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Another magical opponent, another time Clint gets screwed.
This time, it’s because their enemy is none too pleased when Clint almost gets an arrow in his protected perimeter. He casts a spell on Clint, and the whole team sees the flash hit him, knocking Clint to the ground.
When they reach him, they’re all worried, saying, “Clint! Clint! Can you hear me, Clint? Are you okay, Clint?”, and Clint appears to be convulsing every time they do.
Finally, he gasps out, “Stop saying my name.”
When they see that Clint is not apparently in great danger, it takes them all a minute to register what the magician’s curse actually was.
The bastards all smirk at him. Except for the Hulk, who suddenly looks like he thinks Clint’s pants are… icky.
Thor chuckles loudly. “How delightful!” he exclaims.
Clint decides that he doesn’t care about how ‘culturally insensitive’ it is; if Thor wanted to fucking stay on earth, he should be ashamed of bodily secretions like everybody else.
-----
They won the battle eventually, bringing in some magical help.
No casualties.
As for Clint’s new condition, everyone thought it was funny. And as far as magical revenge went, it was hardly the worst they’ve seen. Medical wasn’t sure if it would go away naturally or if they would have to find a solution, but they assured the Avengers that they were researching it. They had figured out during the battle that hearing “Clint” set off an involuntary orgasm but hearing “Barton” wouldn’t, when Coulson said over the comms, “Agent Barton, report on your condition immediately,” and so Fury said that they should just use Barton’s last name for the time being and continue on with business as usual;
The problem was, Clint was living in the Tower with rest of the Avengers. Which meant he was living with Tony. And Thor. And all the other jackasses on his team.
Tony had made up a song. It was the alphabet song, but instead of every letter, he just said “Clint.”
He taught Thor the song too.
And Clint got back at them, of course, shooting arrows into their prized possessions, and tripping Tony and shoving Thor off the building. He wasn’t going to go just cry in the corner about it. But there was no deterrent that worked on them. They were just too gleeful at getting to make Clint come on command. In public, in private, once at a press conference. Soon, the others were getting into it too, calling his name out at random times just to see him cream.
And it’s not like Clint was going to go to them, heart splayed, and tell them that multiple orgasms within seconds is physically excruciating and he really didn’t think he could take it any more. He kept a stoic face – but then it wasn’t the first time he acted like he didn’t give a shit about torture, like he could take anything anyone could dish. And it wasn’t the first time that he figured out that taking pain from people is sometimes just what it takes if you want to stay.
But even without the pain… there was the humiliation. Admitting that you’re humiliated is itself pretty humiliating, and it’s not like he could say to his new team, “Hey, dudes, you’re totally hurting my feelings,” because, well, maybe some people can say things like that, but definitely not Clint. So he had taken to trying to spend as much time alone as possible and pretending that nothing bothered him. That he thought it was funny, too.
Which made him in all the worse mood when he got called in for a meeting with Coulson. The last thing – the very last thing – he could take is to hear Phil say his name, to see Phil smirk as Clint came in his pants.
It didn’t quite happen like that.
He came in and sat down across from Coulson.
“Thanks for being here, Agent Barton.” Clint noticed that this was a change from the usual greeting of “Thanks for coming.”
Coulson continued, “Look, I know your situation right now is a bit awkward to discuss, but it’s also a medical issue. They’re still working on a fix, but for now, they – uh – they’ve mentioned that you might want to take it easy on the, um, listening to people say your name.”
“Well, that’s not something that’s really in my control,” Clint said, and he hated the way his voice sounded. Brittle. Fragile. Angry. Showing everything.
Coulson frowned. “There’s no leak, is there? No one in the public knows.”
Clint shook his head.
“The other Avengers then.”
Clint didn’t confirm or deny, just looked away, jaw tensed.
A line of annoyance, or something worse, creased Coulson’s forehead. “We’re going to take steps to address this issue,” he said in a perfectly pleasant voice.
The thing about Coulson was, he was both really good and really bad at institution-speak. Because at most large bureaucracies, that phrase meant, “We will forget about your complaint until you bug us again and we email you a form.” Coulson, when he said this, usually meant “I will personally take care of this in a very permanent way.”
Unfortunately, Clint didn’t believe for one second that there was anything could be done about his team. SHIELD told them to act like mature, considerate adults at every briefing and it hadn’t worked once yet.
-----
Coulson visited the Tower when Clint was at the practice range. When Clint returned, everyone just gave him a polite nod.
Every time they saw him, they said, “Hey, Barton.”
No one sang the not-alphabet song.
Even Tony, when he would accidentally say “Cli--” would trail off, looking terrified, and pretend he was intending to say something else -- “Clicky Box” or “Clive Owen” or "climate change," or on one memorable occasion, “clitoral stimulation.”
