Join Me - Loki

by Batsutousai

Loki is kind of tired of always getting his behind handed to him by Thor's mortal fellows.

Title: Join Me ~ Loki
Fandom: Marvel (movie 'verse)
Author: Batsutousai
Rating: T
Warnings: Loki's a little shit, attempted manipulation, mention of past torture
Summary: Loki is kind of tired of always getting his behind handed to him by Thor's mortal fellows.
Disclaim Her: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Marvel. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

A/N: Originally posted on tumblr as a response to a prompt given to me by morgrimmoon. The prompt was Join Me: Loki luring someone to supervillainy?

((Sorry this took so long. Also, I fail at drabbles. ^.^"))

-0-

Loki's most successful attempts on Earth involved working with a partner. It wasn't hard to notice the pattern – or to figure out what it meant – but it did take him a while to find a solution; the problem with having the allies he did, was that they had a bad habit of stabbing each other in the back in response to the smallest things. The problem with being the God of Mischief in a group of such trigger-happy – to use a Midgardian term – beings was that something that Thor or one of his childhood fellows would have laughed off, often ended in Loki running and hiding for a month, lest he lose over half his weight in flesh to the slightest party.

It was during one of those many periods of laying low that he had an idea.

Disguised as an average mortal, he'd found his way into a parade where the Avengers were prancing around for publicity. The crowds were screaming and Loki considered the tightness of the smiles on Romanoff and Barton's faces, the way Stark kept his faceplate down, the hunch to Banner's shoulders, the tightness of Thor's grip on Mjölnir, and wondered at what had happened to make them all so tense. Other than the good Captain, who was smiling like it was the day of his birth. (Loki later discovered it was.)

Twenty minutes later, watching the Avengers fight against a swarm of Doombots over the parade, mortals screaming and trampling each other in their haste to get away, Loki thought it might be nice to have people he could depend on again. People like the Avengers, who would be both loyal enough to help even if they were angry with him, and powerful allies to have at his side. Not to mention that taking one of them away from the group would lean things very much in his favour.

Now he just needed to decide how best to approach his enemies for an alliance.

He tried the ex-spy, first, figuring she would be the key to bringing the Hawk back to him – Barton had been superbly resourceful, and a fair hand in the kitchen, Loki had discovered during that brief period where he owned the man, and Loki could admit that he missed that – and her dark nature would make her the most receptive to his advances, he figured.

Loki caught Romanoff in a clothing shop. The spy was considering a couple of fine gowns, ignoring the way an assistant fluttered at her shoulder, and didn't even glance up when Loki approached. She only looked over when the assistant stuttered out, "I'm af-fraid I can't h-elp you, sir. I'm very bus–"

Romanoff had a gun out and pointed at Loki's nose before the assistant could finish her excuse, and the helpless woman let out a shriek and stumbled into a clothing rack as Loki picked at a fingernail, commenting, "I'm– how do you Midgardians say it? 'Off the clock'?"

"I don't believe you're ever off the clock," Romanoff returned, unwavering.

Loki shrugged. "I have no interest in fighting you today, Lady Widow. I wish only to converse, if you would permit me such?"

Curiosity gleamed in her light eyes and she hesitated for a moment before slipping the gun away. "What could you possibly have to say that would interest me?"

"A proposition. A chance to remove yourself of tiring bonds and trying compatriots."

Romanoff snorted. "What, leave the Avengers? Leave SHIELD? Not likely."

"No? They have some control over you, then? I find that hard to imagine."

Romanoff narrowed her eyes. "What are you up to, Loki? I doubt you even compliment your allies."

"Compliments are to be earned, not offered like useless trinkets. My...allies rarely deserve such acclaim. You, Lady Widow, however–"

"I can't decide if you're flirting with me, or trying to befriend me," Romanoff interrupted, turning back to the gowns. "I'm a little disturbed, either way." She picked up both and held them up for his inspection. "What do you think?"

Loki didn't even blink. "The dark blue; it brings out your eyes, and has a better shape for concealing weapons under. And why should a suggestion of friendship disturb you?"

"I've seen how you treat your allies," she replied, putting the black gown back on the rack and turning towards where the shop assistants had hunkered down behind the registers.

"I treat allies and friends much differently."

Romanoff cut him an unreadable look. "So I've heard." She turned back to the registers. "If you wouldn't mind leaving, so I can purchase this? I've a gala to attend tonight, and a particularly frantic boss to placate." The way she pronounced 'gala' gave the impression she wasn't looking forward to it.

Loki gave a slight bow, then teleported back to his flat.

If Romanoff's smile was grateful when he appeared and wrecked some minor mayhem at the gala, cancelling it less than twenty minutes after the Avengers arrived, well, neither of them were going to say anything.

