Author's Note: This is short. Sorry, but it's mostly to bridge things together. Besides I wanted to update for my wonderful readers
A good portion of the week went by uniformly.
Loki routinely snuck food from the kitchen on Steve's floor, snacked on whatever it was from the safety of the closet, waited for Steve's return, emerged only to engage in hard, powerful sex that roughened over time, fell asleep, invisible in the closet, and the cycle would begin anew.
That was, until about five days after the god's arrival.
The floors and celings were thick enough to be quite soundproof, but unbeknownst to Loki, the Avengers came to Steve often to vent; Steve humored them all.
In fact, they'd been lucky to have been uninterrupted thus far.
Steve had returned to Loki in the evening, glistening with dew as usual and smiling affectionately as they joint their flesh again, the god hanging on for dear life and burying his face in the nape of the Midgardian's neck.
As they neared the crescendo of their festivities, a click was heard, and in a moment, Loki glamoured himself into a woman with many similar features, and Clint Barton graced the room with his awkward presence.
The lovers paused mid-thrust, staring up at Hawkeye with startled blue and green eyes, and the Avenger, now flushed red, fled and slammed the door, muttering crude cuss words.
Steve looked back down at Loki, watching the glamour vanish, his gaze confused as all hell.
"Shh, it's just a dream," he reassured him, cupping his face with an elegant, elongated hand.
Steve seemed satisfied with that response, at least mildly so, enough to finish what he'd begun.
As the end of the night reared its head, Loki felt uneasiness and guilt threaten to surface.
He didn't want to have to leave Steve, who he'd come to admire, or, dare he say it, miss when he was gone.
But now that Clint knew about their 'coupling', he and Steve would put two and two together and then indirectly join the hunt for him.
So he made the most of the night; he let himself be held, and he left a string of hickeys that began from Roger's lower ribs and trailed to the crest of the pectoral on the opposite side.
Unsuspecting, Steve obliged and held Loki close, nuzzling him.
In the dark, the weight of the world manifested like a prowling beast, waiting to pounce as soon as he left the warm, muscular embrace.
Dawn approached like a hurricane; it was unstoppable.
Reluctantly and trying to stifle the lump in his throat, Loki carefully disentangled himself, magicked some clothing on, glamoured his translucency back to its rightful place and left, with a backward glance at the man who he knew would come back to haunt him.
AVAVAV
Light filtered into the bedroom through the ridiculously large windows, gentle but growing harsher with intensity.
The blond man woke gradually, yawning and stretching.
He shuffled through his room, tugging on a tight but stretchy shirt, and pulling up a pair of pants that smelled familiar.
He ran a hand through his hair, and left his room for the kitchen.
He was surprised by Clint, who was eating singed eggs that he'd obviously made at the counter, eyeing Steve with amusement.
"Nice lay you had last night."
It came all in a rush.
Clint knew.
That meant that his relationship with the Asgardian had been real, painfully so.
It meant that he'd harbored (and banged) a wanted war criminal.
A war criminal for whom he also harbored affection.
Clint took his silence as embarassment at being caught.
"Aw, c'mon, Cap. It's nothing; bros walk in on each other sometimes."
Steve snapped out of his reverie. "I've never had that happen before."
"I could tell. Don't worry, man."
Captain America continued to look perturbed.
"Seriously, man, it happens. Are you okay?" Clint reiterated, concerned.
"Yeah... yeah, I'm okay," Steve replied, brow furrowed as he mussed up his hair.
"Don't take it so hard, man."
After toasting and eating a bagel, Steve returned to his bathroom, where he lifted up his shirt over his head and hung it over the door.
Across his chest like a belt lay a purpled stripe of love bites, shiny and fresh.
Guiltily, he snatched his shirt and yanked it back on.
He took a moment to breathe, gripping the sides of the sink, anxiety gnawing at his insides.
His face peered back at him, haunted.
He didn't know if he could forgive himself.