Loki recognizes that he should be afraid. Perturbed. Disturbed, perhaps, at how much I've killed you so many times in my dreams sounds like a caress feels. At how much he craves pain and suffering and punishment, especially from this man in particular.

He craves other things, too. To trace a path with a fingertip down Clint's spine and chase the shudder with his tongue. Clint's hands at his wrists, at his hip. Pleasure without as much pain.

But he doesn't deserve that, no, so here they are.

"Far be it for me to deny you a new experience." Rolling his hips again, wondering if he can get off before the pain becomes too overwhelming if that's the path they're to take now. "I'll struggle." A bloody smile as his adam's apple bobs when he swallows. "Not that I expect you'll mind, much."