Claim
Title: Claim
Prompt: Un-themed #03 - 05. tease (mission_insane)
Character/Pairing: Clint Barton/Phil Coulson
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Sort of dark, maybe dub-con, sexxxx
Word count: 1,291
Summary: Serial Killer!AU (follows on from Give In); Coulson deals with the consequences of his invitation.
Disclaimer: Not mine; I'm just using them for a while.
A/N: So much for making a series if I only update it once a month or so, huh? ;)
Coulson stirs with a twist of his head on the pillow; there's a thought, knife-quick, that he shouldn't be sleeping at all. At the back of his mind, there's the sensation that he's in some kind of danger, but Coulson doesn't really dwell on it. Fingers stroke over his chest, the touch light and fleeting. Coulson arches up into the touch, a gentle hum in the back of his throat. This is so nice, so safe-
"Rise and shine, detective," says a voice next to his ear. It's low and husky and Coulson snaps into instant alertness, the gravity of his situation hitting him like a freight train. "I wouldn't want you to miss out on all the fun."
Coulson's eyes snap open and when he tries to sit up, the Hawk shifts his weight, effectively pinning Coulson to the bed. When he's sure Coulson won't move, he settles again and his fingers resume their stroking under his shirt, following a path Coulson can't fathom.
"You want this," the Hawk says.
It could be a command, but it sounds almost like a question, so Coulson says, "Yes."
The Hawk leans down and when he's a hair's breadth away, Coulson thinks he won't do it, but then they're kissing, fierce and demanding. One of the Hawk's hands lands on the pillow next to Coulson's head; the other rubs over a nipple, teasing just enough so that Coulson has to pull back to pant against his mouth.
The Hawk grins and nips at Coulson's lip before he kisses Coulson again and his tongue makes its way into Coulson's mouth, stroking, trying to coax Coulson into playing this game. Coulson kisses back, tentatively at first, because for all that yes, this is totally working for him, Coulson can't simply forget that the man above him, the man starting to possess him, is most certainly a serial killer. He reaches up and grabs the Hawk's hips, his fingers tight - he's at once both aroused and utterly ashamed.
The Hawk pulls back when Coulson grabs his hips, his gaze inscrutable. His hand trails out from under Coulson's shirt to plant itself on the mattress and Coulson feels his back arch, as if to follow the touch.
Coulson frowns when the Hawk sits up, still staring down at him. "Stay exactly where you are," the Hawk says and Coulson swallows at the tone, the heat in his eyes, but does as he is bid. The Hawk reaches out and his fingers brush across Coulson's jaw, then down his neck. A thumb presses, briefly, against his Adam's apple. The hand encircles his throat but the pressure doesn't increase.
Coulson hears the Hawk let out a shaky breath. "God," he says, "I could do anything-"
Coulson doesn't have an answer - not that there's time for one, not with the Hawk's lips crashing down on his again. The Hawk tilts Coulson's jaw up, deepening the kiss and Coulson's fingers tighten on the Hawk's hips again, hard enough to bruise.
Lips move from Coulson's mouth to his jaw, hot, open-mouthed kisses trailing down his neck to his collarbone. Hands push his shirt up until it's bunched around his armpits. Coulson makes to lift his head, to offer to remove it, but the Hawk takes some of the skin on his throat between his teeth and worries it. All Coulson can do is moan.
The Hawk directs his attention to Coulson's nipples, sucking hard enough to bruise before pulling off and lapping at the abused flesh. His hands slide a burning path to the waistband of Coulson's boxers and when he tugs, Coulson lifts his hips without a thought. His own hands rest on the Hawk's shoulders as the Hawk licks a trail down his stomach.
His boxers rest awkwardly around his knees, but Coulson doesn't think about that when the Hawk kisses his way back up his neck and breathes hard next to Coulson's ear. "What do you want?" he asks. He sucks Phil's earlobe into his mouth.
"I- oh God, I don't-"
A hand circles his dick and strokes slowly. Coulson lifts his hips, trying to get more friction and in retaliation, the Hawk nips his earlobe. "No. Tell me. What do you want, to fuck my fist or my mouth?"
Coulson lays there and pants, unable to come up with an answer. He's so hard now, he's not sure it'll matter. But-
"Your mouth," he says, voice low. The Hawk presses a kiss to his neck.
"Good choice," he replies and slides down Coulson's body.
Coulson lifts his head from the pillow, because it might be dark but he wants to try and see - but he's still unprepared for the flick of the Hawk's tongue over the head of his dick - wonderful, yet so fleeting.
The Hawk smirks, teeth flashing, and licks a stripe up Coulson's dick, suckling lightly on the head. Coulson lets out a groan of frustration, head dropping back to land on the pillow. The Hawk nips at his inner thigh and he looks down again.
