Fic: the temple of bondage, Ch. 3
Title: the temple of bondage, Ch. 3
Summary: For the mission to go off, someone's got to top, and someone's got to bottom. Clint's got ideas as to who is who. Clint is wrong.
Fandom: Avengers
Word Count: 10098 (story)
Rating/Contents: NC-17, D/s, flogging, does sex in a gym count as public sex?
Pairing: Clint/Coulson
Policies: Read my archiving, feedback, and warnings policies here.
A/N: Dammit, okay, so there's more. And this is officially unfinished now.
Ch. 1 & 2 | Ch. 4
It's actually not that strange, locking down one of the exercise rooms and turning off the security cameras. SHIELD agents get up to all manner of activities, a whole lot of which are need-to-know, and some skills just can't be shared.
The skills Phil and Clint will be practicing today are definitely not for sharing.
"Lock," Phil says loudly. "Security camera override."
"Camera disabled, Agent Coulson," the PA says, in a jerky computer voice.
"What've you got for me today, sir?" Clint says.
"Grab me that weight bench," Phil says, and Clint drags it over. He's getting used to doing what Coulson says, even more than he was before all this started; it's been more or less nightly, since they started training for this thing, training that Clint long since realized is excessive for the mission and just right for him and Phil.
"Here's how it works," Phil explains, picking up the small rolling suitcase he's brought with him and putting it on the bench. "While we're in the field-" they've been calling it that, partially so Clint doesn't screw up and say something like, 'So, Natasha, can you water the plants while we're off on our BDSM vacation?'- "you're already going to do everything I say exactly the way I say it. That's the D/s part."
"No problems there, sir," Clint says, with a little smirk.
Phil gives him one back. "Depending on how things go, we might be there for a couple of days. There's a very strong possibility that we'll need to play to maintain cover. That's S/M." Clint has several things to say regarding that statement and Phil's ulterior motives, but he keeps his mouth shut. "Doesn't have to be hard, just has to look natural. You can't look skittish or scared."
"What if it's good scared?" Clint says, because he's not sure yet if he could get past that point.
"Good scared we can probably do," Phil tells him, unzipping the suitcase. It's just full of stuff, some of which looks familiar, a lot of which doesn't.
"Have you always had this stuff?" Clint asks.
"I've had it for a while," Phil says, and Clint gets the feeling that's the best he's going to get right now. "Find what looks interesting."
"It all looks interesting," Clint says. "Some of it also looks terrifying."
Phil gives him an amused look. "Find what looks interesting that you want me to use on you."
He steps away, and Clint looks into the suitcase. A whip is on top. not the one from the other day, one that looks older and broken in, and Clint sets that to the side; it was pretty great the last time, but there's more to explore now. There's smaller stuff on top, a doubled-over belt, some kind of strap with a forked tongue, a plastic case with a suspect-looking wheel in it. Clint's more curious about the big things at the bottom, wrapped up in cloth.
Clint lifts one, unwrapping it, and he's not quite sure what he's looking at. The only thing he can think to compare it to is a cat o' nine tails, only it's got way more tails than that, soft wider ones, maybe suede, enough that it's sort of bushy. "That's a flogger," Phil provides, before he can ask.
"What does it feel like?" Clint asks, fondling the tails.
"Turn around," Phil says, and Clint turns, holding still. Phil brings it down on his back, and it feels like- Clint doesn't have anything to compare it to, really. It feels good, a solid thump. Phil hands the flogger back to him. "There are a couple more in there, if you're interested."
Clint pulls them out one by one, unwrapping them and laying them out. There are five of them, made from a range of materials, something soft and wide all the way up to some terrifying braided thing that Clint wants nothing to do with. He picks one of them up, swinging it. "Are these bicycle inner tubes?"
"They used to be," Phil says.
Clint sets that one aside too. "You're not hitting me with tires."
Phil doesn't seem offended. "Your call."
Clint looks at the three that are left; he thinks he can probably handle those, at least for a while. "Okay," he says, before he can lose his nerve. "Let's do this."
