All Our Strength and All Our Sweetness

Clint braced his hands on the tile and let his head drop forward, relishing the hot pounding spray. The SHIELD showers weren’t exactly luxurious, but the pressure was great and the hot water never ran out. The numerous little scrapes he’d picked up during the conclusion of his last mission stung under the spray. Phil had patched him up on the quinjet on the way back to base, but field first aid could only do so much; most of the abrasions weren’t deep enough to warrant bandages, anyway.

Natasha was away on a mission with Director Fury, so Clint and Phil had gotten folded in to the final stage of an op being run by Agent Donnell. They’d spent the last week crowded into a one-bedroom apartment with Donnell and Specialist Hancock, whose inconveniently-timed slip-and-fall on an icy sidewalk had led to a sprained knee and the need for another sniper-capable field team. Clint had never worked on one of Donnell’s ops before; Phil had gotten a sour look when he’d heard about the request, but hadn’t said anything one way or the other.

The thing was, Phil was one of the most unflappable, professional men Clint had ever known; he could walk into a room full of people that Clint knew for a fact he couldn’t stand, get shit done, and leave them all thinking what a good working relationship they had with Agent Coulson. That was probably why it took Clint several days to twig to the fact that Donnell was dancing on Phil’s last nerve.

It wasn’t that Donnell was making mistakes—mistakes happen—or that he was making bad calls—everyone does that sometimes. The issues that kept coming up weren’t even all that serious, just the kind of minor glitches and emerging issues that happened any time you were in the field. They didn’t have to be a big deal, and as long as your Ops team knew what they were doing, they usually weren’t. Phil was a master at that kind of thing, which was just as well, considering the sorts of missions Delta usually ran.

The problem with Donnell was that he kept screwing up, turning little things into bigger problems than they needed to be, but he was convinced he was doing an awesome job.

And that he needed to correct Clint on how to do shit.

And that he needed to correct Phil on how to do shit.

And when Phil tried his normal, ultra-polite, we’re-all-professionals, let-me-share-something-that-has-worked-for-me-in-the-past way to give advice, Donnell puffed up like a wet cat and tried to throw his weight around, reminding Phil—Phil!—that Donnell was AIC of the op and it didn’t matter that Phil outranked him, in the field Donnell got to call the shots.

(In the end, of course, Clint called his own shots, because Donnell’s shots were bullshit, but that wouldn’t happen until later.)

And they’d spent the week stuck in the apartment, with Donnell and Hancock (and Hancock’s leg brace and crutches and Donnell’s ego). The apartment had been fine when it was just Donnell and Hancock staying there, but adding two more people, even if they did come with their own air mattresses, made the perfectly normal-sized apartment feel like an overcrowded prison. There was no reason that poor Hancock couldn’t have gone back to base and briefed Clint over Skype or something, but Donnell had insisted that he had to stay on site in case they needed his intel at a moment’s notice. Privately, Clint thought Donnell was just throwing his weight around because he could; Hancock was on pain meds and spent most of the week limping between the bed and the couch, morosely watching telenovelas, not exactly the picture of a man ready to leap into action.

Being with Phil but not able to be with him had been a special kind of torture. They weren’t unprofessional at work, but most ops had some downtime and at least a little privacy where they could relax, maybe watch some TV with their arms around each other or kiss each other goodnight. On this op, though, the only privacy was in the bathroom, and there was only one of those, so Clint couldn’t even try to hijack it for personal reasons. Phil had pulled him behind a door, the last morning of the op, and they’d spent a few precious stolen moments leaning in, trading soft kisses and just breathing each other’s air; but other than that, they’d been strictly-business the whole time.

It had honestly been kind of a relief to finally be turned loose to do something, even if that something was to perch on a roof and cover Agent Alvarez as she went through with the final meet. Simple, right?

Naturally, things hadn’t stayed simple.

It had all worked out fine in the end. Things had started out kind of hairy, because as soon as someone at the meet got suspicious Donnell lost his cool entirely and told Alvarez to do exactly the wrong thing, blowing her cover and turning one suspicious guy into eight murderous guys. Clint managed to take out enough of them to get her clear, mainly by ignoring everything Donnell was telling him to do; by the time he and Alvarez had met back up and started running, Phil had pulled rank on Donnell and taken over Clint’s comm line himself. That was all Clint really needed; when he would say things like, “quick, boss, what’s Albanian for ‘food poisoning’?” or “they made the hotel, I need alternate egress in the next thirty seconds,” Phil would come right back with “helmim nga ushqimi” or “turn left, third door on the right, down two flights, there’s a service elevator with no surveillance about ten feet on the left.”

By the time they made it to the evac point, Clint was flushed and high with triumph and adrenaline, Alvarez had a secondhand crush on Phil for his handling prowess alone, Donnell was red-faced and petulant, and Phil looked completely ordinary and calm, if you didn’t know him well enough to see the cold fury lurking behind his eyes and in the subtle flex of his punching hand. (Hancock had already left, with the safe house cleaning crew earlier in the day; thank goodness for small mercies.)

Phil made a point to congratulate Clint and Alvarez on a job well done, which just made Donnell madder; as the AIC, he should properly be the one to do the attaboys, but he hadn’t, so tough shit, Donnell.

Alvarez had taken a bullet to the bicep on the way out of the disastrous meet, so she ended up in the back of the jet being seen to by the medics while Clint’s wounds—all minor, mainly caused by doing a rolling landing onto roofing gravel and free-climbing something splintery—were dealt with by Phil’s deft, gentle fingers. Afterward, Phil had strapped himself in so close to Clint they were practically sharing a seat, pulled out his tablet, and started amending his AAR. (He’d been working on it all week, easing his annoyance at Donnell by meticulously documenting his fuck-ups.) If Clint knew Phil—and he did—he’d have it electronically submitted before the jet even landed, with cc’s to Donnell’s supervisor and Director Fury for good measure. Clint had leaned in, enjoying the warm press of Phil’s arm against his, and worked on his own report, hoping it would mean less time on base before he could drag Phil home and do something to work out all the frustration of the last week and the adrenaline of the day.

That, Clint was still hoping to do, hence the extra-thorough shower. They’d both been whisked straight off the jet, Clint to medical and Phil to a high-level debrief, but Clint had managed to shoot Phil a text (“take me home tonight? i dont wanna let you go till we see the light”) and Phil had responded with a “your musical taste is suspect but your ideas are fantastic” that Clint was 98% certain he’d typed under the table in his meeting, so the day was looking up, honestly.

He finished his shower and went to wait for Phil in his office, where he could sniff the traces of Phil-smell that clung to the collar of his emergency spare suit jacket—he’s not a creeper, okay, it just smelled really good—and then burrow comfortably into Phil’s couch with the book that he’d stashed under the cushions. At least, that was the original plan; when he got there, though, Clint was still too hyped up to settle, fidgety and horny and needing to do something.

When Phil came in, half an hour later, Clint was draped upside-down on the couch, humming both parts of “Take Me Home Tonight” (he’d earwormed himself) and kicking his feet in time as he used a tiny crossbow he’d made out of office supplies to launch thumbtack-darts at Phil’s wall calendar. Clint looked up—down? over at Phil when he heard the door close.

“Hey,” he said, shooting off his final dart, which hit and stuck square in the middle of the “o” in “Monday.” “You okay?”

Phil didn’t really look okay; he was smiling at Clint, but otherwise he looked tense and miserable, red-eyed and ruffled. Clint wanted to go over there and pet and soothe him, but they were still at work, so he contented himself with doing a modified backflip off the couch, rolling to his feet as attractively as possible, and crossing the room to put himself well inside Phil’s personal space bubble.

“I’m not the one who got shot at today,” Phil said. “I’m fine.”

Clint knew from experience that Phil much preferred being shot at himself to having his agents be shot at, but he didn’t call Phil on the inaccuracy. “You about ready to go?” The sooner he got Phil off base and back to somewhere with privacy and a big bed, the better.

“We’re on stand-down for 48 hours,” Phil told him. “Would you like—”

“I would absolutely like,” Clint interrupted. “Assuming that the end of that sentence was something like ‘to come home with me and see how many times you can make me come in two days.’”

“Something like that,” Phil said, and his smile looked a little more solid. “Come on, let’s go.”

Phil got one of the motor pool drivers to take them back to his place, as neither one of them felt like dealing with the subway. They sat together in the back of the town car; when Clint left his hand invitingly in the middle of the seat, Phil took it and held on with surprising force. Clint rubbed over Phil’s knuckles with his thumb, looking over in concern. This wasn’t the place to have a personal discussion—it was just a normal car, with no soundproofing between them and the driver—but he was starting to wonder if Phil needed something different from the nice post-mission adrenaline-fueled sex Clint had been planning on. If maybe he needed something special, the way Clint had after his mission in Nicaragua.

Clint would be more than willing to bundle Phil up in a blanket and feed him nibbles and stroke his hair, but somehow he didn’t think that would be as effective on Phil as it had been on him. The tension he could see in Phil’s shoulders, the strain on his face, weren’t from physical fatigue. It wasn’t just anger, either, though Phil was obviously pissed as hell at Agent Donnell; Phil was actually pretty good at processing anger, working through it and letting it go, especially once he’d expressed his displeasure through the medium of damning AARs that would be part of someone’s Permanent Record.

