Chapter 7
Loki lay on his side in the dark, deliciously warm and comfortable for the first time since his defeat. On top of that, he felt safe and wanted for the first time since – actually, he couldn’t remember the last time. It was a delusion, of course, or at least ephemeral, but at this precise moment it was how he felt.
Captain Rogers’ arm lay heavily over Loki’s waist, and the mortal’s heat and solidity pressed up behind him as if all was right in the world and Loki’s scheme had worked.
But it hadn’t.
The Captain had rejected his offer.
And yet he continued to provide for and protect Loki.
It made no sense. And so Loki lay awake, pondering and plotting.
He knew that the Captain was, as Midgardians termed it, “gay.” He had sat in on several of Captain Rogers’ sessions with the crone, and had heard all about how Rogers knew his own preferences, and always had, but had been afraid to act on them in the time that he came from, due to the all-pervasive “homophobia,” and the fact that the man he wanted to be with was “straight.”
Loki also knew that Rogers desired him (though Rogers had never mentioned it to the Levitt), because it would have been impossible for any inhabitant of the Tower to not know that. The Captain watched video footage of Loki with a noticeable avidity, he drew portraits of him endlessly, he asked Thor about him whenever the two were alone together, he gave orders to the other Avengers regarding Loki which kept Loki safe and unmolested. And ever since Loki had come here in the flesh, Rogers’ desire had been even more obvious, almost palpable, in the way he kept near Loki, touched him unnecessarily, shifted his own body between Loki and any threat, gave him things, anticipated his needs, spoke to him gently. But above all, it was clear from the way that the mortal stared, just stared, as if Loki were something he could drink in with his eyes.
It had been centuries since Loki had met someone who so plainly desired him, and to such a degree. So why had the cross-grained fool rejected him? And, having rejected him, why was he here, tenderly holding Loki in the night?
It was enough to make a person run mad, trying to understand these infuriating hero-types. In fact, the sheer nonsensicality of it had actually caused a serious crack in Loki’s mask, for a moment there in the bathing chamber. Steve had said “no,” and Loki had felt for a few heartbeats almost as he had under the influence of the scepter – disjointed, deceived by his own brain, upside-down and falling uncontrollably. He knew that Rogers wanted him, and yet Rogers was utterly sincere in his denial. So where was the mistake? Were Loki’s own thoughts and memories and senses leading him astray again, as they had before?
Even now, Loki’s mind held two distinct memories of how he had fallen from the Bifrost; Thor’s face, horrified above him, as Loki let go – and Thor’s face twisted in disgust, as he hurled Loki into the abyss. He was mostly sure, now, that the first one was the real one, but it was the second one that flashed through his mind on a nearly daily basis. He held double-memories like that of many events, and was always discovering new ones. But his direct perceptions had been reliable ever since the scepter had been transported to another realm, even if his beliefs and memories still required some second-guessing. He should be able to correctly identify something as basic as another person’s desire for him.
But who that owned a functioning prick would turn down the chance to push it into a willing body? Especially when the reward had been so amply earned? And if Rogers wouldn’t fuck him, for how much longer could Loki count on his kindness and protectiveness? And perhaps the most maddening question of all: why wouldn’t Rogers fuck him?
Of course, Loki knew that he was hideously bony and grotesquely wan right now. Rogers, being unspeakably beautiful and perfect, could easily find a more attractive partner. But experience had shown Loki that he was still fuckable when ill, mad, bloody, broken, charred, screaming, in pieces–
He pushed all such thoughts away, and focused instead on breathing. The crone recommended this practice to various Avengers regularly, and Loki had found it marginally helpful. He tried to match his breathing to the slow, even breaths of his sleeping bed-partner, and then turned his attention to relaxing every part of his body, starting from the toes and moving upward.
This was not Sanctuary, and Rogers was not the Other. In fact, it was scarcely possible to imagine any two beings less alike.
Rogers’ breathing changed slightly. He was awake.
“Mmh. You okay?” he mumbled into Loki’s hair.
“Yes, Captain. All is well.”
“Can’t sleep?”
Loki inhaled and exhaled slowly, not sure what to say. Finally he whispered, “Thinking.”
The Captain’s arm tightened around Loki’s middle, drawing their bodies together until they were touching warmly from knee to neck. Rogers nodded, the tip of his nose smushing against Loki’s shoulder. “Y’wanna get up? We could watch a movie or sumth'n.”
“No,” Loki’s answer was prompt. “No, I want to lay here like this.” Perhaps he could try again? Rogers seemed softened by sleep – he might be more susceptible now.
Loki turned in the Captain’s arms until they were lying face to face. Rogers gave a soft, sleepy smile, and said “This is nice, huh?”
Loki pressed in and kissed him, at the same time snaking a hand down between them to seek out the most persuadable bit of the mortal’s anatomy.
