My Best Friend's the God of Mischief // Peter x Loki

late night devil, put your hands on me

Trigger warning's applied for this chapter. Nothing too explicit, but I thought I should put it up so you'll know what to expect xx

///

Their eyes met and Quentin said in a voice almost a whisper, "but the truth is you don't have to. I can take care of you."

Loki said nothing because, for the time being, he was mesmerized and he could not think straight nor could he process the meaning behind the man's words. Then he suddenly became very much aware of Quentin's film hand rubbing circle against the light tunic of his trousers, moving higher. And his trance was immediately broken.

Quentin seemed surprised when Loki abruptly pulled away and was out of bed in the blink of an eye.

"Loki -"

"No," the God cut him off. "No, you're not my friend. Don't act like we're friends. I don't even know who you are." He snarled, feeling anger boiling up. What angered Loki most was the fact he did not know what upset him. It all happened too quickly; one minute he was living with Peter and the next he was a stray in some stranger's house, a stranger who made him feel weak and pathetic, and another thing that angered Loki was the way this stranger, this Mysterio, was making him feel - he made him feel like he wanted his protection, and that wasn't what Loki wanted. He didn't want to depend his life on anyone anymore.

Quentin shook his head slightly. He seemed taken aback by Loki's temper tantrum. "You're confused," he said. "Only I can help you."

"You don't know anything about me," hissed the God.

"Maybe you're right." Quentin shrugged, "maybe I don't know anything about you, but I know how it feels to be an outcast. A threat to everyone you care for. No one loves you for who you are, and no matter how hard you try, you're never good enough. Yeah, I know how that feels." His voice rose with every word until it was sharp enough to cut, and Loki felt like he was left shattering on the floor.

"You're just like me, Lo." Quentin walked over, putting a hand on Loki's shoulder. "We should stick together. Watch each other's backs."

"I'm sorry," Loki said after a brief moment of silence. He took a hold of the other man's hand and gently removed it from his shoulder, "but if you truly know how I feel, then you must know I was meant to walk the world alone. I appreciate your hospitality, though." He turned around and crossed the room toward the door.

"It's a cruel world." Loki stopped when Quentin spoke, and stood with his back facing him.

"Like I said I can take care of myself." He still did not turn to look him in the eye.

"Of course," he heard Quentin chuckled, "with your power you can kill anyone in the blink of an eye. But that would make you a monster I suppose you don't want to be, wouldn't it?"

Loki didn't respond. He stood still, listening.

"What would you do, if the situation called for it? Would you run your knife through everyone's bodies, slit their throats and pluck eyes out of horrified faces?"

"No." Loki said. Voice cold. "I've killed enough. And if it killed me, then so be it." With that he walked away without looking back. After the door slammed shut silence swallowed everything whole. Quentin broke said silence with the sounds of his disturbing scream and a vase hitting the wall.

~~~

Having decided it best not to risk being seen and drawing unwanted attention, Loki chose an alley for his journey. He didn't know where he was going, though. He just walked and walked, his face hung low and he was trying his best to keep his mind occupied so he wouldn't think about what he'd lost; a friend, a brother. A family. No, Loki shook his head and cursed mentally. He had never had a friend nor a family. Peter wasn't a friend.... was he? No, Peter couldn't be Loki's friend because, all his life, the only thing Loki ever brought to people he cared for was doom. Frigga was dead. Asgard was no more. Thor was broken. He couldn't have the kid facing the same fate for being involved with him. Walking away was the only right thing to do.

Peter deserved better. Thor deserved better. May deserved better.

His breath hitched when he almost bumped into a man in a hoodie standing there blocking his way. "Sorry," Loki muttered and tried to walk away, he didn't go any further when the man grabbed him by the arm and yanked him backward. It wasn't that rough, but it was unexpected.

"Hold on," said the man. Now Loki realized he was bigger. Taller. His face hidden behind the beard and, unlike Quentin, he looked neither kind nor friendly. "Do I know you?" He asked. Though Loki could tell it wasn't really a question.

"I don't think so." Loki shrugged, trying to look calm. He should be calm. He was a God. He's been through wars. Since when did he get so fragile that confronting a mortal bigger in size intimidated him? Loki made an attempt, to free his limb, with no success when it only resulted in the stranger tightening his grip.

The man chuckled because, for a second, panic must've shown on Loki's face. "Oh," he said, "but I think I've seen you before." He moved his face closer. Close enough that Loki smelt alcohol in his breath and he felt disgusted. "On TV. You're that punk that attacked New York years ago, aren't you?"

"Not anymore." Loki managed to look him in the eye, his voice stern as he eventually freed his hand. The moment he freed his hand, however, four more people emerged from the corner. They looked anything but friendly, and before Loki knew it they already circled him.

"What's the matters?" One of them snickered. "Come on, we didn't expect you to be so shy. You sure weren't before."

He didn't have a chance to say a word when the first mean punch, made contact with his jaw, knocked the breathe out of him for the moment. Loki panted, trying to regain himself as their laughter filled the air and his ringing ears. His hands caught in tight firsts. He was about to summon a dagger when,

'with your power you can kill anyone in the blink of an eye. But that would make you a monster.'

'Would you run your knife through everyone's bodies, slit their throats and pluck eyes out of horrified faces?'

Quentin's words echoed in his head. And then Tony's, 'he'll stab you. Right in the back. Because that's what monsters like him do,'

Then his own voice, 'I've killed enough. And if it killed me, then so be it.' Loki closed his eyes, gritted his teeth and took in a deep breath as his fists loosened. The magic, he almost called, fading away. He had killed enough. He wouldn't feed the blood thirst monster within him, even if it killed him.

A kick delivered right in his stomach got him down on his knees. Loki never got the chance to get back up when another kick, aimed at his jaw, sent him to the ground.

Kill them, whispered the voices. Do it. You can. So. Do. It. Skin them alive and make them beg. Loki did not. He wouldn't let them win. Even if he died he wouldn't let the monster win by giving it what it wanted; murder, blood on his hands. He curled up in a ball on the dirty ground, taking the tips of their boots that kept hitting him with no holding back.

He coughed up blood, felt his ribs breaking and, if he had to guess, something was bleeding inside him, too.

"Hey!" Loki then heard a voice, it said, "leave him alone!"

The voice didn't belong to the bullies. It didn't sound so familiar, but at the same time not so strange either; he had definitely heard it somewhere else before. His thoughts were just too numb to think clearly. It was quite an effort, but eventually, thankfully, Loki managed to lift his head an inch from the floor and he looked. His vision was blurry but he could tell who it was.

Standing there was Quentin Beck, and Quentin looked furious.