Work Text:
I.
"You."
Natasha's voice soon crashed to an end shortly after Hulk slammed his body onto the quinjet's wall in an attempt to prevent a transformation, Thor watched his escape option get destroyed right before his eyes. Stunned in astonishment, as green turned tan for a brief moment. What sounded no less close to an animal, screamed; "no Banner! Only Hulk!" Though the fleeting feeling it wasn't even comparable when Hulk shrunk down, his last frustrated roar fading into a meekly grunt. Finally Bruce resurfaced, just the disoriented-and-absolutely-shirtless-man he had been looking for.
Hulk's hands latched to the floor, it was where Bruce found his grasp fixated on, fists clenching-and-unclenching with the rhythm of his uneven breath.
"Sun's getting low, sun's getting real low Banner," was what Thor could muster up inbetween the lump welling in his throat as he inched closer—a hand hovered to settle on Bruce's skin, just for the man to jump out of place. "Thor?" A sigh exited, if only for a second, before replaced by the dancing of his lungs, attempting to lock him outside of himself.
In retaliation, Thor made a shhh, holding both of his palms outward for Bruce to see. "Sun's getting low Banner," and finally his breathing started to shift, his eyes wandering to the state of the quinjet. "That's right, just breathe. I won't hurt you."
Each pant heaved through his chest thoroughly, which, Bruce noticed had been harshly hit by air a few times more than he'd like–and weighed down by some sort of light ornament hanging around his chest. Infront of him, Thor is patiently waiting for his will to gather.
"What happened to your hair?"
"Oh some creepy old man cut it."
"Looks good," he had both hands planted on the ground, continuing on taking a grip on this situation. "Your hair," and because Thor couldn't help but comment. "It's grown longer." There might just be a drop of jealousy seeped in his voice.
"What do you mean?" Bruce reached to comb through his usual-kept hair, only to find rebellious curls had met his forehead—his fingers ran through the course of his roots, until the ends which rested just above his shoulders. "Wh—what, how long was I gone?"
"How much do you remember?"
Two years of being green and angry, Bruce's hair had grew long enough to block his field of view. Thor explained how Hulk had his hair tied to avoid such things; and he, had paid no mind to the hair, which, only puts Bruce in a perpetual state of confusement. Once he had transformed back into himself, the rubber broke (dramatically unleashed) to reveal the length of the hair now.
Words which was told by Thor half an hour ago, it didn't seem to have lessened the amount of eye-turns the god of thunder has given him in the timespan of one minute. Now they're roaming 'undercover', and despite his reluctance, Bruce has seemingly agreed to kill Thor's evil sister, in the good cause for Asgard, of course.
"Is something in my hair, Thor?" He says when the other had casted him another glance. "No," came Thor's weak answer. Bruce would've braided it tight, if only he knew how to, if he had tailors to tie them for him, and if he had time to do it.
"Well?"
Thor hid away, mumbling something about being-in-disguise under his breath.
Asgard, in shambles. Bruce learned in the small timeframe with Brunhilde, she was the one responsible to manicure Hulk. Other memories, he's not sure.
Underneath him, the bed creaks as he lifts himself to his elbows. All chest fully covered this time, he turns —collecting surrounding information, and freezes the moment his eyes reaches on the window. Maybe it should have been expected, he'd come to this point, afterall. It is still a hundred times better than being stuck on planet Sakaar with the weird birthday parties.
"Oh god," Bruce groans only cause he's Banner; then feels the hair resting on his forehead once more. Right, he made a mental checklist to trim his hair, it seemed appropriate for the entree to be done now. He balances on his feet, and ventures to find Thor.
Who, later was found looking like a kicked-puppy, didn't turn out to be a stranger afterall. There's an eyepatch he wears now, Bruce has a few guesses, none will escape his mouth as he approached from behind.
"Thor!" He greeted, and was reciprocated by a much, warmer hug. "Banner, you're back." Thor clapped his back a few times before letting go, again, his eyes flicked to Bruce's hair before settling back to a normal gaze.
"Hah yeah. We defeated your evil sister?"
"We did."
Hence why Thor's voice reverbed sadness; he thinks. "Ah, good.. good." Is it good? Bruce could only hope. Seeing all the changes take over, many Asgardians now in this floating ship heading somewhere. "I need... Do you think there's some sort of razor here?"
"Don't cut your hair, Banner."
