Loki (fiorvalr) wrote in noexits, @ 2021-11-15 18:45:00 |
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Loki and Natasha have a few too many drinks. Some things are said that can no longer be unsaid.
“So, there they were on the Bifrost—Thor, Valkyrie, Banner—all about to battle Hela and her army of the undead. There were swords and punches flying everywhere. Monsters growling. Hela looking Beyoncé levels of fierce in that eye makeup. The Big Green Guy bolted after Hela’s guard dog. Thor was a little worse for wear and Valkyrie was—well it’s not important what Valkyrie was doing. Anyway, I arrived to save the day. The ship soared in through the clouds. Gasps of surprise. Tears of joy. Cue a very very witty announcement from me to the poor and terrified people of Asgard. For the record, I looked glorious. New horns. New leather. Cape billowing in the wind. And then I leapt down from the ship and onto the bridge!” Loki improvised a fake jump in front of the sofa. It looked quite ridiculous in the ‘I ♥ NY’ t-shirt and Derleth sweatpants he wore. Barefoot, of course. His hair tied up in a messy bun. It was the last night before the reset and Loki was in super casual mode. He’d never looked so comfortable. So vibrant. So honestly happy. This was the first week since Disney World that Loki had an actual spark of exuberance in his eyes. Maybe it was finally having his own room. Maybe it was the company. Maybe it was the week of lovely outings he’d had with Elsa, Natasha, Julia, and, yes, even Strange. Or maybe it was the three bottles of high end liquor belonging to Natasha’s Russian mob contact that Loki had downed in the last hour. Regardless of the reason, Loki was in a mood. A good mood. And he was really into the retelling of their adventure on Asgard during Ragnarok. “And that’s when it happened. The most miraculous thing the Nine Realms had ever seen!” Loki brought out his hands from behind his back. In each hand he held a banana. He waited until he was certain that he had Natasha’s full and undivided attention. Then he flipped the bananas in his hands, catching them mid-air like his daggers. He was so godsdamn proud of himself. “The perfect knife flip!” Loki’s expression broke into a wide, quasi-drunken grin. Because clearly that was the most important event of Ragnarok. "My baby don't care, my baby don't care" faded away into the DJ's ramblings about the Beatles split — which seemed to still be a huge subject more than a decade later — Natasha tuned it out, watching Loki's dramatic display of the events. Thor's retelling of Ragnarok wasn't quite so spirited in the wake of the tragedy of the Statesmen, but for this one shining moment, Loki wasn't thinking about his death(s) or the other tragedies that had befallen him since then. It was good to see him smile. Even better to see a side of him she thought very few had gotten to see. The sillier side of the God of Mischief. While she didn't doubt that he had, indeed, perfected his knife flip, she did doubt that the Nine Realms had seen nothing more miraculous. Natasha wasn't about to tell him that. As far as she was concerned, at this moment, it was the most impressive, amazing thing. When he was done with the showmanship, she smiled, laughing, and looked suitably impressed before she let out a whoop and cheered for him. The banana-catching had been pretty damn impressive. Especially when he'd had three bottles of liquor to himself. She was, smartly, still on her first bottle. The background music changed to another Oldies song. The Big Bopper. Chantilly Lace. No joke, it was a bopping song. She'd always had a fondness for "oldies" despite that her oldies were usually considered the decade they were in currently. Probably had something to do with Alexei, but mostly Yelena's love of the song "American Pie." They spent a lot of time in the 90s listening to 60s and 70s music. "Did you stab someone with those perfectly flipped daggers? Or did you just stand there like that, making that face, and hoping someone didn't shove a sword into your gut?" “What? Did I stab someone? Natasha, please.” Loki rolled his eyes, overdramatizing the action by rolling his head as well. Then he tossed her one of the bananas before beginning to peel the other. “I did the second coolest thing Asgard had ever seen after that knife flip. I took off my helmet and used it to stab people. Technically I suppose I didn’t have to take it off, but I didn’t want to look like a battering ram. Bad for the neck. Besides, you never know who’s watching. Posture wise you look better while you’re fighting if you keep your head up. And that damn helmet is already front heavy. But you can imagine how cool it looked! Sure, it looks great when Thor’s hammer comes flying back into his hands. But try catching a pair of horns that just bore two fist-sized holes in a man’s torso with agility and grace. Now that is something to make the crowd go wild.” And, as if on cue, little fireworks burst over his shoulders in brilliant colors of red, green, blue, and yellow. Like sparklers that burned brightly and quickly before fizzling out with a crackling pop. Loki took a bite of the banana and gave a pleasurable groan. “We need to bring more of these back with us. There are only two bananas in Derleth at the start of every week and if you’re not quick enough then they end up in Wanda’s muffins.” He slumped down on the sofa beside Natasha, leaning into her shoulder. “You should have seen me. I looked truly glorious. I looked glorious later, too. On the Statesman. Amid the rubble and the chaos. The