Work Text:
Neither of them likes being assigned apart, but Clint is being strange about this one. Clingy and moody and sometimes worryingly abject. Phil doesn’t get truly concerned until Clint slits up his ‘I Made My Dom Buy Me This’ shirt. It’s a gift from Phil, and one Clint particularly likes. Phil sighs, taking in the shredded remains of it on top of his neatly-made bed. Clint is hiding out in the tree in the backyard, and bursts into tears when Phil confronts him, sure that Phil is ashamed of him for falling back into old habits. Phil takes a deep breath, and climbs up to join Clint, pulling his sub into his arms.
“Sweetheart, I’m not mad. And I’m not ashamed of you. I’m worried about you.” He kisses the corner of Clint’s eye and rubs his back in slow circles. “I know you wouldn’t do something like this unless you were really upset. I also know that you hate talking about your feelings.”
“I really fucking do.”
“But you have to, Clint. I can’t have you ruining things instead of using your words. I know how unhappy you are when you do that.”
Clint sighs, and presses even closer. “I just have a bad feeling about this one. I had a bad feeling about fuckin’ Budapest, too. I know we’re probably both gonna die with our boots on, but it feels like now might really be the time, and I don’t wanna lose you, master.”
“You know all the guarantees I can’t make, Clint,” Phil says softly, after a long moment of holding Clint and just barely rocking him. “But when I die, I will die loving you. No matter what happens to either of us, you will always belong to me.” Clint whimpers, and pulls him into a deep and hungry kiss. Phil responds in kind, and it’s a long time before they can part long enough to climb down and go back inside. “I want to hurt you,” Phil growls, steering Clint to the bedroom. “Give me a color.”
“Green, boss, green.” Clint shivers, and stumbles across the threshold ahead of him. He strips when Phil tells him to, and stands there trembling.
They haven’t gone very far with pain. They haven’t even had a full discussion of Clint’s limits with it, but Phil knows enough for what he wants to do tonight. Clint whimpers and sobs as Phil forces him to his knees. Clint spreads his legs, the gesture automatic and helpless, and Phil digs his nails into Clint’s scalp. “Stay there.”
“Yessir,” Clint gasps. Phil takes a deep breath, and walks to the closet to get his favorite of the various floggers he owns. Phil likes a soft flogger, something that can stroke and caress before it stings. This one is smooth, sleek leather, and Clint shakes all over as Phil trails it from his tailbone to the nape of his neck.
“Like that?”
“Yes, sir,” Clint breathes.
“Good.” Phil strokes him again and again, loving the way Clint arches into the light tickle of the tips of the flogger’s tails. “Ready?” He says at last, cocking his arm back.
“Ready, master,” Clint whispers, and then cries out at the first strike, hard and loud against his back. “Oh god, Phil…” He trails off and then howls as Phil hits him again, harder. Clint has had far too many experiences with nonconsensual pain, but he loves a good flogging. Now he stretches and arches into the strikes, biting his lip and groaning deep in his chest. When Phil pauses to rest his arm and to let Clint catch his breath, Clint looks up at him with wide, dilated eyes, glassy and lost and not worried about anything but pleasing Phil. He shudders, and steps up beside Clint, guiding him to nuzzle into his thigh.
“You’re so beautiful, Clint. And you’re always such a good boy for me.” Phil slides his hand down to the back of Clint’s neck and further, rubbing his reddened skin and listening to him whimper. Clint burrows his face in against Phil, apparently not minding the slightly scratchy texture of his suit, and Phil lets him stay there for a moment before gently nudging him and telling him to get onto the bed. Clint crawls up and stretches out facedown, crossing his wrists over his head. Phil shivers and kisses the back of his neck, letting the cool silk of his tie trail over Clint’s heated skin.
“Please master, please bind me,” Clint gasps, and Phil shudders.
“Yes.” He pulls a roll of bondage tape from under the bed, and binds Clint’s wrists together and then to the headboard. Clint moans, burying his face in the pillow. Phil strokes his hair and gives him a moment before gently pulling his head back. “I’m going to go heavier now. Color?”