Clint frowned a little to himself, bouncing his leg to try to bleed off a little energy as he picked at the puzzle that was Phil’s emotional state. He couldn’t be that torn up over how things turned out, because nobody was that seriously hurt and the mission objectives had been completed. Not ideally, granted—the screw-up at the end was completely unnecessary—but that was on Donnell, not Phil; it wasn’t Phil’s failure to—wait.

Phil had spent the whole week trying to influence Donnell into making good decisions, and Donnell had spent the week throwing Phil’s advice back in his face and making other, shittier decisions. Phil had held back, had let Donnell make his own mistakes, and hadn’t stepped in until—ah.

Until Alvarez was shot and Clint was scrambling to cover her. Until Phil’s agents (because let’s get real, any agents on an op were Phil’s agents whether or not he was officially in charge of them) were in danger—unnecessary danger, danger they would never have been in if Phil had been running the op.

Phil might not think the debacle was his fault; he’d certainly written a concise and scathing analysis pointing out all the ways it was Donnell’s fuck-up. But Clint would bet a boomerang arrow that Phil still felt responsible, either for not figuring out the magic words to get Donnell to listen to sense or for not stepping in sooner. And that was the sort of nagging thing that probably wasn’t going to be helped by cuddling on the couch.

Clint worried at the thought more, something hovering on the tip of his tongue, just out of reach, something Phil had said that might—

Yes. Clint had been reluctant to let Phil spoil him without getting sex out of it, and Phil had said that what he liked most was knowing that he was doing something to help Clint and seeing the results immediately, right under his hands. This week had been, like, the opposite of that. Phil had spent the week trying to be responsible and getting thwarted; maybe he had, like… responsibility blue balls, or something. All the work but none of the satisfaction of seeing it go well.

Maybe the best way for Clint to take care of him would be to ask him to take care of Clint, and to make sure he could see it helping.

Clint’s dick gave a hopeful throb at the thought of all the ways Phil might go about taking care of him, and Clint felt his face curl into a grin. He probably looked like a lecherous gnome, but no big. Phil seemed to like it, anyway. He gave Phil’s hand a little squeeze, settled back into the seat in a way that let him spread his legs a little more, and spent the rest of the drive making plans.

They ordered dinner from their favorite place and ate it on the couch with the TV on, sitting close enough together that their legs and shoulders touched. It was a welcome change from the last week, but it hadn’t gone far enough, hadn’t started to coax Phil’s shoulders down or drive the tightness from his face. Phil’s tension was starting to make Clint even more jittery, like his body thought something was wrong with them even though his mind knew that wasn’t true. To hell with that, though. Clint had plans. Good plans. Sexy plans.

While Phil was washing the dishes, Clint slipped into the bedroom and got his collar out of its drawer. Even after months, he still got excited when he took it out of the box: his skin prickling with anticipation, his breath coming a little quicker, his heart beating a little harder. He just stood there for a minute, rubbing the supple leather and enjoying the buzz in his veins, until he heard the water stop running.

Phil was just drying his hands when Clint made it out to the kitchen. Clint walked right up to him and held out his hand, collar draped over it.

“You don’t have to,” he told Phil, “but if you want to, I… I’d really like it if you’d do something for me.”

Phil’s eyes lit right the hell up. He even stood up straighter. Oh, yeah, Clint Barton, excellent boyfriend, right on target as usual. This was going to work.

“Of course, Clint,” Phil said, curling his hand protectively around Clint’s, trapping the collar between their palms. “Is this like—do you want the same as last time, or something else?”

Clint stepped in, bringing their bodies flush, and gave in to the temptation to nuzzle under the hinge of Phil’s jaw. It was one of his favorite spots. “Something else,” he said, dropping his voice to a low purr, trying to make it sound sexy instead of dumb. If the way Phil shivered against him was any indication, he’d hit the sweet spot. “I just, I’m still all keyed up, you know? I need to burn my extra energy off or something. And I’m horny as hell from being so close to you all week and not being able to do anything about it. And you—” he pressed a little wet kiss to the pulse point beneath his mouth—“shit, Phil, you were such a boss today. Everything I needed, you were right there for me. I didn’t have to worry, I didn’t have to plan, I could just ask for what I needed and you’d have it, like we were sharing a brain or something.”

“You should never have been in that situation in the first place,” Phil said, his voice twisting unhappily.

“Sometimes people are assholes, Phil. You can’t stop assholes from being assholes. But I didn’t worry. I knew you’d have my back, and you did. Mine, and Alvarez’s, and even fucking Donnell’s. You pulled it off for us.” He kissed Phil again, nudged their hips together a little bit. “I didn’t have to think, I could just be.” He pulled back, meeting Phil’s eyes, putting all his sincerity in his voice. “I think that’s one reason why we’re so good together,” he said. “You know me, you know what I need, just as much in here as out there. You pay attention; you care.”

Phil wrapped his free arm around Clint’s waist, pulling him in closer, brushing his lips over the short hair at Clint’s temple. “Of course I do,” he murmured. “You’re important.”

Clint had to kiss him again. “Tonight, I… I want you to blindfold me,” he said. They hadn’t tried that yet, though they’d been easing into it lately. Clint depended so heavily on his vision in the field that he still got a little nervous if he couldn’t see; for the same reason, though, closing his eyes made Clint feel exhilarated and free, and he wanted to explore that feeling further. Tonight would be a perfect time, he thought, for both of them. It was easier for Clint to take something he wanted if he knew it was good for Phil too.

“Clint,” Phil said, and his voice had gone rough, “you don’t have to do that. I know it’s hard for you.”

“That’s why I want to,” Clint said. “I’ve wanted to for a while. If it doesn’t work out tonight like I think it will, no harm, no foul; I’ll say so, and you’ll take it off and do something different.” He kissed Phil’s throat again, reassuring. “I promise, I won’t let you do anything I don’t like. But I want to do this with you, Phil. I want you to call the shots. Put me down where all I have to do is obey you, and make me fly. I think we both need this tonight.”

Phil drew a deep, shuddering breath. “Okay,” he said, and picked up Clint’s collar, pausing to kiss him softly before drawing the smooth leather around Clint’s throat. “Okay,” he said again, and kissed the skin above the collar, like he did every time, their own little ritual. When he straightened up again, Clint could practically see him setting aside the worries of the day, his focus narrowing and sharpening and falling full on Clint. It was like stepping under a heat lamp.

This was going to be awesome. Clint Barton 1, shitty mission 0. Home team advantage, oh yeah.

“Take off your shoes, take care of anything you need to, and meet me in the bedroom,” Phil said, and Clint shivered at the promise in his voice. He was a little nervous, but it was good nervous. Like, excited-nervous. He practically sprinted away, just to burn some of the energy out of his muscles, and he heard Phil chuckle to himself as he went.

Best. Idea. Ever.

When Clint padded barefoot into the bedroom, Phil was already there. He’d turned the heat up a little, and changed into sweatpants—sweatpants and nothing else, and Clint pretty much wanted to teleport over and nibble all up and down that gorgeous chest, but he forced himself to wait. They’d started; this was Phil’s show, now. There was some stuff on the bed, and an old sheet spread over it that was probably covering some towels for easy cleanup later. Clint didn’t worry too much about that, too caught up in the perfect way the lamplight gilded the curves of muscle in Phil’s arms.

Phil looked up and smiled at him. He already looked better, the lines of tension smoothed from his face, and Clint felt a sense of deep personal pride at how well his plan was going. “You ready?” Phil asked.

“So ready.” Clint rolled up on the balls of his feet a few times, enjoying the flex of his calf muscles and the hungry gleam in Phil’s eyes. Phil walked right up to him, curling a big hand around the back of his neck and gripping just tight enough to make Clint shiver before pulling him in for a leisurely kiss. He kept it pretty restrained, no humping or groping, no contact at all except for their mouths and Phil’s hand, but it was enough to settle Clint down a little, to take him another notch or two toward that warm, floaty place where time stopped being relevant and Phil was the entire world.

Phil pulled back, and waited until Clint opened his eyes and looked at him. “Take off your shirt,” he said, lifting his hand. Clint stripped off his tee and tossed it into the hamper without looking, just to make Phil smile.

Phil skimmed a hand down Clint’s side, letting it rest on his waist just above the top of his jeans. “Do you still want the blindfold?”

“Yes,” Clint said, stomach flipping a little, nervous but excited. “Just, ah, don’t leave while it’s on, okay? It’ll be fine as long as you stay with me.”

“I promise,” Phil said, leaning in for another gentle kiss. “And remember, if it stops working for you—”

“I’ll let you know,” Clint promised.

Phil smiled. “Then close your eyes,” he said.

Clint closed his eyes.

The blindfold was quilted satin, smooth and soft and cool against Clint’s skin. Phil adjusted the straps carefully around his head, making sure they weren’t pulling his hair or catching on his ears. “Open your eyes,” Phil said, when he was done. “How does that feel?”

“Feels fine,” Clint said. He opened his eyes to velvet darkness, and couldn’t hold back a sharp little breath, a tiny moment of vertigo at the disconnect.

Phil’s hands wrapped around his biceps, warm and a little rough, solid and grounding. “Okay?”

“Yeah, it’s fine, just needed to get used to it,” Clint said, feeling himself settle at Phil’s touch.

“Just stand here for me,” Phil said, “and hold position if I move you, all right? I’m going to undress you now.”

“Sounds like a plan, boss.”

