Avengers Fic: And I'll Guide You Through Our Garden of Eden, Clint/Phil/Natasha, NC17
Title: And I'll Guide You Through Our Garden of Eden
Characters/Pairing: Clint/Phil/Natasha
Rating: Mature/NC17 for porn, both slash and het
Disclaimer: Trust me when I tell you I really wish I owned Clint Barton. I don't though, and this is just what I do for fun. No harm, no foul.
Word Count: 1293
A/N: For a prompt on avengerkink(Clint/Phil/Natasha, established threesome relationship)
A recovering Phil isn't allowed to have sex yet but that doesn't mean he can't watch.
Bonus points for having him call all the shots.
This is my first posted fic in almost two years, and it's the porniest thing I've written in a while. Here's to hoping I still got it ;)
They're beautiful like this, wrapped around each other in a graceful tangle of limbs. Clint with an intensity he usually reserves for hours on a rooftop, Natasha with a softness she'd otherwise hide. Phil wants to climb onto the bed with them like he's done so many times before, like they convinced him to years ago.
They're quiet tonight, and Phil has a moment, when Natasha climbs onto Clint's lap and presses him to her breasts, gently kisses his forehead. He aches from the intimacy, feels like maybe he shouldn't be there, aches with a pain around his heart that has nothing to do with his injuries.
Natasha whispers against Clint, unusually tender words in Russian, and Clint opens his eyes, stares across the room at Phil as she says them again. It's Phil's words for she and Clint, a thing she'd teased him about, words that Phil had groaned into their skin, into their sheets. Phil repeated her words then, and if either of them noticed the catch in his voice, they didn't say.
'Phil,' Clint starts and Natasha stops him with a finger to his lips before she slides off of his lap and steps off the bed, walks towards Phil. Clint is quiet, watching as Natasha puts her hands out to Phil, pulls him gently up out of his seat and leads him slowly back until he's sitting in a chair next to and facing the bed. She smiles at him, a deadly thing that Phil's never been able to resist, not since they started this thing, and Clint finds more words then, tells them to kiss and they do, sweet and soft and with a sigh from Natasha as she pulls away.
‘Again,’ Clint says as Natasha turns her back to Phil and asks him to help her out of her underthings. Phil runs hands up her back, unhooking, works his way back down her body, fingers sliding under black lace as she leans forward, crawls up on the bed as Phil slips the skimpy fabric down off of her. ‘Not yet,’ Phil answers as he watches Natasha make her way towards Clint, ‘not until she tastes like you,’ and then the tone is set, the mood changed.
Natasha swings her head around, eyebrow raised at Phil and he tries to laugh, nothing more than a little huff of breath as he settles into his seat, explains with a minimum of words that he’s never seen them like this, never watched, and god he wants, he wants to watch, and see, and tell, and teach. ‘So teach,’ Natasha tells him from on all fours, ‘And tell,’ Clint tells him from underneath Natasha.
He tells, because he could never said no to Natasha straddling Clint’s hips, sliding wet over him in a slow tease because Phil asked her to, because Phil told her to. He teaches, because he knows how to pull a broken, needy sound out of Clint and he wants, because the ache in his heart is spreading and he can’t be with them now, but he can give them this.
‘Flip her, Clint,’ he says, watching as they move with grace, ‘but let her control it,’ and Natasha hooks her legs around Clint and pulls him forward to sink into her in one smooth thrust. Clint groans, Natasha moans and Phil is lost to their symphony, in Clint’s words, ‘God, Nat - Phil, she’s so wet.’
Phil is emboldened by Clint, by Natasha’s unusually breathy response to him, and he can see when Clint slides in and out of her but he wants more and so he pushes a little, asks her for more. ‘Is that right, Natasha? Are you wet for Clint?’ and Clint swears, ‘Jesus, fuck - Phil,’ and Natasha keens, answers him with a yes, yes, dripping for him - for you, and it’s the dirtiest, sexiest thing Phil’s ever heard Natasha say, and he’s heard her say.
‘I want you to come first, Natasha, can you do that for me? This way?’, and Phil can hardly believe the steadiness of the words coming out of his own mouth. She shakes her head no, and Phil understands what she wants, tells Clint to pull out of her, flip her on her stomach, get her back up on all fours, and give her what she needs.