“Green, boss.” Clint shivers, and turns his head to peek under his arm as Phil goes to the closet for another flogger. This one is stiffer and heavier, and he gives it a few practice swings to get a feel for it again. Clint whines and hides his face again. His legs seem to spread of their own accord, and he moans and arches his back when Phil runs his hand up the inside of one thigh.
Phil smiles, and caresses Clint’s balls gently. “Should I tie your feet? Maybe put you into a spreader bar?”
Clint moans, pushing back into the touch. “Anything you want, sir. Anything.”
Phil shivers and kisses the back of Clint’s neck again, getting up and finding the bar, locking Clint into it and kissing the defenseless backs of his knees. Clint wiggles and whimpers, yelping when Phil bites him just where his ass joins his thigh. Phil chuckles, kissing and suckling gently by way of apology. Clint moans, and Phil pulls away, picking up the flogger again. He trails the hard edges of the tail tips down Clint’s back. “Ready?”
“Yes, god yes!”
Phil closes his eyes for a moment and then opens them, bringing the flogger back and then down. It shocks the skin white for a fraction of a second before a vertical red welt blooms. Clint moans and melts, stretching out to offer himself up to every blow. Phil swings faster and harder than he was intending to at first, and Clint takes it all, groaning and rutting lightly against the mattress as best he can with the bar in place. Any time Phil pauses to get a color, Clint gives him green and begs for more. By the time Phil stops, his arm and his cock both aching, Clint’s back is red all over with deeper welts here and there, and he’s thrusting helplessly, whimpering in that sweet, soft way that Phil always feels privileged to hear. He shivers and kneels behind his sub, gripping Clint’s ass and spreading him open. Clint moans and babbles something pleading that isn’t quite language, and then keens as Phil breathes warm air over his hole, tracing it with the tip of his tongue. When Phil presses inside him, Clint sobs and tries to kick, moaning, “Grrreeeeenn,” before Phil can ask him. Phil moans and devotes himself to his work, burying his face in Clint and driving him out of his mind. After a while of writhing and formless pleading, he reaches around to squeeze and stroke Clint, growling happily to feel him so wet. Clint whines sharply, and then groans as Phil grips him firmly and strokes quick and hard, just the way Clint needs to come.
“Ohh, master, I…”
“Come for me,” Phil growls, biting Clint’s cheek and making that leg twitch just once before it becomes subsumed into the system-wide shudder of Clint’s climax. Clint is a trembling, mewling mess for a long time, and Phil gets him some water and unties him, cuddling Clint in his arms.
“Master, you haven’t come yet,” Clint says, when he’s back to himself.
Phil smiles. “Not yet, I haven’t.” He corrects that at last, easing his cock out and rolling Clint onto his belly again, rocking against that reddened, bruising skin and making Clint whimper and squirm, his eyes filling with tears even as he whispers, ‘Green’ before Phil can ask if he’s all right. And then Phil is coming, groaning and rutting into the dip of Clint’s spine. It goes on for a long time, and his heart beats so hard he would be worried about it if he could care.
After Phil catches his breath and covers Clint’s neck in kisses, he cleans them both up and puts their clothes away properly. Clint shivers and crawls into bed, watching through half-open eyes as Phil finishes puttering around and finally comes to join him. “Feeling good, sweetheart?” He asks, rubbing Clint’s back and making him moan quietly.
“Yeah. I like it when you mark me up, boss. It’ll give me something to think of when it’s just me and the fuckin’ Tesseract.”
Phil keeps this in mind, and when Clint leaves for the research station a few days later, he’s covered with marks. Bruises from the first flogging and a few fresher ones, along with hard, long scratches and the deep and perfect imprints of Phil’s teeth, like a signature. That thought comforts both of them, and they could use the comfort.
“You’ll probably be back before those fade,” Phil says, giving Clint a last kiss before he gets on the plane.
“Yes, sir,” Clint says, clinging for a last moment and then turning away because he hates goodbyes.