A mixture of two prompts. (The first was shamelessly stolen for the summary.)

Prompt #1: Loki wins and takes Clint back as his prize. After all, he chose him for a reason. And being a god, well, vanilla sex was never an option and Clint really does need to be prepared.

Prompt #2: Clint's arms are bound and he is almost hanging from a hook in the ceiling, only his toes touch the floor. There is a dildo inserted in him which is attached to a pole (that is attached to the floor or something - it won't move).

I want lots of description of Clint's body. When he's just hanging from the ropes and supporting all of his weight on his toes, or when he is using those gorgeous arms to lift himself so that he can fuck himself on the dildo. The sheen of sweat on his body, the frustration as he can't maintain it for long enough to come, the pressure of the dildo inside him...

The entire time his partner is watching him and masturbating, while telling him that he won't be released until he comes.

Hope you enjoy.

The day had started off well. The last of the rebels had fallen, and Loki stood above the crowd, arms raised in triumph as they kneeled at his feet. Clint watched with a wary eye, unconsciously fingering his arrows as the ceremony proceeded. Loki, ever a fan of glamour and spectacle, had ordered a coronation in his honour; a grand feast, from which Loki ate little, and speeches from significant political figures followed, their words and gestures carefully scripted to give Loki the welcome he deserved.

The message of this was not lost on Clint, their small square sparkling, showy, and scintillating — all of this mere metres from the rubble and debris that the once-magnificent city had become.

All of this put Loki in a good mood, small smiles decorating his face as he watched the lights flash before him. Even so, he'd left just over an hour into the celebration, cape billowing out behind him as he turned his back on days and weeks of tedious planning, not caring to fake amusement in something that had failed to retain his interest.

Clint had followed him, of course. In a darkened hallway, out of sight from the public, Loki had pushed him against the wall and ran a deliberate hand down his chest and whispered into his ear, "Go to our room. Strip. Wait for me there."

Clint was eager to obey and did so, not knowing what Loki wanted but not particularly caring either.

The day had started off well, but now it is night, and the circumstances have changed.

– - – - –

The ropes cut heavily into his wrists as he hangs, his own body weight working against him. His thighs strain as he stumbles around on his toes, barely touching the floor, and he is panting heavily; his hair is soaked with sweat, as is the rest of his body, from the effort raising himself with his arms again and again, seeking a solace in his release but unable to do so.

He hears Loki sigh across the room and the near-silent approach of his master. Once, he had thought that Loki would have made an incredible archer, with his desire for perfection and amazing ability to remain undetected, but now knows he has little patience for things that do not amuse him.

A cold hand tilts his face up and then he is staring into Loki's face. He knows this face better than his own, for all his nights of staring, and now it only betrays a raised eyebrow.

"Come now, Clint. I thought you were better than this." The disappointment in his voice is palpable, and Clint drops his eyes in shame. He can do nothing to defend himself, because this statement is true, but he aches at the thought of failing Loki and hesitantly moistens his lips only to feel the grip on his chin tighten.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you." Loki's voice is cold and unimpressed. "Haven't I taught you better than this?"

Clint nods, willing his eyes back up until Loki is satisfied. "Better."

Then he feels Loki's hands running the length of his chest — slowly, just how he likes it. One hand reaches up to tweak at his nipples, and the other slides around him, slowly teasing his hole, swirling and touching but not quite doing enough. It is all he can do just to remember to breathe, but even that is almost forgotten when Loki presses their lips together, his tongue making Clint go absolutely mad. The hand on his chest ghosts down until it is stroking his hardened cock, and he can feel Loki's fingernails trailing lightly up and down as he teases. Clint moans and presses closer for more but Loki smartly steps away, staying just close enough to touch, the tantalizing prospect of friction between their bodies deemed impossible.

"Please," Clint whispers into Loki's mouth, struggling to find the words. "More, please."

Loki hums against him and the fingers teasing his ass finally push in, stroking and touching skilfully. Clint lets out a shaky breath and traces his lips against Loki's skin, mapping the area of his neck as though he does not already know it. He pushes back against the slim fingers inside him, trying to angle his body so that they brush against his prostate when it becomes clear Loki has no intention of doing so himself. He thinks Loki is chuckling by the way his throat moves, but is too focused on his task to make sure.