‘Use your mouth, Clint. Make her come,’ he says, and Clint is moaning, muffled against her, on his knees with his face pressed up into her, his tongue making quick work of Phil’s demand. Natasha bucks back against Clint, presses down against him and grinds herself into his face, takes exactly what she needs from Clint and Phil thinks that there may be nothing more beautiful on this or any other planet than two highly skilled assassins working each other towards this heated point.
Natasha is flushed and breathless when she comes and Phil wants to tell Clint push back into her, knows that Natasha could come again easily at this point and just from thrusting inside of her. He’s brought her to that point himself and he’ll do it again soon enough, when he’s healed, but right now all he can see is is Clint’s mouth, slick with spit and Natasha and he needs to taste, just a little. Clint is looking at him, his hands still on Natasha, stroking her hips and whispering to one or both of them, ‘That good, baby?’. Natasha huffs out a yes and any other time she’d tell Clint to quit it with the sweet name calling but she knows, they all do, that this isn’t any other time.
‘So good,’ Phil answers Clint, tells him to come here, tells him he wants to taste and Clint leans into him with another broken noise as Phil runs his tongue over moist lips. Clint tells Phil he wants him, wishes he could feel him, kisses him when other words threaten to spill. Natasha is behind Clint then, whispering hot into his ear, coaxing him away from Phil’s mouth and back towards her.
Her hand is slick and warm when it closes around him and Clint closes his eyes, overwhelmed. Phil tells him to open his eyes, to look at him, to see what Clint is doing to him. Clint opens his eyes, sees the want on Phil’s face, hears when Phil tells him, ‘Natasha’s going to make you feel so good, Clint. I’m going to watch her bring you off the way I like to bring you off.’
Natasha is pressed against Clint’s back, both of them on their knees, on show for Phil. He wants to reach out and touch, lock hands with Natasha and run them over Clint’s heated skin, lean in and lick at her neck while she whispers her Russian words to Clint. He tells them what he wants, that he wants to see Natasha’s pretty mouth wrapped around Clint and then there she is, placing Phil’s hand on the back of her head and leaning forward to take all of Clint. Phil guiding her down, eyes locked with Clint’s when Clint starts to shake.
‘Nat,’ Clint groans, and Phil eases up his hand on her head but she doesn’t want that and she pulls it back down, grabs for Clint’s hand and puts it on top of Phil’s. Clint doesn’t take his eyes off of Phil, even as he swears and grunts and comes down Natasha’s throat and this is a moment that Phil will remember forever.
Characters/Pairing: Clint/Phil/Natasha
Rating: Mature/NC17 for porn, both slash and het
Disclaimer: Trust me when I tell you I really wish I owned Clint Barton. I don't though, and this is just what I do for fun. No harm, no foul.
Word Count: 1293
A/N: For a prompt on avengerkink(Clint/Phil/Natasha, established threesome relationship)
A recovering Phil isn't allowed to have sex yet but that doesn't mean he can't watch.
Bonus points for having him call all the shots.
This is my first posted fic in almost two years, and it's the porniest thing I've written in a while. Here's to hoping I still got it ;)
They're beautiful like this, wrapped around each other in a graceful tangle of limbs. Clint with an intensity he usually reserves for hours on a rooftop, Natasha with a softness she'd otherwise hide. Phil wants to climb onto the bed with them like he's done so many times before, like they convinced him to years ago.
They're quiet tonight, and Phil has a moment, when Natasha climbs onto Clint's lap and presses him to her breasts, gently kisses his forehead. He aches from the intimacy, feels like maybe he shouldn't be there, aches with a pain around his heart that has nothing to do with his injuries.
Natasha whispers against Clint, unusually tender words in Russian, and Clint opens his eyes, stares across the room at Phil as she says them again. It's Phil's words for she and Clint, a thing she'd teased him about, words that Phil had groaned into their skin, into their sheets. Phil repeated her words then, and if either of them noticed the catch in his voice, they didn't say.
'Phil,' Clint starts and Natasha stops him with a finger to his lips before she slides off of his lap and steps off the bed, walks towards Phil. Clint is quiet, watching as Natasha puts her hands out to Phil, pulls him gently up out of his seat and leads him slowly back until he's sitting in a chair next to and facing the bed. She smiles at him, a deadly thing that Phil's never been able to resist, not since they started this thing, and Clint finds more words then, tells them to kiss and they do, sweet and soft and with a sigh from Natasha as she pulls away.