Phil’s hands left his arms with an affectionate pat. The place where they had been felt colder by comparison, the fine hairs standing up. It was strange; he knew Phil’s bedroom intimately, he could get up in the dark of night and make it to the bathroom and back unscathed, but something about the blindfold made it seem like he could be anywhere. There was a swoop in his guts that couldn’t decide whether it was going to be good or bad, and for a long moment Clint wasn’t sure if this would work out after all.

Then Phil unfastened the button of Clint’s jeans, and he was back again, in the cozy warm room where he’d never known anything but love and joy and safety, tethered there by the feel of Phil’s hands. He let out a soft huff of breath, pressing forward a little into the touch.

“Easy,” Phil soothed, deft fingers sliding down his zipper. “I’m here.”

If Clint had planned ahead a little better, he’d have worn something easier-access than jeans, but he’d been thinking more about aesthetics than access when he got dressed. It worked out all right, though; Phil took his time peeling Clint out of them, caressing the skin he bared, though not getting particularly sexual yet. When he’d finally gotten the jeans and Clint’s shorts down around his ankles, he had Clint lift his feet one at a time so he could get them off, leaving Clint totally naked except for his collar and the blindfold.

It wasn’t like Clint had never been naked like this before, but it was different with the blindfold on; he felt more naked, somehow, like he might get touched anywhere at any time and not know it was coming. He felt like his skin was reaching out, trying to see instead of his eyes.

“You’re doing great,” Phil told him, stroking down Clint’s spine to cup his ass. “I’d like you to wear your cuffs for me; what do you think?”

“Yeah,” Clint said. He loved wearing the cuffs; they made him feel owned, in a good way, settled and treasured and safe, their gentle pressure the next best thing to Phil’s hands. “Yeah, please, that’d be good.”

“Take two normal steps forward,” Phil told him. Clint could feel the rug under his feet; they were right next to the bed.

Phil slid his own bare foot over to nudge against Clint’s, standing close enough that Clint could feel the heat radiating off him, comforting and exciting at the same time. “Right hand, please.”

Clint held out his hand, and Phil took it, raised it up a little. Clint could feel the puff of his breath, then the tender press of his lips, and then cool, buttery leather wrapped around his wrist.

Phil didn’t put the whole set on this time, just the wrist and ankle cuffs, but that was enough; they were snug and soothing around him, and the tug of each buckle seemed to smooth him out a little more, transmuting his nervous energy into something heavier, softer, more sensual. Phil talked to him the whole time, keeping him present with his voice and his touch, and by the time the last cuff was in place Clint had started to feel dreamy and blurred, like he was a candy bar melting around the edges. Phil was reacting, too, his voice getting deeper and slower, his touches more lingering and languid.

“There, that’s it,” Phil said, hands stroking over Clint’s body, soothing him and perking him up at the same time, like the touches were preparation for something more to come. In the dark behind the blindfold, everything Phil did was more intense than usual. “You look amazing, Clint. That color is beautiful against your skin.” He kissed Clint’s shoulder. “I’m going to put you on the bed, now.”

Phil took his elbow and guided him up onto the bed. “On your stomach, please,” he said. “A little more to your left. That’s it, perfect. Here, hold your head up for me.” Clint obeyed, and heard the soft sound of cloth brushing cloth.

“There’s a pillow under your head,” Phil told him. “Make yourself comfortable; find a position you can hold for a while.”

“Yessir,” Clint murmured. He could feel soft, smooth sheets under his bare skin, and he shifted around, hugging the pillow and settling so that his face was turned toward Phil.

“That’s good, Clint,” Phil told him, stroking over Clint’s shoulders again. Clint let out a content little hum, spreading his legs a little more.

“You gonna fuck me, boss?”

Phil patted his ass. “Maybe, maybe not. That’s for me to worry about, all right? All you have to do is let me take care of you. Think you can do that?”

“Mm,” Clint said, arching into the touch. “Yeah, sounds good, babe.”

“Thank you,” Phil said, his voice achingly sincere, and Clint preened a little. “I’m going to put some oil on your back.”

Clint heard the click of a bottle cap, and then wet, slick noises, and then Phil’s hands were on his shoulders, hot and slippery and perfect. “Any sore spots?”

Clint thought about it. “Right side,” he said. “Landed on it. Not bad, though.”

Phil’s fingers traced lightly over his back, spreading oil over his skin. Clint could smell sandalwood and vanilla as the oil warmed, familiar and soothing from any number of massages they’d given each other.

“I can see a little bruise coming up on your hip, and another on your shoulder,” Phil said. He touched each spot, so gently it didn’t hurt even a little. “I’ll go easy, but don’t let me hurt you.”

“Won’t,” Clint promised, letting his eyes slide shut under the blindfold. The bed shifted as Phil moved to straddle Clint, the soft cotton of his sweats comforting against the bare skin of Clint’s hips.

Phil’s hands felt so good, warm and tender and strong. Clint had always loved his hands, loved looking at them and feeling them, being touched by them. It didn’t matter if it was a handshake or a hand job, when Phil touched him, Clint could always feel the love behind it. It had been surprising at first; it was familiar, now, but still precious, a gift he hadn’t known to ask for.

Phil wasn’t going for deep tissue massage, nothing that would hurt or leave Clint sore. He kept his touch just firm enough to feel good and warm the skin. He liked to do that sometimes, especially at the beginning of a long or complicated scene; Clint wondered if it was his own version of a transitional activity, or if he just liked the way Clint looked all oiled up. He was always happy to bask in Phil’s attention, either way.

Clint wasn’t sure how long Phil worked. He added more oil once or twice, but Clint wasn’t really paying attention, just letting the contact blur into a soft golden cloud of sensation. Clint was half-hard, but the urgency he’d been feeling earlier had eased; it was enough, just then, to be naked and safe in the warm dark, under Phil’s hands.

Eventually, Phil shuffled lower on the bed. “Spread your legs for me.” Clint obeyed, and felt Phil move, the mattress shifting as he settled so that he was straddling one of Clint’s thighs, one knee on the outside, brushing Clint’s skin, and the other planted between Clint’s legs.

“Good,” Phil said, and he dragged his slick hands down, spreading the oil over Clint’s ass and the tops of his thighs.

“Mmm, s’good,” Clint said, his mouth half buried in the pillow.

Phil’s fingers flexed, digging into the meat of Clint’s glutes a little, pulling his cheeks further apart. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Clint sighed.

“I want you to feel good,” Phil said. “I want to make you feel amazing, I want to take such good care of you.”

“You do,” Clint promised, letting himself push back a little into the pressure of Phil’s touch. “Phil, you are.”

Phil’s hands tightened on Clint’s ass. “Can I—” he let out a harsh breath. “No, never mind.”

He fell silent, not moving, and Clint briefly considered calling a timeout and taking off the blindfold so he could see what was happening on his face. “Hey,” Clint said. “Whatever it is, Phil, just ask me, I promise I won’t be mad or whatever it is you’re thinking.”

“It’s selfish,” Phil said, which, honestly, probably meant that whatever he wanted was exactly what Clint should try and get him to do.

“I like it when I can do things for you, too, you know,” Clint said. “Ask me.”

“I want to push you,” Phil blurted. “I want to… to overwhelm you. I want to tease you until all you can think about is coming, and then after I let you come I want to keep going. I want to make you get hard again and come again. I want to play your body like an instrument, Clint, until you fall apart for me, and then I want to put you back together.”

Clint shivered, his cock throbbing at the roughness of Phil’s voice and the unconscious clutch of his hands. “On what planet would I ever say ‘no’ to that?” he demanded.

“We’ve never played that intensely before,” Phil said. “It’s… some people don’t like that level of sensation for that long.”

“Well if I turn out not to like it, I’ll tell you,” Clint said, pushing his ass back into Phil’s grip. “ But for now I’m saying yes. Fuck yes, even. Please yes, that sounds amazing.”

“I… okay,” Phil said. “Okay.” He let go of Clint’s ass, then smoothed over it gently; Clint wondered if he had handprints. That would be cool. He felt the bed shift as Phil got up, though he left a hand on Clint’s skin as he moved to the side. Clint could hear the rustling of him getting rid of his pants.

“I want to move you around a little,” Phil said, his voice stronger, more sure. “Get up on your knees.”

Clint obeyed, glad for Phil’s steadying hand as he got up, settling into a kneel.

“Good,” Phil said. “Now, lean forward and rest your head on the bed again, however feels comfortable.”

Clint did as he was told, leaning his torso forward and resting his head on the pillow, his arms stretched out in front of him. He could feel a good stretch in his back and hips, the posture tilting his ass up a little, spreading it slightly open. He felt exposed, a little embarrassed when he thought how he must look with his ass higher than his head, but it felt good, too, especially when Phil ran a finger down between his cheeks.

“Perfect,” Phil said, and Clint wasn’t sure if he was talking about Clint’s posture or his asshole or what, but he was good with any or all of that if it would keep that darkly satisfied purr in Phil’s voice. “Hold still.”

“Yes, si—ah!” Clint yelped, losing track of everything in his head except for the electric sensation of Phil taking firm hold of Clint’s cheeks in his big hands, pulling them apart, and licking a broad, wet stripe over his hole.

It was only the second time they’d done this. The first had been on the tail end of a long mission where they’d been separated for nearly six weeks, and therefore hadn’t lasted long before Phil had obeyed Clint’s demands to “stop fucking around back there and get in me already, fuck, I’m dying over here.” (It had been a long six weeks.) He hardly remembered anything about the act specifically, the whole evening running together into a spectacular blur of pleasure and relief in his memory.

