After the Flesh
Title: After the Flesh
Universe: the Marvel Universe, specifically the movie 'verse
Pairing: Agent Phil Coulson/Clint Barton
Rating: mature. language and sex
Word Count: 5,404
Disclaimer: i own nothing in this story beyond the plot. the characters contained within belong to Marvel and whoever the hell else owns them. i'm just borrowing and i will put them back one day. not sure when but i will. i'm not making any money off this so please don't sue me.
Author's Note: this fic is written for my Big Damn Table, which i got from avengers_tables the prompt for this story was soft. the events in this story are meant to immediately follow those in Rain
also... i'm starting to think that i might be creating a 'verse around these prompts and these two. i have no name for it yet, but i think its there. and there will be more. oh, yes. there will be more.
The rattle of keys was a loud, discordant sound against the steady, peaceful drum of rain pouring down on everything. Phil made quick work of the locks on his door, eager to get them open so that he could shed his soaked suit and shirt. So that he could watch Barton strip his jeans and t-shirt off and see every last inch of the man.
It had been a long time since he'd engaged in something so hedonistic and juvenile as public sex. Okay, he couldn't remember a time when he'd ever done anything so remotely erotic. And he couldn't remember the last time he'd brought someone home to his apartment. Part of him wondered what Barton would make of what he saw. Another part suggested that the younger man likely had a good handle on who Phil Coulson was, both when he was and wasn't on duty.
Most people didn't know how observant Clint really was. Oh, they knew just how well he did his job. When he was in the zone, there was no one as keen and observant as Hawkeye. But nearly all of his teammates were unaware that his ability to simply see carried over into his regular life, that he spent his time reading people by watching them. No doubt they'd all be terribly surprised to find out exactly how much the sniper knew about them.
The bolt turned in the lock. Phil twisted the knob and pushed the door open, motioned Clint to enter before him. Barton stepped past, his hand trailing without shame across the front of Phil's trousers. Even that brief, glancing touch was enough to send his blood pulsing through his veins in anticipation. Phil stifled the urge to shudder and concentrated his energies on closing the door. As the latch was catching, a lamp across the room was flicking on. Soft golden light filled the room, splashed across Clint's chest and face. They stared at each other across the distance.
There'd been little chatter in the car, both of them slipping into companionable silence as the rain pattered against the windows. He'd stolen glances at Clint every once in a while, just a quick look from the corner of his eyes to see what his passenger was doing. Each time, Clint had sat loose and relaxed in the seat. As if, despite his assurances to the contrary, he made a habit of sucking men off in dirty alleys. His limp posture was at direct odds with the line of his erection, pressing hard and firm against the thick seam of his jeans. It never once waned in its intensity. And the only movement Clint made was to shift his hips on the leather of the seat so that he could shift his hard on against the tightness of the denim.
The entire trip home had been an absolute pleasure for Phil. And an agony. So much so that he'd been forced to button his suit coat when he'd stopped at a twenty four hour mom and pop drug store to pick up condoms and lubricant. Clint had thrown him a saucy pout and reached for his crotch. Phil's response had been to catch Barton's wrist and warn him what would happen if he made a mess of the car. The grin he'd gotten for that had made him wonder just what Clint was willing to do.
"Do you want to get naked right here? Or do you want to take it to the bedroom?" Clint's question brought Phil out of his wayward thoughts. The look on the other man's face suggested he was open to either spot.
"As much as I find your voyeuristic tendencies enticing, I don't think I'm willing to risk putting on a show for any of my neighbors," he replied, motioning toward the windows with one hand. Clint shrugged, obviously open to anything. Phil dropped his keys into the dish he'd purchased for just that purpose. One hand went to his tie, tugging at the knot to loosen it, while the other pushed the door closed and worked each of the locks. When he was done, he toed off his shoes and crossed the floor on stocking feet. "The bedroom is this way."
He felt Clint fall into step behind him. Their feet were silent on the carpet. The only sounds that followed them up a flight of stairs to the second level and then down the hall to Phil's bedroom were the soft in and out of their breathing. The faint crinkle of the plastic bag tucked into Phil's pocket. He swore he could feel Barton's eyes on his back, on the bottom edge of his suit coat. He wanted nothing more than to reach his bedroom and take the younger man down onto his bed. But he was no rutting teenager. He was going to savor the encounter, take in every inch of his partner's body as he bared it. Patience was a valuable tool.
The door swung shut after them, no doubt Barton's doing. Phil continued on to the bed and the lamp that waited for them there. It came on with a faint click and he turned to find Clint leaning against the closed door, watching him with a sharp gaze. Before he could say anything to the other man, Barton flowed into motion. Even though there were only about six steps separating them, it was enough for Phil to see that Clint was all stalking, animal grace.
Clint stopped before him, the two of them only a few inches apart. Phil let his gaze slide up and down the other man's body, taking in the way his wet clothes clung to his frame. The chill temperature of the rain had left its mark on the man, his nipples hard and pointed under the thin material of his shirt. A shirt that clung to each and every line of muscle. It was an amazing sight and he'd have loved to stare at it longer. But Clint took the opportunity to lean in and press his lips against Phil's.
He'd experienced Clint's kiss before, only a short time ago in that dirty alley. But it still took him by surprise that his lips were so soft and gentle. The pressure of them against Phil's was just perfect. Clint's hands slid between them, fingers working at the buttons that held Phil's coat closed. Buttons undone, the coat was pushed down to drop on the floor. Even before it had cleared his hands Clint's fingers were on the buttons of Phil's shirt, slipping the buttons from their holes.
Phil followed his lead, hands finding the buttons that held the other man's jeans closed so that he could undo them with quick efficiency. The denim was wet and clung to Barton's thighs, unwilling to give up its hold on his flesh without further encouragement. The only way that would happen was if they broke their kiss and that was something Phil wasn't ready to do. Not quite yet. He wanted to keep that contact, wanted to keep kissing Clint until his lungs burst.
