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kathierif_fic) wrote2012-10-25 01:33 am
kathierif_fic) wrote2012-10-25 01:33 am
Fic: A Change Of Pace (Avengers, Clint/Coulson; FRAO)
Title: A change of pace
Fandom: Avengers
Pairing: Clint/Coulson
Rating: FRAO
Disclaimer: Not mine :D
Summary: Phil came to expect certain things when Barton showed up in his quarters. He did not expect this.
A/N: fills the "vanilla kink" square on my kink-bingo :D
Sometimes Phil wondered when Barton's presence in his SHIELD-issued quarters had stopped being a surprise and had become something normal and expected, and where that little pang of disappointment came from whenever he came into the room and found it empty despite Barton being on-base.
Tonday was not one of those days.
Barton was sitting on the edge of Phil's meticulously made bed, his boots carefully lined up next to the door, and he was watching TV. A butterfly bandage held a cut on his forehead together, he was still dressed in SHIELD-issued sweatpants and jacket.
Phil knew why Barton was here. Their encounters usually followed a pattern, and Phil shrugged out of his suit jacket and took off his shoes before they could fall victims to this pattern. When he turned back around, Barton had silently climbed to his feet and had padded over to where Phil was standing.
He didn't say anything, just reached for Phil's shirt with both hands, and Phil tangled his hand in his hair and yanked him none too gently into a bruising kiss, fully expecting the other man to respont likewise by digging sharp teeth into Phil's bottom lip.
Instead, Barton remained almost passive, his tongue brushing softly against Phil#s and his fingers holding on to Phil's shirt without even trying to pull it out of his pants.
Phil turned them and pressed Clint against the wall, and still Clint didn't react as expected.
Phil frowned and pulled away. "Barton?" he asked, worry making his voice sharp and demanding.
"Sir?" Clint replied before wincing. He was leaning back against the wall, shoulders hunched defensively, and he made no move to try and get the upper hand, to try and control how their little encounter would go.
It was unusual.
"Talk to me," Phil ordered, forcing his voice to gentle. "Are you hurt?"
For a moment, it looked as if Clint wanted to say yes, a shadow of emotion Phil couldn't quite decipher crossing his face, but then he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and exhaled quietly.
"No, sir, just the scratch," he murmured.
Phil's frown deepened. "What's going on, then?" he asked.
Clint shrugged. He was not meeting Phil's eyes, which was unusual in itself. Under normal circumstances, Clint had no problems with pointing out if something was wrong or if he wanted something, and he always looked Phil in the eyes when he did.
"Barton..." Phil started, but before he could add anything else, Clitn blurted out, "You could try talking to me."
Phil looked at him confusedly. "What do you want me to say?" he asked.
Clint was definitely squirming now. He wasn't blushing, but Phil could still see the discomfort in every line of his body.
"Something nice, maybe."
"Fine." Phil almost rolled his eyes. He didn't know if Clint was trying to mock him, if he was trying to point out how little he appreciated Phil losing control over his mouth when he came close to orgasm, or if there was something else Clint was aiming for. "Fine," he repeated, adding, "You're the prettiest person in this room. On this planet. Maybe even in this universe."
A wobbly smirk greeted his words, then Clint swallowed thickly and replied, "Somewhere out there, a three-legged, tentacled alien with eleven eyes just got the disappointment of his life."
There was something odd in his voice, and Phil mentally shifted gears so quickly he found himself almost reeling.
This, he realized, was serious. Much more serious than it looked onthe surface.
Briefly he wondered if anything ahd happened on Clint's last mission to rattle him, but he hadn't heard anything from Sitwell, who had run the operation, and he couldn't let himself get distracted now or Clint would pull back again, play it off as a joke even when Phil's instincts yelled at him that this was anything but.
This was important.
He smiled gently and reached up to press his palm against Clint's cheek.
"Tough for the alien," he murmured softly. "You are, for me. You're...special and you are very beautiful when you let me take you apart and put you back together." He licked his lips. "When you allow me to see you like that."
