Brooding 6

“Five… Four… Three… Two… One,” the therapist’s voice quietly counted. “Where are you now?”

“In bed. In our hideout.” Clint’s responses were clipped and succinct as he answered through his hypnosis.

“What are you doing?”

“Watching Loki sleep.”


“Because he’s beautiful.”

He really is beautiful to Clint’s observing eyes. The lines of Loki’s face are softened by sleep, framed by his hair fanning out on the pillow, as his lips curve gracefully with the hint of a smile. The demigod had collapsed, sated and exhausted, after riding Clint’s erection for the better part of an hour. Clint is drowsy, too, but he doesn’t want to take his eyes off his lover’s face. He is tempted to take the curled ends of Loki’s hair into his fingers.

“How are you feeling?” the therapist’s voice prodded.

“Relaxed. Comfortable. Happy,” Clint answered without hesitation, then added, “Possessive. Protective. I want to wake Loki up for a kiss, but I don’t want to wake him up.”

Those lips that could smirk so sensuously are beckoning to him, but Clint resists the urge. His role is to please Loki, not himself.

“So what happens?”

“I try to pull him closer without waking him.”

Despite being Clint’s master, the taller man prefers to sleep curled up next to the Human’s body like a cat, resting his head on the archer’s thick chest. Knowing this, Clint attempts to draw him into his rightful position, for he also enjoys the physical contact. Loki’s smooth skin feels like silk, and if his body temperature is somewhat lower than the norm, Clint does not notice it in the fever of their passion. But as Loki’s cheek rubs against Clint’s bicep, the demigod stirs and murmurs one devastating word:


Clint freezes. He knows well the hulking man owning that name, for he had watched him tear through a squadron of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents like they were insects. He had also watched all the footage available of the surreal fight between Thor and the Destroyer. He knows Thor and Loki are brothers; he is even aware that Thor was generally considered to be the good brother. But he had thought them to be bitter enemies. The gentle, almost loving tone with which Loki has just breathed that name makes Clint pause his movements in shock – and a moment later he is filled with burning envy. Why was Loki calling out his brother’s name in his post-coital dreams? Why was it not “Clint!” as Loki so often cried out in the throes of ecstasy?

Shifting uneasily, Clint resumes his efforts to draw his lover closer. It must have been a mistake, of course – he must have misheard Loki’s mumblings or misinterpreted his tone. Perhaps the god was having a dream about conquering his hated older brother and gloating over him in victory. Reassuring himself with that thought, Clint presses a kiss to Loki’s forehead while cradling him tenderly in his arms. Loki inhales as though awakening and murmurs again, this time in an unmistakably sultry and seductive voice:

“Give me a proper kiss, Brother.”

Clint’s heart stops. Then it begins thudding painfully. There is no denying or explaining away what he has just heard. In fact Loki had demanded the same thing of him on more than one occasion, though with a more appropriate appellation. Swallowing, Clint releases his hold on the other man and clenches his fists. Rage and jealousy tear through his chest but he cannot take it out on Loki. He finally manages to extricate his limbs from Loki’s and rolls over to the edge of the bed, where he sits up and stares at nothing.

After a while, Loki stirs, missing his lover’s warmth, and rouses himself.

“What is the matter, my dearest?” he asks. “Come back to bed.”

Clint struggles, unsure whether questioning Loki would be treason or not. But he needs answers, so he carefully says, “A moment ago, you called me your brother.”

There is only the briefest pause before Loki answers with calculated carelessness, “Well, of course – we are brothers in arms, are we not?”

The deception makes Clint’s rage burn hotter, but he is still unable to direct it at Loki.

“You called me ‘Thor.’

The pause this time is longer, more significant. It is only broken when Loki sighs and sits up. He moves close to Clint and tentatively places his slender fingers upon the archer’s well-defined shoulders.

“I’m sorry.” The sincerity in his quiet words is palpable. “I must have been dreaming of… well… when I was much younger.”

