[Avengers] Against The Grain
Against The Grain
Clint/Steve | R, 2014 words
Written for this prompt at avengerkink. Mm, stockings.
After the mission, Clint sits down on the back steps of the old church. He's sure he's blaspheming someone with his attire, but he doesn't really care. His body is tired but his mind is wide awake with exhilaration from a mission well done. Steve sits down next to him and pushes Clint's legs together while looking away awkwardly.
"Oh yeah," Clint says nonchalantly, like having his legs spread on the steps of an albeit abandoned church while wearing a short skirt is no big deal.
Steve's hand lingers at his thigh for a moment and then he pulls it away, still staring pointedly in the other direction. "Those stockings are too short for that skirt," Steve mumbles.
Clint looks down at his legs. Sure they are, because thigh-highs were never made to go with mini-skirts, but whatever the mission calls for, Clint is willing to go along with. Plus -- and really, he's okay with admitting it -- it had been strangely thrilling to fight in a skirt. "I know," he says, "but I totally pull it off."
Steve glances back at Clint and gives him a good looking up and down. "Yeah," he says quietly, and then, "I mean, uh like. Well." He pauses and looks at Clint who is clearly trying not to laugh, and repeats, "Yeah."
By dinner time that night, Clint still hasn't ditched the whole outfit. He's replaced the lacy top with a loose around-the-house t-shirt and gotten rid of the heels, but he hasn't removed the skirt and stockings. Most of the team finds it hilarious, and even Coulson had cracked a smile when he'd seen him earlier, but apparently Steve has issues because he refuses to look Clint's way.
Clint decides to go with the direct speech approach.
"Hey Cap," Clint says loudly across the kitchen where Steve is casually staring at the contents of the fridge and finding nothing.
"Mm?" Steve replies, continuing to stare at nothing.
Clint rolls his eyes and presses on. "Cap, look at this."
"Look at what?"
Clint leans up against the kitchen counter behind him and laughs. "You're exhausting."
Steve turns around at that but flicks back straight away.
"What is it? The skirt? I can take it off." He wriggles his eyebrows, even though Steve's not looking. He hoists himself up onto the counter and very politely keeps his legs together this time. The countertop is cold against his skin at the break between where his skirt ends and the stockings begin. He shivers involuntarily.
Steve definitely has issues.
"Cap, come on. What's up?"
Clint kind of gets it. Steve is very traditional and this is, well, not, and it probably doesn't help that Clint is still wearing half the outfit, even long after the mission is over, like he enjoys it (which is true). Clint stares at his legs and runs his hands down his thighs. The stockings are so smooth against his skin.
Steve turns around at that moment and flushes a brilliant red. "W- what are you doing?"
"Hmm, falling in love."
Steve breathes in sharply. "What?"
"With these stockings, Cap," Clint clarifies. "They feel incredible."
A myriad of emotions flicker across Steve's face, and finally he says, "Men shouldn't wear stockings."
So it's too unconventional. "Who says?" Clint asks him matter-of-factly. He drags his hands back up his thighs, humming.
Steve is left speechless at that, and Clint figures he's won this argument and maybe Steve just needs time to get used to today's bold and exiting, boundary-pushing ideas. And maybe one day he'll even discover weird and wonderful things he enjoys for himself.
"What are you doing?" Steve asks again.
Clint is confused. Didn't they just cover this?
"What are you doing," Steve repeats, quietly and mostly to himself. He scrubs a hand over his face then places both on either side of his neck. He spins around and turns the tap on at the sink, splashing water on his face and just hanging there for a while.
And Clint thinks, Oh, and finally gets it.
"Cap," he says. "Cap, come here."
Steve makes a little sound in the back of his throat but doesn't move or look around.
"Steve."
Clint watches the exaggerated rise and fall of Steve's shoulders as he takes a deep breath before turning to face Clint again. Clint pats his legs and repeats softly, "Come here."
"Mm." Steve scrunches up his face, skin still pink. He walks over hesitantly, stopping about two feet away.
Clint smiles innocently at him then reaches forward and grabs Steve's arms, tugging him in close, spreading his legs enough to pull Steve in between them. He plants Steve's hands on his thighs and then puts his own hands up on Steve's neck. Steve's skin is so hot.
