Fic Time! Flaws 1/1 - Part 2
Yeah, posted in two parts because LJ is a bitch and won't let me post it all together.
Title: Flaws 1/1
Pairing: Established Clint/Coulson
Fandom: The Avengers
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 18,502
Warnings: D/S, Dom!Phil, Sub!Clint, breathplay, blood, rough sex, consensual violence, fluff kinda thrown in there, but it's all good!
Summary: There are flaws in perfection. Flaws in appearances. Flaws in control. Every single one of Phil's flaws revolve around the insubordinate archer he can't seem to live without. Phil, however, wouldn't change a thing...
That gravelled, honeyed tone was in full effect, and its influence over the writhing archer was almost instantaneous. A shiver travelled down Clint's spine, his malicious protests cut off with a bone deep howl of frustration, and even as he continued to kick and flail under Phil, Phil knew that the effort was half-hearted compared to how energetically Clint had started.
Phil leant over Clint, digging his elbow sharply into the edge of the bruise on Clint's ribs as he brought his lips down to the archers ear. Hearing the very real gasp of pain that Clint gave as he flinched under Phil's weight, his eyes screwed shut as he sucked his bottom lip between his teeth and bit down hard, Phil shifted his body just a little bit, enough to ease some of the pressure off of the archers chest as he rubbed his nose through the soft wave of hair just above the archers temple.
Phil knew from previous experience that Clint greatly appreciated the small signs of affection from him whilst they were building up the intensity of the scene. It was enough to give Clint an out, a moment to acknowledge that where they went was entirely down to what it was that Clint needed, and that if Clint wanted to stop now, then Phil wouldn't hold it against him.
It took a few minutes before Phil felt Clint gently, almost imperceptibly, turn his head into Phil's touch, the very tips of the fingertips on his trapped hands brushing haphazardly against the inside of Phil's wrist. They were incredibly subtle movements, barely noticeable for anyone who wasn't aware of their significance, but Phil wasn't just anyone.
Phil gave a smile that was hidden against the side of Clint's head, dropping the faintest of kisses against Clint's temple before leaning back again, Clint still very firmly pinned in the same position but no longer putting up any kind of resistance to Phil's presence. There was still a tension vibrating through his body though, that defiance still shining through that threatened to pierce Clint's gradual calm, and Phil felt the smile drop from his face as he contemplated what to do next.
It had been a while since Clint had been this aggressive and angry, but Phil didn't think that launching into anything too strong was going to be of much benefit on this occasion. No, there was a vulnerability there today that Clint very rarely let Phil see despite just how close they were, and Phil knew that he would be headed down the road to absolute disaster if he dared to overlook the weakness Clint was exposing to him.
Normally, in the aftermath of missions that warranted this kind of intervention, Phil would wait until they'd make it back to the Tower, using the stark divide between work and everyday life as a way to physically express to Clint the difference between the ruthless Agent and the calm, almost shy man he was when he wasn't wearing the uniform that defined him. Today though, Phil knew that there needed to be more immediate action.
Hoping that he'd been able to use his security clearance to destroy any incriminating evidence that could be potentially gathered, Phil took two steps back from Clint, leaving the Agent prone over the desk. There was a faint ring of bruising beginning to colour the archers wrists, and Phil could barely restrain the groan that he gave at the sight. He didn't consider himself a masochist - he could see how it could be argued sometimes, but that was a different matter entirely - but he'd never known anyone to look so stunning with such ugly discolouration and marks tainting their skin.
Then again though, Clint couldn't be considered just anyone, and Phil had never truly thought of himself as conventional in any way.
At the sound of Phil's appreciation, Clint lifted his head and shoulders, his eyes flitting over in Phil's direction. Phil let out a deep, somewhat frustrated sigh as he closed the gap between them again, cupping the back of Clint's neck and forcing his face down for a second time, feeling the way that the muscles under his touch spasmed in the conflict over obeying the implicit order or refusing to acknowledge Phil's demand.
Rolling his eyes, Phil let his right hand skate ghost over Clint's exposed ribs, pressing his fingertips into the vibrantly mottled bruise with varying degrees of frequency and pressure, knowing that even the softest of touches over such deep, fresh bruising would be agonising even for someone with as high a pain threshold as Clint. When he hit a particularly tender spot, Clint instantly flinched as he gave a whimper, and Phil used the distraction to push down hard until Clint's forehead banged against the wood with a thud.
"Now now, Agent Barton, I expected better. You've been nothing but disobedient today, and I don't like it when you disrespect me so often. I don't want to have to hurt you, Agent Barton, but I will if I have no choice. You will stay exactly where you are. You will stay silent unless I ask you a question or until I tell you to speak. If you move a single muscle, then there will be consequences. Do you understand me, Agent Barton?"
Phil could see Clint struggling to swallow down the lump in his throat, his eyes screwed shut, and Phil knew that the archer was suddenly very aware of the lancing throbs of pain radiating from his ribs as he laced his fingers together at the base of his back, his knuckles going white from the strength of his own hold. Every muscle had become way too stiff as well, suggesting to Phil that Clint was trying to fall into that mission-like state where he was capable of still perfection for hours.
"Yes."
Phil gave a sharp tap to the curve of Clint's ribs, knowing from the ring that echoed at the contact that it had to have hurt. Clint's back tensed in an attempt to stop the instinctive arch Phil knew he would have given, the archer biting down so suddenly on his lip to hold back a yelp that he split the skin.
"Excuse me, Agent Barton?"
"Yes, Sir. I'm sorry, Sir."
Clint's voice was rasped, beginning to fray around the edges from the power of his need and the emotional burden behind his words; his apology was almost desperate. Phil's hand at Clint's ribs that had initially caused pain changed tactic, very carefully soothing the flat of the palm across the expanse of heated flesh, tracing delicate patterns that - whilst Clint abortedly tried to prevent himself from moving away from at the first caress - the archer fell into almost as if he was in a trance.
"Good, Clint."
The warmth and sincerity of the praise, coupled with the way that Clint's name rolled off of Phil's tongue so sweetly and so reverently, was enough to make the archer give a muffled sigh. A little bit more of the tension that was there drifted away, and whilst Phil knew that Clint was now on edge from the potential threat and worry of more pain to come, seeing his partner begin to visibly relax was enough to allow the simmering arousal and lust Phil had felt tormenting him all afternoon to start seeping back into the cracks.
Stepping back again, Phil was pleased to see Clint's obedience this time, Clint not daring to move an inch as Phil crossed the room, locking his office door and engaging the 'DND' sign. He knew that nobody, not even Fury, would even think for a second about disturbing Phil when his door was very firmly closed to visitors, and it was this completely certainty in the respect and distance that he was granted when he so desired it that convinced him it was safe for them both to continue without fear of being discovered.
Turning back to face the room, Phil methodically began to unbutton his jacket, taking his time just to test the limits of Clint's patience and control as he held the archer in place with just his words alone. Shrugging it off his shoulders, Phil hung it up on the back of the door before rolling up his shirt sleeves and loosening his tie. Pulling it from around his neck, Phil noticed the shiver that ran down Clint's back at the soft 'zip' of Phil's tie being undone, and Phil couldn't bring himself to restrain the smirk he gave when he quickly walked back across the room towards the waiting archer.
Leaning over Clint's back, but maintaining just enough of a gap so that no part of his body made contact with Clint's, Phil used one hand to delicately smooth the strands of hair from Clint's face. He could see just how much it was taking out of the archer not to nuzzle into the palm cupping his cheek, and Phil dropped another indulgent kiss of subtle approval into Clint's temple before fastening the tie across his eyes.
At the sudden darkness, Phil felt Clint tense slightly, and he kept his touch as nonchalant as possible in an attempt to soothe the archers frazzled nerves, but to still keep him riled up. This was something Phil got a great measure of pleasure from, sending conflicting messages to stop Clint from getting too comfortable; pain accompanied by soft, lulling words, or sensory deprivation whilst giving Clint a full, detailed commentary of everything that Phil was doing to him that he couldn't see, with just the knowledge of Phil's presence and the scent from his tie keeping Clint anchored into reality.
It may have seemed rather perverse in its cruelty, toying with buttons that the archer didn't like to be pushed just to prolong the drop they both felt, but they were both confident in their trust of the other to know that it was a controlled descent that could be instantly stopped with a moments' hesitation or protest.
Leaning back up, one of Phil's hands suddenly reached around in front of Clint, grabbing the buckle of his belt and deftly unhooking it as he grabbed Clint's wrists again, digging his nails in sharply around the growing red and violet marks. Phil didn't immediately pull the belt from the loops though. He let the tips of his fingers dip down, tracing the outline of the erection that Phil could feel beginning to stir to life with deliberate precision, and the sound of Clint frantically trying to hold back his plea for more, his thighs tightening to the point of tremors as he managed to stop himself from pushing his groin into Phil's touch, was enough to make Phil's heart skip a beat in his chest, a wave of lust washing through him.
Phil didn't let the teasing linger though, and he unthreaded the belt, pulling Clint's wrists and forearms into a somewhat awkward angle for the archers position, but not wrenching his shoulders back quite far enough to cause any damage; whilst pain and restraint seemed to be a large factor for Clint, Phil wasn't stupid enough to do anything that could potentially hinder his aim or his draw for longer than a day or so. Gripping the soft leather between his front teeth, Phil undid his own, much thinner belt, before looping the two together with a great feat of dexterity to allow him a wider choice of options.
After a couple of moments, Phil started to wind the makeshift bond around Clint's arms almost like a bandage, starting from the archers wrists before firmly tying and buckling them off at the crook of Clint's elbows. It would be quick enough to take off in a hurry if needed, and it kept Clint's fingers exposed so that he could physically grab Phil's attention or respond to any of Phil's checks, but it was more than durable enough to ensure that Clint would be severely limited in what he could do.
Placing Clint's arms back down along the length of his spine, Phil gave a grin at his handiwork when he saw Clint's muscles rippling, trying to test the tensile strength and give of the bindings he was trapped in without making any overt movements that could raise Phil's suspicions. It may have looked messy - two different belts roughly linked together, and a worn, silk tie covering Clint's eyes - but the sight of it made Phil shudder. There was something about the feel of almost amateurish, DIY style bondage and resources that made the whole encounter seem that much more intimate than the perfect glossy finish of latex and plastic.
