Fic: Sharp (Avengers, Clint/Pietro, NC-17)
Title: Sharp
Pairing: Clint Barton/Pietro Maximoff
Rating: NC-17
Prompt: Written for Porn Battle X. Clint/Pietro, lines.
Warnings: M/M sex, anal
Disclaimer: I do not own anything recognizable in this. Marvel does. I do not make any money from this.
Author's Note: This is pure PWP, folks. But its for Porn Battle, so... that is as it should be. LOL
He was all angles-sharp ones at that-the lines of his body were just more clearly cut than other people. It was the first thing Clint noticed and he spent more time than he’d ever admit trying to figure out why. Higher metabolism, genetics… no, not genetics. He’d ruled that one out already. Wanda didn’t have that sharp feel to her. It almost felt like the life he’d lived; the things Pietro had done made him harder, sharper… like it was a defense or something.
“For fuck’s sake, Barton!” the speedster’s fingers tightened in his hair and he couldn’t stop himself from grinning against the pale flesh of Pietro’s chest. No patience either. That always made things way more fun. “Get on with it!”
Clint kept smiling as he tried not to fall into any sort of predictable rhythm. He kissed, licked, sucked, stroked every inch of skin he could reach as his slick fingers worked in and out of Pietro’s body; trying to push away at least some of the tension that was always threaded through him; always pulling every muscle tight and rigid, adding more angles and straight lines where things should be soft and curved. Clint started muttering against Pietro’s throat, instinct telling him to move up and kiss the other man, but experience and reason telling him that never got a good reaction. “If you’d just relax a little, this wouldn’t take so long.”
Pietro opened his mouth to reply with some devastatingly cold comment or high and mighty attitude, but before even he could get the words out, Clint gave into his instincts, claiming those surprisingly soft lips. Why that should still surprise him, he couldn’t figure out; not that he gave it much thought at any other time. “Just….” Finally Pietro’s control wavered. “Just do it, already…” there was another word hanging unspoken at the end of the demand. But it was too soft, it wouldn’t actually come out. Besides, in all the time they’d been doing this Pietro had never said ‘please’.
Clint rolled his eyes up to stare at Pietro as he sucked hard on a nipple. He groaned; throwing his head back as the flush on his skin darkened. That was it… no more foreplay. If he waited any longer, Clint was fairly sure he’d embarrass himself all over the bedding. He let out a long suffering sigh as he pulled his fingers free. “Are you going to relax?” He wasn’t expecting an answer, and he really didn’t need one.
Pietro simply let his eyes flutter open and watched as Clint slicked himself up. Pietro sat up and leaned in to press against him. With more bites than kisses, Pietro worked his way up Clint’s chest and throat until he could whisper to him. Clint fought not to shiver. “Fuck me, Barton. Stop mincing around and do it.”
With speed that anyone else on the planet would have found impressive, Clint pinned Pietro back onto the mattress, claiming his lips again, if for no other reason than to stop the flow of words. He presses against Pietro for a moment-the only warning he’d give-before working deep into him.
That’s when things changed. Every time they did this, everything shifted as soon as Clint was inside him. Lines blurred, angles softened and as that last rigid bit of arrogance melted in the speedster; as he started to move with Clint, begging quietly for more, all thoughts of sharpness Clint had left dissolved into making the man beneath him whimper, plead… or, barring that he just tried to get that moment of complete surrender from Pietro and make him come harder than he managed the last time.
When Clint changed his angle, lifting Pietro’s hips a little higher, he got his wish. Pietro cried out, eyes squeezed shut as he fought to find his precious control again. Pleas of harder and more and faster-he always wants it faster- fell from his lips and there was a refusal for each and every plea. No need to rush, no need to give in too quickly. That’s what Clint always told himself. Make it last… never know if it’ll happen again, even if it always does.
Pietro’s hips snapped up and he nearly growled. “Barton… for… just-god, fuck me!” Fingers dug into Clint’s flesh; raked across his back a moment later and Pietro started stroking himself in double time to each of Clint’s thrusts.
Clint’s voice filled Pietro’s senses a moment later. “Come on. Come for me. I wanna hear you. I want you to scream my name. I wanna feel your body grip my cock til I come up your ass.” Pietro groaned and his strokes over his cock sped considerably. “Come on, Maximoff, show me what you got.”
The perfect broken line, the one that never failed to break Clint’s resolve to take things slow was always the perfect bowing of Pietro’s spine as he came. Heat splashed against his stomach and Clint’s as he screamed out his release. His both trembled and tightened around Clint, begging silently for the archer to fall over the edge with him. It only took a few more thrusts and Pietro’s mouth pressing against the pressure point on his wrist for him to finally give in.
A handful of long deep breaths later, Pietro was pushing Clint off of him. Clint chuckled out a comment on speedy recoveries that got him a look that would stop most people in their tracks in return. “Surprised you aren’t demanding round two yet.” Clint smirked.
“I do have some self control, Barton. And you aren’t quite as irresistible as you seem to think you are.”
Clint resisted the urge to frown. The angles, the straight lines were back. That was the thing about playing with sharp things; it was so easy to get hurt. “You don’t say no often enough for me to think otherwise.” His smirk morphed a little when it caught Pietro staring. He almost let to become a real smile.
That was the other thing about playing sharp things. Sometimes it was worth the little moments of pain. Sometimes, when the lines blurred, it didn’t even really hurt.