"What! Wait—uh, why not?" His lips quirks into a nervous smile, though his furrowed brows said otherwise. "Because..." Thor's glint is undeterred, silence stretches out for a moment, before his mouth ghosts against unsaid words. You look great like this.
"Sorry? I didn't catch it—"
"Nothing." Thor reassured with a dopey grin of his, "if they are bothering you, there are ways to style them to your advantage." His words seems to have delivered Bruce into his thoughts, long hair are not for convenience, yet, he could manage it for a while, can't he? Well, the other man seems to need it more than him.
"Ah," Bruce clicked his tongue, feigning ineptitude. "That sounds like a hassle." In response, Thor had cocked his head to the sight. Considering the various hairstyle he used to wear, before.. his shorn golden hair era, it makes sense their understanding of complexity is different. "Then I will teach you," he announced, determination blazing in his blue eye.
"Meet me outside of my room in 10." Thor gave a firm pat on Bruce's shoulder, before leaving. "Your room?" He took a step forward in this foreign floating ship, "Thor? I don't know where where your room is!"
The 'coffee' in the Statesman ship tasted adequate, it left bitterness on Bruce's tongue, which, he could only hope were from some sort of diverged beans in Sakaar, maybe thrown from other planets before dumped on the planet. The substance was brown, usual colour of coffee, somewhat freshly warm as it pours out of the machine, which, resembled more like a water dispenser rather than a coffeemaker.
Whatever he drank, it enthused him enough energy to actually bring himself around. Walking down the halls of the Statesman, finding various of rooms which were.. questionable, some he noted wouldn't even be in Stark's Tower, and well enough, there was a dance-area. The Grandmaster, if none else.
Finally, Bruce reached the rest quarters, or at least where most doors are closed shut, signs put up to request no disturbance. He walked along the hallway, trying to guess which one would be Thor's—a door opened from the side unexpectedly, nudging his shoulder, Bruce would've brushed it off, instead, he found a familiar head of blond peeking from the door.
"Hey," he lingered near the entrance, standing where Thor could see him. "Ah, Banner! You've arrived," his voice boomed, then lowered so as to not interrupt the others. "Come inside." He disappeared into the door, leaving Bruce a little perplexed.
Bruce slid back a handful of his hair as he entered, taking note of the surrounding, before his eyes narrowed on the bundle of.. hair ties, on Thor's bed. "Ouh," he winced. "Am I going to be your guinea pig?"
"Nonsense," Thor waved his hand into the air. "You would be closer to my stallion, with a mane that flows more graceful than the waves of Midgard." His enthusiasm is a little off-putting for Bruce, who, not only let out a squeak, but also took a step back into the exit.
Thor noticed, it only cracks a wider grin on his face. "Or would you rather Brunhilde braid your hair?" The scene came to mind, she would not be unkind— but her weavings wouldn't be lax either. "Not really.." he mumbled, a sigh of resignation flew from his lips.
Bruce, defeated, and much compliant to Thor's word, sat on the spot where he had cued. The king size bed is comfortable, blanketed with soft wool which was kept neat by Thor, if he even had slept. His gaze explored the room for a minute, before his attention was zealously stolen by the hands which had took a great abundance of his curls.
Thor had soundlessly shuffled behind him, with crossed legs, and careful fingers raking through his tangled hair, trying to loosen the aftermath of their adventure (and probably the two years which Hulk kept his hair braided). "Is this alright, Banner?" He asked, whilst correcting those devilish strands of hair escaping his hold.
Since Bruce found no other answer, he reluctantly agreed, lowering his guard, and so to his tense shoulders. "Sure, um. Go ahead, Thor." Below, his hands tugged at the fabric creases grouped on his knees. Then, Thor's tentative fingers slowly, but surely ran along the gaps as one of his hand held them into three sections.
"Your hair is worthy of being in those Midgardian Magazine," came a praise from his lips— followed by a breath which kissed Bruce's unguarded neck all too easy. He let out a chuckle, short of confidence, and Bruce, praying that Thor doesn't see the blush immediately painting his cheeks, lowers his head ever so slightly.
"That's— well, um," Bruce curses himself. "Thank you?"
Without any sort of warning, Thor's hand skimmed over Bruce's forehead, gliding from the surface to his scalp, where his unruly bangs were lifted then kept still so as to not obscure his vision.
"This is where it bothers you?" Thor inquired, spreading his fingers across his scalp, a gesture which felt most explicitly intimate, and when did Thor get such a hold of him? Bruce lightly nodded, as much range he could without having his hair stream from all sorts of direction. "Yeah, my bangs."
