Work Text:
Three
“Get your ass back here so I don't have to take all these SOBs out back and shoot them just to put an end to the stupid,” Fury growls down the line. “I've been patient enough about your little love fest. Barton's a big boy, he can heat up his own chicken soup and drive the remote without you holding his dick every step of the way.”
“I think I technically have another-” Phil begins.
“I don't give a fuck about how many days are left of your leave. Get. Your. Ass. Here. Now.”
The line disconnects with a beep and Phil lets his head thump against the pillow. He reaches out and strokes Clint's cheek.
“I've got to go to work,” he sighs.
“I can't believe you took a call,” Clint says, a giggle behind the words. “The romance is dead already.”
“Oh, shut up,” Phil says petulantly.
Phil's eyes are closed but he can feel Clint grinning. “You want me to put my mouth to better use? Find something to shove in there, to keep me from talking?”
“You know I – Oh!” Phil breaks off. Another little thread of precome trails from the tip of his cock to his belly as Clint sucks one of Phil's balls back into his talented mouth. He's been at it for twenty minutes and Phil's at that delicious, infuriating level of frustration where he's seriously considering turning the tables and fucking the sassy right out of Clint to their mutual satisfaction.
The only things stopping him are the doctor's orders and Fury impatiently awaiting his return.
Clint drags things out another fifteen minutes, until a single long lick from the root to the tip of Phil's cock finishes him. His come spatters Clint's cheek and lips and Clint groans like he's taken a body blow.
“Y'gotta, let me, please, on you,” Clint says, his eyes wild and black.
Phil nods, so Clint straddles Phil's waist. He strips his cock at a brutal pace, his muscles twitching and his gaze fixed on Phil's face. He hasn't wiped or licked the come off his own face. Phil's transfixed, watching a drop slip down to the point of Clint's chin as Clint grits his teeth and growls. Clint bends almost double, come spitting from his blurring fist, painting Phil's skin in white flecks. He shouts as he squeezes out every last drop.
A final full-body shiver, then Clint drops his hands into the mess, rubbing it into Phil's skin like lotion.
“Mine,” he says harshly, the wicked grin on his lips coming out a little feral. “You can shower as much as you like, but I've come all over you, and you can't wash that away. Think about that while you're sitting at your desk.”
Clint grins and slides off, padding out of the room, Phil's semen still drying on his face. A moment later, the shower starts.
Fury's face when he arrives in the office a half hour later is distinctly unimpressed.
“How the hell are you supposed to intimidate anyone when you look like that?” Fury bitches, presumably referring to Phil's well-fucked demeanour.
“Easy. I'll think about how I got called into work from bed with my new bondmate because you wanted me to crack some heads together,” Phil says.
Fury rolls his eye so hard it must hurt.
Two
Phil creeps out of bed like the highly-trained agent that he is, because being late two days in a row would mean Nick would be infuriated rather than just grumpy. He doesn't want to risk being sent to Siberia (literally) for six weeks just because he couldn't keep it together.
Clint doesn't seem to stir either when he shifts his weight off the bed or when he walks across their somewhat creaky floor. It's easier to get away clean when you know your partner's ears are switched off and lying on the edge of the dresser.
He strips quickly and gets in the hot water, trying to clear out the cobwebs ahead of his commute. He hopes it'll mean he can slip into the office like the consummate professional that he is, not like a honeymooner with nothing but sex on the brain.
He thinks he's home free until Clint squeezes in the shower in front of him and leans back until they're plastered together, Clint's back to Phil's front. He rubs a little against him like a cat and tilts his head so that he can catch Phil's gaze and smile.
That's when Phil knows he's in trouble.
Because Clint doesn't have his ears in, Clint's facing away from Phil so he's not able to see Phil's lips and he's crushed up against him, so signing isn't really an option, but none of those things mean Clint can't talk.
“Mmmm, you feel good, all hot and wet and hard,” he says, rubbing more and Phil's only human.
“You should fuck me,” Clint says again, like a record with only one track.
Phil shakes his head so Clint can feel it against his head and neck. “Two days,” he says against the skin of Clint's shoulder. He maybe bites down a little.
“I'm a great improviser,” Clint says, and reaches around. He shuffles his feet a little and then... then.
Phil trembles all over and a groan stutters out from his throat. The gap between Clint's legs is a tight firm channel and when Clint clenches the muscles in his thighs, Phil's hips twitch forward automatically. It's slick, Phil realises, which instantly gives him the mental image of Clint standing in their bedroom, lubing his thighs before jumping into the shower.
The next nudge of his hips is firmer and the head of his cock definitely bumps the skin of Clint's sac.
“That's it,” Clint croons. “I can take it, I don't need any prep,” he says. “You don't need to be gentle.”