"Hi," Clint says, grinning.
Steve is slightly frantic, but when he tries to pull back, Clint just wraps his legs around Steve's hips and holds him there. He knows Steve could get away at any point if he really wanted to, but Steve doesn't, and that's what counts.
"Hi," Steve says eventually, defeated.
"You like the stockings." It's not a question.
"Yes."
"Good," Clint says, and then pulls him in and kisses him.
Steve's grip on Clint's thighs fluctuates between so tight it almost hurts and so light it tickles, like he gets lost in the moment but then remembers his strength and holds back (rinse and repeat). Clint is pretty okay with any and all kinds of physical contact.
Clint digs his nails into the back of Steve's neck and kisses him harder and more eagerly. He's already half hard and right now he'd be happy fucking on the kitchen counter, appropriate place and hygiene be damned.
He pulls away to breathe, mutters, "Steve," and drops his hands to Steve's waist. Steve doesn't protest so Clint slips a hand under the waistband of Steve's pants and wraps his fingers around Steve's cock. For some reason he doesn't expect to find Steve as hard as he is, and the knowledge turns him on way more than he's prepared for. Sure he's always appreciated having Steve's face and his body to look at every day, but he'd never really thought of it this way until now. "Fuck," he says, and goes back to kissing Steve, nipping at his bottom lip and sucking Steve's tongue into his mouth.
Steve's fingers press hard into Clint's thighs, uncontrollably now, and Clint doesn't care in the slightest if he marks or bruises. Steve kisses back until his breathing turns erratic and he burries his face in Clint's neck. He bites down on Clint's shoulder and it feels so fucking good.
"Fuck me," Clint tells him.
"Not here," is Steve's reply.
It's not a no, and Clint's skin itches all over in anticipation. "Okay," he says, squeezing Steve's cock just that bit harder.
"Ah-" Steve gasps, and then breathes out, "Okay."
Clint pulls his hand out of Steve's pants and wraps both arms around Steve's neck. "Take me where you will, Captain."
Steve obliges, hands under Clint's thighs to hitch him up, and carries him like he weighs nothing, all the way to Clint's room.
Steve drops him on the bed and looks conflicted for a minute. The expression quickly fades, and he crawls onto the bed between Clint's legs, running his tongue up Clint's inner thigh, over the stockings. Clint shivers, and then Steve moves up higher to Clint's cock, which is still being held back (quite feebly) by lacey black underwear.
And it's sort of weird, the feeling of Steve's tongue over the lace, but he's not opposed to it -- rather the opposite. In fact, if Steve doesn't stop soon--
"Steve," he manages to get out. "Steve, there's- fuck- stuff in the bedside table." Clint props himself up on his elbows, and Steve looks up at him, and god, of course only Steve could manage to pull off embarrassment and confidence at the same time.
Steve crawls over him and reaches out for the top drawer, and it's at that point Clint really gets that Steve is just not a virgin. Clint makes a mental note to tell Tony he owes Natasha and himself money.
While Steve is fishing through the drawer, Clint sits up to pull his shirt over his head, and then lies down again, lifting his hips up off the bed enough to slide the underwear down and toss it aside. The stockings and skirt -- well they can stay.
Steve crawls back, eyes dark and fingers slick, and Clint bends his knees, pulling his legs up closer to his body, allowing Steve room. When Steve pushes the first finger in, he licks up Clint's chest, and Clint bites down so hard on his bottom lip he tastes blood. "Fuck," Clint says. Steve is still wearing entirely too much clothing, but Clint can't reach anyway, let alone bring himself to try and move right now.
Steve, however, is apparently a mind reader as well as a super soldier, because he pulls away from Clint for a moment to take his shirt off, and returns with two fingers, then three.
"Fuck," Clint says again, over and over, wincing at first but loving it. He takes deep breaths, forcing his body to relax as he pulls Steve down so he can kiss him again.
Steve's fingers loosen him up slowly but surely -- it's been, uh, quite a while, Clint realises -- and when Clint is relaxed enough, Steve pulls back, shoves his trousers and boxers down over his hips and rolls on a condom. "Yes?" he asks Clint, tentative.
"Ugh, yes," Clint replies. "Hurry up."
