Clint woke gradually to the bright, buttery light of a summer's day leaping off the bedroom walls. The alarm clock read 11:56, June 19th.

Sighing contentedly, Clint closed his eyes again.

Loki was warm against his back – a little too warm, under the covers, but he wasn't going to complain. He certainly wasn't going to move, since his bones had turned to blancmange and his tendons to custard. Little pieces of his brain were still washing up on the shore. But he would deal with that later… Maybe when the dopy grin had worn off his face, or when he stopped replaying last night in his head every time he closed his eyes. He didn't think he could ever look a candle in the eye again…

Wait.

Clint forced his eyes open again. Stared at the clock.

It was noon.

"Shit!"

Clint sat bolt upright. Then froze, choking, because moving was bad, moving was awful. He felt like he'd been flayed alive, had a cannon fired up his ass, and then been dragged behind a stampeding rhino. He hurt. Everywhere.

A pale hand spidered out from under the covers to grab his arm. Clint batted it away, wincing as he tried to roll off the bed, but Loki – face down, hair a mess around him, shoulders bare and glowing softly with light – dragged him back without the appearance of having woken up.

"Dude, seriously, this is not the – ow!"

Bzzzt. Bzzzt. Bzzzt. His phone was doing a jig on the table.

Flailing, Clint nabbed it with his fingertips just before Loki hauled him back against his chest and slung an arm over his shoulders. Clint tried fruitlessly to elbow him in the ribs but all the contact and sliding on the sheets was setting his tender skin on fire.

"Zee?" Clint managed to get the phone to his ear, wedged against the pillow, before Loki could slap it out of his hand. "I am so, so sorry. I'll be there in like, ten minutes, I just gotta–"

"No, no, it's cool. Relax. You're ah… 'roomie' called ahead," replied the girl on the other end, stage whispering the 'roomie' crackling into Clint's ear with audible air quotes. "I've got you covered."

"My- my roomie… What?"

"Yeah, he said something about wanting to celebrate your birthday… special plans…" He could actually hear the eyebrow waggle when she asked, "How ya feelin'?"

Clint flushed like a peach in the sun.

"Christ, I will kill–" he began, but trailed off with a gasp when Loki pinched him hard on the inside of his thigh.

There was an answering intake of breath from the other side.

"Oh my god, he's with you, isn't he?" she murmured conspiratorially. Clint could picture her ducking behind the door to the storeroom, hand over her mouth and a glint in her eyes. "You're in bed right now, aren't you?"

"N-no? What? That's– I was—" Clint scrambled, and then ruined any chance of recovery by squealing directly into the phone as Loki scraped sharp nails over his ribs.

Zee's raucous giggling was the death knell to his dignity.

"I'll see you tomorrow, birthday boy. Have fun! Oh, and tell Lu 'thanks'!"

"Hang on, it's not– that's–!"

Loki had the courtesy to wait for the beep before wresting the phone out from under Clint's ear and making it disappear. Pressing his face into the pillow, Clint groaned with despair.

"Sleep," Loki decreed into his neck.

"You're a horrible person," he grumbled, still blushing. "And how did you get her to cover my shift? She never works Thursdays."

Loki flapped his hand dismissively where it rested over Clint's hip.

"There was a car she wanted…"

"You got her a car?!" Craning around, Clint pushed his out lower lip and glared accusingly at him. "You haven't even gotten me a car…"

Realising that Clint was not going to obey his edict, Loki propped himself up on his side and rolled Clint onto his back.

"Because," Loki explained, laying a hand flat over Clint's heart, "what I want from you, I don't intend to pay for."

Then he dug his nails into the hard bone of Clint's sternum and scratched all the way down his belly. Clint arched, hissing through his teeth. The burns, though light, had begun to blister overnight, and they hurt. But while he squirmed, he definitely didn't complain when Loki leaned over him and did it again.

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A/N: This really is the end ^^v My AO3 post (same title, same username) also has a short comic 'outtake' as well (but I don't think embedded pictures work on ffnet)

Trivia for the bored:

I am completely down with Clint's safeword 'mockingbird' being a Hunger Games reference. But FYI I stole it from Hawkeye's comic book eventual ex-wife Bobbi Morse, codename Mockingbird. Because divorce is not sexy.

Loki drives a Jag because Jeremy Clarkson said so.

Standing paraffin candles melt at 54 C and at 55 C, up to 20 s exposure was fine on human skin, so Clint's fine, I promise (but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt like all fuck.)