circumstances were dire, but the lighting was good. And I always make a fine-looking corpse.” There was less grief and pain in his voice than might have been expected. Perhaps it was the drink. Or maybe Loki was finally starting to move past that little hiccup in his life. He finished off the banana and tossed the peel on the coffee table. Then he rolled over onto his back, laying his head in Natasha’s lap and stretching his legs out over the rest of the couch. “Tell me I’m a beautiful corpse, Miss Romanoff.” Natasha thought this was the absolute chattiest she'd ever seen Loki. This wasn't just a talk, this was open. This was freedom from wondering if someone would judge him for what he was going to say. This was wonderful to witness. She rested her hand against his forehead. She hoped the ice from her drink didn't make her hand too cold against his temple. She hadn't asked Fandral what Frost Giant physiology meant. Could Loki create ice crystals, sleet, and snow? Was he immune to the cold? Or was it just a name the species was given? Did they live in a frozen world? Now wasn't the time to talk about that though. Instead, she gazed down at him, cheeks flushed from the vodka, and pretended to swoon at the sight of him. "Loki, Prince of Asgard, you are a beautiful being — alive or dead." She paused, looking thoughtful. "I feel like I am an expert in this seeing as I've seen you in both states, the one time you were fully and completely naked." She wanted to make a joke about Frost Giants, but that was going to turn the conversation in a direction she wasn't ready for. Not with him completely drunk anyway. Made it easier. "If your hair was not up in that bun, I would do the braid again." Loki blinked. Of course, he knew that Natasha (and Fandral) had seen his naked corpse in the Green, but he hadn’t actually thought about it. Hel, even Loki hadn’t seen his naked body in that state. In his true Jotun appearance without the fancy facade of his mother’s magic. And it didn’t occur to him until just then what that might have looked like. Dead features aside and all, had he been— His expression flushed a little. Less embarrassed about the nudity than about what he looked like in his Frost Giant form. His heart even sped up a little at the thought of it. Natasha could probably feel that subtle change in his pulse because of their closeness. But Loki wasn’t one to linger too long on chagrin. He laughed, his smile turning into more of a smirk. “Is that a hint? Are you saying you want to see it again?” Loki slowly slipped his hand beneath the waistline of his sweatpants. He kept his blue-eyed gaze locked on Natasha. He barely even noticed the differing temperature in the palm of her hand. And then—voila!—he slid his hand out from beneath the fabric, that second banana he’d thrown at her earlier magically appearing in his grip. He winked. Then he waved the banana in her face. “Be nice and I’ll let you have a bite. Be mean and I’ll let you peel me.” The radio station fluttered to static for a split second and Loki found his thoughts distracted, thinking the worst. The week had been too good, after all. Too easy. Now would be the perfect time for the unexpected alien invasion or for something artificial intelligence to announce that none of this was real. But it was nothing. Just a bit of static. And before Loki could show any real concern, the next song was already playing. “Do you really think that? That I’m a beautiful being?” Such honest surprise for the God of Mischief. But even gods had their insecurities. Loki reached up and pulled out the hair tie, allowing his messy strands to fall over her lap. “Better?” "You know you are," Natasha teased. The braid meant he'd have to sit up, but for now she was just enjoying the closeness that came from someone lying in her lap. Natasha spent so much of her life devoid of feeling and closeness that when it happened, she relished those moments all the more. It's why her and Clint were so physical. Nothing had ever happened between them, romantically or sexually, but there was a physical intimacy between them that very few had ever broken into. Loki was one of the few who had. Now. His being in a good mood bled into hers, and she found herself smiling a lot more this week. The evening after the opera, he'd collapsed into the bed she'd offered him, and he was out before she could even get their drinks. Instead, she'd taken off his shoes, loosened and removed his tie, and covered him in blankets. In the morning, she made a simple breakfast, but it had been enough to pull him from his sleep. So each morning since then, she did the same. Breakfast, coffee, morning chitchat. It was about as domestic as she got or would ever get, and it was temporary. Thankfully. While she enjoyed doing things for other people from time to time, Natasha was not meant to play house. She realized, after the 1950s universe, that she didn't want to. Being a happy homemaker just was not in the cards for her, and she didn't want it. She wanted to be a spy and an Avenger and come and go as she pleased, with someone who understood that about her. Who didn't need to be around her 24-7. Who understood that doing things away from them didn't mean she didn't care. Her fingers combed through his hair, straightening the strands from the bun. When it was all laid out, she ran her fingers from his forehead down his hair as she took a sip from her glass. She tilted her head to the side, giving him her own smirk. "A little over eager to show me your banana. Leave something to the imagination, Loki. A