It was weird, letting all those thoughts out without the aid of impending orgasm or alcohol, but when Clint swallowed and leaned into the touch, Phil knew that he had hit a nerve.
Slowly, he leaned in and brusehd his lips gently against Clint's, his free hand curling around Clint's wrist and stroking the pulsepoint with his fingertips.
"Like this?" he asked.
Clint chuckled. "Yeah, only you could follow through and really kiss me, you know." The words barely left his mouth and Phil's lips were back on his, still gentle, but more insisting, his tongue coming into play to tease along the seam of Clint's lips.
It was different from their usual kisses, Phil thought distantly, slow enough to really feel instead of just reacting to the things happening, and it gave him the chance to think things through before acting.
It allowed him to find out that Clint really liked it when he brushed his fingers through his hair and down the length ofh is spine, moving slowly and methodically as if he wanted to count each vertebra individually. He learned that Clint made a soft, almost surprised sound when Phil playfully nudged his tongue with his own, and that there wasn't even the hint of teeth.
And the most surprising discovery was that Clint was soft and malleable, easily and without fight following Phil's guidance, sprawling out across the bed at the slightest touch, without biting and without scathing comments.
Phil crawled over him and brushed their lips together. "You okay?" he murmured.
"Yeah," Clint smiled, looking at Phil with soft, half-closed eyes.
Phil licked his lips and sat back until he was kneeling astride Clint's hips, his dick hot and hard under the fabric of his pants.
He slipped his hands under Clint's t-shirt and up his chest, nails scratching very slightly.
"Hey," he grinned, his thumb finding a nipple. "Would it be okay if I took your shirt off now?"
As soon as the words were out, he bit the tip of his tongue sharply. He had been earnest about the question, but it almost sounded as if he was mocking Clint - what if Clint thought Phil was mocking him, that he wasn't taking this seriously, what if Clintw ould get up now and leave?
It was a question he'd never found the time to ask during their usual hurried encounters.
Just as he opened his mouth to clarify what he'd meant, Clint sat up and said, "Only if I can take off yours, too."
Phil huffed out a laugh of relief. "Anything," he promised. "Anything you want, Clint."
Clint shuddered, and together, they pulled off their shirts, and then Phil pressed him back into the mattress and began to kiss a path down his chest, paying special attention to Clint's scars and the sensitive spots. One of his hands slowly crept down and came to rest on the bulge between his legs.
Clint moaned quietly and clutched at Phil's shoulders with both hands. He didn't scratch, didn't even try to tickle. He just held on.
Phil slowly kissed him again, careful not to break the spell and losing this gentle side of Clint again. He kneeled up and glanced down as he used both hands to pull down Clint's pants down his strong legs, and then he followed with his mouth because he desperately needed to kiss the vulnerable inside of Clint's knee.
"That okay?" he asked again, his fingertips gently tracing Clint's thigh.
"Yeah," Clint breathed. "Like that." He pulled up his knee, wordlessly asking, and Phil couldn't deny him.
"Hand me the lube from the drawer?" he asked, his thumbs stroking the insides of Clint's knees. he didn't look up, his focus on the pale skin low on Clint's stomach, the scar there that had faded with age but was still visible.
Clint's muscles shifted smoothly under his skin as he twisted around to fish the bottle out of the drawer. "Here," he said as he handed it over. "How do you want meß"
Phil opened the bottle and slicked his fingers. "Like this," he said, his voice shaky. "Just like this."
He took his time preparing Clint, slick fingers moving gently while he kissed Clint's stomach, his hips, the arc of a rib, and finally, his fingertips, calluses rough under his lips.
"Phil..." Clint's hips twitched slightly, and Phil stilled his fingers and focused just on breathing for a long moment; on the shivering heat of Clint's body under him and around him.
It wasn't that often that he could take his time and see Clint like this, open and willing to let himself be caught and held, and it would be a crime not to take advantage of this rare moment.
"Condom?" he finally asked, his voice rough like sandpaper.