Well worn and cracked belts, patina soft ties, broken bow strings and leather arm bracers; they were all little things that represented them, and it was seeing such mundane, personal items being used in the midst of the pain, the blood and the haziness that helped to ground both of them. It reminded Phil that it was okay to let his discipline and perfect routines slip without fear, and Clint that this kind of control was always safe; he was wrapped up in Phil, knowing that Phil's steady calm and yearning affection was never going to leave him whilst he was this exposed and vulnerable.
The sight before him may have been debauched and depraved, but by God, it was the most perfect thing that Phil had seen, and he felt his own control beginning to erode.
"God, Clint, you have no idea just how good you are, do you? How beautiful you look with my bruises, so quiet and eager and all just for me?"
Phil's voice had taken on a hushed sort of awe, like coming to a sudden realisation that had been staring him in the face for years, and he could see the way that Clint's entire being seemed to grasp at the praise and control that he craved with every ounce of his body, greedily consuming it. Phil knew that if Clint had been allowed to speak, Clint would be a wreck, so hysterically desperate to please and to listen and to be manipulated in whatever way Phil wanted him to be, and Phil felt his cock straining against the inside of his pants.
Running the very tips of his fingers up the back of Clint's thighs, Phil could feel the muscles spasming beneath his touch, Clint's breathing hitching in his throat as the streak of blood continued to drip from the archers full bottom lip, and Phil was suddenly struck by the violent urge to see just how much more Clint would be able to withstand without ripping through the control that he was keeping grasp of. He knew, judging by how taut the archer was, how much his muscles were trembling and the rough gasps that escaped his mouth despite his best efforts, that Clint had to be very nearly the edge, clinging onto whatever shreds he could by his fingertips.
The thought of pushing Clint off of the precipice, of breaking down the last of the existing barriers that were keeping Clint from reaching the giddy highs and showing the archer that he could challenge and define the limits of his submission and self-control without losing his sense of himself, was more than enough to spur Phil into action.
"Now Clint," Phil cooed, his own control starting to splinter into fragments as his mind ran rampant with each and every visceral memory of what he could make Clint do like this. "I need to make sure that you know exactly how to control yourself. I need to make sure that you won't do reckless things when I'm not around. I don't like it when others get upset, and I definitely don't like it when you get upset because of what the others think. I know you know how to control yourself, and I want you to prove it to me."
Moving so that he was standing by Clint's side, Phil let one of his hands rest warningly against the back of Clint's throat as he indulgently traced the pad of his thumb across Clint's bottom lip. Clint was physically shaking as he gave a wavering sigh, the tip of his tongue wrapping around Phil's blood slicked digit almost convulsively when Phil brushed down slightly firmer against the soft skin. Phil gave a rough, dark chuckle when he tightly gripped Clint's neck, his thumb digging hard into the pulse point when Clint gave a sudden choked gasp, the archer going tense when he seemed to realise his mistake.
"Such a difficult one, Clint. All I ask of you is such simple things, yet it seems like you can't even manage to obey basic orders today. Such a shame." Phil let a very real disappointment colour his voice, and he could see the frantic apologies Clint was trying to hold back.
He smiled sadly; it was never particularly comfortable when Clint struggled to fall or stay in the right mindset for what was needed, slipping up on the smallest of things he otherwise would've followed without even requiring prompting. Letting out a deep breath, Phil knew that he was going to have to kick things up a notch.
It was never an easy decision to make to break Clint down in a more extreme, brutal manner, but he knew that it was ultimately in Clint's best interests, even if the physical damage incurred seemed to undermine Phil's argument somewhat. Furthermore, he knew that Clint would understand and agree with him.
"Stand up."
That honeyed tone was quieter, but it was hard, lined with an iciness that promised severe repercussions if it wasn't listened to. Clint hesitated for a split second, his face creasing up with fear and confusion as he instantly recognised the change in Phil's stance for what it represented. The lack of vision and balance caused by the way his arms had been bound behind him meant that Clint's attempt to straighten up was slow, tentative and just about bordering on disobedience in Phil's books.
Rolling his eyes in exasperation, Phil's hand tightened further on Clint's neck as he yanked the archer up into a standing position, ripping a yelp of surprise and shock from Clint as he moved his palm to grip the front of Clint's throat, bringing his fingers up with such strength that Clint was forced onto his tiptoes to avoid being choked. The frantic pace of Clint's shallow breaths echoed around the room as Phil held him there for a good few minutes, Clint's face going red and his entire body shaking as Phil squeezed his hand harder. Just when Phil thought that Clint was going to call it quits, he fractionally relaxed his hold, and the pathetic gratitude he could feel rolling from the archer was enough to make that easy smile curl at his lips once more.
"See, Clint, if you co-operate with me, then I wouldn't have to hurt you, would I?"
"N-n-n-no, Sir," Clint rasped out, his words weak and timid.
"Good, Clint, you're actually listening to me for once."
It was underhanded praise, sarcasm tainting his tone despite the heavy truth and approval of his words, and Phil could tell that Clint wasn't entirely sure how to take it by the way Clint's jaw tightened.
Phil released his grip on the archer, and if it wasn't for Clint's instinctive reactions, he probably would've ended up on the floor as he coughed and wheezed, desperately trying to get air into his lungs. Clint listed forward dangerously quick, and Phil instantly put his arms out, ready to catch Clint if he was too light-headed or disoriented to hold himself up. As it was, the violent handprints ringing Clint's throat like some perverse collar, deep blotches of ugly reds and blues colouring his skin, indicated to Phil that he might have been slightly too heavy-handed.
After a few worrying seconds, Clint was just about able to steady himself, his muscles viciously trembling as Phil could see the dampness beginning to stain the tie around Clint's eyes. Frowning, Phil reached out, tenderly brushing the backs of his fingers against the archers cheek as he stepped in, his lips barely millimetres from Clint's temple as he tried to ignore Clint's flinch at Phil suddenly being so close to him.
"Clint, you sure you want to do this?"
Concern and affection laced his question, the gravelly roughness of his voice dropping as Phil whispered softly into Clint's ear; when Clint finally realised the temporary break in Phil's character, he briefly rested his forehead against Phil's shoulder, taking in a shuddered gulp of air as he steadied himself against Phil's blessedly solid form.
Phil patiently waited. He knew the toll their confrontations took on the younger man, and he knew that there was nothing to gain from trying to rush him into a decision. Instead, he kept quiet, keeping his touches as soothing but fleeting as possible so as not to shatter Clint's thoughts.
It seemed to take forever, but Clint eventually moved, briefly burying his nose into the crook of Phil's neck and inhaling deeply before shakily straightening himself back up. He looked a little bit more relaxed, his breathing coming slightly easier than previously, and Phil gave a heartfelt grin when Clint tentatively nodded, composing himself as he assumed his previous position.
"Good, Clint," Phil breathed out warmly, seeing the way that Clint glowingly basked at the reaffirmation of his obedience.
It was coming much more naturally now, Clint's head hanging down respectfully even with the tie obscuring his vision and making the gesture redundant, and Phil was relieved to see that Clint was finally settling into the mind space he needed to benefit and grow under Phil's words and touches.
Taking a step back, Phil began to undo the buttons on his shirt, letting it fall to the floor by his shoes.
"Spread your feet, don't stop until I say so."
Phil didn't even bother to hide his shameless ogling when Clint let his legs open, sliding his feet out until he had dropped down in height by a good few inches. Clint was so flexible, so smooth and fluid in even the simplest of movements, that Phil felt his mouth go dry and his cock twitch, straining against the inside of his pants.
"Stay."
Phil roughly barked the command almost as a second thought, and he could see the fleeting smirk on Clint's face that told him Clint knew exactly why his voice sounded so breathy. The archers pants clung to every curve and dip obscenely, and when he held the position, his abdominal muscles rippling and contracting with the coiled strength Clint possessed as Clint's head continued to hang low, the potent mixture of such raw power and mindless submission was more than Phil could stand.
Circling the archer, Phil clung to his hips, letting his erection firmly press against the swell of Clint's ass and grinding forward as his fingers dipped just inside the waistband of Clint's pants, venturing lower the further around Clint's front they slid until they stopped, literally a hairs breadth from the archers cock.
Clint's breaths were low and heavy, his mouth hanging open from frustration and arousal at having Phil's hands so close, but he still didn't move an inch. Phil smirked wickedly, letting one of his thumbs skirt over the hard flesh until it just rested on the ridge beneath the head of Clint's erection, pinning it against his groin as the other hand worked on getting the buttons and zipper of Clint's pants open. Clint gave a soft, heated whine, sucking his bottom lip back between his teeth as his cock jerked in Phil's teasing grip.
"Good boy, so eager and patient, so obedient."
Phil let his lips run down the length of Clint's bruised neck, teeth barely nipping as Clint subtly turned into the touch, exposing more of the sensitive skin in a silent plea for more; he let out a deep, throaty moan - equal amounts pleasure and pain - when Phil sunk his teeth in, digging into the salty flesh until he could faintly taste the coppery bitterness of blood on his tongue. Clint's cock throbbed, precum leaking from the slit and leaving a copious damp patch on his underwear that seemed to outline Phil's thumb, and Phil felt another hard wave of arousal twist his stomach.
"You know what good boys get, don't you Clint?" Phil whispered huskily, lathing his tongue over the bloodied bitemark as dribbles of blood and saliva pooled at the hollow of Clint's collarbone.
"Yes, Sir." Clint's voice was the complete opposite to the statuesque stillness of his body; it was wrecked and needy, desperately filled with desire and an overwhelming want that was destroying Clint from the inside out.
"And just what is that, Clint?"
Clint swallowed thickly. He was trembling as his head fell back onto Phil's shoulder, his stuttered gasps filling the air as Phil's hands and lips worked their seductive spell over his body.
"T-t-they get r-r-r-reward-ded, Sir."
"Yes they do, Clint," Phil breathed hotly into Clint's ear, bathing his neck in warmth as he withdrew his hand from Clint's underwear, restraining his chuckle at the whine Clint was unable to prevent.
He hooked his thumbs into Clint's waistband once more, moving back just a little bit so that he could slip the archers pants and underwear down a few inches, broadcasting his intentions loud and clear as he tried to break that last shred of control Clint was barely clinging on to.
"And seeing as you're being so good for me, Clint, I think you deserve a reward." Phil paused though, the smile slipping from his lips as his hands stopped their divesting. "Maybe in a little while though. Whilst you're being good now, you were disrespectful this morning, and you were grossly rude and disrespectful towards me during debrief, weren't you?
Clint's face flushed with shame, his voice quiet and hollow. "Yes, Sir."
"And to be perfectly honest with you, Clint, what you did today during your mission was disgustingly unprofessional and downright dangerous, and I'm incredibly disappointed in you."
