All these bitches crawl.
Wooow. so i had a busy little fannish night.
I drew. As I often do. And I wrote.
I haven't written anything of substance, outside of RP, in....it feels like years. I think it is.
So anyway! Here you go. A itty bitty ficlet leading into a drawing.
Title: Learning To Follow Orders.
Fandom: Marvel (Avengers)
Pairing: Steve Rogers/Clint Barton (Former Captain America/Hawkeye)
Rating: Combined Hard R
Word Count: 497
Warnings: Bootlicking.
Clint hit the ground with a muted oompf, the grit from the floor of the locker room gathering beneath his nails. He scowled and, bracing his palms against the cement, lifted himself until his elbows locked.
The hand on the back of his head stopped him. The fact that he could no longer move an inch in any upward direction was all the introduction Clint needed. “Steve, what the hell?”
A black boot appeared in his line of vision, shiny to the point of fastidiousness, paired with a vintage-style shin-brace. There was no mistaking whose foot that was, and a knot formed in Clint’s stomach as Steve spoke.
“Where is this attitude coming from?”
Clint rolled his eyes, attempting to pull back and succeeding in nothing more than losing a chunk of hair to Steve’s fingers. He yelped. “Attitude?”
“Yeah,” Steve crouched, the leather and kevlar of his new uniform creaking. Clint could smell the polish and tried to look up again, but Steve’s grip kept his eyes focused firmly on the floor. “The attitude. You’ve always had a smart mouth, Clint, but now you’re just blatantly disobeying me. If this was more than a tactics exercise, you-”
“Right, yeah, yeah...” Clint let out a frustrated groan, fingertips flexing against the cement as he cut Steve off. “I know. I’ve heard it before. ‘You could have killed someone, Barton, it’s time to straighten out.’ You sound like a stuck record, man.”
Steve didn’t reply. The silence sat on Clint’s shoulders like a rock. He was still unable to look up, still staring at the gravel and dust on the floor below him. Even when Steve shifted, straightening his legs but keeping a hand still twisted in blond hair, he didn’t give Clint an inch.
“Fine,” Steve replied, relaxing his grip a little. Clint glanced up, but his attention was just as quickly overcome by the warm, firm leather of Steve’s boot pressed against his mouth. He gave an undignified squeak and twisted, but Steve’s grip was iron again. Clint’s heart thudded against his ribcage, and he froze.
“I’m sick of using kidd gloves on you, Clint.” Steve moved his foot forward, tilting the toe down against Clint’s chin, forcing his mouth open. “No more chances. If you’re going to act like an irresponsible renegade, I’m going to treat you as such. Your first lesson is going to be in humility.”
Clint’s palms were flat against the floor and he screwed his eyes shut. He’d never given much thought to Steve’s patience wearing thin, and even less thought on what would happen were that limit ever to be reached. Apparently, he was about to find out, and when Steve used the same tone of voice that moved battalions, Clint could do no more than obey.
“Lick. Now. Maybe your mouth will get you out of trouble for once.”
Woohoo!
I drew. As I often do. And I wrote.
I haven't written anything of substance, outside of RP, in....it feels like years. I think it is.
So anyway! Here you go. A itty bitty ficlet leading into a drawing.
Title: Learning To Follow Orders.
Fandom: Marvel (Avengers)
Pairing: Steve Rogers/Clint Barton (Former Captain America/Hawkeye)
Rating: Combined Hard R
Word Count: 497
Warnings: Bootlicking.
Clint hit the ground with a muted oompf, the grit from the floor of the locker room gathering beneath his nails. He scowled and, bracing his palms against the cement, lifted himself until his elbows locked.
The hand on the back of his head stopped him. The fact that he could no longer move an inch in any upward direction was all the introduction Clint needed. “Steve, what the hell?”
A black boot appeared in his line of vision, shiny to the point of fastidiousness, paired with a vintage-style shin-brace. There was no mistaking whose foot that was, and a knot formed in Clint’s stomach as Steve spoke.
“Where is this attitude coming from?”
Clint rolled his eyes, attempting to pull back and succeeding in nothing more than losing a chunk of hair to Steve’s fingers. He yelped. “Attitude?”
“Yeah,” Steve crouched, the leather and kevlar of his new uniform creaking. Clint could smell the polish and tried to look up again, but Steve’s grip kept his eyes focused firmly on the floor. “The attitude. You’ve always had a smart mouth, Clint, but now you’re just blatantly disobeying me. If this was more than a tactics exercise, you-”
“Right, yeah, yeah...” Clint let out a frustrated groan, fingertips flexing against the cement as he cut Steve off. “I know. I’ve heard it before. ‘You could have killed someone, Barton, it’s time to straighten out.’ You sound like a stuck record, man.”
Steve didn’t reply. The silence sat on Clint’s shoulders like a rock. He was still unable to look up, still staring at the gravel and dust on the floor below him. Even when Steve shifted, straightening his legs but keeping a hand still twisted in blond hair, he didn’t give Clint an inch.
“Fine,” Steve replied, relaxing his grip a little. Clint glanced up, but his attention was just as quickly overcome by the warm, firm leather of Steve’s boot pressed against his mouth. He gave an undignified squeak and twisted, but Steve’s grip was iron again. Clint’s heart thudded against his ribcage, and he froze.
“I’m sick of using kidd gloves on you, Clint.” Steve moved his foot forward, tilting the toe down against Clint’s chin, forcing his mouth open. “No more chances. If you’re going to act like an irresponsible renegade, I’m going to treat you as such. Your first lesson is going to be in humility.”
Clint’s palms were flat against the floor and he screwed his eyes shut. He’d never given much thought to Steve’s patience wearing thin, and even less thought on what would happen were that limit ever to be reached. Apparently, he was about to find out, and when Steve used the same tone of voice that moved battalions, Clint could do no more than obey.
“Lick. Now. Maybe your mouth will get you out of trouble for once.”
Woohoo!