Clint doesn't even know how they'd gotten on the topic.

Well, he'd been talking about a mission where he'd infiltrated a BDSM club just to kill some time, and that had led to an offhand comment – more of a complaint, really, if he was being honest – about how no one had ever been able to push him to his limit. Perhaps he'd looked a little too wistful, because Thor of all fucking people (Asgardians?) started to look pensive.

"I have had partners in the past who enjoyed pain as well," He told Clint, who was honestly more surprised by the fact that Thor was taking him seriously at all. Generally people laughed off that kind of comment; they took it as Clint trolling for a cheap laugh as usual. "If you desire it, I am certain I could put your limit to the test."

Like that doesn't have Clint hard in no time at all. "Think you could make me cry?" He asks, suddenly fixated on the bulge of Thor's bicep where its stretching the hem of his tee shirt. Clint knows for a fact that the demigod can pack a punch, has seen him in action more than once. His mouth waters at the thought.

Thor's eyebrow raises slightly, mouth quirking up at one corner. He looks... excited. "Perhaps I should let you find that out for yourself," He says, and there's no way Clint's imagining it: his voice has definitely gone husky, and even deeper than usual.

"I never pegged you for a tease," Clint jokes, tugging at his collar, because whew – it's getting really hot in here all of a sudden. Just the casual assurance in Thor's tone suggests that he really is no stranger to dominance - "And you won't stop?" He adds, before he can forget to say it, "Even if – especially if I cry, or beg you. I – I'd want you to keep going until I safeword."

Thor's smiling now, and there's no mistaking the predatory look to it. "There is much you don't know about me still, archer. I can meet your demand. What is your safeword?" Clint almost can't believe his ears, but Thor looks just as eager as he feels. There's certainly no mistaking the obscene bulge of Thor's cock even through denim.

Clint almost begs Thor to take him right then and there, but he bites his lip. He doesn't miss how Thor's eyes track the motion, the satisfaction written across his face like he knows exactly the effect he's having on Clint. "Red." Clint tells him, and before he can stop himself, "Like my ass had better be."

"Will you be attempting to make your wisecracks all the way though, or must I gag you?" Thor asks, "Because I do not permit speaking out of turn." He leans back, spreading his legs further. Even the easy way he takes up space – the way he owns it so thoroughly with seemingly no effort – speaks volumes that Clint's suddenly surprised he never noticed before.

"You might have to punish me." Clint suggests right back, utterly shameless. He might be trying to egg Thor on a bit too, but he'd never say.

"Perhaps." He replies, but it's thoughtful, considering. Thor's not taking Clint's bait, that's for sure, and Clint could almost moan aloud at the easy way he's been reigned in. "Do you have any hard limits?"

The way his mind sticks on the word 'hard' cannot be healthy, but he considers it seriously for a moment. "No humiliation. No broken bones if you can help it," And he really shouldn't be quivering at the idea of his own bones cracking beneath one of Thor's gigantic fists, but from a logistics standpoint at least, Clint knows that can't happen. "but I want as much pain as you can give me. Marks are no issue." His mind is racing with the idea of bruises, cuts, his own flesh aching and swelling up... His breath's coming a bit fast, and he can see that Thor's caught on.

"Can I break the skin?" Thor asks, as if he can read Clint's mind, "Cut or pierce you?" His gaze is intense with desire of his own. Clint had no idea how darkly intense Thor's features could get, "Can I choke you?"

"I'll love you if it scars," Clint whimpers. "That's a yes. To all." he adds hurriedly, just to make sure it's clear.

There's more discussion after that, but Clint doesn't recall most of it. It's lost in a haze of lust, of wanting with everything he's got for the golden god with big strong hands to make good on his words and hurt Clint until he can't take any more.

It never comes though.

When it feels like they've hashed out everything under the sun, Thor stands up. He reaches out to Clint and cups his chin in one of his hands. Clint goes with it without even having to think. He's enthralled, rising up onto his knees and meeting Thor's gaze the way he's guided. "I shall consider what we have discussed." Thor tells Clint, slaps him, and then promptly walks away without a backward glance.

Clint almost fucking crawls after him. His face stings from the blow – Thor most certainly doesn't hold back – and he's probably hard enough to cut diamonds, boxers just about soaked with pre-cum. The fucking bastard, Clint thinks, leaving him like this. But when he retreats to his room, the handprint left on his face – and what that portends – have him cumming so hard he sees stars.