Title: Gypsy Eyes
Author: Simply Kelp
Pairing: Captain America/Loki, very briefly hinted imagined!Thor/Loki
Word count: 1336
Warning: brief hinting of imagined incest
Summary: Loki has a type. Apparently. That's what he says. "Tall, blond, and heroic," that same toothy smirk tugs only slightly at the corners of his mouth. Steve doesn't like the implications of it.
Disclaimer: Not mine, unfortunately.
A/N: Inspired, sort of, by two prompts at norsekink: "Loki is captured and held prisoner in SHIELD headquarters. Initially he's mean and belligerent, wild and prone to driving them crazy despite being locked up. Steve proves to be good influence on him though, as Loki needs someone kind and at the same time mature to, well, take care of him. The more time he spends with him, the more Loki calms down and relaxed and grows more and more attached to Steve and the feelings are or become mutual. Bonus points for protective!Steve and gentle sex." and "Somebody (anyone, really!) gives Loki his first kiss. Preferably under sad and/or questionable circumstances. Bonus points if he tells said person that he's never been kissed and he fears he might be bad at it. Extra bonus points if he's an adult when this takes place." It didn't really turn out that way, though." Also, it's my first comic book fic, and the end to an almost two year long hiatus from writing- or rather finishing-; I feel kind of strange, and nervous posting this, but I figure if I don't do it now, I probably won't ever do it. (And I still haven't actually seen Captain America yet- which is totally lame of me-, so this isn't Cap movie compliant...)
Well I realise that I've been hypnotised, I love your gypsy eyes
Gypsy Eyes, Jimi Hendrix
It comes just a week after being unfrozen, and two days after learning he will be heading up a team comprised of an absurdly powerful alien or maybe god; a reckless millionaire weapons mogul; a mercurial, irradiated scientist; and some guy calling himself Ant-Man and his wife. Steve Rogers gets the call that there's what Agent Coulson has labelled a 'super-villain' on the loose, and he's beginning to think of his life as less reality, and more the adventure comics Bucky used to read. Because the War had been one thing, but he'd never considered the world a place for super-heroes and super-villains.
Regardless, Steve Rogers, Captain America, hits the streets with his new team, The Avengers, in search of the newest threat to humanity. Loki. The sky crackles with thunder when they find him. Thor, forgetting sensible orders like 'fight as a team' and 'stronger together than alone' and 'keep your head on straight', barrels in like, well, the God of Thunder would be expected to: all might, and fury, and more hurt than he would likely ever admit to feeling.
With predictable results.
Evenly matched, the brothers only succeed in demolishing about four square blocks of downtown. People screaming, running, trampling each other in their haste to get away. And now-Giant-Man and Iron Man are sifting through the masses for the injured. Wasp flits at Steve's shoulder as he finds himself at a loss.
With no real, rational, sensible options, Steve sees an opening and takes it. His shield skitters down the street knocking Loki's ankles out of balance. It gives Thor the chance to get a good crack in on Loki's head with Mjolnir. And like that Loki's out. Steve winces at the dull thud of his head on pavement.
Thor is breathless, shoulders slumping slightly at the weight of his hammer. Steve walks over, and lifts the super-villain easily. His first thought is that Loki is far too scrawny to be so powerful. He remembers the days before the super-serum (and there it is again: that word, 'super') when he was far too scrawny to be anything of note. He orders Thor to go home, sends Ant-Man and Wasp away. Iron Man offers to join him on the way back to Headquarters. In case Loki wakes up, and from his tone Steve can imagine the leery expression that is hidden behind the mask.
Neither one talks. Steve's adjusted the weight of Loki more squarely on his shoulders, and now it feels more like carrying a sack of flour than an actual person.
It's unprecedented. There has been nothing like this before: in Steve's memory, in secreted government files, in the totality of human history. Loki is the very first super-villain ever taken into custody. Steve is unsure of the details. From what he knows, Loki has never officially been arrested or charged with anything. As Coulson explains, SHIELD is still trying to determine what exactly should be done with him. He is too powerful to hold in prison, even the most high security facilities are too weak to contain him. Then there's the possibility of rehabilitation, but Coulson sounds dubious.
