Loki's touch creeps over his skin, and Clint's breath grows shallow. This isn't how Loki treated him before. It was orders, fascinated stares, sweet praise, drawing close but not touching. Usually. Usually. Not always.

His head gives a little twitch, an aborted movement, as though his reflex was to obey Loki's words without question. But then he tenses his fingers and pulls himself away, just fractionally. His muscles stand out on his arms. He's strong.

Or, strong for a mortal, depending on what condition Loki is in.

"Why?"