If Clint whimpered just a little when Jamie pulled away, that was -- well. His own business. And Jamie's, but mostly his own. And he hid it anyway, his face in his arm.
"Aw, arms," he murmured, half slurred as he let them fall to the sides, lazy -- but he rather liked that fine line of rope burn that he could wear later on.
Moving seemed like an awful lot of effort, but he did it anyway, the prospect of a massage enough to get him going. "That's just --- spoiling," he decided on after a long beat.