Loki doesn't resist the touch to his wrists or even seem alarmed, but he does look a little confused by it. Thor has always been quick to embrace him, and so was Frigga, so he does know when comfort is being offered, but to his mind he's just made a dreadful confession of his own guilt, not a plea for reassurance.
He blinks at Megatron, further surprised by the message he seems to have taken from this confession, and after a moment he reaches up and pats his cheek. "At first glance, you reminded me of him, but not because of anything you've done to me. Just the silhouette. Broad shoulders, strong jaw...it took me a moment to adjust, but I do not mistake you for Thanos now."
"And he's dead in my world anyway, and in many others. Though he got to me first, and--that's not relevant. What I meant was that I have a lot of innocent blood on my hands, as well. I didn't ask to participate in the Culls, but I didn't stop them either, and when I visited Earth, I did terrible things as much on my own behalf as the Order's. That was when I was a monster. But it is a matter of some reassurance that they had to break me first."
After a moment, he leans lightly into Megatron's shoulder, recognizing the offer of touch, if somewhat awkward accepting it.
"I've been the warlord who expected his followers not to balk at doing horrible things," Megatron says almost airlessly, stroking his hand, "and I've always regretted it, but I've never regretted it more than I do, right now."
"You need not feel that way on my account," Loki's body temperature is a little lower than a human's would be, where he leans against him, a consequence of Jotun blood. "You've done nothing to me, and what I said before, stands. No judgment, not here."
"I thought perhaps it would be best to explain, since my mind started to wander. I am much improved, but I still bear scars."
"And I still stand unconquered." He glances up and takes in the expression on his face, then moves into a full embrace, perching on the arm of the chair he's in. "It's all right, truly."
"Here we are, unconquered," Megatron muses, holding him.
That sounds like the first line of a poem, and he considers running with it. But this is not a poem he wants to write on the fly; this is one he wants to put some thought into writing. It's not like he'd be writing it alone. The words are initially Loki's words; he just wants to see where they'll wander.
It would be so easy to kiss him; a stray thought, but one he's sorely tempted to feed and take in and shield from the cold. But even if that happens, this isn't the way he wants it to happen.
For here, for now, this is enough: that someone can truly know all the things he has done, and could do, and is capable of, and can still want to be where Loki is now.
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He blinks at Megatron, further surprised by the message he seems to have taken from this confession, and after a moment he reaches up and pats his cheek. "At first glance, you reminded me of him, but not because of anything you've done to me. Just the silhouette. Broad shoulders, strong jaw...it took me a moment to adjust, but I do not mistake you for Thanos now."
"And he's dead in my world anyway, and in many others. Though he got to me first, and--that's not relevant. What I meant was that I have a lot of innocent blood on my hands, as well. I didn't ask to participate in the Culls, but I didn't stop them either, and when I visited Earth, I did terrible things as much on my own behalf as the Order's. That was when I was a monster. But it is a matter of some reassurance that they had to break me first."
After a moment, he leans lightly into Megatron's shoulder, recognizing the offer of touch, if somewhat awkward accepting it.
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"I thought perhaps it would be best to explain, since my mind started to wander. I am much improved, but I still bear scars."
"And I still stand unconquered." He glances up and takes in the expression on his face, then moves into a full embrace, perching on the arm of the chair he's in. "It's all right, truly."
no subject
That sounds like the first line of a poem, and he considers running with it. But this is not a poem he wants to write on the fly; this is one he wants to put some thought into writing. It's not like he'd be writing it alone. The words are initially Loki's words; he just wants to see where they'll wander.
It would be so easy to kiss him; a stray thought, but one he's sorely tempted to feed and take in and shield from the cold. But even if that happens, this isn't the way he wants it to happen.
For here, for now, this is enough: that someone can truly know all the things he has done, and could do, and is capable of, and can still want to be where Loki is now.