Have you? A question, but not a demand for an explanation, from nowhere and everywhere. He hadn't expected a modern barn, of all things, but there was water and the chance to catch his breath, attempt at catching his bearings. It's difficult when everything else is so mutable, and when the god is the most solid thing present.

He's in a stall, eyes closed, listening. Clint stands in the center. There are no other animals here. He is the prey in question, after all.

He knows, without opening his eyes, that Clint knows exactly where he is. That the archer has an arrow notched towards him even now. His voice, when Loki uses it, is quiet. Winded. The exhaustion has not left him; neither has his arousal.

It's long past the time when Loki would have judged himself as failing for having that reaction.

"A novel experience for us both."