"Searching for something?" Loki asks playfully, and now Clint is sure that he's laughing. If his arms weren't tied above his head Loki would be as naked as he is so their bodies could press together — but they are, and Clint can only curse the sadistic side of Loki that decided teasing Clint would be more enjoyable wearing his dress shirt — green, of course — with only a couple of buttons undone and his dress pants. As far as Clint's concerned, the only time he should be looking that hot is right before stripping and then fucking him senseless.

Luckily, Loki appears to have taken pity on him because he changes the direction of his fingers slightly and Clint shudders all over as they continue to work inside of him. He can feel the sweat gathering on his brow as he gasps for air, and he works fruitlessly to free his arms because he wants to touch, to feel —!

"Please," he pants, even as he works to drive himself harder onto Loki's fingers with what little leverage he has. "If you untie me, then I can – I can – whatever you want, please, just —!"

He knows he's said something wrong the instant the words leave his mouth and has to fight the scream of frustration gathering in his throat when Loki stills his hand.

"What did you say?" Loki's voice is deceptively gentle. Clint shudders involuntarily because he knows this tone — it's the one Loki employs when he's teasing information out of people before he kills them, the one that means there's no right answer.

Clint doesn't know what he said wrong but Loki has already pulled his fingers out and moved away, another disappointed look on his face.

"You mean to say that you don't appreciate my gift, Clint?"

Oh. So he's talking about that. Clint looks at Loki levelly, eventually stating the obvious. "My arms hurt," he mutters, not sure how Loki will react. "I couldn't keep myself up long enough to – you know."

Loki's expression hasn't changed. "Unfortunately, Clint, you won't be getting your release any other way tonight. I suggest that you try again."

Clint nods and takes a deep breath, gripping the rope holding him from the ceiling tightly with both hands and lifts.

His muscles scream in protest as his body rises, but he ignores them because Loki is watching. He bends his legs and cautiously places his feet on the pole behind him, then slowly lowers himself until he can feel the head of the dildo pressing against his back. Breathing steadily, eyes closed in concentration, Clint maneuvres himself until he is perfectly positioned above the dildo and slides himself slowly onto it, feeling it fill him completely.

"There, isn't that better?" Loki croons into his ear, stroking the bulging muscles of his arm. Clint says nothing but raises and lowers himself onto the toy, crying out in pleasure every time, but knows he won't last — his arms are shaking already, exhausted after all his previous failed attempts to pleasure himself.

As if reading his mind, Loki murmurs, "Poor Clint. Tired, are we? Tell me, how long have you been at this?" He places a hand on Clint's hip, massaging carelessly.

Clint tries to answer but can't come up with the breath it takes to speak. His arms tremble as he fucks himself, air leaving him in small puffs. He doesn't have the control to aim the dildo for his prostate every time, instead driving himself up and down on it madly in an effort to maximize the feeling. He feels a bead of sweat make its way down his face and drip down onto his chest; the pleasure is as momentary as it is intense.

A fortunate series of thrusts and Clint can feel the pleasure building. He gasps and closes his eyes and throws himself back without abandon, hoping that this will finally be enough to make him come. It should be, it has to be, because he knows his arms will give out after this, and he chokes on his moans as he sucks on the damp air around him, desperately, trying to get more air into his body and he's close, so fucking close, and —

— and cold hands hold his hips still and his eyes fly open and his mouth opens to scream at whoever it is but it's Loki and he's looking at Clint so sadly that the scream never gets more than halfway up his throat.

Loki sighs as he carefully wipes the sweat on Clint's face, his dashing looks marred by the expression on his face.

"Now, now, Clint. I know you're close, but how many times have I told you to answer my questions? I don't like being left … hanging, as it were," he finishes with a smirk, a spark of amusement in his eyes.

Clint stares at him, unable to believe he'd been robbed of his pleasure because of this, but knows saying so will do him no good. "Sorry," he manages, because the bare minimum is all he can give now. Loki's hands are the only thing keeping him up; the muscles in his arms have already gone slack.

Loki hums and gives him an appraising look. "Think you can manage one more round?" Clint almost laughs at the ridiculousness of the request, but is nonetheless distracted by Loki's mouth at his neck, licking up more of his sweat. "I'll even help you out this time," Loki continues, moving his lips up to his ear and nibbling at the lobe there. "Promise."

The feel of Loki's words against his ear makes him shudder in desire, and his eyes glaze over with lust as he nods against his better judgement.

"Good," Loki breathes against him, capturing his mouth in a swift but fierce kiss before backing away slightly. "I'm going to let you go now, all right?"

