There's a new game we like to play, you see…
Karaoke night is bad when the God of Mischief is around.
A game with added reality…
Especially when Tony, who was already quite drunk (when is he not?) manages to succeed in getting Clint very, very intoxicated.
"Get up there, Robin Hood!" shouted Tony from his spot at the bar, sloshing his drink onto the counter with an exaggerated gesture towards the makeshift stage.
Clint did oblige to sing one song, and afterwards the alcohol was taking its inevitable toll on him.
You treat me like a dog…
"I'm f…fine," slurred the archer, leaning heavily on the taller man for support as he stumbled into his own room.
"Hush," commanded the god in a quiet but firm voice, guiding Clint to the bed.
He took a few steps toward the door to leave, but a certain curiosity made him glance back. Barton's hair was askew and his shirt hung loosely on his frame, revealing a minute peek of a muscular chest. Loki was amazed at the affects alcohol had on simple mortals. It made them so disheveled and unaware, so… vulnerable…
A guilty fantasy ran through the god's mind in the few seconds he took to observe the human before him. In a single stride, Loki closed the gap between him and the archer.
Get me down on my knees…
"Wh…what are you do…"
"I said be quiet, Barton."
With a light shove of the god's palm against the archer's chest, Clint fell back onto the bed. He flailed his arms a bit, regaining his balance but still disoriented. "Loki—"
He was cut off by a sudden piercing coldness on his tongue. Loki held the soft flesh between his finger and thumb, the pain seeming oddly pleasurable to Clint. The god's green gaze met with Barton's, the two men seeming to share a wordless conversation only they could understand.
"I will show you what true intoxication is…"
We call it master and servant…
