The Avengers (movieverse), Steve/Tony, NC-17
Title: Phil Coulson: S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent and Wing Fic Writer
Characters/Fandom: The Avengers (movieverse). Phil Coulson. Steve/Tony
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 503
Written for my Phil Coulson avengers prompt table Prompt: Hobbies
Summary: Phil writes Steve/Tony Wing Fic.
AN: Takes place in the universe as Steve Rogers and Real People Slash, but can be read as a stand alone. Also for HeartlessFreedom who wanted Steve/Tony wing fic
Phil stepped into his apartment and loosened his tie. His shoulders were tight and the stench of the slime monster hung to his suit. To say it had been a long day would be the understatement of the century. At times like this there was only one thing that would give Phil release.
Phil walked down his hallway past framed photographs of sunsets and flying bird that he had taken. He went into the room at the end of the hallway and walked over, turning on his computer. He sat down on his black leather computer chair. The chair squeaked and the armrest needed another strip of duck tape on it. Phil knew he should probably get a new chair, but he never did; he had had the chair since college.
Phil opened a new document and began to type.
Steve has always noticed people's wings. He thought it was because wings were something he never had. Becky's wings had been a light brown; the feathers were always disheveled, at least until Becky started noticing dames, then he couldn't keep hid feathers clean enough. Dr. Erskine's wings had been a light blue, one wing was crooked from a broken bone that hadn't healed right; There had to be a story behind that, but Steve never got the chance to ask. Peggy's feathers were white and delicate which was strange because delicate was a word he would never use to describe Peggy Carter.
And then there was Tony.
The first time Steve met Tony he thought Tony's feathers were just red, but now as Steve runs his hand over the feathers he can see that the color goes from deep red at the top and gets lighter and lighter until it end with yellow on the feather tips. Steve rubs his face against feathers, the smell of metal fills Steve's nose, and Tony lets out a hiss. Steve presses his naked chest against Tony's back. Tony's wings twitch, brushing feathers against Steve's bare arms.
Steve feels himself harden.
Steve's hand slid down Tony's sweat slick stomach and cups his hard cock. As Steve strokes Tony's wing beat and the moving feathers sound like a crinkling paper bag. Steve groans. Steve strokes faster and faster, Tony's litany of yes yes yes was a din in Steve's ear. As Tony came his wings shutter and Steve comes just from the feeling of air against his skin. Steve leads them over to the bed and lays down. Tony all but falls on top of him and as Steve falls asleep he lets the feel and scent of Tony's feathers surround him.
Phil looked at what he had written and saved and closed the document. He rolled his shoulders and revels in their looseness. He went to go make dinner. He thought about making chicken just for the irony of it. Sometimes he wondered what it would be like to show other people his stories, but for now he was satisfied just to write them for himself.
Characters/Fandom: The Avengers (movieverse). Phil Coulson. Steve/Tony
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 503
Written for my Phil Coulson avengers prompt table Prompt: Hobbies
Summary: Phil writes Steve/Tony Wing Fic.
AN: Takes place in the universe as Steve Rogers and Real People Slash, but can be read as a stand alone. Also for HeartlessFreedom who wanted Steve/Tony wing fic
Phil stepped into his apartment and loosened his tie. His shoulders were tight and the stench of the slime monster hung to his suit. To say it had been a long day would be the understatement of the century. At times like this there was only one thing that would give Phil release.
Phil walked down his hallway past framed photographs of sunsets and flying bird that he had taken. He went into the room at the end of the hallway and walked over, turning on his computer. He sat down on his black leather computer chair. The chair squeaked and the armrest needed another strip of duck tape on it. Phil knew he should probably get a new chair, but he never did; he had had the chair since college.
Phil opened a new document and began to type.
Steve has always noticed people's wings. He thought it was because wings were something he never had. Becky's wings had been a light brown; the feathers were always disheveled, at least until Becky started noticing dames, then he couldn't keep hid feathers clean enough. Dr. Erskine's wings had been a light blue, one wing was crooked from a broken bone that hadn't healed right; There had to be a story behind that, but Steve never got the chance to ask. Peggy's feathers were white and delicate which was strange because delicate was a word he would never use to describe Peggy Carter.
And then there was Tony.
The first time Steve met Tony he thought Tony's feathers were just red, but now as Steve runs his hand over the feathers he can see that the color goes from deep red at the top and gets lighter and lighter until it end with yellow on the feather tips. Steve rubs his face against feathers, the smell of metal fills Steve's nose, and Tony lets out a hiss. Steve presses his naked chest against Tony's back. Tony's wings twitch, brushing feathers against Steve's bare arms.
Steve feels himself harden.
Steve's hand slid down Tony's sweat slick stomach and cups his hard cock. As Steve strokes Tony's wing beat and the moving feathers sound like a crinkling paper bag. Steve groans. Steve strokes faster and faster, Tony's litany of yes yes yes was a din in Steve's ear. As Tony came his wings shutter and Steve comes just from the feeling of air against his skin. Steve leads them over to the bed and lays down. Tony all but falls on top of him and as Steve falls asleep he lets the feel and scent of Tony's feathers surround him.
Phil looked at what he had written and saved and closed the document. He rolled his shoulders and revels in their looseness. He went to go make dinner. He thought about making chicken just for the irony of it. Sometimes he wondered what it would be like to show other people his stories, but for now he was satisfied just to write them for himself.