"I'm sorry, Sir." Clint's tone cracked heavily as his utterance trailed off into a loaded silence, Clint's regret and upset crashing from his suddenly tensed frame. Phil knew just how much Clint hated it when Phil was disappointed in him.
Phil hushed him softly, one of his hands coming up to absent-mindedly stroke across Clint's damaged ribs as he tried to calm the distressed archer.
"I know you are, Clint, I know you are," Phil soothed, the belief and understanding in his voice lulling Clint back into his previously relaxed state, his hand not stopping its ministrations. "You were so good, Clint, doing exactly what you needed to do, not complaining about the mission, getting it done so quickly. So good." Phil gave a sigh. "But I can't let you get away with it though, you understand that don't you, Clint?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Over the desk, on your stomach, feet apart. You can scream all you like, but if you say or even think a single word, there will be trouble."
Despite Clint's lack of vision, he was able to shuffle himself over to Phil's desk relatively easily, never once questioning Phil's order. Phil felt his heart clench in his chest at the normally cocky archers silent submission. Waiting until Clint's cheek was pressed against the wood, the archer giving a soft hiss of pain as his ribs vehemently protested at the movement, Phil stepped behind him, pulling Clint's pants and underwear down until they were half way down his calfs before walking around and opening one of the drawers of his desk.
Clint was tense, involuntarily flinching at every sound that came from around him, and Phil knew that the archer was nervous, even despite his attempts to control the outward signs. Clint was exposed, physically and mentally, floating somewhere in that hazy shade between ecstasy and hell, but despite the brief flare of guilt he felt, Phil knew that he needed to follow through with his punishment. Phil had indirectly defined the boundaries of what was going to happen; even with the pain he'd go through, Clint needed those boundaries imposed so that he could work with his own limitations and receive the control that he craved.
Phil found what he was looking for, and as the soft rustle of metal laced leather being dragged along wood filled the room, Phil kept one eye fixed on Clint, watching for any indication that enough was enough. It didn't come. Phil didn't think it would. Clint had worked way too hard on trying to earn Phil's reward of complete control to throw it all away because of some random sounds. Phil smiled; he liked Clint's stubborn pride.
Rounding the table, Phil let the thick, softened leather travel fleetingly down the full length of Clint's bound arms, just enough to let Clint know there was something there, but not quite sufficient to let him know what it was that Phil was now brushing nonchalantly across the naked curve of Clint's ass. It was the lack of certainty, the fear of pain that Clint couldn't completely prepare for, that had the archers breath speeding up just a fraction as Phil took a step back, gripping the very edge of the material in his hands.
It was one of Clint's spare practise gloves, thin strands of a metal skeleton running down from the simple leather loop that bound Clint's fingers together for stability to connect to the reinforced palm covering for protection. It wasn't as lightweight as the one Clint used when he was out in the field, but it was good enough to train with. Phil knew from previous experience that the lack of material was deceiving; the metal was thin and sharp enough, and the leather thick and worn enough, that it would cause some serious pain if Phil put some strength behind it.
It would bruise. It could draw blood. It would make it nearly impossible for Clint to sit or lay down comfortably for a good few days without reminding him of why it hurt so badly in the first place. It was absolutely perfect for what Phil needed to do.
Adjusting his grip on the glove, Phil gave zero warning before he brought it down as hard as he could across the back of Clint's thighs, the stinging slap of leather and metal ringing in Phil's ears as Clint violently lurched forward, a startled cry tearing itself from the archers throat as deep red welts instantly began to bloom across the tender flesh.
"Oh, Clint," Phil intoned patiently, bringing the glove down with another tremendous smack a little higher up Clint's leg, ignoring the sound of Clint's scream of agony in favour of admiring the wiry line of blood that was lightly beading on the surface of his skin.
"I know that you can be so good."
Another strike across the inside crease of Clint's left thigh.
"You're always so perfect for me, such a good boy."
And a matching one on the inside of Clint's right thigh that forced a choked gasp from the archer.
"But like today, I'm not always going to be around to make sure that you're okay."
A particularly forceful hit was placed flat across Clint's ass that was so strong, Phil could feel the vibrations in his own fingers.
"You need to learn to control yourself, my Hawk."
Another violent smack, and a vibrant trickle of blood began to run enticingly down the back of Clint's shaking thigh as Clint started to sob from the intensity of the pain that assaulted him from all sides.
"My beautiful, perfect Hawk."
Phil didn't stop his onslaught, landing slap after slap against Clint's ass and thighs until they were raw and bloody, the soft skin branded black and blue with welts and bruises from the severity of the beating. Phil's heart was pounding in his chest, his wrist and shoulder aching with the exertion, and he paused to reflect in his masterpiece. Clint was an incoherent mess, the face slick and flushed with tears, his knuckles white, and his ribs convulsing from where they'd sharply dug into the edge of Phil's desk with every hit as he sobbed, yet Phil didn't think he'd seen anything so heartwrenchingly stunning in his life.
Clint didn't even have the energy left to keep his legs straight, his knees buckled into the desk and the wooden frame supporting the entirety of his weight. Various shades of red dripped down his skin, entwining and twisting lazily as they ran the full length of Clint's legs down to his ankles, and Phil could see the similar tint staining the archers lips and chin.
Devastation had no right to look so heavenly, so saintly and irresistible, and Phil had to close his eyes to stop himself from falling to his knees at the sight before him.
Dropping the glove to the floor, Phil toed off his shoes and his socks with a sense of urgency. Unzipping his pants, Phil carefully eased them and his boxers over his rock hard erection with a wince, leaving his underwear to sit midway down his thighs as he kicked his pants off into a corner of the room.
It took every ounce of sanity he possessed to not just throw his fingers around his cock and rush towards the climax he could feel burning through his veins as he took a step closer to Clint, draping the full weight of his body across the prone archer as he littered Clint's shoulders and throat with soft kisses, his hands caressing Clint's swollen and inflamed ribs with such care and attention that it broke Clint down completely.
Clint's sobs died, lazy gasps falling uncontrollably from his lips as he helplessly succumbed to Phil's touch, his flesh so overly sensitised from the beating that it was almost as if Phil was touching the very inner depths of his soul. Phil could feel the stickiness of the blood and his precum against his bare skin, the intense heat radiating off of the bruises he'd engraved into the archers skin, and he felt the very last of his prized control and discipline melt away into nothing.
"Oh, my perfect, beautiful Clint," he whispered reverently, and the rasped mew that seemed to echo around Phil's head in response was just too powerful to resist. "You're so good, Clint, so good. I couldn't ask for anything better in this world than you."
Dropping a kiss between Clint's shoulder blades, Phil straightened back up, giving a lustful groan at the whine of protest Clint let out as he massaged his thumb into the crook of Clint's hip, using his free hand to steady his erection as he positioned the head against Clint's entrance, rubbing it up and down the cleft of Clint's ass for makeshift lubrication as he felt Clint very tentatively roll his hips back, answering the silent question that passed between them.
Channelling all of his focus and concentration on making sure that he didn't push too hard or too much to cause Clint any extra unnecessary pain, Phil guided the tip of his cock to Clint's unprepared hole, every muscle in Clint's ass tightening from nerves the archer couldn't control as Phil pushed his hips forward. Phil let out a deep groan, one overshadowed by the choked hiss that was torn from the archer beneath him, when he managed to sink his erection slowly into Clint's body, barely moving in an inch before the overwhelming tightness and burn made him stop to catch his breath.
The dry friction was agonising, but Phil knew that Clint would be feeling the pain so much worse than him, and Phil rubbed the heel of his palm in gentle circles into the base of the archers back, desperately trying to get Clint to relax and accept the intrusion. Clint's fingers were shaking so badly, his pale palms clammy with sweat that betrayed every ounce of pain and fear racing through the archers body, that Phil reached out, intertwining his own fingers with Clint's and giving a soft squeeze. Clint immediately latched on to Phil's touch, gripping down so hard and frantically that Phil almost thought Clint had broken his hand with the strength of his hold as Phil continued to massage the tense, trembling muscles beneath him, feeling the way that Clint's ass carried on trying to reject him.
"Shh, Clint," Phil whispered reverently, his own tone thick with lust and affection as he tried to calm the archer. "You're doing so good, Clint, taking it so well for me. Just a little bit more, Clint, come on. Deep breaths okay, Clint?"
Clint's breathing unconsciously fell into perfect sync with Phil's before Phil had even finished speaking, and Phil gave a soft, heartfelt smile when he felt the resistance and tension very gradually began to dissipate beneath his fingers, Clint instantly and helplessly obeying Phil's words. When Phil pushed in further, half of his length encased in the constricted heat of Clint's body, Clint's muscles seized again as the archer suddenly held his breath in an attempt to control the sensations lancing through him like a knife.
Phil gave another soft squeeze to their linked fingers.
"Breathe, Clint, nice and slow. In."
Clint's shuddered gasp of air made the archer tremble, and Phil knew just how difficult it was for Clint to not just stop now.
"Out."
The violently choked expulsion was enough to make Clint cough and splutter roughly, and Phil used Clint's momentary distraction to move his hips forward just enough that Clint wouldn't tense up again. It seemed to work, Clint's raw hisses of pain gradually quieting as his body accommodated Phil's solid erection, but Phil kept up the whisper soft litany of orders until his groin was flush with Clint's ass, holding himself completely still within the archer as Clint whimpered and choked back the sobs that Phil could hear threading into Clint's breaths.
"So good, Clint, so good."
Phil lightly ran his fingers up the length of Clint's spine, and the blissful sigh that Clint gave out, his grip on Phil's hand loosening so that it was no longer quite so frantic, told Phil that they were both okay to continue. The slow pull out was just as excruciatingly tight and painful, Phil's actions jerky and tentative as he reacted to each and every sound that fell from the archers lips, reading the signs as he nearly completely withdrew from Clint's heat before pushing back in, just a little bit more smoothly as Clint's pained sighs and gasps became edged with a hint of pleasure.
It was lazy, luxurious, and a world away from the urgency they'd both previously felt; Clint made no move to make Phil go harder or faster, simply laying across the desk and receiving every ounce of love and all-consuming possession that Phil gifted him, his throat raw from his hoarse cries and whimpers of heady pleasure.
Phil's rhythm was deep, paced and steady; even despite the frantic lust clawing away through him, his vision hazed with white in the very corners as his arousal grew, Phil wanted this to last. This was no longer about control and submission, handler and subordinate, the numerous labels attached to them that distanced them from each other in public eyes. This was just about them wrapped up within each other, Clint so vulnerably pliant and responsive beneath him in ways no-one else would ever see, and it was the overwhelming power and depth of his emotional investment that fed into the fire burning within him.