Clint shivered, but he twisted again toward the drawer, to pull out a strip of condoms. He ripped one open and sat up to smooth it down Phil's length, his hands warm and sure of what they were doing. His hair was dishevelled, his cheeks flushed, and to Phil, he had never been more beautiful.
"I mean it," he murmured as he leaned over Clint to kiss him, "the tree-legged, tentacled alien never stood a chance."
Clint laughed, the sound turning into a moan when Phil slowly and gently slid into him.
Phil took as much time as he thought he could get away with, his thrusts smooth and gentle. Clint sighed as he relaxed into the pillows, his hips moving in gentle counterpoint to Phil's, his hands never quite still, moving across Phil's shoulders, his chest, and through his thinning hair, probably making him look as if he had stood too close to Thor while Thor summoned thunder and lightning.
Phil didn't mind. He felt as if he was drunk, each of his moves slow and careful. He was intoxicated from Clint, his smell, the sounds he made, the way he looked and felt under Phil.
The way he reacted to every single touch, thrust or kiss, as if he couldn't help himself, as if he was just as drunk on Phil as Phil was on him.
This, he thought as he pressed in deep and Clint's legs wrapped around his hips, holding him impossibly close and not letting go, this was what made the difference between fucking and making love.
And, he realized as sweat slicked their bodies and they moved faster against each other, as Clint cried out softly and clung tighter to Phil#s shoulders, he was strangely okay with it; even more, he loved this, the easy intimacy of Clint allowing himself to fall apart under him, shaking and panting and letting Phil see it when he was at his most vulnerable, when he came hotly on Phil's stomach.
It was so much sweeter because he hadn't had to force Clint to this point, and there were no new bruises on their bodies.
Clint's fingers brushed haphazardly through his hair. His entire body tensed, but only to bring his head p to press a kiss to Phil's temple. Clint's lips were surprisingly cool against Phil's overheated skin, and he turned his head to catch them with his own and push his tongue deep into Clint's mouth, claiming him and declaring him his and, finally, just panting against Clint's skin as his body strained and twitched, muscles trembling and hips pumping as he came, more intense than he had in a very long time.
Yes, he could get used to this.
Fandom: Avengers
Pairing: Clint/Coulson
Rating: FRAO
Disclaimer: Not mine :D
Summary: Phil came to expect certain things when Barton showed up in his quarters. He did not expect this.
A/N: fills the "vanilla kink" square on my kink-bingo :D
Sometimes Phil wondered when Barton's presence in his SHIELD-issued quarters had stopped being a surprise and had become something normal and expected, and where that little pang of disappointment came from whenever he came into the room and found it empty despite Barton being on-base.
Tonday was not one of those days.
Barton was sitting on the edge of Phil's meticulously made bed, his boots carefully lined up next to the door, and he was watching TV. A butterfly bandage held a cut on his forehead together, he was still dressed in SHIELD-issued sweatpants and jacket.
Phil knew why Barton was here. Their encounters usually followed a pattern, and Phil shrugged out of his suit jacket and took off his shoes before they could fall victims to this pattern. When he turned back around, Barton had silently climbed to his feet and had padded over to where Phil was standing.
He didn't say anything, just reached for Phil's shirt with both hands, and Phil tangled his hand in his hair and yanked him none too gently into a bruising kiss, fully expecting the other man to respont likewise by digging sharp teeth into Phil's bottom lip.
Instead, Barton remained almost passive, his tongue brushing softly against Phil#s and his fingers holding on to Phil's shirt without even trying to pull it out of his pants.
Phil turned them and pressed Clint against the wall, and still Clint didn't react as expected.
Phil frowned and pulled away. "Barton?" he asked, worry making his voice sharp and demanding.
"Sir?" Clint replied before wincing. He was leaning back against the wall, shoulders hunched defensively, and he made no move to try and get the upper hand, to try and control how their little encounter would go.
It was unusual.
"Talk to me," Phil ordered, forcing his voice to gentle. "Are you hurt?"
