Chapter Text
No one would characterize Doctor Bruce Banner as impulsive. Or prone to flights of fancy. Or of a frivolous or capricious heart.
Perhaps, more than a decade ago, he had been an excitable creature, weak only to the thrill of scientific discovery and soft brown hair. But he had spent years on the run since then, each hard-earned lesson tempering his capacity for hope into hardened steel.
Thus, it was completely unacceptable that a sidelong glance from a smirking menace should have his knees turning to water and his stomach doing backflips.
He lost himself in those eyes. That piercing albeit brief stare. In that animal feeling, so long forgotten, so long repressed, stuffed in a crate in the back of his mind in his mid-twenties and padlocked, encased in cement, buried fathoms deep.
Oh, it was electric. It set his blood on fire and his heart racing.
But before he forgot himself, he closed his eyes, counted to ten, and forced the green menace back down.
***
Infatuation (noun)
1. the state of being infatuated.
2. completely lost in the emotion of unreasoning desire.
***
Like some half forgotten dream, he came to in a post-transformation haze, remembering the impression of slight ankles grasped by his massive hands. The virtue of meting out justice was compromised by the idea that he'd utterly ruined any chance of seeing that self-righteous smirk again. He rubbed his face in his human hands and sighed with resignation when Stark suggested Middle Eastern food.
Sleep didn't come easily for him that night. But it never did in the wake of the Other Guy. His unease was compounded by the battle. By how close they'd come to utter destruction. To turning New York into a nuclear holocaust. To total subjugation by an alien enemy. Oh, but he wanted to learn more about that alien enemy. Not just where he was from, or what suns rained down on his home planet, or the composition of the atmosphere, or their version of science/magic, but what exactly made a man like him tick, what had corrupted him so, what drove him to such reckless ambition. What the full weight of his gaze really felt like. The angle the corners of his lips twitched in order to form that demonic smile. How smooth was his skin...
He wrenched himself back from that train of thought. It was pointless. And dangerous. He couldn't afford to let musings of that bent fester and build. It was utterly impossible to deviate that juggernaut once unleashed, so he instead crushed it down without mercy.
No, he told himself, it was simple scientific curiosity that drove him to Tony's lab to cobble together a small transmitter, connect it to a commonplace lithium metal battery, and encase it in a smooth aluminum casing. It was simply the quest for knowledge.
When the demon had recovered enough for travel and SHIELD and Fury had relented and released him into Thor's custody, the motley group of heroes gathered. There was little ceremony and less art to the prisoner transfer. Bruce shook Thor's hand with his right while his left slipped the device into a crevice in the god of thunder's leather armor.
He told himself not to glance at him. Not to make eye contact. Not to acknowledge his presence. Everyone would assume it was because of his shy mannerisms. His utter inability to gloat over the conquered in the wake of his own unmitigated violence. It was true, but there was another aspect to his total avoidance of the situation.
As Thor called down the Bifrost, he gave in to temptation. Shackled and muzzled but not for one minute truly bent. It was a facade he allowed the world to see. Bruce could dissect it easily. It was the opposite aspect of the same mask he wore. His eyes pierced Bruce to the spot. Along the edges of the silver muzzle he could see his cheeks blossom in a sadistic smile. And then both Asgardians were gone.
***
The damnedest thing... The transmitter showed it was still in New York. Bruce went back to the park as the afternoon cycled into evening. He scoured the pavement, looking for the device. Asgardian armor, no pockets, right? It had probably slipped free and was lying on the sidewalk, useless and forgotten.
But it wasn't anywhere. Insult to injury, when he got back to Stark Tower, the transmitter was moving erratically within Central Park. A squirrel or a dog or a child picked it up and was carrying it back and forth. A trademark sigh escaped his body. So much for the experiment. He would leave the Bifrost research to Dr Foster. It was for the best in the long run. He didn't need a thread of speculation tying him to those green eyes. To that mesmerizing smile. And Tony had plenty of other projects to productively distract him.
***
He would resign himself only late at night, alone. When his mind was no longer his own and in no danger of becoming the Other's. In dreams, the ideas festered. A smile. Sharp teeth. A sidelong glance. That haughty chin, raised, throat exposed. Daring him to violence. Daring him to touch. Ankles cradled in his monstrous hands. Calves. Thighs.
He hated waking up. The dreams fled like cockroaches in the sunshine. He swept them away, back under the bed, back into the dark corner where they belonged. At first, he only attacked them with his metaphorical broom. They were easy enough to shoo away. But as they grew, stronger, more insistent, they plagued him during the day too. Green eyes. Silver tongue. Moist lips. He couldn't allow this distraction. It was bad enough for the Other Guy to know. How could he not? But if Tony found out... the mortification would kill him. How weak of heart and mind he was. It was pathetic.
The dreams continued without mercy. He traded his broom for a baseball bat. And the bat for a flamethrower. He woke in a cold sweat more often than not. He ran. The cold early morning air on his face was a balm. The exercise was holy water. Dopamine of another type flowing through his bloodstream. Trading heroin for methadone. Another type of addiction. One that got him through the waking hours without trying to peel his own skin off in impotent longing.
Obsession wove its way into Doctor Banner's brain and it would not let go for all the world.
***