Leaning over the archers writhing body, Phil's hand and lips skimmed bruised and sweaty flesh reverently as he thrust in harder, and the sudden groan ripped from Clint as his back arched, his fingers convulsively tightening around Phil's as he pushed his hips back to meet Phil with a renewed force, made Phil's stomach knot.
"Please," Clint breathed out wantonly, his tone wrecked with need as Phil drove back in, hitting the same spot again. "God, please Sir, more..."
Phil thought that it would be impossible for him to grow more desperate for release, but the rasped, lust-addled sound of Clint begging for him was explosively potent and impossible to deny. His free hand moving up to grasp Clint's shoulder, Phil forcefully pulled Clint down to meet his hips as his strokes became more reckless, and the half screeched moan Clint gave in response just stoked the flames of his desire.
Time seemed almost to stop as Phil kept driving forward into the archer, the lewd smack of skin hitting skin and the rich scent of sex filling the air. Clint was half sobbing from the ecstasy, every muscle in his body deliciously tense and screaming for the release that Phil knew Clint was helplessly chasing. Digging his nails in sharply to the bruised, sensitive skin at the hollow of Clint's throat, Phil felt the way that Clint's ass weakly spasmed around him, and he smiled darkly, knowing just how damn close to the abyss Clint was.
"Please, Sir, I need, I need..."
Clint's words were cut off with a gasp when Phil's fingers traced the curve of Clint's neck before grasping his throat in his hand, feeling the helpless shudder that ran through the archer as Phil continued to pound in deep.
"I know, Clint," Phil whispered raggedly, surprised at just how level and even his words were, considering the maelstrom breaking him apart from the inside out. "So close, I know, but I need you to hang on a little bit longer, until I tell you. Just a little bit, Clint."
Clint whined, his pulse racing beneath Phil's fingertips, and Phil could tell from the grip Clint had on his hand that trying to force the archer back from the edge was cruel agony. Phil never let up his onslaught though, every nerve in his body sparked with electricity from the mere brushing of his skin against Clint's as he felt Clint tense even further beneath him, and the sudden resistance that Phil could feel around his erection was so nearly enough to send him over the edge.
Squeezing even harder around Clint's throat, Phil untangled his fingers from Clint's, reaching around in front of the archer to wrap his hand around Clint's cock. It was near throbbing in Phil's palm as he loosely started to work his fingers up the length, the leisurely speed standing at a complete counterpoint to the frantic thrust of his hips as a thick glob of precum wept from the head, soaking his hand as Clint's breathing suddenly hitched.
Thumbing the ridge firmly as Phil released his grip on Clint's face in favour of brushing the tips of his fingers across the archers lips, Phil gave another vicious inwards plunge, waiting less than a split second when he felt the heavy exhalation of breath against his skin before he suddenly covered Clint's mouth and nose with his palm.
His fingers picking up speed along Clint's length, Phil felt the instant tension and fear that radiated from the archer as Clint briefly struggled against Phil's hand, but the lust and sheer unadulterated ecstasy that seemed to permeate from Clint's very pores as his cock pulsed and his balls tightened within Phil's grasp made Phil's heart stop.
"Now, Clint," Phil huskily commanded, his own voice shot to pieces, and his eyes rolled back into his head when the resistance around his erection reached fever pitch, Clint's entire body rippling from the force behind his orgasm as his release hit him in waves that sent him higher than anywhere else on earth.
Waiting a few moments as Phil milked the rest of Clint's orgasm for as long as he physically could, Phil shakily lifted his hand from Clint's mouth as felt his own release elude him by a hairs breadth.
"Phil..."
The sound of Clint half sighing, half sobbing his name was enough to send him flinging uncontrollably over the edge.
Giving out a guttural groan, Phil held himself deep inside Clint as he climaxed, feeling as if Clint surrounding him was the only thing keeping him from floating away. An intense kaleidoscope of colours exploded behind his eyes, his heart seemed to stop in his chest, and Phil felt like he was in a dream as he indulged himself with lazy thrusts into the exhausted man beneath him, trying not to fall apart at the aftershocks that strung his pleasure out for a lifetime.
At some point, minutes or hours later Phil really couldn't tell, he became aware that his eyes were closed, the entire weight of his body draped over the archer pinned beneath him. Clint didn't look like he cared though; he was slumped over the desk, his slacked muscles and soft breaths screaming of physical and emotional exhaustion as he basked in the afterglow of his orgasm, and Phil felt his heart swelling in his chest as he pressed a row of fleeting kisses up the length of Clint's throat, nuzzling his nose just behind the archers ear.
"Hey," he breathed out, feeling the slight stirrings of Clint beneath him, but as he brushed the edge of his tie, starting to undo the knot in the back, he was stopped by Clint's trapped fingers caressing his stomach absent-mindedly.
His lips quirking into a tired smile, Phil waited a few more minutes, just breathing in tandem with the archer until Clint turned his cheek to rest against the wood. Taking that as permission to continue what he was doing, Phil hooked his fingers underneath the sodden material, his eyes never once leaving Clint's.
Clint blinked owlishly at the sudden influx of light; His eyes were bloodshot and red from his sobbing, but there was a peace and awed affection visibly shining back at Phil as Phil cupped Clint's cheek in his hand.
"Hey," Clint eventually whispered back, his voice raw and thready as a slight smile curled his lips.
Unable to stop himself, Phil pressed a kiss to the corner of Clint's mouth, running his fingers through Clint's sweat matted hair as the archer weakly responded. It was barely a proper kiss compared to the thousands they'd shared in the past - their lips were simply resting together, not demanding or taking anything as they breathed in each others air - but that didn't make it any less heartfelt. It was this pure, almost chaste, longing and love that existed between them that made it possible to withstand everything else they went through.
After a few moments, Phil reluctantly moved to stand up, feeling the strain in his back and his legs as he straightened up, giving his equilibrium a couple of minutes to re-centre as he carried on stroking random patterns into the side of Clint's head.
"You okay for a few whilst I get this place sorted?"
"Go nuts," Clint replied, and the purr in his voice as he nuzzled his head into Phil's touch made Phil want to lay back down and curl the archer back up into his arms.
Mournfully deciding against that plan of action, he gingerly made his way around the room; he collected the random pieces of clothing that had been flung everywhere and neatly stacked them in his chair before picking up the leather glove and other items and putting them back in the drawers of his desk. He felt Clint's eyes unfalteringly follow his every move, and Phil felt that glow settle deep in his gut.
Coming to stand behind the archer, Phil deftly worked at undoing the belts from around Clint's arms, massaging every inch of chafed and pale skin that was released before grasping Clint's hands between his own.
"How you feeling?"
Clint gave a weak snort as Phil lifted Clint's hands to his lips, peppering them with indulgent caresses.
"Like I just fell off a building."
Phil gave a quiet laugh as he helped support Clint, lifting the archer into a sitting position on the edge of his desk when Clint's arms and shoulder buckled from the prolonged entrapment. Clint gave a sharp hiss when his abused ass and thighs hit the solid wood, giving Clint the exact reminder that Phil hoped they would.
"I'm gonna be walking funny for a few days, aren't I? 'Tween that and my throat, Stark and the baby Agents are gonna have a field day, aren't they?"
Phil quirked his lips as he ran the back of his fingers down the bruises and bite marks that extensively coloured Clint's neck; a small part of him felt more guilty than usual seeing them there, but that protective, possessive side of him was revelling in the relaxed, adoring way Clint was gazing at him, wearing the marks of complete dominance and ownership with pride.
"Well," Phil breathed out, smoothing the palms of his hands delicately over Clint's ribs as he stole another kiss from the immediately enthusiastic archer. "If you weren't such a disobedient, misbehaved man, then I wouldn't have to make you walk funny, would I?" Clint flushed with an equal measure of apology, embarrassment and affection, and Phil took a step back. "Besides, it's not my fault that you look so stunning when you're all bruised and bloodied."
Clint's smile grew larger. "Always knew that was the reason why you kept sending me out on the physical mission, Coulson. Fury know you're such a masochist?"
"There's a lot that Fury doesn't know; I like to think that even I'm allowed my indulgences."
They both settled into an easy silence, acutely aware of the others presence but not feeling threatened by it in any way as they slowly got dressed and finished cleaning Phil's office, instinctively helping each other without a word passing between them.
It was this unspoken understanding, this simple connection that was rooted soul and mind deep between the pair, that made them so perfect together, even despite the faults and flaws they both possessed; Phil knew that without a doubt.
When they were both decent once more - Phil looking completely impeccable, and Clint only looking a little bit more rough around the edges than usual considering the state of him underneath his clothing and the ring of bruises just about visible around the neckline of his field vest - Phil took a step closer, resting his hands gently on Clint's hips.
"When we get back, I'll run you a nice hot bath, get you all cleaned up. Got some of that lotion Natasha recommended, might help with your ribs a bit as well. Don't want you hurting more than you have to be."
The raised eyebrow Clint gave as he looped his arms around Phil's neck, never once dropping his gaze from Phil's, made Phil's heart skip a beat.
"And what if I like you hurting me more than you have to?"
"Then you obviously need to be taught better self-control," Phil drawled back, the hint of that honeyed, gravelly drawl make Clint shiver in his grip. "Not tonight though," he smiled at the slight pout that formed on the archers lips. "You've done enough tonight, been so good for me. Only thing we'll be doing in that lovely bed of ours is getting some sleep, otherwise neither of us is gonna be in any fit state tomorrow."
The glow of comfort and relaxation that shone out of every inch of the archer in his arms, the genuine smile reserved only for Phil playing out on his lips, was enough to make Phil melt as he pulled Clint in close enough for a tender kiss, Clint instantly responding in kind as he moulded into Phil's yearning, reflecting it back with every fibre of his being as they broke apart with a shared grin.
Grabbing his jacket from the back of the door as he opened it, Phil shrugged it on as Clint walked out into the corridor, a lightness in his step as they both walked down the corridor. Junior Agents littered the entrances and corners in their droves, all of them respectfully addressing the infamous duo.
"Agent Coulson, Sir."
"Barton."
Eyeing up the bruises on Clint's throat surreptitiously, Phil gave out a hidden grin that he knew only Clint could see as they walked out of the doors and into the streets of New York side by side, waiting until they were just out of sight of the building before Phil loosely linked his fingers around Clint's with a chuckle.
