(The Avengers) With A View From Down Low
Title: With A View From Down Low
Fandom: The Avengers (movieverse)
Pairing: Thor/Natasha/Clint/Bruce/Tony/Steve
Rating: NC-17
Words: 1885
Timeline: Post-The Avengers
Notes: Orgy. For avengers_tables, prompt "sharing", and a prompt at capkink.
A/N: There are no specific plot spoilers for The Avengers here, but there are potential spoilers for character dynamics, so anyone wanting to remain spoiler-free may want to skip this, just to be on the safe side. Established poly-relationship.
Summary: Clint sees everything, no matter the situation, no matter how many naked bodies there may be to distract him.
Natasha’s legs are wrapped around Thor’s thigh. Her thumbnails are digging into his nipples, sweetly cruel, and he lets out a soft huff of pleased laughter and arches up into her touch. She never holds back with Thor, knows she doesn’t have to, knows she can be just as vicious as she wants in the way she touches him.
Clint isn’t sure which of them enjoys that more, Thor or Natasha herself.
Either way, it’s a real pretty sight to see them go at it.
And yeah, Clint likes to watch, but he likes to join in even more, because, seriously, who wouldn’t? He moves behind Natasha, and Thor cocks his outstretched leg so his knee is pushed up snug against Clint’s balls.
The man’s like a damn tree and Clint’s always liked climbing things.
But right now he’s focused on the curve of Natasha’s shoulder, pale and creamy, muscles flexing under the skin as she twists Thor’s nipple, fucking savage, but Thor just groans his appreciation. Clint presses a messy kiss there, wet and open-mouthed, nibbles and sucks on the skin until it starts to glow the same colour as her hair.
He gets a hand around the back of her neck, squeezes a little when she pushes back against his grip, and Thor hisses as she rakes her fingernails hard enough to leave pink streaks across his chest.
Clint smirks to himself, lets his hand slide lower, his thumb running a firm path down her spine and between the irresistible swell of her ass cheeks. Pressing against her hole, teasing at it, and she turns to look back over her shoulder, the shoulder all marked up by Clint’s teeth.
Her eyes are a little wild and Natasha’s always beautiful but like this she’s almost unreal. Look in her eyes that she sometimes gets when she’s hurting the guys who really deserve it, except it’s more frenzied, more hungry.
He wants to bury himself in her, get lost in that tight heat and the smell of her, but he can’t. Not right now. Because Clint is the team’s eyes, the one who sees everything, and he can’t turn that off, not even at a time like this.
Which means Clint’s the one to notice exactly what Tony’s up to. He sighs, watches it ruffle Natasha’s hair, and mutters, “Son of a bitch.”
Natasha and Thor respond to his tone instantly, and Clint feels them tense under and against him.
The thing is, they’ve told Tony. Repeatedly. But apparently Tony only tolerates orders on the battlefield, and even then he reserves the right to bitch endlessly about them if he doesn’t like them. Because he damn well won’t listen no matter how many times they tell him it’s a really, really, spectacularly fucking bad idea to try to wind Bruce up during sex.
And that’s exactly what the bastard’s doing. Straddling Bruce’s chest, his knees pressing down on Bruce’s shoulders to keep him pinned, reaching behind him to run these feather-soft touches over Bruce’s cock that seemed designed to test his patience.
That most definitely are testing his patience, judging by the low growl starting at the back of Bruce’s throat.
“Stark!” Natasha snaps, and Tony’s eyes flicker towards her, but he doesn’t stop, not even when Clint and Natasha begin to move as one towards him, doesn’t bother to even pretend to look contrite.
At least, not until Thor’s hand wraps solidly around his ankle, and there’s this split-second where Tony’s eyes are huge and surprised, and then he’s letting out a rather undignified yelp as he’s dragged off of Bruce and across the plush carpeting like a rag doll.
They all know there’s a million excuses and retorts and arguments already poised on Tony’s tongue, but Natasha’s there as soon as Thor dumps Tony back against the floor.
They’ve long since learned that the most efficient way to shut Tony up is for Natasha to sit on his face.
