Author's Note: Honestly, this may be best described by the tag I gave it on AO3: "just fucking dubious" or possibly "I don't have personal problems." This is The Fic That Dare Not Speak Its Name, and may be the sketchiest thing I write, ever. I give you: exhibit A for why I am ashamed of myself so often.

WARNINGS FOR THIS FIC: torture, sex of dubious consent/rape. I'm not sure which to call it because it's really, really dancing on the line. It shades a little more toward dub-con, if you asked me, but to be on the safe side and because of the power dynamics involved...if you're worried, I'd err on the side of backing out now.

Sometimes I write fic that I don't even want to admit I wanted. This is not even one of those. This is a fic that I wrote that I don't want to admit to admitting that I wanted.

But that is enough apologizing. If you're here for torture porn containing literally both elements of that genre...yeah. I am so sorry.

Unbeta'd.

Don't make it personal.

That was one of the first rules of any interrogation. You didn't make it personal. You didn't let it get personal. Unless you were Natasha – and she made her own rules in a lot of ways – you kept personal feeling and anger and hate out of it. You did the job. When you lost that – most of the time, that was it. Nothing you got from there would be any good – if you got anything, if the mark wasn't good enough to take advantage of an emotional foothold.

Clint knew that. Knew all of it. Still, staring at the feed on the screen, he didn't hesitate to say it.

"Let me."

He didn't look at any of them, not wanting to see how they would look at him. Whether it was pity or disgust, he didn't want to know. Being able to feel Natasha staring at him was bad enough without seeing it. "I don't think," Cap started to say, but Fury interrupted.

"You sure?"

"Yeah." His voice came out inflectionless. He was a little proud of that. "I'm sure. I…" He swallowed. The words tasted sour in his mouth. "I know him. No one else would…I might at least have a chance. Tasha's trick worked once but it won't again." I need this.

Silence, from Fury. Clint waited.

"Fine," he said, finally. "Agent Barton…you can take this one, unless there are objections."

He willed Natasha not to say anything, stood up.

Don't make it personal. (Can it get more personal than this?)

"Can I just say," Tony started to say, loudly, but Natasha's voice cut in with a "Stark," that spoke volumes, and he stopped. Steve's expression was tight and unhappy.

"You probably want to turn off the feed," Clint said, still toneless. "I don't need to tell you this isn't a time to be squeamish." No one answered, but the silence was heavy. Clint was briefly glad Thor was on Asgard. He didn't think…

Stop. This is just another job.

"Get your ass down here, Barton," Fury said. "We're running a little short on time."

Clint took one last look at the screen. As if he could feel him looking, the lone occupant of the empty room turned his head to look directly at the camera. Clint could almost see his eyes gleam, caught the faint curve of his smile. Fingers crawled down his spine and sick anger gnawed at his stomach.

Yeah. Just another job.

~.~

The doors slid open with the quiet hiss of a vacuum seal, and Clint stepped through. There was a low hum, the quiet sound of Stark's device that was keeping Loki's magic suppressed, and the air felt dry and stale. He didn't look back to watch the doors close, eyes fixed on his target, the reason he was here. The reason he was-

(still a little broken, mangled, wrong)

-here. The gaze that regarded him was imperturbed, the small tilt of his mouth very faintly amused. Somehow, despite the restraints holding him bound (collar, shackles, a metal band over thighs-hips-chest), Loki managed to look like a king. Proud and disdainful of all he saw, even stripped naked, almost translucent skin seeming to gleam under the fluorescent lights.

"Ah," he said, voice almost soft. "I wondered if they would send you."

Clint said nothing. Walked across the room with the case in one hand, heading for the things already laid out. Wishing they had the muzzle they'd sent him back with, that first time, that he could clamp it over that mouth and not have to hear that voice-

(He remembered the voice almost better than anything. The particular inflection when he was pleased. The slight clip of annoyance. The strange shuddering exhale those few rare times Loki let Clint lay hands on him to ease some of the tension locked in his shoulders.)

"No words, hawkling?" Loki sounded supremely untroubled. Fury had said he'd had some of his best at him already, none of them going easy, but to look at him – some faint bruising. A little blood. What, Clint thought angrily, Fury was worried he'd do permanent damage? I could've told him not to bother, probably not much we could do that'd do much, not without killing ourselves too, like a friggin' cockroach-

Stay cool. Stay professional. Clint took a deep breath through his nose and turned to face (his master) his mark. "I'm not here to talk."

