Warnings: Brief mentions of non-consent situations
You should have fought harder. You should have been able to prove yourself, prove to me that you were worthy of my time and respect. And you were, for the most part. You see Barton, that's why I chose you in the first place: you were worthy of everything I had to offer, you were going to be mine; my pet, my slave, my salvation.
I took you because I immediately had a feeling about you; you had something that the others didn't. You had heart. You were going to help me rule to world. Do not let the others fool you; you were not "compromised" as they put it. You were spared. Saved from the mundane world you have grown so accustomed to.
Can you tell me honestly that you did not feel anything for your new life? How much easier was it to live under my rule? You had me for protection, for guidance. I know you felt something. You cannot lie to me Barton.
No matter how hard you try to tear me away, you will never be able to. I have you in my grasp and you have me in your soul. There is nothing you can do about it. You are mine.
You will never be able to escape me Barton. Not now, not ever.
Clint Barton flung himself up. Sweating, panting, and on the verge of tears. Glancing at the clock on his bedside table he sighed and rubbed his eyes; the blurry numbers began to form 2:30 AM. Clint rose from bed, silently cursing his current state, and began to pace around his small room. The archer was used to irregular sleeping patterns; his missions made sleep an almost impossible task.
However, for the past few months the reason for his sleep depravity was not SHIELD, it was instead his own mind. His own subconscious keeping him awake; flooding his dreams with memories of his past enslavement. Or at least Clint had convinced himself that it was his own fault. He denied the part of him that suggested that somewhere in a dark blocked off part of his mind, there was still a piece of Loki lurking in the shadows, waiting to strike and drive him crazy at any given moment. Clint shook his head, trying to rid the chilling idea from his head, to no avail; the thought continued to course through him like some unstoppable disease.
Every night it was the same speech; delivered in the accented voice of the one man Clint hated the most. He hated the way it kept him awake, forcing him to live in a constant fear of sleep. He knew that if he shut his eyes for more than a few moments, he would become helpless against the mental torment of the Asgardian trickster.
His fatigue never went unnoticed. When you live with a team of highly skilled government specialists, trained to hone in on the slightest change in an environment, nothing goes unnoticed for long. There were multiple occasions when he was ordered sleeping pills and doctor's visits, neither of which helped. The pills went in the trash and the doctor's orders in one ear and out the other. There was no convincing anyone he was a lost cause. He had something that couldn't be cured, and it scared him.
It wasn't like the archer could tell anyone about what really happened when Loki had control of him. No one could ever find out about the sleepless nights in Loki's base. The nights when every fiber of his being was crying, pleading to be released. However, Clint could never fully shake the feeling that it was only part of him wishing for the end. The other part, the part of him that leaned into every move Loki made over him, wished they would go on forever. He couldn't bring himself to admit that he was the one to react to everything. It wasn't the controlled part that deepened and accepted the rough kisses and grinding of hips; it was the small part of Clint's mind that had rejected the control. It was that hidden part of him that willingly submitted to every overpowering action of the god.
Clint was done. He was done torturing himself over the thoughts of what he did and did not have control over. He wanted Loki out of his head and he wanted him out now. He stopped his pacing and ran a shaky hand through his already disheveled hair; knowing the only way to bring himself any kind of peace was to get the man out once and for all. In a split second decision he knew what had to be done. He left his room and walked down the hall towards an elevator.
As Clint stepped into the elevator he could feel his heart beating in his chest. He knew what was waiting for him when the machine reached its destination.
His breath caught in his throat as he made a last ditch effort to calm himself down. Blaming a fist into the emergency stop button he sunk down the elevators wall, holding his head in his hands.
"Get a grip Barton." He mumbled to himself. The agent tilted his head back and took a deep breath. Immediately memories came flashing across his mind: a cold hand against the small of his back, a brush of lips against his own, hot breath down his neck. He jolted up, cursing his own stupidity; hating how is own mind made him feel weak and broken.
The elevator stopped and he stepped out. Immediately a security agent greeted him. Clint didn't even bother to explain himself; he simply gave the man a greeting of his own, in the form of a well-placed fist to the jaw. The unfortunate man would be fine in the morning, after all Clint hadn't even hit him that hard. He would simply wake up with a splitting headache.
Clint padded his way over the cell. It consisted of a floor to ceiling glass sheet that acted at the front wall, a small bed in the back of the all-metal room, and a door, which of course required a key card and code to open. Clint spotted a slumped figure tucked into a corner. He had one knee drawn up to his body and his arms were lazily draped across his chest. Clint noticed the man's head was tilted into his arms and his breathing shallow. The man was sleeping. His clothing was torn and dirty; the green and black garments glowing vibrantly under the florescent lights of the cell.