Clint was impressed. He wasn’t sure how Coulson did it, but he knew it took more than a mere death threat to stop Tony Stark from having fun.
And so finally – finally – Clint was able to relax in his new home without wondering if his team was going to force him into having a series of dry, painful orgasms.
The next time he saw Coulson he said, simply, “Thanks.”
Coulson shrugged it off and said, “I’m here to give you what you need.”
-----
What Clint needed was apparently more complicated that scaring the hell out of the rest of his team.
And there was still no progress from medical.
He didn’t know who to ask. He could go out and pick up a random hookup, but now that he could basically be made completely vulnerable by anyone who knows his name, he didn’t want to risk it.
And obviously after what happened before, he didn’t want to ask anyone on his team.
And this, of course, was his life, was the only set of connections he had. People he worked with and strangers.
There was no one else he could ask. The least bad option was… Coulson.
And so after a month, he showed up in Coulson’s office.
“What can I do for you, Agent Barton?”
This was going to get awkward.
“I, uh, I uh really appreciate your help with my issue.”
Coulson nodded and waited for the rest.
“It’s just um… since they’ve finally stopped - which is a huge relief by the way – I’ve, um, discovered something new about the spell.”
“We should take this to medical,” Coulson said.
“No. It’s not, it’s just…”
Coulson’s voice became a little softer. “Whatever it is….”
Clint took a deep breath. “I have one whenever someone says my name. But the other part of the spell is, apparently, that… I can’t have one without someone saying my name.”
Coulson let that sink in for a moment. “So you…”
“Haven’t been able to… de-stress in a long time,” Clint said, willing himself not to turn red.
“What if you said your own name?” Coulson asked.
“DO YOU THINK I WOULD BE HERE IF IT WORKED WHEN I SAID MY OWN FUCKING NAME!? I mean… sorry. Sorry. But seriously, I’m not an idiot.”
Coulson looked apologetic. “That does sound unfortunate, Barton. Perhaps one of your teammates?”
“The last thing I want to do is let them start saying it again, after the way it was. And… I don’t really want to tell them about this new thing. Kind of an extra level of horrible.”
Coulson leaned back, seeming to consider that Clint was telling him and him alone. “What exactly are you asking me for, Barton?”
Clint gave him a look. Please don’t make me ask out loud. Please spare me at least that.
Coulson looked a little concerned. Leave it to Phil to take an orgasm as a serious responsibility.
“You won’t regret that we did this later?” he asked Clint.
“The spell made me lose control of my dick, not my mind. Medical says that, not just me.”
“And you’re sure.”
“A month, Coulson. Please.”
Coulson sighed. He didn’t look entirely happy with the situation, which felt like a gutshot to Clint. He hadn’t realized that he was hoping for a much more positive response.
But Coulson was there for his agents when they needed him. He smiled kindly and said, “You look really nice today, Clint.”
-----
Every week or so, Clint would go in to see Coulson for ‘help.’ Every time, Clint would leave right after, muttering ‘thanks’ without looking at Coulson. It was fast but not painful and not even all that enjoyable, but at least it was a release.
Still no fucking help from medical.
Clint tried not to read too much into it. Coulson was doing his job, Anything it took for SHIELD, right?
And yet. It was never just Clint’s name. It was never a song or something mocking. It was always something like “I like those leather pants. They really work for you, Clint,” or “That was a good point you made at the meeting, Clint,” or “Stop by if you ever need to talk, Clint.”
It was, if he were being totally honest with himself, starting to mess with Clint’s head.
The first hint he got that Coulson might be having the exact same problem was when Coulson starting making small talk about baseball instead of saying Clint’s name.
Even though he knew that Clint didn’t give a shit about baseball.
Clint nodded politely until finally he burst out, “Am I missing something here?” Because he was starting to feel like he was being mocked.
Coulson leaned back in his chair and raised his eyebrow. Finally he looked Clint in the eye and said, in a tone that managed to be both aggressive and kind, “I thought we could make it a little less clinical. Usually, when I order someone to come at the sound of my voice alone, we’ve at least had dinner first.”
Clint stared for a moment.
“Oh,” was his brilliant response.
Coulson continued, more casually, “But if you’re not intere--”
“I’m – I mean, what did you want to – what were you thinking?”
Coulson measured him carefully. “Only if you want to. But if you like, we can start slow. Maybe you could … work yourself up to it.”
“I don’t need to get ready, it just happens when you say it.”
“Is it better or worse if you… do what you would normally do?”
“When I jack off? I don’t know, I haven’t been able to jack off since the spell. I mean I get – excited – but I can’t… finish. So I just stopped.”
“Do you want to try it here?” Coulson asked delicately.
“In front of you?” Not yet. “Not particularly.”
“Oh. Sorry. I mean--”
“No,” Clint said, before Coulson could think it was a rejection. “I mean, it’s kind of embarrassing. Maybe if you, you know, turned around….”
