Fic: Anchor Point, chapter 1 [Avengers]
Title: Anchor Point
Fandon: The Avengers (2012)
Pairing: Clint/Coulson
Rating: NC17 [teh sex]
Summary: Six nights in one bed.
A/N: Yet another installment in the Line of Sight series, because that is where I live now, apparently.
The taste of Clint’s skin was like water in a drought, the sudden fall of rain at the edge of an endless desert. Phil could have given up coffee, alcohol, milk, pop, every drop of any liquid that had ever passed his lips, and be content to drink nothing but this, to swallow from no cup but the hollow of Clint’s throat for the rest of his life.
His tongue tasted like blueberries and root beer, and Phil thought suddenly of highschool, of a nervous boy with braces and unruly brown hair. He remembered sneaking away after baseball practice to make-out behind the right field fence, groping awkwardly on the ground because he didn’t know what to do with his hands.
Phil eased Clint’s t-shirt over his head, and Clint stripped the undershirt impatiently off of him. Bare skin pressed together at last, and Clint shuddered in his arms with a sigh.
“Wanted to do this for so long,” Clint murmured into Phil’s neck, the words a whisper of warm breath.
“I know,” Phil said. “Believe me, I know.”
It had been practice, all of it. Every boyfriend and lover, every fumbling kiss and flush of pleasure, was all in preparation for this, for Clint, for the promise of something so much better.
They fell back on the bed, and Phil trailed open kisses across Clint’s broad chest.
“Thought about it. About you,” Clint said. “Dreamed about you fucking me. I’d wake up hard and have to get off.” His fingers dragged across Phil’s scalp. “I’d touch myself and think about sucking your cock.”
A surge of heat raced up Phil’s spine, and he had to pause, panting against Clint’s stomach. It seemed as if everything had been so slow for so long, and now they were racing toward a precipice that Phil barely understood.
“Do you want to know what I want?” he asked, lifting his head, and Clint’s eyes were on him, wide and dark.
“Yes,” Clint said instantly. “God, yes. Anything. Whatever you want.”
Phil gave him a deep, lingering kiss, licking into his mouth. “I want you to touch me,” he whispered in Clint’s ear. “Touch me the way you touch yourself. Show me.”
Clint shivered and reached immediately for Phil’s trousers, thumbing open his belt and fly with impressive speed. Phil kept sucking slow kisses down the side of his neck until Clint shoved down his pants and grabbed roughly for his cock. Phil gasped and gripped his arm. “Whoah, okay. Maybe, um, maybe a little slower?”
Clint froze and let go, hands dropping to his sides. “I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I didn’t mean to. I... I’m sorry.”
“Don’t. It’s okay,” Phil soothed, kissing him softly. “We’ve got all night.”
Clint huffed. “Well, now you’ve jinxed it. Phone’s gonna ring any second.”
“No it won’t,” Phil assured him. “Barring an immediate threat to global security, we have the night off, per the director’s orders.”
“Wait, Fury knows we’re together? Doing....” He gestured vaguely between them. “...this? Okay, that’s it, mood gone.”
Phil smiled and kissed him again, and he really could spend the rest of his life doing nothing but kissing Clint. “I think I can do something about that.”
He pulled back from the bed and stood, toeing off his shoes and socks and letting his shorts and trousers fall. Clint raised his head and watched as Phil stepped out of the pile and kicked it away, his wide eyes roving hungrily over Phil’s body in a way that once again brought Phil’s mind to youth and the awkward, driving need of first nights.
All those nights, all those firsts, all that need were nothing to the thrill of being looked at like this, being looked at by Clint.
He knelt and eased the boots off of Clint’s feat, stood and bent to reach the waistband of his jeans. Meeting Clint’s eye, he paused and asked, “Okay?”
Clint nodded, licking his lips, and the sight of his tongue, his wet mouth, and his flushed skin sent a hot shiver through Phil’s belly. He pulled open the jeans and worked them slowly down, savoring the scrape of rough denim on soft flesh. Clint lifted his hips to ease the slide, and his hot, hard cock slipped free, springing up to slap against his stomach.
No underwear. Of course he didn’t wear underwear, and now Phil would have that to think about when he was avoiding paperwork.
The jeans were tossed aside, and Clint pulled himself back to lay against the pillow. Phil took a moment to appreciate the unparallelled view of Clint Barton sprawled naked and willing in his bed, all smooth muscle and blue eyes and thick cock.
Clint shifted, and the muscles in his stomach rippled. “Feeling a little exposed here, sir,” he said lightly, his eyes uncertain and searching.