Phil nods. "Get undressed. You can leave your underwear on if you want, but that's it." Clint takes his shirt and pants off; he thinks about it, and he pulls off his boxer briefs too, putting them on the pile. He's never been particularly body-shy, and if he doesn't do it here, there's no way he could handle it in front of a bunch of strangers and possible targets.
Phil has his stuff laid out, and he points at an exercise mat. "Take that and put it under the chin-up bar."
Clint does as he's told, looking expectantly at Phil, who walks over. He takes Clint by the back of the neck, pulling him in and kissing him, and Clint relaxes into it. He's getting used to that, lots of kisses from Phil, and it's pretty much the best. "Face the wall and put your hands around the bar. Don't move them unless I say."
Clint does; it's a pretty comfortable distance, where it's set, and it's bolted into the wall, firmly enough that Clint doesn't think he can yank it out. He's only there for a minute when Phil is back with him. He runs his hands down Clint's sides and onto his hips, holding him close while he kisses his neck. "We're going to go slow to start," Phil tells him. "I don't need much from you, but I do need you to tell me if I start to get near your spine or your kidneys. It shouldn't happen, but if it does, yellow."
"Got it, sir," Clint says.
Phil's hand sneaks around, lightly palming Clint's cock. "What would you say if I wanted to fuck you while we were playing?"
Clint grins. "Certainly wouldn't say yellow to that one, sir."
Phil makes an amused noise, grabbing a handful of Clint's hair and tugging on it it, turning him so he can bite Clint's ear. "Let's begin," Phil says, stepping back.
The first touches of the flogger on his back startle him, even though they're whisper-light; he calms down, getting his head in the game as Phil starts to hit him. It's different, definitely. The flogger swishes softly as Phil moves it, bringing it down in a regular pattern, first one side of his back, then the other, like he's making a figure eight with it.
It's kind of nice, brushing against his back like that, weirdly like he's going through a car wash. Unfortunately, it only takes a couple of minutes before Clint's pretty bored with it; he's gotten more exhilaration out of a pillow fight. He can tell Phil's swinging it pretty hard, giving it as much as he's got, but you can't use a Bic to do a blowtorch's job.
Clint flexes his hands. "Okay, you're just pissing me off with that thing."
Phil stops. "Because it's too hard, or because it's not hard enough?"
"Not enough," Clint says. "It feels like you're just fucking around, sir." He bites his lip; Phil says he likes the smart-ass thing, but Clint's still having a little bit- a lot- of trouble believing him. He can't stop thinking that he's supposed to be someone different now, someone who doesn't mouth off every five seconds.
"We can work with that," Phil says, setting the flogger down. He picks up another one, bringing it over and showing it to Clint; it looks similar, but the tails are thicker. "Let's go harder."
Clint feels himself tense, not knowing if he's just screwed up. Phil puts a hand on the back of his neck, rubbing circles with his thumb, and Clint tries to relax into it. Phil steps away, and Clint can hear the swish of the flogger as Phil tests it out. "Starting now," Phil says, and Clint braces himself; the flogger comes down, and Clint relaxes. That's more like it, heavier without being painful- that's a weird thought, that getting hit in the back with a glorified cat qualifies as 'not painful' in Clint's world now. "Better?" Phil asks.
"Yes, sir," he says. "Feels good."
"Good," Phil says, and then he hits him again, just like with the last one, back and forth, nice and smooth. This is much better, hard enough that Clint can just shut his eyes and enjoy it, the rhythm of it. Phil's hitting him in the same spots every time, right near his shoulder blades; after a little while, they start to ache, a good kind of ache, a soreness that goes deep.
It's not quite enough, though. It's taking him to a nice place, a good, mellow one, but it's not quite there, not quite where he wants to get. He's aware that he might be squirming a little; he feels like he might be screwing up again.
