I can't get excited.
The captive hears a soft whirring noise and he whispers something under his breath in his native tongue as the physicist’s back is to him, a swift spell that by now has effectively interfered with the cameras. He’s certain they’d both appreciate the privacy. Laufeyson observes Bruce carefully as he opens the door, noting his clear anxiety over the situation as he steps out of his cage and into the room. A brilliant smile crosses his features.
He could run.
When Thor had ripped off his shackles and thrown them to the side during his last… visit, it had resulted in a lengthy, slim crack along each of the cuffs, destroying the runes and proving the chains utterly useless. The metal fetters still adorn pale wrists, however, to avoid suspicions, though he isn’t much concerned with them now. He was an expert at slipping out of standard manacles. His seiðr flows at full strength, and there’s really nothing preventing him from simply vanishing into thin air. But he has bigger plans, ones that still require his cooperation, and if he’s going to have to stay here anyway, he might as well have some fun with it. The Trickster’s hands rest heavy on Bruce’s chest as he angles downward, meeting the smaller male’s height without hesitation.
The kiss is surprisingly gentle, nothing more than a slight press of his lips to the doctor’s. He’s still unsure of what he can get away with, and while he normally prefers a much quicker approach, one to leave his partner breathless and begging, if what Banner had said in their earlier conversations is true, if there is a chance that moving too fast could unleash the creature dwelling within him, he’d like to make sure that he avoids such an encounter at all costs. Banner’s mouth is warm, tasting of blueberries and purple grapes, no doubt from the tea still held in his hand, and the contact overall is pleasant. But just as soon as the god had descended on him, he pulls away, grinning smugly in his triumph. Bound hands pluck the mug of tea from Bruce’s own, and he strides across the room to a small table in the corner, placing the drink on the far side before sitting atop the flat surface. It was dimly lit here, and there was a smaller chance that they would be seen. Loki crosses long legs and beckons his guest over with a finger, eager to see how far he’s willing to go.
Something about Loki’s smile is unnerving. Loki can’t leave, right? He’s still cuffed, and for all he’s wont to assert his divine status, he’s limited. He’s just as helpless with the cage breached as he would be inside it… Well, it’s too late for doubts now.
Chilled lips meet Bruce’s own warm, chapped ones, the first kiss he’s had in maybe years, since Betty by the gaping hatch of a helicopter with wind whipping her hair out, strands lashing against his face. This time he’s closer to the ground, and the kiss the opposite of desperate; all it tells him is that Loki’s holding back. Somehow, all Bruce’s caution must have gotten through to him; he’s careful, just giving a taste. It’s quick, too, and then Loki’s moving across the room, taking Bruce’s tea with him, beckoning him to follow. A moment of respite, for Bruce to decide if he wants to continue. Well, okay. He hadn’t expected that kind of courtesy from Loki, but he’ll take it if it’s offered.
It was nice. It was very nice. It was good, and the chill helped keep him steady. He’s never truly touched Loki before, but for a while now it’s been a thing that Loki would blow an icy kiss against the glass whenever Bruce would announce his departure; the scientist would need further contact to test this theory, but there’s definitely a bond between Loki and the chill, and it’s good. It’s to his liking. That’s about all the analysis he should need, and he stops himself from thinking too much more. It was good.
So have some more.
Decision made, the physicist walks over to where Loki’s situated himself, seated on the small table, a spot probably chosen with the possibility of being snooped on in mind. So Loki doesn’t want to be caught. So this is something Loki wants. Bruce is no stranger to lies, no stranger to hurt; he could probably get angry, lash out, his own personal lie detector, but what’s the advantage of that? What could Loki possibly do? Stop before he comes? Bruce would like to think he’s above being too hurt from just that. This isn’t safe, but really, neither is anything else in Bruce’s life.
He stands in front of Loki now, knees inches away from Loki’s own. And here he stops; Loki’s got the experience here, and he’ll let him make the next physical move. But, “That was good,” he says, eyes flicking up to Loki’s face. “You wanna…take it up a step?”
For a moment, he believes that Banner won't come forward. How droll. Loki would have supposed the Midgardian would have been intrigued enough to advance, to investigate the invitation further. Perhaps he has misjudged him. But no, of course that couldn't be the case. The god wasn't one to make such a miscalculation of character. Almost as if to prove this, the Avenger moves, stepping closer until he's stopped just in front of the Jötunn.
"'Good.'" he scoffs quietly in response. "Merely 'good'?" Emerald eyes flash up to Bruce's, partially in amusement, partially in slight disbelief. 'Good.' When he stops to think on it, he doesn't think that anybody has so undersold his skills, at least not in these matters. If he weren't so entertained by the mortal's brashness, he might be offended. All it meant was that he simply needed to expend a little more effort, and Laufeyson couldn't exactly hold it against his visitor, not really. Banner practically radiates inexperience, almost pathetically so. It's... intriguing to him, Bruce is intriguing to him like some sort of puzzle that needed solving. He's the only one who comes down to visit him without reason and with any sort of frequency (Loki thinks Thor only comes out of guilt and a stupid desire to 'rehabilitate' him. And maybe a bit of something else.) They talk to each other with relative ease, and it's odd, because Loki tried to rule this boorish planet and Banner had helped to stop him. It shouldn't be so simple for them to carry on a conversation, let alone engage in such close, physically intimate contact. Yet here they are, and he was going to make the most of it. If the human was lucky, he might even learn a thing or two. The deity shrugs, displacing the long strands of dark hair clinging to his shoulders. "If that is what you desire."
In one swift motion, he lifts his arms, chained hands going over the physicist's head to land around the back of his neck. The corner of his mouth lifts in a light smirk, and he uses his new hold to yank Bruce towards him, enough so that he can easily crush their lips together, which he does, without a moment's thought. It's rougher than the last, but still comparatively straightforward. Leather-clad knees settle against the doctor's hips, long fingers trailing along the back of his neck, twining in the curls nestled against the warm skin. He smiles against Banner's mouth, though not with the malice he's so usually inclined to exhibit. It's more of an expression of victory, of finally receiving the fruits of his previous baiting. He hums, somewhat content, tongue darting out to flick against Bruce's lips.