It's intercrural, Phil knows. There's no actual penetration going on but Clint's mouth is selling him the lie and it's incendiary.
His hips snap this time and Clint slaps a hand against the tile to brace himself.
“God, yes,” Clint hisses and rocks back into it. “I fucking love wall sex, I love it so, so much, but I always get shaky at the knees long before I come, and I'm solid, there's not many people who can hold me up, make me take it, but I think you could, you could,” Clint babbles.
Phil groans again, loud enough it echoes in the tight space, and his next thrust is more like a shove with his hips. Clint's thighs are indeed trembling a little and the vibration is delicious. It's winding Phil towards an orgasm in record time.
“You like that, baby?” Clint gasps. “I can feel all the noises you're making through me, can feel every twitch of you inside me, and you're close already, aren't you? You should bite my neck, pin me against the wall, fuck me hard and listen to me scream for you. I know you want to, I know you wanna teach me a lesson, make me beg.”
Clint doesn't go sweetly or passively. He wriggles against Phil like he's trying to break away, though if he really wanted to, he could do it easily. Phil grabs Clint's wrist and presses it into the tile, then slams back forward with a force he wouldn't normally use. Clint lets out a sharp cry and his knees genuinely give a little, so Phil wraps his other arm hard around Clint's waist and holds him close, holds him up. Phil's teeth sink into the corded muscle of Clint's neck and he sets a punishing rhythm with his hips that has Clint's mouth open, wet and loud.
“Please,” he's saying, “oh, please yes, please, Phil, please, sir,” his free hand rubbing over his chest. Phil thinks for a moment through the blur that Clint is teasing his gorgeously sensitive nipples, but then, it hits him that Clint is begging in two languages at once... and that's it.
“Oh, there you go, baby, that's beautiful, you're beautiful,” Clint groans as Phil comes hard and folds down across Clint's back. Clint's hand slides down his body to where his cock's standing almost vertically but goes past it and beneath, his fingertips returning slick and glossy.
“Gonna jerk off with your come now, don't want to waste it, watch me,” he says in a rush and Phil, buzzing on endorphins and trying to breathe, looks down over Clint's shoulder just in time to see him come all over his own fist after only a half dozen strokes.
“Shit,” Clint says, his knees bowing in a big way and leaning hard against Phil for support. “Oh, shit, oh my God,” he says, a second big load of come blurting out and another full body shiver running over him. “I'm gonna,” he says, still stroking lightly, his hips jerking back away from the touch, “oh, nearly but,” a weak pulse, and Clint drops his hand away and goes limp in Phil's embrace.
“Was that twice?” Phil asks in Clint ear, knowing it'll only be a buzz of sound, indistinct. He holds up two fingers in Clint's field of vision for clarity.
“Sometimes, with a lotta prostate play, I get a double-bump, and you were rubbing just right over my asshole and my perineum. I thought maybe three, but I got too sensitive,” Clint pants. He turns and leans back against the tile, looping his arms around Phil's neck and smiling wickedly. “We should sleep for an hour and then get you actually inside me.”
“I'd love to,” Phil says honestly, “but I have to go.”
It doesn't stop him spending the next ten minutes lazily kissing the pout off Clint's face.
He rushes into his office with about a minute to spare, then spends the next two hours being absolutely useless at his job.
One
They go in to SHIELD together, Phil to work and Clint to his appointment with his physiotherapist.
An hour after they part ways with a gentle, nuzzling kiss, Clint blows into Phil's office like a hurricane. His face is thunderous and he's making a growling noise even as his hands fly too quickly for Phil to really follow. He hadn't realised just how slow and simplistic Clint had been keeping his signing until that moment.
“I can come back,” Jasper Sitwell decides and slips from the room, closing the door behind him.
Clint's pacing back and forth now, his hands still moving. Phil's not certain of the target of his rage but he knows enough to know that Clint thinks that something is bullshit.
He steps into the path of Clint's perambulations, holds his hands out flat in front of him, and pushes them down, twice. Calm down.
Clint snorts but he actually looks at Phil, stops the restless pacing, and twists his hands together in a gesture that doesn't seem to be a sign as much as biting down on his words.
Phil frowns, rubs a hand up his belly, lets it flop out flat, then touches his forehead with his fingertips and draws his hand back with the thumb and pinkie extended. Upset, why? Then drops his fingertips to draw a brief, quick line from the back of his opposite hand up his wrist. Very slow.
Clint sighs deeply, balls his hands into fists, and knocks the wrist of one arm on the back of the other a few times while shaking his head. Work no. He holds his fist up, side-on, with index finger and thumb out in an L. Behind that, his other hand moves down, his thumb, index and middle fingers extended. Three months.