Oh yes, Phil had his flaws, but he loved them.
Title: Flaws 1/1
Pairing: Established Clint/Coulson
Fandom: The Avengers
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 18,502
Warnings: D/S, Dom!Phil, Sub!Clint, breathplay, blood, rough sex, consensual violence, fluff kinda thrown in there, but it's all good!
Summary: There are flaws in perfection. Flaws in appearances. Flaws in control. Every single one of Phil's flaws revolve around the insubordinate archer he can't seem to live without. Phil, however, wouldn't change a thing...
That gravelled, honeyed tone was in full effect, and its influence over the writhing archer was almost instantaneous. A shiver travelled down Clint's spine, his malicious protests cut off with a bone deep howl of frustration, and even as he continued to kick and flail under Phil, Phil knew that the effort was half-hearted compared to how energetically Clint had started.
Phil leant over Clint, digging his elbow sharply into the edge of the bruise on Clint's ribs as he brought his lips down to the archers ear. Hearing the very real gasp of pain that Clint gave as he flinched under Phil's weight, his eyes screwed shut as he sucked his bottom lip between his teeth and bit down hard, Phil shifted his body just a little bit, enough to ease some of the pressure off of the archers chest as he rubbed his nose through the soft wave of hair just above the archers temple.
Phil knew from previous experience that Clint greatly appreciated the small signs of affection from him whilst they were building up the intensity of the scene. It was enough to give Clint an out, a moment to acknowledge that where they went was entirely down to what it was that Clint needed, and that if Clint wanted to stop now, then Phil wouldn't hold it against him.
It took a few minutes before Phil felt Clint gently, almost imperceptibly, turn his head into Phil's touch, the very tips of the fingertips on his trapped hands brushing haphazardly against the inside of Phil's wrist. They were incredibly subtle movements, barely noticeable for anyone who wasn't aware of their significance, but Phil wasn't just anyone.
Phil gave a smile that was hidden against the side of Clint's head, dropping the faintest of kisses against Clint's temple before leaning back again, Clint still very firmly pinned in the same position but no longer putting up any kind of resistance to Phil's presence. There was still a tension vibrating through his body though, that defiance still shining through that threatened to pierce Clint's gradual calm, and Phil felt the smile drop from his face as he contemplated what to do next.
It had been a while since Clint had been this aggressive and angry, but Phil didn't think that launching into anything too strong was going to be of much benefit on this occasion. No, there was a vulnerability there today that Clint very rarely let Phil see despite just how close they were, and Phil knew that he would be headed down the road to absolute disaster if he dared to overlook the weakness Clint was exposing to him.
Normally, in the aftermath of missions that warranted this kind of intervention, Phil would wait until they'd make it back to the Tower, using the stark divide between work and everyday life as a way to physically express to Clint the difference between the ruthless Agent and the calm, almost shy man he was when he wasn't wearing the uniform that defined him. Today though, Phil knew that there needed to be more immediate action.
Hoping that he'd been able to use his security clearance to destroy any incriminating evidence that could be potentially gathered, Phil took two steps back from Clint, leaving the Agent prone over the desk. There was a faint ring of bruising beginning to colour the archers wrists, and Phil could barely restrain the groan that he gave at the sight. He didn't consider himself a masochist - he could see how it could be argued sometimes, but that was a different matter entirely - but he'd never known anyone to look so stunning with such ugly discolouration and marks tainting their skin.
Then again though, Clint couldn't be considered just anyone, and Phil had never truly thought of himself as conventional in any way.
At the sound of Phil's appreciation, Clint lifted his head and shoulders, his eyes flitting over in Phil's direction. Phil let out a deep, somewhat frustrated sigh as he closed the gap between them again, cupping the back of Clint's neck and forcing his face down for a second time, feeling the way that the muscles under his touch spasmed in the conflict over obeying the implicit order or refusing to acknowledge Phil's demand.
Rolling his eyes, Phil let his right hand skate ghost over Clint's exposed ribs, pressing his fingertips into the vibrantly mottled bruise with varying degrees of frequency and pressure, knowing that even the softest of touches over such deep, fresh bruising would be agonising even for someone with as high a pain threshold as Clint. When he hit a particularly tender spot, Clint instantly flinched as he gave a whimper, and Phil used the distraction to push down hard until Clint's forehead banged against the wood with a thud.
"Now now, Agent Barton, I expected better. You've been nothing but disobedient today, and I don't like it when you disrespect me so often. I don't want to have to hurt you, Agent Barton, but I will if I have no choice. You will stay exactly where you are. You will stay silent unless I ask you a question or until I tell you to speak. If you move a single muscle, then there will be consequences. Do you understand me, Agent Barton?"
Phil could see Clint struggling to swallow down the lump in his throat, his eyes screwed shut, and Phil knew that the archer was suddenly very aware of the lancing throbs of pain radiating from his ribs as he laced his fingers together at the base of his back, his knuckles going white from the strength of his own hold. Every muscle had become way too stiff as well, suggesting to Phil that Clint was trying to fall into that mission-like state where he was capable of still perfection for hours.
"Yes."
Phil gave a sharp tap to the curve of Clint's ribs, knowing from the ring that echoed at the contact that it had to have hurt. Clint's back tensed in an attempt to stop the instinctive arch Phil knew he would have given, the archer biting down so suddenly on his lip to hold back a yelp that he split the skin.
"Excuse me, Agent Barton?"
"Yes, Sir. I'm sorry, Sir."
Clint's voice was rasped, beginning to fray around the edges from the power of his need and the emotional burden behind his words; his apology was almost desperate. Phil's hand at Clint's ribs that had initially caused pain changed tactic, very carefully soothing the flat of the palm across the expanse of heated flesh, tracing delicate patterns that - whilst Clint abortedly tried to prevent himself from moving away from at the first caress - the archer fell into almost as if he was in a trance.
"Good, Clint."
The warmth and sincerity of the praise, coupled with the way that Clint's name rolled off of Phil's tongue so sweetly and so reverently, was enough to make the archer give a muffled sigh. A little bit more of the tension that was there drifted away, and whilst Phil knew that Clint was now on edge from the potential threat and worry of more pain to come, seeing his partner begin to visibly relax was enough to allow the simmering arousal and lust Phil had felt tormenting him all afternoon to start seeping back into the cracks.
Stepping back again, Phil was pleased to see Clint's obedience this time, Clint not daring to move an inch as Phil crossed the room, locking his office door and engaging the 'DND' sign. He knew that nobody, not even Fury, would even think for a second about disturbing Phil when his door was very firmly closed to visitors, and it was this completely certainty in the respect and distance that he was granted when he so desired it that convinced him it was safe for them both to continue without fear of being discovered.
Turning back to face the room, Phil methodically began to unbutton his jacket, taking his time just to test the limits of Clint's patience and control as he held the archer in place with just his words alone. Shrugging it off his shoulders, Phil hung it up on the back of the door before rolling up his shirt sleeves and loosening his tie. Pulling it from around his neck, Phil noticed the shiver that ran down Clint's back at the soft 'zip' of Phil's tie being undone, and Phil couldn't bring himself to restrain the smirk he gave when he quickly walked back across the room towards the waiting archer.
Leaning over Clint's back, but maintaining just enough of a gap so that no part of his body made contact with Clint's, Phil used one hand to delicately smooth the strands of hair from Clint's face. He could see just how much it was taking out of the archer not to nuzzle into the palm cupping his cheek, and Phil dropped another indulgent kiss of subtle approval into Clint's temple before fastening the tie across his eyes.
At the sudden darkness, Phil felt Clint tense slightly, and he kept his touch as nonchalant as possible in an attempt to soothe the archers frazzled nerves, but to still keep him riled up. This was something Phil got a great measure of pleasure from, sending conflicting messages to stop Clint from getting too comfortable; pain accompanied by soft, lulling words, or sensory deprivation whilst giving Clint a full, detailed commentary of everything that Phil was doing to him that he couldn't see, with just the knowledge of Phil's presence and the scent from his tie keeping Clint anchored into reality.
It may have seemed rather perverse in its cruelty, toying with buttons that the archer didn't like to be pushed just to prolong the drop they both felt, but they were both confident in their trust of the other to know that it was a controlled descent that could be instantly stopped with a moments' hesitation or protest.
Leaning back up, one of Phil's hands suddenly reached around in front of Clint, grabbing the buckle of his belt and deftly unhooking it as he grabbed Clint's wrists again, digging his nails in sharply around the growing red and violet marks. Phil didn't immediately pull the belt from the loops though. He let the tips of his fingers dip down, tracing the outline of the erection that Phil could feel beginning to stir to life with deliberate precision, and the sound of Clint frantically trying to hold back his plea for more, his thighs tightening to the point of tremors as he managed to stop himself from pushing his groin into Phil's touch, was enough to make Phil's heart skip a beat in his chest, a wave of lust washing through him.
Phil didn't let the teasing linger though, and he unthreaded the belt, pulling Clint's wrists and forearms into a somewhat awkward angle for the archers position, but not wrenching his shoulders back quite far enough to cause any damage; whilst pain and restraint seemed to be a large factor for Clint, Phil wasn't stupid enough to do anything that could potentially hinder his aim or his draw for longer than a day or so. Gripping the soft leather between his front teeth, Phil undid his own, much thinner belt, before looping the two together with a great feat of dexterity to allow him a wider choice of options.
After a couple of moments, Phil started to wind the makeshift bond around Clint's arms almost like a bandage, starting from the archers wrists before firmly tying and buckling them off at the crook of Clint's elbows. It would be quick enough to take off in a hurry if needed, and it kept Clint's fingers exposed so that he could physically grab Phil's attention or respond to any of Phil's checks, but it was more than durable enough to ensure that Clint would be severely limited in what he could do.
Placing Clint's arms back down along the length of his spine, Phil gave a grin at his handiwork when he saw Clint's muscles rippling, trying to test the tensile strength and give of the bindings he was trapped in without making any overt movements that could raise Phil's suspicions. It may have looked messy - two different belts roughly linked together, and a worn, silk tie covering Clint's eyes - but the sight of it made Phil shudder. There was something about the feel of almost amateurish, DIY style bondage and resources that made the whole encounter seem that much more intimate than the perfect glossy finish of latex and plastic.
Well worn and cracked belts, patina soft ties, broken bow strings and leather arm bracers; they were all little things that represented them, and it was seeing such mundane, personal items being used in the midst of the pain, the blood and the haziness that helped to ground both of them. It reminded Phil that it was okay to let his discipline and perfect routines slip without fear, and Clint that this kind of control was always safe; he was wrapped up in Phil, knowing that Phil's steady calm and yearning affection was never going to leave him whilst he was this exposed and vulnerable.