Phil stops, stepping forward. He puts his hand on Clint's jaw, pulling him over to kiss him. "You look worried," Phil says. "Stop worrying. We're figuring this out. It's not instantaneous or one-size-fits-all." He walks over and picks up the last flogger; it's different than the other two, square tails this time, stiffer. "Third time's the charm."
Phil walks away, and Clint puts his head down, rounding his shoulders. He doesn't get a warning this time; Phil just starts hitting him, and Clint's kind of disappointed again. Phil's barely tapping him, the tails just scratching against his skin. But then, of out nowhere, Phil hits him hard, and Clint jumps. It's rough, stinging, way more like the whip than the other floggers, and Clint moans, unable to keep it in.
"There we go," Phil says approvingly. It's faster this time, back and forth, back and forth, and it hurts really badly, like it's cutting him open, even though he knows it isn't. Clint wants to get away and he wants more; he's not quite to the point of endorphin rush, but he's getting there, he's very close. He figured he'd probably like it, but he didn't expect anything like this. He's panting, needy, and his cock is so hard that he almost can't stand it. He grips the bar so tightly that his hands hurt, arching his back for more, moving into Phil's strikes.
All of a sudden it stops; Clint makes a noise of protest, inarticulate and desperate. He was getting so close, enjoying it so much, but now there's nothing. He writhes, pleading for it, trying to show how much he needs it.
Then Phil's right behind him; he grabs Clint by his midsection and yanks him closer, flush with his own body. Clint gasps, shocked by the contact, shocked by how much it hurts to have pressure on his back. Phil's just as bad off as Clint, his hard cock rubbing against Clint's ass through his pants; he sinks his teeth into the join of Clint's neck and shoulder, and Clint whimpers loudly, his head falling back. Phil's free hand roams Clint's body, stopping to torture his nipple.
"Ask me," Phil says. "You know what you want. Ask me for it."
"Please," Clint breathes. "Please, I want more."
"Not good enough," Phil tells him, though he moves his hand, taking hold of Clint's dick and stroking it. "You can do better. Go on. Beg me for it."
"Please," Clint says again. "God, please, sir, I want- hit me again, fucking hit me, I need it so much, I want you to do it, want to do it for you, sir-"
Phil cuts him off, kissing him hard. "That's what I want to hear."
He steps away, and Clint rounds his shoulders, presenting, all but demanding it. When Phil starts again he does it hard, hard enough that Clint yells, but Clint doesn't say a word, doesn't want it to stop at all. He just wants more and more and more and then he can feel something give, something move inside him, and then he's flying, hitting the endorphins hard, totally gone.
He has no idea how long he stays like that, how long Phil keeps it up. He can hear when Phil puts down the flogger, and then Phil's hands are on him, guiding him. "I'm gonna fuck you now," Phil tells him, rough and hoarse, shoving him over something padded, pressing slick fingers into him, and it sounds like the best plan in the history of ever.
Phil puts a hand on his shoulder as he pushes inside of him, and Clint doesn't know if he's ever been fucked so hard in his entire life. It feels so good, amazing; it doesn't even matter when or if he comes, just so long as Phil keeps doing this to him, using him like this.
Phil's thrusts get ragged, desperate, unpredictable, and then he slams home, hard; Clint can feel him come, and that's so unbelievably hot that Clint kinda wants to come himself. Then Phil is pushing at his hips, rolling him over. He leans down and puts his mouth around Clint's dick, sucking him off fast and messy; "Come for me," he says, just before he goes back down, and Clint doesn't waste any time at all before doing it, his hips jerking up to meet Phil's mouth.
Then Phil is wrapping him up in a blanket, offering him a bottle of water; he drinks it quickly, some of it running down his chin, but at this point he's so covered in sweat that it hardly makes a difference. He's pretty sure that if he could feel anything right now, he'd be sore as hell- his back already hurts, even through the fog- but he could not possibly give less of a damn about that than he does right now.
"Jesus Christ, sir," he says, turning so he can rest his cheek on Phil's chest.
"I know what you mean," Phil says, still breathless. "That was amazing."