It makes perfect sense. Clint's been climbing the walls more and more in a directly proportional degree to his increased mobility, decreased medication, and time. He'd been buzzing with excitement that morning, seemingly convinced he'd be sent back out in the field with nothing more than a handshake and a doctor's signature. Phil had been a little less convinced. For all that Clint was bored and restless, he still napped a lot, still favoured one leg after standing for too long, and had lost a lot of muscle tone without the constant exercise and training he seemed to have engaged in before his injury and their meeting in the hospital wing.
Bullshit! Clint signs emphatically, with another couple of signs thrown in that Phil doesn't recognise but he's sure are also obscene.
Phil rubs his knuckles over his sternum, Sorry, and cups Clint's cheek with his other hand. For a second, he thinks Clint might shove his hand away, but then he tilts his head into it, letting his eyes drop closed.
“Sorry,” he says aloud. “I'm just pissed.”
“I know,” Phil says. “You're allowed to be pissed.”
“I can start training again, at least. Some training,” he adds, his lip curling in disgust. “No more than two hours a day, with breaks to sit every ten minutes.” Bullshit, he signs again.
“Better than nothing,” Phil soothes. Then he pauses.
Three months? he signs, then hesitates. He doesn't know the signs for anal sex, penetrative sex... so he improvises.
He holds his arms up, crossed at the wrists, his fists closed, and curls his fists up and down a couple of times.
Clint actually bursts out laughing. It's an infectious series of giggles, something that unwinds the tension from his shoulders and brings merriment into his eyes.
“Seriously?” he asks, echoing Phil's sign with his eyebrows raised. Necking?
Phil shrugs, spreading his hands wide. “They don't teach,” he fingerspells F-U-C-K-I-N-G, “in ASL 101 classes,” he says and Clint laughs again.
“Depends on the class. And the teacher,” he says with a suggestive twist to his lips. His hands come to rest on Phil's hips and suddenly, there's a charge to the air.
“I get the feeling there's a story behind that, somewhere,” Phil says, narrowing his eyes slightly.
“If your door locks, maybe you can find out,” Clint says and presses in close.
“No, no, not in the office,” Phil says. “Absolutely not.”
They end up making out against the closed door until Phil is rumpled and breathless and leaking precome in his underwear. It's shockingly cold and lonely when Clint pulls away.
“Why – um, what?” Phil asks.
“Mmm,” Clint says, stealing one last kiss. He looks aroused and smug and edible. “Gonna go jerk off, then pick up my bow and head for the range. Think of me.”
He shifts Phil to the side and slips out the door without another word. Phil somehow gets back behind his desk but anything beyond that seems to be too much to manage. At least, not until his hard-on subsides.
“I know I said I'd come back, but now I'm here, I'm kinda sorry I did,” says Jasper from the doorway.
Phil clears his throat and runs a hand over his hair. “What were we discussing?”
“You have a hickey,” Jasper says, settling in the chair opposite Phil's desk. “Right there.” He points up high on his own neck below his ear. “A hickey. Like some hormonal kid who got to third base in the back of his parents' car.”
Phil decides the only reaction available is to let his head thud gently onto the file in front of him, while Jasper laughs.
Go
Clint is buzzing with satisfaction when he reappears at lunchtime. His shirt is damp and his fingertips bear long, deep parallel grooves that Phil can't help but kiss.
Clint's eyes unfocus a little. “Hey, I'm gonna get going. Pizza for dinner?” he asks, face adorably hopeful.
“Pizza's fine,” Phil says and Clint grins.
The pizza is cold by the time Phil unlocks his door. The apartment is dark, lit only by the flickering of the muted TV. Clint doesn't even stir when he approaches or when he flips the blanket down from the back of the couch to cover him.
“Goodnight,” Phil murmurs and kisses Clint's forehead lightly.
He manages to strip off his suit and flop onto the mattress before he falls asleep but it's a close thing.
An indeterminate time later, he wakes to someone nibbling on his earlobe.
“You with me, now, baby?” Clint murmurs.
“Yeah, yeah, 'm up,” Phil mumbles.
“Good, because as much as I'd like to jerk you awake some time, that's really something we need to talk about first,” Clint says. His hand wriggles under the waistband of Phil's underwear and starts stroking him fast.
“Ohhhh,” Phil says, his hands clenching into fists. “Oh, ah, ah, ah,” he pants, his hips quickly getting with the program and shifting up.
“That's it,” Clint whispers in Phil's ear. “You gotta catch up, because I'm ready, so, so ready,” he says, his voice rough. “Two minutes. Can you be ready in two minutes? I bet you can. Did you even get off earlier, after the office?”
“No,” Phil groans. “Two minutes, what?”
“One minute now. Look at the clock,” Clint says and Phil forces his eyes open to read the red digits of the alarm clock on the dresser – 11:59.
“Ohhhh,” Phil moans.