Clint gathers the remaining tatters of his strength and nods dutifully, already anticipating the pain that will come.

It's even worse than he imagined, and he winces. True to his word, Loki stands beside him, murmuring filthy scenes and scenarios into his ear. Clint tries to focus on his voice, rich like honey and flowing mellifluously through the air, instead of the pain in his arms. Gradually, he moves up and down the dildo, thankful when it hits just right the very first time, exhaling deeply. Loki paces slowly behind him, reaching out to touch him every now and then with his hands — on his back, on his legs, on his neck.

"You're such a lovely whore, aren't you, Clint?" Clint moans wantonly at Loki's voice, driving himself harder onto the dildo, needing to come after all this time. "Look at you, fucking yourself on that dildo. You'd do anything to come, wouldn't you?"

He nods desperately, trying to formulate words because he knows how Loki likes to be answered, but he can't — he can't get his words under control, he can't work his mouth properly, he can't do anything except for listening to Loki, knowing that if he is to come it will be because of him and not the piece of rubber up his ass.

Perhaps Loki senses this — Clint still isn't sure if he's a mind-reader or not, after all this time — or perhaps he's just growing bored, but it doesn't matter to Clint, because Loki's fingers tighten against his hip and he leans forward until his hair is tickling Clint's neck and his breath is coming out against Clint's face and he whispers obscenely into Clint's ear.

"Then come for me, Clint."

And he does. He jerks in relief against the bonds holding him and cries out, face flushing with pleasure, feeling it throughout his body, hips pumping as he comes, spilling onto the floor and Loki's hand, which reached over just in time to catch some of Clint's come.

Loki steps in front of him, tongue licking a finger clean, darting this way and that around his slender digit, and smiles. He snaps the fingers of his other hand and the ropes and pole and dildo disappear, leaving Clint to fall heavily against him. Clint feels a hand weave into his hair, massaging and stroking, and can do nothing but lean in towards the touch, finding a small comfort in such a mundane gesture.

"Good job, Clint," Loki says, and Clint basks in his approval, smiling up at him. "Nearly done now," he adds, and waves his still-covered hand in front of Clint's face at his confusion. "Be a good boy and help me clean that up, won't you?"

"Okay," Clint agrees, having found his voice again. He takes Loki's hand in both of his, running his tongue over them and sucking each finger slowly, taking his time and making sure to do a thorough job. His eyes close halfway in bliss; he has always loved Loki's fingers, long and slim and ever so skilful. He continues even when he has finished with his job, taking several of them in his mouth at once just to feel the sensation of Loki's skin against his lips and tongue.

Loki indulges him for a moment, but eventually says, "That's enough." Disappointed, Clint nevertheless releases his hand, only to have it skim down his back. The hand in his hair pushes him forward and his lips meet Loki's; he opens his mouth as Loki kisses him deeply, saliva coating their mouths as he returns the kiss sloppily. He groans in satisfaction, then in displeasure as Loki breaks the kiss, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Good job," he says again, but it doesn't nearly have the same feeling behind it. Disinterest finds a way to creep into his voice as he says, "Make sure you clean up after yourself," waving his hand at the mess on the floor. Clint blinks, confused, but he is already turning away and walking out of the room, clearly looking for something else to entertain him.

"Oh, and don't forget," Loki adds, coming back in and startling Clint. "We're leaving for Japan tomorrow. I hear they have some lovely new technology they want to share with us. Don't be late."

"Yes, sir," Clint replies obediently, not really wanting to go but knowing he has no choice.

Loki eyes him suspiciously, and Clint is again left with the impression that Loki can see right through him. A tense second passes, but Loki shrugs it off with that cold indifference of his. "Maybe I'll fuck you tomorrow if you're good," he says instead, smiling lusciously, his words filled with potential and promise.

Clint's breath catches in his throat; try as he might, he'd never be able to stay mad at Loki. "That sounds great, sir." He imbues his voice with desire — easy — and smiles.

Loki stares at him a bit longer — Clint realizes that trying to fool the God of Mischief and Lies might not be the smartest thing he's ever done — before nodding and vanishing into the darkness of the hallway, leaving Clint alone in the room, looking at the small puddle on the floor with distaste.

And the day had started off so well, too.

Written late at night and while exhausted, so apologies for any mistakes. Also, weird and lame ending is so because I couldn't think of anything. All this means that I'll be editing tomorrow when I'm less tired. Hope it isn't too terrible, though.

As always, comments and criticisms are welcomed.