Clint looks at him. "I did okay?"
Phil shakes his head. "So much better than okay."
"I'm glad," Clint says. "Pretty sure I was screwing it up."
Phil bends down and kisses him. "I need you to stop thinking like that. You screwing up is forgetting how I take my coffee. If this gets screwed up, then it's my fault. The rules are different."
Clint shuts his eyes, smiling. "I'm starting to think you like rules."
"If you didn't too, we wouldn't be here," Phil says, running his hand through Clint's hair.
"What would you have done if I ended up playing the top?" Clint asks.
"I'd have taken it," Phil tells him, shrugging. "I'll do whatever I need to for the good of a mission. You already know that."
"I only would have been playing," Clint admits. "Whatever it is, I don't have it."
"There's a reason they call it 'play,' Clint," Phil says. "You do what you want and what makes you happy. It's not have it or don't."
"Let me rephrase that, sir," he says. "I suck at it."
"You barely got to try," Phil points out.
"Do you want me to?" Clint counters.
Phil pauses. "Well, you got me there."
"Aha," Clint says. "I don't want to try either."
"If you don't want to, then don't," Phil says. "I'm certainly not going to make you."
"Just so you know, I'm glad you didn't play along," Clint tells him.
"Why's that?"
"Oh, I don't know," Clint says. "I just get the strangest feeling I wouldn't be high on endorphins, naked, newly fucked, and in your arms."
"And all in the middle of the gym," Phil adds, pulling him closer. "What will the neighbors think?"
Clint yawns. "I sure hope the neighbors don't think anything, because I think Delancey and Jackson are sparring next door."
"Don't worry," Phil says. "If you leave walking funny, they'll think I kicked your ass."
"Little do they know," Clint says.
"Just try not to smile," Phil tells him.
Clint pulls him down to kiss him. "Not sure I can do that, sir."
"Not sure I want you to try," Phil says, grinning. Clint just laughs, kissing him again.
This entry was automagically crossposted from http://sabinetzin.dreamwidth.org/415528.html.
comments over there.
Summary: For the mission to go off, someone's got to top, and someone's got to bottom. Clint's got ideas as to who is who. Clint is wrong.
Fandom: Avengers
Word Count: 10098 (story)
Rating/Contents: NC-17, D/s, flogging, does sex in a gym count as public sex?
Pairing: Clint/Coulson
Policies: Read my archiving, feedback, and warnings policies here.
A/N: Dammit, okay, so there's more. And this is officially unfinished now.
Ch. 1 & 2 | Ch. 4
It's actually not that strange, locking down one of the exercise rooms and turning off the security cameras. SHIELD agents get up to all manner of activities, a whole lot of which are need-to-know, and some skills just can't be shared.
The skills Phil and Clint will be practicing today are definitely not for sharing.
"Lock," Phil says loudly. "Security camera override."
"Camera disabled, Agent Coulson," the PA says, in a jerky computer voice.
"What've you got for me today, sir?" Clint says.
"Grab me that weight bench," Phil says, and Clint drags it over. He's getting used to doing what Coulson says, even more than he was before all this started; it's been more or less nightly, since they started training for this thing, training that Clint long since realized is excessive for the mission and just right for him and Phil.
"Here's how it works," Phil explains, picking up the small rolling suitcase he's brought with him and putting it on the bench. "While we're in the field-" they've been calling it that, partially so Clint doesn't screw up and say something like, 'So, Natasha, can you water the plants while we're off on our BDSM vacation?'- "you're already going to do everything I say exactly the way I say it. That's the D/s part."
"No problems there, sir," Clint says, with a little smirk.
Phil gives him one back. "Depending on how things go, we might be there for a couple of days. There's a very strong possibility that we'll need to play to maintain cover. That's S/M." Clint has several things to say regarding that statement and Phil's ulterior motives, but he keeps his mouth shut. "Doesn't have to be hard, just has to look natural. You can't look skittish or scared."
"What if it's good scared?" Clint says, because he's not sure yet if he could get past that point.