"Can you just-"
There's no end to that sentence, because the Hawk smirks and takes as much of Coulson as he can manage into his mouth, his hand making up for the rest. His tongue works as expertly on his dick as it did in Coulson's mouth and his hands scrabble for purchase on the sheets as he resists the urge to thrust up into that wet heat-
The Hawk pulls off with an audible pop, lapping at the head of Coulson's dick a few times before he looks up into his face.
"I asked what you wanted to fuck, detective," the Hawk says. "Don't make me ask you again."
His mouth engulfs Coulson's dick again, taking him impossibly deep and Coulson lifts his hips a little, cautious. When the Hawk hums his approval - making Coulson's toes curl - he rocks his hips some more, getting into a gentle rhythm. One hand creeps into the Hawk's hair, fingers curling into soft, dark strands. The Hawk hums again and starts to work in earnest, bobbing his head in time with Coulson's thrusts.
Coulson can hear his breathing, the noises that escape from his own mouth to hang in the air between them. The Hawk sucks hard, nostrils flaring when he breathes - and when Coulson feels his dick hit the back of the Hawk's throat, feels muscles flutter around the length of him, he knows he's done. He comes with a hoarse cry and his hand tightens in the Hawk's hair. The Hawk strokes a thumb over Coulson's hip as he swallows every last drop.
He lets Coulson's dick slip out of his mouth and pulls up his boxers before moving up and claiming Coulson's lips again. Coulson reaches for the Hawk's pants but the Hawk seizes his wrist and presses it back into the pillows.
When he pulls back, his eyes are glittering. "Maybe next time," he says against Coulson's lips.
They kiss again and it's almost languid, almost enough for Coulson to lose himself in. All too soon, the Hawk moves back, though he presses more kisses to Coulson's lips again before he stands. His eyes roam over Coulson's clearly rumpled form.
Coulson resists the urge to pull his shirt down, instead propping himself up on his elbows.
"Until the next time, detective," the Hawk says. As before, he crosses to Coulson's window and, all too soon, is gone from view.
Coulson pulls his shirt back down and his blankets back over himself, turning to face the window. His eyes linger on the arrow that still lays there, the weapon that the Hawk had not once used to ensure his compliance.
It's a long time before he falls back to sleep.
Prompt: Un-themed #03 - 05. tease (mission_insane)
Character/Pairing: Clint Barton/Phil Coulson
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Sort of dark, maybe dub-con, sexxxx
Word count: 1,291
Summary: Serial Killer!AU (follows on from Give In); Coulson deals with the consequences of his invitation.
Disclaimer: Not mine; I'm just using them for a while.
A/N: So much for making a series if I only update it once a month or so, huh? ;)
Coulson stirs with a twist of his head on the pillow; there's a thought, knife-quick, that he shouldn't be sleeping at all. At the back of his mind, there's the sensation that he's in some kind of danger, but Coulson doesn't really dwell on it. Fingers stroke over his chest, the touch light and fleeting. Coulson arches up into the touch, a gentle hum in the back of his throat. This is so nice, so safe-
"Rise and shine, detective," says a voice next to his ear. It's low and husky and Coulson snaps into instant alertness, the gravity of his situation hitting him like a freight train. "I wouldn't want you to miss out on all the fun."
Coulson's eyes snap open and when he tries to sit up, the Hawk shifts his weight, effectively pinning Coulson to the bed. When he's sure Coulson won't move, he settles again and his fingers resume their stroking under his shirt, following a path Coulson can't fathom.
"You want this," the Hawk says.
It could be a command, but it sounds almost like a question, so Coulson says, "Yes."
The Hawk leans down and when he's a hair's breadth away, Coulson thinks he won't do it, but then they're kissing, fierce and demanding. One of the Hawk's hands lands on the pillow next to Coulson's head; the other rubs over a nipple, teasing just enough so that Coulson has to pull back to pant against his mouth.
The Hawk grins and nips at Coulson's lip before he kisses Coulson again and his tongue makes its way into Coulson's mouth, stroking, trying to coax Coulson into playing this game. Coulson kisses back, tentatively at first, because for all that yes, this is totally working for him, Coulson can't simply forget that the man above him, the man starting to possess him, is most certainly a serial killer. He reaches up and grabs the Hawk's hips, his fingers tight - he's at once both aroused and utterly ashamed.
The Hawk pulls back when Coulson grabs his hips, his gaze inscrutable. His hand trails out from under Coulson's shirt to plant itself on the mattress and Coulson feels his back arch, as if to follow the touch.