Loki's expression went, if possible, more amused. "No, of course. You are here to use your little agonies to carve the truth from my unwilling flesh." He closed his eyes with an affected sigh. "How very tedious."

Clint set the case down with a thump, turning his back to Loki, and didn't respond. They needed what he knew. They needed it soon. He glanced toward the cameras, wondered if his friends were watching.

There was a cold, vicious want simmering under his skin. A need to spill Loki's blood, to see him suffer like he'd been suffering-

He looked over and found Loki watching him still, mouth curved in that faintly self satisfied smile. Just hurt him, hissed the thought at the back of his mind. Fuck answers, fuck interrogation technique, just make him scream, make him beg you for mercy-

He felt his gorge rise and swallowed it viciously down. Focus, Clint. Start simple. Lives are at stake here.

"What's the trouble," Loki murmured, almost a croon. "Now that you have the chance…biting back proving harder than you thought it might? You poor, damaged creature." He clicked his tongue. "It's so very sad." His eyes danced, inhumanly bright and mocking.

Focus.

He picked up a knife. "Right," he said, and turned around. "What do you want to tell me about the Enchantress?"

Loki's eyebrows quirked. "Who?" he said with delicate, flawless innocence. Clint's hand tightened on the hilt and he wondered if putting something sharp through his eye socket would kill him.

"You're working with her, we know that much. And that she's stashed your – magic time bomb, whatever, somewhere. So what-"

Loki tilted his head back, eyes closing again. "Tell me something, dearheart. Do you ever dream of me? I do hope so, I shouldn't like to think that memory of our liaison was so fleeting…"

Clint almost expected the knife to break on his skin. It didn't, thrust home just under his ribs where a human liver would be just like stabbing any human. Loki didn't make a sound, though. Shuddered slightly, that was all, and Clint looked up and found him looking like he was about to start grinning.

"They ought to have sent your spider," he murmured. "She at least might entertain me." His voice was elegant, cruel. Clint held back the urge to snarl. Hurt, damn you.

"I'm still just playing," he said, flatly, coolly. Loki's eyes half lidded. His tongue slipped out and swiped over his lips in a way that made Clint's skin tighten, his flesh crawl.

"Oh, yes," he said, a strange thrum in his voice. "Play with me. Let's see what you can do. Let's see if you can impress me."

Clint pulled the knife out. Slowly. Loki made the barest "ha" exhaling sound, no more, and smiled wider. "I'm afraid I've forgotten the question," he said. "Would you mind terribly asking again?"

"Where's Enchantress," Clint asked, flatly. The wound hardly bled, he noticed. Damned…

"Somewhere, I imagine," Loki said airily. "Likely laughing at your ineffectual – mm." Clint felt the metal edge grate against bone as he put it through his shoulder, but the way Loki's lips parted and he almost arched into the blade-

Jesus fuck.

"Oh," he said, "look at that expression. Such horror. Did you really think you could hurt me?"

"I think I can try," Clint said, through his teeth, and twisted the knife. Loki's head dropped back, long neck extended – just put the knife through that, cut his throat and finish it-

His hand twitched, but he knew he wouldn't. (Couldn't.)

"That tickles a bit – to the left, maybe?" Loki said, his voice rich and touched with something that made Clint want to shiver. "I can almost smell your rage, hawkling. Rich and heady and intense. It overwhelms you, doesn't it? Drowns you, sometimes, leaves you full to bursting with nowhere for the hate to go but inward-"

Clint yanked the knife out and set the edge to one of those long, slender fingers. For the first time, he caught a brief twitch on Loki's face. "What's the bomb going to do when it goes off," Clint broke in, a feeling like acid reflux bubbling up in his throat. "Or can you reattach these if I start taking them off?"

The flicker was gone as quickly as it had appeared. "Oh dear," Loki said, and clicked his tongue. "Wouldn't that be dreadful." His eyes gleamed. "If you could do it."

Clint swallowed. "What's that supposed to-" he cut off, too late. Triumph flared.

"You can cause me petty pain," Loki said, his voice silky, smooth. "But to do worse, to cause any meaningful pain…you cannot. Your spider broke the spell, perhaps, but your bones remember me. Your blood remembers me. You still know your – ah."