Loki knew when to push and when to give someone time, so he left Romanoff for a bit and turned his attention to the other Avenger he thought he might talk into an alliance: Stark was clever even by Æsir standards, able to grasp complicated concepts with no assistance from Thor – who would have been unable to provide much assistance. That wasn't to say he was quite at Loki's level, but given the length of time they each spent studying the concepts and Midgard's lack of basic knowledge, Loki could admit to being regularly impressed by the mortal.

There was also the easy way Stark always spoke to Loki, as though he had no fear of the god, even when the mortal was without his metal protection. Loki was certain it was just meant to throw him off guard – which it often did – but Stark didn't do it with any of Loki's allies, preferring to just blast them to hell first, talk to later. But Loki he would always stop and talk with.

He was in the mortal's workshop, observing the most recent armour, when Stark stepped in. "Loki. Always a pleasure," he said, voice easy in spite of the wariness of his eyes.

"Stark," Loki replied, turning away from the armour. "A clever attempt, but unsuccessful." He nodded to the smashed device in the corner that had been intended to suppress his magic.

Stark sighed. "Did you have to destroy it, though? Money doesn't grow on trees, you know, and that was expensive to make."

Loki snorted, well aware of the mortal's frivolous use of currency.

Stark grinned. "Yeah, yeah. Hypocrite." He dropped onto a stool and kicked against the nearest table to propel himself down and aisle, towards Loki. "So, you noticed it and felt the need to smash it. That means it wasn't a complete failure." He stopped next to the table Loki was leaning against and rested both elbows on the top, head cradled between his hands and tilted slightly.

Loki shrugged. "I was as a limb that had... How do you mortals put it? 'Fallen asleep'?"

"Pins and needles, sure," Stark agreed. "I can see how that would make you want to smash it. Still. Next time, just ask JARVIS to shut it off?"

"Now why would your spirit wish to remove what you have created to entrap me?"

Stark snorted. "Okay, yeah. Still. Smashing? Really? That's kinda Mean Green's thing."

"I have discovered it an acceptable solution to those little annoyances you offer to SHIELD to prove you still to be working in their favour."

Stark's smile tightened. "Yeah, good old SHIELD. They're practically the Boy Scouts of the spy world, demanding dues for being allowed to stay in their happy club."

"I have no idea what you just said," Loki commented drily, because admitting to his lack of Midgardian knowledge always got a laugh out of Stark.

Indeed, Stark laughed again, long and hard. When he silenced himself, he was significantly less wary, his shoulders loosening. "I don't suppose you'll tell me how to make my magic suppressor work?"

Loki shook his head. "And arm SHIELD against me? Perhaps not. I will tell you, however, that one were to tweak the frequency just slightly, one might win a most enjoyable show when next this someone met with Amora."

Stark raised an eyebrow. "Selling out your allies? Isn't that bad form?"

"Have you need to read my copy of the Villain Handbook?" Loki returned with a smirk.

Stark laughed again. "Oh, yeah. Backstabbing's kind of a must with you people, isn't it? What did Enchantress do this time to piss you off? Use your helmet as a sick bowl in retaliation for tossing her through the air last month?"

Loki grimaced. "How uncouth." He smoothed over his expression while Stark snickered. "No such motives. Amora and I are in a pact of peace. Perhaps I wish only to gift you some momentary amusement."

Stark straightened, eyes sharp and wary again. " 'Gift'?" he repeated. "You don't give anything without expecting something in return."

Loki shrugged. "Don't I?" he asked and teleported away.

A week later, Stark used his machine on an unsuspecting Amora and Loki got a good laugh out of watching his occasional ally go from laughing evilly to laughing helplessly as the magic of the machine caused her magic to tickle her.

Loki appeared again in Stark's workshop that evening, unbothered by the machine laying active along the far wall. Stark seemed surprised at Loki's lack of reaction, and Loki smirked. "Did you honestly think I would leave myself open to such simple tricks?"

Stark snorted. "I can always hope." He hopped up on his table, facing Loki. "So, want to explain to me what actually happened? Thor was completely stumped, says he's never seen anything of the like."

Loki considered that for a moment before shrugging. "He has, but I don't believe he would connect the events. It is a form of energy resonance. You fill the space with the correct frequency and the energy collected to perform magic will react. I gave you the frequency which will cause such energy to tickle its caster. You might enquire of the Odinson about the time he couldn't control himself during an Honour Feast." Thor had become unreasonably horny when the magic that connected him to Mjölnir had interacted with the thrum of the gift the Vanir Lord had brought for Odin. It had ended in much embarrassment for the First Prince, and Loki had always enjoyed bringing the occasion up just to watch Thor squirm.