He still manages to let out a long groan as she rolls her hips down against him, though. She scrapes her fingernails over his scalp, pushing damp hair off his forehead, and his hands grasp at the meat of her thighs, knuckles turning white with the strength of his grip.
Another sight that Clint instantly wants to push his way into, wants to get his hands on them both, but the thing is that Clint isn’t the only one who likes to watch. And while Clint never has any problem with knowing when to sit back and when to jump in, Steve tends to need a push, even now, even after everything they’ve done together.
Steve had explained it to them once, or tried to. Something about creating memories, drawing pictures in his mind, tracing shadows and light and skin against skin. Wanting to see everything so he could keep it close, keep it safe, and he hadn’t actually said that he half-expected it all to disappear any moment, but they’d all heard it anyway. This touch of sadness in his eyes, and the whole team had pounced on him as one and, yeah, that’d been a good night.
The point is, Steve gets so lost in watching the moment that he sometimes forgets to participate in it. And he’s most definitely watching the moment right now, watching Tony and Natasha like turning away is a physical impossibility, which means he’s not participating at all.
It also means he misses the significant look that Clint and Thor exchange.
Thor’s lips quirk, and they don’t need any more than that. Plan made and in motion, and Clint gets down to the business of keeping Steve distracted.
He can’t actually see what Tony’s doing, but Clint knows from experience the things Tony can do with his tongue, and he can only imagine what particular trick it is that makes Natasha laugh, deep and husky, and yank at his hair. Tony makes a low noise, muffled in this way that’s just the best kind of filthy, and his hips twitch up against the air.
It’s easy enough to slide into the space between Tony’s thighs, to pin those hips down against the floor. Clint mouths at Tony’s cock, licks at the beads of pre-come as they slide down the length, making it showy for his audience. Runs a tongue over his lips, savouring the taste, knowing the muscles in his arms are flexing against Tony’s attempts to buck his hips up towards Clint’s face.
And, shit, maybe Steve isn’t the only one distracted, or maybe Clint’s just a little too into worshipping Tony’s cock. Because he doesn’t even register somebody behind him until Bruce’s hands grab his hips roughly, thumbs spreading Clint’s ass, and Clint grunts and drops his forehead to rest against Tony’s hip. Bruce is just breathing against the exposed skin there, and Clint’s already panting in anticipation.
He can still remember when Bruce preferred to watch through vid-screens from the safety of his lab. Not quite trusting himself to be a part of this, or maybe they’re just an entire team of voyeurs, but Clint’s really fucking glad Bruce has learned to be more hands-on.
Bruce’s tongue sweeps up the line of his cleft and Clint hears himself groan, rough and low.
When Bruce’s tongue pushes inside, Clint forces himself to keep his eyes open, turning his head to nuzzle a little against Tony’s cock. He locks eyes on Steve, watches Steve shiver as their gazes meet, and Steve’s mouth is just a little open, a little slack, and his pupils are fucking blown.
So caught up in what he’s watching that he doesn’t notice Thor moving towards him until it’s too late, and then Thor’s forcing Steve’s arm up behind him, toppling him forward, pushing his weight down to keep Steve pinned.
“Do you mean to stay apart from this, Captain?” Thor asks, and there’s a playful growl to his voice.
Thor manhandles them all, and seems to take great enjoyment in it, but he’s always most boisterous with Steve. Maybe because he’s the only one who can physically push Steve around. Or maybe because he knows that it makes it better for Steve.
Either way, there’s no preamble, just two of Thor’s slicked up fingers pushing into Steve’s ass, and Clint knows he isn’t the only one watching when he hears Natasha swear softly in Russian.
Steve moans for him, and there’s always something so addictively earnest about the sounds Steve makes. Especially when Thor gives him no time to adjust, just begins pumping his fingers in and out, forcing deep, gasping noises from Steve’s throat.
Bruce begins matching Thor’s pace with his tongue, and Clint has to give up on watching, just for a moment, has to close his eyes and fuck himself back against Bruce’s face.
“That’s it, Tony,” he hears Natasha purr, voice getting that edge that means she’s close, so close. “Make me come and I’ll let you watch Thor fuck Rogers until he screams.”