That was the moment Phil knew he was lost.
“Just thinking,” he said, crawling onto the bed to lay over Clint.
Clint grinned. “‘Bout how sexy I am?”
“About how lucky I am.” He pressed a gentle, chaste kiss to Clint’s lips. “About how much I want every day to end exactly like this.”
“Oh.” Clint blinked. “Oh, well, I mean, I’m not planning on going anywhere.” Phil raised a brow, and Clint rolled his eyes. “In a general sense. I will eventually need to get out of this bed.”
Phil hummed. “Then I guess I should make the most of the situation.” He rolled his hips, and Clint arched up against him, gasping. “Touch me,” he said, and Clint reached for him without hesitation.
Clint’s fingers were rough and strong around his cock, and Phil hardened immediately at the touch. The rhythm started slow, just the steady drag of a dry palm, like Clint was trying to pull the pleasure out of him inch by inch.
“Lube?” Clint asked, breathless.
Phil reached for the nightstand and scrambled in the drawer. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d used it. March, maybe? He was pretty sure there was a condom in his wallet, if things got that far. Pretty sure. He found the half-empty tube, at last, and shook his head, laughing.
“What? What’s so funny?”
“I planned for everything,” Phil said. “That whole ridiculous date. That stupid restaurant.” He braced himself up on his elbows and looked into Clint’s eyes. “Do you know I even had a script for surreptitiously asking you to spend the night?”
Clint laughed. “You’re kidding.”
“I made notes.” He’d burned the notes, obviously, but he had, in fact, made them. “And never, at any point in all those preparations, did it occur to me to make sure that I had lube and condoms.”
Clint’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding.”
“I do have them,” Phil said quickly. “I just suppose I could have planned better.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Clint groaned, snatching the lube out of Phil’s hand. “Give me that. We’re not gonna get anywhere, at this rate.”
Phil chuckled, but the laugh broke off in his throat when Clint’s hand returned to his cock, now cold and slick. “Jesus Christ,” he gasped.
“Asshole,” Clint muttered, and Phil bit his ear. “Ow!”
“Talk to me,” Phil told him. “You said you thought about me when you touch yourself. What do you think about?”
There was a pause, and Phil thought maybe he’d gone too far, pressed too much. Then Clint said softly, “I think about your hands, what they’d feel like.” His own hand tightened around Phil and struck a smooth, steady pace. “I think about you touching me all over. I think about your fingers in my mouth.”
It was a tantalizing notion, but Phil wanted Clint’s mouth moving and unoccupied, for now. He reached instead for Clint’s free hand and sucked the fingers into his own mouth, swirling his tongue around Clint’s knuckles and nipping at the callused pads. There was a catch in Clint’s breath, and Phil smiled.
“I think about your fingers inside me,” Clint went on, his voice quiet and raw. “I think about you fucking me with them, spreading me out, getting me ready. You go real slow, just a little bit at a time, getting me stretched just right, and I know it’s ‘cause you don’t wanna hurt me.” The hand on Phil’s cock quickened its pace, keeping time with the rhythm of Clint’s words. “But it takes so fucking long, it’s driving me crazy. I just want your cock in me, but you just keep going, keep pushing me open ‘til I can’t take it any more.”
Phil groaned around Clint’s fingers. He was close, so close he could taste it in the back of his throat, and Clint’s hand on him was a scorching, torturous thing.
He slipped the fingers from his mouth and pressed a kiss to Clint’s palm. “Keep going,” he begged. “Please. Please, tell me more.”
“That’s, uh, that’s usually as far as I get,” Clint admitted, his rhythm slowing. “By then, I’m pretty much ready to go, so I just finish up.”
Even in his fantasies, Clint never got what he wanted, and Phil was bound and determined to see that change. “So tell me what you want.” He reached between them and caught Clint’s cock in a grip with his own. His fingers and Clint’s slid over and around each other, and Clint gave a low moan, biting his lip as they stroked their cocks together in rhythm.
“Want this,” Clint breathed. “Just like this.”
“What else?” Phil pressed, his own breath coming shorter. “Do you want me to fuck you?”
Clint gave a whine in his throat. “Yes. Jesus, fuck, yes.”
“How?”
“Like this, on my back. Wanna see you, see that you’re the one taking me apart,” he said. “And I want it slow. I’ll yell at you, tell you to get a fucking move on, but you won’t listen. You’ll make me feel every inch of your cock, make me scream for it. And I’ll still be so tight, even after all that, it’ll take forever.”