When Steve pushes in, Clints swears colourfully and almost comes, body shaking. He kisses Steve sloppily, hands on Steve's sides, simply feeling too much to comprehend or care about technique. Steve kisses back just as messily, trying to find a good rhythm, while Clint's cock rubs up against his stomach.
Steve has his hands all over Clint's legs as he thrusts into him - the backs of his thighs, up behind his knees. Steve breaks away from the kiss, forehead resting against Clint's, and says, "You even shaved your legs, didn't you."
Clint laughs suddenly at that and grins. "Couldn't pull off stockings otherwise."
"F- fuck, Clint."
Clint raises an eyebrow, gasps out, "Ah- fuck- Christ-" as Steve changes his angle slightly, then adds, "You really like the stockings."
Steve's eyes are squeezed shut. "I really like them on you," he admits, apparently forgetting himself for a moment, because then he's saying, "Oh boy," and hiding his face in Clint's shoulder again.
Clint directs Steve's face back up to his, and says, "It's okay, I really like them on me too."
His eyes lock onto Clint's and he looks like he has something more to say, but then he doesn't. He continues to thrust into Clint, rhythm faltering, and Clint's vision goes white for a few seconds.
"Steve, I can't--" is as far as Clint gets.
"So don't," Steve says, bringing their lips together as Clint comes all over their stomachs, tightening around Steve's cock and crying out more expletives than Steve has heard in his life.
It's not long after that Steve comes himself, nails pulling ladders in Clint's stockings and scratching angry red lines across his thighs. His breath hitches and he calls out Clint's name and then all his muscles go limp.
"Man," Steve exhales, letting all his weight down on Clint while he recovers his energy.
Clint sort of loves the extra pressure. "God, I know."
"Let's not talk about him right now," Steve says, and Clint is confused for a moment, then bursts out laughing.
"My bad," he says. "But it's sort of because of him that we're here," Clint says, mock higher meaning in his voice.
"Oh please don't--"
"If he hadn't been around, then I never would have sat down at that church, and you would never have awkwardly touched my leg."
Steve cringes. "You noticed that?"
Clint just stretches his lips into a smile.
"Oh God," Steve says.
Clint nods sagely. "Yup."
Clint/Steve | R, 2014 words
Written for this prompt at avengerkink. Mm, stockings.
After the mission, Clint sits down on the back steps of the old church. He's sure he's blaspheming someone with his attire, but he doesn't really care. His body is tired but his mind is wide awake with exhilaration from a mission well done. Steve sits down next to him and pushes Clint's legs together while looking away awkwardly.
"Oh yeah," Clint says nonchalantly, like having his legs spread on the steps of an albeit abandoned church while wearing a short skirt is no big deal.
Steve's hand lingers at his thigh for a moment and then he pulls it away, still staring pointedly in the other direction. "Those stockings are too short for that skirt," Steve mumbles.
Clint looks down at his legs. Sure they are, because thigh-highs were never made to go with mini-skirts, but whatever the mission calls for, Clint is willing to go along with. Plus -- and really, he's okay with admitting it -- it had been strangely thrilling to fight in a skirt. "I know," he says, "but I totally pull it off."
Steve glances back at Clint and gives him a good looking up and down. "Yeah," he says quietly, and then, "I mean, uh like. Well." He pauses and looks at Clint who is clearly trying not to laugh, and repeats, "Yeah."
By dinner time that night, Clint still hasn't ditched the whole outfit. He's replaced the lacy top with a loose around-the-house t-shirt and gotten rid of the heels, but he hasn't removed the skirt and stockings. Most of the team finds it hilarious, and even Coulson had cracked a smile when he'd seen him earlier, but apparently Steve has issues because he refuses to look Clint's way.
Clint decides to go with the direct speech approach.
"Hey Cap," Clint says loudly across the kitchen where Steve is casually staring at the contents of the fridge and finding nothing.
"Mm?" Steve replies, continuing to stare at nothing.
Clint rolls his eyes and presses on. "Cap, look at this."
"Look at what?"
Clint leans up against the kitchen counter behind him and laughs. "You're exhausting."
Steve turns around at that but flicks back straight away.
"What is it? The skirt? I can take it off." He wriggles his eyebrows, even though Steve's not looking. He hoists himself up onto the counter and very politely keeps his legs together this time. The countertop is cold against his skin at the break between where his skirt ends and the stockings begin. He shivers involuntarily.