"Good scared we can probably do," Phil tells him, unzipping the suitcase. It's just full of stuff, some of which looks familiar, a lot of which doesn't.
"Have you always had this stuff?" Clint asks.
"I've had it for a while," Phil says, and Clint gets the feeling that's the best he's going to get right now. "Find what looks interesting."
"It all looks interesting," Clint says. "Some of it also looks terrifying."
Phil gives him an amused look. "Find what looks interesting that you want me to use on you."
He steps away, and Clint looks into the suitcase. A whip is on top. not the one from the other day, one that looks older and broken in, and Clint sets that to the side; it was pretty great the last time, but there's more to explore now. There's smaller stuff on top, a doubled-over belt, some kind of strap with a forked tongue, a plastic case with a suspect-looking wheel in it. Clint's more curious about the big things at the bottom, wrapped up in cloth.
Clint lifts one, unwrapping it, and he's not quite sure what he's looking at. The only thing he can think to compare it to is a cat o' nine tails, only it's got way more tails than that, soft wider ones, maybe suede, enough that it's sort of bushy. "That's a flogger," Phil provides, before he can ask.
"What does it feel like?" Clint asks, fondling the tails.
"Turn around," Phil says, and Clint turns, holding still. Phil brings it down on his back, and it feels like- Clint doesn't have anything to compare it to, really. It feels good, a solid thump. Phil hands the flogger back to him. "There are a couple more in there, if you're interested."
Clint pulls them out one by one, unwrapping them and laying them out. There are five of them, made from a range of materials, something soft and wide all the way up to some terrifying braided thing that Clint wants nothing to do with. He picks one of them up, swinging it. "Are these bicycle inner tubes?"
"They used to be," Phil says.
Clint sets that one aside too. "You're not hitting me with tires."
Phil doesn't seem offended. "Your call."
Clint looks at the three that are left; he thinks he can probably handle those, at least for a while. "Okay," he says, before he can lose his nerve. "Let's do this."
Phil nods. "Get undressed. You can leave your underwear on if you want, but that's it." Clint takes his shirt and pants off; he thinks about it, and he pulls off his boxer briefs too, putting them on the pile. He's never been particularly body-shy, and if he doesn't do it here, there's no way he could handle it in front of a bunch of strangers and possible targets.
Phil has his stuff laid out, and he points at an exercise mat. "Take that and put it under the chin-up bar."
Clint does as he's told, looking expectantly at Phil, who walks over. He takes Clint by the back of the neck, pulling him in and kissing him, and Clint relaxes into it. He's getting used to that, lots of kisses from Phil, and it's pretty much the best. "Face the wall and put your hands around the bar. Don't move them unless I say."
Clint does; it's a pretty comfortable distance, where it's set, and it's bolted into the wall, firmly enough that Clint doesn't think he can yank it out. He's only there for a minute when Phil is back with him. He runs his hands down Clint's sides and onto his hips, holding him close while he kisses his neck. "We're going to go slow to start," Phil tells him. "I don't need much from you, but I do need you to tell me if I start to get near your spine or your kidneys. It shouldn't happen, but if it does, yellow."
"Got it, sir," Clint says.
Phil's hand sneaks around, lightly palming Clint's cock. "What would you say if I wanted to fuck you while we were playing?"
Clint grins. "Certainly wouldn't say yellow to that one, sir."
Phil makes an amused noise, grabbing a handful of Clint's hair and tugging on it it, turning him so he can bite Clint's ear. "Let's begin," Phil says, stepping back.
The first touches of the flogger on his back startle him, even though they're whisper-light; he calms down, getting his head in the game as Phil starts to hit him. It's different, definitely. The flogger swishes softly as Phil moves it, bringing it down in a regular pattern, first one side of his back, then the other, like he's making a figure eight with it.