This time was different. Phil worked over his entrance slowly, with deliberation, as though trying to learn him by feel, alternating broad, soft licks with dainty little strokes with the tip of his tongue; it felt like he was trying to trace the outline of every furl of skin. Clint trembled. He wasn’t restrained by anything but Phil’s command, and he clutched the pillow under his head with both arms, burying his cries in the case.

Phil pulled back, his breath cold on wet skin. “Don’t try to be quiet,” he said, and that voice, holy fuck, his voice made Clint want to open himself even further, if such a thing had been possible. “Please let me hear you.”

Clint turned his head, forcing his mouth clear of the pillow. “Yessir,” he panted, and Phil squeezed his ass again, approving, driving a grunt out of Clint’s chest.

“Perfect,” Phil said, and returned to his self-appointed task. He spent longer than Clint had thought possible on the outside; not a centimeter of skin from the base of Clint’s spine to the back of his balls was left untouched. Phil licked and sucked, nudged with his nose, nipped with his teeth, tiny bites just hard enough to threaten to sting. With the blindfold on, Clint’s senses were consumed with what Phil was doing: the wet noises of Phil’s tongue, the soft, hungry sounds he made, like he was the one getting serviced, the way the tender skin tensed with the stretch as Phil pulled his ass open so he could get ever closer. When Phil finally, finally plunged his tongue into Clint’s hole, Clint made a graceless, startled noise, like an animal, like something off a fuckin’ farm, and Phil grunted deep in his chest and pushed further into him, jabbing with his tongue. The darkness of the blindfold made everything feel better, feel somehow more. Clint’s hole ached, and the ache was amazing. His cock was full, the skin hot and tight, wet at the head. He could feel it bouncing with the force of Phil’s movements, sometimes brushing on the sheets and making him whine, but never touched, never stimulated. Clint wanted to come, and he never wanted to come, because he didn’t want it to stop. Fortunately, he didn’t have to decide.

He only realized that he was saying all this out loud when Phil pulled back, leaving Clint’s hole to flex and twitch in the cold air. “That’s right, baby,” he said. “Leave all the decisions to me. You don’t have to decide anything, you just have to let me take care of you.”

“Please,” Clint said. He hadn’t moved his body, but he was holding the pillow so tightly his hands ached. He thought he might get hard every time he smelled Phil’s detergent from then on. “Sir, please.”

“Please what, Clint?” Phil let go of Clint’s ass, and rubbed his hands soothingly over Clint’s back and hips when he made a protesting sound.

“Please more?”

“Of course,” Phil said, and Clint heard the click of a plastic bottle cap and nearly sobbed in anticipation. “I love to give you things, baby, you only have to ask for what you want.” A cool finger, slick with lube, circled Clint’s hole, amazing and not nearly enough.

“You, please, let me feel you please Phil, please come back?” The only part of Phil that was touching him was that teasing finger, dipping inside him, tugging on his rim. It wasn’t enough; Clint couldn’t see Phil, he couldn’t feel enough of Phil, and the noise he made was less pleasure and more a sudden, dizzying anxiety. Phil must have picked up on the difference, because he moved immediately, pressing up close to Clint, draping himself over Clint’s back, nestling his big hard cock between Clint’s thighs. He reached around, curling his arms around Clint and coaxing his grip on the pillow loose to entwine their fingers, and nuzzled his cheek against Clint’s, tender and sweet. Clint moaned, the feeling of vertigo driven away by Phil, warm fuzzy safe amazing Phil, who whispered love into Clint’s ear and brushed kisses into his hair until he settled and calmed and slumped back into his pillow.

“Better now?” Phil murmured between kisses. “I’m sorry I scared you, sweetheart, I promise I won’t leave you alone.”

“I’m okay,” Clint said. It took a minute for the words to make their way from his brain to his mouth. “Sorry, I don’t—that was weird.”

Phil kissed his ear again. “Everything’s more intense when you can’t see,” he said. His voice was so gentle, soothing and reassuring, almost as good as the press of his weight on Clint’s back. “Do you want to take the blindfold off?”

Clint thought about it, but… there was something electric about the velvet darkness, the way everything Phil did was a surprise, the way Clint’s whole body was sensitized and eager. The way he became completely reliant on Phil, as long as he could keep himself from tensing up, trying to be prepared. “I want to keep trying,” he said. “Only… I need to know you’ve got me, okay? I think I can let go, as long as I know you’ve got me.”

Phil made a low, eager noise, his chest rumbling against Clint’s back. “I’ve got you,” he promised. “I won’t leave this bed until we’re done.”

Clint rolled his shoulders, just to feel the pressure of Phil on top of him a little more. “Okay,” he said. “Yeah, okay. Keep going.”

“I’m sitting up,” Phil told him. “I’ll be right back.” He let his hands trail over Clint’s skin as he moved, tracing up Clint’s arms and down his flanks. Phil kept his legs pressed against the backs of Clint’s thighs, his cock brushing damp against the back of Clint’s balls. The bottle of lube clicked again, more liquid sounds, and then Phil’s hands were back on his ass, pulling him further open, and Clint felt the blunt slick head of Phil’s cock on his hole.

“Yessss,” he hissed, his whole body rippling with the glorious press and stretch. He was open enough from the rimming that it wasn’t uncomfortable, but not so open he couldn’t still really feel it as Phil entered him in a single long, deliberate motion.

Once Phil was all the way in, his body flush up against Clint’s, he rubbed his hands over Clint’s back and shoulders, making the skin flush and tingle. “I’m here,” he said, and gave a little thrust, just a quick nudge of his cock to catch Clint’s attention—as though Clint’s attention could possibly be anywhere else. “Feel me inside you, I’ve got you, Clint.”

“I think—agh, that feels good—I’m the one who’s got you, sir,” Clint managed, his breath quickening. He clenched around Phil as hard as he could to punctuate the statement, and Phil huffed a laugh, giving Clint’s ass a playful tap.

“Do you now,” he said, his voice warm and predatory. “We’ll see.” He bent forward, his cock shifting deliciously inside Clint with the movement, and kissed Clint between the shoulder blades before straightening back up and taking firm hold of Clint’s hips with both hands. He withdrew as slowly as he’d entered, stopping with the head of his cock nestled just inside. Clint whimpered. The slow drag felt amazing, but it wasn’t enough; Clint’s body was buzzed with anticipation, all his senses reaching for it. Staying still—not pushing back onto Phil’s cock, not flipping them over and riding him, not doing anything but waiting for whatever Phil would give him—was getting more impossible by the second, but he wanted to. He wanted to give Phil the gift of his self-control, to wait for whatever Phil wanted to do.

“It’s hard, isn’t it,” Phil said tenderly, his thumbs tracing gentle arcs over Clint’s hips. “It’s hard, waiting.”

“Yes, sir.” It came out more a whine than Clint had intended, high in his throat, strained from the tension of not moving that was taking up all Clint’s will.

“I know you want to move,” Phil continued, “and you’re not. For me. Because I want you to be still.”

“For you,” Clint said, and couldn’t help clenching down around Phil again, just to feel the bulk of him, holding him open. He wanted that inside him, he wanted it.

“I love that,” Phil said, and his hands tightened again. “I don’t have to bind you, I don’t have to make you. You’ll bind yourself at my word. You’re incredible, Clint. I’m in awe of you.”

Clint’s breath caught, almost a sob. Even months in to Phil’s say-what-he-felt campaign, sometimes Phil would still come out with something that just turned Clint inside out, left him defenseless and aching with love. How… how could Phil just up and say things like that? It was like living in a movie, being wooed by some kind of romance novel hero, only Phil was real and everything he said was one hundred percent sincere.

“Phil,” he said, and his voice came out thick with longing. “Phil, I…” he trailed off, not even sure what he wanted to say. Fuck me, fill me, use me. Hold me. Have me. All of the above. “I’m yours.”

Phil shivered, hard enough that Clint could feel it everywhere they were still touching. “Clint.”

“L—love you,” Clint said, and he was starting to tremble with how much he wanted to move, but he wouldn’t. For Phil. “Trust you.”

It was like a dam breaking. Phil plowed back into him in a single powerful thrust, then started fucking him fast and hard, using his hands on Clint’s hips to angle him back to meet each thrust. It was too much, too fast, for Clint to really keep track of after such a long time waiting; everything blended into waves of pleasure, punctuated by Phil’s hot grip on his skin, the slap of their bodies meeting, the glorious relentless onslaught of Phil’s cock rubbing up inside him, filling him with heat and ache and jolts of bliss like starbursts underneath his skin. Clint thought he was making noise, grunts and cries fucked out of him, but he couldn’t be bothered to care if he sounded stupid or anything. His entire world had narrowed down to Phil, Phil and his cock and his hands and his harsh breathing; Clint’s body was pliant, soft and open to take and take and take.

“This—what you—wanted?” Phil said, his voice gone low and feral, punctuated by the jolts of breath that huffed out of him as their hips slammed together over and over again.

“Ye—ah! Yes,” Clint moaned. His whole body was alive, like it was maybe glowing, skin hot and slippery with sweat, making Phil’s hands skid a little with every thrust.

“You gonna come?”

Clint’s cock was so hard it hurt, still bobbing between his thighs, so sensitive the air currents made him whine through his teeth. Phil’s cock felt so amazing inside him, so good. He could feel the orgasm building and coiling in his balls, but even the flashes of pleasure when Phil nailed his prostate weren’t quite enough to tip him over without some kind of touch to his cock.

