#slycuts

where's your wit gone? from loki (: @riphalos

" My wit? " for once, clint's face is cold. sure, he's been known for his witty banter in the middle of a mission or a firefight. he's been known to even flirt a little in the middle of combat. that kind of attitude was reserved for friends, acquaintances, and allies. people like loki, or rather, gods like loki? ones that he had a history with. a personal history. yeah, those kinds of people didn't get his attention in the normal way. no. loki used him once like a puppet on a string, and clint was not about to forget that for a moment. he could hold a grudge. he could hold it deep within his heart, and on the list of people he held them for? loki was one of the top.

clint moves quickly, probably faster than loki could expect, and yeah, he was probably dealing with an illusion right now, but when clint latches onto the front of his clothing, he's able to pull loki forward. there's a knife in his other hand, and clint's smile is dangerous. deadly. ready to cut that smile right off loki's face.

" I'll show you my wit when I shove this blade up your godly ass, how bout that? "

something had to give. while his head spun and his neck ached, there'd only ever been one ending, here. where the edge of his teeth found the muscle of an invasive forearm and bit down. turned lock-jaw. bucky's arched with the pressure around his throat, cold eyes fighting the want to seek the face still looming too near, above him. why he never should've opened that door. why he never should've left his knife on a bedside table too far to reach, now.

loki.. fickle in his nosiness, had earned the shake of his head. a dog with a bone, he's not content with only a mouthful of meat. not content with a laugh that borders on fond when he clamps harder. grows a snarl in the back of his throat.. a one-sided game, he rises on tipped-toes, metal fingers testing a grip on his wrist. it'd break before he stopped twisting it.

it's strange to think about. a time, many many moons back, when a younger, less burdened version of himself would recoil from the storm. look out a bedroom window and know, without asking, he'd be walking through that foot of snow to school. bucky remembers, in as loose a way he can, how winter stung and turned his joints stiff. he remembers becca, scarf bunched up around her chin, begging him to come outside and play. make a snowman. start a fight.

what he doesn't remember, though, is when that changed.

hail hits the window and all he feels is comfort. finds familiarity in how it refuses to relent. one beat after another, somewhere, a block or two away, a car alarm has been hounding for twenty minutes and it's almost enough to drown out the knock. once. twice. at the third, he knows they'll not leave. had spotted his dismal kitchen light on, flickering with a swelling system's indecision. and he should have joined it. not walked through a living room that sits mostly bare. not pressed a metal palm to the door face and peered, blankly, through a peephole that revealed too much, too quick. bucky shouldn't have opened the door at all.

" go away. " is out before the entrance is fully open. flat. it skates through the ridges of his teeth and only just, at that. " whatever it is, i don't wanna hear it. " or, in the shuddering reality that curiosity got the better of him, he'd hoped to have airs of deniability, at least. say he met @riphalos' eyes and didn't flinch.

that's what he wants to say. he'd been a better liar once, too.

broad shoulders bar entry and hard eyes sit somewhere between the arch of loki's brows and his gaze's simmer. hot in contrast to the wind. to a bite he wants to replicate every time his doorsteps darkened. nails drag the hardwood of his doorframe and, for a moment, he lets the quiet have them. stands stalwart, unwavering, with his chin high and his lips thinned in the slightest of frowns.

it's an ache that starts in his teeth. leeches at what little warmth he'd had to start and shines icy in blue eyes that sit, unblinking. he's felt the pressure.. the proverbial thumb over his pulse, prepared to sink down. test the mettle of what he knew, already, was a weak excuse for something real. this parade of good intentions, all named for the people he'd built them after. good people who deserved better. good people who still didn't get it and bucky knew it was selfish that he was thankful for that. held it close to the cuff. it's why this ? this unfortunate run in with someone he knew by name alone — shook him. not physically. for @riphalos he's squared shoulders and clenched jaw.

" you don't know the first thing about me, " and maintained distance promised that wouldn't change. couldn't while he still hoped to find some level of sleep at night.

this is what he gets for looking behind the curtain. entering a wing that'd been strictly off-limits. wandering into the den of the beast, he wishes there was more to his fisted hands than air. a rifle. a knife. against a supposed god it was hard to tell what good they'd do, but creature comforts weren't meant to make sense.

" i already know who you are, " loki. the forked-tongued embodiment of too many close calls. the reason he'd been sat down and showed reels of what could happen if the powers that be were left unchecked. " and i know you're full of shit. "

( Но в этом-то и проблема, верно, солдат? Он не такой. )