Loki couldn't lie. He had to bite down on just how baldly the truth wanted to slip past his lips, and he doubted he could contain it for long. He could evade though, still. For the moment. Avoid the question, dance around it and divert an obviously drunken Barton onto something else. "We've done that, have we not? You're hardly a temptation for seconds, only one of us has been drinking, and I've no interest." Truth enough to speak. Loki had no interest in Barton back in his bed, particularly not at the moment, when he wanted no one and nothing near him.
He smiled, sharp enough that it was more a baring of teeth than a real smile. "I don't need the spear to get the best of you. I could snap your neck with little effort." The power of Thor Loki might not have, but he was no mewling mortal, either. Barton had skill, he had heart enough. But he was still fragile. He could break.
But Loki wouldn't. If asked, he'd even have to admit as much. He had no true desire to make an enemy of the whole of the town, and killing Barton, that's all that would result. And Loki's hate for Barton was complex, and strange, but not necessarily murderous. Loki's inclinations rarely led toward murder, anymore. He was restless, bored, and itched for trouble. But Loki had only wanted to burn worlds and all those within them when driven by his own brand of madness, and it rarely frothed to the surface here.
Clint could mean more than one thing. Why Loki had picked him to hate. Why it had been Barton Loki took for his right hand at the start, or why Loki had carried it into Storybrooke and tricked him into bed. If he could trust his own tongue, Loki could have found ways to answer that gave away little and still cut true enough to make Barton bleed. But now, they all led a little too closely to truth Loki didn't want to tell, so he feigned understanding it only as the one Loki had the least investment in evading. "This town is dull, and you were there and easily led. It was an amusement." Truth. True enough. But not the whole truth, and Loki's jaw tensed again, shoulders flinching as he bit back anything else. "Left alone and you come find me, why is that? Hoping I'll kill you, maybe? Easier than a climb to the roof and a fall to the earth in a town where people can fly and might catch you on the way?" It was an obvious enough ploy - going on the offensive. But Clint was drunk and sleepless, and maybe it would work anyway.