He knew that people didn't see him as anything other than a pencil pushing bureaucrat, that he wasn't anything more than Fury's go to guy. The man who babysat the Avengers. It wasn't such a bad way to be seen because it gave him the element of surprise when he needed it. Still, the image of a mousy, quiet little man did work against him. Because people didn't see past the outer shell to the man beneath. Women went for men like Stark, with his devil may care attitude and his mountains of money. Women went for men like Rogers, with his rugged good looks and his boy next door attitude. Women went for men like Thor, with long hair and foreign ways and old world charm. Women went for men like Clint, who could be wild and impulsive and charming. They didn't go for men like Phil, who kind of blended it into the background.
It was slightly mind boggling to him that someone like Clint would want someone like him. Then again, maybe it wasn't. His talks with Clint had brought him to the conclusion that Barton didn't want shallow one nighters. He didn't want giggling, empty headed girls who wanted to say they were hitting someone that hot. He didn't want anything other than long lasting and real with someone who got it. He wanted someone who would understand Clint's job, who would support what Clint did when he was sent off on a mission. Who would be there for him when he got home.
Maybe it was just the nature of his job, but Phil got it. He got it all.
It was a little mind blowing that Clint would chose him. Phil knew that Barton could have anyone he wanted if he put his mind to it. And yet, here they were. Because, like Clint, Phil was a man who looked and observed and saw. He'd watched every member of the Avengers since they'd been brought in. And he saw what made them tick, the things that drove them and made them who they were. So just as Clint saw who Phil was, Phil could see who Clint was. It wasn't entirely by accident that he'd shown up at the same bar Clint had been drinking at that first night.
His thoughts were driven away by the feel of rough skin gliding over the curve of his buttocks. Clint's hands were warm, fingers calloused from years of drawing bow strings. They shaped themselves to the curve of his ass, fingers squeezing and kneading. Phil let the shudder that came from the caress roll up his spine. Clint drew back to look him in the eye. His grin was smug and self satisfied. "I think its time to get out of our wet clothes."
Phil took a much needed breath and nodded. "Of course. This will be much easier if we're naked." Removing their clothing was going to be relatively easy considering Clint had undone every single button on Phil's shirt and his trousers, had pulled the zipper down in his quest to get his hands on Phil's ass.
He stepped back and finished tugging his tie loose, hands working absently to pull it over his head. His gaze was locked on Clint, watching as he dragged his shirt up and over his head. The move saw him lifting his arms and stretching his torso. Phil watched those toned muscles bunch and play under tanned skin. When the shirt was removed and tossed aside, Clint smirked at him and went for his jeans. Phil continued to watch, admiring the way the other man moved. Barton was a living, breathing work of art.
When the man had shucked the last of his clothing, he straightened and stared at Phil. "Like what you see? I can put my underwear back on so you can tuck dollar bills into it."
"Don't be insulting. You deserve more than dollar bills. Just admiring the view. Its worth admiration and appreciation." The response earned him a raised eyebrow. Then Clint grinned and turned a full circle to show off every last inch of his bared flesh. Despite the low light and the rapid turn, Phil could see small pale spots where scars peppered the man's skin. A living, breathing testament to the hazardous nature of his job.
Unconcerned with his nakedness, Clint crossed his arms over his chest and shot a look Phil's way. Taking the hint, Phil pulled the tail of his tie out of the knot and tugged it free of his collar. With the tie gone, it was easy to shrug out of the shirt. It slid down his arms to drop to the ground in a sodden mess. He hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his trousers and underwear, bent at the waist and shoved them to the floor. He left them puddled on the floor, his socks in the center of the mess. All they needed was the plastic bag he'd tucked into his pocket.
Everything was left where it had dropped, a fact that was going to make his dry cleaner hate him. Between the dirt and the water, his suit, tie, and shirt were going to be a mess. He was normally very meticulous when it came to his clothes. Each item was always picked up and carefully folded before being set aside for a trip to the dry cleaner. None of that mattered with Clint standing naked before him.
He might not show it, but there was a growing impatience under his skin, a need to feel Clint's body against his own. To touch and tease the other man until he had Clint moaning and writhing under his hands. Phil fished the plastic bag out of the pocket of his coat, laid the box of condoms and the tube of lubricant out on the nightstand. Cocked a brow at the other man in silent suggestion. Barton smiled at him, stepped closer, slid his arms around Phil's waist and tugged him closer. Their lips met in a heated kiss that tasted of dirty alley sex and rain.
They ended up sprawled on the bed, Clint's body a heavy weight draped over Phil's as their mouths continued working against one another. Barton's hands were everywhere, seeking out every inch of skin. They slid and glided across Phil's ribs, crept over his hips, trailed along his thighs, ghosted over his ass. They were sure and strong, hands that knew what they wanted and took without hesitation. Each stroke and caress was designed to turn Phil on, to kick his desires and needs into overdrive.
Not that he needed any help there. Just looking at Clint was enough to make his blood run hot, make it pound in his veins. Just looking at the other man was enough to make him hard.
Phil shifted his weight and rolled them so that Clint was on his back, pinned under Phil's body. The move broke the kiss. Barton grinned up at him, hands gliding down to curl around Phil's ass possessively. "Agent Coulson. I think I'm sensing a dominant streak in you. Kinky."
He lifted a brow at Clint's words. "I thought we came here to take care of your erection." As if to remind Clint, he rolled his hips so that his cock rubbed against Barton's. The other man's eyes practically rolled up into the back of his head as a large shudder ripped through him. It took him a few moments to come back to himself and even then, there was a glassy look in his eyes.
"I think that was the idea." Clint's voice came breathy with need. Phil rose up off of him, kneeling on the bed between Barton's spread legs. He watched as Clint blinked at him, long and slow and languid. Brain cells were obviously impaired. Phil almost smiled.
"Tell me what you want me to do," Phil ordered softly. He watched as the sniper stared for a moment, visibly trying to pull his thoughts together so that he could actually give an answer. They locked gazes and held for a while as Clint sorted through his options. Finally, one hand reached out for the nightstand. Clint's blue eyes never shifted away from Phil's. But his aim was perfect as always, his fingers closing around the box of condoms with a smile. He tossed the box at Phil, followed it with the tube of lubricant. Phil caught them effortlessly, snatching both items out of the air without thought.
"I want you to fuck me." The words came out soft and low, a hint of a rasping need in Clint's voice. The statement saw Phil's own erection throbbing.