little mystery." “There’s a difference between knowing something and being told it. You, for example, know that you’re more intelligent than most of the people around you. But if I look you in the eyes and say, ‘Natasha, you’re the smartest person I’ve ever met,’ it’s different.” Loki stretched his arm out towards the coffee table, setting his banana dagger upon it. Then he adjusted his position in her lap until he found a comfortable place. “Not as intelligent as me, of course. But you’re up there.” He gave a playful wink and then exhaled a soft sigh at the sensation of her fingers through his hair. It had been a long time since anyone had given him that kind of attention. Attention that was physical and affectionate, but not necessarily sexual. Loki liked it. Sexual relationships were always so temporary. Even more so because of the length of his lifetime. Most of those nights of passion blended together. Very few stuck out over the years. But Loki always remembered when someone treated him with real tenderness because those moments were so few and far between. Mostly because Loki rarely let anyone get close enough to him to express that kind of sentiment. This was what death had done to him. It had weakened him. It had made him soft. “I don’t want this week to end,” he whispered. Of course, this was both a lie and a truth. The truth was that he had been happier this week than any other in recent memory. And Loki enjoyed feeling happy. It was such an uncommon experience for him. He wanted it to continue. The lie was that, like Natasha, domesticity wasn’t bliss for Loki. He lived for the spotlight and the adventure. He enjoyed the search for his glorious purpose and the desire to be something greater than himself. He’d never find that in a pleasant monogamous arrangement. It would never be enough. He still wanted to be a hero. A villain. A king. And knowing that there were other Lokis out in the multiverse fulfilling these roles only made him want them more. “Oh, fear not, Natasha. I have a great number of mysteries that you have yet to uncover. Let alone solve.” He waggled his eyebrows in jest, accompanied by a taunting purr from the back of his throat. When her hand reached up to his forehead again, his expression slackened, taking on a more contemplative appearance. He gently took her arm, thumb rubbing at the soft spot of the wrist just below the palm. “It’s not the worry about what will happen tomorrow that bothers me. It’s the discontinuity from one week to the next. It’s the feeling that no matter how far I get in seven days, it’s always undone. The memories are still there. The events have still occurred. But the momentum is lost. Sometimes it takes me the entire week to decide what I want to say or do. And by the time I’m there, it’s over. And then I have to ask myself … Is it better this way? Is this Derleth’s way of telling me not to cross that line? Or is it a form of slow torture?” Loki turned his face into her wrist. Close enough that she could feel his breath on her skin. "You've had about a thousand years on me," she reminded him with a chuckle. She'd get there, she thought, if only human beings lived that long. And again, came the uncomfortable reminder that even if something did happen between her and Loki, she'd be a mere blip in his memory, and some day in the future, he would forget her all together. That's what scared her most of all about dying. Being forgotten. I have no place in the world. Clint would never forget her, and she truly felt bad that he had to watch what happened to her. She knew that his eyes had been glued to her from the second he mumbled, goddamn you, and though she didn't see it, she knew he'd have kept watching until he was forced not to. She was just glad it worked. Would have been a horrible thing to do to him if it didn't work. Her thoughts were kept quiet though, because she didn't want to spoil his mood. Or her own. Breath on her skin was the last thing she expected to feel, but it was nice. A reminder that she was alive — they were alive — and kicking here in Derleth. Maybe it wasn't perfect, but she'd gotten used to things changing from time to time. They just didn't usually change on a schedule that you could set by a watch. She wasn't going to think about what next week would bring, but she hoped it was a fairly calm void. One where the only thing she truly had to think about was setting up the organization that Loki had spoken of. Everyone needed a holiday though. Even a holiday from a holiday, which some considered Derleth to be. Not Natasha though. This was home now, and maybe Derleth didn't have a gold toilet (like this penthouse), but it would have to suffice. "I guess I'm used to things changing faster. Being so young and all compared to you. A week sometimes feels like forever for me. All depends on what happened." She paused, thoughtful though. "Still I think of it more like the experiment the voicemail talked about. For some, it could be slow torture." Her fingers continued their movements. "For others, it just — not boring for them. Too much college campus and it's typical nothingness, and I might want to try experimenting on people myself." Loki’s gaze turned away from her as she spoke. He listened carefully, searching for any nuanced meanings in her words. Her response wasn’t exactly what he expected, but perhaps she was doing that on purpose. He doubted she misunderstood him. Natasha very rarely missed a beat with people. Even with him. She was intuitive and perceptive. If she was leading the conversation in a different