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It was official. Cold showers didn’t fucking work. He grumbled and turned the tap to a more reasonable temperature. No use getting frostbite if it wasn’t going to help. He leaned forward, resting both palms on the tiles and trying to will his hard-on away. That wasn’t working either.
This was getting ridiculous. Clint turned off the water and stepped out of the shower and toward the lockers. He groaned as he started to dig stuff out and towel off his hair. He knew he had a tendency to fall fast and hard but…
“You okay?”
Clint’s head shot up and he banged it into the locker door. “Fuck! Yes, I’m fine.” He started grumbling again. This day could not possibly get worse.
“You just seemed kind of off…”
“I’m fine Steve.”
Clint went back to digging through the pile of clothes in the locker. Steve grabbed his shoulder a moment later. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
“What the fu—“
“You hit pretty hard there.” Cap smiled and pulled away. “Just making sure.”
“Yeah, thanks.” Clint resisted the urge to bang his head into the lockers on purpose until Steve actually left. He also studiously ignored the fact that what little headway he’d made against being so turned on it hurt was now completely lost. He hurried to get dressed and get out of there before anyone noticed.
His door slammed shut a few minutes later. He had to do something about this. He absolutely had to stop getting rock hard every time he sparred with Steve. It was bound to get awkward and embarrassing eventually. Of course, right that minute there was a far more pressing problem.
He sighed heavily and stripped down. He sat on the edge of the bed for a second wondering not for the first time how the hell this happened. When his head hit the pillow his mind fell into the same fantasy it always did lately. Details varied, of course but the over all drift was the same. He could almost hear Steve’s voice as he slid his hand down his stomach.
Not yet. You haven’t earned that yet.
He squeezed his eyes shut blocking everything out but the fantasy. It was so detailed… so real, he almost felt like he’d open his eyes and Steve would be there, smiling that perfect boy-next-door Captain America smile that had absolutely no place in something so sexual. But he knew if he opened his eyes it would all vanish. He wasn’t ready for that yet. Not by a long shot. So he lost himself in his imagination, in all the things he wanted to do… wanted Steve to do to him…
“I told you no.” Steve grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand away from his cock. “Why don’t you ever listen?”
He bit back a whimper. He was so hard it almost hurt, and probably would soon enough. Steve knew that. Hell, Steve caused that! “Sorry.” He mumbled and resisted the urge to pout. Barely.
That of course was not good enough. He knew it wasn’t going to be either. “Sorry what?” That tone—the one he usually reserved for shouting orders in a fight—sent a shiver up Clint’s spine. He groaned as Steve reached down, grabbing a handful of hair and forcing him to look up. “Sorry what?”
Clint swallowed thickly. The word always--always--stuck in his throat at first. Too many years of being a mouthy little bastard, Steve liked to remind him. “Sorry, Sir.”
“That’s better.” Steve stroked his fingers through Clint’s hair and he couldn’t quite stop himself from leaning into the touch. Steve’s fingers ghosted down his chest, across his abs, tracing his hip and he almost whimpered again as he fought the urge to snap his hips up. He didn’t quite manage as those fingers ran down his thigh and back up again. “So what’s it going to be tonight? What do you think all that attitude today will get you?” His fingers moved away just before they would have reached Clint’s balls. This time, he did whimper. “Off the bed. On your knees. I think you need to make it up to me.”
Clint did as he was told. This was probably the only time when there wasn’t a smart ass comment or a flat out refusal from the archer. If he were in a more masochistic mood, there probably still would have been a smart ass comment, but not tonight. Tonight he wanted to behave so Steve would touch him… or at least let him touch himself. He kept his eyes focused on his goal and licked his lips. He’d never admit it to anyone else, but this—sucking Steve’s cock—this he loved.
Steve’s voice brought him out of his head. “Hands behind your back.” His hand was in Clint’s hair again, guiding him forward until the head of Steve’s cock touched his lips. He didn’t hesitate; swirling his tongue, licking, sucking… doing everything he could to get that low, rough groan out of Steve. His cheeks hollowed as he took more, relaxing his throat until he could swallow around Steve and had to breathe between strokes. He ran his tongue along the underside of his cock as Steve pulled him back and he got that groan. He would have smiled if it could have managed it. “Back on the bed. Hands and knees.” Steve’s voice didn’t show the strain he must have been under. “Now.”
Clint got himself into position and waited. He was never good at waiting. Steve knew that and made him wait because of it. When Steve finally touched him, his back arched and he moaned far more loudly than he had planned. “Please…” his jaw clenched on the ‘just fuck me already’ he wanted to tag onto that ‘please’. That really wouldn’t get him anywhere.
He heard Steve chuckle before a slick finger started circling his ass. Clint gasped and moaned as first one, then a second finger worked their way into him. “God, you’re such a slut, Barton.” That brought another moan to his lips and his back bowed again. “You just want to be fucked, don’t you?”
“Yes!” He practically screamed it.
Steve worked a third finger in, twisting his hand and driving another pleading groan from the man under him. “Yes what?”
“Fuck… Steve come on! Please!”
“Clint.” There was warning in Steve’s voice and his hand stopped. “Yes, what?”
“Yes, sir.” It came out easily this time. “God, please!” He tried to catch his breath as Steve pulled away for a moment. His tight grip on Clint’s hips kept the archer still as he pushed slowly into him, driving desperate needy little noises from Clint’s lips. He tried to shift his hips; tried to just get Steve to move.
He cried out when Steve’s hand came down hard across his ass. “No.” That hand slipped around his hip, fingers digging in for a moment. “I’ll fuck you when I’m ready to fuck you.” Clint caught his weight on his forearms as Steve started to move. He felt his knees tremble for a moment before Steve leaned over him. “You don’t come until I say so.”
“Oh God…” Clint clenched his jaw again, biting his lip so hard he could taste blood. Time blurred until finally he wasn’t sure he could live up to Steve’s expectations. “Please… Steve, I can’t…”
One calloused hand slid over his hip and gripped his cock. A handful of strong, tight strokes would have been enough, but Steve hadn’t said anything yet. Then he felt a warm breath on his shoulders. The voice was a little rough and breathless.
Come for me.
Clint arched off the bed and cried out as he came hard. He fell back, limp and tired as he tried to catch his breath. He stared up at the ceiling of his empty room and let out a long suffering sigh. This had to stop. He had to get over this.
This was the last time.