Loki broke off as Clint shoved the knife through his hand, between narrow bones, and watched the reflex spider twitching of his fingers with sick satisfaction. His lips pulled back from his teeth, for the first time a flicker of perhaps genuine pain.

The sheer vicious satisfaction he felt took Clint by surprise. "Where's Enchantress," he asked , keeping his voice flat.

"You wouldn't like this to be too easy," Loki said, no strain in his voice. "You wouldn't get to make me bleed, then. And wouldn't that be a pity." He tilted his head back again, smiled. "Try again, my dear hawkling."

Clint yanked the knife out, frustration and anger welling up. He pushed them both down. Don't let him…

Keep pushing. Everyone has a breaking point. Everyone.

~.~

Clint wasn't the best interrogator SHIELD had. There were definitely better. But not a lot of them.

Loki threw his head back and moaned loudly, the sound flagrantly obscene. "Oh," Loki said, in a voice thick with lust, "Like that, yes, harder." Clint jerked away.

There were thin streams of blood running down his chest, smeared on his face. Deep, black bruising had begun to spread across his stomach. His broken fingers were at odd angles and still-

His stomach was trying to do flips. This needed to…he needed to…

"Tell me," he said. heard his own voice sounding ragged and hoarse like he was the one on the rack. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Tell me where-"

"Mmm," Loki said, voice low and rich and husky like he wasn't feeling any of it, like he wasn't even beginning to feel pain. "I do like it when you get authoritative. Why don't you come back and touch me a little more? Carve a little deeper, let me lick my own blood off your fingers…"

Clint's stomach lurched again. "Shut up," he said harshly. "and answer the fucking question."

"Which is it? Shut up or answer the fucking question?" Loki imitated his voice perfectly, mockingly. "I can hardly do both."

"Where did Enchantress stash your magic time bomb," Clint snarled.

"And what do I get from it?" Loki asked, eyes widening a hair, somehow managing to move his body in a sinuous wave that drew Clint's eyes down over the planes of his body, long, lean lines marred and marked by healing wounds. "What reward for my cooperation?"

"I don't pull out your intestines and shove them down your throat," Clint snapped, losing control for just a moment. Loki laughed, full-throated and delighted.

"So crude. And not terribly persuasive." Clint took a couple sharp, short breaths and retreated, went over to the tools laid out, trying to clear his head, think what might…

Think back. Is there anything, anything in that time you're trying not to think of that might…

"Come now, lover. Make me suffer as I so richly deserve…"

Clint felt his breathing hitch and shallow, reached for the first thing that came to hand and whirled, pacing over and shoving the cattle prod in his face. "Okay," he said. "I'm getting really sick of hearing you talk. So you either say what I'm waiting to hear or-"

Loki's mouth quirked. "Is that supposed to worry m-"

Clint stuck the two prongs of the prod into the side of his throat.

He didn't really expect it to work. Loki's whole body jerked, though, spasmed, and his voice cut off with a sharp sound that for the first time maybe approached a noise of pain. His head thudded back against and his eyes opened a fraction wider, and Clint thought yes.

He pulled the metal away, cutting off the current, though he left the thing on, humming lowly. Two livid burn marks stood out on Loki's neck. His head turned a fraction, and the amusement had left his face.

"Should I not find it funny that, all things considered, electricity's what gets to you?" Clint asked. "Cause I kind of do."

"If you think you will gain anything from me by way of pain-"

He planted the prongs a little lower down. Loki's body thrashed against the bonds, unbroken fingers curling and this time the "nnh" noise was unmistakably one of pain. Clint had never enjoyed torture, but with the warmth flooding into him, making him feel flushed- he thought he could enjoy this.