Steve definitely has issues.
"Cap, come on. What's up?"
Clint kind of gets it. Steve is very traditional and this is, well, not, and it probably doesn't help that Clint is still wearing half the outfit, even long after the mission is over, like he enjoys it (which is true). Clint stares at his legs and runs his hands down his thighs. The stockings are so smooth against his skin.
Steve turns around at that moment and flushes a brilliant red. "W- what are you doing?"
"Hmm, falling in love."
Steve breathes in sharply. "What?"
"With these stockings, Cap," Clint clarifies. "They feel incredible."
A myriad of emotions flicker across Steve's face, and finally he says, "Men shouldn't wear stockings."
So it's too unconventional. "Who says?" Clint asks him matter-of-factly. He drags his hands back up his thighs, humming.
Steve is left speechless at that, and Clint figures he's won this argument and maybe Steve just needs time to get used to today's bold and exiting, boundary-pushing ideas. And maybe one day he'll even discover weird and wonderful things he enjoys for himself.
"What are you doing?" Steve asks again.
Clint is confused. Didn't they just cover this?
"What are you doing," Steve repeats, quietly and mostly to himself. He scrubs a hand over his face then places both on either side of his neck. He spins around and turns the tap on at the sink, splashing water on his face and just hanging there for a while.
And Clint thinks, Oh, and finally gets it.
"Cap," he says. "Cap, come here."
Steve makes a little sound in the back of his throat but doesn't move or look around.
"Steve."
Clint watches the exaggerated rise and fall of Steve's shoulders as he takes a deep breath before turning to face Clint again. Clint pats his legs and repeats softly, "Come here."
"Mm." Steve scrunches up his face, skin still pink. He walks over hesitantly, stopping about two feet away.
Clint smiles innocently at him then reaches forward and grabs Steve's arms, tugging him in close, spreading his legs enough to pull Steve in between them. He plants Steve's hands on his thighs and then puts his own hands up on Steve's neck. Steve's skin is so hot.
"Hi," Clint says, grinning.
Steve is slightly frantic, but when he tries to pull back, Clint just wraps his legs around Steve's hips and holds him there. He knows Steve could get away at any point if he really wanted to, but Steve doesn't, and that's what counts.
"Hi," Steve says eventually, defeated.
"You like the stockings." It's not a question.
"Yes."
"Good," Clint says, and then pulls him in and kisses him.
Steve's grip on Clint's thighs fluctuates between so tight it almost hurts and so light it tickles, like he gets lost in the moment but then remembers his strength and holds back (rinse and repeat). Clint is pretty okay with any and all kinds of physical contact.
Clint digs his nails into the back of Steve's neck and kisses him harder and more eagerly. He's already half hard and right now he'd be happy fucking on the kitchen counter, appropriate place and hygiene be damned.
He pulls away to breathe, mutters, "Steve," and drops his hands to Steve's waist. Steve doesn't protest so Clint slips a hand under the waistband of Steve's pants and wraps his fingers around Steve's cock. For some reason he doesn't expect to find Steve as hard as he is, and the knowledge turns him on way more than he's prepared for. Sure he's always appreciated having Steve's face and his body to look at every day, but he'd never really thought of it this way until now. "Fuck," he says, and goes back to kissing Steve, nipping at his bottom lip and sucking Steve's tongue into his mouth.
Steve's fingers press hard into Clint's thighs, uncontrollably now, and Clint doesn't care in the slightest if he marks or bruises. Steve kisses back until his breathing turns erratic and he burries his face in Clint's neck. He bites down on Clint's shoulder and it feels so fucking good.
"Fuck me," Clint tells him.
"Not here," is Steve's reply.
It's not a no, and Clint's skin itches all over in anticipation. "Okay," he says, squeezing Steve's cock just that bit harder.
"Ah-" Steve gasps, and then breathes out, "Okay."
Clint pulls his hand out of Steve's pants and wraps both arms around Steve's neck. "Take me where you will, Captain."
Steve obliges, hands under Clint's thighs to hitch him up, and carries him like he weighs nothing, all the way to Clint's room.