Coulson gave him an appraising glance. “Sure.”
Coulson turned in his office chair and faced the back of the office while Clint jacked himself off. Clint wondered if Coulson knew that he was thinking of him. (Who was he kidding? Coulson, somehow, always knew.)
When he couldn’t stand the wait any more, Clint panted, voice ragged, “Okay.”
Coulson, his back still turned, said, “I love the look on your face when you come, Clint.”
-----
It seemed like forever since Clint felt pleasure – that spark of ecstasy that was more than just a release. But what he and Coulson were doing, it was working.
The next time, Coulson asked if he could talk dirty while Barton jacked off. He promised, like last time, not to look.
That … went well. To say the least. Clint was actually pretty surprised that Coulson had even heard of some of the things he said. More specifically, the many, varied, rather creative sounding things that Coulson said he wanted to do to Clint’s body.
He listened in disbelief as Coulson kept talking, kept saying that he wanted Clint, that he wanted all of him. And then, finally, when Clint had worked himself into a frenzy at the sound of Coulson’s voice: “I can’t wait to see how pretty you are when you beg, Clint.”
-----
It continued. They started having coffee before, talking to each other, and Clint wasn’t sure if that made it more weird or less weird. But it was nice.
After a while, it seemed silly to make Coulson turn around, and so he mentioned that it might be all right if this time Coulson watched him jack off. If he still wanted to, that is.
He did. And Coulson didn’t say a word until Clint was ready.
“I think you might be the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen, Clint.”
-----
The next time after that, Clint asked Coulson to jack off, too. Clint noticed the way Coulson’s eyes dilated when he agreed . This time, he let Clint talk as they both sat facing each other, still separated by Coulson’s desk, as they each jacked off.
“I would love to see you fuck yourself on a toy, Clint.”
-----
They did that too.
“I love that you do what I tell you to, Clint.”
Clint loved it too and said so. When he was done.
-----
Finally, Clint lets Coulson stand next to him, stroking Clint’s dick, bringing him closer and closer until finally, when Clint could barely take it any more, Coulson whispered in his ear, a gust of hot breath:
“I think all day about you sucking my cock, Clint.”
-----
The next time, Clint was on his knees, sucking Coulson off while gripping his own dick. He looked up and saw Coulson’s face contort into truly amazing expressions. It felt like the best thing Clint had ever seen.
“Nghh – ahhh- ahhh – fuck! – Clint!”
-----
They start meeting at Coulson’s place.
“You were amazing, Clint.”
-----
They keep meeting.
“Yeah, I figured you’d like that, Clint.”
-----
“We’re both going to feel that tomorrow, Clint.”
-----
“If I give you plenty of recovery time, can I say it twice tonight, Clint?” ….
…. “I think you might be even better with your lips than with your hands, Clint.”
-----
“You have a really sexy laugh, Clint.”
-----
“Wow. Just, wow, Clint.”
-----
“Just wait until you see what I have planned for next time, Clint.”
-----
“Yeah. We are definitely doing that again, Clint.”
-----
“I think you should spend the night, Clint.”
-----
“Don’t look so smug, Clint.”
-----
“Let me look at you a little longer, Clint.”
-----
“Damn, you’re gorgeous like that, Clint.”
-----
“Yeah, that’s one of your favorites, isn’t it, Clint?”
-----
“I hope you’re not going to see this as a problem. But I think I’m falling in love with you, Clint.”
-----
Naturally, that’s when medical finally gets their shit together.
Magical-medical hybrid cure.
A “Welcome Back, Clint” party at the Tower, which was, more precisely, a welcome back party for his name since Clint himself never left. There was a cake. With his name written on it 50 times.
Coulson leaves the party early. Clint chases after him.
“Barton?”
“You can call me Clint now, remember?”
Coulson looked at him, searching for something.
Clint said, “So you know that like, I’m still coming over every night, right? I mean, if that’s … okay with you.”
Coulson smiled, and Clint could see the relief. They hadn’t talked about this; they had both just put on their business face and had been relieved that there was a cure. Despite everything, despite how much he trusted the words that Coulson said, there was that hint of fear, terror really, that everything would fall apart once they didn’t have that physical necessity, once they didn’t have the incantation of Phil’s voice giving him everything, giving Clint’s body back to him and claiming it for himself all at once.
But now Clint saw that Coulson had been scared too. Clint wasn’t the agent in need of help, and Coulson wasn’t the handler going above and beyond.
Coulson had been scared, too.
“More than okay,” Coulson said as he leaned in for a kiss, one hand on Clint’s face, gentle but somehow possessive too.
“Because if you think being medically cleared means that you don’t have to fuck me into next Tuesday any more, then you’ve got another thing coming,” Clint added.
Coulson smirked before leaning in for another, deeper kiss. “Counting on it, Clint.”