He let Loki jerk a little longer under the current before letting up. "Want to tell me what you and Enchantress are up to?" he asked, tone carefully nonchalant. "If we had Thor around, man, we could just-"

Loki jerked ineffectually against the bonds keeping him immobile with a snarl, but then his expression snapped back to forced calm. "Oh, you think you're clever," Loki said, "You think I've never hurt before? Far worse than anything you could do, I swear it-"

It wasn't quite a cry, the sound Loki made that time, but it was a good deal closer. And it felt good, felt damn good to finally be giving back some of everything he'd had to deal with ever since-

When he let up, Loki took a couple short, panting breaths, his eyes closed. Clint waited, his pulse pounding a little too fast. If he could do this, could win this… Loki's eyes opened to pale slits and fixed on Clint. "You do like this, though," he said, voice a little less silky. "You can tell the rest of them you're here to help save your wretched people but you're here because you want to see me bleed. Because it intoxicates you to have power over me who still owns a piece of you, does it arouse you, do you feel yourself growing hard to the thought of hearing me scr-"

Clint stabbed the cattle prod into his breastbone, hard, until he smelled burning flesh, and Loki did cry out, finally, sharp and pained as his body strained to arch with the electricity coursing through him and it wasn't true, Clint wasn't that kind of sick fucking bastard-

(Except that his heart was pounding and he felt warm all over and maybe maybe a small piece of him wanted-)

He waited longer to stop. When he pulled away the marks where the prod had been touching skin were weeping clear fluid, and Loki breathed raggedly, head hanging forward as much as the collar around his neck would allow.

"Not me," Clint said, and his voice sounded hoarse and awful to his own ears. "Ready to answer questions yet?"

Loki lifted his head and flashed his teeth in a facsimile of a grin. "Questions about my sexual tastes, hawkling? For you-"

Again. He heard the click as Loki's jaw clenched shut, no other sound escaping him this time, but when he pulled the prod back the spasms seemed to continue a few moments longer. "Enchantress. Magic time-bomb. You know the drill," Clint intoned.

Loki's eyes opened barely to slits, looked at him. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," he said, and smiled, something a little wild, a little mad to it. Clint's stomach clenched even as his heart thudded a little faster, and not with fear.

"Do you like it?" Clint asked. "Do you like pain, is that the deal? Is that why you were so buddy-buddy with the Chitauri? They fucked you up bad, didn't they, I remember that, was it just fucked up or maybe plain-" He made an eloquent gesture. Loki's body tensed and his voice turned suddenly harsh.

"Do not try to torment me with the weaknesses you expect me to show. You have no idea-"

"I think I have enough of an idea." Clint took a step in, ugly satisfaction churning in his guts. "Is that why you didn't put up so much of a fight this time? Cause you missed-"

"Enough." Loki's voice was low and rough, strange. Clint felt his face stretch in a vicious, nasty grin even as some part of his brain told his mouth to put on the brakes and his stomach tried to twist into knots.

"S'that a yes? Was that part of the deal, they get the Tesseract and you get-"

"Enough," Loki said again, and there was a feeling that was like the sound of a subway train arriving. Clint's ears popped painfully as the pressure in the room built and then just as quickly dropped.

It took him a moment to realize that the hum of Stark's device had stopped.

Shit.

Loki's restraints clicked open, and he stepped gracefully down, his bare feet quiet on the floor. He took a step back, glanced toward the door, but already knew he'd never get out, even if it was still open. "Did you really think," Loki said, his voice still rougher than its usual, "that any mortal device could hold me forever?"

By rights, standing there naked and smeared with blood from wounds still healing, he shouldn't have cut the figure he did. Clint swallowed hard, and now the pounding of his pulse was definitely fear. A glance at Loki's hands showed his fingers mending themselves, bone realigning so before he'd taken two steps his fingers curled and uncurled with smooth ease, hands flexing like a cat unsheathing its claws.

Loki's lips curled in a smile that didn't reach his eyes and he strode toward Clint, who raised the only weapon he had to hand and swung it. Loki caught his arm around the wrist and squeezed until his grip was forced open and the cattle prod clattered to the floor. He lashed out with the other arm, thoughtlessly – someone get in here someone something before – and Loki caught that one, too, bore him back with inexorable force until his back hit the wall.

He fought, knowing it was pointless, knowing there was nothing he could do, that he was going to die here or worse-

"Oh no," Loki said, and the rough edge on his voice only made it more a purr. "I'm not going to kill you." His hands released Clint's arms, though he still couldn't move them from where they were pinned to the wall, and slid down them, over his sides to his hips. "I'm going to give you what you want. What you wanted since I first touched you."

Clint's mouth went dry. Loki's touch was soft, almost gentle as it traced the waistband of his pants, undid the button and then the zipper. He panted, and Loki paused. His gaze met Clint's, and it was full of brutally mocking kindness.

"No words, hawkling? No pleas for me to stop?"