He spent a few moments simply looking down at Barton, trying to decide what he was going to do. The idea of watching Clint's face as Phil took him was far too appealing for words. But there was a part of him that wanted to come at him from behind, so that he could wrap his arms around the other man's body and fist his cock, control when he climaxed. Hear him when he came because Clint's mouth never stopped when he wasn't in the field.
Should they do this? Should he allow them both to give in to their baser instincts? They'd already crossed a line, true, but they hadn't gone so far that they couldn't find their way back to how it had been before a fantastic blow job in a dirty alley. Phil wasn't entirely sure what this thing was between them, but he was willing to bet it was more than just sex. He thought it was a safe bet that Clint was angling for a relationship. The idea made sense, even though it was highly likely that it would create more problems for them than it solved. There was only one way to find out.
"On your knees, back to me. I want your hands to stay on the headboard." It was and wasn't an order. Clint tossed him a grin even as he rolled onto his hands and knees. Phil watched as he did as he'd been told, inching closer to the head of the bed so that he could put his hands on the headboard. Phil let his gaze follow the line of Clint's back down to the curve of his ass. Anticipation rolled through him, a thousand sharp pin pricks of pleasure-pain that pooled hot need low in his belly.
He moved with slow, steady purpose, hands sure as they stroked lightly over tanned skin and formed to curves. Clint's muscles tensed and shivered under his fingers. Clenched in anticipation when they grazed along the cleft between cheeks and the ring of muscles hidden there. Phil pressed a finger against it, gently forced it past the tight pucker and into dry heat. A low moan poured out of Clint's mouth, a sound filled with wicked, wanton need.
He pushed in, pulled out with a slow and steady pace. It only took three strokes before Clint's hips rocked back into his hand. Phil took his time, worked his fingers deep and scissored them to loosen tight muscles. At the same time, his other hand explored Clint's body. He tweaked the hardened peaks of the man's nipples, mapped out the swell of muscles under his skin. He touched Clint everywhere but the one place the man wanted him to touch.
Minutes ticked by, silent but for the moans and grunts that Clint couldn't hold back. The panting sounds of his breath as his desire built. Phil worked with to open him up with slow, careful motions. He added a third finger when he felt it was safe to do so, continued to stroke and drive and relax the muscles around them.
"Fuck, Coulson. Are you going to tease me all god damned night or are you going to get on with it?" Clint ground out, voice rough and harsh.
"Just making sure you're prepared for this. I'm not going to be the one to tell Fury you can't come to work because you got a little careless in the sex department which resulted in you bleeding from your ass," Phil could just imagine how that would go over.
Barton looked back at Phil over his shoulder. "Trust me. I'm ready. Just get on with it. Please!"
It was a blatant demand, one that Phil was inclined to ignore. Except there was a faint whine at the end of the sentence, a plea for things to progress to the next level. A casual brush of the back of his hand against Clint's cock drew forth a hissing sigh that suggested the man was on the very edge. That was enough to convince him to take pity on Barton. So he drew his hands away from the enticing body before him in order to finish the preparations.
Clint surprised him by not moving, fingers curled around the headboard in a white knuckled grip. Phil broke open the box of condoms and tore one off of the strip. The package ripped open easily and, after using one hand to smear the pre-come beaded up on the head of his cock along his length, he rolled the condom on. The box was dropped off the side of the bed before he reached for the lube.
Phil coated two of his fingers with a generous amount of lube. Pressed them back into Clint's ass. Listened to the other man moan while his hand shifted in and out so that he could work the lube deep. Clint's hips rocked into each stroke, breath coming in a harsh pant. Phil kept working his fingers in and out until he couldn't feel the lube anymore. Then he pulled them out and squeezed more of the stuff out onto his fingers. He repeated the action four times.
When he was sure that he wouldn't hurt the other man, he worked lube onto the condom, smearing it around with his hand so that the entire length of his erection was coated. A hand on Clint's back served as warning as Phil shifted himself into position behind the other man, pressed and pulled until he had Clint exactly where he wanted him. The head of his cock came to rest on the ring of muscle. He felt Barton shiver in anticipation, felt him angle his hips. Phil took a breath, curled his hand around Clint's hip, pushed himself forward.
Phil's first thrust was so painfully slow. So careful. It felt like an age had passed before he'd finally buried himself to the hilt. Clint hissed out a ragged breath of pleasure, head hung between his arms. His body was tight around Phil's, hot and clinging as it adjusted to the intrusion. Phil held himself still, his hips pressed to Clint's ass, and let his fingers start exploring.
He learned every inch of Clint's skin, fingertips picking out the hard ridge of a scar here and there. Each stroke of his hand saw some of the tension in the other man's muscles fading away. He kept it up, kept memorizing the feel of his partner's body, until Clint was loose under him and the only tension he could feel was the tension that built up inside of him. When the body beneath him was limp and relaxed and the only tell was the way muscles clenched and rippled around his cock...
That was when Phil started moving.
He drew back, made a long, slow thrust in. One arm curled around Barton's waist, hand pressed up against heated skin. The other arm slid lower so that he could wrap his fingers around Clint's cock. So that he could stroke it in time with his own motions. Clint was tight around him, flesh and muscle clinging to tight to his shaft. And he was so warm. Phil sank into the feel of him, let his outer shell simply fade away until there was nothing left but the Phil no one ever saw.
Pleasure ripped through him like a tidal wave, threatening to drown him with its intensity. Phil clung to Clint as if he was an anchor, mind disconnected as his body worked toward that final, shining moment. He stopped thinking. Only did. Reacted. Enjoyed. Gave more.
Phil established his rhythm, worked himself in and out with steady strokes that were so agonizingly slow. His breath came in soft gasps, matching perfectly the ones that fell from Clint's lips. Hungry for more, he bent himself over Clint so that he could press kisses and trail his tongue along the man's back. His hand continued to stroke Barton's cock, working in tandem with his hips to bring Clint to the very edge of the abyss.
"God, Phil. Fuck." Clint panted the words out, followed those with more. Just as Phil had thought, the other man let go a long serious of dirty words and phrases. Begged him to fuck him hard. Begged him to let him come. Just plain begged.