For a moment, it looked as if Clint wanted to say yes, a shadow of emotion Phil couldn't quite decipher crossing his face, but then he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and exhaled quietly.
"No, sir, just the scratch," he murmured.
Phil's frown deepened. "What's going on, then?" he asked.
Clint shrugged. He was not meeting Phil's eyes, which was unusual in itself. Under normal circumstances, Clint had no problems with pointing out if something was wrong or if he wanted something, and he always looked Phil in the eyes when he did.
"Barton..." Phil started, but before he could add anything else, Clitn blurted out, "You could try talking to me."
Phil looked at him confusedly. "What do you want me to say?" he asked.
Clint was definitely squirming now. He wasn't blushing, but Phil could still see the discomfort in every line of his body.
"Something nice, maybe."
"Fine." Phil almost rolled his eyes. He didn't know if Clint was trying to mock him, if he was trying to point out how little he appreciated Phil losing control over his mouth when he came close to orgasm, or if there was something else Clint was aiming for. "Fine," he repeated, adding, "You're the prettiest person in this room. On this planet. Maybe even in this universe."
A wobbly smirk greeted his words, then Clint swallowed thickly and replied, "Somewhere out there, a three-legged, tentacled alien with eleven eyes just got the disappointment of his life."
There was something odd in his voice, and Phil mentally shifted gears so quickly he found himself almost reeling.
This, he realized, was serious. Much more serious than it looked onthe surface.
Briefly he wondered if anything ahd happened on Clint's last mission to rattle him, but he hadn't heard anything from Sitwell, who had run the operation, and he couldn't let himself get distracted now or Clint would pull back again, play it off as a joke even when Phil's instincts yelled at him that this was anything but.
This was important.
He smiled gently and reached up to press his palm against Clint's cheek.
"Tough for the alien," he murmured softly. "You are, for me. You're...special and you are very beautiful when you let me take you apart and put you back together." He licked his lips. "When you allow me to see you like that."
It was weird, letting all those thoughts out without the aid of impending orgasm or alcohol, but when Clint swallowed and leaned into the touch, Phil knew that he had hit a nerve.
Slowly, he leaned in and brusehd his lips gently against Clint's, his free hand curling around Clint's wrist and stroking the pulsepoint with his fingertips.
"Like this?" he asked.
Clint chuckled. "Yeah, only you could follow through and really kiss me, you know." The words barely left his mouth and Phil's lips were back on his, still gentle, but more insisting, his tongue coming into play to tease along the seam of Clint's lips.
It was different from their usual kisses, Phil thought distantly, slow enough to really feel instead of just reacting to the things happening, and it gave him the chance to think things through before acting.
It allowed him to find out that Clint really liked it when he brushed his fingers through his hair and down the length ofh is spine, moving slowly and methodically as if he wanted to count each vertebra individually. He learned that Clint made a soft, almost surprised sound when Phil playfully nudged his tongue with his own, and that there wasn't even the hint of teeth.
And the most surprising discovery was that Clint was soft and malleable, easily and without fight following Phil's guidance, sprawling out across the bed at the slightest touch, without biting and without scathing comments.
Phil crawled over him and brushed their lips together. "You okay?" he murmured.
"Yeah," Clint smiled, looking at Phil with soft, half-closed eyes.
Phil licked his lips and sat back until he was kneeling astride Clint's hips, his dick hot and hard under the fabric of his pants.
He slipped his hands under Clint's t-shirt and up his chest, nails scratching very slightly.
"Hey," he grinned, his thumb finding a nipple. "Would it be okay if I took your shirt off now?"
As soon as the words were out, he bit the tip of his tongue sharply. He had been earnest about the question, but it almost sounded as if he was mocking Clint - what if Clint thought Phil was mocking him, that he wasn't taking this seriously, what if Clintw ould get up now and leave?
It was a question he'd never found the time to ask during their usual hurried encounters.
Just as he opened his mouth to clarify what he'd meant, Clint sat up and said, "Only if I can take off yours, too."
Phil huffed out a laugh of relief. "Anything," he promised. "Anything you want, Clint."