There was a buzzing in his ears. He thought he heard yelling on the other side of the door. "You wouldn't if I did," he forced out. Loki's fingers, dancing inches from sensitive flesh (not responding, not) were still.

"I would," he murmured, "if you asked." He drew those fingers away, then, and before Clint could hold himself still his body twitched and a faint noise of protest escaped his lips. He could remember, remember like it was his own want-

Loki watched him like he was an exquisitely interesting puzzle, and Clint closed his eyes. "Just-" do it. Whatever you're going to do, get it over with, I don't-

He heard the soft sound of Loki moving, the stir of air, hands easing his pants over his hips. Clint clenched his jaw, braced himself for violence, for pain.

He jumped as a warm, soft breath ghosted over the front of his boxers, his eyes snapping open, and stared at Loki kneeling with his mouth hovering just inches from Clint's hardening cock. He blinked several times, rapidly, brain going blank.

Stop, he thought, but it got lost somewhere between his brain and his mouth. Whatever was holding his arms to the wall released suddenly, but they just fell helplessly to his sides as Loki's fingers hitched over the waistband of his boxers and pulled those down too, his gaze directed upwards sly, sharp, amused. He needed to do something. Say something. Act.

Loki's tongue flicked out and drew a cool, thin line along the side of his dick. Clint's hips twitched and his erection swelled further. "Any last words?" Loki said, and the note in his voice, too kind, made Clint shudder.

He'd thought about it. Then. Except in those fantasies he'd been the one on his knees and what was he supposed to- "I can't," he choked on the words. "I can't-"

"If you need to," Loki murmured, "go on. Tell yourself you couldn't stop me." He moved.

Loki's mouth slid warm and wet down Clint's cock, tongue pressing up against the underside. Long fingers curved over his hips, touch firm but not cruel, and the slow circular rub of his thumbs at the top of his thighs was almost gentle. Loki sucked lightly and Clint's hips jerked forward, thrusting unconsciously. His head throbbed and his stomach was in knots and this was all wrong wrong wrong-

(Please don't be watching, he thought desperately, please no one, let no one see-)

His thoughts broke off as Loki hummed into his flesh, the vibration traveling through his cock and up into his belly and if it didn't feel so damn good-

Waves of hot and cold washed through him, and there was some stupid corner of his mind going look, he's on his knees, he's sucking your goddamn dick, grab a handful of that stupid hair and shove it down his throat, make him choke on it, you've got the power, don't you?

And he just wanted to ask it then why does it still feel like he's winning?

He fought it. Tried desperately to fight it, sweet suction and the swirl-press of his tongue at just the right places like he knew, like he'd always known, the thumb pushing in slow circles at the base of his cock and that dark sleek head bent over like an imitation of submission that was anything but. His breathing caught and snagged in his throat, his head felt light and his whole body strung like a wire.

Loki's mouth retreated, tongue drawing an elaborate swirl that made his knees want to buckle. Clint's left hand clenched at his side, the right drifting out almost of its own accord to slide and fist in silky black hair.

Another flutter of Loki's tongue and Clint heard himself make a low, strangled, involuntary whine and then that goddamn mouth was sliding back down his shaft, all the way down and he felt the nudge of Loki's throat before it opened for him, the constriction over his head as he swallowed and his whole body seized-

He gave up, gave in, and came down Loki's throat, gulping air like he couldn't fill his lungs, his blood singing and his stomach trying to revolt. His limbs went slack and he folded, still trying desperately to breathe. He jerked as Loki's tongue swiped oversensitive flesh clean, but failed to hold in a quiet keen as his mouth withdrew. His body started to shake.

Is this my punishment? he wanted to ask, feeling distant from himself. Is this… He forced his eyes open. "Funny – funny way of punishing me," he managed, gaze fixed on a point on the opposite side of the cell.

"You think so? Mmm. Perhaps so. But we shall see what you think in time." Loki leaned in, his lips just brushing the shell of Clint's ear. He couldn't stop shuddering. "And as for your question," he murmured, so quietly. There was banging on the door. "What you seek is under 82nd and 3rd in your New York. I estimate you have six hours. The Enchantress will be nearby should you wish to try to apprehend her as well."

"Going to kill you," Clint forced out. Loki's fingers ran through his hair but he refused to look, refused to meet his eyes.

"No," Loki murmured. "No, I think not."

And he was gone.