There had been another time such had been used, but against Loki: One of his many punishments for mischief had found him learning just how much the correct frequency could hurt. That was a sensation he would not wish on even the Allfather, no matter his fury with the man.

But he didn't mention that to Stark, and Stark didn't think to ask. Instead, the mortal asked, "So, you can block that. Are you going to tell Amora how?"

Loki smirked. "She would never manage it."

"Wow! You know, some days, I forget how overpowering your ego is."

"Pot, kettle, Stark," Loki returned, amused. "It is nothing so easy; frequencies are different for each kind of magical energy. That frequency is specific to magic of an enchanting class, which Amora favours. You would have to find quite a different frequency to interact with illusion magic the same way. The same is true should you wish to bring Thor to his knees in laughter."

Stark's eyes lit up. "Yeah? So the pins and needles, that was specific to illusion energy?"

"Indeed."

"Is there a frequency to calm Thor down? Because I would sell my soul for that ability some days."

Loki bared his teeth in a sharp smile. "Beware what you wish for Stark, lest I take your offer."

Stark's eyes turned wary over a smile nearly as sharp. "So you don't want my soul? What is it, then? What are you getting out of this, Loki?"

"The pleasure of watching Amora drop from a roof, giggling like an idiot?"

Stark shook his head. "Uh, how about no. Really. What do you want?"

Loki leaned forward, pitching his voice to a purr. "Aren't you tired of all these regulations you are bound by? The need to prove yourself so constantly to an organisation that is completely beneath you? The publicity calls that find you on a float for an entire parade when you could have been creating or drinking? So many freedoms you've given up, and for what?"

Stark watched him, expression carefully masked. "To save lives. To prove I'm worth the second chance I was given."

Loki sneered.

Stark leaned back on his arms, staring thoughtfully at the ceiling. "You know, there are a few perks to being an Avenger: Fantastic living quarters, no backstabbing sometimes-allies, people who can take a joke at their expense without wanting to murder you for it, the weekly pleasure of seeing just how far you can go before the spy is frothing at the mouth, Clint's shepherd's pie... And I don't even like shepherd's pie!" The mortal turned to Loki then, smiling widely. "We've got an open room, if any villains suddenly start feeling the need for friends and good food."

"Unlikely," Loki snarled and teleported back to his flat, wondering how that got so far out of his hands. Damn Stark, anyway.

"Lady Widow."

Romanoff glanced up from the book she was reading in the middle of the park. It had been an obvious gambit for his presence, and Loki had come out to converse only after thoroughly checking for the other Avengers. "I didn't think you would come," she admitted absently as she marked her spot. "Thor asked that whoever you decided to approach next pass on his displeasure at you mentioning 'The Incident', by the way."

Loki couldn't quite suppress a snort of amusement. "Did he actually recite the tale? Or have I need to pass it on?"

"Between Stark and Clint, he spilled the beans. Stark's been playing with his toy since, trying to find the 'perfect frequency'. I'd congratulate you on turning him to a life of making other's lives hell, but, well..."

"He needed no assistance from me," Loki retorted. "Have you another reason to converse with me, then?" He was feeling a bit slighted; of course they'd talked about him and his interest in recruiting one or more of them.

Romanoff shifted, flicking a lock of hair out of her eyes. "Sure. I have a message from all the Avengers for you: If you're looking for friends, we've got space, so long as you keep any mischief non-fatal. Director Fury adds that he wants information if you come to stay."

Loki sneered. "I would never–"

Romanoff waved a hand at him. "We know that. You're not really Avenger material. But you're Thor's little brother, and you've been focussing more on property damage than killing people, which is good in everyone's books. Also, Clint may just want the chance to say he pranked the God of Mischief." She stood in a smooth motion while Loki blinked, uncertain how to react to that. "None of us are going to work for you, Loki, but we're willing to live with you. Next time you piss off one of your fair weather friends, there's a bed with your name on it. So long as you pay your dues." Then she left.

Two months later, Loki took them up on the invitation, bloody from a three-way fight between Namor, Amora, and himself. Banner and Rogers patched him up and Thor helped him to an unused room. Barton made shepherd's pie and left a dozen little pranks around the tower, most of which the others set off. Stark talked him into telling embarrassing stories about Thor while the blond god pleaded with him to shut up.

Loki had been right; living with people he could trust not to stab him in the back at the first chance was oddly settling.

Which was probably why he so thoroughly enjoyed dropping a building on them a month later. He paid for it with friendly ribbing when he returned to Avengers Tower a week later. And it was...nice. Even if he was still losing every fight.

..