The noise Tony makes is guttural and desperate, and Natasha gasps instantly. Apparently there are some orders he will follow, and Clint opens his eyes again to watch as her back bends, hair curling damply against her neck, and she begins riding Tony’s tongue.
Clint’s still panting against Tony’s hip, and he leans forward, intending to swallow Tony’s cock down, open his throat to it, but Bruce pulls him back, shoves his thumb into Clint’s ass. He’s still open and slick from earlier, from Thor’s fingers, but Bruce is being just rough enough to make him feel it.
Natasha shouts something almost incomprehensible and Tony’s hips break Clint’s grip, his cock sliding against Clint’s cheek.
Bruce replaces his thumb with two fingers, licking around and between them, stretching Clint wide.
Steve’s forehead is braced against the floor, and even with how fast Thor’s hand is moving, Clint’s eyes can still track it, can see that there are three thick fingers moving inside Steve’s ass now.
It’s all so many different kinds of perfect.
Natasha rolls off of Tony, stretches out languidly, looking blissed out and content, and Clint wants to bury his face between her legs but Bruce has other ideas. He slides his fingers free, ignoring Clint’s grunt to shove him forwards, until Clint is sprawled across Natasha’s chest. She smiles up at him, sharp and happy, and when she wraps her legs around his waist, he rolls his hips, slides into her in one smooth, delicious movement.
He’s too caught up in the feel of it to see Thor push into Steve, but their groans mix together into something almost feral, something that makes the hair on his arms stand on end.
And then Bruce is behind him, pressing inside, and Natasha’s stroking his face and throat as his arms tremble with the effort of holding himself up. Turned upside-down, overwhelmed by it, almost too much, and then Natasha’s fingers are cradling his chin, turning his head. Making sure he sees when Tony grips Steve’s hair, and Steve’s mouth opens for Tony’s cock like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Yeah, fuck, take it,” Tony snarls, and Thor growls, and Clint surrenders to the feel of Natasha, slick all around him, and Bruce’s hips as they begin to move.
Fandom: The Avengers (movieverse)
Pairing: Thor/Natasha/Clint/Bruce/Tony/Steve
Rating: NC-17
Words: 1885
Timeline: Post-The Avengers
Notes: Orgy. For avengers_tables, prompt "sharing", and a prompt at capkink.
A/N: There are no specific plot spoilers for The Avengers here, but there are potential spoilers for character dynamics, so anyone wanting to remain spoiler-free may want to skip this, just to be on the safe side. Established poly-relationship.
Summary: Clint sees everything, no matter the situation, no matter how many naked bodies there may be to distract him.
Natasha’s legs are wrapped around Thor’s thigh. Her thumbnails are digging into his nipples, sweetly cruel, and he lets out a soft huff of pleased laughter and arches up into her touch. She never holds back with Thor, knows she doesn’t have to, knows she can be just as vicious as she wants in the way she touches him.
Clint isn’t sure which of them enjoys that more, Thor or Natasha herself.
Either way, it’s a real pretty sight to see them go at it.
And yeah, Clint likes to watch, but he likes to join in even more, because, seriously, who wouldn’t? He moves behind Natasha, and Thor cocks his outstretched leg so his knee is pushed up snug against Clint’s balls.
The man’s like a damn tree and Clint’s always liked climbing things.
But right now he’s focused on the curve of Natasha’s shoulder, pale and creamy, muscles flexing under the skin as she twists Thor’s nipple, fucking savage, but Thor just groans his appreciation. Clint presses a messy kiss there, wet and open-mouthed, nibbles and sucks on the skin until it starts to glow the same colour as her hair.
He gets a hand around the back of her neck, squeezes a little when she pushes back against his grip, and Thor hisses as she rakes her fingernails hard enough to leave pink streaks across his chest.
Clint smirks to himself, lets his hand slide lower, his thumb running a firm path down her spine and between the irresistible swell of her ass cheeks. Pressing against her hole, teasing at it, and she turns to look back over her shoulder, the shoulder all marked up by Clint’s teeth.
