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“I’m bored,” Clint said, drawing “bored” out so that it had about seventeen O’s in the middle. He flopped across one of the oversized armchairs on the common floor, feet dangling over one arm and head over the other “We should have sex.”
“What?” Sam squawked.
Clint sprawled some more, managing to take up the whole chair like a manspreading starfish, and repeated himself. Jesus, he’d thought Sam was the smart one. “Sex. You and me. Cause boredom.”
“But...I didn’t...you aren’t...unless?” Sam, sweet, sexy Sam, had lost his pretty voice. That just wouldn’t do.
“While I want to assume you just agreed with my brilliant idea, you’re gonna have to use whole sentences, I can’t accept any of that as consent.” Clint sighed, cause he really wanted all of that to be consent. Now that he’d put the idea out there, he was digging it. Big, muscly Sam, with the way the light hit his gorgeous, dark skin and that cute little gap in his teeth? Yes and also, please. Before he’d ever gotten the baller hearing-aids Tony had made for him that fit like a glove and didn’t pinch or pull or anything, Clint had always taken his hearing aids out for sexy times and as such, had developed an affinity for using his other senses. All those fancy chef shows Bucky was always making him watch said, “You eat with your eyes as well as your tastebuds” and damn did Clint eat (metaphorically, of course. He might like some biting during his rendezvous but he wasn’t into hardcore teeth) with his eyes in a big way. Currently, he was eating Sam with his eyes, and it was a goddamn feast.
“I didn’t know you were into guys?” Sam managed, at last, bringing Clint back from his wandering thoughts and into the present. Focusing as he was now, he saw the way Sam’s eyes were lingering on the sprawl of his arms and the spread of his legs, and Clint knew he had him.
“I’m into everyone, but I’m especially into you,” he said, “What about you, Sam?” He still wanted to hear it, still needed to know explicitly that Sam was willing. “You into me?”
Clint decided to sweeten the deal a little, put a little extra emphasis on what was on offer, so he feigned a stretch, and if he arched his back a little as he settled more languidly in his chair, maybe pushed his chest out so that it brought attention to his shoulders and arms, bared as they were in the cut off muscle tank top he was wearing, knowing as he did that every muscle he had from armpit to hipbone were looking damn good through the open sides of his shirt, who could blame him. He may not be stacked like Steve, or thick like Bucky, and nobody could hold a candle to Thor in his literal God-like beauty, but Clint knew that he looked sexy as fuck when he wanted to, and right now, he fucking wanted to.
“Hng,” went Sam, right before he vaulted over the arm of the couch and perfectly into Clint’s lap. “What the hell,” Sam said, “I’m flexible, for the right man.”
Clint laughed and rearranged Sam on his lap, pressing up against him and settling those thick thighs on either side of his hips. Sam made a face, eyes rolling back in his head as his lips parted, and Clint was glad he was expressive in his pleasure and wondered since he was eating with his eyes already, just how many more ways he could eat Sam Wilson.
Time to find out.
He leaned up a little, pulling on Sam’s thighs (and goddamn , those thighs ) and inched him closer before closing the distance between them and sealing this whole idea with a kiss.
Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck kissing Sam was delightful. Those lips were just as plump and firm as they looked, and so damn soft Clint could cry. The muscles under his fingertips tensed as Sam braced for the kiss, and Clint could feel the smile tugging those plush lips upward under his own. There was a wetness on his lips suddenly, and he smiled as he parted them, granting Sam’s tongue the entrance it requested. This was going to be fun.
--
An hour later and they’re in Clint’s bedroom, naked and sweaty and still not at the main event, having taken their time making out before moving locations. Clint's floor of the Tower was closer, and therefore the chosen destination for the afternoon’s activities. Clint had his face buried in Sam’s neck right now, breathing in the heady smell of his cologne, something wonderful and bright, a hint of citrus with something deeper and almost woodsy underneath. Clint couldn’t get enough.
He also couldn’t get enough of Sam’s ass, which he was currently three fingers deep in. Beneath him, Sam was a writhing, panting mess, the sheen of his sweat highlighting the grooves of his muscles, his whole body a work of art and the faces he made were sheer perfection.
“Unf, hng, uuuuuuhhhhhhhhh,” were most of the things Sam said, mixed in with guttural moans and deep groans, and they were driving Clint wild. He’d taken his time opening Sam up, after a lengthy, slow blowjob to start them off. Clint almost didn’t want to stop sucking Sam off at all, because the way his thighs tensed and trembled, the scent of his arousal, the way goosebumps erupted on his skin when Clint did something just right were heady and addictive.
They were definitely going to be doing this again because he couldn’t get enough of the glorious man that was Sam Wilson in the throes of passion.
“C’mon, Clint, c’mon,” Sam said, not begging, not really, cause that’s not what this was. This was just for fun, and Clint knew neither of them would be catching feelings. Sam had made it clear that while he occasionally found certain men sexually attractive, he’d never found one he was romantically interested in, and Clint had no qualms with that. They could pass some time with each other and not worry.
“Yeah, yeah, Wilson, I got you,” Clint laughed, reaching over to grab the condom he’d tossed on the bed earlier on when he’d gone digging in the nightstand for the good lube. He kneeled up and snugged himself between those thicc (and he did mean thicc ) thighs and rolled the condom down his length, and he could almost hear his dick thanking him for getting the show on the road at fucking last. Beneath him, Sam was doing something sexy and sinuous, pulling his knees in and rolling them to the side, his upper body following slowly and before he truly knew what had happened, Sam had flipped over and was now on his knees with his back arched and the way he had his arms stretched out in front of him drew attention to the strength and power of his shoulders, the columns of muscle moving on either side of his spine and Clint was losing his goddamn mind .