He tightened his hold on Clint's cock, gave it a squeeze that sent shudders rolling down his partner's back. Brought a long, low moan out of his throat. The sound made Phil's muscles clench, made him flex his hips and drove himself a little deeper. Clint's hips bucked back at that, his muscles tightening around Phil.
The two of them fell into a give and take. When Phil pushed forward, he drew his hand up Clint's length. In return, Barton rocked his hips back. As soon as Phil was sure of their rhythm, he took his arm away from the other man's waist so that he could put it on the headboard next to Clint's hand. He laid himself along Clint's back so that he could press kisses to the man's throat, trail them along the line of his shoulder. He worked his way up to the spot where shoulder met neck and focused his energies there.
They moved together, each shift of skin on skin driving blades of fiery need deep into Phil's belly. The tension was mounting, growing and clenching down into a ball of tightness that begged to be set loose. And he knew, based on what he felt from Clint beneath him, that the other man felt the same way. He tightened his hold on Clint's cock, stroked it faster, and quickened the pace of his hips.
Up until that moment, Clint had been spouting off a litany of 'please' and 'fuck' and other things that sounded breathless and dirty in the near silence of the room. But the minute Phil sped up, the minute he fisted Clint harder, the words trailed off into an unintelligible jumble of moans and groans and words that meant nothing. It was all music to Phil's ears, drove his actions as he pushed them toward their ultimate goal. He sped his pace again, thrust harder and faster so that he could break the ball of tension that had lodged itself against his spine and fall over the edge. So that he could take Clint over the edge with him.
"God, Phil. So fucking good. So fucking good." Clint gasped for breath, molded his back to Phil's chest while their hips worked in time with each other's. The two of them were almost completely in sync. Just as he could feel his own climax creeping up on him, Clint's body was giving off the same telling signs. His cock twitched in Phil's hold, swelled ever so slightly as it prepared to blow its load. Clint's breathing was heavy and without any discernable rhythm, a staccato burst of gasps and moans. It was music to Phil's ears.
It was all he needed to send him screaming into the abyss.
Phil tightened his grip on Clint's cock, slammed his hips hard and fast against the other man's. Leaned up just far enough so that he could whisper in his partner's ear. "This is it, Clint. Come for me. Right now."
There was barely any order to it, just a simple statement. It still had the effect Phil wanted it to have. Clint groaned and every muscle in his body went tight. Phil stroked him harder, squeezed his cock until Clint came with a loud noise that was part sob and part moan. The flesh wrapped around Phil's cock clenched down tight, clutched at him and held him tight.
Phil took Clint's flesh in his mouth, bit down on the muscle just at the top of Clint's shoulder. The other man groaned out his pleasure, hips jerking in Phil's hold. The sounds and the feel of Clint's climax brought forth Phil's own orgasm. Bright bursts of light flashed behind his eyes, shattered into tiny sparkling shards before the entire world went white. Instinct kept him going, kept his body moving even when his brain oozed out of his ear in a tiny mass of gelatin. His hips gave a few half-hearted jerks against the pressure of Clint's muscles clenched around his own, milking him dry.
They collapsed down to the bed, bodies slick with sweat and clinging to each other. Their limbs were entwined, chests heaving with the need for air. The world slowly reformed around them, allowing Phil to feel the steely strength of Clint's muscles against his own. It was a blatant contradiction to the thick feather bed beneath them. He liked the idea of soft and hard cradling his body. Liked the idea of having a warm, hard body next to his in bed.
The two of them lay together in companionable silence. Clint struggled to regain his breathing, his body a dead weight against Phil's. It was a pleasant weight, an acceptable change from climbing into bed alone every night.
When Phil's energy returned, he rolled away and sat on the edge of the bed. The condom was disposed of, tied off and tossed into a small trash can on the other side of the nightstand. He pushed to his feet and headed for the bathroom. After flipping on the light, he took a clean wash cloth from the shelf and wet it under the faucet. The cloth was wrung out before Phil turned away and headed for the door. He dragged a towel with him, returned to the bed with both items in hand. Clint had managed to roll onto his back, chest glistening with his release in the dim light. Phil tossed the washcloth and towel at the other man, who reached out and snatched them out of the air without seemingly opening his eyes or moving any other part of his body.
Clint was sitting up when Phil lowered himself to the edge of the bed, working the washcloth over his chest to remove the strings of white that painted it. Phil watched him, eyes locked to the way the man's hands moved. It was an unconsciously sexy act and Phil found himself wanting to see more.
"So..." Clint began, washcloth balled up in his hand.
"So?" Phil asked, unsure what they were supposed to do about this. Because that was obviously what was on the other man's mind now.
"You want me to go?"
Phil looked at him. Did he want Clint to go? He wasn't actually sure. He hadn't had an encounter like this in a long time. He wasn't sure what kind of protocol went with sleeping with someone who more or less worked for him. Okay. So sleeping with someone you worked with wasn't a good idea. Nothing good could come from it. Office romances were trouble. But this was no typical office and Phil was sure there was nothing typical about his romance, if there was one, with Barton. But he wasn't sure getting involved was a good idea.
And yet, who better to get involved with than someone who understood the job? He knew Clint got it. There was an attraction there, something that Phil suspected had been there for a good long time. Neither of them had noticed it before tonight, though. And he knew, if one of them was sent off on a mission that left them out of touch for a long time, the other wouldn't go into fits of hysteria and fear. They were both well trained. They could take care of themselves in just about any situation.
It would be great to have someone to come home to. He'd be able to talk to Clint about his job without fear of giving away secrets. They got on well, despite Clint's tendency to be smart assed. They were definitely compatible in the sex department. What did Phil have to lose by giving this a shot? He wouldn't know until he gave it a try.
Phil looked up at Barton, face unreadable. Clint sighed and rose to his feet. "I don't believe I dismissed you, Barton. We're not done here." Phil made sure to put a touch of authority in his voice.
Clint looked up at him. "Sir?" he asked, responding to that note.
Phil stared a few minutes, then smiled. "Get in bed, Barton."
Clint waited a few seconds, watching him quietly. Then a smile spread across his face and he turned back for the bed. "Sir. Yes, sir."