Clint scowled at the figure. He knew there would be no use trying to have a conversation through the thick glass. He stepped over to the door, carefully using the key card and code he swiped off the now unconscious guard. As the door whooshed open Clint saw Loki stir slightly. Resisting the urge to completely kick the man awake he simply nudged him in the side. Immediately the man awoke, revealing a face covered in scratches and bruises. As he gazed upon the figure towering over him, a smile began to play across his lips.
"Ah. Agent Barton. What could you possibly want at this time of the night?" He quipped.
"Shut up." Clint growled, his voice low and dangerous. "The only thing I want right now is for you to get out of me." Every word in that sentence was dripping with hatred.
"Why Barton, I am not currently in you. That can, however, be fixed if you really wanted. I'm afraid that there isn't much privacy in here but if you don't mind, well neither do I." The broken god smirked.
That comment made Clint loose his temper once and for all. He reached down, grabbed what was left of Loki's shirt and flung him up against the wall.
"You listen to me you son of a bitch. That is not what I meant and you know it!"
"Oh, but that's exactly what you meant." Loki whispered, tilting his head to reduce the space between them. "I know you too well now Barton. You can't lie to me." And with that he closed the gap fully, pressing his mouth to Clint's in a forced and unwanted kiss.
"No!" Clint cried, pulling back. "You shut up. I am sick and tired of hearing you say that!" He shouted releasing Loki and taking a step back. "I am so done with having you in my head. Get out!" Clint was shaking now, he was angry and tired and drained completely.
Stumbling backward he slumped onto the metal slab of a bed. He held his head in his hands and wondered what he had expected from this visit. It was a mistake made by a man in desperate need of sleep and support. From across the room he heard a slight chuckle. Clint raised his head and glanced at Loki, whose arms were now folded across his chest, a smirk reappearing on his face.
"You're haunted by those nights. Aren't you, Barton?" He smiled and took a step forward. Clint noted a slight limp in his step. Something about the weak state of the man made him feel a twinge better.
"Has it ever occurred to you that one more of those nights might fix your problem?" he continued, slowing making his way over to the assassin. "It might stop the yearning and the desire to cling on to anything I have to give you. Has any of this even crossed your silly little mortal mind?" He finished, now standing directly in front of the archer.
"How dare you!" Clint shouted, jumping to his feet again. The two men stood only inches apart, eyes locked and jaws clenched.
"That's your problem. You're much too sensitive. Learn accept how you feel about me, about my actions and about my gifts." Loki smirked.
"Gifts?!" Clint spat, unable to comprehend the god's words.
"Everything I did for you was a gift! Showing you freedom, bringing forth the desires that lurked in the back of your mind." He paused. "Those, of course, are only a few examples."
Clint shifted his stance and clenched his fists, not wanting to hear anything else the man had to say. Loki did a once over of the assassin and laughed.
"No need to get so defensive my pet." Clint's face twisted into a shocked scowl as he brought his fist back, planning to add more bruises to the man's face.
In an instant the archer was restrained against the wall, his hands pinned on either side of his head; he could feel any fight he had left in him slowly draining.
"Now, now, that seems a bit harsh. It's much safer for both of us to have you where I can control you. Don't you agree?" Loki quipped heatedly before trialing quick, uneven kisses down Clint's jaw. When his question was met with a simple moan, the god pulled his face back up to the archers.
"I asked you a question Barton." He whispered. Clint opened his eyes, and nodded.
"Yes..." He managed to murmur, feeling the heat rush to his face.
"Good." Loki stated before starting his trail all over again. The part of Clint's being that had been so prominent in the lair was in full control again; he wanted everything that was happening.
Loki released Clint's hands, letting them fall gently against his body. He smirked and moved his own hands down Clint's figure, smiling as the archer shuddered and moaned at his every touch. Clint moved his hands eagerly down Loki's chest, grabbing at his shirt and pulling it up desperately.
"Ah." Loki sighed, snatching up Clint's hands once again. "We mustn't get too ahead of ourselves..." He cooed, pinning the archers hands up once more.
"I-I'm sorry." Clint responded breathlessly.
"You are forgiven." Loki smirked, leaning down to kiss Clint once more. He gasped and leaned into it, this kiss was different than before. This kiss was passionate and hungry; it was everything Clint really wanted.
Comments and critiques welcome.