That was a dream, Phil thought. He didn’t believe he was capable of that much restraint, not with Clint open and ready and wanting. Even now, he was sure he could hardly hold back the rising tide much longer.
“Then what?” he asked. “Once I’m inside you, once I know you can take it, how do you want me to fuck you?”
“Hard,” Clint answered, his eyes half lidded and dazed, lips parted. “So slow and so hard. All the way out and one hard push back in.” He punctuated the thought with a squeeze of his hand that made Phil see stars. “I want you to pound me like a fucking railroad spike. I wanna feel like I’m being split in two, and there’s nothing but you to hold me together.” He was gasping, panting, and Phil could barely hear over the rush of blood in his ears. “I want you to tear me apart and put me back together as a different person.”
“No,” Phil said desperately, his lips pressed to the corner of Clint’s mouth. “No, no, no. Nothing different. No one else. Just you. Only you.”
Clint caught him in a kiss, hot and wet and full of need, and that finished him. Phil came with a shout, spilling onto Clint’s chest and stomach. Every thought and feeling emptied out of his head, leaving behind a perfect haze of satisfaction and... something else, something deeper, something better.
He lifted his head and met Clint’s eyes, so deep and so blue, and that something else swelled in his chest. His fingers were slick, now, and he curled them around Clint’s cock, stroking quick and sure along the hard, throbbing length.
Clint came without a sound, just a sharp breath and a shudder, his eyes locked on Phil’s, and his face in that moment was the most sublime thing Phil had ever seen.
He collapsed onto the bed, his arm slung over Clint’s chest, surrounded by the scent of skin and sex and Clint. “Oh my god.”
Clint breathed in deep and shifted Phil’s arm around him. They were pressed naked together, spent and sweating, and somehow that slight slide of flesh was more perfect and intimate than any of it.
“Is this our first date or our third?” Clint asked suddenly. “Or our fourth?”
“Colombia doesn’t count,” Phil replied. “And the first two only count for half.”
“So it’s the second.” He rolled to his side, hooking an arm around Phil’s waste. “So this only makes me kind of a slut.”
“Makes me kind of one, too,” Phil said. His pulse was slowing to a steady beat, all the better since his heart was pressed to Clint’s. “I suppose together we make one whole slut.”
Clint laughed and kissed him, and Phil really could do nothing but this for the rest of his life.
Fandon: The Avengers (2012)
Pairing: Clint/Coulson
Rating: NC17 [teh sex]
Summary: Six nights in one bed.
A/N: Yet another installment in the Line of Sight series, because that is where I live now, apparently.
The taste of Clint’s skin was like water in a drought, the sudden fall of rain at the edge of an endless desert. Phil could have given up coffee, alcohol, milk, pop, every drop of any liquid that had ever passed his lips, and be content to drink nothing but this, to swallow from no cup but the hollow of Clint’s throat for the rest of his life.
His tongue tasted like blueberries and root beer, and Phil thought suddenly of highschool, of a nervous boy with braces and unruly brown hair. He remembered sneaking away after baseball practice to make-out behind the right field fence, groping awkwardly on the ground because he didn’t know what to do with his hands.
Phil eased Clint’s t-shirt over his head, and Clint stripped the undershirt impatiently off of him. Bare skin pressed together at last, and Clint shuddered in his arms with a sigh.
“Wanted to do this for so long,” Clint murmured into Phil’s neck, the words a whisper of warm breath.
“I know,” Phil said. “Believe me, I know.”
It had been practice, all of it. Every boyfriend and lover, every fumbling kiss and flush of pleasure, was all in preparation for this, for Clint, for the promise of something so much better.
They fell back on the bed, and Phil trailed open kisses across Clint’s broad chest.
“Thought about it. About you,” Clint said. “Dreamed about you fucking me. I’d wake up hard and have to get off.” His fingers dragged across Phil’s scalp. “I’d touch myself and think about sucking your cock.”
A surge of heat raced up Phil’s spine, and he had to pause, panting against Clint’s stomach. It seemed as if everything had been so slow for so long, and now they were racing toward a precipice that Phil barely understood.
“Do you want to know what I want?” he asked, lifting his head, and Clint’s eyes were on him, wide and dark.
“Yes,” Clint said instantly. “God, yes. Anything. Whatever you want.”
Phil gave him a deep, lingering kiss, licking into his mouth. “I want you to touch me,” he whispered in Clint’s ear. “Touch me the way you touch yourself. Show me.”