It's kind of nice, brushing against his back like that, weirdly like he's going through a car wash. Unfortunately, it only takes a couple of minutes before Clint's pretty bored with it; he's gotten more exhilaration out of a pillow fight. He can tell Phil's swinging it pretty hard, giving it as much as he's got, but you can't use a Bic to do a blowtorch's job.
Clint flexes his hands. "Okay, you're just pissing me off with that thing."
Phil stops. "Because it's too hard, or because it's not hard enough?"
"Not enough," Clint says. "It feels like you're just fucking around, sir." He bites his lip; Phil says he likes the smart-ass thing, but Clint's still having a little bit- a lot- of trouble believing him. He can't stop thinking that he's supposed to be someone different now, someone who doesn't mouth off every five seconds.
"We can work with that," Phil says, setting the flogger down. He picks up another one, bringing it over and showing it to Clint; it looks similar, but the tails are thicker. "Let's go harder."
Clint feels himself tense, not knowing if he's just screwed up. Phil puts a hand on the back of his neck, rubbing circles with his thumb, and Clint tries to relax into it. Phil steps away, and Clint can hear the swish of the flogger as Phil tests it out. "Starting now," Phil says, and Clint braces himself; the flogger comes down, and Clint relaxes. That's more like it, heavier without being painful- that's a weird thought, that getting hit in the back with a glorified cat qualifies as 'not painful' in Clint's world now. "Better?" Phil asks.
"Yes, sir," he says. "Feels good."
"Good," Phil says, and then he hits him again, just like with the last one, back and forth, nice and smooth. This is much better, hard enough that Clint can just shut his eyes and enjoy it, the rhythm of it. Phil's hitting him in the same spots every time, right near his shoulder blades; after a little while, they start to ache, a good kind of ache, a soreness that goes deep.
It's not quite enough, though. It's taking him to a nice place, a good, mellow one, but it's not quite there, not quite where he wants to get. He's aware that he might be squirming a little; he feels like he might be screwing up again.
Phil stops, stepping forward. He puts his hand on Clint's jaw, pulling him over to kiss him. "You look worried," Phil says. "Stop worrying. We're figuring this out. It's not instantaneous or one-size-fits-all." He walks over and picks up the last flogger; it's different than the other two, square tails this time, stiffer. "Third time's the charm."
Phil walks away, and Clint puts his head down, rounding his shoulders. He doesn't get a warning this time; Phil just starts hitting him, and Clint's kind of disappointed again. Phil's barely tapping him, the tails just scratching against his skin. But then, of out nowhere, Phil hits him hard, and Clint jumps. It's rough, stinging, way more like the whip than the other floggers, and Clint moans, unable to keep it in.
"There we go," Phil says approvingly. It's faster this time, back and forth, back and forth, and it hurts really badly, like it's cutting him open, even though he knows it isn't. Clint wants to get away and he wants more; he's not quite to the point of endorphin rush, but he's getting there, he's very close. He figured he'd probably like it, but he didn't expect anything like this. He's panting, needy, and his cock is so hard that he almost can't stand it. He grips the bar so tightly that his hands hurt, arching his back for more, moving into Phil's strikes.
All of a sudden it stops; Clint makes a noise of protest, inarticulate and desperate. He was getting so close, enjoying it so much, but now there's nothing. He writhes, pleading for it, trying to show how much he needs it.
Then Phil's right behind him; he grabs Clint by his midsection and yanks him closer, flush with his own body. Clint gasps, shocked by the contact, shocked by how much it hurts to have pressure on his back. Phil's just as bad off as Clint, his hard cock rubbing against Clint's ass through his pants; he sinks his teeth into the join of Clint's neck and shoulder, and Clint whimpers loudly, his head falling back. Phil's free hand roams Clint's body, stopping to torture his nipple.
"Ask me," Phil says. "You know what you want. Ask me for it."
"Please," Clint breathes. "Please, I want more."
"Not good enough," Phil tells him, though he moves his hand, taking hold of Clint's dick and stroking it. "You can do better. Go on. Beg me for it."