“Ca—an’t,” Clint gasped, his words broken, heart hammering.

“You want to?” Phil never slowed his pace.

“Please!” Clint wailed. “Please sir please sir Phil please please make me come!”

“Soon,” Phil gasped, and then pushed in, hard, grinding up into Clint’s ass, and his cock jerked inside Clint as he came. Clint could almost come himself at the feeling of it inside him, but it wasn’t enough and Phil wasn’t moving anymore, he said he’d make Clint come, why wasn’t he moving?

“Sir,” he begged. “Sir, I can’t—I need—you said—”

“I did,” Phil said, panting, and he ran his hands soothingly over Clint’s sweaty back, raising goosebumps in his wake. “I will, I promise. Can you wait a little longer, Clint? For me?”

Clint whined, his whole body wanting to say no, no, do it now, make me come now, I can’t wait!

For Phil, though. Phil wanted him to.

“I—” his breath caught, and he swallowed hard, fingers digging into the pillow, hips flexing involuntarily as though he could magically summon up something to touch his neglected cock, anything. He felt like he could almost rub off against a stiff wind, at this point.

“Clint?”

Phil wanted him to wait.

“Yes, sir,” he whispered.

“Good boy,” Phil growled. “So good, Clint, so perfect, you try so hard for me. I love it.” He kissed Clint’s back and lingered, licking at his sweaty skin, sucking a hickey into the thick muscle of his shoulder while his cock slowly softened. When he finally slipped out of Clint’s body, Clint couldn’t hold back a whimper of loss.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” Phil said. “I won’t leave you empty, baby, I’ll take care of you.” Clint heard the lube bottle again, and then felt Phil’s fingers at his sore hole, gently stroking.

“What d’you need me t’do,” he mumbled.

“Just stay there, sweetheart,” Phil said. “I’m keeping you full, like I promised. I’ll want you again, later, I need to keep you all soft and wet and open for me. I want you to hold my come inside, okay? I’ll plug you up to help you, but try to keep it in.”

“Okay,” Clint said, a fresh wave of sweat breaking over his skin at the thought of it, of being all full of Phil’s come, keeping it inside for him until Phil wanted to make use of his hole again. It made him feel amazing, dirty and special, owned and treasured, to be the one Phil wanted that way. Another nudge of fingers—and that was Phil pushing his come back inside Clint’s body, holy fuck—and then there was another push, firmer and smoother, as Phil slid a plug inside, making Clint groan.

“There, now,” Phil said, his voice somehow hoarse and smug at the same time. “You took that so beautifully, sweetheart. Thank you.”

Clint was starting to drift. The relentless ache of unfulfilled arousal had receded a little, blurring into the twinges of hard use in his ass, punctuated by Phil’s gentle caresses and his sweet words. He hummed happily.

“So patient,” Phil continued. “So perfect. The most amazing man I’ve ever known. The way you give yourself to me is the most beautiful sight on earth.”

“Y’r biased,” Clint slurred.

“Discerning,” Phil corrected. “Come on, baby, I’m going to help you turn over now.”

He helped Clint turn over onto his back, easing out his legs and arms, helping him stretch cramped muscles. Clint’s cock was still hard, his balls tight up against his body, twitching with every incidental whisper of contact as Phil settled him onto the bed again.

“There, now,” Phil said, leaning in to kiss Clint’s lips, the tip of his nose, the blindfold covering his eyes. He spread his hand out over Clint’s heart, still pounding in his chest like he’d been running. “There’s your beautiful face.” His thumb brushed one of Clint’s nipples, drawing a soft sound from him. “I promised you I’d make you come, and I’ll keep that promise,” Phil said. “But I want us to try something new together.”

“Sir?” Clint wasn’t sure he could think of anything new they hadn’t tried—at least, nothing that wouldn’t take a lot more prep or props than he thought they had time for that evening.

“I want to touch you,” Phil said, tracing idly over the muscles of Clint’s chest. “All over your gorgeous body. I want to pleasure you, take you right up to the edge. And I want you to stop me before I make you come. I want to do that again and again, as many times as you can stand. I want to wind your body up so tight you can’t think of anything but me, until I decide you’ve had enough, and then I want to make you come so hard you cry.”

“Ffffuck,” Clint gasped, his hips rutting up uselessly into the air. “Not gonna… take much, if you keep talking like that.”

Phil flicked his nipple with a thumbnail, and it thrummed through Clint’s body like the ringing of a bell. “Oh, I don’t know,” Phil said, and the low promise in his voice curled through Clint like smoke. “You might be surprised.”

Clint reached out, groping in the dark until his hand hit warm skin. “Seriously, though,” he said, shaking off a little of the sex-haze. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop; I don’t want to ruin it for you.”

Phil bent and kissed him, picking Clint’s hand up from his arm and twining their fingers together. “You could never ruin it,” he said, punctuating his words with brushes of lips across the parts of Clint’s face that the blindfold didn’t cover. “If you hold out until I make you come, or if you try to wait and can’t, or if you safeword, or if you just tell me you don’t want to do it. Any of those things—all of those things—they’re you, here with me, letting me take care of you, and that’s why I’m here. That’s what I want.”

Clint squeezed Phil’s hand, pushing up from the pillow to capture his lips again, hitting off-center and messy but not caring. “Okay, then,” he said, when they’d finally moved apart again. “Let’s try it. What do I need to do?”

“Just lie back and relax,” Phil said. “When you feel that you’re about to come, but before it’s too late to stop yourself, say ‘close.’ That’s all you have to do; I’ll take care of the rest.”

“All right, then,” Clint said, making a tah-dah sort of gesture vaguely dickwards, like some kind of sex-game Vanna White. “Go for it, babe.”

Phil laughed, the sound rich and warm, like hot chocolate and champagne and fuzzy blankets, and Clint was so caught up in basking in it that he yelped in shock when Phil—still laughing—licked right over his cock from root to tip. Clint thought for a minute he was going to have to stop Phil right away, but after the first lick Phil backed off a little, keeping his hands moving over Clint’s body but staying away from his cock. He was a master of teasing, going close to and around Clint’s most sensitive areas but never touching them, until Clint’s nipples and his dick and his balls felt hot and swollen and dying for contact and the whisper of Phil’s breath was enough to make Clint arch and groan.

“There we go,” Phil said. His voice was quiet, coaxing, but there was a thread of tension underneath that Clint could feel. “I think we’re ready to begin.”

“Begin?” Clint wheezed, but Phil just chuckled, dark with promise, and brushed a fingertip over each of Clint’s nipples. He arched into the sensation, a rumble of pleasure vibrating in his chest.

“That’s it,” Phil told him, rubbing gently. “Let yourself feel it.” He kept one hand busy with Clint’s chest, alternating between his nipples, and let the other one trace down his torso, skating over the ridges of muscle to comb through Clint’s pubic hair. His cock jerked a little, as though it was hoping Phil’s proximity meant it would be getting some action soon.

“Not quite yet,” Phil said, amused, and gave the head of Clint’s cock a friendly tap, not enough stimulation to do anything but taunt him. He moved his hand further down, and Clint tried to spread his thighs further apart, because whatever Phil was aiming to do down there, he was all for it.

Phil curled warm fingers gently around Clint’s balls, cupping them in his hand and rolling them a little in his hand. “These are so full,” he said. “Heavy. Swollen.” He traced the outline of each testicle lightly with his fingernail, and Clint made an indistinct noise in his throat. It felt incredible, the lightest contact magnified by how long Phil had made Clint wait for it.

“How long has it been since you came, Clint?” Phil asked, reaching up to flick a nipple.

“Night—hgnnh—night before we left,” Clint said. “When you, ah, you blew me in the hall right before I went home, said you, you’d give me something to tide me over.”

“And that was the last time?” There was a new note in Phil’s voice, something purring and possessive that sent shivers down Clint’s spine. “You didn’t steal a moment in the shower? Take advantage of your few minutes alone?”

“N—no, sir,” Clint said. He wanted to move, to push himself harder into one of those amazing hands, but he held still. For Phil, he thought. Because he asked me to; the thought curled hot in his belly.

“Why not?”

“At first, I was hoping there’d be a way we could get away together,” Clint said. “Then when I saw that wasn’t gonna happen, I just… I didn’t want it like that, just to get it out the way, not when you were right there reminding me of how much better it is with you. I like to wait, sometimes, you know? I thought maybe, maybe you’d like if I waited for you.”

“I do,” Phil said, tightening his grip around Clint’s balls a little. It zipped straight to his cock, and he caught himself just before he could push up into the pressure. “I like it very much, Clint, knowing that you’d rather wait for what I’ll give you than take pleasure for yourself. I think that deserves a reward.”

“Thank fuck—I mean, thank you sir.”

Phil chuckled, and Clint heard the lube bottle again. “Don’t thank me quite yet.” He wrapped his wet hand loosely around the base of Clint’s cock and pulled up, once, quick and light, hardly any pressure at all. Clint couldn’t stop himself from whining, his ass and thighs all going rock-hard with the effort of not thrusting up off the bed, chasing after that maddening hand.

“Yes,” Phil said, “that’s it. Hold yourself back. Let it come to you.” He did it again, the stroke of his hand too fast and his grip too loose to pull the coiling orgasm out of Clint’s body. He set up a ragged pattern, stroking Clint’s cock once or twice then going back to play with his balls or rub his nipples, pushing him closer and closer to the edge a centimeter at a time. Finally, one stroke brushed his cockhead just right and he yelped, feeling it looming inside him.