Her eyes are a little wild and Natasha’s always beautiful but like this she’s almost unreal. Look in her eyes that she sometimes gets when she’s hurting the guys who really deserve it, except it’s more frenzied, more hungry.
He wants to bury himself in her, get lost in that tight heat and the smell of her, but he can’t. Not right now. Because Clint is the team’s eyes, the one who sees everything, and he can’t turn that off, not even at a time like this.
Which means Clint’s the one to notice exactly what Tony’s up to. He sighs, watches it ruffle Natasha’s hair, and mutters, “Son of a bitch.”
Natasha and Thor respond to his tone instantly, and Clint feels them tense under and against him.
The thing is, they’ve told Tony. Repeatedly. But apparently Tony only tolerates orders on the battlefield, and even then he reserves the right to bitch endlessly about them if he doesn’t like them. Because he damn well won’t listen no matter how many times they tell him it’s a really, really, spectacularly fucking bad idea to try to wind Bruce up during sex.
And that’s exactly what the bastard’s doing. Straddling Bruce’s chest, his knees pressing down on Bruce’s shoulders to keep him pinned, reaching behind him to run these feather-soft touches over Bruce’s cock that seemed designed to test his patience.
That most definitely are testing his patience, judging by the low growl starting at the back of Bruce’s throat.
“Stark!” Natasha snaps, and Tony’s eyes flicker towards her, but he doesn’t stop, not even when Clint and Natasha begin to move as one towards him, doesn’t bother to even pretend to look contrite.
At least, not until Thor’s hand wraps solidly around his ankle, and there’s this split-second where Tony’s eyes are huge and surprised, and then he’s letting out a rather undignified yelp as he’s dragged off of Bruce and across the plush carpeting like a rag doll.
They all know there’s a million excuses and retorts and arguments already poised on Tony’s tongue, but Natasha’s there as soon as Thor dumps Tony back against the floor.
They’ve long since learned that the most efficient way to shut Tony up is for Natasha to sit on his face.
He still manages to let out a long groan as she rolls her hips down against him, though. She scrapes her fingernails over his scalp, pushing damp hair off his forehead, and his hands grasp at the meat of her thighs, knuckles turning white with the strength of his grip.
Another sight that Clint instantly wants to push his way into, wants to get his hands on them both, but the thing is that Clint isn’t the only one who likes to watch. And while Clint never has any problem with knowing when to sit back and when to jump in, Steve tends to need a push, even now, even after everything they’ve done together.
Steve had explained it to them once, or tried to. Something about creating memories, drawing pictures in his mind, tracing shadows and light and skin against skin. Wanting to see everything so he could keep it close, keep it safe, and he hadn’t actually said that he half-expected it all to disappear any moment, but they’d all heard it anyway. This touch of sadness in his eyes, and the whole team had pounced on him as one and, yeah, that’d been a good night.
The point is, Steve gets so lost in watching the moment that he sometimes forgets to participate in it. And he’s most definitely watching the moment right now, watching Tony and Natasha like turning away is a physical impossibility, which means he’s not participating at all.
It also means he misses the significant look that Clint and Thor exchange.
Thor’s lips quirk, and they don’t need any more than that. Plan made and in motion, and Clint gets down to the business of keeping Steve distracted.
He can’t actually see what Tony’s doing, but Clint knows from experience the things Tony can do with his tongue, and he can only imagine what particular trick it is that makes Natasha laugh, deep and husky, and yank at his hair. Tony makes a low noise, muffled in this way that’s just the best kind of filthy, and his hips twitch up against the air.
It’s easy enough to slide into the space between Tony’s thighs, to pin those hips down against the floor. Clint mouths at Tony’s cock, licks at the beads of pre-come as they slide down the length, making it showy for his audience. Runs a tongue over his lips, savouring the taste, knowing the muscles in his arms are flexing against Tony’s attempts to buck his hips up towards Clint’s face.