Clint shuddered, and together, they pulled off their shirts, and then Phil pressed him back into the mattress and began to kiss a path down his chest, paying special attention to Clint's scars and the sensitive spots. One of his hands slowly crept down and came to rest on the bulge between his legs.
Clint moaned quietly and clutched at Phil's shoulders with both hands. He didn't scratch, didn't even try to tickle. He just held on.
Phil slowly kissed him again, careful not to break the spell and losing this gentle side of Clint again. He kneeled up and glanced down as he used both hands to pull down Clint's pants down his strong legs, and then he followed with his mouth because he desperately needed to kiss the vulnerable inside of Clint's knee.
"That okay?" he asked again, his fingertips gently tracing Clint's thigh.
"Yeah," Clint breathed. "Like that." He pulled up his knee, wordlessly asking, and Phil couldn't deny him.
"Hand me the lube from the drawer?" he asked, his thumbs stroking the insides of Clint's knees. he didn't look up, his focus on the pale skin low on Clint's stomach, the scar there that had faded with age but was still visible.
Clint's muscles shifted smoothly under his skin as he twisted around to fish the bottle out of the drawer. "Here," he said as he handed it over. "How do you want meß"
Phil opened the bottle and slicked his fingers. "Like this," he said, his voice shaky. "Just like this."
He took his time preparing Clint, slick fingers moving gently while he kissed Clint's stomach, his hips, the arc of a rib, and finally, his fingertips, calluses rough under his lips.
"Phil..." Clint's hips twitched slightly, and Phil stilled his fingers and focused just on breathing for a long moment; on the shivering heat of Clint's body under him and around him.
It wasn't that often that he could take his time and see Clint like this, open and willing to let himself be caught and held, and it would be a crime not to take advantage of this rare moment.
"Condom?" he finally asked, his voice rough like sandpaper.
Clint shivered, but he twisted again toward the drawer, to pull out a strip of condoms. He ripped one open and sat up to smooth it down Phil's length, his hands warm and sure of what they were doing. His hair was dishevelled, his cheeks flushed, and to Phil, he had never been more beautiful.
"I mean it," he murmured as he leaned over Clint to kiss him, "the tree-legged, tentacled alien never stood a chance."
Clint laughed, the sound turning into a moan when Phil slowly and gently slid into him.
Phil took as much time as he thought he could get away with, his thrusts smooth and gentle. Clint sighed as he relaxed into the pillows, his hips moving in gentle counterpoint to Phil's, his hands never quite still, moving across Phil's shoulders, his chest, and through his thinning hair, probably making him look as if he had stood too close to Thor while Thor summoned thunder and lightning.
Phil didn't mind. He felt as if he was drunk, each of his moves slow and careful. He was intoxicated from Clint, his smell, the sounds he made, the way he looked and felt under Phil.
The way he reacted to every single touch, thrust or kiss, as if he couldn't help himself, as if he was just as drunk on Phil as Phil was on him.
This, he thought as he pressed in deep and Clint's legs wrapped around his hips, holding him impossibly close and not letting go, this was what made the difference between fucking and making love.
And, he realized as sweat slicked their bodies and they moved faster against each other, as Clint cried out softly and clung tighter to Phil#s shoulders, he was strangely okay with it; even more, he loved this, the easy intimacy of Clint allowing himself to fall apart under him, shaking and panting and letting Phil see it when he was at his most vulnerable, when he came hotly on Phil's stomach.
It was so much sweeter because he hadn't had to force Clint to this point, and there were no new bruises on their bodies.
Clint's fingers brushed haphazardly through his hair. His entire body tensed, but only to bring his head p to press a kiss to Phil's temple. Clint's lips were surprisingly cool against Phil's overheated skin, and he turned his head to catch them with his own and push his tongue deep into Clint's mouth, claiming him and declaring him his and, finally, just panting against Clint's skin as his body strained and twitched, muscles trembling and hips pumping as he came, more intense than he had in a very long time.
Yes, he could get used to this.