"You know the answer to that already, and you have a terrible habit of not asking the question you mean to." Part of him is struggling between the softness of touch and the sharpness of teeth, between bruising and bleeding and the goosebumps that rise in the wake of Clint's hand that isn't currently fisted in Loki's hair. Mostly because he doesn't know why. Mostly because he's not sure which interaction he craves more, at this moment, but the idea of being held gently while Clint kills him is one that won't leave his mind now.

"Is this me, or is this you? That's the nature of the thing you're trying to get at. The imbalance of power. The drive to hurt me. My willingness to accept it from you. Is that my doing, or yours? There are no simple answers." Where does that begin or end? Loki doesn't know. He only knows that it exists and he's in no position to ignore it. Nor does he wish to try. Killing him would have freed them both of it, he imagines, but Clint won't see it through in the waking world.

"You hate me, for what I did to you. To cause you to harm those you care about. I hate myself for driving you to it. For not being stronger. Because there is this, now. Because you are worthy of causing me harm and you hate me for it. You don't want it, and I need it. Where does that leave us?"