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He loved her. He always had. The way her curly brown hair bounced when she walked, the way her perfume drifted in the breeze, all of it. All of her. She was his first and she will be his last if he has any say in it. He couldn’t think of anybody else he’d rather spend his life with, not when he was looking at her hair sprawled around her pillow. Not when she looked at him like he was the most perfect being in the world.
But then she opened her mouth, “Steven,” she paused, “next time may I be myself?”
What did she mean ‘be herself?’ She was herself.
His eyebrow quirked, “What d’ya mean, Peg?”
He shouldn’t have asked that question, it ruined everything. The whole illusion he had set up, his fantasy, shimmering away before his very eyes in a green mist.
Where curly brown hair and plump red lips once laid were now replaced by slick raven hair and thin nude lips. Ah. Right. He had forgotten. He always did when they laid together.
“Ah... I don't think… that would be a good idea,” Steve couldn’t meet the other man’s eyes. Loki's eyes.
That piercing emerald graze bore into his soul, critiquing every obsession and delusion he couldn't let go of. Refused to let go of.
Loki turned away, couldn’t bear the sight of Steve’s manipulative face any longer. He knew he was asking too much of Loki, he knew he was using him… but it was the only way for him to have what he deserved. What he so desperately craved.
Peggy.
“C’mon,” Steve reached his hand out to grasp Loki’s shoulder, “shift back and let’s forget this ever happened, alright?”
Bastard. He’s such a bastard. Why is he like this…
Loki tore away from his grasp, “No,” he stood from the bed, shoulders tense and fists balled. He wouldn’t cry here, he wouldn’t give Steve the satisfaction of breaking him, “I don't think that would be a good idea.”
He left. Steve was left to wallow in his guilt. Why... why did he always push people away? Why couldn’t he ever just be satisfied with what was given to him? Why did he always demand more? Why couldn’t he have her? Peggy... his Peggy...