The sight before him may have been debauched and depraved, but by God, it was the most perfect thing that Phil had seen, and he felt his own control beginning to erode.
"God, Clint, you have no idea just how good you are, do you? How beautiful you look with my bruises, so quiet and eager and all just for me?"
Phil's voice had taken on a hushed sort of awe, like coming to a sudden realisation that had been staring him in the face for years, and he could see the way that Clint's entire being seemed to grasp at the praise and control that he craved with every ounce of his body, greedily consuming it. Phil knew that if Clint had been allowed to speak, Clint would be a wreck, so hysterically desperate to please and to listen and to be manipulated in whatever way Phil wanted him to be, and Phil felt his cock straining against the inside of his pants.
Running the very tips of his fingers up the back of Clint's thighs, Phil could feel the muscles spasming beneath his touch, Clint's breathing hitching in his throat as the streak of blood continued to drip from the archers full bottom lip, and Phil was suddenly struck by the violent urge to see just how much more Clint would be able to withstand without ripping through the control that he was keeping grasp of. He knew, judging by how taut the archer was, how much his muscles were trembling and the rough gasps that escaped his mouth despite his best efforts, that Clint had to be very nearly the edge, clinging onto whatever shreds he could by his fingertips.
The thought of pushing Clint off of the precipice, of breaking down the last of the existing barriers that were keeping Clint from reaching the giddy highs and showing the archer that he could challenge and define the limits of his submission and self-control without losing his sense of himself, was more than enough to spur Phil into action.
"Now Clint," Phil cooed, his own control starting to splinter into fragments as his mind ran rampant with each and every visceral memory of what he could make Clint do like this. "I need to make sure that you know exactly how to control yourself. I need to make sure that you won't do reckless things when I'm not around. I don't like it when others get upset, and I definitely don't like it when you get upset because of what the others think. I know you know how to control yourself, and I want you to prove it to me."
Moving so that he was standing by Clint's side, Phil let one of his hands rest warningly against the back of Clint's throat as he indulgently traced the pad of his thumb across Clint's bottom lip. Clint was physically shaking as he gave a wavering sigh, the tip of his tongue wrapping around Phil's blood slicked digit almost convulsively when Phil brushed down slightly firmer against the soft skin. Phil gave a rough, dark chuckle when he tightly gripped Clint's neck, his thumb digging hard into the pulse point when Clint gave a sudden choked gasp, the archer going tense when he seemed to realise his mistake.
"Such a difficult one, Clint. All I ask of you is such simple things, yet it seems like you can't even manage to obey basic orders today. Such a shame." Phil let a very real disappointment colour his voice, and he could see the frantic apologies Clint was trying to hold back.
He smiled sadly; it was never particularly comfortable when Clint struggled to fall or stay in the right mindset for what was needed, slipping up on the smallest of things he otherwise would've followed without even requiring prompting. Letting out a deep breath, Phil knew that he was going to have to kick things up a notch.
It was never an easy decision to make to break Clint down in a more extreme, brutal manner, but he knew that it was ultimately in Clint's best interests, even if the physical damage incurred seemed to undermine Phil's argument somewhat. Furthermore, he knew that Clint would understand and agree with him.
"Stand up."
That honeyed tone was quieter, but it was hard, lined with an iciness that promised severe repercussions if it wasn't listened to. Clint hesitated for a split second, his face creasing up with fear and confusion as he instantly recognised the change in Phil's stance for what it represented. The lack of vision and balance caused by the way his arms had been bound behind him meant that Clint's attempt to straighten up was slow, tentative and just about bordering on disobedience in Phil's books.
Rolling his eyes in exasperation, Phil's hand tightened further on Clint's neck as he yanked the archer up into a standing position, ripping a yelp of surprise and shock from Clint as he moved his palm to grip the front of Clint's throat, bringing his fingers up with such strength that Clint was forced onto his tiptoes to avoid being choked. The frantic pace of Clint's shallow breaths echoed around the room as Phil held him there for a good few minutes, Clint's face going red and his entire body shaking as Phil squeezed his hand harder. Just when Phil thought that Clint was going to call it quits, he fractionally relaxed his hold, and the pathetic gratitude he could feel rolling from the archer was enough to make that easy smile curl at his lips once more.
"See, Clint, if you co-operate with me, then I wouldn't have to hurt you, would I?"
"N-n-n-no, Sir," Clint rasped out, his words weak and timid.
"Good, Clint, you're actually listening to me for once."
It was underhanded praise, sarcasm tainting his tone despite the heavy truth and approval of his words, and Phil could tell that Clint wasn't entirely sure how to take it by the way Clint's jaw tightened.
Phil released his grip on the archer, and if it wasn't for Clint's instinctive reactions, he probably would've ended up on the floor as he coughed and wheezed, desperately trying to get air into his lungs. Clint listed forward dangerously quick, and Phil instantly put his arms out, ready to catch Clint if he was too light-headed or disoriented to hold himself up. As it was, the violent handprints ringing Clint's throat like some perverse collar, deep blotches of ugly reds and blues colouring his skin, indicated to Phil that he might have been slightly too heavy-handed.
After a few worrying seconds, Clint was just about able to steady himself, his muscles viciously trembling as Phil could see the dampness beginning to stain the tie around Clint's eyes. Frowning, Phil reached out, tenderly brushing the backs of his fingers against the archers cheek as he stepped in, his lips barely millimetres from Clint's temple as he tried to ignore Clint's flinch at Phil suddenly being so close to him.
"Clint, you sure you want to do this?"
Concern and affection laced his question, the gravelly roughness of his voice dropping as Phil whispered softly into Clint's ear; when Clint finally realised the temporary break in Phil's character, he briefly rested his forehead against Phil's shoulder, taking in a shuddered gulp of air as he steadied himself against Phil's blessedly solid form.
Phil patiently waited. He knew the toll their confrontations took on the younger man, and he knew that there was nothing to gain from trying to rush him into a decision. Instead, he kept quiet, keeping his touches as soothing but fleeting as possible so as not to shatter Clint's thoughts.
It seemed to take forever, but Clint eventually moved, briefly burying his nose into the crook of Phil's neck and inhaling deeply before shakily straightening himself back up. He looked a little bit more relaxed, his breathing coming slightly easier than previously, and Phil gave a heartfelt grin when Clint tentatively nodded, composing himself as he assumed his previous position.
"Good, Clint," Phil breathed out warmly, seeing the way that Clint glowingly basked at the reaffirmation of his obedience.
It was coming much more naturally now, Clint's head hanging down respectfully even with the tie obscuring his vision and making the gesture redundant, and Phil was relieved to see that Clint was finally settling into the mind space he needed to benefit and grow under Phil's words and touches.
Taking a step back, Phil began to undo the buttons on his shirt, letting it fall to the floor by his shoes.
"Spread your feet, don't stop until I say so."
Phil didn't even bother to hide his shameless ogling when Clint let his legs open, sliding his feet out until he had dropped down in height by a good few inches. Clint was so flexible, so smooth and fluid in even the simplest of movements, that Phil felt his mouth go dry and his cock twitch, straining against the inside of his pants.
"Stay."
Phil roughly barked the command almost as a second thought, and he could see the fleeting smirk on Clint's face that told him Clint knew exactly why his voice sounded so breathy. The archers pants clung to every curve and dip obscenely, and when he held the position, his abdominal muscles rippling and contracting with the coiled strength Clint possessed as Clint's head continued to hang low, the potent mixture of such raw power and mindless submission was more than Phil could stand.
Circling the archer, Phil clung to his hips, letting his erection firmly press against the swell of Clint's ass and grinding forward as his fingers dipped just inside the waistband of Clint's pants, venturing lower the further around Clint's front they slid until they stopped, literally a hairs breadth from the archers cock.
Clint's breaths were low and heavy, his mouth hanging open from frustration and arousal at having Phil's hands so close, but he still didn't move an inch. Phil smirked wickedly, letting one of his thumbs skirt over the hard flesh until it just rested on the ridge beneath the head of Clint's erection, pinning it against his groin as the other hand worked on getting the buttons and zipper of Clint's pants open. Clint gave a soft, heated whine, sucking his bottom lip back between his teeth as his cock jerked in Phil's teasing grip.
"Good boy, so eager and patient, so obedient."
Phil let his lips run down the length of Clint's bruised neck, teeth barely nipping as Clint subtly turned into the touch, exposing more of the sensitive skin in a silent plea for more; he let out a deep, throaty moan - equal amounts pleasure and pain - when Phil sunk his teeth in, digging into the salty flesh until he could faintly taste the coppery bitterness of blood on his tongue. Clint's cock throbbed, precum leaking from the slit and leaving a copious damp patch on his underwear that seemed to outline Phil's thumb, and Phil felt another hard wave of arousal twist his stomach.
"You know what good boys get, don't you Clint?" Phil whispered huskily, lathing his tongue over the bloodied bitemark as dribbles of blood and saliva pooled at the hollow of Clint's collarbone.
"Yes, Sir." Clint's voice was the complete opposite to the statuesque stillness of his body; it was wrecked and needy, desperately filled with desire and an overwhelming want that was destroying Clint from the inside out.
"And just what is that, Clint?"
Clint swallowed thickly. He was trembling as his head fell back onto Phil's shoulder, his stuttered gasps filling the air as Phil's hands and lips worked their seductive spell over his body.
"T-t-they get r-r-r-reward-ded, Sir."
"Yes they do, Clint," Phil breathed hotly into Clint's ear, bathing his neck in warmth as he withdrew his hand from Clint's underwear, restraining his chuckle at the whine Clint was unable to prevent.
He hooked his thumbs into Clint's waistband once more, moving back just a little bit so that he could slip the archers pants and underwear down a few inches, broadcasting his intentions loud and clear as he tried to break that last shred of control Clint was barely clinging on to.
"And seeing as you're being so good for me, Clint, I think you deserve a reward." Phil paused though, the smile slipping from his lips as his hands stopped their divesting. "Maybe in a little while though. Whilst you're being good now, you were disrespectful this morning, and you were grossly rude and disrespectful towards me during debrief, weren't you?
Clint's face flushed with shame, his voice quiet and hollow. "Yes, Sir."
"And to be perfectly honest with you, Clint, what you did today during your mission was disgustingly unprofessional and downright dangerous, and I'm incredibly disappointed in you."