For the time being, at least, they've constructed a vibranium lined cell at SHIELD Headquarters. The room is allegedly magic proof. How that is possible, Steve tries not to think about very hard. It should- Coulson's exact wording; it hardly inspires confidence in Steve- be able to hold Loki.
And this is the point where Coulson fixes Steve with an appraising stare. Thor is, of course, far too emotionally invested to be of any use to SHIELD, or Loki, and as the leader of The Avengers- and, really, the first super-hero-, Coulson, SHIELD would really appreciate if Steve see what he could get out of Loki. Steve, for all his wits, agrees to it without much hesitation.
Steve turns on the tap and splashes a handful of water onto his face. He runs a towel over it, pressing against his eyes until he can see stars through his eyelids. Resignedly, he drops it on the counter and stares into the bathroom mirror. He takes in his reflection. By now he's mostly used to the taller, muscular figure; there are still times when he expects to see sickly, sunken cheeks, and protruding ribs. Steve stares into his reflection's icy blue eyes. It's pupils are the size of pinpricks, and Steve is beginning to feel a little hazy. Ignoring the niggling feeling that he's slowly going insane, he tells himself: "I'm a super-hero..." He doesn't move, and the reflection stares back at him with the same slightly manic, wide-eyed stare.
The room looks only marginally more comfortable than a prison cell. Only ten by ten feet, Steve tries not to imagine the desperate pacing of a caged animal. There is a twin bed in the corner, a screen Steve guesses is hiding a toilet, and an oak table with two padded chairs set opposite each other. He can't imagine living here.
Loki is reclined on the bed, looking for all the world a sulking little prince. Despite the cotton tunic and trousers, socked feet, and purple bruise above his eye, Loki manages to retain the disaffected ennui of nobility. He regards Steve with lazy, half-lidded eyes, and Steve feels his face growing warmer.
"Steve," he says, "Rogers." Loki nods, feeling, apparently, no need to introduce himself properly, or even speak. Steve takes the chair closest to the door, and gestures to the chair opposite him.
"I'm quite comfortable here," Loki says. He smiles beguilingly. It's a handsome smile, but nonetheless untrustworthy. There are far too many teeth- perfect, white, shiny teeth- in it.
Loki has a type. Apparently. That's what he says. "Tall, blond, and heroic," that same toothy smirk tugs only slightly at the corners of his mouth. Steve doesn't like the implications of it. The words, and the smile. His first thought is of how his hands would feel trailing down sinewy limbs, tracing the rise and fall of too-visible ribs, and the taste of white skin and pink lips. His second is to wonder whether Thor has any practical knowledge of these things.
Loki smiles and Steve wonders, not for the first time, whether he is able to read minds.
The ever-present smirk is noticeably absent. Loki's cheeks are stained a light pink. "I've never actually..." he whispers, voice thick. It hits Steve like a punch to the gut. Loki's eyes are a kind of swampy green. Steve feels himself becoming entangled in them, pulled under murky, algae-infested water. It's a kind of breathless, half-floating sensation as he contemplates the dangerous invitation in those eyes. Beguiling. That word seems to encapsulate Loki, reduce him to one sweeping, perfect word.
Steve shifts forward. Their lips are almost touching. Loki doesn't make any move to rectify this, instead he sucks in Steve's breath like a dying man. It's painfully, almost soul-rendingly intimate. Steve feels naked, more vulnerable than he has ever felt before but he is rooted in place. He wonders whether Loki has managed to find some way around the magic-proofing of the room.
They never talk about rehabilitation, but it is always on Steve's mind. The idea of what so clever, charming, talented a man as Loki could do in The Avengers. Loki, for his part, acts perfectly satisfied with his lot in life. Steve has convinced Coulson to give Loki books- harmless fiction books-, and Loki is content to read them day in and day out as he waits for Steve's sporadic visits. He likes super-heroes; the revelation surprises Steve.
Loki grasps Steve's hand. Clutches it with a kind of staunch desperation until Steve feels it prickle into numbness.
He smiles toothily, handsomely, and Steve feels what's likely his sanity being washed away by too-wide, swamp green eyes. He rests a hand on Loki's cheek, and kisses him, a chaste brush of lips.
"Make me feel good," Loki whispers into Steve's mouth. Steve isn't sure the exact meaning of the request, but he's open to the possibilities.