Clint shivered and reached immediately for Phil’s trousers, thumbing open his belt and fly with impressive speed. Phil kept sucking slow kisses down the side of his neck until Clint shoved down his pants and grabbed roughly for his cock. Phil gasped and gripped his arm. “Whoah, okay. Maybe, um, maybe a little slower?”
Clint froze and let go, hands dropping to his sides. “I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I didn’t mean to. I... I’m sorry.”
“Don’t. It’s okay,” Phil soothed, kissing him softly. “We’ve got all night.”
Clint huffed. “Well, now you’ve jinxed it. Phone’s gonna ring any second.”
“No it won’t,” Phil assured him. “Barring an immediate threat to global security, we have the night off, per the director’s orders.”
“Wait, Fury knows we’re together? Doing....” He gestured vaguely between them. “...this? Okay, that’s it, mood gone.”
Phil smiled and kissed him again, and he really could spend the rest of his life doing nothing but kissing Clint. “I think I can do something about that.”
He pulled back from the bed and stood, toeing off his shoes and socks and letting his shorts and trousers fall. Clint raised his head and watched as Phil stepped out of the pile and kicked it away, his wide eyes roving hungrily over Phil’s body in a way that once again brought Phil’s mind to youth and the awkward, driving need of first nights.
All those nights, all those firsts, all that need were nothing to the thrill of being looked at like this, being looked at by Clint.
He knelt and eased the boots off of Clint’s feat, stood and bent to reach the waistband of his jeans. Meeting Clint’s eye, he paused and asked, “Okay?”
Clint nodded, licking his lips, and the sight of his tongue, his wet mouth, and his flushed skin sent a hot shiver through Phil’s belly. He pulled open the jeans and worked them slowly down, savoring the scrape of rough denim on soft flesh. Clint lifted his hips to ease the slide, and his hot, hard cock slipped free, springing up to slap against his stomach.
No underwear. Of course he didn’t wear underwear, and now Phil would have that to think about when he was avoiding paperwork.
The jeans were tossed aside, and Clint pulled himself back to lay against the pillow. Phil took a moment to appreciate the unparallelled view of Clint Barton sprawled naked and willing in his bed, all smooth muscle and blue eyes and thick cock.
Clint shifted, and the muscles in his stomach rippled. “Feeling a little exposed here, sir,” he said lightly, his eyes uncertain and searching.
That was the moment Phil knew he was lost.
“Just thinking,” he said, crawling onto the bed to lay over Clint.
Clint grinned. “‘Bout how sexy I am?”
“About how lucky I am.” He pressed a gentle, chaste kiss to Clint’s lips. “About how much I want every day to end exactly like this.”
“Oh.” Clint blinked. “Oh, well, I mean, I’m not planning on going anywhere.” Phil raised a brow, and Clint rolled his eyes. “In a general sense. I will eventually need to get out of this bed.”
Phil hummed. “Then I guess I should make the most of the situation.” He rolled his hips, and Clint arched up against him, gasping. “Touch me,” he said, and Clint reached for him without hesitation.
Clint’s fingers were rough and strong around his cock, and Phil hardened immediately at the touch. The rhythm started slow, just the steady drag of a dry palm, like Clint was trying to pull the pleasure out of him inch by inch.
“Lube?” Clint asked, breathless.
Phil reached for the nightstand and scrambled in the drawer. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d used it. March, maybe? He was pretty sure there was a condom in his wallet, if things got that far. Pretty sure. He found the half-empty tube, at last, and shook his head, laughing.
“What? What’s so funny?”
“I planned for everything,” Phil said. “That whole ridiculous date. That stupid restaurant.” He braced himself up on his elbows and looked into Clint’s eyes. “Do you know I even had a script for surreptitiously asking you to spend the night?”
Clint laughed. “You’re kidding.”
“I made notes.” He’d burned the notes, obviously, but he had, in fact, made them. “And never, at any point in all those preparations, did it occur to me to make sure that I had lube and condoms.”
Clint’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding.”
“I do have them,” Phil said quickly. “I just suppose I could have planned better.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Clint groaned, snatching the lube out of Phil’s hand. “Give me that. We’re not gonna get anywhere, at this rate.”
Phil chuckled, but the laugh broke off in his throat when Clint’s hand returned to his cock, now cold and slick. “Jesus Christ,” he gasped.
“Asshole,” Clint muttered, and Phil bit his ear. “Ow!”
“Talk to me,” Phil told him. “You said you thought about me when you touch yourself. What do you think about?”
