A/N:

Bonus round!

One more Loki/Clint sorta d/s. This one's not whip-related, and it's just a one-shot. I expect this to be the last one, unless I magically get hit with any more ideas.

I think brainwashed!clint hanging on to some of his normal human impulses makes sense, especially because Loki can't keep him on too tight a mental leash or he'll be too stupid a minion. And I think that even if he can be compelled to work with Loki to the best of his abilities, he can't be prevented from delighting in Loki's misery.

Also: do not try this one at home.

"Sir. Do you have a minute?"

For Barton, Loki always had a minute. The man was a paragon of efficiency, had yet to waste one single second of his time. "Of course."

They walked down a tunnel a ways for a quiet room as Barton began. "I want our guys to start carrying this." He showed off a metallic canister. "It's pepper spray. Do you know what that is?"

"No, but I will." He stepped up and put his hands to Barton's temples. "Think about it now."

The images he got – people collapsing, clutching at their faces and howling with pain – were promising.

"No permanent harm," Barton explained, "But immediate near-incapacitation. Our people should all have it with them when they're expecting contact with civilians – we need a way to handle noncompliance without a bloodbath. If you're serious about ruling the world, a reputation for demanding obedience can be a good thing… a reputation for massacring civilians, not so much."

By now Loki knew when his thrall was withholding. "I can hear that you haven't told me everything. What did you leave out?"

Barton squared up and admitted: "That bloodbaths sometimes repeat on me, sir. I've been having nightmares."

"Mm. I see." The perils of being human. Loki took the can and hefted it doubtfully. "Will this work on Thor, do you think? That would certainly be entertaining."

"I don't know, but I'll be happy to figure it out." Barton took the can back, and flicked a switch off the top. The safety, said Loki's newfound knowledge of pepper spray. "I think you're the closest thing to Thor's physiology we have around here, so:" And before Loki could react, up came the can and it hissed to life.

"Wh- AH!" He ducked away, but too late: there was mist on his face. For a second he sifted desperately through his new information to figure out what you were supposed to do after getting pepper-sprayed, but then his entire world was burning and he couldn't think.

Be quiet. Stop panicking, he ordered, but he couldn't quite reach himself, he wasn't listening, his body was too busy stomping blindly around the room knocking into things. He was doubled up, grabbing at his eyes, snarling and flailing like a wounded animal.

"Let go. Let go." Barton's voice. "Let go – rubbing makes it worse. Let go." His hands were finally pried away from his face and he tried not to fight.

He did slap himself in the chest though, to indicate that he couldn't breathe.

"Yeah, you inhaled some. Don't worry about it, this stuff hurts but it's not harmful. Just breathe normally."

He couldn't speak but he could still bowl the mortal over with the force of his thoughts. So help me Barton FIX THIS or you'll regret the day you were ever born.

Barton answered him aloud. "Okay, okay, I'll be right back – I have milk in the other room, milk's supposed help a little. I'll rinse you off. Okay?"

Loki grabbed around and caught a wrist. Wait. With a surge of power he conjured milk, a bottle of it, and a moment later something blessedly cool was pressed to his face and he whimpered.

Barton's voice was muffled, now. "That's right: cry if you can. Tears flush it out of your eyes faster."

The milk-soaked bundle on his face was leaching some of the pain away at last, so that even though his eyes burned more fiercely than he had ever thought possible, he was able to start thinking again. "How long?" he choked out.

"You'll rinse off, and then another twenty minutes or so you'll be mostly okay. Some of the burn'll stick around for a few hours, though. Sorry." A pause. "On the upside… in answer to your question, it looks like pepper spray will work on Thor."

Loki huffed. "Order some. Lots. Now hush and I'll heal up. I don't have twenty minutes to waste." He focused his powers and soothed the burning that was in his eyes... but no sooner had he cooled it than it was back again. No. He swallowed a sob; magic had been his best hope for fixing this, and now…

"Sir? You okay?"

"No." He was miserable: he was blind, his skin hurt, there was burning poison in his mouth and down his throat. His lungs seared with every breath, and it had gone up his nose so that his whole head felt full of flames. Why can't I heal?

"Because you're not hurt. You just have stuff on you."