And, shit, maybe Steve isn’t the only one distracted, or maybe Clint’s just a little too into worshipping Tony’s cock. Because he doesn’t even register somebody behind him until Bruce’s hands grab his hips roughly, thumbs spreading Clint’s ass, and Clint grunts and drops his forehead to rest against Tony’s hip. Bruce is just breathing against the exposed skin there, and Clint’s already panting in anticipation.
He can still remember when Bruce preferred to watch through vid-screens from the safety of his lab. Not quite trusting himself to be a part of this, or maybe they’re just an entire team of voyeurs, but Clint’s really fucking glad Bruce has learned to be more hands-on.
Bruce’s tongue sweeps up the line of his cleft and Clint hears himself groan, rough and low.
When Bruce’s tongue pushes inside, Clint forces himself to keep his eyes open, turning his head to nuzzle a little against Tony’s cock. He locks eyes on Steve, watches Steve shiver as their gazes meet, and Steve’s mouth is just a little open, a little slack, and his pupils are fucking blown.
So caught up in what he’s watching that he doesn’t notice Thor moving towards him until it’s too late, and then Thor’s forcing Steve’s arm up behind him, toppling him forward, pushing his weight down to keep Steve pinned.
“Do you mean to stay apart from this, Captain?” Thor asks, and there’s a playful growl to his voice.
Thor manhandles them all, and seems to take great enjoyment in it, but he’s always most boisterous with Steve. Maybe because he’s the only one who can physically push Steve around. Or maybe because he knows that it makes it better for Steve.
Either way, there’s no preamble, just two of Thor’s slicked up fingers pushing into Steve’s ass, and Clint knows he isn’t the only one watching when he hears Natasha swear softly in Russian.
Steve moans for him, and there’s always something so addictively earnest about the sounds Steve makes. Especially when Thor gives him no time to adjust, just begins pumping his fingers in and out, forcing deep, gasping noises from Steve’s throat.
Bruce begins matching Thor’s pace with his tongue, and Clint has to give up on watching, just for a moment, has to close his eyes and fuck himself back against Bruce’s face.
“That’s it, Tony,” he hears Natasha purr, voice getting that edge that means she’s close, so close. “Make me come and I’ll let you watch Thor fuck Rogers until he screams.”
The noise Tony makes is guttural and desperate, and Natasha gasps instantly. Apparently there are some orders he will follow, and Clint opens his eyes again to watch as her back bends, hair curling damply against her neck, and she begins riding Tony’s tongue.
Clint’s still panting against Tony’s hip, and he leans forward, intending to swallow Tony’s cock down, open his throat to it, but Bruce pulls him back, shoves his thumb into Clint’s ass. He’s still open and slick from earlier, from Thor’s fingers, but Bruce is being just rough enough to make him feel it.
Natasha shouts something almost incomprehensible and Tony’s hips break Clint’s grip, his cock sliding against Clint’s cheek.
Bruce replaces his thumb with two fingers, licking around and between them, stretching Clint wide.
Steve’s forehead is braced against the floor, and even with how fast Thor’s hand is moving, Clint’s eyes can still track it, can see that there are three thick fingers moving inside Steve’s ass now.
It’s all so many different kinds of perfect.
Natasha rolls off of Tony, stretches out languidly, looking blissed out and content, and Clint wants to bury his face between her legs but Bruce has other ideas. He slides his fingers free, ignoring Clint’s grunt to shove him forwards, until Clint is sprawled across Natasha’s chest. She smiles up at him, sharp and happy, and when she wraps her legs around his waist, he rolls his hips, slides into her in one smooth, delicious movement.
He’s too caught up in the feel of it to see Thor push into Steve, but their groans mix together into something almost feral, something that makes the hair on his arms stand on end.
And then Bruce is behind him, pressing inside, and Natasha’s stroking his face and throat as his arms tremble with the effort of holding himself up. Turned upside-down, overwhelmed by it, almost too much, and then Natasha’s fingers are cradling his chin, turning his head. Making sure he sees when Tony grips Steve’s hair, and Steve’s mouth opens for Tony’s cock like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Yeah, fuck, take it,” Tony snarls, and Thor growls, and Clint surrenders to the feel of Natasha, slick all around him, and Bruce’s hips as they begin to move.