“Close!”

Phil pulled away immediately, laying his hands instead on Clint’s trembling thighs. “Good boy,” he said, stroking the skin under his hands. “That’s exactly right, good job.”

Clint grunted, all his energy focused on resisting the urge to move that was pounding through him. “Phil,” he said, pleading. He wasn’t sure what he needed Phil to do besides something.

“You’re doing beautifully,” Phil reassured him. He ran his hands up Clint’s flanks, pressing in enough that the touch was grounding instead of ticklish. “You’re the best thing I’ve seen all week.”

“Kind of a low bar,” Clint said, his breathing starting to smooth out as his arousal ebbed.

“I don’t know,” Phil said, mock-thoughtful. “I did get to watch you free-climb the side of a freight depot; it was pretty inspiring.”

Clint laughed, and he felt Phil move his hands to rest on top of his belly.

“How are you feeling?” Phil asked. “Back from the edge?”

Clint hummed, taking inventory. He was still buzzing with arousal, but it had settled enough that he wasn’t on the verge anymore. “Yeah.”

He felt a rustle of movement, then Phil’s nose nudged his skin as Phil bent to kiss him, lingering and sweet.

“Good,” Phil said. “I want to keep playing with you.”

Clint lost all sense of time pretty soon after that. Phil drove him to the edge over and over, teasing him with hands and lips and body until Clint was trembling, his skin three sizes too small for the roiling want inside him. Each time, it was harder for Clint to force himself to call out “Close!”, to stop short of the finish line that every molecule of his body was straining toward. But each time, Phil soothed him down with gentle touches and crooned loving nonsense and praise into the darkness, telling him how good he was, how sweet and obedient. Telling him what an honor it was to have the gift of his submission. Telling him… telling him…

“I love you,” Phil said fiercely. He sucked one of Clint’s aching nipples, just for a few seconds, then pulled back far enough that his breath cooled the wet crinkled skin. “Look at you, Clint—fuck, you’re so beautiful. You’re flushed all the way down your chest.” He laid a line of warm kisses down Clint’s sternum. “I can feel the heat of it on my lips. And your hair,” he ran his fingers through, staying away from the straps of the blindfold, and Clint whimpered. “You’re soaked, baby, you’ve let me make you sweat.” Another kiss, on the hinge of Clint’s jaw. “I’d be lost without you.” A soft nibble on his earlobe. “You deserve my best, Clint, everything I have.” A long stretch of time sucking the point of Clint’s collarbone. “I used to think that my personal life was a distraction from work, but I was wrong. It makes me better, Clint, you make me better, you’re so amazing.” It went on like that, for how long Clint couldn’t tell; everything Phil did had blurred together into a haze of pleasure and desire, while Clint had lost all thoughts except don’t move and don’t come. In the darkness behind his blindfold, he was dimly aware of the tight grip of his hands—fisted in the sheets to keep them away from his own cock—and of the sobbing noise of his breath, the high and breathy little sounds he’d long since stopped trying to hold back.

Phil was playing with his balls again, gentle but merciless. Each tiny movement felt like it would be the one to push Clint over the line, but Clint knew better; he’d never been able to come without some kind of attention on his cock.

As though he’d heard Clint’s thoughts—or maybe Clint had been talking; he’d stopped being able to tell—Phil took another splurt of lube and gave another too-loose, too-fast pull to Clint’s cock. It was like—like some kind of circus trick, the flash-heat of an alcohol flame, and Clint keened through set teeth.

“Close!” he yelled, for the… fourth time? Fifth? He’d lost track. But this time, Phil didn’t move away, didn’t abandon Clint’s cock to pet and soothe him down. He put his hand back, a tighter grip around the base, and it felt amazingly, shatteringly good after the eternity of glancing touches.

“Close!” Clint said again. “Close close close fuck—Phil—” Phil had given him another stroke, tighter and slower, and he’d broken out in goosebumps all down his arms and legs. “Gonna come if you—if—I’m—”

“Shhhh,” Phil said, his voice coaxing. “All you have to do is tell me, remember, sweetheart? You’re letting me decide when you come. Just tell me when you’re close, and let me give you your pleasure when I decide it’s time. Remember?”

“Y—yes.” Clint was burning, shaking, he was going to fucking cry or shout or levitate off the fucking bed in a minute. Phil had his hand at the base of his cock again, and this time the grip was tight, tight, perfect.

“Relax, Clint,” Phil breathed, and ran that glorious fist up Clint’s cock, calluses catching on the head just right, and Clint’s entire body seized up with the effort of not coming.

“Let go,” Phil said, and his other hand went to Clint’s balls. “Take what I’m giving you, come on, babe—” and he circled Clint’s cockhead with his palm, and that was it, Clint was gone, fireworks and shooting stars in the dark behind the blindfold, his cock jerking while Phil stroked him through the orgasm, shooting so hard he thought he felt it hit his chin.

When he regained enough bodily awareness, he realized that Phil’s hand was still moving on his cock, coaxing shuddery little aftershocks out of him every few seconds. It wasn’t unusual for Phil to try to draw things out; he loved to watch Clint come, loved to see the evidence streaked all over their bodies, to trail his fingers through, hot and dirty. After a while, though, as Clint softened, the skin got more and more sensitive. He shifted uneasily, and Phil laid a steadying hand on his hip.

“Stop me if you need to,” Phil said, and his voice was rough-sounding, hungry. “Promise me.”

“Promise,” Clint murmured. He felt amazing, wrung-out and well-used and replete. Phil was the best.

“Thank you,” Phil said. He shifted, his movements jostling the mattress a little. “I’m going to get between your legs.”

Clint offered his hands, the fingers still stiff from clutching the sheets, and Phil braced himself as he moved. Clint could feel Phil’s hairy legs rasping against the sensitive skin of his inner thighs. He could feel the warmth of Phil’s bare body as he leaned forward, a hand on either side of Clint’s hips, and laid a soft, wet kiss at the base of Clint’s cock.

“Sir,” Clint protested. He was kind of a mess, sticky with come and lube. He didn’t want to mess Phil up.

“Don’t worry,” Phil said. “It’s the edible stuff.” He ran his tongue up Clint’s soft cock from root to tip, ending with a gentle little suck that made Clint gasp.

“I know,” Phil said, his voice indulgent. “I know, it’s so sensitive right now. You came for me so beautifully. But I’m greedy, sweetheart. I want to give you more.” He kissed Clint’s cock, delicately lapping a dribble of come out of the slit, and Clint shuddered all over, whining through his nose. It still felt good, but even the tiny, soft touches of Phil’s lips and tongue felt rough on his sensitized skin.

“Give me a color,” Phil said, soft but firm.

“Green, sir,” Clint managed.

“Good, Clint, tell me if it changes.” Clint could feel the heat of Phil’s body, the incidental brushes of skin as he shifted. He could hear Phil’s breath, heavy as though he’d been running, could hear small bitten-off sounds of pleasure as Phil cleaned off Clint’s softening cock with his tongue, the velvet rasp of it getting harder and harder to take as Clint came down from his orgasm.

If Phil had just kept sucking his dick, it probably wouldn’t have been so bad, but he was more creative than that; he moved around, mixed it up, moving away from Clint’s sticky groin to play with his sore balls, to suck love-bites into the crease of his hip, to toy with the end of the plug in Clint’s ass. He kept up a running commentary, his voice raspy and low as he punctuated kisses and nips with praise and filthy promises.

“Your cock is beautiful all the time,” Phil told him, picking it up off Clint’s belly and cradling it in one hand. “Hard, it’s a work of art, of course, but sometimes I think I like it best this way, soft and spent from pleasure.” He started at the base and worked his way up toward the head with long licks, pressing Clint’s flesh between his tongue and his callused fingers. “I can take the whole thing in my mouth, if I want to, safe and warm and mine.” He suited his actions to his words, pulling Clint’s soft cock into his mouth and sucking.

It was like nothing else Clint had ever felt, the entire length of him neatly contained in Phil’s mouth, cradled by his lush tongue; he’d always been a grower, so he wasn’t unmanageably long when he wasn’t hard. Phil did like to suck him erect, but that usually happened pretty fast once Clint was inside his mouth; he’d never before been able to just stay there and feel it. He could tell that Phil was being extremely gentle, but after being edged for so long, his nerves were on a hair-trigger. It was strange; it hurt, but the hurt felt good, pleasure and pain twining together through him until he shook. Phil seemed to love it, humming satisfaction deep in his chest with every whimper out of Clint’s mouth.

Clint didn’t know how long they stayed there, Phil’s wet mouth sweet torture on his cock, but finally Phil rolled his aching balls just right, sucked just right, and Clint sobbed aloud as he felt himself start to stiffen, a wave of blood plumping his cock between Phil’s lips.

Phil pulled back just enough to speak, “Yes, that’s it, baby, get hard for me,” he growled.

“H—hurts,” Clint said, his voice breaking. “Keep going.”

“Even though it hurts?” Phil pressed down on one of his love-bites, making Clint hiss at the sweet ache.

“Hurts good,” Clint tried to explain. “More.”

