted of honey and all the things in his life he would fight to protect.
And Loki smiled, his silence the most powerful word of all.
The End
AN: The term "wild marriage" is a literal translation of the German term "wilde Ehe"; the official one would have been 'cohabitation/concubinage/common law marriage' - for various reasons (like Clint putting me out of my misery with a well aimed arrow had I dared to use the second one °-°") I didn't pick one of the three...
or: "Never is fed up with all the rape/non-con this pairing is put through" >_<
Status: OneShot; complete
Fandom: The Avengers (Movie)
Characters: Clint Barton, Loki
Disclaimer: The Avengers belong to Marvel.
Rating: K
Genre: AU, post-movie, fluff, cuddling, domestic-happiness
Warnings: unbeta'ed
Summary: Wherein it's not easy to leave the bed when Loki doesn't want to let go and Clint's protest can't be taken seriously anyway.
Note: This takes place roughly a year after " The Path I'll Follow", which is a sequel to " Keep To The Left", and has a little extra called " The King of Kings"
AN: For silberstreif, I hope it didn't turn out too sickly sweet :)
Never Gonna Leave This Bed
The shadows within the cave shifted. Clint's eyes snapped open as soon as the darkness was pierced by the first rays of sunlight; the glowing moss at the walls tinted it soft-green around the edges.
He blinked up at the ceiling but his eyes quickly shifted to the side to avoid the glare from the skylight. His body under the blanket followed in that direction and he surveyed his surroundings more alert, just in case. It was an ingrained habit to suspect danger lurking in every corner thanks to S.H.I.E.L.D's training, and he couldn't shake it off, no matter how much trust Clint placed in Loki's security measures. He relaxed a bit when he saw that nothing had changed, that he had woken up to the same anachronistic view he had fallen asleep to.
The little stream was murmuring where it flowed through the state-of-the-art kitchen, a gleaming contraption full of cooking utensils Clint had never seen before. To operate the coffee machine with its bazillion buttons and settings alone one needed at least a doctorate. - Other people went glamping, Loki pulled a whole cave out of nowhere to set up wherever they happened to stay.
Lodging with the mage never got dull, no matter the realm.
Clint had long since given up on wondering where the hell the electricity and pay TV came from or all the supplies they never bought, or how come that Loki could cook like a chef with a Micheline star.
(To the latter mystery Loki had once cheerfully pointed out that there was not much of a difference between boiling eyeballs and other creepy stuff for his alchemy and following a haute cuisine recipe. - Clint had smashed the hard caramel topping of his crème brûlee in response and decided to keep his mouth shut and a close eye on certain ingredients.)
Between crazy treasure hunts, death chases with Asgardian pursuers and (more or less) harmless schemes that kept Nick Fury's blood pressure high (Thor for one looked insanely happy though; it was a bit disturbing), Clint's life had become awfully domestic.
The term “wild marriage” had taken on a whole new meaning - and Clint loved it.
Unable to detect any kind of danger in the brightening twilight of the cave Clint relaxed deeper into the warmth of the bed and winced when the movement elicited a scattered pattern of pain all over his body. Loki always healed anything serious, of course, but he was neither a mother hen nor overprotective and Clint preferred it that way. He had earned every single scrape and bruise; he didn't need to be coddled.
A green fur blocked his view to the left and Clint tucked it away. A wild mess of dark hair peeked out between two pillows and a wrapping of blankets. Clint automatically measured his breaths and kept himself still in the hope of preserving the peaceful state of things.
It was very rare for Clint to wake up and find Loki still in bed with him since the Asgardian needed far less sleep and was full to bursting with restless energy. Usually, he would sit in his armchair, with books stacked around him like a fortress' walls, studying something or other.
Sadly, now that Clint was awake, his consciousness wouldn't let him laze around and waste precious time that could be put to a more productive use. He scooted back to the edge of the bed, careful not to get tangled up in various sheets, furs and blankets.
Clint had just stood up and turned, when cool fingers grabbed his wrist in an iron grip. He could feel the burn of green eyes traveling all over his naked body with keen interest.
“Hmm, what a nice view so early in the morning,” Loki commented. His voice was a soft lascivious purr, the kind that got ridiculous very fast if one couldn't pull it off properly, needless to say, the God of Lies was a master and then some; he chuckled when Clint couldn't suppress a shiver. “I'm keeping you.”
And I you, Clint thought, but all he said was, “Training. Let me go.”
He tugged, knowing full well that he was dependent on Loki's good will to get free. Once that would have disturbed him, now it was just another fact, just like that the god would let him go if Clint got serious and insisted.
“Hmmm - no.” Loki pulled, using just enough force to make his point and Clint gave in, letting himself fall back down on the bed.
Just a second later he found himself surrounded by blankets and a cage of milky arms and legs. Lying spooned like this they fit together, their differences in height and stature meeting half-way in a curious sort of balance.
It was warm, soft and gentle all around and the sheets smelled like rain in a forest and the unforgiving sting of ice. Like Loki, and that made it as close to perfect as Clint would ever get.
“And I you,” the mage answered, reading him like always.
Soft lips brushed the nape of his neck, each exhale raising goosebumps while Loki's hands traced idly down Clint's ribs and further, careful to avoid the spot above his hip, the one that made his muscles quiver involuntarily.
“I can't neglect my training. I will get rusty,” Clint muttered.
It was only a token protest; his body felt too heavy and sated to get up now and start with his regimen. There was no standing up against the mage's petting and caressing that loosened muscles and seeped into his core like liquid contentment.
“One day without training does hardly count,” Loki retorted easily, his hands settling on Clint's flat stomach. “Should I start to feel neglected, on the other hand... Just imagine the consequences...”
Clint scowled, feeling the smug stretch of lips against his throat; it made him shift and twist to get closer.
“Right, cuddling to preserve world peace. Don't know why no one thought of that one before.”
“Easy, am I not?”
Clint snorted, turning in the arms encircling him and catching green eyes with his stern blue ones, “More like high-maintenance.”
Before Loki could launch into his indignant protest and start a battle of wits that would be amusing, yet destroy the mood, Clint used his favorite method to shut him up. Loki relaxed into the chaste press of their lips, making him work for more, all gentle nips and licks until finally a tongue flicked out to meet Clint's. From there it was easy to chase it, to taste the coolness of Loki's mouth and the slight burn of raw magic.
They finally separated because Clint, for all of Idun's golden apple, had not overcome his need to breathe. That didn't stop him from catching Loki's lower lip between his teeth for a parting tug, though.
Sometime after the kiss and even more cuddling, Clint must have fallen asleep. He woke to the smell of pancakes and bitter coffee, and the feeling of a weight dipping down the mattress right beside him.
Yeah, Clint could do domestic, with breakfast in bed and lazy Sundays, and the kids dropping in to visit their dad every odd week; stalking shyly around 'uncle' Clint like any sweet young girl would or roughhousing with him, all claws and finger-long teeth.
The next kiss tasted of honey and all the things in his life he would fight to protect.
And Loki smiled, his silence the most powerful word of all.
The End
AN: The term "wild marriage" is a literal translation of the German term "wilde Ehe"; the official one would have been 'cohabitation/concubinage/common law marriage' - for various reasons (like Clint putting me out of my misery with a well aimed arrow had I dared to use the second one °-°") I didn't pick one of the three...