"Please," Clint says again. "God, please, sir, I want- hit me again, fucking hit me, I need it so much, I want you to do it, want to do it for you, sir-"
Phil cuts him off, kissing him hard. "That's what I want to hear."
He steps away, and Clint rounds his shoulders, presenting, all but demanding it. When Phil starts again he does it hard, hard enough that Clint yells, but Clint doesn't say a word, doesn't want it to stop at all. He just wants more and more and more and then he can feel something give, something move inside him, and then he's flying, hitting the endorphins hard, totally gone.
He has no idea how long he stays like that, how long Phil keeps it up. He can hear when Phil puts down the flogger, and then Phil's hands are on him, guiding him. "I'm gonna fuck you now," Phil tells him, rough and hoarse, shoving him over something padded, pressing slick fingers into him, and it sounds like the best plan in the history of ever.
Phil puts a hand on his shoulder as he pushes inside of him, and Clint doesn't know if he's ever been fucked so hard in his entire life. It feels so good, amazing; it doesn't even matter when or if he comes, just so long as Phil keeps doing this to him, using him like this.
Phil's thrusts get ragged, desperate, unpredictable, and then he slams home, hard; Clint can feel him come, and that's so unbelievably hot that Clint kinda wants to come himself. Then Phil is pushing at his hips, rolling him over. He leans down and puts his mouth around Clint's dick, sucking him off fast and messy; "Come for me," he says, just before he goes back down, and Clint doesn't waste any time at all before doing it, his hips jerking up to meet Phil's mouth.
Then Phil is wrapping him up in a blanket, offering him a bottle of water; he drinks it quickly, some of it running down his chin, but at this point he's so covered in sweat that it hardly makes a difference. He's pretty sure that if he could feel anything right now, he'd be sore as hell- his back already hurts, even through the fog- but he could not possibly give less of a damn about that than he does right now.
"Jesus Christ, sir," he says, turning so he can rest his cheek on Phil's chest.
"I know what you mean," Phil says, still breathless. "That was amazing."
Clint looks at him. "I did okay?"
Phil shakes his head. "So much better than okay."
"I'm glad," Clint says. "Pretty sure I was screwing it up."
Phil bends down and kisses him. "I need you to stop thinking like that. You screwing up is forgetting how I take my coffee. If this gets screwed up, then it's my fault. The rules are different."
Clint shuts his eyes, smiling. "I'm starting to think you like rules."
"If you didn't too, we wouldn't be here," Phil says, running his hand through Clint's hair.
"What would you have done if I ended up playing the top?" Clint asks.
"I'd have taken it," Phil tells him, shrugging. "I'll do whatever I need to for the good of a mission. You already know that."
"I only would have been playing," Clint admits. "Whatever it is, I don't have it."
"There's a reason they call it 'play,' Clint," Phil says. "You do what you want and what makes you happy. It's not have it or don't."
"Let me rephrase that, sir," he says. "I suck at it."
"You barely got to try," Phil points out.
"Do you want me to?" Clint counters.
Phil pauses. "Well, you got me there."
"Aha," Clint says. "I don't want to try either."
"If you don't want to, then don't," Phil says. "I'm certainly not going to make you."
"Just so you know, I'm glad you didn't play along," Clint tells him.
"Why's that?"
"Oh, I don't know," Clint says. "I just get the strangest feeling I wouldn't be high on endorphins, naked, newly fucked, and in your arms."
"And all in the middle of the gym," Phil adds, pulling him closer. "What will the neighbors think?"
Clint yawns. "I sure hope the neighbors don't think anything, because I think Delancey and Jackson are sparring next door."
"Don't worry," Phil says. "If you leave walking funny, they'll think I kicked your ass."
"Little do they know," Clint says.
"Just try not to smile," Phil tells him.
Clint pulls him down to kiss him. "Not sure I can do that, sir."
"Not sure I want you to try," Phil says, grinning. Clint just laughs, kissing him again.
This entry was automagically crossposted from http://sabinetzin.dreamwidth.org/415528.html.
comments over there.