“As much as you want.” Phil took Clint’s cock in his mouth again, this time applying himself in earnest to getting Clint hard, sliding his mouth up and down, licking over the head and sucking on the tip. Clint’s body just gave up entirely, signals so confused that every movement felt good, even the ones that made him jerk and whine, and by the time Phil finally pulled off again, his cock was ready to go.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” Phil said, and gave the head of Clint’s cock another soft, sucking kiss. It was one stimulation too far for Clint’s overloaded nerves, and he burst out into rough, helpless giggles even while his eyes burned with tears beneath the blindfold, hiccuping and helpless.

“Fuck, Clint,” Phil said, and he slotted his own cock alongside Clint’s for a moment, rutting them together a little and pulling another sobbing giggle out of him; Phil was well on the way to hard again, too, hot and silky. “Can you feel what it does to me, seeing you like this, in my hands like this, letting me have you any way I like? I want you to get me ready and then I’m going to fuck you again, sweetheart, I’m going to make you come apart around me.”

Clint couldn’t talk, too busy crying and laughing and shaking, so he nodded his head, so vigorously he almost knocked the blindfold loose and had to stop.

“Shhh,” Phil crooned. “Shh, yes, it’s all right, baby. I’m going to take such good care of you.” He gave Clint’s hip a final affectionate pat, then moved to one side, leaving his hand on Clint the whole time.

“Can you get up for me?” he asked. “I’d like you on your hands and knees if you can manage it.”

Clint nodded, still trying to get his breathing under control. Phil steadied him as he rolled onto his side and then onto his knees, warm hands tracing over the lines of Clint’s body.

“I’m moving around in front of you,” Phil said, the mattress dipping as he moved. Clint could feel him slip in between Clint and the headboard of the bed, and then he ran warm fingers around the blindfold, making sure the straps weren’t too tight. “How are you doing, sweetheart? Settled a little?”

“Yes, sir,” Clint said, butting his head forward into Phil’s body. Mmmm, chest hair. Phil took the unspoken hint, scritching Clint’s scalp.

“Open your mouth, love,” Phil said, touching Clint’s jaw. Clint opened wide, letting Phil move him and then staying where he was put.

“Remember,” Phil said. “Poke my leg if you need to safeword while your mouth is full.”

Clint hummed his agreement, and Phil ruffled his hair affectionately as he slipped his cock between Clint’s lips. “Get me ready to fuck you, baby.”

Phil wasn’t quite hard yet; ordinarily, he wouldn’t be ready again so soon at all. Apparently Clint wasn’t the only one who was feeling a little sexually frustrated after their mission. He wondered if Phil had waited, too. It would take Phil a long time to come this time, he thought, and shuddered in nervous anticipation. Phil was still small enough that it was easy for Clint to work his way all the way down to the base, to nuzzle into the crinkled hair there and breathe in Phil-smell as he swallowed around his cock.

Time ran slow and sweet like honey as he sucked Phil softly, keeping his mouth wet and welcoming, not caring whether he was drooling on himself, or how he looked, or anything but the feel of Phil’s hands cradling his face, the sexy way Phil moaned under Clint’s tongue as his cock slowly got fat and stiff inside Clint’s mouth. Finally, Phil pulled away, holding Clint back with gentle hands when he tried to chase after him.

“Easy, sweetheart,” Phil said. “Remember, we’ve got something else planned.” He made a considering sort of noise, one that was familiar to Clint, equally as likely to mean “should we escape via the roofs or the sewers” as to mean “what position would be best for me to fuck you right now.”

“Stretch out a little, then lie on your back again,” Phil told him, shifting out of the way. Clint arched his back like a cat, leaning back into a stretch and hissing when the movement made the plug inside him nudge his prostate. Phil ran a soothing hand down Clint’s spine, then down between his cheeks to play with the end of the plug a little. “”You’ve still got me inside,” he said, his voice dark and pleased. “Still wet and full with my come, and I’m not done with you yet.”

Clint practically threw himself over onto his back, eager to get what Phil’s tone was promising him. “Please, sir. I’m ready.”

“Lift your hips.” Phil slid something under him, propping him up; a wedge-shaped, firm cushion that elevated his hips to a good level for fucking. Clint shivered in anticipation as Phil ran his hands over Clint’s spread thighs.

“I think I want a little more room,” Phil said. “Can you hold your legs open for me?”

“Yes,” Clint said, grabbing at the backs of his own knees; this was great, this was gonna be so good, Phil only asked for that position when he really wanted to settle in and focus. Clint wasn’t sure if he’d be able to stand much more of Phil’s focus, honestly, but he couldn’t wait to try. He wanted Phil to take his time, after all, all the time he wanted; he wanted Phil to end the night feeling fucking spectacular.

He pulled his legs up and apart, leaving his ass and groin exposed, tilted by the cushion to be at the perfect angle for Phil to do whatever he pleased.

“You never stop being amazing,” Phil said, touching the straining muscles in the back of Clint’s thigh. “A gift. Sometimes I wake up and think I must have dreamed you.” He pulled the plug out a little ways before letting go, letting Clint’s ass pull it back in.

“Maybe you should go ahead and open your present, then,” Clint said, his voice strained from the way he was lying, practically folded in half.

Phil chuckled. “Anything for you,” he said, playful but with a core of sincerity that made Clint swallow hard. Phil drew the plug out in a long smooth motion, making Clint whimper when the widest point breached him.

“Oh, look at you,” Phil said. He traced Clint’s hole with a finger, almost shockingly good even though he was still sore. “You’re still nice and open for me, baby. I don’t think I even need any more lube, you’re still so wet.” He didn’t make Clint wait any longer, just lined his cock up to Clint’s body and pushed in. He groaned as he bottomed out, a guttural noise of pleasure that raised goosebumps all down Clint’s arms.

“Fuck me,” Clint begged. “Sir, please.”

“Anything,” Phil said again, taking hold of Clint’s hips. “Anything.”

He didn’t go as hard as he had the first time, but it felt even more intense; even though Clint’s hole was relaxed and sloppy with lube and come already, he was also sensitized and sore from the plug and the edging and the overstimulation, so that each of Phil’s steady, solid thrusts was a wave of bliss and ache all twisted up together. Phil kept his pace even, like he could just stay there fucking Clint all night, and Clint couldn’t tell if he wanted it to never end or to end right away. He gave himself up to it, let himself drift through the darkness on the sensations, everything going a little dreamy and swimmy and beautiful. He was making sounds, he thought? He was crying maybe, but also making high, lost little noises every time Phil’s cock pushed past his prostate, uh uh uh. Phil was amazing and Phil was saying wonderful things to him and Phil was everything in the entire world, fucking another impossible orgasm closer and closer to Clint with every thrust but never quite tipping him over.

Clint teetered on the brink of coming for an unknowable time, not long and very long. He was so slicked-up that Phil’s thrusts made wet slurping noises. Instead of seeming silly, they just made the whole thing hotter, added one more sign of how completely Clint had given himself over to be owned and used and cherished, to have his body pushed to heights of pleasure he could never reach alone. Phil was everywhere, his taste on Clint’s tongue and his hands on Clint’s body and his voice in Clint’s ears, stuffing Clint’s hole with his cock, over and over, steady as a machine as Clint trembled and keened.

Finally, Phil slowed his pace a little, dragging his length over Clint’s prostate hard, making Clint’s muscles lock up with how near he was to coming. He was desperate now, his voice coming out in broken little panting pleas.

“Having trouble, baby?” Phil asked, his voice gentle even as he tweaked one of Clint’s sore nipples, sending a jolt of delicious hurt through him.

“Please,” Clint gasped. “I, I can’t.”

Another one of those slow, fierce thrusts, and Clint let out a thin, thready cry. “Would you like to come now, Clint? I’m going to keep fucking you until I’m satisfied, either way.”

Clint groaned. He couldn’t imagine how that would feel, but that didn’t matter because that was later and he needed to come now, he—“need it, sir, please, Phil I need it I need it I need—”

“Shhhh,” a warm finger laid across his lips, and Clint kissed it, helplessly, his mouth still forming the words. “I promised you I’d always give you what you need, Clint, and I will.”

The lube bottle clicked again, and then on the next long thrust Phil wrapped slick fingers tight around Clint’s cock and jacked him in time to his fucking. Clint lasted through maybe four thrusts, his body straining and toes curled, and then that was it, he was gone again, whiting out with pleasure that burned through him, making everything clean and sweet and beautiful.

When Clint’s body stopped twitching and the rushing in his ears quieted, he realized that Phil was still fucking him, harder now, letting his own thrusts push Clint’s softening come-slick cock through Phil’s tight fist.

“There you are,” Phil said, and his voice, oh, his voice was so warm and proud; it was like cinnamon rolls right out of the oven, it was like blankets and rain outside the window, it was the best thing ever in the history of ears.

“Sir,” Clint mumbled through his dopey grin.

“There wasn’t very much, that time,” Phil said, with a twist of his hand around Clint’s cock that made him whine. “I think I’ve fucked all the come right out of you. But there’s enough to help keep you nice and slippery while I finish.”

“…Close?” Clint asked. Words were elusive just then, his brain awash in a soup of feel-good chemicals and mostly flitting between yes and ow and back to yes.

“Mm, I’m getting there,” Phil said, his pace never wavering. “You were so beautiful just now, coming for me.”

“Love you.”

Phil groaned, shoving himself the rest of the way in harder than he had been. Clint realized, distantly, that he was still holding his legs open, and tried to pull them a little farther apart.

“Come on,” he begged. It was good but so much, his ass was so sore and Phil was so big. Phil needed to come.