“Barton,” Sam was looking back at Clint with heavy-lidded eyes and raised brows, licking his lips before he spoke. “If you don’t hurry up and fuck me, I’ll go find someone who will.”
“Fuuuuuck no, I’m gettin’ in this ass, Wilson, you better fuckin’ believe it.” With that, Clint took that perfect ass in either hand and pulled the cheeks apart. Eyes on the prize, he lined up with Sam’s now loose, wet hole before starting the slow push in.
Now, Clint wasn’t one to base any kind of personal importance or value on the size of his dick like a lot of men he knew (Toxic Masculinity is Toxic), but he also had no problem admitting he had a nice dick. Long enough to hit the right spot on any partner he had, and thick enough to give the good kind of stretch, it curved just slightly upward, and more importantly than anything else, he knew how to use it.
He was Hawkeye, for fuck's sake. He never missed.
Sam was moaning again, his legs shifting and spreading and Clint slid his hands around to the front of those perfect thighs and dug in, gripping the meat of them right in the crease at the top, (he thinks Bucky and Tasha called them thighbrows? There was a photo of them on the beach in what could only be called skimpy swimwear teaching Steve, in equally skimpy swimwear, how to get them in a photo on the official Avengers Instagram that Sam had called a “Goddamn Thirst Trap, you three, Jesus Christ”) and pulled, hauling Sam’s hips up higher on Clint’s thighs, changing the angle just enough that Sam cried out and spasmed around Clint, the muscles of his ass gripping Clint’s dick so hard a groan of his own pushed its way out.
“Fucking Christ, Sam, your ass ! So fucking tight,” Clint ground out, easing his hips back before snapping them forward again. There was an absolutely filthy chuckle that worked its way out of Sam’s mouth as he squeezed again and rolled his hips back against Clint’s, meeting him stroke for stroke, his whole body moving in a way that showed Clint he really was putting his back into it.
“Though you were here to show me a good time, Barton, c’mon,” Sam cajoled, and oh fuck no, Clint was not about to have his abilities disparaged like that. A growl ripped its way out his chest and he dug his fingers in, drawing all the way out before slamming back inside Sam. He changed the angle of his hips slightly on each thrust forward until suddenly Sam cried out, followed by a long, ragged moan. Bingo.
“Oh, fuck, shit, unf, yesssssss , right there!”
Clint could feel his face split in a feral grin, pride running through his veins. He had never had someone leave his bed disappointed, and he’d be damned if he started now. He hadn’t had such a responsive partner in a while, though, so he was in no rush today.
“Yeah? Right? There?” He punctuated each word with a pointed thrust directly to Sam’s sweet spot, the other man still doing his best to match Clint’s every move.
“Uh, fuck yeah, oh, goooooood!”
Clint couldn’t stop staring at the place they were joined, loved watching the way the muscles of Sam’s ass and thighs bounced with the force of Clint’s hips pounding into them, and couldn’t stop his mouth when he said as much. “Lord save me, your fucking thighs, Sam!” He dug his fingers in for emphasis, using his grip to pull them wider, pushing Sam’s back into an even deeper arch. “Sexiest fucking thing, these thighs.”
Suddenly Sam was pushing himself upright, those very thighs bunching as the muscles worked to get Sam’s sitting up straight, with his back to Clint’s chest, and his splendid ass resting snugly against Clint’s hips as Clint sat back on his heels to accommodate the change in position. The shift caused Sam’s inner muscles to clench, again, and Clint’s eyes rolled back in his head at the sensation.
“You a leg man, Clint?” Sam purred in his ear now that he was close, head turned so that his lips were brushing against the shell. Clint nodded frantically, staring over Sam’s shoulder at the way his thighs worked as Sam started to gently move up and down, slow and shallow. Sam’s legs were still on the outside of his own, his back still arched and the way he was holding himself put all the emphasis on everything from the waist down, and Clint was damn near drooling. “How ‘bout that. Well, I am definitely a good choice then, cause I have great legs.” Sam started to speed up his movements and it was all Clint could do to hold himself still and kneeling up, giving Sam a solid base for leverage. Sam wanted to put on a show? Clint would watch this all damn day.
“Fucking fantastic legs,” Clint rasped out, his voice hoarse with desire. Sam kept speeding up till he was downright bouncing on Clint’s dick, and Clint thanked every deity he’d ever heard of for Sam’s commitment to Leg Day. Getting his act together, Clint starting to thrust up in time to meet the meaty flesh of Sam’s ass and thighs as they did unbelievable things to his dick.
Neither of them lasted much longer, especially not once Clint (reluctantly) let go of one thigh to wrap his hand around the thick length of Sam’s cock, knowing from experience that the unique callouses he got from using his bow felt phenomenal.
Sam came with a cry all over Clint’s hand, ass spasming as he did so and dragging Clint over the edge with him, grinding himself up into that glorious ass a few last times before collapsing on the bed, gently taking Sam with him.
They lay there panting for a moment, neither of them moving for a full post-coital cuddle, but enjoying the closeness all the same.
“Goddamn,” Sam said at last. He shot Clint a look and a smile, which Clint returned easily. “Nice someone around here finally appreciates all the work I do on Leg Day. Can’t have a tree without the trunk!” he declared.
Clint laughed breathily as his heart rate came back down. “Well, you know what they say.”
“What do they say, Clint?”
Clint grinned at the ceiling. “Thick thighs save lives.”
Sam groaned at that and hit him in the face with a pillow.
