397. I'm out walking running and my dog started chasing your dog. – ft. Loki/Clint Barton
"Lucky! Get back here you pizza-loving piece of trash!" Clint yelled after the Labrador as it ran in front of him, chasing another dog that looked like it belonged in a horror movie, with how large it was. "Lucky! C'mon, bro!" Now Clint had been working out for literal decades – he was approaching forty, for chrissakes – with the circus and the mercenaries and SHIELD and the Avengers, but never in the time had he ran so much that he was out of breath. How Lucky was still bounding around joyfully beat him.
Slowing to a final halt, Clint dropped to his knees before flopping down onto his side bonelessly, trying to slow his racing heart. He could see Lucky still chasing that other dog, and he hoped their owner wasn't mad.
"I'll assume this 'Lucky' will not cease to chase Fenrir," came a smooth voice. Clint blinked tiredly, before turning onto his back, looking up to see a tall and almost absurdly handsome man, with black hair and green eyes, wearing a fancy suit and resting his hands on a shiny black cane. What he could do with that…if Clint hadn't been so puffed, he would be salivating over the fine specimen who-
Who owned the dog Lucky was chasing.
Fuck.
"Sorry about him – he got out of his leash a few hours ago and hasn't really stopped running…like, at all."
The man seemed amused, "Oh, it's alright. I have been trying to convince Fenrir to run around for quite some time now – currently, he is too shocked to realise quite what he is doing at the moment, with your pet chasing him. Fenrir has always been lazy – a good boy, but still, lazy all the same."
Clint grinned at him from his place on the ground. "Sounds like a right tosser. I bet he lays down over your feet at night and refuses to get off, too." The man's face became annoyed, but Clint could tell it wasn't towards him as the man flicked a piece of lint off his suit jacket.
"Indeed, though I would replace 'feet' with torso and face. It's a wonder he doesn't suffocate me." Clint let out a light laugh at that, before looking over to where Lucky was still chasing Fenrir.
"So what type is he? Lucky's a lab, obviously, but yours looks like a bear crossed with a wolf and a husky." The man glanced at him.
"Fenrir is a strange creature, but you come closer than you realise, mortal." Clint gave a small smile, which was returned by the man and fucking hell, he has a beautiful smile. Clint could already tell that his mindset towards this man was changing from I would climb this dude like a tree to I want to take him on romantic dates with candles and cheesy music. That was never good – the last time that happened, he ended up dating Thor for like, two years.
"So, what's your name?" He questioned, belatedly wondering about the 'mortal' comment – he hoped he wasn't some immortal. He looked to Fenrir. Something in his brain started to turn, things dropping into place. The man chuckled.
"My name is Loki – and what may I call you?"
Clint looked back to the man, to the second Prince of Asgard, to Thor's baby brother, who had gone mad and tried to destroy his birth-planet before he fell into a big ol' Space Abyss.
This is going to end badly, I know it will.
"Clint. Clint Barton."
Loki's eyes twinkled, and his lip curled. "Clint Barton…is there, perhaps, a phone number attached to that?"
Clint just about had a heart-attack, mouth watering. "Y-yeah. Sure. Absolutely-"
Oh, this is going to end so much better than bad.