Universe: the Marvel Universe, specifically the movie 'verse
Pairing: Agent Phil Coulson/Clint Barton
Rating: mature. language and sex
Word Count: 5,404
Disclaimer: i own nothing in this story beyond the plot. the characters contained within belong to Marvel and whoever the hell else owns them. i'm just borrowing and i will put them back one day. not sure when but i will. i'm not making any money off this so please don't sue me.
Author's Note: this fic is written for my Big Damn Table, which i got from avengers_tables the prompt for this story was soft. the events in this story are meant to immediately follow those in Rain
also... i'm starting to think that i might be creating a 'verse around these prompts and these two. i have no name for it yet, but i think its there. and there will be more. oh, yes. there will be more.
The rattle of keys was a loud, discordant sound against the steady, peaceful drum of rain pouring down on everything. Phil made quick work of the locks on his door, eager to get them open so that he could shed his soaked suit and shirt. So that he could watch Barton strip his jeans and t-shirt off and see every last inch of the man.
It had been a long time since he'd engaged in something so hedonistic and juvenile as public sex. Okay, he couldn't remember a time when he'd ever done anything so remotely erotic. And he couldn't remember the last time he'd brought someone home to his apartment. Part of him wondered what Barton would make of what he saw. Another part suggested that the younger man likely had a good handle on who Phil Coulson was, both when he was and wasn't on duty.
Most people didn't know how observant Clint really was. Oh, they knew just how well he did his job. When he was in the zone, there was no one as keen and observant as Hawkeye. But nearly all of his teammates were unaware that his ability to simply see carried over into his regular life, that he spent his time reading people by watching them. No doubt they'd all be terribly surprised to find out exactly how much the sniper knew about them.
The bolt turned in the lock. Phil twisted the knob and pushed the door open, motioned Clint to enter before him. Barton stepped past, his hand trailing without shame across the front of Phil's trousers. Even that brief, glancing touch was enough to send his blood pulsing through his veins in anticipation. Phil stifled the urge to shudder and concentrated his energies on closing the door. As the latch was catching, a lamp across the room was flicking on. Soft golden light filled the room, splashed across Clint's chest and face. They stared at each other across the distance.
There'd been little chatter in the car, both of them slipping into companionable silence as the rain pattered against the windows. He'd stolen glances at Clint every once in a while, just a quick look from the corner of his eyes to see what his passenger was doing. Each time, Clint had sat loose and relaxed in the seat. As if, despite his assurances to the contrary, he made a habit of sucking men off in dirty alleys. His limp posture was at direct odds with the line of his erection, pressing hard and firm against the thick seam of his jeans. It never once waned in its intensity. And the only movement Clint made was to shift his hips on the leather of the seat so that he could shift his hard on against the tightness of the denim.
The entire trip home had been an absolute pleasure for Phil. And an agony. So much so that he'd been forced to button his suit coat when he'd stopped at a twenty four hour mom and pop drug store to pick up condoms and lubricant. Clint had thrown him a saucy pout and reached for his crotch. Phil's response had been to catch Barton's wrist and warn him what would happen if he made a mess of the car. The grin he'd gotten for that had made him wonder just what Clint was willing to do.
"Do you want to get naked right here? Or do you want to take it to the bedroom?" Clint's question brought Phil out of his wayward thoughts. The look on the other man's face suggested he was open to either spot.
"As much as I find your voyeuristic tendencies enticing, I don't think I'm willing to risk putting on a show for any of my neighbors," he replied, motioning toward the windows with one hand. Clint shrugged, obviously open to anything. Phil dropped his keys into the dish he'd purchased for just that purpose. One hand went to his tie, tugging at the knot to loosen it, while the other pushed the door closed and worked each of the locks. When he was done, he toed off his shoes and crossed the floor on stocking feet. "The bedroom is this way."
He felt Clint fall into step behind him. Their feet were silent on the carpet. The only sounds that followed them up a flight of stairs to the second level and then down the hall to Phil's bedroom were the soft in and out of their breathing. The faint crinkle of the plastic bag tucked into Phil's pocket. He swore he could feel Barton's eyes on his back, on the bottom edge of his suit coat. He wanted nothing more than to reach his bedroom and take the younger man down onto his bed. But he was no rutting teenager. He was going to savor the encounter, take in every inch of his partner's body as he bared it. Patience was a valuable tool.
The door swung shut after them, no doubt Barton's doing. Phil continued on to the bed and the lamp that waited for them there. It came on with a faint click and he turned to find Clint leaning against the closed door, watching him with a sharp gaze. Before he could say anything to the other man, Barton flowed into motion. Even though there were only about six steps separating them, it was enough for Phil to see that Clint was all stalking, animal grace.
Clint stopped before him, the two of them only a few inches apart. Phil let his gaze slide up and down the other man's body, taking in the way his wet clothes clung to his frame. The chill temperature of the rain had left its mark on the man, his nipples hard and pointed under the thin material of his shirt. A shirt that clung to each and every line of muscle. It was an amazing sight and he'd have loved to stare at it longer. But Clint took the opportunity to lean in and press his lips against Phil's.
He'd experienced Clint's kiss before, only a short time ago in that dirty alley. But it still took him by surprise that his lips were so soft and gentle. The pressure of them against Phil's was just perfect. Clint's hands slid between them, fingers working at the buttons that held Phil's coat closed. Buttons undone, the coat was pushed down to drop on the floor. Even before it had cleared his hands Clint's fingers were on the buttons of Phil's shirt, slipping the buttons from their holes.
Phil followed his lead, hands finding the buttons that held the other man's jeans closed so that he could undo them with quick efficiency. The denim was wet and clung to Barton's thighs, unwilling to give up its hold on his flesh without further encouragement. The only way that would happen was if they broke their kiss and that was something Phil wasn't ready to do. Not quite yet. He wanted to keep that contact, wanted to keep kissing Clint until his lungs burst.