direction then Loki had to assume he was pushing too far. He waved the thought away. Literally, actually. He raised one hand up above him and flicked his wrist. A kind of ‘oh well!’ motion. Then he let go of her arm and climbed out of her lap. “I suppose it doesn’t matter. I’ll get used to it eventually,” he said as he wandered his way over to the stereo system. He fiddled around with the dial on the radio until he found a channel that played slow jazz. Then he crisscrossed around the low lying furniture over to the bar where they’d lined up the bottles Natasha wasn’t planning to take with her and poured himself a hefty glass of whisky. He drank it in a single gulp. He shook his shoulders as though loosening them and flipped his hair back behind his neck. Then he stepped back into the living room and held out a hand to her. “Come on. Dance with me before I get so old that I can’t remember my left foot from my right.” Another smile. Softer than those before. Eyes a little brighter. This wasn’t Loki asking for a dance just because he wanted to dance. This was Loki asking for the opportunity to hold her. In a way that would allow them to still remain safely platonic. If that’s what they decided. Derleth wasn't fair, she knew that. She knew what Loki was implying before, but she didn't want to tell him to jump when she wasn't sure if she should. She was used to playing things fast and loose when it came to the Avengers, to her job. She dove off falling platforms without a parachute. She refused to leave extinction level events. When it came to her wants — She just didn't. Outside the window, police sirens rang out. Or maybe it was an ambulance. Might have been both. After all, it was New York City in the early 1980s. She gave it a minor thought — hero complex after all — and then remembered that the police were already on it and this world didn't seem to have superheroes. Some of that was her upbringing, the constant shoving aside of her own wants and needs for the greater good of the Red Room. She'd been conditioned so many times over again that sometimes it was hard to tell what was her and what was programming. Some of that was the constant need to make up for her past. She didn't deserve wants because of the things she had done, she had convinced herself. So when she did find something she wanted — like Bruce, and maybe she crushed on him because she knew he could never go that far with her — she didn't always know how to put on the brakes herself. There was a mechanism that kept him from being physically intimate with her, and that made him emotionally distant as well. Natasha knew that she was attractive in a conventional sense of the word, but it had only ever been used as a weapon. Intimacy was something she had very rarely experienced in the truest sense of the word. When Loki moved away, Natasha felt as if she'd lost a chance. One strike against her. So she made a decision. She stood up, shook out her own shirt and crossed the room to where Loki stood, outstretched hand. Her hand felt into his as she moved in closer, even if she felt a little silly wearing jeans and a t-shirt right about now. She was used to being short, but she felt even smaller right now. She tilted her face to look at him, expression soft and open. "I don't want this to end." She swallowed in a dry throat. Maybe she should have downed a glass of whisky before she stepped up. "Us. You. Me. Whatever this is with us. I don't want to ruin it." Loki’s heart physically skipped a beat when she spoke. He could hear it in his head. The natural lub dub rhythm interrupted in surprise. They’d been skirting around exactly what Natasha had just said for weeks now. Perhaps longer. Us. This. Loki’s instinct was a combination of panic and disbelief. He almost laughed because he was afraid. This was real honesty. And even when Loki was being truthful he was never completely honest. And, like her, he didn’t want to ruin it. Especially by being himself. His lips parted to respond, but no words came out. He looked down at her, eyes met, and tried to find something to say. Something smart and witty, but not too flippant. Something open and true, but not too revealing. Something that would let her know he felt the same way without repeating her own words back to her. But Loki, for all the speeches and monologues he’d prepared for all the situations he could imagine, hadn’t written anything for this scenario. It was uncomfortably humbling. And perhaps a bit amusing to anyone who knew him as the villain who’d taken out half of New York with an alien army and threatened to save the people of Midgard from the heavy burden of freedom. After all, Loki was a god. Natasha was mortal. And despite his supposed power and strength and experience — and considerable height difference — he was all but cowering in front of her. Because the greatest battle Loki ever really fought was with his feelings. Perhaps he was overthinking his response. Kiss her. Don’t kiss her. Hold her. Don’t hold her. Tell her how you feel. Absolutely do not tell her how you feel. You don’t even know how you feel. You don’t even have a frame of reference. Or perhaps overthinking it was finally a sign that Loki was growing as a person. The fact that he didn’t give into his impulses — a bizarre combination of physical, sexual, and emotional that he didn’t often experience — might have been proof of just how important Natasha’s friendship was to him. And how terrified he was that he would destroy it like he’d destroyed so many other relationships. This was Natasha’s second chance at