Ah. With that bit of information Loki changed strategies: ignored the pain, and focused his powers instead on vanishing all of the irritant. Flushing it out and vanishing it, and once he did that the pain faded quickly, all on its own.

Once he at last felt better, he pulled away and tried to blink his vision back.

The light still stung, but he could see all right. Barton was standing shirtless, so Loki plucked the dripping black bundle from his hands and conjured it dry again. "Here you go."

"Thank you, sir. Feeling better?" Loki had never seen anyone look so smug in all his life.

He got up off the floor and dusted himself off. Stood to his full height. "You should have asked my permission before you did that."

"Yep."

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to punish you."

"Yes sir, I figured. It'll be worth it, though."

Loki laughed. "A man after my own heart. Well. What shall I do – spray you right back? That seems fair."

Barton handed the spray over and squared his shoulders.

"Hm." Loki glided around to his back and shook the can slowly. He put a hand on Barton's neck to feel his pulse quickening. "Open your eyes," he ordered.

He came back around front and stared into them. "Wider. Good."

He moved close enough that they could feel each other's breath. "Your mouth as well."

Barton did as he was told, but his lips were trembling as he fought the urge to flinch. Sweat shined on his forehead.

"Wider. Open it until your jaw aches."

Barton did, shaking everywhere now.

"Good." Loki moved to the side, and leaned in to whisper. "When I tell you, I want you to inhale – a full breath, breathe it in. Do you understand?"

Barton gave a tiny nod, and as he did a drop of sweat slid down his cheek.

"Let me hear you do it: inhale."

Loki listened intently, and shook his head. "No – I want you to breathe in through your nose and your mouth. Try again – let me hear."

He did as he was told. "Good." Loki stepped around front again, and raised the can a foot from Barton's face. "You're to hold still for this," he said. "Is that clear? If you move before I'm finished, I'll pin you down and do it again – every morning for a week."

Barton's throat leaped and he shuddered, but he gave a nod.

"On the count of three, inhale." He shook the can one last time and aimed it. "One."

Barton's eyes were wide open and fixed on a point somewhere off in the distance. Loki wondered what he was thinking about.

"Two."

Nice and slow, giving time for the terror to build...

"Three."

Barton did actually inhale – at least until the shock of not being sprayed overtook him. He gasped, stuttered stupidly, blinked and blinked. "You-… aren't gonna…?"

"I'm feeling generous." Loki grinned and patted him on the cheek. "Next time you won't be so lucky. Catch your breath, Agent, and get back to work."

He turned to leave, and was almost at the door when a soft "Sir?" called him back.

"Yes?"

"You should do it." Barton's voice was absolutely flat.

Loki turned and made eyebrows. "Oh?" He gestured for an explanation.

"I can see you're not naturally a hardass, Loki, but if you're really planning on taking power and keeping it, you can't afford mercy all the time. You have to be able to be cruel – and be good at it. You should practice, now when it doesn't matter."

Loki had to battle down a sudden urge to spray himself again. The thrall was right, was absolutely right. Even a slave knew how to be a better ruler than he did.

"Thank you for your counsel, Agent Barton. I think you're correct. Assume the position."

Barton opened his eyes and mouth, holding absolutely still except for the heaving of his chest as the can was raised to his face again.

"Inhale on the count of three." This time the count was short and steady, no more drawing it out just for fun. "One, two,three." He pressed down the button and held. Barton stayed absolutely still for one long moment…

They broke at effectively the same time, Barton doubling up with a grunt just as Loki opened his hand to let the can fall. They were both rubbing at their eyes, Barton involuntarily and Loki because his had stupidly started burning and tearing up in sympathy.

He watched his servant writhe and cough and choke, and he wondered if perhaps he should not have insisted on the man inhaling – surely a facefull of the poison would have been punishment enough?

No. He knew that that was faulty thinking; it was better to err on the side of caution with punishment and he really did need to learn to stop being so soft-hearted. He had done it right.

… but he still conjured a basin of milk on the floor and guided Barton's flailing hand to it before he went out.

The End.

Poor Loki. That's not what you expect of such a model minion. "Yes sir, no sir, MACE TO THE FACE SIR!" What a nasty surprise. I think the only way Clint's able to do that is if he can make himself actually, genuinely believe it will help Loki's plans along.

Let me know what you think!