"I'm sorry, Sir." Clint's tone cracked heavily as his utterance trailed off into a loaded silence, Clint's regret and upset crashing from his suddenly tensed frame. Phil knew just how much Clint hated it when Phil was disappointed in him.
Phil hushed him softly, one of his hands coming up to absent-mindedly stroke across Clint's damaged ribs as he tried to calm the distressed archer.
"I know you are, Clint, I know you are," Phil soothed, the belief and understanding in his voice lulling Clint back into his previously relaxed state, his hand not stopping its ministrations. "You were so good, Clint, doing exactly what you needed to do, not complaining about the mission, getting it done so quickly. So good." Phil gave a sigh. "But I can't let you get away with it though, you understand that don't you, Clint?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Over the desk, on your stomach, feet apart. You can scream all you like, but if you say or even think a single word, there will be trouble."
Despite Clint's lack of vision, he was able to shuffle himself over to Phil's desk relatively easily, never once questioning Phil's order. Phil felt his heart clench in his chest at the normally cocky archers silent submission. Waiting until Clint's cheek was pressed against the wood, the archer giving a soft hiss of pain as his ribs vehemently protested at the movement, Phil stepped behind him, pulling Clint's pants and underwear down until they were half way down his calfs before walking around and opening one of the drawers of his desk.
Clint was tense, involuntarily flinching at every sound that came from around him, and Phil knew that the archer was nervous, even despite his attempts to control the outward signs. Clint was exposed, physically and mentally, floating somewhere in that hazy shade between ecstasy and hell, but despite the brief flare of guilt he felt, Phil knew that he needed to follow through with his punishment. Phil had indirectly defined the boundaries of what was going to happen; even with the pain he'd go through, Clint needed those boundaries imposed so that he could work with his own limitations and receive the control that he craved.
Phil found what he was looking for, and as the soft rustle of metal laced leather being dragged along wood filled the room, Phil kept one eye fixed on Clint, watching for any indication that enough was enough. It didn't come. Phil didn't think it would. Clint had worked way too hard on trying to earn Phil's reward of complete control to throw it all away because of some random sounds. Phil smiled; he liked Clint's stubborn pride.
Rounding the table, Phil let the thick, softened leather travel fleetingly down the full length of Clint's bound arms, just enough to let Clint know there was something there, but not quite sufficient to let him know what it was that Phil was now brushing nonchalantly across the naked curve of Clint's ass. It was the lack of certainty, the fear of pain that Clint couldn't completely prepare for, that had the archers breath speeding up just a fraction as Phil took a step back, gripping the very edge of the material in his hands.
It was one of Clint's spare practise gloves, thin strands of a metal skeleton running down from the simple leather loop that bound Clint's fingers together for stability to connect to the reinforced palm covering for protection. It wasn't as lightweight as the one Clint used when he was out in the field, but it was good enough to train with. Phil knew from previous experience that the lack of material was deceiving; the metal was thin and sharp enough, and the leather thick and worn enough, that it would cause some serious pain if Phil put some strength behind it.
It would bruise. It could draw blood. It would make it nearly impossible for Clint to sit or lay down comfortably for a good few days without reminding him of why it hurt so badly in the first place. It was absolutely perfect for what Phil needed to do.
Adjusting his grip on the glove, Phil gave zero warning before he brought it down as hard as he could across the back of Clint's thighs, the stinging slap of leather and metal ringing in Phil's ears as Clint violently lurched forward, a startled cry tearing itself from the archers throat as deep red welts instantly began to bloom across the tender flesh.
"Oh, Clint," Phil intoned patiently, bringing the glove down with another tremendous smack a little higher up Clint's leg, ignoring the sound of Clint's scream of agony in favour of admiring the wiry line of blood that was lightly beading on the surface of his skin.
"I know that you can be so good."
Another strike across the inside crease of Clint's left thigh.
"You're always so perfect for me, such a good boy."
And a matching one on the inside of Clint's right thigh that forced a choked gasp from the archer.
"But like today, I'm not always going to be around to make sure that you're okay."
A particularly forceful hit was placed flat across Clint's ass that was so strong, Phil could feel the vibrations in his own fingers.
"You need to learn to control yourself, my Hawk."
Another violent smack, and a vibrant trickle of blood began to run enticingly down the back of Clint's shaking thigh as Clint started to sob from the intensity of the pain that assaulted him from all sides.
"My beautiful, perfect Hawk."
Phil didn't stop his onslaught, landing slap after slap against Clint's ass and thighs until they were raw and bloody, the soft skin branded black and blue with welts and bruises from the severity of the beating. Phil's heart was pounding in his chest, his wrist and shoulder aching with the exertion, and he paused to reflect in his masterpiece. Clint was an incoherent mess, the face slick and flushed with tears, his knuckles white, and his ribs convulsing from where they'd sharply dug into the edge of Phil's desk with every hit as he sobbed, yet Phil didn't think he'd seen anything so heartwrenchingly stunning in his life.
Clint didn't even have the energy left to keep his legs straight, his knees buckled into the desk and the wooden frame supporting the entirety of his weight. Various shades of red dripped down his skin, entwining and twisting lazily as they ran the full length of Clint's legs down to his ankles, and Phil could see the similar tint staining the archers lips and chin.
Devastation had no right to look so heavenly, so saintly and irresistible, and Phil had to close his eyes to stop himself from falling to his knees at the sight before him.
Dropping the glove to the floor, Phil toed off his shoes and his socks with a sense of urgency. Unzipping his pants, Phil carefully eased them and his boxers over his rock hard erection with a wince, leaving his underwear to sit midway down his thighs as he kicked his pants off into a corner of the room.
It took every ounce of sanity he possessed to not just throw his fingers around his cock and rush towards the climax he could feel burning through his veins as he took a step closer to Clint, draping the full weight of his body across the prone archer as he littered Clint's shoulders and throat with soft kisses, his hands caressing Clint's swollen and inflamed ribs with such care and attention that it broke Clint down completely.
Clint's sobs died, lazy gasps falling uncontrollably from his lips as he helplessly succumbed to Phil's touch, his flesh so overly sensitised from the beating that it was almost as if Phil was touching the very inner depths of his soul. Phil could feel the stickiness of the blood and his precum against his bare skin, the intense heat radiating off of the bruises he'd engraved into the archers skin, and he felt the very last of his prized control and discipline melt away into nothing.
"Oh, my perfect, beautiful Clint," he whispered reverently, and the rasped mew that seemed to echo around Phil's head in response was just too powerful to resist. "You're so good, Clint, so good. I couldn't ask for anything better in this world than you."
Dropping a kiss between Clint's shoulder blades, Phil straightened back up, giving a lustful groan at the whine of protest Clint let out as he massaged his thumb into the crook of Clint's hip, using his free hand to steady his erection as he positioned the head against Clint's entrance, rubbing it up and down the cleft of Clint's ass for makeshift lubrication as he felt Clint very tentatively roll his hips back, answering the silent question that passed between them.
Channelling all of his focus and concentration on making sure that he didn't push too hard or too much to cause Clint any extra unnecessary pain, Phil guided the tip of his cock to Clint's unprepared hole, every muscle in Clint's ass tightening from nerves the archer couldn't control as Phil pushed his hips forward. Phil let out a deep groan, one overshadowed by the choked hiss that was torn from the archer beneath him, when he managed to sink his erection slowly into Clint's body, barely moving in an inch before the overwhelming tightness and burn made him stop to catch his breath.
The dry friction was agonising, but Phil knew that Clint would be feeling the pain so much worse than him, and Phil rubbed the heel of his palm in gentle circles into the base of the archers back, desperately trying to get Clint to relax and accept the intrusion. Clint's fingers were shaking so badly, his pale palms clammy with sweat that betrayed every ounce of pain and fear racing through the archers body, that Phil reached out, intertwining his own fingers with Clint's and giving a soft squeeze. Clint immediately latched on to Phil's touch, gripping down so hard and frantically that Phil almost thought Clint had broken his hand with the strength of his hold as Phil continued to massage the tense, trembling muscles beneath him, feeling the way that Clint's ass carried on trying to reject him.
"Shh, Clint," Phil whispered reverently, his own tone thick with lust and affection as he tried to calm the archer. "You're doing so good, Clint, taking it so well for me. Just a little bit more, Clint, come on. Deep breaths okay, Clint?"
Clint's breathing unconsciously fell into perfect sync with Phil's before Phil had even finished speaking, and Phil gave a soft, heartfelt smile when he felt the resistance and tension very gradually began to dissipate beneath his fingers, Clint instantly and helplessly obeying Phil's words. When Phil pushed in further, half of his length encased in the constricted heat of Clint's body, Clint's muscles seized again as the archer suddenly held his breath in an attempt to control the sensations lancing through him like a knife.
Phil gave another soft squeeze to their linked fingers.
"Breathe, Clint, nice and slow. In."
Clint's shuddered gasp of air made the archer tremble, and Phil knew just how difficult it was for Clint to not just stop now.
"Out."
The violently choked expulsion was enough to make Clint cough and splutter roughly, and Phil used Clint's momentary distraction to move his hips forward just enough that Clint wouldn't tense up again. It seemed to work, Clint's raw hisses of pain gradually quieting as his body accommodated Phil's solid erection, but Phil kept up the whisper soft litany of orders until his groin was flush with Clint's ass, holding himself completely still within the archer as Clint whimpered and choked back the sobs that Phil could hear threading into Clint's breaths.
"So good, Clint, so good."
Phil lightly ran his fingers up the length of Clint's spine, and the blissful sigh that Clint gave out, his grip on Phil's hand loosening so that it was no longer quite so frantic, told Phil that they were both okay to continue. The slow pull out was just as excruciatingly tight and painful, Phil's actions jerky and tentative as he reacted to each and every sound that fell from the archers lips, reading the signs as he nearly completely withdrew from Clint's heat before pushing back in, just a little bit more smoothly as Clint's pained sighs and gasps became edged with a hint of pleasure.
It was lazy, luxurious, and a world away from the urgency they'd both previously felt; Clint made no move to make Phil go harder or faster, simply laying across the desk and receiving every ounce of love and all-consuming possession that Phil gifted him, his throat raw from his hoarse cries and whimpers of heady pleasure.
Phil's rhythm was deep, paced and steady; even despite the frantic lust clawing away through him, his vision hazed with white in the very corners as his arousal grew, Phil wanted this to last. This was no longer about control and submission, handler and subordinate, the numerous labels attached to them that distanced them from each other in public eyes. This was just about them wrapped up within each other, Clint so vulnerably pliant and responsive beneath him in ways no-one else would ever see, and it was the overwhelming power and depth of his emotional investment that fed into the fire burning within him.