Steve drops him on the bed and looks conflicted for a minute. The expression quickly fades, and he crawls onto the bed between Clint's legs, running his tongue up Clint's inner thigh, over the stockings. Clint shivers, and then Steve moves up higher to Clint's cock, which is still being held back (quite feebly) by lacey black underwear.
And it's sort of weird, the feeling of Steve's tongue over the lace, but he's not opposed to it -- rather the opposite. In fact, if Steve doesn't stop soon--
"Steve," he manages to get out. "Steve, there's- fuck- stuff in the bedside table." Clint props himself up on his elbows, and Steve looks up at him, and god, of course only Steve could manage to pull off embarrassment and confidence at the same time.
Steve crawls over him and reaches out for the top drawer, and it's at that point Clint really gets that Steve is just not a virgin. Clint makes a mental note to tell Tony he owes Natasha and himself money.
While Steve is fishing through the drawer, Clint sits up to pull his shirt over his head, and then lies down again, lifting his hips up off the bed enough to slide the underwear down and toss it aside. The stockings and skirt -- well they can stay.
Steve crawls back, eyes dark and fingers slick, and Clint bends his knees, pulling his legs up closer to his body, allowing Steve room. When Steve pushes the first finger in, he licks up Clint's chest, and Clint bites down so hard on his bottom lip he tastes blood. "Fuck," Clint says. Steve is still wearing entirely too much clothing, but Clint can't reach anyway, let alone bring himself to try and move right now.
Steve, however, is apparently a mind reader as well as a super soldier, because he pulls away from Clint for a moment to take his shirt off, and returns with two fingers, then three.
"Fuck," Clint says again, over and over, wincing at first but loving it. He takes deep breaths, forcing his body to relax as he pulls Steve down so he can kiss him again.
Steve's fingers loosen him up slowly but surely -- it's been, uh, quite a while, Clint realises -- and when Clint is relaxed enough, Steve pulls back, shoves his trousers and boxers down over his hips and rolls on a condom. "Yes?" he asks Clint, tentative.
"Ugh, yes," Clint replies. "Hurry up."
When Steve pushes in, Clints swears colourfully and almost comes, body shaking. He kisses Steve sloppily, hands on Steve's sides, simply feeling too much to comprehend or care about technique. Steve kisses back just as messily, trying to find a good rhythm, while Clint's cock rubs up against his stomach.
Steve has his hands all over Clint's legs as he thrusts into him - the backs of his thighs, up behind his knees. Steve breaks away from the kiss, forehead resting against Clint's, and says, "You even shaved your legs, didn't you."
Clint laughs suddenly at that and grins. "Couldn't pull off stockings otherwise."
"F- fuck, Clint."
Clint raises an eyebrow, gasps out, "Ah- fuck- Christ-" as Steve changes his angle slightly, then adds, "You really like the stockings."
Steve's eyes are squeezed shut. "I really like them on you," he admits, apparently forgetting himself for a moment, because then he's saying, "Oh boy," and hiding his face in Clint's shoulder again.
Clint directs Steve's face back up to his, and says, "It's okay, I really like them on me too."
His eyes lock onto Clint's and he looks like he has something more to say, but then he doesn't. He continues to thrust into Clint, rhythm faltering, and Clint's vision goes white for a few seconds.
"Steve, I can't--" is as far as Clint gets.
"So don't," Steve says, bringing their lips together as Clint comes all over their stomachs, tightening around Steve's cock and crying out more expletives than Steve has heard in his life.
It's not long after that Steve comes himself, nails pulling ladders in Clint's stockings and scratching angry red lines across his thighs. His breath hitches and he calls out Clint's name and then all his muscles go limp.
"Man," Steve exhales, letting all his weight down on Clint while he recovers his energy.
Clint sort of loves the extra pressure. "God, I know."
"Let's not talk about him right now," Steve says, and Clint is confused for a moment, then bursts out laughing.
"My bad," he says. "But it's sort of because of him that we're here," Clint says, mock higher meaning in his voice.
"Oh please don't--"
"If he hadn't been around, then I never would have sat down at that church, and you would never have awkwardly touched my leg."
Steve cringes. "You noticed that?"
Clint just stretches his lips into a smile.
"Oh God," Steve says.
Clint nods sagely. "Yup."