He knew that people didn't see him as anything other than a pencil pushing bureaucrat, that he wasn't anything more than Fury's go to guy. The man who babysat the Avengers. It wasn't such a bad way to be seen because it gave him the element of surprise when he needed it. Still, the image of a mousy, quiet little man did work against him. Because people didn't see past the outer shell to the man beneath. Women went for men like Stark, with his devil may care attitude and his mountains of money. Women went for men like Rogers, with his rugged good looks and his boy next door attitude. Women went for men like Thor, with long hair and foreign ways and old world charm. Women went for men like Clint, who could be wild and impulsive and charming. They didn't go for men like Phil, who kind of blended it into the background.
It was slightly mind boggling to him that someone like Clint would want someone like him. Then again, maybe it wasn't. His talks with Clint had brought him to the conclusion that Barton didn't want shallow one nighters. He didn't want giggling, empty headed girls who wanted to say they were hitting someone that hot. He didn't want anything other than long lasting and real with someone who got it. He wanted someone who would understand Clint's job, who would support what Clint did when he was sent off on a mission. Who would be there for him when he got home.
Maybe it was just the nature of his job, but Phil got it. He got it all.
It was a little mind blowing that Clint would chose him. Phil knew that Barton could have anyone he wanted if he put his mind to it. And yet, here they were. Because, like Clint, Phil was a man who looked and observed and saw. He'd watched every member of the Avengers since they'd been brought in. And he saw what made them tick, the things that drove them and made them who they were. So just as Clint saw who Phil was, Phil could see who Clint was. It wasn't entirely by accident that he'd shown up at the same bar Clint had been drinking at that first night.
His thoughts were driven away by the feel of rough skin gliding over the curve of his buttocks. Clint's hands were warm, fingers calloused from years of drawing bow strings. They shaped themselves to the curve of his ass, fingers squeezing and kneading. Phil let the shudder that came from the caress roll up his spine. Clint drew back to look him in the eye. His grin was smug and self satisfied. "I think its time to get out of our wet clothes."
Phil took a much needed breath and nodded. "Of course. This will be much easier if we're naked." Removing their clothing was going to be relatively easy considering Clint had undone every single button on Phil's shirt and his trousers, had pulled the zipper down in his quest to get his hands on Phil's ass.
He stepped back and finished tugging his tie loose, hands working absently to pull it over his head. His gaze was locked on Clint, watching as he dragged his shirt up and over his head. The move saw him lifting his arms and stretching his torso. Phil watched those toned muscles bunch and play under tanned skin. When the shirt was removed and tossed aside, Clint smirked at him and went for his jeans. Phil continued to watch, admiring the way the other man moved. Barton was a living, breathing work of art.
When the man had shucked the last of his clothing, he straightened and stared at Phil. "Like what you see? I can put my underwear back on so you can tuck dollar bills into it."
"Don't be insulting. You deserve more than dollar bills. Just admiring the view. Its worth admiration and appreciation." The response earned him a raised eyebrow. Then Clint grinned and turned a full circle to show off every last inch of his bared flesh. Despite the low light and the rapid turn, Phil could see small pale spots where scars peppered the man's skin. A living, breathing testament to the hazardous nature of his job.
Unconcerned with his nakedness, Clint crossed his arms over his chest and shot a look Phil's way. Taking the hint, Phil pulled the tail of his tie out of the knot and tugged it free of his collar. With the tie gone, it was easy to shrug out of the shirt. It slid down his arms to drop to the ground in a sodden mess. He hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his trousers and underwear, bent at the waist and shoved them to the floor. He left them puddled on the floor, his socks in the center of the mess. All they needed was the plastic bag he'd tucked into his pocket.
Everything was left where it had dropped, a fact that was going to make his dry cleaner hate him. Between the dirt and the water, his suit, tie, and shirt were going to be a mess. He was normally very meticulous when it came to his clothes. Each item was always picked up and carefully folded before being set aside for a trip to the dry cleaner. None of that mattered with Clint standing naked before him.
He might not show it, but there was a growing impatience under his skin, a need to feel Clint's body against his own. To touch and tease the other man until he had Clint moaning and writhing under his hands. Phil fished the plastic bag out of the pocket of his coat, laid the box of condoms and the tube of lubricant out on the nightstand. Cocked a brow at the other man in silent suggestion. Barton smiled at him, stepped closer, slid his arms around Phil's waist and tugged him closer. Their lips met in a heated kiss that tasted of dirty alley sex and rain.
They ended up sprawled on the bed, Clint's body a heavy weight draped over Phil's as their mouths continued working against one another. Barton's hands were everywhere, seeking out every inch of skin. They slid and glided across Phil's ribs, crept over his hips, trailed along his thighs, ghosted over his ass. They were sure and strong, hands that knew what they wanted and took without hesitation. Each stroke and caress was designed to turn Phil on, to kick his desires and needs into overdrive.
Not that he needed any help there. Just looking at Clint was enough to make his blood run hot, make it pound in his veins. Just looking at the other man was enough to make him hard.
Phil shifted his weight and rolled them so that Clint was on his back, pinned under Phil's body. The move broke the kiss. Barton grinned up at him, hands gliding down to curl around Phil's ass possessively. "Agent Coulson. I think I'm sensing a dominant streak in you. Kinky."
He lifted a brow at Clint's words. "I thought we came here to take care of your erection." As if to remind Clint, he rolled his hips so that his cock rubbed against Barton's. The other man's eyes practically rolled up into the back of his head as a large shudder ripped through him. It took him a few moments to come back to himself and even then, there was a glassy look in his eyes.
"I think that was the idea." Clint's voice came breathy with need. Phil rose up off of him, kneeling on the bed between Barton's spread legs. He watched as Clint blinked at him, long and slow and languid. Brain cells were obviously impaired. Phil almost smiled.
"Tell me what you want me to do," Phil ordered softly. He watched as the sniper stared for a moment, visibly trying to pull his thoughts together so that he could actually give an answer. They locked gazes and held for a while as Clint sorted through his options. Finally, one hand reached out for the nightstand. Clint's blue eyes never shifted away from Phil's. But his aim was perfect as always, his fingers closing around the box of condoms with a smile. He tossed the box at Phil, followed it with the tube of lubricant. Phil caught them effortlessly, snatching both items out of the air without thought.
"I want you to fuck me." The words came out soft and low, a hint of a rasping need in Clint's voice. The statement saw Phil's own erection throbbing.