"Hmmm," his hum continued, as Thor scrutinized the curls between his thumb index finger. Bruce took the opportunity to ask; "what are you thinking of?" He then shifted his seat, shoulders slumping to the accommodate.
"It suits you. You look like a true mighty warrior here, like in Asgard," while Thor's face might be out of his view, Bruce can envision the frown worn on his expression. "Mhm?" He raised his eyebrows. "And what about before? Did I look like a true mighty nerd with my shorter hair?"
Immediately there's an silenced "ah!" which exclaims out of Thor's abstraction. "No--that is, not what I meant, not at all." His frustration grows, but fluster seeps into his heart. "I did not intend to... Imply such things." Thor's hand became slack, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing against Bruce's skull. "You are a mighty warrior either way. Hair or no hair."
Withal, Bruce would've turned just to see the sight of a flushed god, had it not been his own sheepish blush constricting him. "Oh. Well that's a relief." His lips curled to a chuckle nonetheless.
"You might need a trim, Banner."
"I thought the whole point of coming to you was so I don't have to cut anything off," his lips stilled, the rush of heat fading from his cheeks, and finally, he rotated his head to see Thor. Who had his lips pursed—tongue darted out in concentration as he combed through Bruce's hair. Though the moment he had turned, Thor noticed. Lifting his head to reach Bruce's eyes.
With a hand creeping behind him, Bruce's finger reached where Thor's hands had fled to infront of his folded knees. It was unintended, indubitably —and Bruce had removed his hand with the speed of lightning to deny further contact. Unfortunately for him, it was the only hand supporting his lean, since he other was still rested on his leg—Bruce quickly lost balance. Thor held his shoulders in place before he could crash into him.
"I see, touching my hand is forbidden territory," Thor said in a rather teasing manner. Though his smile was fleeting, his warmth stayed. In his hands, it must've felt like holding a brick wall. Bruce's shoulders were tense, with only the hitch of his breath signaling life. This, rather contributed to Thor's amusement, somehow.
"I think I just walked deeper into that territory, didn't I?" Bruce remorsely sighed, it was yet, worth it to hear Thor slip a laugh. "What you need to walk into is a massage parlor, Banner." Once Bruce had settled into a steady position, Thor's thumbs began to knead at his shoulder blades, working wonders—and progressing something short of a profanity out of Bruce's lips.
"Stop," is what he said instead. When frustration starts to leave his back, it only travels upwards to his head. "Don't, uh. Don't do that, Thor."
The hands stills, then they were gone completely. Leaving vestiges of warmth. Bruce then starts regretting his choice. Maybe not as a whole; well, he should've, if he wanted to be a better person. "Sorry," he murmurs quietly.
"Don't be," but Thor corrected him, smiling despite the hurt much painfully obvious. "It should be me apologizing."
All it did was stab Bruce harder instead, the dagger was in his own hand. Not Thor's. He decided to indulge in this one night, for both of them. "Come on," he frowned, turning so his whole body faced Thor. "You're full of crap."
Boldly enough, he took Thor's hand into his. "We can hold hands," and shyly retreated. "Unless, if it's— if that's not what you want, we don't have to do that." This seemed to have brought his glint back to life, Bruce felt much more confident now, seeing Thor's absolute grin.
"I would like to," his fingers interlaced with Bruce's. "But I would also like to fix something first, Banner." In another second, his hand pressed against Bruce's forehead once more, combing through his hair until they grabbed a handful, utilizing his other hand, he then tied the scientist's bangs to a knot.
Wordless to not say, Bruce squinted his eyes. His view became much, much more clear. "Was that necessary?"
"Well yes," Thor shrugged his shoulders. "Now I can see your eyes," he smiled at the notion. Perhaps Bruce succumbed to too much of this. "I prefer not to see what's infront of me," he countered.
"And what is 'infront of you'?"
"A really annoying god who makes it hard to think straight," Bruce grumbled, somewhere between that and a loud exhale. Thor's eye contact never falters, he's strong with it, and maybe Bruce is weak at that. He does, however, let himself land his head on Thor's chest, feeling the rise and fall of a heartbeat in his ear.
"Then maybe you shouldn't think now," Thor rests his hand on Bruce's head, his thumb brushing on the scientist's temple. So Bruce let go of all burdens, his troubles, and followed Thor's steady breathing. "I think," he started in return.
"I think you tied my hair too tight."
- fin