‘Again,’ Clint says as Natasha turns her back to Phil and asks him to help her out of her underthings. Phil runs hands up her back, unhooking, works his way back down her body, fingers sliding under black lace as she leans forward, crawls up on the bed as Phil slips the skimpy fabric down off of her. ‘Not yet,’ Phil answers as he watches Natasha make her way towards Clint, ‘not until she tastes like you,’ and then the tone is set, the mood changed.
Natasha swings her head around, eyebrow raised at Phil and he tries to laugh, nothing more than a little huff of breath as he settles into his seat, explains with a minimum of words that he’s never seen them like this, never watched, and god he wants, he wants to watch, and see, and tell, and teach. ‘So teach,’ Natasha tells him from on all fours, ‘And tell,’ Clint tells him from underneath Natasha.
He tells, because he could never said no to Natasha straddling Clint’s hips, sliding wet over him in a slow tease because Phil asked her to, because Phil told her to. He teaches, because he knows how to pull a broken, needy sound out of Clint and he wants, because the ache in his heart is spreading and he can’t be with them now, but he can give them this.
‘Flip her, Clint,’ he says, watching as they move with grace, ‘but let her control it,’ and Natasha hooks her legs around Clint and pulls him forward to sink into her in one smooth thrust. Clint groans, Natasha moans and Phil is lost to their symphony, in Clint’s words, ‘God, Nat - Phil, she’s so wet.’
Phil is emboldened by Clint, by Natasha’s unusually breathy response to him, and he can see when Clint slides in and out of her but he wants more and so he pushes a little, asks her for more. ‘Is that right, Natasha? Are you wet for Clint?’ and Clint swears, ‘Jesus, fuck - Phil,’ and Natasha keens, answers him with a yes, yes, dripping for him - for you, and it’s the dirtiest, sexiest thing Phil’s ever heard Natasha say, and he’s heard her say.
‘I want you to come first, Natasha, can you do that for me? This way?’, and Phil can hardly believe the steadiness of the words coming out of his own mouth. She shakes her head no, and Phil understands what she wants, tells Clint to pull out of her, flip her on her stomach, get her back up on all fours, and give her what she needs.
‘Use your mouth, Clint. Make her come,’ he says, and Clint is moaning, muffled against her, on his knees with his face pressed up into her, his tongue making quick work of Phil’s demand. Natasha bucks back against Clint, presses down against him and grinds herself into his face, takes exactly what she needs from Clint and Phil thinks that there may be nothing more beautiful on this or any other planet than two highly skilled assassins working each other towards this heated point.
Natasha is flushed and breathless when she comes and Phil wants to tell Clint push back into her, knows that Natasha could come again easily at this point and just from thrusting inside of her. He’s brought her to that point himself and he’ll do it again soon enough, when he’s healed, but right now all he can see is is Clint’s mouth, slick with spit and Natasha and he needs to taste, just a little. Clint is looking at him, his hands still on Natasha, stroking her hips and whispering to one or both of them, ‘That good, baby?’. Natasha huffs out a yes and any other time she’d tell Clint to quit it with the sweet name calling but she knows, they all do, that this isn’t any other time.
‘So good,’ Phil answers Clint, tells him to come here, tells him he wants to taste and Clint leans into him with another broken noise as Phil runs his tongue over moist lips. Clint tells Phil he wants him, wishes he could feel him, kisses him when other words threaten to spill. Natasha is behind Clint then, whispering hot into his ear, coaxing him away from Phil’s mouth and back towards her.
Her hand is slick and warm when it closes around him and Clint closes his eyes, overwhelmed. Phil tells him to open his eyes, to look at him, to see what Clint is doing to him. Clint opens his eyes, sees the want on Phil’s face, hears when Phil tells him, ‘Natasha’s going to make you feel so good, Clint. I’m going to watch her bring you off the way I like to bring you off.’
Natasha is pressed against Clint’s back, both of them on their knees, on show for Phil. He wants to reach out and touch, lock hands with Natasha and run them over Clint’s heated skin, lean in and lick at her neck while she whispers her Russian words to Clint. He tells them what he wants, that he wants to see Natasha’s pretty mouth wrapped around Clint and then there she is, placing Phil’s hand on the back of her head and leaning forward to take all of Clint. Phil guiding her down, eyes locked with Clint’s when Clint starts to shake.
‘Nat,’ Clint groans, and Phil eases up his hand on her head but she doesn’t want that and she pulls it back down, grabs for Clint’s hand and puts it on top of Phil’s. Clint doesn’t take his eyes off of Phil, even as he swears and grunts and comes down Natasha’s throat and this is a moment that Phil will remember forever.