Maybe Phil’s desire finally overcame his self-control, or maybe he just took pity on Clint’s poor ass, but he sped his pace, grunting as their hips slapped together. He kept pumping Clint’s soft cock with his own come as his pace finally stuttered and his cock jerked, his release hot and liquid inside Clint’s body.

Phil stayed still for a moment, his cock slowly softening, his hand still tight around Clint. “Fuck,” he breathed, finally pulling out and soothing Clint’s little whimper of loss. He eased Clint’s legs back down to the bed. “Stretch out your arms and legs, baby, you’ve been holding that position for a long time.” He traced over Clint’s balls and down to his hole, circling it.

“I’ve fucked your hole all out,” he said, his voice almost shaking. “It’s all red and loose and puffy.” He dipped two fingers inside, curving them so they nudged his prostate again, and Clint yelped as he drew them slowly out, pushing a gush of semen and lube to spill from Clint’s hole and trickle wetly between his cheeks. “You’re wrecked, baby, so beautiful and amazing, thank you for letting me give you so much tonight, thank you.” He kept rubbing at Clint’s hole, just playing with it, pushing his fingers in and rubbing them around, telling Clint how much he loved how sloppy and used it was.

Eventually, it went from feeling good-sore to feeling sore-good, and then there was a stroke that was just sore, and Clint arched away from the stimulation, gasping. “Yellow,” he yelped, and Phil pulled back immediately, resting his hands on Clint’s thighs.

“Of course,” Phil soothed. “You finished, love? Had all you can take for tonight?”

“Yes, sir,” Clint managed.

“You did so well,” Phil said. “You were so good, you were perfect for me. I’ve never had it so good, Clint.” He stroked the skin under his hands, tender and careful. “I love you so much. What do you need from me now?”

Clint reached out clumsily, making grabby hands in Phil’s direction. He was shaky, trembling all over from sensory overload. “C’mere.” He should probably have said for Phil to clean him up, but fuck that; he wanted cuddles, wanted to wrap himself up in Phil like a blanket and never let go.

Phil stretched out next to Clint, body pressed against his side in a long warm line, and gathered him into his arms. Clint curled up small, huddling into Phil’s chest, nosing against his skin and breathing in his smell, traces of cologne and fresh sweat. Phil’s hands were busy, stroking Clint’s back and carding through his wet hair, and he kept leaning down to kiss whichever parts of Clint he could reach.

“Do you want me to take your blindfold off now, sweetheart?”

Clint thought about it, then shook his head. He wasn’t ready to leave the warm dark yet, to pull his focus back from the soft coziness of their entwined bodies. It was hard to even think, honestly; all he wanted was to lie in Phil’s embrace, under his loving touch, and let himself bask in how good everything felt.

Phil petted and cuddled Clint until he stopped trembling, murmuring praise and silly affection all the while. When Clint finally stirred, stretching his limbs out a little and easing a kink out of his hip, Phil stroked affectionately over his arm, a little faster than before, a rousing touch instead of a calming one. “Ready to clean up now?”

“Yeah,” Clint decided. He was starting to feel a little sticky, and the parts of him that Phil wasn’t touching were cold.

“Blindfold first,” Phil said. “Close your eyes for me, it’ll be bright.”

Clint closed his eyes, and he felt Phil gently removing the blindfold, lightening the darkness as some of the light shone through his closed lids. “Oh, sweetheart,” Phil said, a strange tremor in his voice, and he traced gently under Clint’s eye with a finger. “You cried.”

“Good cry,” Clint promised.

Phil kissed the tear tracks, whisper-soft. “It’s beautiful,” he said. “Can you open your lovely eyes for me?”

Clint opened his eyes slowly, letting them adjust to the light bit by bit. It was almost weird to see again after so long, but at least the view was good. Phil had turned the lamp down low, and he looked amazing, bent over Clint in the soft gold light. He was flushed, rumpled and come-streaked and sweaty, his body lax and easy, his blue eyes bright with tears of his own. The tension and worry of the mission had melted away as if they’d never existed, and Clint couldn’t hold back a smug, self-congratulatory smile, because mission fucking accomplished, Clint Barton: excellent boyfriend.

They stayed there for another little while, just smiling dopily at one another and trading kisses, until Phil finally moved enough to notice a patch of gunk drying in his happy trail. He made a hilarious face at the sensation, like a cat getting sprayed with a water bottle. He pulled away, leaving Clint’s skin all cold where he wasn’t touching anymore, and got a little unsteadily to his feet. Clint pouted at him, making an unhappy noise and getting another kiss for his pains.

“I’ll be right back, love,” Phil promised, and Clint sighed but waved him off with an uncontrolled hand. He kind of zoned out while Phil was gone, staring off into space and just enjoying the endorphin buzz. The bed shifted under Phil’s weight when he finally came back, and Clint turned his head toward him, grinning.

“Hey,” he said, trying to waggle his eyebrows.

Phil smiled at him like he was adorable. “Hi,” he said, taking a hot damp cloth and wiping the sweat and tears off Clint’s face. It felt so good, Clint chuckled to himself, and Phil’s smile got even brighter, more delighted. “Still feeling good, baby?”

“Soooooo good,” Clint declared, trying to throw out an arm to illustrate, but only succeeding in sprawling out on the bed like a starfish. He was all floppy, drifty and dreamy and happy; little puffs of laughter kept sneaking out of him, not really because of anything being funny but just because he felt so good, and Phil was there with him and he’d made Phil feel good, and they had like two whole days off work to spend together in Phil’s beautiful private asshole-free apartment. Well. Almost asshole-free. Metaphorically asshole-free. He and Phil still had assholes. Obviously.

“Something funny?” Phil asked indulgently, as he wiped off Clint’s belly.

“We’re all by ourselves with our assholes,” Clint told him.

Phil laughed, and it sounded like, like something really good. Angels. Or puppies. Angels who were puppies. Puppies who were angels? Like Dog Cops, only in heaven. “Yeah,” Phil said. “It’ll be nice to have some time alone together.” He tapped Clint’s thigh. “Spread, please.”

Clint opened his legs further, hissing when Phil’s cloth brushed his over-sensitized dick. It was gonna be at least twelve hours before he’d want anymore action there; his body was just done.

“I know,” Phil said, patting his hip. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, I’ll be fast.” He was as good as his word, quickly cleaning the sticky patches of come and lube from Clint’s groin, gentle enough that it only caused Clint a little discomfort. He folded the cloth over to expose a clean section before moving down to Clint’s ass, and Clint sighed; it felt good to be clean, but there was a part of him that loved how dirty and slutty and owned he felt when he was so full of Phil’s come that it got everywhere. Maybe sometime they could do the plug thing again, but for longer. It probably wasn’t practical, but Clint loved the thought of Phil keeping him tied to the bed for, like, a whole weekend, fucking him over and over and plugging his come up inside him in between rounds. Mmmm.

“Sorry, did you say something?” Phil asked, tossing the dirty cloth into the hamper from across the room: hot.

“Tell you later, darlin’,” Clint mumbled. Talking was too much energy just then. Phil just beamed at him, like the sad wrung-out puddle of archer in his bed was the best thing he’d ever seen.

“Do you think you can get up for a minute?” Phil asked. “Just a minute, so we can get under the covers?”

“Kay,” Clint said, and let Phil corral his noodley limbs enough to get him standing next to the bed. Phil stripped off the sheets and towels he’d laid over the covers, which were quite thoroughly defiled, and peeled back the fluffy duvet and soft sheets.

“Go on, get in,” Phil told him, and Clint snuggled in under the sheets, which were cool and delicious on his naked skin. Once he’d gotten himself arranged to his satisfaction, he made grabby hands at Phil again until he joined him in bed and made a space for Clint to nestle in against his side.

Clint pillowed his head in his favorite spot in the hollow of Phil’s shoulder and sighed happily. His entire body felt like pancake syrup, hot and slow and sweet, and the solid strength of Phil was the perfect anchor for his dreamy lassitude. “Thanks, Phil,” he said. “That… that was perfect, it was exactly what I needed today.”

Phil made a tiny noise, then cleared his throat. “I think I ought to be thanking you,” he said. “You did so well, Clint. Thank you for allowing me to push you so far.”

“Thank us both for being sex gods,” Clint said, yawning. “Damn, I feel amazing. This is so good. I want to come home with you after all the missions.”

Phil’s hand, idly tracing over the muscles in Clint’s arm, went still, and he seemed to hold his breath for a long moment.

“What?” Clint said, “What’d I say?”

Phil took a deep breath, jostling Clint’s head. “Are you saying that you… what are you saying?”

Clint replayed his words in his head. “Oh.” He’d been thinking about asking Phil for a while, but he hadn’t meant to just up and say it like that. He’d had a plan, there’d been dinner involved and shit, but he was kind of stream-of-consciousness just then. Oh, well. “I want us to live together,” Clint said. “Can we live together?”

Phil’s arm tightened around him, a sudden squeeze, and then Phil was turning over to face him, his lips trembling and his eyes shining. “There is nothing in the world I’d like more,” he said, and then he kissed Clint, long and wet and tender kisses over and over as he held Clint safe and warm and loved, and after every one he whispered yes.

Notes:

And thus ends the first arc of this story. There shall be a sequel, which will be set up much the same way as this one, with chapters mostly readable as standalones. If you want to be notified when it goes up, subscribe to the series!

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