“That's right, baby,” Clint says, giving Phil's earlobe a little nip. “I set my phone alarm to vibrate at eleven. I've been awake for an hour, watching porn and working myself open.”
“Fuck,” Phil grunts, his hips bucking hard.
“That's the plan,” Clint says, his voice breathless.
“I have to,” Phil pants. “I need,” he says and untangles a hand from the sheets to try and fumble with his underwear.
Clint gives Phil a little squeeze, lets go, and swiftly tugs Phil's underwear down enough to free him completely.
“Should be,” Clint says, straddling Phil, “right about,” he grasps Phil's cock again, “now.”
The clock flicks to 12:00.
Clint lines up and lowers himself onto Phil's cock. He's incredibly slick, blood hot, and besides little flutters of his asshole and internal walls, there's no resistance.
“Oh, God, oh, God,” Phil says. He gropes out blindly and Clint seizes his hand in a tight grip.
“Every time I touched myself, every time I pictured it, I knew it'd be like this,” Clint says, rocking gently, just tiny shifts of his hips that settle and resettle Phil deep inside Clint's body. “I knew you'd fill me up completely.”
He leans forward to catch Phil's lips in a kiss and the movement's delicious. Clint kisses Phil desperately, with plunging tongue and sharp little nips.
“You wanted something,” Phil gasps between kisses and little nudges of his hips. “Our first time, you said.”
“I still want that,” Clint says.
“But?” Phil prompts.
“Want you close,” Clint says. “Want you covering every part of me. I want you fucking me through the mattress while I scratch the hell out of your back and dig my heels into your ass.”
Clint goes easy when Phil flips them, just hikes his legs up high over Phil's hips and lets out a whine when Phil sinks back inside.
“Good?” Phil asks.
“Yeah,” Clint gasps.
“You want your aids out?” Phil asks.
Clint shakes his head shortly. “Next time, now, just need, give me it.”
Phil nuzzles Clint's neck. “You going to beg for my cock?” he asks with a smile.
“Fuck me,” Clint asks, “Hard, I need it.”
Phil bites Clint's neck and Clint jumps. He soothes the bite with a lick. “Nicely,” he specifies.
“Please,” Clint whines, his hands grasping at Phil's arms and shoulders, restless.
“You feel so good,” Phil says, pushing down in one slow grind.
“Please, please, please,” Clint says. “Baby, please.”
“Like this?” Phil teases, pressing in again.
“Harder,” Clint says, wriggling. “I need it hard, Phil, give it to me, please.”
Phil snaps his hips and Clint shouts.
“Yes, yes, please, sir, please,” Clint babbles.
“It's okay, I've got you,” Phil says.
It's too easy to fall into a brutal rhythm with Clint arching up to meet him, Clint's nails leaving hot lines across his skin. Clint is never quiet, but his usually smart mouth is reduced to raw sounds rather than wicked dirty talk.
“You feel so good, take it so good,” Phil groans but he honestly doesn't know if Clint hears him. Clint's eyes are screwed shut, his limbs curled so tightly around Phil it's almost painful, and he's releasing a high cry with every thrust, like Phil is forcing it out of him. He looks transcendent, as though his own pleasure is overriding every sense.
“Every whisper, every sound, every sign,” Phil gasps, “it all led us right here. To you and me, to this moment.”
He adds a wicked twist to the next push of his hips and Clint clamps down on him like a vice as he comes all over their bellies.
“Don't stop,” Clint begs through gritted teeth while he's still spasming. “Please, don't. Hard, harder, baby, please.” His nails dig in deep as Phil buries his head in Clint's neck and chases his own completion. “You close?”
“Yeah,” Phil grunts, his rhythm starting to devolve into desperate shoves. “You? Again?”
“Mmm, yeah, nearly, nearly, oh, oh,” Clint says. “You gonna come inside me first, baby? Mark me up, make me all wet?”
Phil's orgasm hits him like a freight train and his shout leaves his throat feeling raw.
“Shit, shit,” Clint hisses. He locks an arm around Phil's waist and rubs off frantically against Phil's stomach. Phil whines through his locked teeth as Clint's rocking hips milk the last of his come from him.
Clint's second orgasm is nearly silent. His head flings back, his mouth opens wide, and his body bows right off the bed, even with Phil's dead weight on top of him.
“Gorgeous,” Phil murmurs lazily, nuzzling and petting Clint as he shakes apart and eventually goes limp.
“Fucking awesome,” Clint pants. “Rest and recharge, and then round two?”
“You'll be the death of me,” Phil moans. Clint chuckles and the vibration is just enough to cause his hips to give one last over-sensitive little twitch.
“Nope, I've got you covered,” Clint says, gently petting Phil's shoulders. “There's pizza and a dozen sports drinks in the fridge.”
“I'm going to be so late for work,” Phil complains.
Clint laughs.