Pairing: Clint Barton/Pietro Maximoff
Rating: NC-17
Prompt: Written for Porn Battle X. Clint/Pietro, lines.
Warnings: M/M sex, anal
Disclaimer: I do not own anything recognizable in this. Marvel does. I do not make any money from this.
Author's Note: This is pure PWP, folks. But its for Porn Battle, so... that is as it should be. LOL
He was all angles-sharp ones at that-the lines of his body were just more clearly cut than other people. It was the first thing Clint noticed and he spent more time than he’d ever admit trying to figure out why. Higher metabolism, genetics… no, not genetics. He’d ruled that one out already. Wanda didn’t have that sharp feel to her. It almost felt like the life he’d lived; the things Pietro had done made him harder, sharper… like it was a defense or something.
“For fuck’s sake, Barton!” the speedster’s fingers tightened in his hair and he couldn’t stop himself from grinning against the pale flesh of Pietro’s chest. No patience either. That always made things way more fun. “Get on with it!”
Clint kept smiling as he tried not to fall into any sort of predictable rhythm. He kissed, licked, sucked, stroked every inch of skin he could reach as his slick fingers worked in and out of Pietro’s body; trying to push away at least some of the tension that was always threaded through him; always pulling every muscle tight and rigid, adding more angles and straight lines where things should be soft and curved. Clint started muttering against Pietro’s throat, instinct telling him to move up and kiss the other man, but experience and reason telling him that never got a good reaction. “If you’d just relax a little, this wouldn’t take so long.”
Pietro opened his mouth to reply with some devastatingly cold comment or high and mighty attitude, but before even he could get the words out, Clint gave into his instincts, claiming those surprisingly soft lips. Why that should still surprise him, he couldn’t figure out; not that he gave it much thought at any other time. “Just….” Finally Pietro’s control wavered. “Just do it, already…” there was another word hanging unspoken at the end of the demand. But it was too soft, it wouldn’t actually come out. Besides, in all the time they’d been doing this Pietro had never said ‘please’.
Clint rolled his eyes up to stare at Pietro as he sucked hard on a nipple. He groaned; throwing his head back as the flush on his skin darkened. That was it… no more foreplay. If he waited any longer, Clint was fairly sure he’d embarrass himself all over the bedding. He let out a long suffering sigh as he pulled his fingers free. “Are you going to relax?” He wasn’t expecting an answer, and he really didn’t need one.
Pietro simply let his eyes flutter open and watched as Clint slicked himself up. Pietro sat up and leaned in to press against him. With more bites than kisses, Pietro worked his way up Clint’s chest and throat until he could whisper to him. Clint fought not to shiver. “Fuck me, Barton. Stop mincing around and do it.”
With speed that anyone else on the planet would have found impressive, Clint pinned Pietro back onto the mattress, claiming his lips again, if for no other reason than to stop the flow of words. He presses against Pietro for a moment-the only warning he’d give-before working deep into him.
That’s when things changed. Every time they did this, everything shifted as soon as Clint was inside him. Lines blurred, angles softened and as that last rigid bit of arrogance melted in the speedster; as he started to move with Clint, begging quietly for more, all thoughts of sharpness Clint had left dissolved into making the man beneath him whimper, plead… or, barring that he just tried to get that moment of complete surrender from Pietro and make him come harder than he managed the last time.
When Clint changed his angle, lifting Pietro’s hips a little higher, he got his wish. Pietro cried out, eyes squeezed shut as he fought to find his precious control again. Pleas of harder and more and faster-he always wants it faster- fell from his lips and there was a refusal for each and every plea. No need to rush, no need to give in too quickly. That’s what Clint always told himself. Make it last… never know if it’ll happen again, even if it always does.
Pietro’s hips snapped up and he nearly growled. “Barton… for… just-god, fuck me!” Fingers dug into Clint’s flesh; raked across his back a moment later and Pietro started stroking himself in double time to each of Clint’s thrusts.
Clint’s voice filled Pietro’s senses a moment later. “Come on. Come for me. I wanna hear you. I want you to scream my name. I wanna feel your body grip my cock til I come up your ass.” Pietro groaned and his strokes over his cock sped considerably. “Come on, Maximoff, show me what you got.”
The perfect broken line, the one that never failed to break Clint’s resolve to take things slow was always the perfect bowing of Pietro’s spine as he came. Heat splashed against his stomach and Clint’s as he screamed out his release. His both trembled and tightened around Clint, begging silently for the archer to fall over the edge with him. It only took a few more thrusts and Pietro’s mouth pressing against the pressure point on his wrist for him to finally give in.
A handful of long deep breaths later, Pietro was pushing Clint off of him. Clint chuckled out a comment on speedy recoveries that got him a look that would stop most people in their tracks in return. “Surprised you aren’t demanding round two yet.” Clint smirked.
“I do have some self control, Barton. And you aren’t quite as irresistible as you seem to think you are.”
Clint resisted the urge to frown. The angles, the straight lines were back. That was the thing about playing with sharp things; it was so easy to get hurt. “You don’t say no often enough for me to think otherwise.” His smirk morphed a little when it caught Pietro staring. He almost let to become a real smile.
That was the other thing about playing sharp things. Sometimes it was worth the little moments of pain. Sometimes, when the lines blurred, it didn’t even really hurt.