Coulson frowns when the Hawk sits up, still staring down at him. "Stay exactly where you are," the Hawk says and Coulson swallows at the tone, the heat in his eyes, but does as he is bid. The Hawk reaches out and his fingers brush across Coulson's jaw, then down his neck. A thumb presses, briefly, against his Adam's apple. The hand encircles his throat but the pressure doesn't increase.
Coulson hears the Hawk let out a shaky breath. "God," he says, "I could do anything-"
Coulson doesn't have an answer - not that there's time for one, not with the Hawk's lips crashing down on his again. The Hawk tilts Coulson's jaw up, deepening the kiss and Coulson's fingers tighten on the Hawk's hips again, hard enough to bruise.
Lips move from Coulson's mouth to his jaw, hot, open-mouthed kisses trailing down his neck to his collarbone. Hands push his shirt up until it's bunched around his armpits. Coulson makes to lift his head, to offer to remove it, but the Hawk takes some of the skin on his throat between his teeth and worries it. All Coulson can do is moan.
The Hawk directs his attention to Coulson's nipples, sucking hard enough to bruise before pulling off and lapping at the abused flesh. His hands slide a burning path to the waistband of Coulson's boxers and when he tugs, Coulson lifts his hips without a thought. His own hands rest on the Hawk's shoulders as the Hawk licks a trail down his stomach.
His boxers rest awkwardly around his knees, but Coulson doesn't think about that when the Hawk kisses his way back up his neck and breathes hard next to Coulson's ear. "What do you want?" he asks. He sucks Phil's earlobe into his mouth.
"I- oh God, I don't-"
A hand circles his dick and strokes slowly. Coulson lifts his hips, trying to get more friction and in retaliation, the Hawk nips his earlobe. "No. Tell me. What do you want, to fuck my fist or my mouth?"
Coulson lays there and pants, unable to come up with an answer. He's so hard now, he's not sure it'll matter. But-
"Your mouth," he says, voice low. The Hawk presses a kiss to his neck.
"Good choice," he replies and slides down Coulson's body.
Coulson lifts his head from the pillow, because it might be dark but he wants to try and see - but he's still unprepared for the flick of the Hawk's tongue over the head of his dick - wonderful, yet so fleeting.
The Hawk smirks, teeth flashing, and licks a stripe up Coulson's dick, suckling lightly on the head. Coulson lets out a groan of frustration, head dropping back to land on the pillow. The Hawk nips at his inner thigh and he looks down again.
"Can you just-"
There's no end to that sentence, because the Hawk smirks and takes as much of Coulson as he can manage into his mouth, his hand making up for the rest. His tongue works as expertly on his dick as it did in Coulson's mouth and his hands scrabble for purchase on the sheets as he resists the urge to thrust up into that wet heat-
The Hawk pulls off with an audible pop, lapping at the head of Coulson's dick a few times before he looks up into his face.
"I asked what you wanted to fuck, detective," the Hawk says. "Don't make me ask you again."
His mouth engulfs Coulson's dick again, taking him impossibly deep and Coulson lifts his hips a little, cautious. When the Hawk hums his approval - making Coulson's toes curl - he rocks his hips some more, getting into a gentle rhythm. One hand creeps into the Hawk's hair, fingers curling into soft, dark strands. The Hawk hums again and starts to work in earnest, bobbing his head in time with Coulson's thrusts.
Coulson can hear his breathing, the noises that escape from his own mouth to hang in the air between them. The Hawk sucks hard, nostrils flaring when he breathes - and when Coulson feels his dick hit the back of the Hawk's throat, feels muscles flutter around the length of him, he knows he's done. He comes with a hoarse cry and his hand tightens in the Hawk's hair. The Hawk strokes a thumb over Coulson's hip as he swallows every last drop.
He lets Coulson's dick slip out of his mouth and pulls up his boxers before moving up and claiming Coulson's lips again. Coulson reaches for the Hawk's pants but the Hawk seizes his wrist and presses it back into the pillows.
When he pulls back, his eyes are glittering. "Maybe next time," he says against Coulson's lips.
They kiss again and it's almost languid, almost enough for Coulson to lose himself in. All too soon, the Hawk moves back, though he presses more kisses to Coulson's lips again before he stands. His eyes roam over Coulson's clearly rumpled form.
Coulson resists the urge to pull his shirt down, instead propping himself up on his elbows.
"Until the next time, detective," the Hawk says. As before, he crosses to Coulson's window and, all too soon, is gone from view.
Coulson pulls his shirt back down and his blankets back over himself, turning to face the window. His eyes linger on the arrow that still lays there, the weapon that the Hawk had not once used to ensure his compliance.
It's a long time before he falls back to sleep.