He'd thought this was what he wanted but he was wrong. Loki stared into Clint's icy blue eyes, shining with the force that powered his scepter, and he frowned. The archer remained obedient and loyal under his control but he knew deep down that was the problem. The heart he saw in him upon their first meeting had been wiped away by his magic. Everything that drew Loki to him was gone.
For a second, the briefest of seconds, Loki considered letting him go. He could easily release his mind from its prison but then where would that leave him? Clint wouldn't hesitate in shooting an arrow through his skull. He wouldn't wait to hear what he had to say and Loki couldn't blame him.
His frown deepened as he reached up to Clint's face, whose stony demeanor didn't even allow him to flinch, and rested his hand on his cheek. Rather than pulling away as he expected, as he knew Clint would, this other being in his shell leaned into the touch as he knew Loki wanted him to. He quickly pulled his hand away, holding back a hiss as if the simple action burned him. At that, Clint appeared startled with a touch of worry and shame around his eyes.
"Did I do something wrong?"
He was like a kicked puppy or an aggrieved child. Loki couldn't bring himself to meet his eyes. "No, Clint. I'm afraid, in this state, you can do no wrong."
This appeared to please him, or at least he assumed it did. Clint simply resumed his stoic expression and stared at Loki as if awaiting an order. A smile that looked more like a grimace tugged at the corners of Loki's mouth. If he wanted an order, he would give him one.
"Yes, boss," he responded instinctively.
"Remove your shirt."
He didn't even think about it before he clasped the hem of his shirt in his hands and pulled it up and over his head. Loki soaked in the sight of every muscle, every shadow, every edge and crevice. Anywhere he could touch. And he could touch. As long as Clint was under his control, he belonged to him. He reached out and wrapped his hands around his shoulders, pushing him back as he stepped forward until Clint's back hit a wall.
Loki's hands left his shoulders, trailing down his arms like water until they reached his wrists. His long, pale fingers wrapped around them like thread before yanking his arms above his head, gripping his them with enough force that he was just shy of breaking them. Clint never reacted. He didn't show pain or fear or anger. Loki pressed his body up against him and stared down at the archer with venomous distaste. The dead blue eyes that stared back mocked him, almost laughing as the swirling magic danced within them. It presented Loki what he wanted wrapped in a bow while showing how little of it he could actually have.
A hot, searing rage tore through his veins. He clenched his teeth as his hold on Clint's wrists tightened. He wanted to see something in his face. Happiness, hatred, pure, unbridled agony. He could feel the bones in his grip start to fracture before he finally dropped Clint's arms. He figured his mindless archer would need them intact. He couldn't bear to look at any part of him anymore as he turned around to walk away. He had important business to attend to. The war against Midgard wasn't going to start itself.
"Boss?" Clint's voice almost pleaded behind him, completely purposeless without a command.
Loki scowled. "Clothe yourself, Barton. We have work to do."