Leaning over the archers writhing body, Phil's hand and lips skimmed bruised and sweaty flesh reverently as he thrust in harder, and the sudden groan ripped from Clint as his back arched, his fingers convulsively tightening around Phil's as he pushed his hips back to meet Phil with a renewed force, made Phil's stomach knot.
"Please," Clint breathed out wantonly, his tone wrecked with need as Phil drove back in, hitting the same spot again. "God, please Sir, more..."
Phil thought that it would be impossible for him to grow more desperate for release, but the rasped, lust-addled sound of Clint begging for him was explosively potent and impossible to deny. His free hand moving up to grasp Clint's shoulder, Phil forcefully pulled Clint down to meet his hips as his strokes became more reckless, and the half screeched moan Clint gave in response just stoked the flames of his desire.
Time seemed almost to stop as Phil kept driving forward into the archer, the lewd smack of skin hitting skin and the rich scent of sex filling the air. Clint was half sobbing from the ecstasy, every muscle in his body deliciously tense and screaming for the release that Phil knew Clint was helplessly chasing. Digging his nails in sharply to the bruised, sensitive skin at the hollow of Clint's throat, Phil felt the way that Clint's ass weakly spasmed around him, and he smiled darkly, knowing just how damn close to the abyss Clint was.
"Please, Sir, I need, I need..."
Clint's words were cut off with a gasp when Phil's fingers traced the curve of Clint's neck before grasping his throat in his hand, feeling the helpless shudder that ran through the archer as Phil continued to pound in deep.
"I know, Clint," Phil whispered raggedly, surprised at just how level and even his words were, considering the maelstrom breaking him apart from the inside out. "So close, I know, but I need you to hang on a little bit longer, until I tell you. Just a little bit, Clint."
Clint whined, his pulse racing beneath Phil's fingertips, and Phil could tell from the grip Clint had on his hand that trying to force the archer back from the edge was cruel agony. Phil never let up his onslaught though, every nerve in his body sparked with electricity from the mere brushing of his skin against Clint's as he felt Clint tense even further beneath him, and the sudden resistance that Phil could feel around his erection was so nearly enough to send him over the edge.
Squeezing even harder around Clint's throat, Phil untangled his fingers from Clint's, reaching around in front of the archer to wrap his hand around Clint's cock. It was near throbbing in Phil's palm as he loosely started to work his fingers up the length, the leisurely speed standing at a complete counterpoint to the frantic thrust of his hips as a thick glob of precum wept from the head, soaking his hand as Clint's breathing suddenly hitched.
Thumbing the ridge firmly as Phil released his grip on Clint's face in favour of brushing the tips of his fingers across the archers lips, Phil gave another vicious inwards plunge, waiting less than a split second when he felt the heavy exhalation of breath against his skin before he suddenly covered Clint's mouth and nose with his palm.
His fingers picking up speed along Clint's length, Phil felt the instant tension and fear that radiated from the archer as Clint briefly struggled against Phil's hand, but the lust and sheer unadulterated ecstasy that seemed to permeate from Clint's very pores as his cock pulsed and his balls tightened within Phil's grasp made Phil's heart stop.
"Now, Clint," Phil huskily commanded, his own voice shot to pieces, and his eyes rolled back into his head when the resistance around his erection reached fever pitch, Clint's entire body rippling from the force behind his orgasm as his release hit him in waves that sent him higher than anywhere else on earth.
Waiting a few moments as Phil milked the rest of Clint's orgasm for as long as he physically could, Phil shakily lifted his hand from Clint's mouth as felt his own release elude him by a hairs breadth.
"Phil..."
The sound of Clint half sighing, half sobbing his name was enough to send him flinging uncontrollably over the edge.
Giving out a guttural groan, Phil held himself deep inside Clint as he climaxed, feeling as if Clint surrounding him was the only thing keeping him from floating away. An intense kaleidoscope of colours exploded behind his eyes, his heart seemed to stop in his chest, and Phil felt like he was in a dream as he indulged himself with lazy thrusts into the exhausted man beneath him, trying not to fall apart at the aftershocks that strung his pleasure out for a lifetime.
At some point, minutes or hours later Phil really couldn't tell, he became aware that his eyes were closed, the entire weight of his body draped over the archer pinned beneath him. Clint didn't look like he cared though; he was slumped over the desk, his slacked muscles and soft breaths screaming of physical and emotional exhaustion as he basked in the afterglow of his orgasm, and Phil felt his heart swelling in his chest as he pressed a row of fleeting kisses up the length of Clint's throat, nuzzling his nose just behind the archers ear.
"Hey," he breathed out, feeling the slight stirrings of Clint beneath him, but as he brushed the edge of his tie, starting to undo the knot in the back, he was stopped by Clint's trapped fingers caressing his stomach absent-mindedly.
His lips quirking into a tired smile, Phil waited a few more minutes, just breathing in tandem with the archer until Clint turned his cheek to rest against the wood. Taking that as permission to continue what he was doing, Phil hooked his fingers underneath the sodden material, his eyes never once leaving Clint's.
Clint blinked owlishly at the sudden influx of light; His eyes were bloodshot and red from his sobbing, but there was a peace and awed affection visibly shining back at Phil as Phil cupped Clint's cheek in his hand.
"Hey," Clint eventually whispered back, his voice raw and thready as a slight smile curled his lips.
Unable to stop himself, Phil pressed a kiss to the corner of Clint's mouth, running his fingers through Clint's sweat matted hair as the archer weakly responded. It was barely a proper kiss compared to the thousands they'd shared in the past - their lips were simply resting together, not demanding or taking anything as they breathed in each others air - but that didn't make it any less heartfelt. It was this pure, almost chaste, longing and love that existed between them that made it possible to withstand everything else they went through.
After a few moments, Phil reluctantly moved to stand up, feeling the strain in his back and his legs as he straightened up, giving his equilibrium a couple of minutes to re-centre as he carried on stroking random patterns into the side of Clint's head.
"You okay for a few whilst I get this place sorted?"
"Go nuts," Clint replied, and the purr in his voice as he nuzzled his head into Phil's touch made Phil want to lay back down and curl the archer back up into his arms.
Mournfully deciding against that plan of action, he gingerly made his way around the room; he collected the random pieces of clothing that had been flung everywhere and neatly stacked them in his chair before picking up the leather glove and other items and putting them back in the drawers of his desk. He felt Clint's eyes unfalteringly follow his every move, and Phil felt that glow settle deep in his gut.
Coming to stand behind the archer, Phil deftly worked at undoing the belts from around Clint's arms, massaging every inch of chafed and pale skin that was released before grasping Clint's hands between his own.
"How you feeling?"
Clint gave a weak snort as Phil lifted Clint's hands to his lips, peppering them with indulgent caresses.
"Like I just fell off a building."
Phil gave a quiet laugh as he helped support Clint, lifting the archer into a sitting position on the edge of his desk when Clint's arms and shoulder buckled from the prolonged entrapment. Clint gave a sharp hiss when his abused ass and thighs hit the solid wood, giving Clint the exact reminder that Phil hoped they would.
"I'm gonna be walking funny for a few days, aren't I? 'Tween that and my throat, Stark and the baby Agents are gonna have a field day, aren't they?"
Phil quirked his lips as he ran the back of his fingers down the bruises and bite marks that extensively coloured Clint's neck; a small part of him felt more guilty than usual seeing them there, but that protective, possessive side of him was revelling in the relaxed, adoring way Clint was gazing at him, wearing the marks of complete dominance and ownership with pride.
"Well," Phil breathed out, smoothing the palms of his hands delicately over Clint's ribs as he stole another kiss from the immediately enthusiastic archer. "If you weren't such a disobedient, misbehaved man, then I wouldn't have to make you walk funny, would I?" Clint flushed with an equal measure of apology, embarrassment and affection, and Phil took a step back. "Besides, it's not my fault that you look so stunning when you're all bruised and bloodied."
Clint's smile grew larger. "Always knew that was the reason why you kept sending me out on the physical mission, Coulson. Fury know you're such a masochist?"
"There's a lot that Fury doesn't know; I like to think that even I'm allowed my indulgences."
They both settled into an easy silence, acutely aware of the others presence but not feeling threatened by it in any way as they slowly got dressed and finished cleaning Phil's office, instinctively helping each other without a word passing between them.
It was this unspoken understanding, this simple connection that was rooted soul and mind deep between the pair, that made them so perfect together, even despite the faults and flaws they both possessed; Phil knew that without a doubt.
When they were both decent once more - Phil looking completely impeccable, and Clint only looking a little bit more rough around the edges than usual considering the state of him underneath his clothing and the ring of bruises just about visible around the neckline of his field vest - Phil took a step closer, resting his hands gently on Clint's hips.
"When we get back, I'll run you a nice hot bath, get you all cleaned up. Got some of that lotion Natasha recommended, might help with your ribs a bit as well. Don't want you hurting more than you have to be."
The raised eyebrow Clint gave as he looped his arms around Phil's neck, never once dropping his gaze from Phil's, made Phil's heart skip a beat.
"And what if I like you hurting me more than you have to?"
"Then you obviously need to be taught better self-control," Phil drawled back, the hint of that honeyed, gravelly drawl make Clint shiver in his grip. "Not tonight though," he smiled at the slight pout that formed on the archers lips. "You've done enough tonight, been so good for me. Only thing we'll be doing in that lovely bed of ours is getting some sleep, otherwise neither of us is gonna be in any fit state tomorrow."
The glow of comfort and relaxation that shone out of every inch of the archer in his arms, the genuine smile reserved only for Phil playing out on his lips, was enough to make Phil melt as he pulled Clint in close enough for a tender kiss, Clint instantly responding in kind as he moulded into Phil's yearning, reflecting it back with every fibre of his being as they broke apart with a shared grin.
Grabbing his jacket from the back of the door as he opened it, Phil shrugged it on as Clint walked out into the corridor, a lightness in his step as they both walked down the corridor. Junior Agents littered the entrances and corners in their droves, all of them respectfully addressing the infamous duo.
"Agent Coulson, Sir."
"Barton."
Eyeing up the bruises on Clint's throat surreptitiously, Phil gave out a hidden grin that he knew only Clint could see as they walked out of the doors and into the streets of New York side by side, waiting until they were just out of sight of the building before Phil loosely linked his fingers around Clint's with a chuckle.
Oh yes, Phil had his flaws, but he loved them.