life as much as it was his. He didn’t want to do to her what others had done. He took both of her hands in his own, giving them a gentle squeeze. It was an odd posture because the handholding kept some distance between their bodies. But that was intentional. “You could never ruin anything with me. You are perfect.” But. “But,” Loki hesitated. His heart beat rapidly in his chest. “I am not. And as much as I want … And I really do want … I think it’s clear that I’m not there yet. With myself.” Loki pursed his lips, almost grief-stricken. Why did admitting this failure hurt more than all the others? Her reaction was as complicated as she expected. So many feelings were floating around, getting caught in her throat, her stomach, the tips of her fingers. She didn't know what she'd expected as his reply — whether she was more terrified of rejection or reciprocation. Natasha dropped her gaze down to their hands and squeezed his in return. She wasn't half a mind of anything. She was thousands of pieces about this. He was honest, and she was grateful. He didn't run, and she was relieved. He hadn't leapt over what she'd said, straight to kissing her — even if she wanted that — but was thoughtful. She felt like this was the end, she felt like it was a beginning. She felt rejected but hopeful. Nothing made sense because there were so many conflicting things hitting her at once. Natasha reached up and put her hand on the side of his face. Then she slowly moved one of his hands around her waist to her back. After she'd brushed a few strands from the side of his face, she reached for his other hand. She closed the distance, so careful not to stray from what he'd admitted, unwilling to cause him anymore anguish. She understood where he was. She'd been there. She'd wanted. She'd been heartbroken and lost a friendship that had once been strong. She admired his resolve, because Natasha had not had it when it came down to it. She'd given herself to whimsy and let her emotions run away with her, and now she wondered if maybe that was why Bruce had run. It must have been overwhelming. She moved to put her head on his shoulder and whispered, "So let's just dance then." The expectation was that Natasha would run away. Or, perhaps that was simply the expectation Loki had based on his past experiences. Which was not to say that he’d ever been so honest with someone before — he hadn’t been — but after everything he’d done, after all his actions and his quips and his flirtations, he thought she would be disappointed. And maybe she was, but so was he. Disappointed in himself for being honest. Disappointed in himself for not just taking his shot while he had it. Disappointed in himself for recognizing that whatever this was with Natasha, it was more than just a night between the sheets. Or, at least, he wanted it to be. But she didn’t leave. In fact, she brought herself closer to him. Touched his face. Fixed his hair. Loki didn’t feel like he deserved it. He also couldn’t understand how someone else could ever turn away from her. Loki didn’t dole out compliments lightly. He really did think very highly of Natasha. He admired her. Envied her. And his feelings for her were complicated. He wanted to be with her. He wanted to pick her up and carry her into one of the many bedrooms and strip themselves both down to nothing. He wanted to show her himself in a way he didn’t show many people. Not just his body. But his soul. Or whatever it was Loki had inside of him that guided his often misled conscience. Most of all he wanted her to look at him like he was worthy. To look at him with that feeling he’d never experienced before. And he wanted to feel it in return. But he didn’t know if he could. His palm slipped down to the small of her back. He held her close, but not forcefully. His mind was already repeating his own words back to him. Had he said the wrong thing? Had he hurt her? Had he ruined his chances at something more? Should he have simply lied? Should he have kept his mouth shut? But then he wouldn’t have had this. This quiet moment with her head near his shoulder and their bodies close. He wouldn’t have been able to feel her own heart beat against his torso or enjoy the softness of her hand in his. Loki turned his face into her hair. He wanted to tell her how important it was for him to get this right. He wanted her to know that when he kissed her for the first time — if he ever did — how much it meant to him. And that it wasn’t simply because of some perceived physical attraction between them. He wanted her to know that if he ever made love to her, it was because he liked her. Because he wanted to share himself with her. And not because he was bored or because his libido was in overdrive or because everyone else had turned him down. He wanted it to mean something. But most of all, and this was the thing that halted his desires, he didn’t want to bring about the end of their friendship. It had taken him more than a millennium to make a real friend. One he trusted. One he cared about. Loki buried his face in her hair long enough to shed a heavy tear. Grief, disappointment, joy, relief, fear, regret. Love? It all felt the same in that moment. Like a balloon filled with water, stretched to its breaking point, wobbly and unbalanced, weighed down by the force of what was inside. But it finally occurred to Loki that perhaps that was exactly how it was supposed to feel. Uncomfortable. Uneasy. And yet completely insatiable. “Of course,” Loki whispered against her scalp in an almost-kiss. “Just try not to step on my feet.” |