Instantly Rogers was moving away. Loki pulled back, feeling frantic but not knowing what else to do. The crack that had opened earlier was threatening again, and he had to swallow harshly to hold back whatever noise was crawling up his throat. If this no longer worked, if even this could no longer be counted on, what was left to him? One of the simplest and most basic of his tools was crumbling in his hands.
He rolled away and turned his back to Rogers, curling into a ball.
“Loki,” whispered the Captain, from too far away, “Why do you keep doing that?”
“You want me,” Loki rasped back, “I cannot be wrong. I know when someone wants me.”
Rogers’ hand touched Loki’s rib cage tentatively. “Of course I want you. Heck, everyone knows that. But I think you’re forgetting to ask, do you want me? Because it doesn’t seem like you really do.”
Loki’s eyebrows drew together in irritated puzzlement. What, by all the branches, had that to do with anything?
Rogers went on, “You know, you don’t have to pay me to be your friend.”
This made even less sense, if possible. Who ever spoke of them being friends? Loki thought of Thor and the Warriors Three and Lady Sif, and how they had each other’s backs in a fight, how they laughed and drank and ate and sang together, how they sparred together and harmlessly teased each other, how they went places together and recounted the small triumphs and heartaches of their days to one another, how they turned to each other when help was needed, and made each other’s lives easier and brighter. Did Rogers imagine that for himself and Loki?
Suddenly, horribly, Loki’s throat was closing up and his eyes were prickling.
He tightened in on himself, hoping that he wasn’t about to make an embarrassing noise.
Rogers’ arm slid back over him, and the delicious warmth reappeared at his back. “I make a pretty good friend,” Rogers said simply, and Loki could only nod into his own hands.
*****
Loki woke with a start, still enveloped by Captain Rogers, when the communication bracelet on the bedside table buzzed.
Director Fury’s voice, sounding sullen and judgmental, came out of it. “Thor is arriving; rooftop,” he said curtly, and buzzed off.
A few minutes later, Loki and Rogers were dressed and heading up to the roof. Neither of them said a word about having spent the night in each other’s arms, and really, what was there to say? Loki felt well-rested and warmed-through for the first time in a long time, and it felt good to have Captain Rogers literally at his back, but nevertheless a tension was developing in the pit of his stomach.
When Thor had thought that Loki was lost to him, he had spoken to others about missing his brother, being eager to forgive him, wishing he had approached him differently at their last few meetings. But when faced with a visible, tangible, present Loki, would any of those sentiments hold up? The (probably) false memory of Thor flinging him into empty blackness made Loki pause at the door at the top of the stairs. It was still dark outside, and they were a long, long way from the ground. What if that look of disgust came across Thor’s face? Loki didn’t know what he would do.
Rogers’ hand came up to touch between Loki’s shoulder blades.
“Do you want me to talk to him first?”
What a strange question. What would Rogers say? Thinking that, at the very least, it would put Rogers physically between himself and Thor, Loki nodded.
Loki opened the door and let Rogers step through ahead of him.
A Stark Industries flying machine was just settling, swirling the night air violently around it. Banner was already there, no doubt summoned by Fury to keep an eye on the fraught reunion.
The side door of the flying machine opened, and Thor came stumbling out, looking around wildly. His eyes alighted on Loki, and he rushed forward.
“Your brother has peacefully surrendered himself into custody-” Rogers was saying, but Thor simply brushed past him, and then Loki was being crushed in the most suffocating embrace of his life. And it was just possible that it wasn’t only the tightness of the embrace that was suffocating him, as he clenched his hands into the back of Thor’s Midgardian-style shirt.
Thor rocked Loki in the hug, as their mother used to do when she was very relieved or happy about something. Disgustingly, he was sniffling into Loki’s hair. Even more disgustingly, Loki found himself sniffling against Thor’s enormous flannel-clad shoulder.
Thor was softly rumbling some silly blather now, “Oh my brother, how I have missed thee, how I have worried. When I saw Father maddened by the same infernal scepter as maddened thee, when he spoke as I have never known him to speak, I knew then how I had wronged thee. I should have known all along, I should have had faith in my brother. Thou wert ensorcelled by evil, and I attacked thee that should have defended thee. My brother, forgive me, forgive me, I do beg of thee…”
Loki could only press his face tightly against Thor’s fat stupid neck, and squeeze his eyelids shut. The healthy, sun-lit smell of Thor was exactly the same as it had ever been, and it was so home-like, so familyish, that for a long minute Loki couldn’t even pretend to struggle against the tight hug.
Finally he pulled away, and saw to his chagrin that their audience consisted of more than just Rogers and Banner. Erik Selvig was openly gawping at them, and beside him, looking teary, was Jane Foster. The maiden Darcy staggered up behind them, heaving several large boxes stuffed with papers.
“Okay, that was super cute, you guys, but do you think we could go inside now?” she said plaintively.
Rogers rushed to relieve her of her burden, and then the entire small crowd funneled in out of the cold.