He spent a few moments simply looking down at Barton, trying to decide what he was going to do. The idea of watching Clint's face as Phil took him was far too appealing for words. But there was a part of him that wanted to come at him from behind, so that he could wrap his arms around the other man's body and fist his cock, control when he climaxed. Hear him when he came because Clint's mouth never stopped when he wasn't in the field.
Should they do this? Should he allow them both to give in to their baser instincts? They'd already crossed a line, true, but they hadn't gone so far that they couldn't find their way back to how it had been before a fantastic blow job in a dirty alley. Phil wasn't entirely sure what this thing was between them, but he was willing to bet it was more than just sex. He thought it was a safe bet that Clint was angling for a relationship. The idea made sense, even though it was highly likely that it would create more problems for them than it solved. There was only one way to find out.
"On your knees, back to me. I want your hands to stay on the headboard." It was and wasn't an order. Clint tossed him a grin even as he rolled onto his hands and knees. Phil watched as he did as he'd been told, inching closer to the head of the bed so that he could put his hands on the headboard. Phil let his gaze follow the line of Clint's back down to the curve of his ass. Anticipation rolled through him, a thousand sharp pin pricks of pleasure-pain that pooled hot need low in his belly.
He moved with slow, steady purpose, hands sure as they stroked lightly over tanned skin and formed to curves. Clint's muscles tensed and shivered under his fingers. Clenched in anticipation when they grazed along the cleft between cheeks and the ring of muscles hidden there. Phil pressed a finger against it, gently forced it past the tight pucker and into dry heat. A low moan poured out of Clint's mouth, a sound filled with wicked, wanton need.
He pushed in, pulled out with a slow and steady pace. It only took three strokes before Clint's hips rocked back into his hand. Phil took his time, worked his fingers deep and scissored them to loosen tight muscles. At the same time, his other hand explored Clint's body. He tweaked the hardened peaks of the man's nipples, mapped out the swell of muscles under his skin. He touched Clint everywhere but the one place the man wanted him to touch.
Minutes ticked by, silent but for the moans and grunts that Clint couldn't hold back. The panting sounds of his breath as his desire built. Phil worked with to open him up with slow, careful motions. He added a third finger when he felt it was safe to do so, continued to stroke and drive and relax the muscles around them.
"Fuck, Coulson. Are you going to tease me all god damned night or are you going to get on with it?" Clint ground out, voice rough and harsh.
"Just making sure you're prepared for this. I'm not going to be the one to tell Fury you can't come to work because you got a little careless in the sex department which resulted in you bleeding from your ass," Phil could just imagine how that would go over.
Barton looked back at Phil over his shoulder. "Trust me. I'm ready. Just get on with it. Please!"
It was a blatant demand, one that Phil was inclined to ignore. Except there was a faint whine at the end of the sentence, a plea for things to progress to the next level. A casual brush of the back of his hand against Clint's cock drew forth a hissing sigh that suggested the man was on the very edge. That was enough to convince him to take pity on Barton. So he drew his hands away from the enticing body before him in order to finish the preparations.
Clint surprised him by not moving, fingers curled around the headboard in a white knuckled grip. Phil broke open the box of condoms and tore one off of the strip. The package ripped open easily and, after using one hand to smear the pre-come beaded up on the head of his cock along his length, he rolled the condom on. The box was dropped off the side of the bed before he reached for the lube.
Phil coated two of his fingers with a generous amount of lube. Pressed them back into Clint's ass. Listened to the other man moan while his hand shifted in and out so that he could work the lube deep. Clint's hips rocked into each stroke, breath coming in a harsh pant. Phil kept working his fingers in and out until he couldn't feel the lube anymore. Then he pulled them out and squeezed more of the stuff out onto his fingers. He repeated the action four times.
When he was sure that he wouldn't hurt the other man, he worked lube onto the condom, smearing it around with his hand so that the entire length of his erection was coated. A hand on Clint's back served as warning as Phil shifted himself into position behind the other man, pressed and pulled until he had Clint exactly where he wanted him. The head of his cock came to rest on the ring of muscle. He felt Barton shiver in anticipation, felt him angle his hips. Phil took a breath, curled his hand around Clint's hip, pushed himself forward.
Phil's first thrust was so painfully slow. So careful. It felt like an age had passed before he'd finally buried himself to the hilt. Clint hissed out a ragged breath of pleasure, head hung between his arms. His body was tight around Phil's, hot and clinging as it adjusted to the intrusion. Phil held himself still, his hips pressed to Clint's ass, and let his fingers start exploring.
He learned every inch of Clint's skin, fingertips picking out the hard ridge of a scar here and there. Each stroke of his hand saw some of the tension in the other man's muscles fading away. He kept it up, kept memorizing the feel of his partner's body, until Clint was loose under him and the only tension he could feel was the tension that built up inside of him. When the body beneath him was limp and relaxed and the only tell was the way muscles clenched and rippled around his cock...
That was when Phil started moving.
He drew back, made a long, slow thrust in. One arm curled around Barton's waist, hand pressed up against heated skin. The other arm slid lower so that he could wrap his fingers around Clint's cock. So that he could stroke it in time with his own motions. Clint was tight around him, flesh and muscle clinging to tight to his shaft. And he was so warm. Phil sank into the feel of him, let his outer shell simply fade away until there was nothing left but the Phil no one ever saw.
Pleasure ripped through him like a tidal wave, threatening to drown him with its intensity. Phil clung to Clint as if he was an anchor, mind disconnected as his body worked toward that final, shining moment. He stopped thinking. Only did. Reacted. Enjoyed. Gave more.
Phil established his rhythm, worked himself in and out with steady strokes that were so agonizingly slow. His breath came in soft gasps, matching perfectly the ones that fell from Clint's lips. Hungry for more, he bent himself over Clint so that he could press kisses and trail his tongue along the man's back. His hand continued to stroke Barton's cock, working in tandem with his hips to bring Clint to the very edge of the abyss.
"God, Phil. Fuck." Clint panted the words out, followed those with more. Just as Phil had thought, the other man let go a long serious of dirty words and phrases. Begged him to fuck him hard. Begged him to let him come. Just plain begged.