There was a pause, and Phil thought maybe he’d gone too far, pressed too much. Then Clint said softly, “I think about your hands, what they’d feel like.” His own hand tightened around Phil and struck a smooth, steady pace. “I think about you touching me all over. I think about your fingers in my mouth.”
It was a tantalizing notion, but Phil wanted Clint’s mouth moving and unoccupied, for now. He reached instead for Clint’s free hand and sucked the fingers into his own mouth, swirling his tongue around Clint’s knuckles and nipping at the callused pads. There was a catch in Clint’s breath, and Phil smiled.
“I think about your fingers inside me,” Clint went on, his voice quiet and raw. “I think about you fucking me with them, spreading me out, getting me ready. You go real slow, just a little bit at a time, getting me stretched just right, and I know it’s ‘cause you don’t wanna hurt me.” The hand on Phil’s cock quickened its pace, keeping time with the rhythm of Clint’s words. “But it takes so fucking long, it’s driving me crazy. I just want your cock in me, but you just keep going, keep pushing me open ‘til I can’t take it any more.”
Phil groaned around Clint’s fingers. He was close, so close he could taste it in the back of his throat, and Clint’s hand on him was a scorching, torturous thing.
He slipped the fingers from his mouth and pressed a kiss to Clint’s palm. “Keep going,” he begged. “Please. Please, tell me more.”
“That’s, uh, that’s usually as far as I get,” Clint admitted, his rhythm slowing. “By then, I’m pretty much ready to go, so I just finish up.”
Even in his fantasies, Clint never got what he wanted, and Phil was bound and determined to see that change. “So tell me what you want.” He reached between them and caught Clint’s cock in a grip with his own. His fingers and Clint’s slid over and around each other, and Clint gave a low moan, biting his lip as they stroked their cocks together in rhythm.
“Want this,” Clint breathed. “Just like this.”
“What else?” Phil pressed, his own breath coming shorter. “Do you want me to fuck you?”
Clint gave a whine in his throat. “Yes. Jesus, fuck, yes.”
“How?”
“Like this, on my back. Wanna see you, see that you’re the one taking me apart,” he said. “And I want it slow. I’ll yell at you, tell you to get a fucking move on, but you won’t listen. You’ll make me feel every inch of your cock, make me scream for it. And I’ll still be so tight, even after all that, it’ll take forever.”
That was a dream, Phil thought. He didn’t believe he was capable of that much restraint, not with Clint open and ready and wanting. Even now, he was sure he could hardly hold back the rising tide much longer.
“Then what?” he asked. “Once I’m inside you, once I know you can take it, how do you want me to fuck you?”
“Hard,” Clint answered, his eyes half lidded and dazed, lips parted. “So slow and so hard. All the way out and one hard push back in.” He punctuated the thought with a squeeze of his hand that made Phil see stars. “I want you to pound me like a fucking railroad spike. I wanna feel like I’m being split in two, and there’s nothing but you to hold me together.” He was gasping, panting, and Phil could barely hear over the rush of blood in his ears. “I want you to tear me apart and put me back together as a different person.”
“No,” Phil said desperately, his lips pressed to the corner of Clint’s mouth. “No, no, no. Nothing different. No one else. Just you. Only you.”
Clint caught him in a kiss, hot and wet and full of need, and that finished him. Phil came with a shout, spilling onto Clint’s chest and stomach. Every thought and feeling emptied out of his head, leaving behind a perfect haze of satisfaction and... something else, something deeper, something better.
He lifted his head and met Clint’s eyes, so deep and so blue, and that something else swelled in his chest. His fingers were slick, now, and he curled them around Clint’s cock, stroking quick and sure along the hard, throbbing length.
Clint came without a sound, just a sharp breath and a shudder, his eyes locked on Phil’s, and his face in that moment was the most sublime thing Phil had ever seen.
He collapsed onto the bed, his arm slung over Clint’s chest, surrounded by the scent of skin and sex and Clint. “Oh my god.”
Clint breathed in deep and shifted Phil’s arm around him. They were pressed naked together, spent and sweating, and somehow that slight slide of flesh was more perfect and intimate than any of it.
“Is this our first date or our third?” Clint asked suddenly. “Or our fourth?”
“Colombia doesn’t count,” Phil replied. “And the first two only count for half.”
“So it’s the second.” He rolled to his side, hooking an arm around Phil’s waste. “So this only makes me kind of a slut.”
“Makes me kind of one, too,” Phil said. His pulse was slowing to a steady beat, all the better since his heart was pressed to Clint’s. “I suppose together we make one whole slut.”
Clint laughed and kissed him, and Phil really could do nothing but this for the rest of his life.