“You slept with him?” Clint asks, incredulous. He wants to hear Loki deny it, to give some reason why it was not what it seemed. His blood runs cold when he is disappointed.

“Yes,” Loki answers heavily. “Although we are not related at all, at the time we did not know it. When Thor began to suffer his manly urges, I was little more than a child – naïve enough to believe him when he said he loved me, though in reality I was only convenient. But I let him use me. I would have done… absolutely anything for him then.”

Clint cannot hide his horror, nor does he try to. He turns to face Loki, half-formed words ready to flow from his lips, but the haunted look in his lover’s eyes stop them cold. He has never seen the demigod seem so vulnerable, so… fragile. He wants to embrace Loki and promise to protect him from everything and everyone – even his powerful brother – but Loki is not done speaking, so Clint listens, as is his duty.

“It did not last long. I hid us with my magic, but my spells tended to fall apart when I reached my release. A few months after we had started meeting in hidden corners of the palace, Heimdall saw us coupling and told the All-Father, who strictly forbade us from engaging in such activities again. Thor, like a good son, was willing to obey – after all, he soon found that any tavern wench or scullery maid would succumb to his crude advances! But I… I had no desire for women… and other men despised me for not being a mindless warrior like my brother… so I was left with nothing but memories and longings for what I could not have.”

Loki purses his lips and casts his eyes down, letting his hands slip from Clint’s back. Clint seizes this moment to gather his lover into his arms, clambering onto the bed and making Loki sit upon his thighs.

“I would kill him for you if I could,” he whispers fiercely into Loki’s ear, his arms wrapped tightly around the other man. “He should not have abused you – his own brother! – when you were so young. He deserves to die in the most painful, humiliating, dishonorable way possible!”

“Oh, my fierce Hawk,” Loki says as another sigh, perhaps of resignation, slips past his lips. “How it soothes my soul to hear you… and torments it as well. For I still desire my erstwhile brother… as perverse as that may be. There was none other who had cared for me as well… until I met you, my dearest.”

Clint is mesmerized when Loki’s green eyes seek out his own, captivating him with unspeakable tenderness and also sadness. The god’s cool fingers stroke a delicate line down Clint’s rugged cheek, sending tendrils of emotion curling down into his chest.

“You make me happy… in ways my brother never could,” Loki tells him. “I know you will never betray me or leave me, and as long as you are with me, I am yours – heart, soul, and body. Do with it what you will.”

“My master… and my god,” Clint says fervently between placing kisses on Loki’s throat, tasting that smooth, flawless skin as though it were ambrosia. “I love you!”

Loki starts at the impulsive declaration, then begins to tremble. Before Clint can finish adoring his neck, the god of lies and mischief is weeping like a child in his arms.

“Have I done something wrong, Sir?” Clint asks anxiously.

“No… No, of course not! You are my… perfect lover,” Loki gasps out between wracking sobs. “Hold me!”

Clint obeys the command well, since there is nothing else he would rather do. When Loki grows calm, they make love again – Loki watching with red-rimmed eyes as Clint moves above him, thrusting slowly and deliberately into his body, a long leg held up in each arm – then they fall into peaceful slumber together.

In the morning they relieve their need by sliding their naked cocks against each other, Clint setting the pace for this as well. They shower, Clint washing his lover with care and attentiveness, before they eat a hasty breakfast. As Clint prepares to command his men for the day’s tasks, Loki leans in to kiss him on the mouth and places the point of his scepter on Clint’s chest.

“I’m sorry you won’t remember any of this,” Loki says with a sad smile.

“Why, Sir? What have I done wrong?” Clint asks, somewhat panicked and confused.

“Nothing, my dearest Hawk. But even though you will never betray me, some truths are too dangerous to be left guarded only by a mortal mind.” He kisses Clint again – a soft, lingering kiss. “I’m sorry, my love. But I will treasure your words for as long as I live.”

The scepter flashes a brilliant blue, and the next thing Clint remembers is walking into a room filled with his mercenaries. He knows exactly what to do, so the gap in his memory does not trouble him.

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