He tightened his hold on Clint's cock, gave it a squeeze that sent shudders rolling down his partner's back. Brought a long, low moan out of his throat. The sound made Phil's muscles clench, made him flex his hips and drove himself a little deeper. Clint's hips bucked back at that, his muscles tightening around Phil.
The two of them fell into a give and take. When Phil pushed forward, he drew his hand up Clint's length. In return, Barton rocked his hips back. As soon as Phil was sure of their rhythm, he took his arm away from the other man's waist so that he could put it on the headboard next to Clint's hand. He laid himself along Clint's back so that he could press kisses to the man's throat, trail them along the line of his shoulder. He worked his way up to the spot where shoulder met neck and focused his energies there.
They moved together, each shift of skin on skin driving blades of fiery need deep into Phil's belly. The tension was mounting, growing and clenching down into a ball of tightness that begged to be set loose. And he knew, based on what he felt from Clint beneath him, that the other man felt the same way. He tightened his hold on Clint's cock, stroked it faster, and quickened the pace of his hips.
Up until that moment, Clint had been spouting off a litany of 'please' and 'fuck' and other things that sounded breathless and dirty in the near silence of the room. But the minute Phil sped up, the minute he fisted Clint harder, the words trailed off into an unintelligible jumble of moans and groans and words that meant nothing. It was all music to Phil's ears, drove his actions as he pushed them toward their ultimate goal. He sped his pace again, thrust harder and faster so that he could break the ball of tension that had lodged itself against his spine and fall over the edge. So that he could take Clint over the edge with him.
"God, Phil. So fucking good. So fucking good." Clint gasped for breath, molded his back to Phil's chest while their hips worked in time with each other's. The two of them were almost completely in sync. Just as he could feel his own climax creeping up on him, Clint's body was giving off the same telling signs. His cock twitched in Phil's hold, swelled ever so slightly as it prepared to blow its load. Clint's breathing was heavy and without any discernable rhythm, a staccato burst of gasps and moans. It was music to Phil's ears.
It was all he needed to send him screaming into the abyss.
Phil tightened his grip on Clint's cock, slammed his hips hard and fast against the other man's. Leaned up just far enough so that he could whisper in his partner's ear. "This is it, Clint. Come for me. Right now."
There was barely any order to it, just a simple statement. It still had the effect Phil wanted it to have. Clint groaned and every muscle in his body went tight. Phil stroked him harder, squeezed his cock until Clint came with a loud noise that was part sob and part moan. The flesh wrapped around Phil's cock clenched down tight, clutched at him and held him tight.
Phil took Clint's flesh in his mouth, bit down on the muscle just at the top of Clint's shoulder. The other man groaned out his pleasure, hips jerking in Phil's hold. The sounds and the feel of Clint's climax brought forth Phil's own orgasm. Bright bursts of light flashed behind his eyes, shattered into tiny sparkling shards before the entire world went white. Instinct kept him going, kept his body moving even when his brain oozed out of his ear in a tiny mass of gelatin. His hips gave a few half-hearted jerks against the pressure of Clint's muscles clenched around his own, milking him dry.
They collapsed down to the bed, bodies slick with sweat and clinging to each other. Their limbs were entwined, chests heaving with the need for air. The world slowly reformed around them, allowing Phil to feel the steely strength of Clint's muscles against his own. It was a blatant contradiction to the thick feather bed beneath them. He liked the idea of soft and hard cradling his body. Liked the idea of having a warm, hard body next to his in bed.
The two of them lay together in companionable silence. Clint struggled to regain his breathing, his body a dead weight against Phil's. It was a pleasant weight, an acceptable change from climbing into bed alone every night.
When Phil's energy returned, he rolled away and sat on the edge of the bed. The condom was disposed of, tied off and tossed into a small trash can on the other side of the nightstand. He pushed to his feet and headed for the bathroom. After flipping on the light, he took a clean wash cloth from the shelf and wet it under the faucet. The cloth was wrung out before Phil turned away and headed for the door. He dragged a towel with him, returned to the bed with both items in hand. Clint had managed to roll onto his back, chest glistening with his release in the dim light. Phil tossed the washcloth and towel at the other man, who reached out and snatched them out of the air without seemingly opening his eyes or moving any other part of his body.
Clint was sitting up when Phil lowered himself to the edge of the bed, working the washcloth over his chest to remove the strings of white that painted it. Phil watched him, eyes locked to the way the man's hands moved. It was an unconsciously sexy act and Phil found himself wanting to see more.
"So..." Clint began, washcloth balled up in his hand.
"So?" Phil asked, unsure what they were supposed to do about this. Because that was obviously what was on the other man's mind now.
"You want me to go?"
Phil looked at him. Did he want Clint to go? He wasn't actually sure. He hadn't had an encounter like this in a long time. He wasn't sure what kind of protocol went with sleeping with someone who more or less worked for him. Okay. So sleeping with someone you worked with wasn't a good idea. Nothing good could come from it. Office romances were trouble. But this was no typical office and Phil was sure there was nothing typical about his romance, if there was one, with Barton. But he wasn't sure getting involved was a good idea.
And yet, who better to get involved with than someone who understood the job? He knew Clint got it. There was an attraction there, something that Phil suspected had been there for a good long time. Neither of them had noticed it before tonight, though. And he knew, if one of them was sent off on a mission that left them out of touch for a long time, the other wouldn't go into fits of hysteria and fear. They were both well trained. They could take care of themselves in just about any situation.
It would be great to have someone to come home to. He'd be able to talk to Clint about his job without fear of giving away secrets. They got on well, despite Clint's tendency to be smart assed. They were definitely compatible in the sex department. What did Phil have to lose by giving this a shot? He wouldn't know until he gave it a try.
Phil looked up at Barton, face unreadable. Clint sighed and rose to his feet. "I don't believe I dismissed you, Barton. We're not done here." Phil made sure to put a touch of authority in his voice.
Clint looked up at him. "Sir?" he asked, responding to that note.
Phil stared a few minutes, then smiled. "Get in bed, Barton."
Clint waited a few seconds, watching him quietly. Then a smile spread across his face and he turned back for the bed. "Sir. Yes, sir."